#Maybe not complete fics but I definitely enjoy the thought workout

[kelpiemomma]

I find it great that a lot of the fandom looked at two out of time, out of place characters. Ingo and Protagonist, two characters with similar origins and have so much to relate to and thus fans agree that it is criminal and inexcusable that Gamefreak barely interact in Canon.

Everyone literally said "Screw Canon, These two are found family, train guy is dad/uncle/friend now

Love your PLA fics of that dynamic. I don't know if you're still open to prompts. You don't have to do this if you don't feel it but here's a prompt I got for you.

Explore Ingo's and Akari's relationship that develops post-game.

Many fics have them bond during the main plot but not much do post game events.

(You could touch events that occured preplot or during plot and explore how characters felt before they met)

Ohhhh interesting interesting interesting..... I think that's because most of us find it easiest to maneuver them around in-game events, and I don't think I've done too much post-gaming myself (easily distracted, started two other playthroughs)

I am definitely intrigued by this idea though. Do you mean they have their basic interaction in canon, but the further relationship develops post game? And what are we counting as post game- calming all the nobles & fighting palkia and dialga, but pre-volo? Or is Volo still part of the main playthrough?

Because I can see (rolling in the dad direction, as I do, in various directions) Ingo being distantly friendly with the protagonist (let's say Akari, as is my usual :,D sorry) He provides training at the dojo with Zisu, sees Akari there mostly, but doesn't much interact with her otherwise. I truly can't imagine him seeing her kicked out of jubilife and not doing anything- moral-wise, at least, I feel like he would say or do something. Even if he felt it wasn't his place as someone not of Jubilife, I think that he (and most of us, I would hope) would protest kicking a kid out of a safe area. It's possible he either wasn't there (returned to the Highlands for a time) or saw it happening, but didn't see Akari's face and assumed she was just going out for another mission. By the time he does hear about it, or understand what happened, and goes looking Akari has already been picked up by Volo. Ingo asks Irida if she knows where Akari can be found and Irida promises she's somewhere safe but can't say more. So until she returns, all Ingo can do is be satisfied that Akari is safe. He no longer trusts Jubilife residents as he did, especially Kamado, and spends less time there. When Akari returns having tamed the two gods, Ingo decides that maybe it's a little fucked up that this kid has done all this on her own. She's still just like 15 at most, right?

He attempts to strike up conversations at the dojo without being creepy, because some part of him is well aware how it might seem if someone of his age shows too much interest in a teenager (the very thought turns his stomach in disgust. He feels regretful that he couldn't help earlier.) but thankfully Akari likes to talk about the Pokedex, and Ingo is a walking Pokedex as well in a way. There's no one able to battle quite like him, which actually helps Akari with her research. She starts searching him out more because he never requires anything or expects anything of her, and they can talk about pokemon or item crafting or food easily. In fact, she starts going to him when she finds strange pokemon in space-time rifts because Ingo almost always finds them familiar and has something to say about them. Sometimes they'll run into each other in the highlands and Ingo will take her somewhere cool, or just take her to a neat little meadow and tell her to chill out because she's spiraling in anxiety over the work she still has to do. They end up bonding over little things and helping each other, with Ingo gradually becoming the first person Akari goes to when she has news because his enthusiasm is always genuine and a little extra but it's nice.

They bond further after Akari battles Volo and comes down from the summit looking absolutely wrecked and in tears. She's been betrayed and had what she thought was a dear, close friendship destroyed. Ingo doesn't pry as much as he wants to- he's upset that she's upset, and he wants to know what happened because this time they're friendly. He cares for her as family and wants to hurt whoever hurt her. But Akari comes first, and so he takes her to his home and lets her wallow in her misery until she can tell him what happened. He asks if she wants him to track Volo down and take care of him, but Akari denies it and says he doesn't need to act like her dad when he isn't. Which kind of makes Ingo stop and think bc... Well. He doesn't have kids. Has never had much interest in having kids. But he likes Akari, and he thinks that she could use a father figure, and he wouldnt mind filling those shoes... So he accepts her request, but he tells her then and there that he doesn't mind acting as her father (figure) because he does genuinely care for her and her well being. Which isn't something Akari was expecting and she kind of stammers... Declines... Takes off. And it hurts but Ingo lets her go. It's her decision to accept or not, and he won't force her one way or another. He appreciates their friendship too much.

Akari avoids him for a couple weeks, which sucks but Ingo stands by his decision to not push. He continues his work in the Highlands, continues training at the dojo, until one day he finds himself standing in front of the photo parlor. He's gotten a picture of himself before, but he was alone and it didn't feel right. It felt like something was missing. Someone should've been by his side, at his back. He's lost in thought until he feels the wristband of his coat get tugged on and looks to see Akari standing beside him, shifty. She apologizes for running off and avoiding him, explains that she had to think, and he accepts her apology. Says he understands, because it was something he'd gradually come to realize and that he shouldn't have sprung it on her. And Akari is clearly Not Of This Time because she gets quiet and then asks him, really fast and kind of quiet, that he meant like being her DAD and not her DADDY right, because she REALLY didn't see him like that and- and Ingo immediately says NO ABSOLUTELY NOT. Just... Dad. Acting as a caretaker. Keeping her safe. Being a place of refuge. Platonic father feelings ONLY. And Akari looks relieved, and Ingo is also relieved because he definitely doesn't see her that way and is glad she now understands that. He shudders at the thought, and she laughs at him, and Ingo pretends to glare at her and scold her but she settles in a little closer.

She looks at the building with all the photos and paintings and asks what he was up to. He explains that he was wondering if he should try getting another picture done, that he'd had one taken before but had needed to throw it away because looking at it made him feel uncomfortable. Akari asks if he thinks it has something to do with the man in white and ingo... nods, because now that she mentioned it, yes. Because the man in white is not here, and Ingo is alone. Apparently he says that out loud, and Akari's face flushes as she takes his hand and drags him inside. Because Ingo's not alone anymore, she says, because they're family. So until the man in white is back, she's going to be where he was. And they take the picture, and it's not exactly perfect... She doesn't fit like he thinks she should, and the pose is weird and not quite correct, but as he looks at the photo she handed him before going to grab some of her gear to take up to the Highlands - there's something she needs to check on, she said, and since Ingo has decided she's his responsibility obviously her DAD needs to go with her! - he feels... Better. Not fixed, but still... Complete. He's not alone. He has family now.

He tucks the photo into his coat for safe keeping, and when Akari returns to his side (she said she'd see him as her father, would she call him dad? Should he call her his daughter? They'll need to talk about it.) he smiles, and she smiles back, and for now everything will be okay. He is not part of an incomplete set anymore.

[bookshelf-dust]

soul made of honeybees

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 6,418

warnings: brief swearing, mentions of smoking, reader deals with body insecurities/dysmorphia, uses exercise as a punishment, all of the struggles that come with trying to accept oneself

synopsis: on a journey of becoming more active and trying to be happier in yourself, you find billy, who helps you develop a healthier relationship with exercising and shows you that your body should be celebrated for all it does for you.

a/n: well, what do we have here? my creative juices have begun to flow again, and this is the first fic to be born of that particular affair. in my head i’ve set this in the late 80s, maybe early 90s, where i imagine billy still works at the pool during the summers when he’s home from college. this is a situation i’ve found myself in over the past year, and i wanted a chance to explore it in this way and sort through some of my own experiences. i hope you will enjoy it. as always, happy reading! <3

————

Jane Fonda is a fucking fantastic woman. But right now, you hate her. 

She manages to look stunning and effortless with each kick of her legs; while you are sweating profusely, your shorts are up your ass, and your fingers are swollen from overheating. 

You hate exercising in the moment, but once her thirty minute video is over and her group of people in tights and tiny shorts are gone, admittedly you do feel better. Rinsing the sweat from your face, feeling your muscles ache the next day—it brings you some sort of satisfaction. 

Your body likes that you’ve gotten more active. 

But your own hatred for your body was the reason you allowed Jane Fonda into your home to begin with. Sick, right? You know it’s bad, and yet each time you squat, crunch, and press, you can’t stop yourself from wishing you were shaped differently. From looking at the toned and athletic bodies in Miss Fonda’s videos and imagining what it would be like to feel that comfortable in your own skin, to be so graceful and…perfect.

So, you continue to push yourself, in hopes that you’ll become more appealing, that if you keep doing this, there will come a point where you aren’t totally and completely disgusted with the body you’ve been given. 

Because at this point, you’ve truly convinced yourself that you cannot be happy in your body. Even if you have noticed your strength levels increasing and really want to push yourself more. But you won’t let that positivity ring free like the woman on your television always wishes you would. 

“You did a great job!” Jane’s voice rings throughout your living room as the workout video ends, and you scramble for the remote, having had enough of these cheery attitudes for one morning.

You sit back on your hands, stretch out your legs, and try to steady your breath. Your knees have carpet burn, and you can feel sweat dripping down your temples. 

You may be a heaving mess, but you need more. The workouts have gotten easy, and you need something new. 

A woman runs by outside your window in a bright pink leotard and blue jogging shorts, matching pink leg warmers meeting her tennis shoes.

I could try that, you think. Maybe I’d like running. 

You certainly didn’t like it in school, but most of that was the result of shitty phys-ed teachers and the fact that you were never the athlete those instructors wanted you to be. 

You push off the floor and stalk to your room, digging for the sneakers you know are buried in the back of your closet. You have to try this. You need to keep pushing yourself. And if you don’t do it now, with this sudden spark of energy, you probably never will. 

Five minutes. You can run for five minutes. And if you feel like you can after that time is up, you’ll do ten. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re tying your shoes, shoving away the thoughts telling you that you’ll definitely not look as cute as that woman on the street or any other woman that goes for a run, their ponytail swaying and their cheeks perfectly pinked. 

But what does it matter? You have to try. You have to be productive and make something out of yourself. You can’t deal with the pulsing, clawing thoughts of self-hatred anymore. Your body has to change.

The only problem is that you haven’t yet realized your mindset must too.

The heat that swallows you up when you step out of your front door is almost enough to send you right back inside. But how disappointed will you be in yourself if you retreat that quickly? 

You let your body begin to walk before your brain can start to argue. Your street doesn’t really have a sidewalk, so you keep to one side as the cyclists and other joggers do, ensuring you won’t be in anyone’s way. Subconsciously, you’re already making yourself smaller even though there’s no one outside to judge you. 

You look down at your watch, noting the time, and start to run. Not as though you’re being chased by a serial killer—or a man—but enough that it counts as a run. Those first few seconds are blissful. You feel like a little kid as the adrenaline spreads through your veins. Like your mom has just called you in because dinner is ready, like you're racing against the sunset so that your feet land inside the door just before the streetlights flick on. 

You forgot what it was like to move your body in this way. To feel this momentary freedom. You make it about three minutes before your side starts to hurt, a telltale sign that you haven’t done this in far too long. The heat is starting to get to you too, but you said you’d go for five, and that’s what you’re doing. 

It’s pitiful, the way you press yourself to the inside of your front door, trying to catch your breath from that little bit of work. Why did it hurt so much more than everything Jane Fonda tells you to do? 

Maybe you’re not meant to be the athletic type. Or maybe I need to eat something, you think. I need to make a plan for myself. That could make it easier. 

You can’t eat with your shirt sticking to your back though, so you strip and turn the shower on, practically jumping under the cool stream of water. But not before you glance at your body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Your hands find your stomach, eye each stretch mark and bit of cellulite. Each extra-soft spot of skin, every part of you that doesn’t conform to the vision you have in your head. 

You wish that five minute run had fixed everything. That you could magically look like an aerobics instructor and be happy in your own skin. Your eyes fill with tears, and you think for a minute that it could be better to just stop before you get ahead of yourself. What’s the point? You don’t know if you have it in you to wait and see results. And you know you won’t turn into someone else, won’t form a new shape…and then you’re spiraling. You can’t think of a single reason why exercising is worth it.

Because it can be fun. Because it pushes you and makes you stronger. You shove this tiny voice away and let your gaze flick back to the shower, where you’ve completely abandoned your cold sanctuary. You hop in and start scrubbing your hair, trying to think of anything that isn’t your body in that mirror, anything other than how much you looked like a fraud trying to fit in with everyone else. 

————

You continue on this way for a while longer: running in the mornings, doing as many of the Jane Fonda videos as you have access to at work, drinking more water, blah blah blah. One of the perks of working at the library is that you can check out as many tapes as you want. But you’ve done all of Jane’s workouts, and you need more. 

You could swim, but when is the community pool ever not full to the brim during the summer? You could try jazzercise. No. That’s just not for you. You could…go to the gym. 

The pool also has small gyms for both women and men, and you know the men’s one is usually very busy, but most of the women in Hawkins take part in other forms of exercise. And if you went in the mornings…you might have the place to yourself. You might could try and tone up. 

God, this sounds so stupid. 

And your heart rate picks up just thinking about doing this very new and very big and very embarrassing thing, but you want to do it. You’re going to try. 

Hopefully you’ll just go unnoticed. This is a totally normal thing for people to do, right? 

The community pool opens at ten during the week, but the doors to the gyms open at seven. And that’s what time you get there, out of pure fear that you’ll have to interact with another human and make a fool of yourself. But the universe must be looking out for you on this particular morning, because the door is unlocked, and you slip in without any hassle. 

Billy isn’t a morning person. He never has been, but an excuse to get out of his hellhole of a house before anyone else is up to fuck with him? Yeah, he jumped at that opportunity. 

Usually the manager opens the gyms and stays to open the pool during the summer, but he volunteered. Especially because he can usually get in a workout before his shift technically even starts. 

He’ll bench as much as he can without a spot, work on the pull ups he never tells anyone he struggles with. It just feels good to be able to use his muscles and push himself. Billy is proud of what his body can do, what it does for him, how it protects him—and he’s not ashamed to admit that.

His body is one of the only things he has control over, and he’s heard his share of people talking about how vain he is, how he shouldn’t spend so much time doing this or that. But he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s built a body he’s proud of and feels comfortable in, and truthfully he feels like everyone should be comfortable in their body without anyone else pushing them to look another way. 

Billy is leaning against his car, hands tangled in his hair in an effort to tie it up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his full lips when he sees you for the first time. 

He watches you get in your car, bag slung over your shoulder, interested only because he never sees another soul here this early. 

You’re pretty, he thinks. Your hairline shines in the morning sunlight, damp with sweat, your neck the same. Your sports bra peeks through your pale shirt, and one of your slouchy socks is hiked up higher than the other. You’ve clearly just finished working out, but he thinks you look breathtaking. 

There’s something about you. Something light and sweet that he can feel even from this distance, like something is telling him you have a good soul. 

The next time Billy sees you, you come out of the door looking frustrated—he assumes at yourself. He doesn’t want to bother you, but he would like to talk to you at some point. 

You turn around when you go to unlock your car door and lock eyes with him. Your heart stutters at the fact that someone has caught you, probably knows you were exercising. But he is gorgeous. You give him a small smile, and climb into the driver's seat. All you can think on the drive home is that it must be nice to be so effortlessly gorgeous. 

————

You continue on this way for weeks. Close to a month. You workout, you wave and acknowledge one another. This other person who you share this tiny thing with and who you are not judged by. 

On this particular day, you decide to be brave though. You packed a swimsuit, and you’re going to speak to that gorgeous boy and hope he doesn’t get freaked out by you. 

You place your weights back on the rack, the muscles in your thighs pulsing, your arms feeling like jelly. You’ve only worked your way up to the set of fifteens, but that’s something, right? 

You’re sweating, and dread walking outside into the swath of steadily climbing heat and humidity. Your heart pounds at the prospect of speaking to him. 

With your bag over your shoulder, you push open the door and step outside, jumping almost immediately. “Shit!” 

Billy laughs at your reaction, both because he hadn’t expected to frighten you, and because your jolt was pretty entertaining to witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to make you lose your shit, it’s just too hot to stand anywhere without shade.”

You lean against the cool metal door behind you. “Fuck,” you sigh. “My survival skills are clearly not what they should be.”

Billy laughs into his drink, taking a swig from the Coke he bought at the vending machine. 

“You headed out?” he asks, subconsciously fussing with a belt loop. 

“Well, yeah, I was. But um, I was going to ask a favor from you, if that’s okay?” You must sound like a dumbass, speaking to this man for the very first time, only to ask him for something.

“Shoot,” Billy responds.

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to swim a few laps in the pool? I know it’s not open yet, and I haven’t even told you my name, but I promise not to be a bother or anything. I just kind of wanted a chance to swim when there was no one else around, you know?”

Billy finishes his drink and tosses the can in the recycling bin inches from your hip. It lands with a resounding ping. 

You start to think this was a very stupid idea, and that maybe you should’ve just kept yourself at home like always.

“You can totally say no—”

“Yeah, sure I don’t see why not—”

Your words clash together and the both of you start to laugh. You raise your hand, gesturing for him to continue his thought. 

“It’s fine by me if you swim a little. I doubt you’re gonna trash the place.” He grins at you, dimples forming in his cheeks. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

A heat rises up your neck and washes over the tips of your ears. You tell him your name and thank him for letting you bend the rules. 

“Ah, fuck the rules. It’s just a community pool,” he winks, opening up the gate for you and telling you to have at it. 

You’d put your one-piece on underneath your workout clothes this morning, and you try to ignore the prick of shame, even disgust, that you feel having put your body in it as you wade into the pool. 

The water is cool, and as it drenches you, you feel lighter, somehow. You swim out to the deep end and push off the wall with your toes, propelling yourself underwater and kicking for as long as you can go while holding your breath. 

The little girl that still lives within your soul leaps to the surface, giddy with each push off the wall, each stroke of your arms underneath the water. She is excited. Free. 

She isn’t thinking about what your stomach looks like in this swimsuit or how stupid you probably look with your sloppy swimming skills. 

You swim for maybe twenty minutes, or at least until your shoulders are aching. You kick over to the wall, hoisting yourself up just that little bit so you can prop your elbows up on the warming concrete. 

You feel so light here that it almost makes you forget why you came. 

You hear footsteps and Billy appears from around the corner, a fluffy white towel in hand. 

“You getting out? I figured I’d come and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

You giggle. The sound makes him smile, pearly white teeth on display. Your eyes are drawn to his, where the summer sun has multiplied his freckles so much that they blanket his nose and the tops of his cheeks, washing over his temples. 

“I appreciate you looking out for my safety,” you say, climbing up the short ladder. Billy holds out a hand to help you steady yourself as you stand. You’re hesitant to take it because you’re all wet, but your hand moves before your mind takes control. “Thank you.” You give him a shy smile.

He grins at you and hands you the towel. You wrap it around your shoulders and follow him back under the awning when he starts walking away. Billy leans up against the cold brick wall and you stand, a little nervously, in front of him, trying to think of what to say. 

“I’ll admit, uh, it’s been nice to see someone else here so early in the mornings.” Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. “I was gonna ask though, why’d you pick this shithole to workout in?”

You pull the damp towel tighter against your torso. “It’s a quiet shithole,” you say. “And this whole exercising thing is pretty new to me, you know? I didn’t want to be somewhere people could see me like that.”

You realize how self-deprecating that comment was, realize you’re being too upfront, and try to quickly cover your ass. “What about you?” you ask, daring to make eye contact just to make sure he’s not disturbed. 

“Well, it came with the job,” he laughs, “and I love working out. Always have. Plus, it might be a shitty place, but the older equipment is a lot better than what newer gyms are using. So it works for me.”

Huh. 

“Oh. Nice.” You chew on your thumbnail. What a fuckup you are. 

Billy tilts his head, trying to encourage your gaze to raise to his. “What just happened?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You look at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s nothing…I just don’t really know what to say to someone who enjoys the gym? Who has a positive relationship with it and everything.”

A crease forms between Billy’s brows. “You’ve been crazy consistent with it, but you don’t like it?” He asks you, but based on your body language and how you’ve acted the past month every time you head out, everything adds up and Billy knows the answer before it even leaves your mouth. 

You shake your head, ashamed that you even brought this up. “No,” you laugh nervously. “I hate it. I only started because I’m unhappy with myself? So it’s more of a punishment than something that brings me joy.”

Billy’s chest squeezes at your words. That is exactly why he started working out all those years ago. To make himself stronger because he was ashamed his father had power over him. Because he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so out of anger he made himself more powerful.

But he doesn’t want you to feel that way. You shouldn’t be working out purely to punish yourself for some absurd reason your mind has come up with. 

And even though Billy has had very minimal interactions with you, he likes you. He wouldn’t wish the horrible thoughts he’s had for himself on anyone else, but he gets the feeling you already know. 

“Well, I’m not gonna berate you or nothin.’ But uh, if you ever want help, or want to workout together so it’s not so miserable, let me know alright?”

You smirk at him, hoping to make the situation a bit less awkward. “Are you implying you’re the reason working out would become less miserable?”

Billy laughs, glad to see you’re not totally opposed to the idea of him offering help. “Yeah. But really, you shouldn’t have to hate it y’know? If I can help you figure out not to hate it…I’d like to try. And we could get to know each other better.”

Billy fidgets with the lighter in his pocket. He’s weaned off cigarettes, but he keeps loads of lighters around so he has something to occupy his hands with. If not, it’s usually not a good situation for him to be in. 

Your heart squeezes at the genuine quality in his words. You feel like you’re a lost cause at this point, but there’s a big part of you, the soft and squishy and easily flustered one, that wants to take him up on this offer. 

You nod, wrapping up your towel so you can drop it in the bin and go get changed. “Okay. I’ll think about it, Billy. Promise.”

————

“One more.”

“I can’t, Billy. I told you, I’m not strong enough for this shit.”

You swear when you’re frustrated. Billy has learned that over the past few weeks. 

He crouches, leveling with you. Your knee bounces, the dumbbells in your hands sitting on the tops of your thighs. “Yes, you can. You’re already up to twenty-fives for your presses. Try one more for me and then you can rest a minute.”

Your eyes well with tears that you quickly blink away as you settle back against the bench. This is the point in a workout where you just start to hate yourself. You think it’s pointless, you know you’re body hasn’t changed enough, you feel like total shit—everything just feels fucked.

You use your knees to help lift the dumbbells and slowly lift them to the appropriate height, making sure to protect your shoulders like Billy taught you. You inhale and raise them up. Your arms are shaking, especially your non-dominant one which is really fighting this shoulder press, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to lift them fully until you do. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Billy’s voice reaches your ears just as you’re lowering your arms, completely out of breath. You set the dumbbells on the floor. 

Billy is thrilled for you. He can see the progress you’re making, how much stronger you are and less hesitant to try new exercises.

When you look up at him the expression on your face tells him you are not thrilled. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

You stand and walk over to the mirror that covers one whole wall. You put your hands on your hips and bite the inside of your cheek. “Billy, will you look at me, honestly?” You gesture to your body. “This is the matter. I don’t look any different than the first day I showed up here, do I? Even if I’ve been busting my ass, I’ll just never—”

You stop, rubbing your hands down your face and over your bloodshot eyes. 

“You’ll never what?” Billy locks eyes with you in the mirror. 

You set a hand on your chest, nails digging into your skin. “My body will never be good enough for me. I’ll always look at every other person that walks by, jealous that they have the figure I want and I’ll never have. Why did I have to get stuck with this shit? Why couldn’t I be given a body that I’d be happy with. Life if fucking hard enough, why couldn’t I have this one thing?”

“And you’re just so effortlessly gorgeous, you know that? I wish it was that easy for me, too. It’s just like, why am I even doing this anymore when I know I’ll never look the way other women do? I’m bullshitting myself, aren’t I, Billy? Working out like it’s gonna do anything.”

You exhale and drag your arm across your nose, avoiding Billy’s gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Billy’s tone is firm. “Listen for a second, will you?”

“You are getting stronger. You’re using heavier weights all around. Shit, you’re up to fifty for your deadlifts. Hold your arm up for me—yeah, and squeeze, yep. Look at that.” 

He taps his index and middle finger on your bicep, on the bit of muscle you’ve grown and shape you’ve built. “You are absolutely not bullshitting yourself, you hear me? If anything, you’re bullshitting yourself by thinking you can’t be happy in this body. You don’t have to look like other women. Who the fuck put that idea in your head? I don’t know if you see how I look at you, but I think you’re gorgeous, and I love to see you becoming more comfortable in the movements you do, in your own strength. Your body does so fuckin’ much for you.”

Billy is still keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and you swear you sweat more because you know he’s right and you know you are getting stronger but fuck you just can’t believe that. You look at him and you just wish you were that lithe, that comfortable in your own skin. 

“I’m doing this with you—hey, take a deep breath, alright?” He clocks the way you’re shaking out your hands, trying to keep yourself from breaking. Crying. Screaming out of frustration. “I’m doing this with you because I used to be just like this, you hear me?” 

He hates being vulnerable, fucking despises it, but he knows that giving you this information, giving you this little pathway into his life just might save you right now. 

“I worked out all through junior high and high school because I fuckin’ hated myself, and I thought if I could get bigger, if I could make myself look intimidating, then maybe other people wouldn’t treat me like shit. That part worked in some places, but I didn’t like myself any more because I hadn’t sorted through any of my mental shit.”

He says your name. Slowly. You like the way it sounds when he says it, hating the way it sounds when it leaves your own lips. 

“I know we aren’t all that close yet, but I see so much fuckin’ potential in you. I’m not gonna let you suffer with all this shit alone. I know you hate your body, but this is the one you were given, and there’s no point spending so much time destroying yourself over that simple fact.”

You turn around to face him, your hands on the sides of your neck, rubbing as if that will stop the emotion from rising in your throat. It doesn’t work. Billy’s eyes move back and forth between yours, across your face, tracking every change in your expression. He recognizes what you’re doing, trying to suppress all of this. 

“C’mere.”

You go before your mind can fight back. Billy takes you in his arms, tucking your face into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You breathe unsteadily into his skin. You don’t care that he smells like sweat and you smell like sweat and that you’re shaking and tears are slipping from your eyes. His arms are strong, and the feeling of his biceps squeezing you closer, his hands running up and down your back, it makes it all feel like it’s okay. 

“It’s just so fucking hard, Billy,” you mumble, lifting your head up slightly. “It’s not fair. I just want to be pretty and normal and have a body I can accept like everyone else.”

Billy gently touches his index finger just below your chin, coaxing your gaze up to meet his. “I know it is. And I mean it when I say that you are pretty. Honestly, you gotta think about how many ‘pretty’ people there are out there, people who have the bodies the tabloids tell them to have—and are absolute dicks. Hell, that’s how I was in high school.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, signaling that he did get a little joy in you having admitted that, even if it’s not a full on smile. His thumb swipes down your cheek, mopping up the little track left by a tear. 

“Point is, this, what I’m holding right now, is your body. No one else would know it like you do, know how to take care of it, know where each mark has come from or each thing you’ve put it through. Each thing it’s gotten you through. You can accept it, because I’m going to help you get to a point where you can look in the mirror and not shit-talk yourself.”

You pull back a little, pressing the palms of your hands to your face, your elbows slightly poking the top of Billy’s rib cage. “I’m just so scared.”

“I got you, you hear me?” He pulls your shirt away from your collarbones just so it’s not sticking to your skin so much. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

You nod. And you keep doing that until it feels a little more believable. 

————

Billy can’t stop looking at you. 

And he really needs to focus before he runs off the sidewalk and into the road. 

But for the first time in the few months he’s known you, you look free. You look happy. You look all of these things and you’re running. There’s a baseball cap perched backwards on your head, one of his from forever ago that he lent (gave) you when you mentioned you didn’t have any. 

He can smell the sunscreen you’ve slathered all over yourself, see the sweat dripping down your spine. This is the first time you’ve felt brave enough to go out in just a sports bra and a cropped sweatshirt, bright colored biker shorts covering the tops of your thighs. Your frilly socks make it too, just because it shows how much more comfortable you’ve gotten with doing this. 

It turns out you never hated running. You just needed to do it in a different atmosphere, with different thoughts running through your head. And having a good running partner helps, too. 

“There’s a bench up here if you want to rest a second before we finish,” Billy says through a rather aggressive exhale. You’re glad the sun is setting, because that makes it so much cooler than when you try to run in the morning with the sun beating down on you and seeping into your veins.

You sit down, taking a long drink from your water. Billy crouches on the sidewalk, shaking out his hair and retying the mess of a bun he was wearing. 

“You’re doing so good today,” he tells you, winking at you from his place just a few inches to your left. 

You grin into your water bottle. “How long was that?” you ask. 

He rises and sits down next to you, his arm slung behind your back on the bench. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear, rubs over the little hoop you’re wearing. You watch as he does a little math in his head, checking out where exactly you are. “Little over two miles, bee.” 

Bee. Your heart skips every time he says that. It’s a very new thing, but it sort of slipped out one day, and you’ve loved it ever since. 

“What movie you wanna see this weekend, honeybee? My treat.”

When you’d asked why he chose that name for you, he’d teased at first, telling you it was just because you’re so damn sweet. But really it was a little more sappy than that. 

“Well, you are sweet. And bubbly when you want to be. But think about how much shit those little fuckers get done. How persistent and focused. They’re all cute and fuzzy n’ whatever, but they’re like, badass lil’ things, y’know?” 

Your knee bounces excitedly on the pavement. “Really?” That’s the farthest you’ve run so far. And you didn’t even hate it. You had…fun.

Billy laughs, throwing his head back a little and bearing his neck to you. It shines with sweat and it almost looks like he’s glowing. “Fuck yeah. You’ve been kicking my ass this week. I hate running.”

“But you do it with me,” you say.

“But I do it with you.”

You reach over your shoulder and squeeze his hand. “I like running better when it’s with you. Just for the record.” He squeezes back, lifting your hand up gently to press his lips to it. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

A crease forms between your brows as you meet his gaze. “What for?”

“For not giving up.” You start to argue with him, but he continues before you can belittle yourself even the slightest bit. “You’ve kept at this, at trying to get yourself stronger and to try and feel more comfortable in what your body can do. I know you probably still wish you looked like some fuckin’ model or some shit, but I can see how much you’ve eased up, you know?” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I do still wish that sometimes. It would be easier. But I’m getting better, I think. I hate to tell you you’re right—,” he shoots you that cocky, prideful grin, “but my body does do a lot for me. I’m starting to accept that it can do a lot for me…” 

You trail off, tapping the toes of your sneakers on the concrete below you. “And I did squat with the bar and those little plates yesterday without a spot.” 

The spot in question was watching you carefully from a few feet away, ready to sprint if you needed help. 

“Yes, you did, bee. You’re kicking ass.” That dimple forms in his cheek, and you know he’s about to say something smart. “Speaking of ass—”

You stand abruptly, turning around quickly so that the area he’s speaking of isn’t directly in his face. You’ve learned he has a staring problem, specifically with that part of you. Not that you mind. Maybe that’s where your pride comes in.

————

The sun has slipped beneath the horizon by the time Billy slips his key into the gate, pulling it securely shut behind him. The first spattering of stars are trying to show in the purple-blue sky. 

The pool is calm, empty, and lit only by the pale bulbs built into it and the two light poles on either side of the patio. 

It was Billy’s idea to sneak in for a late night swim. He thought it would be fun, and he knows you hate swimming in an overcrowded pool. But truthfully, he just wanted to give you another space where you could feel completely without judgment and just exist. 

“What’s the plan here, Billy? I didn’t even think about taking a detour to get a swimsuit.” 

It’s true, you’ve felt so carefree around him that you weren’t overthinking, overanalyzing a scenario like this. You weren’t worried about running inside and finding the most full coverage bathing suit you have because you’re afraid of Billy seeing your body. But right now…you just feel calm. Your body isn’t perfect, but it’s okay if he at least sees your legs. 

Billy is already slipping off his shoes and taking off his shirt. “That’s because the point of this is being spontaneous, bee.” He walks to the far end of the pool and dives in, just in his little running shorts, before you can even blink. 

You’re nervous, just that little bit because this is so different from something you’d usually do, and now you’re just stripping? You’re just living and having a good time? Who the fuck are you?

You step out of your own shorts and pull off your socks. You’re left in your underwear and your little cropped sweatshirt. You register, as you walk down the stairs, that your underwear are blue, and you look just like Lisa from Weird Science. It makes you smile. 

You track Billy’s movements once you're up to your waist and realize he’s heading for you. He squeezes your ankle beneath the water before coming to the surface, a wide grin on his face. His necklace is stuck around his back and on instinct you reach out to straighten it. 

His eyes drag up and down your figure. “Hi, gorgeous.” The low drawl of his voice makes the tips of your ears burn. 

You wade a little deeper into the water, circling behind him. When you’re drenched up to your chest, you splash him. Billy cackles. It is possibly the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard. 

He dives for your waist, hooking an arm around you and swimming off, making you howl with laughter before you have to hold your own breath when he pulls you out deeper than you are tall.

He hoists you up out of the water and gently tosses you to the side, letting you fall into the water on your back. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is magical. 

You keep playing with him, playing, like you’re both kids who’ve never been in a pool before, until you’ve run through most of your energy. You try and teach him a game you played as a child, where one person spreads their legs and your goal is to swim between them without touching their skin, even as they move their legs closer together each time. 

It’s silly, because you inevitably know you’ll touch your opponents legs, but it’s fun. You don’t think about anything else when you do it. He teases you though, trapping you with his calves most times so you automatically lose. 

Now though, you and Billy stand nose to nose, at a depth where you’re not up to your chin so that you can actually speak to him. “This was a really good idea,” you tell him. You push some of his wet hair out of his face and then, rather than pulling away, you set your hands on his shoulders. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. “This okay?” he asks, lowering one arm so he can show you he wants to lift you up. You give him a sweet yes. 

Billy’s hand grips your thigh, coaxing you upward so you can get your legs around his back. You adjust your arms behind his head, him respectfully keeping his hands on the backs of your thighs. He steps back just that little bit more so he can submerge himself further in the water now that you’re held up. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile for this long before,” Billy says. His blue eyes flick back and forth between your own. 

“You’ve given me a lot more reasons to.” Your hand cups his cheek and he swears he could fucking collapse. You’re so gentle with him and Billy never knew he even wanted that. But now he craves it. Craves you. 

That cocky smirk you’ve started to recognize before it even begins makes an appearance. “Yeah? Can I give you one more reason to?”

You hum in agreement, and then Billy is pressing his lips to yours. They’re damp and he tastes a little like chlorine, but…he was right. You smile brilliantly into the kiss, and you’re not sure you stop the rest of the night either. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[sundrop-writes]

Better Than Sleeping

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You and Jason are friends with benefits. Though you have come to realize that the relationship doesn’t always ‘benefit’ you when he ends up annoying you after a long, tiring day of training.

(He quickly makes you come to see that his annoying persistence can benefit you, even if you would never admit it aloud.)

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during Season 2.

Word Count: 5,300

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Warning: This fic contains Dubious Consent. One character ‘wears down’ the other and ‘convinces them’ to have sex, and both of them display verbal consent that goes against their true actions and desires (they say no to having sex when they do truly want to) and they think of convincing the other person to agree as a kind of ‘game’. It is a relationship that is playful in nature, and this consent is based on bodily queues, facial expressions, and knowing a person’s safety and comfort based on being in a relationship with them for a period of time. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read the fic.

List of detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: friends with benefits, this is primarily a smut fic, the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive (once the sex begins), the reader could be considered a brat, Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (it is a canon event), Jason calls the reader ‘baby’, Jason calls the reader ‘good girl’, dubious consent - coercion (please see the above for an explanation about this), mentions of masturbation (watching someone masturbate), mentions of fucking someone to sleep/fucking someone while they are asleep, mentions of free use kink, mentions of cumming inside someone/unprotected sex, marking/biting, groping/touching through underwear (reader receiving), orgasm denial (toward the reader), ‘just the tip’,teasing, there is a point where Jason’s dick is inside her without a condom but he doesn’t cum, and he puts on a condom before fully penetrating (what would you call that?), begging, slight mentions of subspace (but it’s more so described as a lustful drunkness), there is implications toward the end of fucking someone to sleep/fucking someone while they are asleep with their permission. I believe that is everything.

A/N: This is definitely one of my favourite things I have written. I thought maybe I was going to edit it some before re-posting it, but I was rereading it the other day and I actually realized that it's really good the way it is, so here you go - some random cocky Jason smut, inspired by the 'just the tip' trope. I hope you enjoy!

...

You knew that becoming a Titan was never going to be easy. 

But fuck, this was a lot harder than you imagined it would be. Dick Grayson was quickly becoming your least favorite person. Between the 5am wake up calls and the endless workout routines, paired with the bland ‘nutrient filled’ meal plans he had everyone on to ‘fuel your bodies’ for training - he was becoming a menial drill sergeant that you couldn’t get away from. One of the only things that made it better was the fact that you had friends around - the ability to joke about him with Rachel, Gar, and Jason behind his back. Was it a bit mean-spirited? Yes. Did you feel less guilty about it whenever he added more onto the training routine? Also yes. 

You had no clue when these skills you were working so hard on were ever going to come into play. Every single night, Dick retired himself into the comms room full of computers to ‘monitor the city for threats’ - but he seemingly never found anything worthy of the team’s attention. At least not yet. So you went about the routine of training hard, becoming exhausted, falling into bed to sleep and then doing it all over again. 

Oh - and there was the other thing. The not so occasional part of your routine where Jason fucked your brains out. The fact that the two of you had developed a mutually beneficial relationship to help ‘relieve’ each other when you were horny, a quintessential friends with benefits situation. But with your muscles sore from training and your entire body so exhausted, that was the farthest thing from your mind on this night. 

After a long, hard day of training, the last thing you wanted to hear was a knock on your bedroom door. You hoped that it was simply Gar asking to borrow some of your body wash again (because he liked the smell), or Rachel asking you to kill a spider in her room, and not Dick alerting you to some surprise training drill that he had suddenly thought up. 

You shoved your pajama top over your head, finishing getting changed for the night, and rushed across the room to the door. When you opened it, you barely had time to gauge if you were pleased or displeased at seeing Jason before he spoke. 

“I’m horny.” He announced abruptly, being very abrupt about delivering his feelings. 

But it was in character for him, and didn’t surprise you in the least. 

You hated that your stomach jolted at his words, even if just out of Pavlovian habit. It had been only two days since the last time he had fucked you. He had caught you in the shower in the morning, snuck into the bathroom with a condom between his teeth and opened the shower door to join you while you were distracted meditatively washing your hair. It had been steamy, soapy, slippery, and goddamn wonderful. 

But it had left you sore and stiff before training, and you were wondering how much give and take there was - if you truly needed his cock. 

“Hello to you too.” You said, your tone just as dead tired as you felt. 

You wouldn’t admit that you were a bit horny too. You were tired, and you wanted to go to sleep. So that made you annoyed with his presence. (It should have made you more annoyed than you were.) 

Jason bit his lip, raking his eyes up and down your body with an intense heat lurking there. You glared back at him. 

Jason was intensely attractive. He was a good looking guy, that was just a fact. And while you did enjoy the way he was looking at you, staring you down like you were a porn star when you were slumped with exhaustion, wearing baggy old pjs with mascara smeared on your face with sweat, your hair a mess from the day - there was barely a spark stirred in your stomach at the idea of fucking him right now. You were just too damn tired. Dick had been running you all into the ground, instituting the same training that Batman had given him, and it was fucking exhausting. 

“So - can I come in?” Jason asked. 

He gave you a very expectant curl of his lips and tilted his head toward you when you didn’t say anything for a few seconds. You just stood there and stared at him bitterly. 

You sighed hard through your nose, not wanting to answer the question. 

Fucking him might be nice. A good orgasm before bed. But you needed to put what little energy you had left into your nightly routine and then get a good, long sleep before Dick woke everyone up at ass o’clock again. 

“No.” You finally told him. “I’m going to bed.” 

You turned and walked back into your room, but left the door open. You hoped that he would get the hint to leave on his own. You grabbed your bottle of makeup remover and a cotton pad and began taking off your makeup. 

You weren’t so lucky. 

“I’ll go to bed with you, babe.” He announced proudly. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

He then came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You felt the half hardness of his cock pressing into your ass as you wiped away your makeup with stern hands. You tried your hardest not to let him wear you down, even as you felt a tingle between your thighs. He was used to training this hard, so it wasn’t as exhausting for him. Clearly, he didn’t understand how tired you were - how badly you needed the rest. 

“Go get in your own bed.” You barked, your tone becoming more strained. 

As you leaned closer to the mirror to inspect your face, to make sure that you had gotten all the tiny specs of makeup off, you unintentionally arched your back, pushing your ass much closer to his crotch. Jason let out a quiet moan and you caught him smirking at you in the reflection of the mirror. 

He leaned in close, draping his warm body entirely over your back, trapping you there as he put one hand on the dresser and the other on the wall and leaned his body weight on you. You could have shoved him off you if you wanted to - but as you felt a tingling heat creeping up your back, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to. 

“Come on, babe.” He sighed into your neck. 

His hot breath on such a sensitive place caused a shiver through you that you would deny. 

“Why are you being like this? You know if you want a good sleep, getting fucked nice and hard is the best way to get it.” He told you, so entirely cocky. “My cock will put you right to bed, baby.” 

The words sent a hard jolt of electricity through you, settling a hard heat through you from your gut all the way to your face, burning uncomfortably through your skin. Combined with the way he ground his increasing hardness against your ass, you were forced to suppress a whimper. 

It made you even more annoyed with him - the fact he could play your body like an instrument he had finely tuned. And you reacted with that intense annoyance. 

“Why can’t you just masturbate like a normal person?” You scoffed at him, entirely firm, not giving away an ounce of weakness in your voice. 

“As if.” He held intense disgust in his voice at the very idea. 

He gave another firm dig of his hips, causing you to be pressed into the sharp edge of the dresser - a small twinge of pain that only added to the heat growing in your stomach. 

“Why the fuck would I resort to touching myself when I have the sweetest pussy ever to fuck right down the hall?” Jason explained. “But ya know, if you want to watch me jack off, that can be arranged.” 

Instead of responding to that, you just rolled your eyes. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice that subtle shift of lust in your features that said this was definitely a new fantasy of yours because he had brought it up. 

“You can’t deny that you need it too.” Jason whispered into your ear. 

“I need sleep.” You grunted in return. 

You then shucked out of his hold, using one of the evasive maneuvers that Dick had taught you in training, ducking under Jason’s arm when he wasn’t expecting it. Before he could blink, you were across the hall and in the bathroom. It was mostly because you knew that if you stood there any longer with his warm body pressed against your back, you would have given in far too easily. 

Naturally, Jason followed you. 

He stuck by your side through your entire night time routine, trying to wear you down. You weighed the pros and cons in your head without truly listening to him as the exhaustion seeped into your bones and battled with the lust growing inside of you. 

Jason brushed his teeth standing next to you in front of the sink while you brushed yours, all the while mumbling excuses through his toothpaste about how the sex would be good aerobic exercise to help with your training. By the time you got to doing your skincare, you ended up putting a face wash and moisturizer on him just to mentally drown out whatever he was saying - something about orgasms and endorphins and how it helps mental health. 

As you pulled back the covers to finally settle in, he snuck his way into your bed under the guise of ‘just cuddling’. Though you weren’t anywhere near convinced of that sentiment, you didn’t kick him out of the room or protect. You were surprised, but grateful when he took off his shirt, laid down, and seemed to finally shut up. You weren’t sure which you were more grateful for - the quiet or the stunning eye candy of his tight body on full display. But you didn’t question the fact that he had finally stopped nagging you. 

You crawled into bed beside him and settled into his arms. You gave him a kiss on the cheek as a goodnight (knowing that if you kissed him on the mouth, it would turn into something more heated). It was only about two minutes after you shut off your bedside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, that the talking began again. 

“You could sleep through it.” He noted quietly. 

You sighed with deep annoyance. 

“If you want to. I could be gentle about it.” 

His voice continued on from behind you as he spooned you, one arm under your head underneath the pillow and the other laid almost possessively around your waist. 

Of course, he didn’t even have to be too descriptive for you to know what ‘it’ was. 

The idea of him gently fucking you while you fell into a lazy sleep was entirely too appealing. But he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to win. Especially not after you had put so much of your very little remaining energy into deterring him all night. 

“Go to sleep.” You told him with a huff, shoving your head further into the pillow. 

He simply chuckled. 

You hoped that if you just ignored him, he would shut up and go to sleep. 

You would never admit to him that heat bloomed in your stomach at the idea of Jason crawling into your bed when you were already in a deep sleep, using you for his own selfish pleasure and leaving you sore and full of cum to wake up to in the morning. 

“Hmm… no.” He replied, as easily as a petulant child, his breath fanning out over your neck once again. 

Your heated thoughts easily blossomed into a moan from your lips when he latched onto your neck without warning. He picked a particularly tender spot, sucking hard with teeth and the fullness of his lips, easily knocking the wind out of you. You shoved your heated face tightly into your pillow, praying that he wouldn’t notice your reaction. That he wouldn’t realize he so blatantly had you like putty in his hands. If he knew that, he would know that he could just take whatever he wanted and you wouldn’t protest. Not in the slightest. 

Jason already knew that. But he wasn’t just going to pull down your shorts and slam his cock into you. As much fun as that would be - he wasn’t barbaric. Plus - now that he had one of your sweet little sounds in his ears, he wanted more. He wanted to hear you beg for it after denying him for so long. 

He moved his arm from being so tightly around your waist, and pushed your shirt up. You tried your best to put up a wall of indifference toward this. He began skimming his touch oh so lightly along the roundness of your stomach, right above the band of your shorts. You knew he felt the shiver that ran through you, but you refused to say anything. You weren’t pretending to be asleep at this point, but it was a game to the two of you. You still refused to give in. 

But he was playing to win. 

He shoved his hand into the waistband of your shorts, touching you outside the fabric of your underwear. His skin felt like he could have burned you, even through the fabric. You had to make a conscious effort not to buck forward into the touch. When his fingers skimmed across your hotly beating clit (when had you gotten so turned on?) you swallowed another whimper and steadied your voice. 

“Jason.” You said his name firmly, like a warning bell. “If you don’t behave yourself, I’m gonna kick you out.” 

“I don’t think you will.” He whispered into your neck, defiantly cocky once again. 

He sucked another hard, hot mark onto your skin as he cupped your pussy whole in his palm and began grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. 

You let out a wobbling moan and your body thrashed, your energy so depleted that you could no longer hold back your body’s natural reactions to him. You were met with the hard wall of his body behind you, so firm and perfectly hot as he pressed himself tighter into you. 

He gave a satisfied grin into your skin and only doubled down, putting more pressure on your throbbing clit and causing hot waves from that point, adding to the rolling boil that raged under your skin. 

With the beautifully firm pressure and Jason’s talent, the way he knew your body so well, you could have come from this alone. Especially as the pleasure throbbed through your core, your underwear became more soaked through and it was all so beautifully smooth and wet. 

Jason began grinding his cock - still trapped inside a pair of sweats - against the back of your thigh. He groaned into your neck when he felt a pleasurable tingling of his own spreading through his gut, though he craved to be inside of you. As much as he was enjoying this - the sweet, needy sounds falling from your lips, the way your thighs clamped around his wrist, as though desperately trying to keep him in place while your hips humped against his hand like a bitch in heat - he knew that he needed more. 

And he was going to make you beg for it. 

When he felt the signature twitch of your legs that said you were about to cum, he stopped. He held his hand completely still, his strong arm easily pinning your hips down to the bed to prevent you from humping against him and simply taking what you needed. In that moment, he even curled two of his fingers up to shove the fabric of your underwear inside of you slightly, creating a sharp sting that reminded you just how empty you were feeling. 

“Jay-!” You let out his name in a petulant whine, about to scold him for the ruined orgasm, but he cut you off. 

“You gonna ask me nicely now?” He rumbled into your ear. “Admit you were wrong?” 

You wanted to bark out ‘either make me cum, or go to your own damn bed’ - but you knew that Jason was just as petty as you were. At that point, he would have gotten up and left for his own bed just to prove a point. 

“You’re keeping me awake right now.” You huffed out, trying your best to sound annoyed. (Which wasn’t too difficult, considering how badly the ruined orgasm had frustrated you.) “My point still stands.” 

Of course, sleeping was the farthest thing from your mind now. The sexual frustration had injected a new wave of energy through you, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to rest until you were truly satisfied. 

Unfortunately, Jason knew that too. 

“Okay.” Jason sighed quietly, giving a click of his tongue. 

He then completely pulled his hand out of your shorts and pulled away from your body. It seemed like he was moving to get out of the bed - you worried you had accidentally triggered that signature pettiness in him. 

But as usual, Jason Todd surprised you. 

You bit your lip to hold back a cheer when he reached for the waistband of your shorts and underwear pulled them down all at once, exposing your hot, soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. (At some point, the blanket had been accidentally shoved off you.) You took a glance over your shoulder and of course, he was shoving his pants down to his knees. You caught a glimpse of his long, thick, hard cock bobbing out of the fabric in the darkness. But you didn’t dare to spend too much time admiring it, for fear of making him too cocky. 

You relaxed against your pillow in satisfaction, waiting for Jason to grab a condom out of the bedside table’s drawer so that he could literally fuck you to sleep. 

You were surprised when he scooted back toward you, pressing himself right up against your back once more. He proceeded to simply press his hips against yours - his cock laid flat against the bare folds of your leaking pussy, immediately becoming slick with your wetness. But be made no moves to grab a condom or even tease you by pushing inside of you raw. 

(Which - yes, the two of you had agreed to always use condoms, but it was secretly a fantasy of yours that he would go against the rule because of his overbearing need to feel you raw - or even the need to cum inside of you). 

But instead of doing any of that, Jason seemed to be settling in to relax. 

Jason draped himself across your back, wrapped his arm around your waist again, and gently laid his head on your shoulder. But he made no effort to move, or fuck you. Your pussy throbbed with need, feeling the hot, hard length pressed against you, entirely unmoving. When you clenched around nothing, you let out a wave of slick that you knew he could feel right on his cock. You felt a groan catch inside his chest, but still, he didn’t move. 

“Jason.” You breathed out, having to question him after a few more moments of silence and stillness. “What are you doing?” 

“Going to sleep.” He answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought you wanted me to just shut up and leave you alone so that you could get some rest?” 

That. Little. Shit.

You resisted the urge to elbow him in the face. 

Obviously, being so close to you, he felt your entire body tense up with anger and annoyance. He was only able to partially hold back his satisfactory laughter. When the quiet snickers met your ears, you became even more annoyed. 

“Jason.” You scolded him gruffly. 

“Oh? I’m sorry,” He said, entirely sarcastic. “Did you want something?” 

“Did you want something?” You parroted back, mocking his words in a childish voice. 

Essentially, you had no more clever comebacks left. He had won. 

“I guess I can give you something for your troubles, babe.” Jason sighed, as though it were a grand inconvenience to him. “Maybe just the tip, though.” 

“Just the tip.” You sighed, finding yourself repeating his words once again. Though this time your voice was dead and sarcastic rather than mocking - mostly because you didn’t believe him. 

You knew that in Jason land, ‘just the tip’ meant slamming his entire cock into you after the tip lingered in your entrance for a moment. You clenched down on nothing again at the thought. 

Once again, you were expecting him to grab a condom so he could fuck you freely without worry. You were surprised when he peeled his body away from you slightly and reached down to grab his cock. After a moment of rubbing the fat cockhead along your folds to get it nice and wet, he did as promised and pushed the tip inside. 

It was the first time he had ever been inside of you without the barrier of a condom, and feeling his hot, raw skin touching yours - even just a little bit, made you gasp. 

“Jason!” 

Your voice was whiny even to your own ears, so needy for him after so much teasing. Upon instinct, feeling that painfully empty ache coming from deep inside you, you arched your back and attempted to shove your hips toward him - attempted to pull more of his thickness inside of you. But Jason was quicker, and he had his hands on both your hips, shoving you down onto the bed so hard and fast that the tip of his cock fell out of you with a wet pop. 

It was a sound that made heat beat through your cheeks, and the feeling of his wet cockhead brushing against the backs of your thighs took your breath away. 

“Oops.” He chuckled, and moved to slot himself back into position.

You had no clue why it was so dizzyingly hot. 

But this time he held you down firmly so you couldn’t simply fuck yourself back onto his cock. You moaned as the thickness of the cockhead popped back inside of you - you yearned for more, but he stayed still. 

After a moment, he began to move his hips so slightly, feeding no more than an inch of his cock into your throbbing cunt before pulling it back out. It was an entirely careful movement on his part where he fed you the first inch, and didn’t let the tip pop out again, in pathetically shallow thrusts that could barely be called sex. Your pussy ached, tingled, yearned for more. 

You mentally cursed Batman for teaching him such good self discipline and him using it for this.

“Jason.” You whined, trying fruitlessly to fight against the firm grip he had on your hips in order to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“What, babe?” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss a line across your shoulder. 

“You know what.” You replied, your tone even more frustrated and whiny. 

You wiggled your hips desperately, trying to get more of him inside of you. You yearned to feel the perfect ache of his thick cock splitting you open, hitting all of those perfect spots so deep inside of you. 

“No, I don’t.” He told you, his voice somehow steady and confident. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” 

You couldn’t see it or feel it, but his hips were trembling and his abs were tight with the pure resistance of his self control. All of the energy he was using not to slam his cock into the tight, warm velvet of your cunt, especially as he felt it leak so freely around the tip of his cock, knowing how badly you needed him. He wanted nothing more than to watch you whine and babble and fall apart on his cock - but he wanted to win just a little bit more. 

There was a distinct pause. The last shreds of your own stubbornness hanging in the air, even as your cunt throbbed with need. 

Even if Jason couldn’t see your face from this angle, he could feel the warring in your body. He knew you too well. And he knew how to break you down so perfectly. 

“If you want anything more than this,” He told you, emphasizing the point with another pathetically shallow thrust. “If you want anything more than just the tip of my cock,” His voice was low and silken and creating even more heat that almost drowned you. “Then you’re gonna have to beg for it.” 

“Fuck you, Jay.” You whined out in protest, once again trying to fight his grip on your hips to fuck yourself against him. 

He viciously dug his fingers into the fat of your hips, causing a sharp sound from your throat at the beautiful pain. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of your neck, and growled out his next words in a low tone that dragged through your insides in the exact spot where his cock should have been. 

“Come on.” He urged you on. “Fucking. Beg.” 

That was when you broke. 

At least you hadn’t given in too easily. 

“Please,” You whined out breathlessly. “Please, fuck me! Fuck me, Jason! I need it.” 

“What else?” Jason asked expectantly. 

You could have killed him. But when your desperate cunt unconsciously clenched down on the fat head of his cock and you felt yourself growing only more hot and needy, you knew that there was only one thing to do. 

“I’m sorry, Jay, I should have - I should have just asked nicely in the first place. I do need it. I need your big cock inside of me so badly.” You poured it on thick, emphasizing the last words in the most pornographic voice you could muster, hoping that he was running low on self control as well. 

And he was. So he was very satisfied with this. He grinned into your skin, leaving a surprisingly tender kiss on the back of your neck before he mumbled out ‘good girl’ - something that made you moan out sharply. 

You let out a sharp noise of disappointment when his cock popped out of you again. 

“I need a condom.” He told you, giving you a reassuring pat on the ass. “As much as I’d love to cum inside you, we do have an agreement.” 

You weren’t sure which was hotter - his sex-thick voice admitting that he shared one of your deepest fantasies, or the fact that he was caring so deeply for you, making sure that he protected you with a condom even when you were in that floating headspace and willing to let him do just about anything do your body. 

Your mind was swimming contemplating it, and next thing you knew it, he had the condom on successfully. He then slammed his cock inside of you in one firm, smooth movement. Any thoughts were easily pounded out of your head by the practiced movement of his hips.

“Better now?” Jason grunted into your ear. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating through his cock, spearing into you. 

But you were now alight with intense pleasure, warm satisfaction rolling through you - so you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care about how smug he was. Every bit of cockiness he had, he did back it up with a pretty big dick that he knew how to use well. Not that you would ever say those words aloud to him. Not even on your deathbed. 

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You ordered, though it was breathless and had no bite. 

“As you wish, babe.” He replied, and then doubled down - his hips fucking into you with an intense fury. 

You moaned like a whore at this, finally feeling that dizzying fullness that you had been craving since he had snuck his touch into your shorts. Jason drank up your sounds and easily wanted more - more of your perfect pussy squeezing around his cock, more of that wetness coating his inner thighs, more of that filthy wet smacking as he fucked into you. 

He leaned down, draping his body fully over yours once again, creating a pleasantly smothering weight on top of you as you laid on your stomach on the bed with your face nearly drowned in the pillow. He slowed the pace of his hips to a dangerous torture of a grind, fucking you so deeply now that you were sure you could feel him coming up inside of your throat. You let out a wounded noise, and he hushed you gently. 

“Shh, babe, I’ve got you.” He whispered into your ear. “Gonna make you feel so good.” 

He moved one of his hands from your hip and shoved it between your body and the bed, and once again he was cupping your mound fully in his hand - but this time there was no fabric barrier, and he was settled deep inside of you. It was filling your whole body with lava, turning every place he touched you to boiling ash. You were sure that you would have dissolved into nothingness if not for the anchor of your cunt hanging onto his cock, keeping you grounded in reality with that slight nip of pain as your muscles clenched onto him. 

“Now say thank you.” He told you, his voice so gruff in your ear, so thick with desire that it made you dizzy. “Thank me for giving you my cock.” 

He used two precise fingers to rub circles on your neglected clit, immediately sending shockwaves through your body that made your muscles jump and jolt. 

You gulped for air and struggled to move your face out of the fabric of the pillow, and Jason saw this. He moved his other hand and slid it under your cheek, gripping under your jaw to fully lift you up. 

He stilled his hips completely once again, causing a pained sound to emanate from your lungs as you clamped down on his cock deep inside of you while he continued to relentlessly work over your tender clit. He gave you a couple of seconds to catch your breath. But you were so cock dumb that you had to be reminded of the goal. 

“Come on, baby.” He encouraged you, pressing his lips to your cheek that he wasn’t holding onto. “Say ‘thank you’.” 

“Thank you.” You easily repeated back, now completely pliant to his desires. “Thank you for-for your cock.” 

“Good girl.” Jason praised you once again. 

Then he began fucking into you once more - it only took a few careful thrusts of his hips and the talent of his fingers on your clit to finally bring your orgasm to life. He shoved his tongue into your mouth as you screamed through it, imitating some sloppy version of a kiss while you flailed and creamed on his cock, your body becoming truly boneless and tired as the orgasm rocked you. 

When it was finished, he was still throbbing hard inside of you, and you let out a whine of disappointment. You were absolutely dead tired now, and you couldn’t even think of how much energy it would take to finish him off. Mister ‘Twice In A Sunday’ could last quite a long time, and that didn’t exactly work for you in that moment. 

“You can go to sleep now, babe.” He whispered into your ear. “I’ll clean you up when I’m done.” 

He began thrusting into you once more, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift closed. 

It ended up being a good night for both of you.

...

If you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

Fic I just don’t have the energy to write but can’t stop thinking about and I thought you might enjoy the thoughts:

Debbie and Mickey go on a cooking course. Ian either volunteers to look after Franny or she’s at Lips and Ian doesn’t go to the course because it’s his workout at the gym time. Anyway, it’s just Debbie and Mickey on the course, learning how to cook and having sibling-in-law fun.

There are jokes about the potato masher. (Debbie’s planning on stealing it back, Mickey has no idea.) They are equal parts the most hilarious students but also, from the teacher’s perspective, the most exasperating.

It’s an outsider POV, a woman around Debbie’s age who signs up to the course to make friends or maybe meet another single lady. But oh no. She gets there and it’s all older couples. Apart from a younger couple, around her age, Debbie and Mickey. She’s not sure if they’re a couple or not. It’s so unclear but she’s crushing on Debbie hard.

Debbie is also crushing on OC lady. But there’s so many crossed wires and miscommunication and OC lady is convinced that Debbie and Mickey are together.

That’s ok, maybe they can be friends? There’s a lot of sexual tension and pining though. (Mickey is completely oblivious to this because he’s laser focused on cooking because he thinks that Ian thinks he can’t cook, which is not true, so he’s obsessed with making something good.)

This is a kinda slow burn story and it culminates in the last class where people are allowed to bring friends to sample the food they’ve cooked. Exciting! OC lady brings her friend, they gossip about her crush on Debbie. And are ~shocked~ when Mickey walks in with a redhead who is not Debbie. And Debbie comes in late alone.

Cue romantic interlude between OC lady and Debbie over….I wanna say some sort of dessert? Anyway, whatever the last dish they make is. It’s very cute. And Ian instantly realises what’s been going on and is like “Mickey, why didn’t you tell me about Debbie and her crush?!” And Mickey catches up quickly and is like “uh, yeah, right, they’ve got a whole flirty thing going on. Can we focus on the food I made now?!” ~insert clicks fingers pay attention to me gif~

Also everyone else is confused because they also thought Debbie and Mickey were a couple 😅

omg i love this😭

wait… i have to ask- “stealing it back”?? did mickey successfully steal it?? there would be no “jokes” coming from debbie gallagher about that, there would be war.

i don’t even know what to say but i love this concept and i love mickey and debbie being best friends because they definitely are.

[dgmovies]

Stray Kids: Recommendations Masterlist

✨Welcome to my world✨

Here are some fics I've collected of STRAY KIDS. I have a few more saved up, so I will be adding those in the future. Enjoy :) Idk if all the links work. Some works may have been deleted already. Also, some info might be missing. *Disclaimer: English is not my first language.*

Tags: �� = My personal favorite, F = Fluff, A = Angst, S = Smut

*Updated: 28-01-2023*

Bang Chan:

ONE SHOTS + SERIES -> Click here

Lee Minho (LEE KNOW)

ONE SHOTS + SERIES -> Click here

Seo Changbin

ONE SHOTS:

A Fish out of Water - @chanluster (F, A)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 18k

Summary: Being a waitress at your dad’s chicken shop wasn’t the most ideal job, but with dreams of attending the haneol sports university, you power through — even if it means dealing with customers such as seo changbin, elite swimmer and irritant extraordinaire. However, when that very boy catches you swimming in the university pool, you have to comply to his wishes in order to avoid consequences — arguing, spending time, and see what’s truly beneath that cheeky, muscled exterior.

Company (Ft. Lee Know) - @btssmutgalore (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 15.3k

Summary: You’re sick and tired of living the good girl life. In other words, you just want to get laid, and who better to help than your two best friends? (Non-idol!AU, F2L!AU)

Finding Comfort In Autumn - @therhythmafterthesummer (F, S, A)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 16k

Summary: Changbin was an alpha. He had always been an alpha, but he had a secret. A secret he had only ever shared with the alpha of his pack, a secret he had kept buried as deep within him as he could, a secret he had decided to ignore, until the presence of that annoying omega coworker of his wouldn’t let him ignore it anymore. (Werewolf!Changbin, Werewolf!Reader, Rivals2Lovers!AU, Roommates!Au)

Hypothesis - @fizzydrink698 (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 9.1k

Summary: …

Petty Works - @seo--changbin (S, A, F) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: You didn't know what has gotten into you the moment you ask your friend Changbin if he would hook up with you if ever you and your now ex-boyfriend didn’t workout. At first, Changbin thought that you were joking, knowing that you’ve only had two boyfriends in your life and don’t have that much experience when it comes to randomly hooking up with other people you don’t even know. But as soon as he realized that you were actually being serious, he was surprised to say the least, because the last time he checked, you weren’t into that kind of stuff. (FWB!AU)

Untitled #4 - @matryosika (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 6.4k

Summary: Bodyguard!Changbin

Your Moans Would Sound Nice (Ft. 3RACHA) -@loubouskz (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3k

Summary: One sentence leads to... something interesting

SERIES:

~ Nothing yet... ~

Hwang Hyunjin

ONE SHOTS:

Collegesluts.com - Idea 686 - @koorminii (©, S, F)

Status: Completed (part of a series)

Word Count: 17k

Summary: There are three things you hate more than anything: 1. Your english Lit. professor, 2. Frat parties, and last but most definitely not least, 3. CollegeSluts.com and their founders. There are three things Hyunjin hates more than anything: 1. College, 2. Back alley blowjobs, and 3. The frustrating desire to fuck you silly.(E2L!AU, College!Au)

Coloring With U – @honeyvocalhwang (F, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: Getting off on the wrong foot, you falsely accuse Hyunjin of being a stalker, vowing to report him; however, a bribe from your shared friend Seungmin has you face to face with your misunderstood stalker, who shows you what the true beauty of art is beyond brushes and canvases. (College!AU, E2L!AU, ArtMajor!Hyunjin, Pre-Med!Reader)

Fairy Lights - @drewexe (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7k

Summary: You didn't like hyunjin. you didn't really know hyunjin but he was popular and that annoyed you. in that light, maybe going to his party wasn't your brightest idea. (E2L!AU)

Hate you! Use you! - @seo--changbin (S, A) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Money was never easy to come by with, especially if you were never born with a silver spoon in your mouth. So, you did what you had to do in order to survive, but what happens when the person that you hate the most happens to find out about your dirty little secret? (College!AU, F2E2EwithBenefits!AU)

Just Stay With Me - @straywrds (F, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 17k

Summary: It's time for the yearly winter getaway organized by your boss. You haven't participated in a little while, but this year you're determined to spend some quality time with your coworkers. (Coworkers2Friends2Lovers!AU)

The Bet (Ft. Jisung) - @chvnnie (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: Hyunjin and Jisung make a bet. The prize? You.

Play With Fire - @starlostseungmin (A, F, S)

Status: Completed (+ prologue)

Word Count: 12.6k

Summary: Royal!Au, Werewolf!AU, Witchcraft!AU, Prince!Hyunjin, Princess!Reader

SERIES:

Burning Pleasure – @bangchanbabygurl (S, A)

Status: 20/? Chapters (Ongoing)

Word Count: ?

Summary: Romance was just a figment of my imagination once college has begun, I made sure to focus on my career path before friendship and romance. Neither less to say I’ve been told to live a little before it’s too late, let’s just say I prefer to be on my best behavior and not get into deep shit with the law. I’ve always been known as the shy girl no one pays mind to and I’ve prefer to keep things that way, but what I never imagined was being in the arms of a man whose eyes hold the deepest secrets. (CEO!AU, Maffia!AU, College!AU)

Fool Me Twice (Ft. Felix) – @taeyongdoyoung (A, S)

Status: 2/2 Chapters (Completed)

Word Count: 12.6k (2 Chapters)

Summary: When your little brother is taken by the mischievous faeries, you have no choice but to follow him. In an attempt to save him, you somehow get yourself into a bigger mess that involves magic, a seemingly friendly demon you strike an unexpected deal with and the dangerous, yet alluring king of the faeries. (Demon!Hyunjin x Witch!Reader x Faerie!Felix)

Take Care – @multifandomfantasies (A, S)

Status: 4/4 Chapters + 2 bonuses (Completed)

Word Count: 14.1k (4 Chapters)

Summary: Dark fic, please heed the warnings (Kidnapping, noncon)

Han Jisung (HAN)

ONE SHOTS:

Acquainted - @ch4nb4ng (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Jisung was the repulsive, totally arrogant drag racer from your area. You were the mechanic aways willing to fix his bike, but that wasn’t the only interactions the two of you had shared (FWB!AU, E2L!AU).

Aphrodisiacs with Jisung - @matryosika (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: BestFriend!Jisung and you try aphrodisiacs because they certainly won't work... Right?

And Your Best Friend Too - @matryosika (©, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: [23:08, y/n]

*attachment: 1 video*

" don’t i look pretty like this, ji? "

jisung’s jaw tensed as soon as his digit pressed on the video you had sent him.

Chill- @j-0ne25 (F, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Between university stress and additional shifts at your job, there’s one more factor that’s getting on your nerves the most – Han Jisung, your obnoxiously loud, absolutely lazy and annoyingly attractive roommate. (Roommates!Au)

Public Display Of Affection - @bugeater101 (S, A, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 8.7k

Summary: You hated Han Jisung. Despite being one of many students in a prestigious school, it felt like he was the only one who matched your intellect. And it annoyed the hell out of you. He was just as smart, just as talented, and just as competitive—but he didn’t put in a single ounce of work to get where he was. The worst thing about him? The fact that you were wildly attracted to him. (E2L!AU)

The Bet (Ft. Hyunjin) - @chvnnie (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: Hyunjin and Jisung make a bet. The prize? You.

Your Moans Would Sound Nice (Ft. 3RACHA) - @loubouskz (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3k

Summary: One sentence leads to... something interesting

SERIES:

5+1 – @seospicybin (S, F)

Status: 3/3 Chapters (Completed)

Word Count: ...

Summary: ...

Eyes On Me – @spilledtee (©, S, A, F)

Status: 6/6 Chapters (Completed)

Word Count: 194.8k (6 Chapters)

Summary: When your long time boyfriend decided to break up after 4 years together, you assume that life is over, especially because you know that he' s chasing the true love that he's longed for. How can you even be mad? You don't choose who you love. However, your roommates and best freinds, Chan and Felix are determinded to get you out of your slump. They decided to bring you to a party. There you're met with not only your ex, but your worst enemy Han Jisung. Despite being in the same friend group you both have never gotten along... However tonight of all nights decided to take a turn and the start of an unlikely agreement. (University!AU, E2L!AU)

Lee Yongbok (FELIX)

ONE SHOTS:

00:01 -@jeontaeil (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 0.7k

Summary: When best friends experiment with each other... (Bff!BangChan x AFAB!Reader x Bff!Felix)

Hold On Tight - @j-0ne25 (©, S, F) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: You can't believe your eyes when you spot your rival at the video game convention that you have been looking forward to for months. You want to be furious, really, but what happens when he's suddenly totally kind and a little too flirty with you, after he realises the both of you are unintentionally attending the event in matching cosplays? (Rival!Felix, E2L!AU, BestFriend!Hyunjin)

Hurricane - @j-0ne25 (F, S)

Status: Completed (part of SKZ as fairytales series)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Freezing in your appartement due to a heater problem, it seems as if only one person can save you - your enemy Felix. (E2L!AU)

One Last Trip - @bngchnsi (F, S, A)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: With your best friend going off to college half way across the world, it’s only natural to want to send him off with one last hoorah! and so what if you’re in love with him, you’re just going to have to get over it after this road trip is over!

The Samurai - @dreamescapeswriting (A, F, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7.9k

Summary: (Samurai!AU, E2L!AU)

SERIES:

Fool Me Twice (Ft. Hyunjin) – @taeyongdoyoung (A, S)

Status: 2/2 Chapters (Completed)

Word Count: 12.6k (2 Chapters)

Summary: When your little brother is taken by the mischievous faeries, you have no choice but to follow him. In an attempt to save him, you somehow get yourself into a bigger mess that involves magic, a seemingly friendly demon you strike an unexpected deal with and the dangerous, yet alluring king of the faeries. (Demon!Hyunjin x Witch!Reader x Faerie!Felix)

Practice Sessions – @hynjnhwng (S)

Status: 3/3 Chapters (Completed)

Word Count: 9k (3 Chapters)

Summary: You’re about to bag your first real boyfriend, and who better to have a practice run with but Felix? You’ve done everything together, already. It just makes sense. From outside, looking in, one might be perplexed as to how you and your best friend, Felix, end up like this: your knees aching against the hardwood floor of his apartment, because it starts out innocently enough the first time (ChildhoodFriends!AU, University!AU)

Kim Seungmin

ONE SHOTS:

Anniversary - @sailorhyunjinz (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: ...

Don't Go Yet - @hwangly (S, F, A)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence, three times is a habit. Kim Seungmin never liked the idea of an office romance. It was a line he was sure he’d never cross, until he met you. Nosy friends and a lot of alcohol is to blame when you go from being coworkers to fuck buddies. But what’s to happen when you take alcohol away from the equation? (Coworkers2L!AU)

Let's Play A Love Game - @ch4nb4ng (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Being friends with benefits was a good idea: at first. But when feelings start to grow, and a certain bet was made, everything will be put on the line: can you handle getting all or nothing? (F2L!AU, FWB!AU)

The Portrait of You and Me - @starlostseungmin (A, F, S)

Status: Completed (+ prologue)

Word Count: 14k

Summary: Royal!Au, Prince!Seungmin, Fantasy!Au

The Snow Queen - @j-0ne25 (F, S)

Status: Completed (part of SKZ as fairytales series)

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Seungmin and you have always been best friends – nothing more than that, even though you wish for him to return your romantic feelings. But once he goes missing in a terrible snow storm, it’s your duty to find and rescue the love of your life. (ModernFairytale!AU, Fantasy!AU, College!AU, Childhoodfriends2Lovers!AU)

Truth or Dare - @matryosika (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: ...

SERIES:

~ Nothing yet... ~

Yang Jeongin (IN)

ONE SHOTS:

I Saw You And I Knew - @etherealinowrites (S, A, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 6k

Summary: It had been 5 years since you last saw jeongin, your longtime crush. Now you both have ended up in the same college away from your hometowns. It’s got to be more than a coincidence, right?

Dean's List - @gyuphorias (©, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: You've spent almost your entire life hating Yang Jeongin. In middle school, he left you crying at the front gates for getting the best score on an exam. With crushed dignity, you declared him your arch nemesis and worked your ass off to beat him in academics. With college finally here, you thought you'd be free of him, but out of coincidence or spite, he's attending the same university and running in the same friend group. With him going out of his way to make your life a living hell, it's almost comedic that you find heaven in the form of his body. (College!AU, E2L!AU, AcademicRivals!AU)

Heat of the Moment - @bugeater101 (F, A, S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 9.4k

Summary: The picnic date meant for you and Jeongin friends turns sour when a platonic food-fight results in a much-too intense battle for dominance. When you run away after a spell of hurt feelings, you couldn’t help but feel something else, too. After fleeing the embarrassing scene, you decided to take matters into your own hands and try to rid yourself of the weird feelings you felt towards your friend and pray for normalcy. When Jeongin came by to drop off your mask, however, he saw all of the mischievous things you were doing and knew he had to help.

Hot as Hell - @bngchnsi (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: note to self: don’t ever ask an ouija board if a demon will fuck you tonight; there might be a demon actually listening and willing to fulfill that promise (Incubus!Jeongin)

Love-hate with Jeongin - @ballelino (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: Your love-hate relationship with Jeongin gets a little out of hand.

Settle Down - @j-0ne25 (F, S)

Status: Completed (part of SKZ as fairytales series)

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: When your mother visits you for the annual Christmas Dinner, wanting to meet your boyfriend that isn't your boyfriend anymore, your roommate comes up with a spontaneous idea to handle the situation. (FakeDating!AU, Roommate!AU, BestFriend!AU)

Teach me to reach you - @hynjnhwng (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Lee know x reader x I.N.

SERIES:

Fatal Attraction – @seospicybin (S, A)

Status: 2/2 Chapters (Completed)

Word Count: ...k (2 Chapters)

Summary: our father as the leader of the Southside must given up something as a penalty for breaking the territorial rules to the Northside leader, Yang Jeongin. It’s an exchange that he can’t resist, a hidden daughter of the Southside, you. (Maffia!Au)

[hinaaspanda]

tall, blonde and gorgeous! | khw

Pairing: Volleyball au! Kim Hyunwoo/Baekseung + Fem! Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Best friends to Lovers, Angst, Crack, Fluff

Word Count: 10,393 oh my

Now, like a waking nightmare, you’re stuck getting flustered over your best friend. Dawning his new and improved image, now complete with the new hair he won’t shut up about, your heart can’t seem to catch a break. Kim Hyunwoo was glowing up too fast, and you couldn’t handle it.

a/n: hi! i’m here with my first non-nct dream fic! i decided to write about my epex bias, hyunwoo! expect morre fics about other idols in the future~ i had alot of fun with this and i hope you enjoy! make sure to check out epex and their music too, it’s great!

a/n again: also i know i said this was a volleyball au but the sport really isn’t that important of a plot point lolol oh well :DD

...

“I can’t believe you actually did it.” You barely managed to spit out, a sweet blend of shock, disappointment, and pure horror taking over your tone. You scoff, cocking an eyebrow as you watch Hyunwoo take a seat before you within the fast food place. His hand, lined with the excitement of a sugar-rushed child, brushes through his now golden blonde hair. You could only laugh. Out of all the changes your best friend could’ve gone through, this was definitely not on your list.

“For your information, I actually quite like this new style, I think it suits me!” Hyunwoo let out with a huff, nestling his back onto the back rest of the fast food bench. Confidence oozing out of his frame as he crossed his arms, only earning an eye roll from you. He brushes another hand through his hair, an unfortunate habit you already saw forming before your eyes. “Man, I’m gonna bag so many dates with this!”

Your eyelids fell into a ‘disappointed but not surprised’ themed glare, an eyebrow cocking upwards as you toss a fry into your mouth. Of course that was his motive, his ultimate goal. You couldn’t help but blame yourself, you should’ve known better when you first caught your best friend staring at the blonde box dye at the supermarket last week. You toss another fry, giving him a cold, unassuming stare. Maybe you needed to put him back in his place. 

“Really? You think you’re gonna get girls while looking like some french fry? Good luck, buddy” You pushed a scoff from your chest. 

Hyunwoo hisses out in exaggerated pain. “Harsh. But I don’t think that’s gonna work on me, y/n. Just look at you! You can’t even take your eyes off me!” 

As if on cue, a sudden sensation of heat creeps up to your cheeks as your head hangs low in embarrassment. He was right. Until now, your eyes have been laid on nowhere else but Hyunwoo’s frame. And you would rather die than admit it, but he looked good. A little too good for your liking, you might add. 

Hyunwoo was wrong about one thing, though; It wasn’t just the new blonde hair that you couldn’t get over. 

This new phenomenon only began a few months ago: last summer, to be exact. Kim Hyunwooーyour one and only childhood friendーhad spiked in height tremendously, easily surpassing the likes of full grown adults in mere weeks. And with his sudden urge to tone his frame with workouts miraculously lining up with his growth spurt, Hyunwoo easily landed a spot in your highschool’s volleyball team the following year; starting line up, no less. It was a sight to behold, how lucky this aspiring athlete had gotten in such a short timeframe. 

Anyone could imagine how fast the highlighter head’s ego boosted the moment his life began to fall satisfyingly into place. He grew more confident, more bold. Nothing stood in the way of this highschool freshman anymore. And while you thought you never found an over-confident persona too attractive, your stubborn, fast pacing heart and riled up cheeks obviously had other things to say on the matter. 

Now, like a waking nightmare, you’re stuck getting flustered over your best friend. Dawning his new and improved image, now complete with the new hair he won’t shut up about, your heart can’t seem to catch a break. Kim Hyunwoo was glowing up too fast, and you couldn’t handle it. 

“Y/n? Y/N!” Hyunwoo jolted you awake from your questionable inner thoughts, your limp fingers dropping the fry that was once suspended in them. 

“Yeah?” You pushed a lump out of your throat.

“Relax! I was just kidding, idiot.” Hyunwoo effortlessly stole one of your precious fries, plopping into his mouth before continuing. “No need to space out or anything.”

“God you’re so annoying.” You muttered a half-assed snapback.

“And you’re so in love with me, just admit it!”

He shoots you a wink, setting you aback in pure shock. Hyunwoo shoots up, heading for the exit. He hastily shoves his hands in his pockets before finally turning to your stunned figure. “Hurry up, I got practice tomorrow!”

You scrambled to gather your belongings, too trapped in a state of shock to utter a single word back. Anyone else would’ve found it suspicious at your sudden loss of words, or basic breathing skills, for that matter. Anyone else would’ve taken a hint or two, but not him. Despite switching up his entire character all last summer, one thing that never failed to stay constant was his complete dumbassery. And for once, you appreciated his annoyingly dense head. 

In love with you? You wish!

...

“We literally have a final in two days!” You helplessly squabble the force of your now ecstatic lab partner, pulling you rather harshly to the volleyball gym’s main doors. Your chemistry notes moments away from flying off into the abyss with every sharp turn you and your partner take down the halls. “Yejun, We have to study!”

“Who cares about chem?? I need to see that Yewang wasn’t bullshiting me about Hyunwoo!”

The two of you finally reach the doors, subtly slipping through them as you scan your surroundings for any available seats. You stop to catch your breath, the reality of the short distance from your classroom to the gym serving as a cruel reminder of your poor athleticism. You shoot a curious stare at your lab partner. “Hyunwoo?”

“Yeah, I heard he dyed his hair or something. And I gotta see it for myself!”

  A scoff escapes your lips. It was astounding how fast Yejun’s mood had changed from a pessimistic corpse throughout your fourth period, to this ecstatic puppy currently before you. And it was all just for some dyed hair.  Hyunwoo really did have that effect on people, didn’t he? 

Like you could say anything on the matter.

The two of you finally settle down on a set of bleachers, gazing at the volleyball team before you; Captain Dawit, Yewang from chem, their teammates Donghyun, Minwoo, Kyungmin, Jaeho, and of course Hyunwoo. Most of them were your actual good friends, one was even your own brother. However, watching them thrive in the court, even you couldn’t deny that they embodied celebrities. They were untouchable, like valuable artifacts at a museum. And as the growing crowd of students and onlookers would suggest, you weren’t alone in that opinion. 

Maybe it was the bright highlighter hair, or the mere fact that he easily towered over everyone else in the room, but all eyes were on Hyunwoo. Of course, you were no exception. Your eyes settled into his figure as he tossed the volleyball into the air, smacking it down with overwhelming force as it traveled to the other side of the gym. His blonde locks swimming in the wind as he jumps to smash another loose ball above him. He was in his element, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“So Yewang wasn’t kidding?” Yejun spits out in pure astonishment. He turns to you, wide eyed and gleaming with excitement. “He actually looks pretty good! How much you guys wanna bet Hyunwoo gets his own fanclub after this?”

Hints of bitterness ghosted over your shoulders as Yejun uttered the last bit of his baffling sentence. You definitely weren’t used to this sensation and nor was your body, evident by your shoulders curling inwards as an immediate response. The tip of your tongue grew sour at the very thought of a dedicated Hyunwoo fanbase. It doesn’t make sense to you, how that french fry looking freshman could pull the hearts of one girl, let alone enough to form a club. In your eyes, he was a child, the same child who always bugged you for food or to play outside. In your eyes, he was just your best friend.

“Are you kidding me? This is Hyunwoo we’re talking about, right?”

Hyunwoo was your best friend, not some highschool celebrity. 

He was yours.

Your eyes grow wide, your heart finally leaping back into your chest after choking your throat with that very alarmingーand very wrongーhot take. You shake away that intruding thought, your vigorous head jolting your ecstatic science lab partner. In what world did Hyunwoo belong to you? An unfamiliar, burning sensation crept up your frame like a disease. A disease even healthcare professionals couldn’t pinpoint. What was going on with you?

A sudden shifting of the bleachers behind you shook you awake from your daydream, or more accurately: your nightmare. You really needed to watch yourself. You’ve been taking your attention away from reality more frequently, as of late. The presence of a few girls plop up right behind you. Their chatters, while quiet, are just loud enough for your ears to perk up in curiosity. 

“Is that Hyunwoo? He looks cute with that new hair color!” One giggled out. You couldn’t help but grow annoyed by her voice. 

“Oh my gosh! You’re totally right!” Another gasped. Her voice, just as distasteful in your ears. 

“I think I’m gonna ask him for his number!” The third rang out, ticking you off a little more than you expected. Her words ignited a flame in your heart, leaving the logical side of your brain to suffocate in the disease of jealousy. You wanted to scream, cry, wail, and you didn’t even know why. All you knew was that the thought of Hyunwoo leaving your life for good, was not a thought you could live with. 

You couldn’t keep going like this. This wasn’t right. Hyunwoo. Wasn’t. Yours. Were you going crazy??

You suddenly shot up and out of your seat, your breaths running short as you tried to hide your crisis from a stunned Yejun and the three girls behind you. The three girls who were able to successfully set your world ablaze. 

Nevermind. It was pretty evident who the true culprit was. 

“Hey y/n?” Yejun finally peeled his eyes off of the practice game below, setting his attention to your suspicious, standing figure. “You good?”

“Yeah!” You chirped, your voice almost cracking under the pressure. “I just remembered… I really gotta study!”

“For chem? You’ll be fine! Just stay an-”

“Nope! No thanks!” Your voice was peeping so high, dogs couldn’t hear it even if they tried. “I really need to go, ok yeah bye!” 

You zoomed out of the gym doors, catching your breath as you reached the school hallway. You really hated how your excessively beating heart couldn’t even be blamed on exhaustion anymore, not with Hyunwoo plaguing your mind like that.

It was official. Kim Hyunwoo was the one and only source of your inner turmoil. You were sure of it.

...

hyunwoo the french fry <3 [7:43 p.m.]: yo i saw you at practice today

hyunwoo the french fry <3 [7:43 p.m.]: why didn’t you say hi? >:(

hyunwoo the french fry <3 [7:45 p.m.]: y/n?

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply to his frantic texts as you lay in your bed that night. You couldn’t bring yourself to do much, actually. All of your energy was saved for burying your face into your pillow, contemplating how insane your heart has gotten just now. 

Now, it was 8 in the evening. The breeze was faintly pushing through your window, yet your skin was still suspended in flames. 

You didn’t know what came over you at the volleyball gym earlier that day. The sensation felt foreign to you, like dipping your toes into a freezing cold pool after basking in the summertime heat. It was disgusting, seeing how fast your own mood switched the moment some girl showed interest in him. It made you sick to the stomach. Not to mention how ridiculous that random spasm of your heart was. Hyunwoo had every right to go off and date the next fangirl in his view, and you definitely had no right to stop him. He was only your best friend, afterall. 

You could handle that, right?

It didn’t matter though. If your questionable jealous spasm this afternoon taught you anything, it was that your feelings, whatever they were, needed to be stopped. ASAP. You couldn’t let yourself continue like this. Besides, if Hyunwoo was just gonna leave your life eventually, might as well beat him to it. You weren’t overreacting, this was needed. In order for your heart to heal, you needed to get away. You knew it was cowardly, but it had to be done. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Yejun’s voice peaked through his mic as you, him, and Yewang continued your conference call through the night. Yejun’s brows furrowed in confusion, trying his best to untangle the mess of your heart. “You’re tryna distance yourself from Hyunwoo because… you’re jealous of other girls?”

“No, you completely missed the point!” You huffed. “I need to distance myself because I don’t want to be jealous! He’s my best friend, I don’t own him or anything!”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to distance yourself a little,” Yewang chimed in through a mouthful of chips, each crunch poking your ears with irritation. “But, with how jealous you’re suddenly feeling, shouldn’t you just cut the crap and admit you like him?”

That familiar heat creeped up your cheeks once again, the same sensation from everytime your childhood friend would send a wink your way, or call you beautiful out of the blue. There went your heart again, quickening in pace every time you thought about that stupid highlighter head. The idea of falling for best friend had crossed your mind before, but it was just a stupid dream. You couldn’t fall for Hyunwoo, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. 

“Yewang’s right. Why can’t you just tell him how you feel?” Yejun suddenly spoke.

A sigh heaved from your chest. “Like I said, he’s my best friend, Yejun. I’m not allowed to like him. I can’t like him.”

A blanket of awkward silence fell on top of the three of you. It was the type of silence you dreaded the most. You needed something to serve as a distraction from your heightened heart, and the sounds of crunching chips and the miscellaneous cough weren’t exactly what you were looking for. Yejun gazed at your eyes through the video call screen with pursed lips. 

“Look, we’ll help you with this distancing thing, alright? But just think about what we said.” Yejun nagged. 

“Maybe telling him won’t be as bad as you think!” Yewang added on, hoping to cheer up your pitiful frame in any way possible. “Hyunwoo seems too nice to reject you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Anyways, I gotta log off, my mom’s gonna kick my ass if I’m late for practice again!”

The three of you bid your farewells before ending the midnight call session. You shut off your monitor, immediately greeting your rather rough reflection. Maybe stressing over some 6’1” lanky volleyball boy wasn’t too good for your complexion. It didn’t matter though, as much as you love your friends, you cared for your heart more. From now on, Kim Hyunwoo will be out of your life. 

And you could forget about confessing your feelings. It would never happen in this lifetime, you could definitely count on that. 

...

Call it pure luck, or the gods above pitying your love life, but distancing yourself from the highlighter head has been astoundingly easy so far. Every morning and afternoon, the athlete was bombarded with volleyball practice, which gave you easy access to slip away. You allowed yourself to spend time with Yejun and your other friends more, letting them become a successful shield and distraction from that walking french fry. Slowly but surely, you were piecing your life back together, all without Kim Hyunwoo in your view. 

And today would have been another successful day of avoiding him, if it weren’t for your annoying older brother. 

You ambled through the school halls as a faint buzz jumped from your phone. Grabbing the device, you watched as ‘Dawit’ appeared on your screen. You heave out a sigh as you reluctantly answer the call. It hurt like hell trying to sit through fourth period chemistry, and all you wanted right now was to collapse on your bed at home. Dawit definitely had some explaining to do. 

“Yeah?”

“Hey, have you seen Hyunwoo?” 

You choked. “What?”

“Hyunwoo. That idiot’s late for practice again, and coach’s all over our asses about it. Do you know where he is?”

You could feel your mind drawing to a blank, Hyunwoo washing over your head once again. “Uh- no, sorry.”

“Really? Shit, alright. If you don’t know where he is, I guess no one else will. If you find him somewhere just text me, kay? I gotta go.” Dawit hastily dropped the call, most likely to receive another lecure from his coaches. You pitied him, really. Having to go through bootcamp level training just to play for a highschool team, not to mention how cruel those coaches seemed. You felt sorry for your brother and his team. 

However, you didn’t feel too bad for Dawit. There was no way in hell you’d go out of your way to meet up with Hyunwoo, not with your progress on the line. 

Shoving your phone back in your bag, you continued on your way through the halls. A sigh escaped your lips. Deep down, you missed him. You missed being able to waltz into his house without a care in the world, spending every afternoon clowning him and his poor sharp-shooting skills on the t.v. You missed your late night strolls to the convenience store on weekends, procrastinating on your endless amounts of school work. You knew this whole distancing plan would come with a price.

You missed Hyunwoo, your best friend for basically your entire life. However, you had no remorse for this newer Hyunwoo. This highschool, volleyball celebrity, stealing the hearts of girls left and right. He was a stranger to you, and you certainly didn’t miss him. 

You approached the last stream of lockers before the exit, two figures leaned up against them like magnets. You couldn’t recognize them at first, and your exhausted frame only told you to simply ignore them, but as a familiar blonde shadow came into the frame of your peripheral vision, you knew you had to stop in your tracks. 

Giggles emitted from the scene before you. A girl’s back faced you, twirling her hair between her fingers as she looked up at the boy in front of her. The boy in question, gripped his gym bag strap, suspending it against his chest as he shot a smile towards the girl. With his free hand, he brushes through his blonde hair. Kim Hyunwoo’s habits never really changed, didn’t they?

“Do you think we could hang out sometime?” the girl suggested, a horrendous amount of flirtation riddling her tone. “I’m free this weekend, if you were wondering.”

That familiar flame lit atop of your heart again, your breaths growing shallow as you burned your eyes onto the scene. Your skin grew hot, palms slowly drenching in sweat. You gripped the strap of your bag with immense force, not giving a damn when your knuckles turned white. This was all automatic at this point, and you hated it with every inch of your being. It was obvious: no matter how far you ran away from them, your feelings for Hyunwoo would never leave. 

“This weekend?” Hyunwoo stalled, a hand reaching behind to scratch the nape of his neck. His eyes wandered around as you, off to the side, held your own breath. “I’ll think about it-”

The head of the blonde figure whipped to your direction, eyes widening as far as your peripheral vision would allow. As if it were a planned act on stage, he inched away from the girl, who now dawned a confused and offended expression on her face.

Fuck.

Without hesitation, you whipped around, retracing your steps down the hall. Anything to undo time, anything to get away from him. He was the last thing your tense, fired-up heart could ask for. He would only make everything much, much worse. Your steps grew quicker once you heard his trotting right behind you, leaving that girl to fend for herself. The pulsating heart encased in your chest was beating so hard, you were convinced it would explode right then and there. 

Of course you tried to get away, but your little stubs were no match for Hyunwoo’s lanky legs. Of course he was able to catch up in mere seconds. 

“Y/n! Wait up!” He hollered through the hallway, catching the attention of various teachers and students passing by, but never yours. You never gave him the light of day as you glanced away, definitely not expecting the move he was about to pull next. 

A hand suddenly tugs onto your wrist rather harshly, whipping you around to face his chest. You could almost laugh at how much he towered over your figure. If you had the courage to look up at his gaze at this very moment, you were sure your neck would crack under the pressure. Your cowardly eyes, however, could only gaze downwards, taking in the musty view of the ground. Hyunwoo dips down, trying his best to meet your eyes. Mere centimeters suspend between your faces. 

“Hey, is something wrong?”

Your words stay choked up in your throat. Your breaths grow shallow as your eyes scan for anything outside of the blonde silhouette before you. Hyunwoos eyes, drenched in worry, scan your figure hastily. 

“N-no-”

“Where are you headed?” A familiar jumpy attitude lined his tone. It was foolish of him to think that was all it took to calm your flaming heart. 

“Home-”

“Let me walk you home!” Hyunwoo began, his stupid face lighting up in excitment. “I haven’t seen you in a while-”

“No!” You rebutted, your voice peaking higher than you would’ve liked. It shook Hyunwoo to his core, his grip on your wrist slowly loosening, but never fully letting go. You softened your tone. “You have practice right now, Dawit’s looking for you, and..”

You trailed off, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I wanna walk home on my own right now, so let me go-”

You finally gathered up the courage to swat his hands away before whisking your figure off into the horizon of the hallway. Your heartbeat never slowed down to your liking as your breath hitched upon finally pushing through the school exit. Your skin still felt hot to the touch despite brushing against the chilled wind. You didn’t care about the slacking athlete you had just abandoned, the health of your heart mattered much more. 

You thought back to the nervous Dawit stuck in volleyball practice, probably facing another lecture against his own will. You didn’t care about him either. He was your older brother, he could fend for himself. 

You, however, couldn’t. 

...

Hyunwoo knew he was gonna mess up at some point. But he never knew it would go this downhill. 

The highlighter head stood still in the now barren hallway, the offended gasps coming from the other girl behind him never grazing his attention. He couldn’t afford to lay a simple glance on that girl, not with your figure escaping his fingertips, waltzing away through the halls. His knuckles grow white as he grasps at his gym bag strap, heaving out a sigh deep from his chest before pivoting to the volleyball gym. 

The lectures from his various coaches flew out of his ear as swiftly as they flew in. His mind was too occupied to function during practice. It was filled to the brim with anguish. How could he be so stupid?

Hyunwoo never wanted to hurt you, he wanted the opposite, really. All he wanted was for you to finally see him, notice him amidst a crowd. To finally view him as more than a friend. He wanted your eyes to only look at him. He did everything in his power to get your attention: joining the volleyball team, changing his appearance, even flirting with you. Instead, he got the eyes of the entire school following his every move, while yours never gave him the light of day.

All this time, he wanted to move on from being your childhood best friend. He wanted to be something more. Never in his life did he expect to lose you entirely. 

“So she just walked away from you? Without saying anything?” Minwoo questioned before taking a swig of water from his water bottle. The air between the two athletes was mostly silent, safe for the miscellaneous shoe squeaks bouncing off the gym walls.

“Yeah,” Hyunwoo slumped on the gym bench, a towel draped sorrowfully over his head, isolating his vision to the speckled floor before him. 

“God, how did I fuck up so bad?”

“Maybe just cut the playboy act and tell her?” In front of him, Kyungmin scoffed. His fingertips catching the volleyball mid air with ease. His lanky figure casted a shadow against Hyunwoo’s frame as he pestered him further. “It’d be so much easier for the both of you.”

The distressed french fry yanks the towel from his head, shooting a 

glare at the volleyball player before him. “I didn’t ask for all of this, alright? I didn’t want all those girls to talk to me. All I wanted was for her to notice me!” 

A snicker jumped from the right of him. “Well she did notice you- OW!” Minwoo blurted out, rightfully earning a swift jab at the shoulder by Hyunwoo’s irritated fist. “Piss off, Min.”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding! But seriously, just try and talk to her. Kyungmin’s right, this whole act isn’t working out.” Minwoo shot up, aligning himself with Kyungmin as the two gaze before the lovestruck athlete. Hyunwoo, on the other hand, drills his head into the comfort of his palms. A loud groan fills the air in the gym, startling the poor innocent rest of the team in the process. “How can I do that if she hates me? She wouldn’t even look at me back there!” 

“Y/n? I don’t think she hates you.” Dawit, the team captain interrupts. His attention swiftly discards the ball he sent flying through the air, shifting over to Hyunwoo’s suspicious looking trio. “Though it was a little weird that she didn’t know where you were earlier, did you guys fight or something?”

Hyunwoo itched the nape of his neck, looking up at the line up of volleyball boys shielding him from the light. “Nah, it wasn’t like that.”

He was just some big, fat idiot who couldn’t think straight. 

He can’t ever think straight when it comes to you.  

Hyunwoo grew silent, confusing the team captain even more.  “Uh- okay?” Dawit’s brows furrowed together, fumbling with a volleyball between his fingertips. “You could always come over if you wanna settle things or something.” 

“That’s it! Visit her on the weekend! What’s she gonna do, leave her own house?” Minwoo jumped as if he was electrocuted. “You could tell her how you feel then!”

It was as if the world froze by the command of Minwoo’s words. The miscellaneous highschoolers scattered across the gym laid trapped underneath a sudden wave of silence as the curious and perplexed eyes of his teammates burned through his frame. Dawit’s eyes, in particular, spilled out of their sockets, his brows grazing his hairline. That’s it. He’s done for. Hyunwoo would’ve been lucky to make it out of this practice alive at this point. 

“Tell her how- Wait-” The team captain recuperated, scratching his head. “You like my sister?” 

Everyone gathered around, their eyes never peeling from Hyunwoo as he stuttered out a response. He didn’t know where that stutter came from, though. He knew the answer. He's known since the Kwak family first moved in next door way back then, since he first met you. 

Who was he kidding, it was more than just a crush now. He was in love. 

“Yeah,” Hyunwoo’s eyes stayed glued to the tiled gym floor. 

“I like y/n.” 

Everyone's ear piercing howls raged through the volleyball gym, teasing the highlighter head in love. Even Dawit, to everyone's shock, cradled an arm around Hyunwoo’s shoulders in support. Their booming auras startled the outlying teammates who never earned the luxury of joining the french fry’s melodrama. One teammate, Donghyun, rushed towards the crowd, waving a hand to frantically shut them up before they could endure the wrath of their coach once again. 

“Hey Yewang? You good?” To the left of the bustling crowd, the team’s clueless youngest, Jaeho, shook the shoulder of his practice partner.

Yewang stood amidst all that chaos, stricken to the core after processing what in the ever living fuck he had just heard. Too stunned to even grasp the stray volleyball between his finger tips. The calls of his name were no match for his overwhelmed mind. Overwhelmed with probably the biggest revelation in his entire highschool career. 

Holy shit.

...

yejunnie :) [2:28 p.m.]: ok fine yewang and i are just gonna go without you then, i think he had smth to tell us?

yejunnie :) [2:28 p.m.]: i can’t believe you're ditching us 

yejunnie :) [2:28 p.m.]: hurry up and get better loser <3

Your eyes couldn’t help but roll in amusement as you snuggled into the living room couch, basking in the sunlight on that Saturday afternoon. It wasn’t entirely your fault you couldn’t make it to Yejun’s poorly planned group study session. As much as you loved him, he always came up with outlandish ideas at even more outlandish time frames. Texting the group chat about a study group approximately 45 minutes before said study group was mundane by his standards. And besides, you weren’t feeling too well, anyways. 

A sharp ache pierced through your head the moment you woke up this morning, and it hasn’t disappeared since. After countless home-remedies only leading to a dead end, and after your useless brother couldn’t help you, you were at a loss at what to do as you mindlessly watched t.v for the rest of the day. 

It didn’t matter though, you would rather get a measly headache over fretting over Kim Hyunwoo any day. 

Although a few days have already passed since that day in the hallway, that weird incident never seemed to escape your brain. The athlete’s actions were peculiar, to say the least. His attention switching from that random girl to you in an instant, was more of a riddle than anything found within those puzzle activity books you grew up with. Not to mention how easily you broke your own progress, heating up in jealousy the moment your childhood friend is facing someone else. Disgusting. 

Your feelings for Hyunwoo were too stubborn to leave. It was useless to run away, so you opted for the next best thing; lying to yourself. And that’s exactly what you continue to do, hiding within the walls of your own home. Blaming your crappy state on a mere headache, when anyone could call you out easily. 

Your eyes never peel away from the screen, fully engrossed in the drama unfolding before you as the doorbell shakes your reality awake. With a groan, you shuffle to the door, not giving a care in the world for how horrendous your disheveled hair and cheeto-dusted shirt currently appeared. You regretted it almost immediately, though. You could’ve taken the slightest bit of your appearance into account when coming to face the 6’1’ walking french fry straight from your nightmares. 

So much for hiding.

Hyunwoo stood before you, a nervous expression lining his face quickly swapped out for a warm and welcoming one the moment his eyes met yours. With a smile and a tilt of his head, he lifts up a plastic bag into your view. His eyes quickly meeting the gravel below the two of you. He clears his throat with a loud boom before continuing. 

“Hey! I heard you weren’t feeling too well-” Hyunwoo trailed off, still struggling to meet your eyes. Even you were growing restless as you crossed your arms. “I- uh- brought some snacks for you! Can I come in?”

“How’d you-” Your interrogation was swiftly interrupted by Hyunwoo’s abrupt entrance, most definitely from old habits back then, when your heart could actually withstand being near him. He passed you the plastic bag, encasing millions of dollars in convenience store sweets in your hand, as he shuffled inside and made himself at home. You heave out a sigh as you watch him plop onto your couch. It was baffling how normal he was portraying himself to be, all while you were currently dying inside. 

You retire into the kitchen, an occasional glance or two sent in your guest’s direction. Judging by his more nervous than usual expression lining his frame as he fidgets with his fingers, Hyunwoo wasn’t here just to check on you. You knew that french fry was probably dying to find out why you lashed out the way you did. Unfortunately, though, you’re currently dying to find out the same thing. You rearrange the sweets into bowls before heading back into the living room. 

Despite plopping relatively close to his figure, with only a third of the couch suspended between you two, the tension fogging the air around you made Hyunwoo’s figure seem distant. You desperately waited for the t.v audio to miraculously peak, anything to break the tense silence. 

You were a fool to call yourself lucky before, that's for sure. 

...

“So Min and I stormed into the locker room, right? Without knowing that the coaches were doing inspections that day! You should’ve seen the looks on everyone’s faces! I’m surprised your brother didn’t kill me then!” Hyunwoo snorted, his chuckling figure flying to the back of the couch as he recounted his story. You shot a forged grin as you continued to listen in. It was easier that way, to hide safely behind a haphazard conversation, instead of acknowledging your stupid feelings.  

“I heard Dawit whooped your asses, though” You recalled, a soft chuckle rumbling through your chest. You’ve gotten pretty good at this facade, even fooling him into thinking you weren’t currently at the brink of a crisis at the moment. 

“Yeah, for the following week too. Now Minwoo rarely fools around in practice when Dawit’s around. The dude scared him to death!” 

“What about you? Too tough for my brother?” You snickered.

Hyunwoo shot a smile. “Nah, I think he was softer on me.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“Probably because of you. Guess he didn’t wanna hurt someone his little sister was close to, or something.”

An awkward pit stirred within your stomach, your cheeks flushing red at his words once again. Everything out of his mouth had this flirtatious undertone, and it had you wrapped around his finger. You hated how predictable your heart became, reacting to Kim Hyunwoo’s every little move. It sickened you. 

You knew how stubborn your feelings were, it's been made clear since the say he dyed his hair that stupid shade of blonde. However, one thing that’s been made even more clear, shoved right into your face, was the very fact that you couldn’t fall for him. It was forbidden to hand your heart to your childhood best friend. You knew that more than anyone. And yet here he was, holding your heart in his own hands. 

Now you’re back, ready to rip it away from his grasp, no matter how cruel you go about it. 

You let out a scoff, eyes plastered on the tv and away from him. “Dawit wouldn’t care about that. And besides, we’re not the only ones close, I’m friends with Yewang too.”

You could feel the highlighter head's eyes burn through your skin, interrogating you. Sure, your words hurt, but it was the only way to shut it all down. You would rather die the most gruesome death imaginable, than to ever let Hyunwoo in on who had stolen your heart. He can never know.

His presence sinks beside you. “I- I guess so, yeah.”

A blanket of sheer tension flows atop the two of you again, choking your airways as you struggle to breathe. No matter how normal your afternoon seemed in the beginning, no matter how close the two of you grew once he stepped foot into your living room, you had to put your foot down. Draw the line to push you too apart. It was cruel, and deep down, your heart ached to go back to how it was before, but this was crucial. Without this, your heart and your delusions were sure to go wild. 

He can never know.

The warmth of a hand jolts you awake as you dig for the remaining pieces in the candy bowl. Your cheeks light ablaze, as they always do, while your eyes shoot up. You knew exactly where to look: at the puppy-like eyes gawking right at you. And you knew exactly what to do: pull away immediately and move on. It was just a mere accident, this was nothing.

Except, you found yourself sitting still, your trapped hand not moving more than an inch, and your eyes stuck in a trance. 

Your breaths grew shallow, your chest heaving as it encased your trouncing heart. It was pathetic, how obviously infatuated you were. Your body reacting to his each and every move, your heart peaking the moment he’s near you. Anyone with two eyes and cohesive brain cells could piece it together: You were in love with Kim Hyunwoo. 

This can’t do. He can never know. 

You rip your hand away, the ghost of his skin still fresh on yours. Sure, it was a simple graze of two palms reaching for the same snack, but it was enough to set off all the alarms ringing in your brain. Your eyes, which were just captivated by his gaze, peels away right after. It didn’t matter, though. You only needed your peripheral vision to notice Hyunwoo’s eyes still plastered on your frame. 

“Sorry-” Hyunwoo stuttered out. You knew you were brutal for shutting him down like that. Why couldn’t he just take the hint already? Why couldn’t he run away, finally leave you?

Before you could fall in love with him even more.

The two of you sit silent for the rest of the evening, that cursed blanket of tension choking your throats the whole time. Yes, it was intentional. With such an uncomfortable atmosphere clouding your vision, Hyunwoo was bound to leave, right?

Right?

...

  Maybe his beloved captain was setting him up for failure the moment Hyunwoo exposed his feelings. Why else would Dawit invite him over to talk to you, when you clearly were in no mood to talk? Now, Hyunwoo sat downcast amidst the tv’s intense glare, with your snoring figure basking under the same light right beside him. 

Hyunwoo couldn’t tell you why he stayed at your house, when it was made quite clear that he was uninvited the moment you shunned a wall of silence between your two frames. It was even worse now, his presence boring you so much that you had fallen asleep in front of him. Hyunwoo shoves all the candy wrappers onto the coffee table below. Maybe it was to torture himself a little further: a proper punishment for being too weak to leave the friendzone. Who was he kidding? Was this even the friendzone anymore? 

He leans back, his eyes catching a glimpse of your dozing figure. It summons a small smile to curl up in his lips. Not all was lost, though. Your peaceful frame still sent butterflies ripping through Hyunwoo’s stomach. 

With the remote in his hand, and a handful of wrappers in the other, Hyunwoo shot up from the couch, shutting off the tv in one swift click. He figured he should make his way soon. It was getting late anyways, and he didn't want your father on his tail either: the sight of being alone with his sleeping daughter didn’t exactly look that safe by any standards. He shuffled into the kitchen to toss the wrappers before trotting back into the living room to pick up his things.

His mind rewinds back to the day at the hallway, when you shunned a cold shoulder his way before. Maybe it was his pride taking the better of him, but he wouldn’t accept Kyungmin’s words back then. He knew that whole playboy act seemed counterintuitive, but he always planned on bouncing back. Coming clean before it was too late. Now, it was perfectly spelt out for him: He already was too late, you were done with him. 

Hyunwoo pushed a sigh from his chest. Guess it was time to come clean. At least he didn’t have to worry about being judged that harshly, with you not listening and all. He plopped beside you on the couch. 

“You probably hate me now, don’t you?” He went on, his eyes never leaving your tranquil state. 

“I guess I have been an asshole to you, we don’t hang around anymore and I’m always busy with practice and those girls who won’t stop bugging me. You have every right to be mad.” He heaved another sigh, fidgeting with the ends of his hoodie. “Truth is, I did it all for you. I didn’t want you to see me as your childhood best friend anymore. I wanted you to notice me for once.” 

He glances up at the streetlight glaring through your living room window. “Guess you did take notice, but not in the way I had hoped.” His voice trails away, his heavy heart sinking to the floor. Hyunwoo brushes a hand through his hair, shooting up from the couch. “Don’t worry though, I’ll drop everything. I’d rather us be friends than anything less.” 

He looks at you one last time, sleeping so innocently, it was as if you weren’t currently shattering his heart into pieces at the moment. He wiggles out of his sweater, draping it over you. You looked so snug, so safe and sound. Even now, you still sent a creeping blush onto his cheeks. It was fascinating, really. How easily you captivated his heart. He adjusts the sweater on your sleeping figure, before reaching up, meeting your face.

Hyunwoo sends a swift peck on the crown of your head, an action he knew would send you into a flustered frenzy if you had been awake to witness it. Think of it as a goodbye of some sorts, goodbye to the delusions of ever thinking you could return his feelings. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. 

“Goodnight, y/n.” He whispered, shooting up from the couch right after.

...

“Christ, Hyun. Could you make practice any gloomier?” Minwoo whines, tossing a loose volleyball in the lovesick player’s direction.

“Cut him some slack, the poor man just had his heart broken!” Kyungmin comes to save the day, picking up the volleyball before launching it back at the cruel teammate. “You’d understand once you go through the same thing, Min.”

“So she rejected you? I thought you didn’t have the chance to tell her how you feel at all?” Minwoo questioned, his brows furrowed. Dawit plops beside them, fitting in perfectly with this council of Hyunwoo’s tragic love life. 

“Basically, I didn’t need to hear it from her. It was pretty obvious back there.” Hyunwoo’s head hung low. His somber presence sent airwaves through the rest of the teammates, the air within the volleyball gym growing mournful in a matter of minutes. 

“I don’t get it, though. My sister isn’t the type to break someone’s heart like that-” 

“Well maybe she’s changed!”

Hyunwoo’s voice boomed, shocking everyone within the volleyball gym wall. The captain at the other end of Hyunwoo’s outrage stood frozen, jaw mere inches from the floor. Others stay as still as trees in a forest, their eyes practically falling from their sockets. Hyunwoo pushes a lump out of his throat, taking himself aback with his own一suddenly vicious一tone. His eyes quickly duck down, avoiding any attention thrusted in his way, which was currently a lot, way more than he could handle. “S-sorry, cap.”

“Don’t worry about it-” Dawit was once again interrupted as Hyunwo stormed through the crowd of volleyball players. His lanky legs pounding harshly at the wooden floor made it obvious how aggravated his heart was at the moment. Only you had this effect on him. 

After a few minutes pass, the sudden creek of a storage room door jolts the entire team back to reality as they watch their highlighter head teammate emerge from the shadows. Disheveled would be an understatement when it came to his appearance: his hair drooping onto the front of his face, his shoulders sunken low to the ground, and his heart smashed into pieces. 

Hyunwoo wasn’t too miserable, though. He knew he’d accept it all at some point. It would just take some time, right? You wouldn’t leave his life forever, wouldn’t you? After all, you were just his childhood friend now, nothing more. You’ve made that clear to him countless times.

“I’ll, uh, head out now. Just tell coach I’m not feeling too good.” Hyunwoo choked out. He didn’t care about the endless train of lectures he’d get by skipping today, he wasn’t in any condition to practice. He’s in no condition to do anything, really. Not with his pride shattered into pieces. 

...

You never thought you could hate an article of clothing as much as you hated that damned sweater. 

Your eyes never found themselves glancing away at the navy blue fabric tousled roughly onto your desk chair. How stubborn was he? Even leaving a piece of him behind when you made it indisputable that he was no longer welcome. 

It riddled you with guilt that you had to let him go so harshly that night, severing years worth of friendship just for your measly heart’s satisfaction. You never wanted to be cruel. Deep down, your feelings never left. If anything, you were out for your own blood. Your own heart tortures you to it’s content with it’s crude games. Although, with the presence of Kim Hyunwoo finally gone, you could feel your heart lighten up just the slightest bit. Maybe just for now, you could forget this stupid act. 

Your limbs all moved on their own as you strolled to your desk chair, the fabric encasing your fingers in a pool of warmth and comfort. You held it up to your chest, your nose immediately catching its smell. It wasn’t fresh by any means, probably worn 2 or 3 times before last night. It wasn’t fresh, yet you still found yourself hugging the fabric tight, basking in its warmth. 

You missed him. 

You knew it was all your fault, but you couldn’t deny the Hyunwoo shaped hole in your heart. Whether it was as your best friend, or something more, you missed his presence. You felt empty without him. 

A gulp shot down your throat as you dropped the sweater from your hands, regaining traction with reality. You weren’t going to let your feelings ruin your progress. You couldn’t fall in love with Kim Hyunwoo, you just couldn’t. 

“You should just tell him the truth, y/n.” Yejun posited, taking you by surprise and freezing your frame in shock as you began your crucial conference call for the night. 

“Are you insane!?” you gawked. It was as if a blade sliced through the small of your ribcage. Yewang, and Yejun, the two friends you had confided in the most, now stabbing your back, ripping any last sliver of trust into shreds.  “Haven’t you listened to anything I told you? That's the exact opposite of what I wanna do! I shut him out for a reason, Yewang. I can’t just-”

“Have you ever listened to yourself?” Yewang scolded with a booming voice. Even Yejun showed visible awe, the white of his eyes spilling out of their sockets through the screen. “You’re out here lying and hiding your feelings, you’ve never even thought about giving him a chance!”

“Why would I give him a chance if I already know the answer!?”

“You might not even know the answer!” 

Yewang’s words deem you speechless, your jaw just grazing the top of your desk. Your brows weave together in confusion the moment your brain actually finished processing what your chemistry classmate had said.  

“What do you mean by that?”

Yejun and Yewang grow silent, guilt lining their faces, while suspicion lines yours. The air flowing through their computer mics became stuffed with tension, the two sending each other glances of worry amidst your perplexed presence. 

“Just return the sweater to Hyunwoo tomorrow, and make sure you talk to him, too. Whether you tell him the truth or not.” Yejun quietly diverted, his stoic demeanour leaving no room for you to retaliate. Yewang nodded in alliance, backing you into a corner. Guess your friends were finally putting their foot down, too. Grumbling under your breath, you turn to steal a glance at the midnight-stained fabric draped on your chair. 

That sweater was such a pain in your ass. 

...

The air felt heavy as you hauled open the volleyball gym doors. Like fog clouding up the evening atmosphere, it blurred your view of the athletic scenery. You could do this. You heaved a deep breath. Just hand him the sweater and leave. Don’t talk to him. 

Like a magnet, you effortlessly pulled the eyes of the other volleyball players in your direction. The plastic bag holding the navy fabric swung against your every step as they continued to follow your every move. It wasn’t long before, with an army of pupils burning your back, you reached the towering figure of your final destination. 

Hyunwoo fiddled with a spare ball before turning to face you, your eyes meeting with a defeated and bitter glare. You winced, the grasp of the plastic growing tight as you braced for impact. You knew this would happen: Hyunwoo had every right to be angry, every right to feel this way. Your harsh words, or lack thereof, could only brand yourself as guilty. A weighing sensation plagued your heart. You glanced away from his gaze, swiftly handing him the bag. Your guilt, your emotions were beginning to wash over you- you had to get away now. 

“Y-you left this.” You hardly stuttered out, nimbly shoving the plastic bag to his chest. Without peeling your eyes from the ground, you continued. “I washed it, so you don’t have to worry about-”

“Wow,” Hyunwoo scoffed, interrupting your useless blabbering. “So you can’t even look at me anymore, huh?”

You choked. “W-what?”

“Was I so insufferable back at your house that you can’t even look me in the eye anymore? Are you that disgusted with me?” Hyunwoo practically hissed aloud, alarming the others. 

You felt yourself heating up in anger, your head losing focus. “What are you even talking about? You’re not insufferable!”

“Then why ignore my texts, ignore me in the halls? Not to mention that stunt you pulled at your house!? If I’m not insufferable, then what even am I to you?”

Your brows wrinkled in response, your heart letting go of any of its past motives. Inside you, a bomb ticked. “I’m not the only one responsible for all this, you know! You just had to go out of your way and become the school’s celebrity, leaving me all alone!” 

“Why would it matter to you? You clearly don’t care since you couldn’t even bother to reject me properly!” Hyunwoo jeered, his booming voice bouncing off of the walls.

Tears of frustration begin to well up in your eyes as an alarmed Dawit jolts up. You, however, don’t take your attention away from Hyunwoo as the tears begin to stream down your face. You were too late, there was no stopping your heart now. 

“It matters cause I miss you! I miss the old Hyunwoo, the doofus that's been my best friend since we were kids. Not this new, hotshot Hyunwoo that everyone loves! You’re like a stranger to me now, and I want the old Hyunwoo back!”

You grow stunned by the overwhelming silence of the volleyball team, most notably Hyunwoo, who was piecing together your words like a 1000 piece puzzle. A blush crept onto your cheeks at the realization that you had just tipped your hand out a little more than you had desired. Maybe now, it was best to rip off the bandaid as harshly as you could. Maybe Yewang was right, you just had to tell the truth. 

“And I couldn’t reject you with words cause… I’d be lying.”

As if on cue, Hyunwoo’s eyes grow wide, his jaw dropping to the floor. The flock of players that surround you follow suit. You gain a sense of reality as you swab the tears away from your cheeks before glancing up to look at him. “I’m sorry, Hyunwoo.” 

Your heart could implode right then and there. You had to leave. You had to get away, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Dropping the plastic bag at his feet, you hastily spat out your final goodbye before storming out of the gym, speeding past the other players. Hyunwoo runs after you, but can only get as far as the door frame before Dawit and Kyungmin stop him in his tracks. You were running away from him once again, and you left him dazed, confused, and once again missing you. 

“Come on, Hyunwoo. Coach will be here any minute.” Minwoo reminded, holding back the stricken highlighter head from running after you at that very moment. 

...

“It’s been days, y/n. This won’t do.” Dawit nagged, perched nonchalantly on your door frame. He grimaced at your loathing figure, engulfed in your own bedsheets. “Come on, I’ll take you out! Fries always cheer me up!” 

You tried your hardest to refuse, even shooting a pillow at your pesky brother’s head, but it was no use. Within minutes, you were hauled out of your bed, practically held at gunpoint by Dawit’s cruel stare as you sauntered down the stairs. With about 4 hours of rest and the promise of fries being the sole thing motivating you, you didn’t expect much when you made your way into the kitchen. You didn’t expect much, but a certain highlighter head, with a medium serving of french fries in hand, sitting anxiously on your dining table, was the last to ever cross your mind. Kim Hyunwoo. 

Your body froze, slowly stumbling backwards. Away from him. You weren’t ready to face him. You weren’t ready to endure the guilt and shame. The consequences of falling for your best friend. And you were sure he wanted nothing to do with you, now that he knows the distasteful truth. 

So why is he here?

A hand shoved you further into the kitchen, in Hyunwoo’s direction. “Talk to him.” Dawit muttered, sending a knowing glance and a nod at his teammate before wisping away. 

Hyunwoo shot up, quickly closing the gap between your two figures. You could hear his hitched breath as he approached you, his pupils shaking. Your figure stood frozen before him, trapped in his presence and unable to escape. He slowly glanced up at you, his eyes gleaming with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I won’t stay too long, I just need to know-” Hyunwoo cuts through his words with a sharp breath. “Was what you said at the gym true?”

You winced, palms curling up into an uptight fist. You’ve accidentally let out the truth before, why couldn’t you do it again? Even if it was against your own will, when your heart selfishly took control. There was no point in running away anymore. 

“Yeah” You barely muttered a whisper. “I’ve liked you for a while and I know how weird that must sound for you and I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship so I … lied.” 

“What?”

You glanced away. “It’s stupid, I know. I shouldn’t have hid it from you but I couldn’t help it! You were already busy with being the highschool’s celebrity and everything, I was worried that if I told you my feelings I would only lose you more.”

“Wait-”

“I was selfish, and I couldn’t control my feelings around you, so I distanced myself but it didn’t do-” 

“Y/n!”

It all happened too fast. His restless hands quickly discarded the food it once held before swiftly cupping your face. With his eyes fluttering shut, Hyunwoo locks his lips into yours, capturing you, holding you hostage in his grasp. Stunned to the core, you grip onto the fabric of his shirt. Anything to pull you back down to reality, to keep your sanity. Your stomach flips into itself, butterflies taking over your gut as you finally give in. Your eyes flutter shut, pulling him closer, finally relishing in the warmth you so stupidly denied yourself for months. 

To your detriment, Hyunwoo finally pulled away, snapping you back into the real world. You flee into a state of panic, your eyes spilling out of their sockets as your slow brain finally realizes what you just did. Hyunwoo lets out a soft chuckle, instantly calming your nerves. He looks down, his eyes still locked with yours. “Are you gonna listen to me now?”

“But- you-”

“You don’t have to worry about losing me, y/n.” Hyunwoo began, his hand softly clasping around your shaking ones. “I like you, too! I’ve liked you for years now. Losing you is the last thing I want!” He let out a sigh. “I just wished you told me sooner, you know.”

You were still frozen in shock, too stunned to comprehend his words. You thought back to Yewang’s words, his and Yejun’s suspicious reactions to each of your questions. A scoff travels through your lips. It all clicked. They knew. They knew about his feelings, didn’t they? He hums softly, grabbing your attention once again. 

“Will you finally accept me, y/n?”

You picked at the skin on your lips, your breath hitching. “What about our friendship? Won’t it get ruined?”

Hyunwoo shines a smile. He keeps a hand cupping your cheek as another arm snakes around your waist. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, if it means I get to be with you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the command of his flirtatious words. He was always such a smooth talker, you knew that for a fact. However, you found yourself tolerating them, even enjoying them this time. You couldn’t seem to wipe that stupid grin on your face. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you decided to give him a proper response; a taste of his own medicine. 

You pull him closer, locking lips with him once again. You grow more confident, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugs your waist in response as you feel him smile into the kiss. It was the stuff of fairy tales. 

“Of course.”

...

“How many times do we gotta say we’re sorry?” Yejun grumbled as the three of you stood right outside of the volleyball gym, sending you an annoyed glare. You shunned it effortlessly, though. Your attention barely gave them the light of day while Yejun and Yewang groaned in unison. Yewang whined. “You figured it out, anyways. You don’t even need us!”

“It would’ve been nice to know sooner, you know.” You muttered. 

“I did tell you, though!” Yewang rebutted

“Not clearly! Like what am I supposed to do with ‘yOu miGhT NoT KnOw hiS aNsWEr’??? That was so vague?”

“Yewang!” A voice called out from behind, interrupting your heated debate. The three of you pivoted around, your synchronization making it seem like you weren’t just stupidly arguing two seconds ago. Hyunwoo came running from behind, his cheeky grin beckoning a similar one to grow on your face. He approached the three of you, his attention on Yewang, but his arms immediately wrapping around you. “Captain’s looking for you! And you better hurry, he’s starting to get pissed.”

Yewang sent a nod in Hunwoo’s direction, swiftly turning to leave. Yejun sends one glance at the cringe-inducing couple before him, grimacing before turning away in Yewangs direction. “I’ll go with him, I don’t wanna third-wheel you two. Gross.”

The two of you leave Yejun alone, basking in each other's presence and sending each other heart eyes. Hiding your relationship wasn’t exactly a part of your plan, and it’s safe to say that a lot of people noticed. 

Eyes were burning through your figures, eyes of every girl in your vicinity. It didn’t take much to know how bitter they were, how jealous they were of you to win the heart of the highschool celebrity. Puffs of steam practically exploded from their ears and their faces were beat red. Each girl gave you sour glances before filing into the volleyball gym, finally leaving the two of you alone. 

“Awe man,” Hyunwoo muttered, catching your attention. “I was hoping to kiss you in front of them to piss them off!” 

You send a slap onto his shoulder, dumbfounded. “Hyunwoo!”

He grinned, flashing you a wink. “It’s fine though, I like it better when we’re alone!”

Instantly, a blush forms on your cheeks as you hit him again. You really hated his way with words. You shake your head, hoping that would whisk the embarrassment away. “Don’t you have to go? The game starts soon!”

Without warning, Hyunwoo dips down. Swiftly, he locks his lips with yours, a hand cupping your side. Stunned, you smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as if you’ve done this countless times before. Well, you have done this countless times before. 

You pull away softly, your eyes never letting go of each other. “I know, I just came to do that.”

“Pfft, why?” You cover your lips with your hand. 

“Isn’t it obvious? You're my good luck charm!”

You let out a loud snort. This dork. 

...

[tippedbykreider]

your love is my turning page | c. kreider

Word count: 17,700 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity. Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.

*

‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.

That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses.  The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath. 

It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.

That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.

Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.

She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city. 

She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.

*

Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.

His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.

Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.

“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”

“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”

“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”

“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”

Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.

“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”

His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.

“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.

“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.

“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”

Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”

Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”

“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”

Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”

Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”

Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.

“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”

“Yeah? And you like it?”

Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.

“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”

Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”

“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”

She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.

“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn, you caught me.”

Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.

“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.

Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.

“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”

Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.

“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”

It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.

“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”

That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.

She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.

“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”

Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”

Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.

“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”

Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.

“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”

“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”

“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”

Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.

“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”

“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”

“A favourite of yours, then?”

Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”

He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.

“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.

“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.

“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Then I think you’d better take my number.”

 *

The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.

He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.

It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.

As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.

“Hey, you.”

She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.

“I need you to help settle a debate.”

Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.

“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”

“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”

“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.

“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”

“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”

“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”

“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”

Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.

“I’m so confused right now.”

She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”

“Rookies had too many beers?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”

“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.

Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.

“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”

His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.

“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.

“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”

“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”

“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.

“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.

“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.

“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”

There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.

Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.

“But I hate packing,” she whined.

“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”

“You’re mean.”

Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.

“No, I’m Chris.”

“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”

Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.

 *

Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.

Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.

“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.

Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.

“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”

He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.

“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”

Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.

“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”

“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.

“I mean, I’m not terrible.”

Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”

“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”

“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.

“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”

It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.

“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”

“That sounds incredibly full-on.”

“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”

“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”

Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”

“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”

“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”

It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.

“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”

“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”

“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”

“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”

Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.

“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”

“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”

“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”

Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.

Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.

It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.

The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.

Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.

She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.

*

The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.

“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.

“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”

There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.

“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”

“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”

The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.

There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.

Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.

The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.

 *

The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior. 

It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.

He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:

‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’

It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.

“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”

The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year. 

‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.

“Rosie?”

A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.

“Ro, what happened?”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.

“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”

The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”

Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in. 

“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.

“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”

“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”

“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”

Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one. 

“Why not?”

He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.

“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”

“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”

She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.

He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.

“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”

“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.

“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”

He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.

It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.

*

June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”

Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”

“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”

“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”

Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So go to her.”

“What?”

Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.

“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”

“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”

“Just like that? Just go?”

“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”

“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”

“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”

Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.

“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”

“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.

“‘Course I will, and Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”

 *

Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.

He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”

“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house. 

“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”

Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.

“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”

Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.

“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”

His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.

“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”

“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”

“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”

He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.

 *

The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.

On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping. 

“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.

“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”

“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”

He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.

“Not really, today has just been a lot.”

Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.

“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”

She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.

Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.

As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.

They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.

It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Please, Chris. I need you.”

“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”

She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.

 *

Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

“Oh, okay.”

She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.

“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.

“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”

“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.

“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”

“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.

“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”

Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.

“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”

She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”

Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.

“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:

“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”

Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.

 *

Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.

Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.

 *

Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.

“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.

“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn’t even on the list.

“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.

“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”

“Christopher…”

“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”

“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”

Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.

“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”

He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.

“Chris, it’s beautiful.”

He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”

“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.

“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.

Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.

“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”

Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”

He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.

“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”

Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.

My dearest Rosie,

There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.

I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.

In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.

All my love, Always

Chris

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.

Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Chris…”

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.

Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.

“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”

Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.

“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”

She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.

“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”

As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.

[abundanceofnots]

Ficlet idea: Now that Mickey’s using kevs gym he’s been giving guys tips from his prison workouts. Ian is NOT happy about the level of attention he gets when he stops by one day

(You can read this fic here, or on AO3.)

So, the KevFit membership was still a thing. Cool.

And, okay, listen. It wasn’t that Ian minded Mickey going to the gym. Of course, he didn’t. It was just the way this whole thing came to be that Ian wouldn’t call ideal.

Mickey liked to say Ian body-shamed him into working out, and frankly, Ian could see why he would.

They gave each other shit all the time. Laughed about hairy toes, prodded at each other’s saggy parts. And when they were both in the right headspace, it was just that—provoking banter. But Mickey, being the sensitive creature that he was, sometimes took it too close to heart.

And yeah, maybe Ian nagged him a few too many times about staying healthy after the lockdown started when Mickey’s only method of balancing out his liquid beer diet was riding Ian’s dick. But by then, it felt like they’d been occupying the same 1x1 bedroom for years, so it wasn’t exactly Ian’s fault.

If Mickey decided to go about it this way, great. Seriously. It only meant that Ian didn’t need to worry about getting his knuckles bruised anytime soon. And while he secretly mourned the loss of Mickey’s soft belly, he wasn’t going to complain. Not when Mickey looked the way he did now.

The thought was on Ian’s mind again that morning while he brushed his teeth over the bathroom sink, using the time on his hands to watch his husband in the mirror as he showered.

The curtain was only partially closed, just enough so that Mickey wasn’t splashing water around the tub while still leaving space for Ian to see him.

And boy, did he see him.

His broad shoulders. His arms stretching as he ran his hands through his wet hair. The dimples on his back. The marks Ian left on his ass when they fucked earlier.

When Mickey turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, Ian found himself drawn to the little water droplets sliding over the Ian Galager tattoo and down his pecs, his abs, the V shape of his hips, and into his pubes.

Ian only realized he entirely forgot to move the toothbrush in his mouth when one corner of Mickey’s mouth curled into a teasing smirk.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, sounding smug as hell as he reached for his towel.

“Definitely not your ugly mug.”

Coming out all muffled, Ian’s words lost some of their intended edges. He angled himself back to the sink and spat.

“You have the tits of a 12-year-old girl,” he added quickly like there was a five-second rule for when you could still save your diss. He looked up just in time to see Mickey scrunch his face in mild outrage.

“Fuck off, these are C cups at least.”

“Like you're such an expert on those.”

Ian let out a low yelp as Mickey unexpectedly smacked his back, right around where his Monica tattoo was.

“Well, they're not your mom's tits, that's for sure,” Mickey noted through a sneer.

He then went back to drying himself, and Ian allowed himself to openly gawk at his slightly misty reflection again.

Several mechanical strokes of his toothbrush later, the thought came back, clouding his mind with an ugly feeling.

The intuitive thing would be to push it back and pretend like everything was okay, but they were married now and told each other shit, right? He had to say something.

“Going to the gym again today?” Ian asked eventually, trying to come off as noncommittal as he could with his mouth full and his eyes trained on the drain.

Obviously, he didn’t mind getting horny over his buff husband. No, the actual reason Ian was so bothered about all this was that other people now had free reigns to get horny over him as well.

You see, since Mickey started paying Kev’s gym his regular visits, he’d managed to attract a flock of followers. Fucking fans.

That, at least, was what Ian called them. Mickey, of course, didn’t see it like that. For him, they were paying customers.

“It’s easy money, man. And the crowd’s gettin’ bigger and bigger every week.” Mickey looked pleased as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Anyway, it’s not like I have to do much. Most of the time, I just do my thing, and the bunch of ‘em stare at my ass.”

Ian bent forward and spat.

“So basically, they pay to jerk off your ego,” he pointed out, slumping his shoulders to show how totally unimpressed he was by that notion.

“’Xactly. And maybe something else, too.”

Mickey’s cackle followed him out into the hallway as he left Ian alone in the bathroom.

---

It was clearly a joke. A nasty joke that was supposed to leave a sting, but there was absolutely no need for Ian to worry. And he kept telling himself that all day—right until the moment he entered the badly-lit backroom of the Alibi and found himself in the company of a pack of Northsiders in designer label gym clothes.

Before he could spot Mickey anywhere among them, some blond guy in what seemed like an uncomfortably too tight a tank top came to his side.

„Looks like we have a newcomer in our midst.” The guy clicked his tongue, giving Ian an blatant once-over. “You here for the Mickeffect?”

„The what?“

„The Mickeffect. That’s what we call this class. Unofficially, of course, because the class is sorta kinda unofficial, too.” At that, he sniggered, which Ian immediately found annoying. “3pm, every Tuesday and Thursday. You from the Facebook group?”

Ian resisted the urge to scoff. “Uh, no.”

“Just lucky coincidence, then? Well, since you’re already here, I think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. The dude who leads this class is ex-con, so he knows all the right ways to abuse the body if you know what I mean.”

Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, Ian smiled politely and nodded. He wasn’t going to give this blond douchebag the satisfaction and punch him in the face. Not yet, at least.

“Hot as hell, too. And man, that ass. Simply de-licious. The whole thing actually only went off after I posted a video of him doing squats. Got 50k views in a day, a whole article on PinkNews a week later. The title was The Ex-con Hunk Who Makes Chicagoans Sweat Like Crazy – And Then Tells Them Off. Funny.”

The guy shrugged in this wannabe innocent you know how it is way. Ian was relieved to realize he really, really didn’t.

“We get new people all the time, but the return rate is terrible,” Blond Douchebag continued, amazingly. “Most of the boys come for Mickey but then leave with someone else. Maybe you’ll get lucky here, too.”

“I’m married,“ Ian retorted, hoping it would be enough to make him stop talking.

But Blond Douchebag didn’t even blink. “Yeah, so are some of the guys here. And he is, too, but I don’t think he’s the typa guy who would be deterred by that.“

Careful there, pal, Ian thought. Or you might find your pretty face landing very unprettily on a beer keg.

“Oh, hey!“

The familiar voice came out of nowhere, prematurely ending Ian’s plans to show this complete dickwad the practical meaning of the word concussion.

His head snapped to his right where Mickey was now standing, his eyes carefully roaming over Ian. There was a softness in them for a moment before his whole face morphed into a smirk.

„Came to learn something from the expert?” he teased.

Ian clenched his jaw. “Something like that.”

As Mickey moved past them, Blond Douchebag gave Ian a sly wink.

---

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of problems the snooty Northsiders could possibly be dealing with in their private lives, but this whole thing seemed to have almost therapeutical effects on them.

Mickey called them Ansel Elgort (not a compliment) or White Kanye West (also not a compliment) while he listened to their crap, and they giggled like teenage girls. He yelled at them for being pussies, and they were only a touch away from popping a boner. It made zero fucking sense.

And Mickey, well. The dickhead was so clearly giving them an upgraded version to his usual performance. Biting his bottom lip all the time. Flexing his muscles a little too hard. Grabbing everyone’s attention by letting out these exaggerated grunts.

Ian officially reached his bullshit limit when Mickey finished off a set of pull-ups and promptly took his shirt off to wipe his face. The way everything around him seemed to come to a stop for a hot minute had Ian’s eyes rolling.

It was totally ridiculous. Were these guys really so desperate?

Getting a better grip on the skipping rope he was using, Ian caught Mickey watching him, his brows arched, the dare behind them so plain and obvious.  

And yeah, okay, asshole. Two could play this game.

“You know what,” Ian started out loud so everyone could hear him. He let the rope fall to his feet and instead tugged his own shirt off. “We did things a little differently in the army.”

His grin widened when he heard one of the guys audibly gulp.

---

“Fifty!”

“One hundred!”

“Fuck off, you can’t do one hundred push-ups in one go.”

“With one hand behind my back.”

Maybe kneeling on the feet of two wheezing guys doing sit-ups wasn’t the best time to have a whispered shouting match with your husband, but honestly, Ian couldn’t give two shits. Mickey was seriously pissing him off—and like hell was he going to let him win. Even if it was just this one petty argument.

“You need stamina when you’re the top. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to do all the fucking work while the bottom just lies there.”

“Oh, oh, please! Tell us more about your workouts in the army. Was this before or after you tried to run away from there by stealing a damn helicopter?”

They were suddenly aware that their periphery vision got surprisingly still. Almost in tandem, they looked down at the alarmed expressions of their trainees.

“Did I fuckin’ tell you to stop, Asthma Boy?” Mickey grumbled at his guy. “Gimme three more sets of twenty!”

---

Blond Douchebag must have taken a genuine liking to him because he later offered to cover Ian as he pounded into the punching bag. And while he technically did hold onto the punching bag, his eyes were always on Mickey.

“Wonder who Ian is,” he mused as he observed Mickey’s topless form. “Think it’s the husband? Probably doesn’t even realize what a hot piece of ass he’s got at home.”

Too easy. It would be entirely too easy to pretend Ian’s hand slipped and he hit him by mistake, and he wasn’t going to stoop that low. He wasn’t.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian started punching harder.

He wasn’t.

“Everything okay here?”

Mickey had his shirt tucked under the elastic band of his pants, and from the corner of his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of sweat that covered his face and upper body. He wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, more than okay,” Blond Douchebag practically purred.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Whoa, Ian, hey.” Mickey sounded worried. “Take it easy, man.”

And fucking finally, that seemed to have done the job. Because Blond Douchebag wasn’t looking at Mickey anymore, he was looking back at Ian, and his bravado was long gone. Now, there was childlike fear in his stance, and Ian almost pitied him.

“Oh shit. You’re Ian,” he managed before the next punch landed right into his face, knocking him down on the floor.

Panting, Ian stood over him as he clutched his bleeding nose.

“Yes, I’m Ian,” he snarled at him. “And his ass is all mine.”

Someone gripped his arm then.

“Okay, the show’s over, Muhammad Ali. Better get out of here,” Mickey muttered as he pushed Ian across the gym, past all the Northside wimps who seemed too tired to do anything other than being in shock. “Come on. Ian, come the fuck on!”

From the Alibi, they ran. Sprinted along the streets and over honking cars, zig-zagged through commuters, and flipped off those who wolf-whistled at their half-naked bodies. They ran until they ended up in a dirty alley with no one else in sight, their sides on fire, and broke into a fit of laughter.

Ian only realized Mickey brought his shirt when he used it to slap his chest.

“Jealous fucker.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t jealous.”

But Mickey was still wearing that suggestive whatcha gonna do now smirk, and his lips were shiny from being licked over just a second ago, and so the next thing Ian knew, he was pushing him against a wall and kissing him thoroughly.

His hands went to Mickey’s ass, lifting him up just slightly as his fingers dug in, and Ian pulled back to let out a moan.

“Mm, I fuckin’ love your ass.”

Mickey groaned. “Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me all of this was because of my ass.”

Leaning down again, Ian murmured into his mouth: “Isn’t it always?”

[ppersonna]

physical - pjm | m

lights out and follow the noise. baby keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice. so come on, let's get physical - physical, dua lipa

↳ summary- you cant seem to escape the sexy fitness instructor that seemingly is everywhere you turn. it’s enough to make you irrational.

↳ rating- explicit

↳ word count- 6.2k

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ genre- smut, fluff, comedy, fitness instructor!jimin, honestly this is pwp but with like 20% plot

↳ warnings- oral sex (m/f receiving) penetrative sex, sex in public, exhibitionism, spitting, slightly dom!jimin, jimin is v mouthy during sex, jimin is also a brat, 

↳ a/n- hiiiii we back at it again.  this fic brings me to 1 fic per member so i can finally feel good about repeats looloooolll also, this was very fun to write because i got to incorporate my love for exercise classes and my bias uwu.  also jimin 100% would be the worst instructor to take a class from bc i would NEVER focus EVER AGAIN.  pls feel free to message, comment, etc etc bc i love friendship.  enjoy!!!!!

The sound of your spin shoes clipping into the pedals is like music to your ears. 

You feel your shoulders relax as you roll them, warming and stretching the muscles of your arms and back. EDM beats play lightly over the impressive sound system, encouraging the riders to cycle to warm up for 45 minutes of adrenaline and heart-pumping cardio. 

Spin class is one of your happy places. Group fitness classes give you a rush that solo workouts can’t compare to. You love the camaraderie, the support and the built in friendships. Plus, you love having someone at the front of the room tell you exactly what to do. So what, you’re a little subservient? 

You smile at the ladies clipping into the bikes next to you, not knowing who they are but finding that everyone is friendly and wants the best for themselves and the group.  It’s why you love these types of classes.  Strangers become teammates. 

You hadn’t bothered to check who was instructing today, having clicked on the class time that fit your schedule best. You hoped it was your favorite Hoseok, but had learned that all the instructors were just as good Hoseok was just so vibrant, he made you work harder. 

The heat in your legs builds upon a low simmer, muscles warming for an intense class.  A melodic voice sounds over the speakers, your instructor coming in and securing their place at the front of the room. 

You take a moment to stop gaping. In front of you is quite possibly the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen in your short life. 

He’s incredibly toned, wearing a tight adidas tank and second skin-like leggings. He clips into the bike on the podium and smiles at the class. 

You’re sure you’re salivating. You curse yourself for picking the bike front and center today, now acutely aware how likely you were to drool over the instructor the entire time.  

He notices your stare and winks before he adjusts his mic and speaks again. 

“Good morning, everyone!  I’ll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin and I’m happy to be here,” his voice is light and sounds like honey. It slithers down your skin and oozes into you.  “Let’s get started at a quick pace of 90 rpm’s and warm up those legs!”

His dirty blonde hair glistens in the spotlight, thighs flex and ripple in his leggings.  You’re frozen in your seat and it takes you four thumping heart beats to realize the class has started.  Fuck. He will be the death of you. Nothing makes you lose focus in class. 

You push your legs and begin, and he turns his gaze back on to you. It’s as if he lights a match and throws it on you, the way your body reacts under his stare.  You wonder what it feels like to touch his chest, his toned arms. You bite your lip and pant, breathlessness unrelated to the exercise. 

Class is torture. Everything Jimin says is a double entendre to your ears and you find your core aching and wet only 15 minutes in. Jimin looks perfect, up in third position on the bike, standing and hips pushed back. You can see his pert little ass in the mirror, and you want to cry. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him. 

“All right, let’s tap it back in 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Jimin pushes his hips to tap the seat with his ass, before standing back up as he pedals in time with the music. He looks delicious, sweat on his forehead.  He pushes his hair out of his eyes and you nearly pass out at the sly smile curved on his face. 

You attempt to do the workout but feel yourself faltering, missing the beat often. It frustrates you. Normally, you are at the top of the leaderboard, soaring above the others with your effort. Today you land near the bottom. All because of fucking Jimin and his perfect fucking body. 

The arms circuit comes next and you are grateful for the reprieve from heavy resistance on your legs and a chance to sit and catch your breath.  You grab the weight bar and hold it in your palms, ready to do bicep curls at the count of your instructor. 

Jimin unclips from his bike and grabs his bar, before walking the length of the front of the room.  He begins with the bicep curls and you choke. His arms ripple with the effort and his hands look so strong and veiny; your mind immediately fills with thoughts of his strong hands fingering you to completion.  He counts out the numbers and winks at you again as you falter in your push and pull. You shut your eyes, avoiding looking at him, and focus on the curl of your arms. 

It’s infuriating. You take pride in your fitness and find yourself most satisfied after an intense workout.  This class has proven to be intense in a whole different manner, but you’re upset at the lost opportunity to push yourself and focus. 

As your eyes flutter open again, Jimin moves to put the bar away and clip back into his bike. Only 15 minutes left. You can do this. 

You definitely did not do it. The last fifteen minutes were pure torture. Jimin kept his monologue of encouragement going, but his voice was tinged with fatigue and he panted hard into the mic. Sometimes, during particularly tough resistance, he would add little grunts and “uh!”s to his countdowns.  You felt your thighs tremble with each one, gasping at the fantasy of his grunts as he fucked into you. 

Blessedly, the class ended and Jimin was leading the group through relaxing stretches to calm you down. It didn’t calm you in the least.  You watch as he folds himself in half over the bike to stretch his hamstrings and you’re mesmerized when he stands on his bike to stretch his back out. You want to lick every inch of him, tease your tongue down every hard line of muscle you could see until it landed directly on his coc-

“Thank you, everyone! You did incredible!” Jimin cooes over the mic as he stands next to the bike. He bows slightly in reverence to the group, and the class is dismissed. 

You’re not sure if you want to book it out of the room first or linger. You’re sure if he tries to talk to you, you’ll implode. Maybe you can leave in a crowd, while he’s talking to one of the older ladies sure to hit on him. 

You pack up your water bottle and towel, patting the sweat on your face as you try to sneak past in a crowd of elderly women. 

“Hey!” Jimin calls and you freeze. You look up to find the object of your frustrations smiling at you. Fuck. He was talking to you.

“Great job today,” he grins. 

Little shit, you grumble internally. He knows perfectly well that you did dreadfully, coming in 12th place out of 15. A woman three times your age got first place, and it burned you more than you cared to admit. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, awkwardly patting your face dry.  You’re positive you look terrible. Red faced from exertion and arousal, sweating like a pig. 

“You come here often, princess?” He asks as he walks closer to you. You find your breath catch in your throat and you’re unable to reply.  He chuckles. 

“Cat got your tongue?”  His smirk is legendary and you want to slap or kiss it right off. 

“I’m-,” you croak out, then clear your throat and steel yourself. “I come every other day. Sometimes more.” 

Jimin can’t take his eyes off of you. He smirks again. “You should take another class of mine, doll.” 

You blush, and you hope the already flushed color of your cheeks hides it. 

“You could use the practice. Soon, you’ll get the hang of it.” He gives you a wink and leaves, leaving you stewing in anger and frustration at his words. 

How dare he?! He assumed you were a novice! Your pride and ego burned. You were a regular! You always came in the top 3 of the class! It’s his fucking fault you couldn’t focus on class! 

You grab your things from the locker you stored it in, change your shoes, and stomp out of the spin studio with only one thought on your mind. 

The asshole, Park Jimin. 

You avoided spin like the plague. You rationally knew he didn’t teach every single class there, but you couldn’t face it, face the place where he hurt your pride so quickly and turned your insides into molten lava. 

You dragged your best friend Jungkook with you to yoga, a quick and heated vinyasa class. Jungkook was more of a weight lifting guy, but you had recently talked him into trying yoga, explaining the benefits of meditation and the stretching of his muscles and sinew would help improve his form. He caved and quickly found he liked it. 

You spread your mat down on the warm wooden floor and let out a sigh. You had been looking forward to this class all week, and you were finally here.  You ensured you were taking the class from your favorite instructor, Taehyung, when you booked you and Jungkook’s spot. 

You smile at Jungkook as he settles himself into his mat, and you both begin stretching and chatting lightly before class begins. 

The door opens just as you get into child’s pose, face toward the mat in between your thighs and arms stretched high above your head on the floor. 

A silky voice, most decidedly not Taehyung’s, rolls over your body. 

“Welcome everyone. I’m your substitute teacher today. My name is Park Jimin.”

Your head snaps up and you stifle a groan at the sight you’re welcomed with.  

Jimin stands on the mat at the front of the class, directly in front of you, wearing nothing but long, lululemon tights that cling to his skin. Again, you chose to be front and fucking center. You can see the way his legs form in his leggings. His chest is bare, and you can’t stop staring at the defined lines of his abs. You want to cry. 

He’s invaded your favorite spots twice now. 

He recognizes you, startled for a moment, but quickly covers it with a wink in your direction. You let your head fall to the mat with a thunk. 

The class is hot, literally. It’s 102 degrees Fahrenheit and you’re dripping with sweat. You move with precision through each sun salutation, ashtanga, and tree pose. The moves flow into one another, your favorite thing about vinyasa, and you pointedly avoid even looking at the instructor.  You’re grateful you know all the moves by heart and can position yourself into them by memory. 

You’re proud that you only falter a few times, heart stuttering every time Jimin walks by you to note your pose and call out the next position. You’ve never wanted to simultaneously fight and fuck someone so bad in your life. 

It’s the final, relaxing poses of the class and you sigh with relief as you maneuver into sleeping swan. You slide out of down dog and slip your right knee between your hands, lean a bit to the right, and press your hips forward towards the ground.  You can feel the delicious stretch in your hips and your eyes flutter at the release of tension.  You lay down over your knee, allowing your arms to lay flat above your knee and press your hips down as far as you can. 

It’s quiet, all you can hear is your breath. You see Jimin out of the corner of your eye assisting others push deeper into the pose, pressing his hands where they need the help.  You gulp.  Fuck. 

You turn your head back towards the mat and focus only on your breathing and the stretch in your body.   Jimin indicates to switch legs, and you do so effortlessly, sliding your left knee to the center and putting your right knee back. 

It feels good to stretch, especially on your weaker left side. You inhale deeply and let it out as you try to push your hip forward more.  

Suddenly, warm hands are on your lower back, right above the cleft of your ass. You bite your lip tight, knowing it’s Jimin, guiding you deeper.  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Your breath catches as he presses down, humming his approval as your hips move with his hands and you gasp at the feel of the stretch. It feels even better going further than you could on your own. He laughs quietly through his nostrils, as he smooths his warm hands up under your shirt to rest on the skin of your back. 

You feel as if you will explode. Just as your body reacts to his touch and caress, it’s gone and he’s moving to Jungkook to guide the weightlifter through his own pose.  

The class ends and Jungkook smiles at you as you both lift from your ‘namaste’ bow. 

“That was great!” He grins as he rolls up his mat. “Jimin’s a great teacher! We should take more of his classes.” 

You silently cry, not sure your weak heart and pussy can handle any more of Jimin and his stupidly hot body and his ridiculous smile. 

“Yeah, Kook,” you half-heartedly agree, not interested in divulging your sordid secret crush on the asshole who embarrassed you. 

You’re packed up and exiting the room when the same familiar voice chimes. 

“Hey, princess!”  

You and Jungkook both turn around to see Jimin smiling at the head of the room. Jungkook looks at you questioningly, wondering why the instructor is calling you princess. 

“You did good today,” Jimin notes. “You should come again sometime. We can make sure you’re really getting stretched out.” 

Your cheeks flame impossibly red and you splutter. Jimin winks at you. This fucking asshole. 

“Your hips seem a little tight. We can work on that.”  He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing and you want to kick him in the dick just as much as you want to kneel in front of him to suck it. 

“Sure, Jimin,” you grumble out before you drag Jungkook from the heated room. 

Jungkook is all grins. “What was THAT?” He asks as you exit the yoga studio and head towards the subway. “He was basically asking to fuck you right there! How do you know him?!”

You pout at your best friend. “He doesn’t want to fuck! He just enjoys getting me worked up,” you sigh. “He was my spin instructor the other day, and he got me so fucking heated I nearly came in last place! In a class full of grandmas!” 

Jungkook snickers as you both tap your metro cards and lean against the wall to wait for the next train. 

“Girl, he was offering to help you stretch you out. He wants you.” 

As much as it thrilled you, you couldn’t comprehend it. Jimin was ethereal. He surely had women throwing themselves at him. He simply enjoyed the teasing. 

“Whatever, Kook. He told me I need practice at cycling. ME! I’m the goddamn spin queen!”  The crowd around you watches you and you pale at the embarrassment. You lower your voice. “He just wants to see me fired up, for no fucking reason.”

“Okay, delusional,” he sighs, patting your sweaty head. “Believe what you want.” 

You hmph in reply and watch as a train approaches to take you home. 

You most definitely will believe what you want. 

Jimin is fucking everywhere.  If he’s not instructing, he’s taking the same fucking classes as you. Barre, Pilates, yin yoga, CrossFit. He’s always there and always taunting you with his perfect fucking body and teasing words and your fantasies of him drilling you into a mattress until you can’t talk. 

You avoid group classes altogether. You can’t face him. Your fitness is suffering because of it. 

You suck it up and go to the gym, the regular ass gym with no classes, and you’re determined to run a few miles on the treadmill and maybe get a good 20 minute lift in. It’s been too long since you’ve had the thrill of a good workout, the satisfying ache in your muscles. The gym will suffice.  It’s missing the level of companionship that group classes provide, but it’s better than nothing.

You pop your earphones into your ears and click on some music, not caring what it was as long as it was quick, and press begin on the treadmill. 

Running is easy. The strangers around you melt away and it’s just you and the treadmill. You love the way your heart is beating, sweat forming at your forehead.  Finally. A good fucking workout. 

All thoughts sweep away as you run, and your only thought process is on the push down of your feet on the treadmill belt and the pull up of your legs to lengthen your stride.  The runner’s high was something you lived for, and you realize you should incorporate more running into your routine. 

You don’t even pause for water, so wrapped up in the run's high that you don’t feel thirsty. 

Your watch vibrates against your wrist, notifying you that the 60 minutes you set to run is up, and you slow your pace to a complete stop.  You feel like you’re high. Your heart is racing and your body feels like it’s vibrating. This is what you had been missing in the weeks of unsatisfying classes. The flood of endorphins after a perfect workout.  

You suck down some water, before removing your earbuds from your ears. The roar of the gym is loud, music and TVs and chatter from the gymgoers. 

“You’ve got great running form, you know.” A familiar sultry voice is suddenly next to you, and your arms prickle. 

You turn to gaze at the intruder and feel your body coil tight. 

Park fucking Jimin. And his fucking ridiculously sexy smirk and perfect hair and godly body. 

“Are you following me?!” You accuse. How the fuck is he everywhere you go!?

Jimin laughs out loud and leans against the treadmill next to you. “It’s not my fault you’re taking all my classes! One might think you’re following me.”  

You scowl and push yourself off the treadmill. 

“Hey, wait, don’t go!” he calls and grabs your arm.  

You turn to glare at him. “You going to tell me I need more practice at running too?” your tone is harsh but you don’t care. 

Jimin bites his lip and smiles at you. “Damn, is that why you hate me?” He asks. 

“You told me I needed more practice at cycling!  I'm great at cycling!  Better than most!”

You’re aware that others are watching, but you can’t find it in you to care. You cross your arms underneath you, pressed up against your sports bra you deemed appropriate as a shirt. 

“You looked like a beginner! I’m sorry!” He apologizes. “Hoseok told me later that you’re, like, one of the best!  I have to reach out to the new riders! It’s mandatory!”  

You suck your teeth, still unimpressed. 

“When I saw you in yoga doing everything from memory, I knew you weren’t just some novice! I’m sorry for assuming, okay?” He sighs. “What had you so fucked up in spin, anyway?” 

Your heart thuds to a skidding brake. There’s no way you can tell him the reason you sucked so bad in class was because you could only focus on how his cock would feel stuffed up inside you. 

“I,” you falter. For the second time, Jimin has you stumbling over your words. “I didn’t feel well,” you lie. 

Jimin snorts. “Bullshit.”

Your cheeks flush and you stay silent. 

“You got distracted by me, didn’t you?” He smirks. You gape at the size of his ego. You wonder if his cock compares in size and then kick yourself for still thinking about his fucking dick. 

“I’ll take the silence as a yes,” he winks as he throws an arm around your shoulder. 

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that?” You snark as you push his delicious, toned, silky arm off you. 

“And you’re a selfish, competitive bitch.”

The grin on his face is shit-eating, and you find your blood boiling. 

“You take that back!” You demand. 

“Tell me I distracted you, that my presence fucked up the great ___, spin queen extraordinaire, and I will.” 

All you see is red.  Red, fiery anger. No.  There was no fucking way you would let him win, revel in your shame in the middle of a crowded gym.   You drag Jimin by his Nike tank top that shows almost 100% of his body, to the nearest ‘family shower’, pulling him inside and locking the heavy door behind you. 

You push him against the door and press a finger to his chest. 

“Fine! You did. You distracted me throughout fucking class,” you hiss. “All I could think about was sucking you off and seeing your lips on my pussy and riding your dick until we both can’t talk. Okay?! Happy now?!” You’re fuming, chest heaving with intensity. 

Jimin's grin lights up ten times brighter. 

“I thought the same things during class too,” he admits coolly. 

Jimin has you speechless for the nth time. “What?” You breathe. 

“When I saw you on the bike, I couldn’t stop staring at your tits and your lips. You looked so good. And then in yoga, that tight little ass was begging for me to spank it. While you were running, I was wondering what you’d look like cumming around my cock.” 

He shrugs, the words rolling off his tongue as if he isn’t admitting he wants to defile you as much as you do him. 

“Are you serious!!?” You squeak, heart beat thundering in your ears. 

“100%,” he smirks and rests the back of his head against the door. 

It’s silent for a beat as you stare each other down.

Fuck it.

Next thing you know, you’re launching yourself forward to press your lips to his in a searing hot kiss. 

Jimin kisses back fervently, tongue swirling into your mouth as his hands wrap around your body.  He finds purchase on your ass and squeezes it through the tight leggings. 

You gasp and shudder at his hands roaming your backside. Jimin pulls his lips away and smirks. God, that fucking smirk. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” 

“Yeah?” You ask as you move your hands to the front of his chest. He nods. “You know what I’ve wanted to do for a while?”  

He grins and tilts his head. “What, princess?” 

You drop to your knees, tugging his adidas tights down with you. His cock springs free, and you gape at the enormity of it. 

“Shit,” he hisses suddenly as cool air hits him. “That was fucking hot.”

You’re encouraged by him and you wink up at him, before you’re wrapping your hand around his length to give it an introductory pump. 

Jimin rewards you with a moan, unabashed in his volume. He doesn’t care who the fuck hears you two, this is the hottest thing he’s done in his life. 

“So thick,” you murmur. “I wondered how big it was.” 

Jimin can’t reply, because your lips are latching onto his dick with fervor and you lick and suckle at his length.  Jimin’s eyes nearly roll back into his head at the suction of your mouth.  

“Oh, my god,” he gasps. “Y-You’re ridiculously good at that.” 

You preen under his praise and continue, allowing his length to the back of your throat.  You let him gag you, saliva and tears both gathering at the sensation and Jimin stifles a cry.  Your hand comes to his cock as you pull away and take a harsh breath, wiping away the tears from your gag reflex.  You stroke him quickly, loving the way his weighty cock feels in your hands.  As you pump him, the tip of your tongue teases at the slit of his head and Jimin swears loudly. 

“Fuck!  Christ, gonna make me cum,” he’s whiny. It’s adorable. He purses his pretty puffy lips as he moans for more, more of you. “Such a good girl, shit, ahhhhh,” he gasps as you suck him into your mouth again. 

It doesn’t take long, the sensation of your hot mouth and hand jerking him sends him flying and he’s cumming hot stripes down your throat.  You feel you’re on cloud nine as you swallow his seed, sucking at the tip until he hisses from overstimulation. 

As you pull away, you open your mouth and extend your tongue to show him you dutifully swallowed his cum, and he groans. 

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing, aren’t you?” 

You nod in reply, and Jimin grips your jaw in his hand, forcing your mouth to stay open.  

You jerk in his grasp as he spits into your mouth; the saliva hitting your tongue. You’ve never been more turned on in your life.  He releases you, and you swallow again. 

“Kinky bitch,” Jimin cooes. “All for me.” 

He pulls you up to stand in front of him, pressing his lips to yours again for another burning kiss. 

It’s too short for your liking, as Jimin pulls away and manhandles you to sit on the sink. You’re obedient, smiling prettily. Fuck, you can’t believe it’s happening. You just sucked Jimin off, the same Jimin you’ve ogled and anguished over for weeks now. 

“Let me see these tits,” he asserts as he tugs up the sports bra from your body.  You comply, raising your arms up to allow him to pull it off. 

He throws the bra to the floor and cups your breasts. 

“Fuck,” he breathes as his thumbs rub across your nipples.  You shiver from the cold air and the heat of his thumbs. “I jerked off thinking about these tits after spin.”

He lowers himself to lick at a nipple and you’re whining for more. 

“Thought about pushing them together and fucking them like a pussy.”  He bites down on your nub, causing you to squeal and jump. He soothes the flesh with a suck from his lips and languid circling of his tongue. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He smirks, eyes boring into yours as he roves your nipple with his delicious tongue  “My kinky little whore wants her yoga instructor to fuck her pretty tits.”

You’re thriving, his words making your cunt ache. It’s dripping wet. You’re sure it’s leaking through the fabric of your leggings by now. Jimin being just as rough and filthy as your fantasies has you reeling. 

“Yes,” you whine. “I want you to fuck your cock in my tits.” 

Jimin hums around your nipple before switching to the other, ravaging it with the same attention as its twin received. 

“God, you’re a fucking whore,” he whispers as he bites at your nipple hard enough to make you jerk in his grasp.  “I love it.” 

Your hips are moving against his body, desperate for friction where you need it most.  It’s not lost on Jimin and he pulls off your tits with a pop. He marvels at his work. Your nipples are suckled fresh and red, perking and pebbling in the cold air. 

“Mmm, does princess want some attention here?” He asks as he slides a hand down to grip your aching quim.  

You gasp in response, shuddering at the feel of his palm against your core. 

“P-please! Pretty please!” You beg. 

He kisses at your breasts again, before he tugs your shoes and socks off, and pulls the leggings down your smooth legs and throws them to join the matching bra on the floor. He’s pleased when he notes you aren’t wearing panties.

You don’t care how you look, wanton and desperate.  You spread your thighs wide, feet resting on the edge of the sink. Jimin gazes at you like you’re fine art, the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. 

“Look at you,” he adores. “Spread out for me like a slut.  And you’re dripping wet too, mmm.” He rubs a finger up and down your silky thigh. 

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He grips your chin with one hand while the other continues rubbing at your inner thigh. “A good little bitch for me.”

You nod and gasp as his fingers skim impossibly close to your cunt. 

“Do you deserve it, princess? After you were so mean to me earlier?”  

You pout and shiver. “I’m sorry!” You gasp as his finger hovered over your pussy. “I’m s-sorry! I was j-just upset! I didn’t meaaaaaaan it!” His finger dips and taps at your clit, feather light, and you’re crying at the feeling. 

Jimin shushes you, finger still impossibly light on your clit. “Hush, baby. I forgive you. You sucked my cock so well, made me cum so hard.”

The finger increases pressure slightly and you’re aching, trembling for more. 

“Good little sluts get rewarded, hm? I think you’ve earned yours, princess.” 

You’re not given an opportunity to reply as Jimin harshly thrusts two fingers into your cunt and fucks you furiously.  Your moan is impossibly loud, loud enough you’re sure the rest of the gym can hear you but all you can focus on is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin and his thick fucking fingers thrusting into you. 

He lowers down and licks at your clit, flicking it up and down. He watches as your body trembles, wails echoing off the tile walls. 

“Mmm, my pretty little princess, so fucking wet for me.” He emphasizes with a kiss to your clit, before he sucks it into his lips. The tugging makes stars shine in your vision, nearly blacking out from how good it feels. 

Jimin can feel that you are close, and as much as he wants to get you off with his fingers, he wants you to cum on his cock more. He pulls away from you, and you’re whining at the loss. 

“Hush, princess,” he sighs. “Be good, no whining.”

You quiet immediately but still feel a throb in your core. He delivers a harsh slap to your cunt, surprising you and making you yelp. Jimin grins and kisses your lips.

“Stand up and turn around and face the mirror, doll.”

You move to comply, hop off the counter to turn and press your back against Jimin. You can see yourself in the gym mirror now. You look fucked out completely. Your tits are blooming red where he suckled at your nipples, eyes hooded and blown wide with lust. 

Jimin’s lips tickle at your ear and he whispers, “This is what I imagined during spin class. Seeing you so fucked out and wet for me.   These pretty tits marked by me,” he cups one, and pinches at the nipple. “My sweet little princess.” 

His hand moves up to your throat, giving it a solid squeeze, and you shut your eyes. Euphoria.  Pure bliss. 

“That’s right, baby,” he kisses the shell of your ear. “All mine.  Such a slut for me.” 

You’re nodding, eyes still closed, as he removes his hand and pressed your head down towards the sink.  You wiggle your ass and rub against his length, giggling at the feel. 

“I want you to watch yourself get fucked by me. You’re gonna watch me ruin this tiny little cunt,” he grunts. “You’re going to watch what I fantasized about in every fucking class I saw you in.” 

You realize you’re moaning loudly, the sound spilling out of your lips subconsciously as the head of his dick rubs your pussy lips.  He hisses at the wetness, loving the way it slicks up his cock with ease. 

“Eyes open, my love,” he orders gently when he notices you’ve closed them.  They snap open and your gaze falls on him in the mirror.  He looks so fucking good, so hot and feral. His muscles glisten in the light, a sheen of sweat from his workout and from the heat of your bodies pressing together. 

He winks at you, the same one he gave you that fucking blasted day at spin, and then pushes into your tight heat in one go. 

“Oh, fuck, Jimin!” you’re gasping as your walls stretch to accommodate him. 

He grits his teeth for a moment, savoring the feel of your silken walls. “Told you we needed to stretch you out, need to get you nice and loose.”

You shiver as he remains still inside of you, but he’s quickly pulling out of you to impale you again.  The sound of flesh slapping on flesh fills the room and you can hear the wetness of your cunt around him. 

“Shit,” he moans. “You’re so fucking tight, unghhhh. Gonna ruin this little pussy, baby.  Gonna make you never want another cock in you except mine.” 

You believe him. You’re sure after this you’ll never even notice another man.  Jimin has you wrapped around his finger, he has since the first day you met at spin. 

“All yours,” you squeak through the thrusts, watching your tits jiggle. He notices your stare and roughly grabs at one, squeezing it until you reward him with a loud groan and the tightening of your cunt. 

“That’s right.  You’re mine. Ahhhh, wanna make you my girl, baby. Gonna fuck this little hole every night. You’d like that, huh?”  You nod in reply, and he slaps your ass with his free hand. “Use your filthy words, bitch.” 

You gasp at the sharp sting and splitter a response. “P-please! I want you! Only want you inside me.”  You’re half coherent to the words you’re speaking, his dick is literally fucking you stupid. 

He grins in reply, swatting your ass again. The pain sends a tingle straight to your clit and you squeeze his cock inside you, causing him to groan out loud. 

“God, you’re so perfect.  So fucking perfect for me,” he babbles. “Gonna fuck you in the spin studio.  And at yoga.  Gonna fuck you in barre while everyone watches.” 

The high you’re feeling is unparalleled.  You’re sure you’ve felt nothing quite like this, never been fucked so good in your lifetime. Jimin knows how to work you up, both emotionally and physically, and brings out the beast in you. 

You can feel your release building, already so close from his incessant fingering and tonguing of your clit. 

“J-Jimin!” You’re heaving his name, harsh pants signaling your oncoming climax. “S-so close!”

He becomes rabid, fucking into you at a pace you’re sure isn’t human. He angles his dick to hit right at your spongy wall, thrusting into your g-spot with ease, as if he knows your body inside and out. 

“Yeah, cum for me, whore. Cum on my cock.” 

It feels heady, feeling him thrust inside you and murmur such filth to you. He wants you and only you. The notion is as orgasmic as his cock itself.  The tightness in your core builds, builds, leaning on the precipice of euphoria. 

“Cum for me, baby, come on. Mark me as yours.” 

His possessive tone is the last thing you hear before the waves of orgasm pound over you like a typhoon. Your cunt clenches and flutters hard around his dick and he’s moaning your name. You feel how tight you are, his cock stilling inside you as he reaches his own high. 

“Oh, shit! Shit shit shit!” he gasps. “Gonna be full of my cum, baby! You’re mine!”  

Hot ropes of cum coat your core, and you’re relishing in the feeling. 

“My god,” Jimin sighs. He lets his softening cock remain inside you as he presses a kiss to your back. 

“Is it too early to say I love you?” He jokes.  Your heart flutters as you wiggle your ass.

“No, but take me to dinner first.”

He slaps at your red ass lightly, right where he spanked it before. His grin lights up the room. 

“With pleasure.”

“Hi, welcome to class, I’ll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin. Let’s get started.” 

You smile from your seat, front and center, and move your legs in time with the music. 

The instructor catches your eye and winks at you. 

Spin is even better now, if that’s possible. You spend your time in class with your deliciously sweaty boyfriend, who doesn’t go easy on you. He pushes you, makes you better and faster and stronger.  He rewards your first place spots by eating your pussy until you cry. 

Life is better.  You’ve found your person, the one who will do everything with you, for you. He loves you, completely and fully. You’ve never felt more cherished in your long years of living. 

Class ends before you know it, and you linger as the group meanders out to the lobby, leaving Jimin and you alone. 

“Hey, princess,” he calls to you as you rub the sweat from your face. 

You look up to see a sly smile on his face. 

“You should stay back and practice.  I think you need it,” he chides, teasingly. 

Your heart skips a beat as he closes the door, barring you from exiting the room full of bikes, and approaches you with a leer. 

“Oh, yeah?” You place a hand on your hip. 

“Yeah, and I think I know just the instructor who can help.” 

Jimin pounces on you with a kiss, and your giggles fill the room. 

Life is better now, and it will get even more so. Jimin glances back at the podium as you scurry to get your leggings off, his eyes resting on the velvet ring box. 

Yeah, it will definitely get better. 

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[midnightmoonkiss]

The Lure Of Nightfall [2]

Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: After accidentally flying in on your best friend jerkin his meat to the thought of you, things get out of hand, and you’re thrown into a weekly routine.

WARNINGS!: Voyeurism, Masturbation

Category: Smut, Smut, Pure Smut.

Word Count: 8.7k+

A/N: You all wanted this! >.< I hope I delivered~

Just To Clarify:

This is a continuation!

panties are a bitch.

Part One

Tag List:  @zylith-imagines-and-fics @birds-have-teeth @my-bnha-things.

The morning after carried on just as any Sunday would have.

Izuku woke up refreshed and ready to start his daily work out.

The strange bird encounter completely slipped his mind as he ran laps, pushing his legs to run faster and faster with each completed circle.

He was always one to push his limits, always one to ignore the burning in his calves and thighs as his legs became a blur of motion beneath him.

All he could think about was how many laps he had run, and how many more he had to go.

You could only ever push yourself so far. He learned that lesson the hard way not too long ago when he didnt stop running until his legs gave out and a student had to come and get him.

His legs were practically dead weight for the following few hours.

Sighing at the memory, he went on, arm coming up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

It was 9:00AM when he finally finished his workout routine, a little later than he was used to. But who could blame him? He did go to bed later than his schedule recommended, after all.

But..

That wasn’t..

His fault..

He frantically shook his head, scarred palms slapping his redding cheeks as what got him so riled up in the first place flickered through his mind.

 He did not need to have such thoughts at this moment.

Heading back to his dorm, he grabbed his shampoo and body wash, as well as a fresh change of clothes before skipping down the steps. He felt gross and sticky with sweat, and he couldn’t wait to feel the rush of water against his skin.

Oh!No one’s here! 

He thought happily as he practically skipped into the bathroom, putting his clothes in the locker beside the shower stall he chose.

He hopped into the shower, not bothering to turn the heat on as cold showers always seemed to snap him out of any dirty thoughts. Plus, not only did they help make someone more alert after an intense workout, the cool water always left a heated body feeling much better.

Once done, he quickly dried off and changed, making his way to the sinks to brush and fully dry his thick, damp hair.

Such fluffy hair regrettably required a stay-in conditioner, or else it would look simply dreadful - frizzy hair galore. No one, especially him, wants that. Though it took away that masculine scent of body wash guys apparently are supposed to thrive in, it did make him smell pretty sweet. It all fit together perfectly in a way. Sugar n’ spice made everything nice, right?

As he was spraying the stay-in conditioner, running a wooden comb through the damp, curly green locks, he let his mind wander.

He forgot something, didn’t he?

It felt like he did.

He chewed his pouty bottom lip, eyes narrowing as he let his arms run on autopilot so his thoughts could drift.

He wasn’t usually so forgetful, so what on Earth was he forgetting?

Something the other day, surely.

He didn’t have anything planned today.

Just relax and enjoy life for a second. They didn’t get breaks often, and last Sunday he was at the mall all day with you and his friend group.

You..

What about you?

He felt like you were the key to his confusion and forgetfulness, but why?

He hadn’t had an interaction with you yesterday that would require his immediate attention, so-

Wait.

His movements stopped as he stared wide-eyed at his reflection in the mirror.

Most birds sleep at night, that was common knowledge.

So why the hell was there one on his balcony so late last night.

He dropped his comb, wood clanging loudly onto the floor, the noise echoing around his suddenly deaf ears.

Birds don’t nuzzle fingers.

Birds fly away when a human approaches.

That wasn’t any ordinary bird.

That wasn’t a bird at all, was it?

No.

There was only one person who could turn into a bird..

And that person was..

You.

Oh god.. Oh god, no!

Izuku collapses to his knees, arms wrapping securely around his head as he blushes and whines like a mad man.

You saw him! You had to have seen him!

He was! 

He was naked-!

You didn’t… you didn’t see and hear him in the act, right!?

He shakily inhaled, shameful tears blurring his vision.

You heard him moan out your name, didnt you!

You must hate him now! Think he’s disgusting..

What type of person masturbates to their best friend!

But he couldn’t help it!

He’s been in love with you for so long..

He knew his dreams would never come to fruition, that you would never like him as much as he liked you, so he took to his mind to live out a life he’s always wanted.

One his body so desperately craves.

It was so humiliating!

How could he face you..?

Fat tears streamed down his face, heart breaking at the thought of you never speaking to him again. His mind fled to a dark place, completely ignoring the fact that the bird had been so gentle with him and seemingly uncaring.

So, imagine his surprise when you happily greeted him at one of the tables as he walked out of the bathroom for water.

Upon seeing his tear stained face, worry quickly consumed you, face contorting as you jumped up and rushed over to him.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong, ‘Zuku? You were crying?”

You bombarded him with questions, hands coming up to delicately cradle his burning face between them.

His head felt fuzzy as he stared into your (E/C) eyes glimmering with concern.

A whimper built up in the back of his throat, fearful that you’d still leave him.

But why were you acting like last night never happened? That you didnt watch him defile your name?

Well, to be honest, you currently clung onto the hope that he never realized it was you. He wasn’t acting angry or upset like you’d expect him to if he did find out, so it was obvious you were in the clear. 

Except, you weren’t. And he did know.

He just didn’t know why, why you were there or why you watched him. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel as creeped out about as he probably should have, it was like there was a small bell of honor ringing in his chest.

All in all, he figured you wanted to hang out, that’s why you were there in the first place.

But he wanted to know why you watched him - why you didn’t leave the moment you no-doubt saw him pleasuring himself.

God, he felt stupid.

He should have paid more attention to the time he chose, you always came to his dorm around that time during the weekend!

He wanted to facepalm, hide his ashamed face beneath his palms.

But for now, he’d soak in the feeling of your soft hands holding his face, thumbs brushing away stray tears.

You were trying to hide it. Hide the fact that you saw him. He’d indulge you, pretend he didn’t know anything

“Y-Yeah! I’m alright..!”

He smiled.

And so the show began.

He never stopped hanging out with you, and the shame soon melted away into desire as the days trudged on.

He didnt know why, but the thought of you watching him do something so intimate.. It thrilled him to his very core, sent tingles down his spine and left him breathless for a moment or two.

It actually gave him quite a few boners in class, much to his embarrassment. Lord, did his mind wander too much. He was just a hormonal teenage boy, after all.

Funnily enough, he could feel that the majority of the time you spent around each other, your stare was directed towards him. It was as if he was your center of attention throughout most classes these days, the apple of your mesmerizing eyes, and it felt amazing.

Like.. like he was the only thing you cared about. Only thing you needed.

He loved that feeling.

He wanted more.

He wanted you to, in a way, need him as much as he needed you.

He wanted it to happen again, wanted to know what it would feel like if he was actually aware of it occurring rather than only finding out about it the next day when his senses came back.

So, he decided he’d try touching himself every Saturday at the same time, since that is when you last showed up, leaving his window and curtains open just so you could, theoretically, get a good view.

He knew how wrong it was, wanting his best friend to watch him do something so sinful at nightfall whilst holding innocent conversations during the daylight.

He was too horny for his own good. Could you blame him?

The first attempt was unsuccessful, and he never did feel your piercing gaze on his trembling body as he worked himself to completion.

It was disappointing, but he had hope, and an unexpected outlet for his sexual frustrations.

Meanwhile, you were going crazy.

It felt like you were holding onto a dirty little secret, one Izuku had absolutely no idea about.

Everyday you had to force yourself to not let the image of him writhing sinfully around on his sheets float to the surface of your overactive mind.

You definitely did not need any soaked panties, especially considering you’d have to walk around all day like that.

It was truly a blessing in disguise.

Was it strange to say that in a way you got off on talking innocently to Izuku now?

Staring into his beautiful green eyes, talking about the math homework you forgot to do, all you could think about was how those eyes were glazed over with lust, pupils blown ridiculously wide as he came all over himself.

Such a messy boy.

Gah!

You aggressively shook your head in class, hands rubbing aggressively at your closed eyes to try and erase the image..

“(Y-Y/N)? Are y-you okay?” Izuku stuttered nervously, hands outstretched, ready to place them on your shoulders if you needed to be steadied.

You were simply talking, but suddenly you had such a violent reaction when he asked what answer you got for question three on the homework!

Had you not done it? Maybe you had had quite the trouble with it and didn’t want to remember the minutes wasted on chewing on your mechanical pencil as tears of frustration streamed down your face? He’d seen it occur before, It was a very weird and.. sad.. sight.

“Ah!” You yelped, ripping your hands from your face as you suddenly remembered where you were - you couldn’t just pull that sort of stunt in class, it’d make people think you were weirder than you already clearly are!

But that was just the start of it all.

You so desperately wanted to see him in that state again, wanted to hear your name slip from his spit-slicked raw lips in a wanton moan.

The fact that he was your best friend slowly started to fade from your mind, replaced by lustful desires. What’s shame? Never heard of that.

Who could hear anything over your moans anyway?

Night fell into a routine of your hands stuffed down your panties, fingers covered in your own slick rubbing roughly at your puffy clit as two of your fingers thrust in and out of yourself.

You constantly wondered just what that pretty boy imagined in that oh-so-obviously dirty mind of his as he pumped his cock.

Was he imagining you riding him, face smothered by your tits, mouth latched onto one of your perky buds, sucking the red flesh into his mouth as you bounced up and down on his long, painfully hard and throbbing cock?

Your breath caught in your throat at the image, fingers speeding up.

Or perhaps was he imagining pounding into your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his slim hips, fingers clawing red marks into his back so that he could show them off whilst changing into his gym clothes the next day in the locker room?

You squealed as you suddenly clenched down on your two digits, the coil wound tight in your stomach from all the dirty images whizzing past your head snapping unexpectedly, cumming all over your fingers. 

You laid there panting, eyes staring deliriously up at the star-covered ceiling.

You had to see him in the act again, no question about it.

It was unfortunate how you passed out from exhaustion Saturday before the time Izuku would ultimately begin going mad in his bed.

It was hard not to beat yourself up over it, especially since you now had to suffer through another week of not seeing his pretty face drenched in sweat, mouth wide open and tongue flopping out.

Grr!

More suffering for the both of you.

It was still so very funny how despite all of these lewd thoughts the both of you possessed for one another, you still got along just as well as before.

It was as if nothing had happened at all.

Honestly, it was a great relief to the both of you.

Originally, you had thought that since you saw him in that new light, you’d be unable to have a decent conversation with him, and he thought that you’d be too disgusted with him to ever even think about speaking to him.

Of course, that was bullshit.

He knew you purposely stayed there to watch him. 

That was part of the reason he wanted it to happen again.

He was clinging onto the hope that you liked him back, and that’s why it seemed as if you ignored the whole thing.

No, wait. He didnt want it to happen again… he needed it to happen again. Not just to satisfy him, but to just see if it wasn’t a mistake. A clarification. Something he could cling to in his mind. Something that told him there was an even bigger chance that you might miraculously like some gross nerd like him back.

He was still insecure, even after all the body changes he has gone through.

The scars didnt help much, either.

He could look at his body and feel proud of how much stronger he was, but those rough scars that would permanently taint his skin always left him feeling a bit shy.

He openly showed them, of course, not afraid considering they were marks of his growth and a reminder that he was able to save someone, but they didnt exactly feel nice.

His skin was once silky smooth all over, but now it wasnt, and it would never be the same again.

You knew him without the scars for the longest, but that also meant you knew the whimpy Deku, and not the Hero Deku he was becoming.

So many thoughts were constantly racing around in his mind, it was hard to keep track of them at times.

He blocked out the thoughts with a heavy heart, going back to his previous activity.

And of course, for you, well, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t visit him in your bird form during the night on weekdays, curious to see if, by chance, he was up - which he often wasn’t, and if he was sinning.

To no avail, of course.

It was hard to place if you were missing it by some misfortune, or if he just wasn’t doing it. So Saturday was your best guess. You saw him do it that day, so you figured from the beginning you’d see him to it again on all Saturdays. That’s what you hoped, anyway.

The next Saturday, though, you were proven correct.

The scene was similar to the one from last time, you, perched on the railing, sliding glass door open, curtains pushed to the side, and Izuku moaning like a slut on his bed covers.

Your feathers ruffled up in excitement, it looked as if he just came from the shower, towel discarded on the floor.

Things were going to be much different this time, unknown to you, of course.

Because this time, Izuku knew you were there.

He knew you were watching him.

And he knew it was on purpose because earlier that evening you stopped by to play video games before ‘retiring’ for the night.

Naughty girl, did you expect him to believe that when he’s been able to see through your lies ever since childhood?

He could feel your piercing gaze, and it thrilled him, making his cock slathered in lube he recently purchased twitch against his toned stomach.

Currently, he was rubbing up and down his twitching thighs, trying to calm himself down since, in his excitement at hearing you drop by, he almost came. 

You eagerly watched as he did so, black eyes following his beautiful hand movements.

His thighs were so, so glorious.

Was it a bad thing to want to be trapped between them whilst you sucked his pretty dick?

To have them suffocate you was a dream. You’d give just about anything for them to squeeze your head as he came closer and closer to unraveling.

His legs were always nice, but ever since he began using them to smash incredibly large and sturdy objects, your fixation with them grew.

Hell, who were you kidding? You loved every aspect of that boy.

You wanted to lather his perfect body in searing kisses, whispering praises under every breath you took.

Your toes curled, clinging onto the raining as you leaned forward eagerly, watching as his hands traced down his inner thighs, just to drag across the underside of his dick.

He gasped once his fingers ran over his slit, head shoving itself into his pillow.

He wanted to put on a good show for you, gauge your reaction from the corner of his half-lidded eyes.

Surely you’d be too transfixed by his lower half to notice dark green eyes gazing over at you.

And he was right.

Because you couldn’t tear your attention away from his crotch, his hips lifting off the bed as he slowly thrusted into the tunnel he made with his hand.

It was as if he was teasing himself by going slow, his whines for more being a clear give away, that and the twitch of his hips as he sought a faster pace but held himself back.

“A-ahh~ (Y/N).. S-so good.. To me..”

How could he not imagine his hands as your own?

Yours were so small, too.. Could they even fully wrap around his thick length? He was all too eager to find out, but that’d have to be for a later date. Hopefully.

As time flew by, his impatience grew.

He wanted to put a good show on for you, truly, he did! But he couldn’t help himself, he wanted to cum oh-so badly.

To have that knot that was already building up in his system before you flew in to finally burst.

Sobs tore from his throat as he finally gave in, aching cock slamming into his fist with a wet squelch as his hand squeezed and twisted down on his length.

He didn’t last long, soon releasing his seed all over himself once again with a shrill cry, body arching up beautifully off the bed.

Whilst regaining his breath, he shakily looked over at you, joy sparking in his system to see you leaning forward as if you were enraptured by him.

It felt so good.

This occured more often than either of you would like to admit, but yet, there was no complaints.

Like before, life carried on normally in the light of day, but Saturday night? Showtime.

It was always something new, much to your enjoyment. 

One night, which just so happened to be one where a new moon hung high in the inky black sky freckled with stars, you had the pleasure of witnessing him fuck a pillow. 

So sweet. A true jackpot. 

Since the tranquil, silvery beams of moonlight were absent on this particular evening, an Allmight night light of sorts illuminated the room in a yellow glow. It was brighter than the times before, ultimately giving you a better look at just what he was doing. 

That wasn’t all, though.

Before, with the pale light of the moon, he was always submerged in a sinful atmosphere.

But now, you see, he looked so very soft in this light. It showered his perfectly toned, freckled and sweaty body in such a warm glow. It radiated innocence, despite his downright dirty acts of self-care.

His face was pressed to the side of the mattress, drool dripping past his parted lips as he gasped and moaned, cheeks burning red, eyes closed and brows arched upward as he chased that sweet, sweet release he so anticipated. His hips rutted into the soft pillow like a bunny in heat. Scarred hands had a death grip on it, forcing it down on his cock to provide an addicting combination of pressure and pleasure. Though you couldn’t quite see his flushed dick in action, his adorable face and moans made up for it. 

Was it too bold of you to say he was imagining the pillow was you? 

The way your name rolled off his tongue certainly would lead to that blissful assumption.

Another night you had gotten there early.

It was a particularly breezy night, the wind making his curtains dance and hair sway slightly. It was still hard to believe he liked having his sliding-glass door open. Did he like the fresh air when he was left gasping from his ministrations? Or did he thrive on the possibility that someone could hear him cry out? 

How alluring that thought was.

But, how foolish of you to assume you were being sneaky.

To your luck, getting there early meant you got to see him set up the act, anticipate just what he was about to do. Predictions flooded your mind as you watched him with a tilted head as he poured lube onto his shaky fingers.

Whatever he was about to do, he seemed nervous. A first time thing, perhaps? Or was he shaking with desire?

You’d later come to realize you never wanted to be in front of this man more than that night.

Because, to your utmost delight, that was the night you witnessed him finger himself for no-doubt the first time.

He was cautious and tense, you could easily tell from so far away. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly, but it wasn’t too hard to put pieces of a puzzle together. 

In the beginning, he was trying to ease himself into it, one hand languidly stroking his erection, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat, whilst the other seemed to tease at his opening.

He bit his bottom lip the moment he decided it was time to quit shitting around, thighs splaying wide open once again for better access - and to you, a better view. His eyes slipped closed as he tried to focus on what he was doing, momentarily stopping the strokes on his cock so his attention would be on the feeling of a single digit slipping in and out of his virgin hole. He stayed tensed for a while, obviously trying to adjust. It wasnt until a few minutes later that he started to get really into it, slipping in another finger as his hips started to rock to the slow beat set.

His weeping dick was given attention again not long after that, hips wiggling and high-pitched cries of ecstasy tears from his throat at the two hands working in unison.

You couldn’t help but hop from one foot to the other that night as you eagerly drank in the sight.

“A-ahh! O-h oh god! (Y-Y/N)! F-faster- oh! Ple-ase f-fahh! Uhn! Ha-ah- ah- ah!”

Were you fucking him in this fantasy? A strap on, maybe? You wouldnt oppose doing so, he’s so cute begging like this. Begging for a plastic cock to pound into his tight ass with each whine, whimper, and moan.

He finished quite quickly, fingers probably finally finding that sweet spot deep inside of him. His eyes shot open, going cross as he practically screamed into the night.

And most recently, you witnessed him cum so hard he passed out for a few moments.

And you knew exactly why.

Because earlier that day, your boredom once again got the best of you, and you couldnt help but notice Izuku was lost in his thoughts during a break period. So, being the cheeky shit you were, you waltzed on over to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear “Hey.” 

It was funny how he had to slap a hand over his mouth, obviously hiding a whine. You knew your voice had an effect on him, especially when it was lowered an octave. Pair that with your hot breath fanning over his overly sensitive ear? The man was pudding. 

“(Y-Y/N)! I-I told you to stop doing that..!” He blushed, eyes squeezing shut to avoid your smirking face.

But that wasn’t all, no. You sat in his lap after that. He almost died, face a cherry red as his hands were held up, not sure where to put them.

It was honestly a rare occasion, for Iida was out with Momo for class president and vice president duties. You had to take advantage of that.

“What? I don’t want to stand this whole time!” Came your pouty response, and he most definitely couldn’t refuse those puppy-dog eyes you used on him.

To his horror, you wiggled in your fleshy seat, trying to get ‘comfortable’ whilst pretending you had no idea what you were doing to him. You knew damn well what it was you were doing, you were grinding your ass on his crotch - just for an agonizing moment.

It was hard to get him to form a sentence that wasn’t broken with stutters the whole time you sat atop his lap. He was so cute, all blushy like that. A little strawberry.

The second Iida and Momo came back from their duties, you jumped off his lap, startling him once again. To your ‘misfortune,’ you dropped the pencil which was tucked into your shirt pocket. So, you promptly bent down to get it, giving the perverted Izuku behind you a glorious view of your round ass covered by a pair of lacy white panties.

It was a wonder how he didn’t pass out as you expected him to, honestly.

You never heard him cry out your name as much as you did that very night.

Who knew such a shy and bashful boy could be so.. Lewd?

It was a major turn on, you could only imagine what it would be like to be there with him.

Oh, how glorious that would be.

To stare into his eyes blown wide with lust and glazed over with desire, knowing full well you were the true reason behind it - and not just his hands.

You wanted to..

You wanted to do so many things to and with him.

But you couldn’t.

Because at the end of the day, you were still only best friends.

He may call your name in the dead of night, he may beg for you in his dreams, but that doesn’t make you more than what you were when the sun rises yet again over the grassy hill coated in morning dew.

Just friends.

Friends until actions occur that change the definition of the word.

‘Friends’ brought a bitter taste to your tongue when it came to describing Izuku. You wanted to be more than just…. ‘Friends.’

But that was selfish of you.

You couldnt always get what you wanted, even if both parties want the exact same thing.

You could never live with yourself if you forced yourself onto him when he wasn’t ready to accept it. You knew very well how easily overwhelmed he could get. You worried that if.. your Saturday night activities got around to him, that he’d never want anything to do with you again. You were playing a dangerous game.

It was a hard concept to grasp, really.

But little did you know, he would be perfectly okay with it. More than okay, actually.

In fact, he craved it so, so much. With each Saturday that came, with every show he put on for you, he so desperately wished you’d revert back to your human form and come join him on his messy bed. He wanted to feel your soft skin brush against his overheated body. He wanted that intimacy.

He knew you wanted it too, he’s seen you almost fly right on into his room with particular moments.

He loved being watched by you, gaining validation every week by your intense, infatuated gaze, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. It was driving him absolutely insane. He noticed himself becoming more brash and reckless during training, his frustration taking over his senses and causing absolute mayhem. 

In the beginning, speaking to you outside of these downright shameful acts was exhilarating, but now it was simply infuriating. How could you act like nothing was happening? How could you stay so innocent whilst he was out here losing his marbles?

The rubber band holding his sanity together was stretched too thin, he had no doubt that it would snap any day now and his carnal desires will be let loose.

Such a risky thing he had willingly got himself into.

But that band snapped much sooner than he predicted, and there was no going back after that.

It’s been nearly two months since this whole act started.

It’s gotten progressively hotter outside, it was almost as if the sun itself had something personal against anyone and everyone who walked in it’s brilliant light.

The training has gotten harder thanks to the sweltering heat. Primetime to exercise until you feel like throwing up, yeah?

They were supposed to progress on their workouts throughout the year, but damn did this heat wave come at an unconventional time. Poor Tokoyami almost had a heat stroke.

The intensity of the workouts was making everyone antsy. The weekdays were hell on Earth, so the weekends became an even bigger godsend to the poor hero students working to achieve their dreams.

That being said, what better way to distress than too..?

This week was particularly stressful, and after the hell Izuku and his fellow classmates were put through, he craved that certain destresser he’s been hooked on for far too long.

It was unfortunate that he cracked a bit earlier than his scheduled 11 PM rub out, making it only to 10:41 PM before his dirty thoughts overtook his being and made his dick twitch to life in his shorts. He wanted to wait, but he became increasingly uncomfortable, hips shimmying, trying to find a comfortable position to wait around in.

After promptly giving up, he leaned back on his bed, tugging his shorts off and letting his eyes slip shut as he palmed himself through his boxers.

Things always felt better for the green-eyed boy if he took it slow, working himself up to the point of desperation.

And that’s what he did.

He knew you wouldnt be there for a while, he knew his heart wouldnt be pumping like it always did when you showed up, so he fell back onto Plan B, fully emerging himself in a fantasy.

He hadn’t done that since you first showed up. A trip on memory lane.

But now he had a chance.

Though he had to admit, he’d much prefer it if you were there..

In his mind, he wasn’t in some silly dorm.

He was a pro-hero living in a large apartment with pristine windows that reflected the night lights of the mesmerizing city below like lanterns in the sky. The interior lights were off, the room cast in a soft orange glow by a gentle flame flickering in the sandstone fireplace situated in front of the satin burgundy couch he sat upon. Soft moans filled the atmosphere, paired with the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the complex.

You were in his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you hung on for dear life. Your nails gave him an addicting sting as they dug into freckled skin, his name escaping your parted lips like a prayer, moans much louder than his own accompanying the pleas. He was in heaven, surely, for how else could there be such a beautiful angel in his lap?

You were glowing, cheeks blazing a deep maroon color, the light of the fire behind you encasing you in a soft, golden gleam.

A heavy breath blew out Izuku’s nose, closed eyes scrunching as he finally decided to rip his boxers off. His rough hand immediately wrapped itself around his cock, hissing in pleasure and thanking the heavens just this once for being such a heavy pre producer - he was far too enraptured by this fantasy to even think about trying to get his trusty bottle of lube.

Avoiding the flushed head, his hand squeezed and twisted it’s way up and down his slicked up shaft, hiding the wet noises with his pathetic whines.

He dived back into his mind.

You were kissing him fervently, tongues dancing in hot caverns as your noises of pure pleasure molded together. Though you were on top, you were far from having control. Izuku’s hands squeezed your hips in a death grip, bouncing you on his throbbing member, green sparks illuminating his body as to ensure a delicious yet inhuman pace. 

He could feel you. He swore he could, even from on this bed, he could feel you. You were so warm, and so, so very tight. 

He couldn’t handle it.

No.

No.

He needed more.

He whined desperately on his bed, back arching as he chased his fantasy but soon lost it as the familiar fluttering of small wings blocked out all other sounds.

He gasped, trying to catch the breath that seemed to constantly slip past him. He was too worked up.

He was too needy. He was aching, body shaking with anticipation and eagerness.

He craved you like a man craved water after stumbling through a burning hot desert all day.

You were so close to him, he could reach out and swear he could feel your feathers beneath his fingertips.

He was past the point of no return, his fantasy just couldn’t do it for him.

He needed you, god he needed you so so bad it hurt.

Sobs tore from his throat, hands stuttering as his eyes finally flew open, 

“(Y-Y/N)! Please!” He cried out with a strangled moan, vision wavering from the pain of not having you with him despite being right there.

Swallowing all of his pride, he looked towards your perched form, tears slipping from his sparkling viridescent eyes glazed over with lust.

His chest was heaving, thighs quivering and body trembling as he called out to you with a salacious plea, “I can’t..! I can’t do this anymore, please! Please, I-I need you!”

He was begging, begging for you whilst simultaneously thrusting into his hand.

Such an erotic display.

At the moment, you couldn’t even care about the fact he clearly knew it was you there. In fact, it didn’t even come to mind as a jolt of electricity coursed through your body, returning you to your human form as you eagerly jumped off the railing to him, all too willing to join his lascivious activities.

He moaned with delight the second your knee hit his bed, dipping his body towards you. His filthy hand shot off his dick, joining the other with gripping at your baggy sleepwear, pulling you towards his burning body. 

You fell onto him, not given a chance to collect your thoughts before a hand buried itself in your messy hair, yanking your hair so that he could easily smash his lips against your own.

The kiss was nothing like how you pictured your first with him to be. Instead of sweet and gentle, it was downright dirty and sloppy, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. You were both clearly inexperienced, but that didn’t matter. You just wanted to feel him, same as he wanted to feel you.

Your hands, shaking with the sudden extreme boost of adrenaline, cupped his chubby cheeks as your lips met again, and again, and again, drool mingling with his own as you tried to get the hang of this.

Eventually, your lips stayed connected, tongues fighting for dominance.

You couldn’t even tell, due to the heat of the moment overtaking your senses, but the entire time you made out, Izuku’s curious hands dragged ever-so-slowly down the sides of your body, feeling those curves that drove him absolutely insane. Just as it seemed as if you’d win the short battle, his large hands came over your plump ass, squeezing the soft flesh and causing you to gasp. With your mind distracted, he quickly smooshed his lips against your own once again, tongue defeating your own and giving him complete access to your mouth.

He explored it, the tip of the wet muscle seemingly grazing over and massaging in just all the right places, drawing a little moan from you that shot straight down to his neglected cock. It twitched against his stomach, and suddenly he wasn’t interested in just making out anymore. He needed more, and he’d fucking get it.

He’s waited so long for this moment, dreamt of it so often it became normal for him to wake up covered in sweat and with a raging erection straining against his shorts.

His grip on your ass moved to your hips, dragging them down onto his member and grinding you down against him.

You both moaned, hips involuntarily jerking against one another, starting up a grinding fest.

Moans melted together as you both continued to kiss before a particularly rough thrust sent your head flinging back and a mewl spewing from you.

“A-ah.. Izuku..!” You shivered, eyes closing as you gripped at his hair. He stared up at you, eyes full of love but darkened by immense desire as you shamelessly moaned above him. His hips ground his rock-hard erection against your soaked panties, brushing roughly against your clothed clit. Your body seemed to jolt with every brush against it, your senses completely overloaded as you were driven mad with lust.

You shrieked with surprise as you were suddenly flipped over, body slamming onto the mattress as Izuku crawled over on top of you.

He continues to grind himself against you, hands moving your legs up so they could wrap around his hips. Whilst kissing at the side of your neck, his nose brushed along the skin, searching for that special spot.

Amidst your onslaught of noises, you made a sound clearly indicating he had found what he had been searching for. His hot tongue licked at the sensitive skin before he bit down on it.

You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, jumping in his arms as an intense shiver rolled down your back, hands coming up to clutch at his broad shoulders smothered in freckles and burning with a blush.

You felt so, so tingly, so good, so.. So everything. 

Perhaps that’s simply because of how worked up you currently were, every single touch lit your body aflame again and again. Besides, how could you keep quiet when he was rubbing against you in just the right place?

He sucked harshly at the tender flesh before kissing it lovingly as if to apologize for the brutal treatment, licking the pain away and continuing to nibble along the area, leaving a bruise that was sure to remain in the morning. 

In fact, he decided, he was going to leave many. Just..not today.

He couldn’t deny, though, it did feel pretty good that his mark was on your soft skin where all could potentially see.

But for now, you had too many layers on for his current liking.

Izuku drew back, stopping the grind sesh - much to your apparent dismay, tugging at the hem of your shirt, silently asking for permission, and you willingly lifted your arms.

Had you not been so consumed with sheer desire, you would have covered your bare chest. Instead, you nodded your head, giving the man panting as if he had just run a mile permission to kiss his way down to the soft mounds he previously couldn’t help but bashfully stare at.

His lips lavished them both in kisses, praises unknowingly slipping out between his teeth until he finally decided to take one bud into his mouth. 

He was sloppy, messy, and all-around inexperienced, but you couldn’t deny the fact that it still felt good.

He spent surely less than a minute giving attention to each perky nipple, but it was made up for by a sweet kiss. You eagerly returned it, body arching as if trying to bring him closer.

It was so strange how he took control so easily, he had been begging only a few minutes ago.

Not that you minded, of course.

After all, who doesnt like being pampered by their long time crush?

“May I?” He whispered breathlessly, trembling fingers hooked around your panties, ready to pull them off.

You nodded immediately, oh-so desperate to have him actually touch you. You needed to feel him. All this grinding did was leave you with a throbbing clit, pussy so wet your juices were close to flowing down your ass, and the want for more.

He smashed his lips back against your own, practically ripping the fabric off of you and flinging it to only god knows where in this dark room.

His lips didn’t leave yours as his hands traveled down your sides again, squeezing your ass just to hear you gasp. 

You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you, or hit with a sudden wave of embarrassment as his fingers seemed to stutter on your thighs.

“It’s okay.. It’s okay..” You cooed against his lips, eyes opening to stare into his.

He gulped, swallowing his insecurities as he ran an index finger along your sit.

You bit your lip, eyes slipping closed once more and hips twitching forward at the foreign touch against heated flesh.

Izuku took this as a sign to go further, so he did.

Staring at your face, he pushed the finger past your lower lips, ignoring the intense throbbing of his dick as he felt how wet you were. The digit trailed down, searching for your clenching hole. When he found it, he couldnt help but teasingly trace around it, adoring the scrunch of your flushed face and the whine that followed suit.

“Please, Izuku..” You whimpered, and how could he say no to that?

He slowly pushed his finger in, nearly cumming on the spot from just how tight and warm you were. He openly moaned, watching as he sunk the finger all the way down to his knuckle.

Clouded eyes flickered back up to your face, noting how you didn’t seem to be in pain.

Licking his lips in anticipation, he pulled the finger out, then pushed it back in, over and over and over again as your thighs twitched around him, mouth falling open as you breathed heavily, moaning ever so softly.

His heart pounded in his chest as he added another finger, continuing the motions for before.

Your hips shimmied at the stretch, his fingers much larger than your own slim once, but so much nicer, because it was him, and not you. Your hips involuntarily chased the rhythm he set.

“Ahh.. haa..h.. Oh! Ah! Ahhhghh!” your eyes shot open as his fingers curled inside you, brushing against that spongey spot in your clenching walls. “Oh! T-There Iz-Izuku~!” You moaned out his name, and it was as if his body got put on autopilot, fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping heat, curly against that spot that had you moaning.

A particularly loud squeal left your parted lips, and he snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you so bad it hurt. Watching your body react violently around only his fingers? The cherry on the cake!

He needed his dick in you, to feel those soft walls clenching around him, to hear you cry out his name more as he brought you to the peak of madness.

But he was worried about how long he’d last.

He was so close before, what if he came nearly immediately?

Pulling his fingers out fully, which drew your attention back to him, he lifted them to his mouth, shoving them in and putting on a sinful display of licking them clean for you

He smiled at you with half-lidded eyes as you stared at him with astonishment. Lurching forward, you took him by surprise by gripping his sweaty hair and pulling him down for another passionate kiss, moaning around his tongue as you tasted your essence on him.

Keeping his focus on the kiss, Izuku’s hand blindly felt around his bedside table, opening the drawer and somehow managing to find the single condom he kept in there.

You noticed it from the corner of your eye, the moonlight reflecting on the silver wrapper.

“When did you get that?” You pulled away from the kiss, indulging in your curiosity as you stared at the condom between his fingers. 

He chuckled nervously, looking to the side in embarrassment, “I- I got a pack from the corner store.. Not long ago..”

He left out the motivation behind it, not ready to reveal he knew you were watching him the entire time - thus bringing forth his precautious side as he fumbled with measuring himself and getting the right size.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait any longer, princess..” He whispered under a heavy breath, ripping open the packaging, grabbing the latex and rolling it on himself, ignoring your eyes practically burning holes into his heated skin as they watched with eagerness.

Now that it was on, he looked back up to you, hand coming to gently caress your face, thumb smoothing over your blushing cheek as he leaned down to kiss you once more.

Yes, he wanted to pound you into next tomorrow right this instant, be he couldnt ignore the fact that this was your first time together. He wanted it to be.. Sweet.

As sweet as he could make it, anyway.

He jumped in his own skin when he felt your cold fingers wrap around his cock, bringing his oozing head towards your entrance. He was quick to replace them, though, just so he could rub himself between your folds and teasingly against your clit.

“..ready?” He asked nearly impatiently as he guided his tip to your entrance once more.

He slowly pushed in the moment you nodded your head.

Oh god! He thought to himself as he moaned loudly. He was only in by an inch and already it felt like his world was spinning! You were so damn tight! 

He nearly collapsed on top of you, bringing his hands up just to hold your own against the bedsheets.

He was being much too slow for your liking. You were so aroused on, so ready for him that, though you appreciated him going slow for you, you couldn’t handle another second with this agonizing pace.. So, without warning, your legs, which were still wrapped around his hips, tightened, and you forcefully drove his hips forward, fully sheathing him inside you.

He screamed in pleasure, head involuntarily being thrown back as his eyes rolled back. You moaned along with him, the feeling of being full outweighing the slight stinging pain that it brought with it.

His fingernails dug into your hips as he tried to control himself, his body vibrating from how much he was shaking. You held him flushed against you, eyes squeezing shut as you fought to relax around him and get used to his length. Which was pretty damn big! Perhaps you bit off more than you could chew..

But it didn’t take long for the pain to slowly subside, and you were back in business. Meanwhile, Izuku was staring cross-eyed up at the ceiling, holding himself back from exploding.

“Izu-”

“I-I Don-t think I c-can last long, (Y/N)...” he whimpered out, chest heaving and heart hammering. 

You nodded in understanding, he was quite busy with himself before you showed up anyway.

And now all this? It certainly must be sudden.

Plus, Izuku has always been a sensitive boy, so no doubt his nerves were on fire.

Nonetheless, he was quick to catch on to your ‘okay’ for him to move.

So, he pulled himself out halfway, nearly sobbing as he thrusts back in.

You felt so good.. So good.. sogood- “So good.. Ahh! A-ahh nnghjnn S-so go-goo- gahn! Hahhh!” The sheer velocity of his moans overpowered your own as he soon found himself uncontrollably drilling his cock into your pussy, absorbed by the feeling of you sucking him back in like a black hole just to squeeze the life out of him.

That hot coil that had been winding up in his stomach all this time was soon to burst, he could feel himself getting closer and closer with every slap of skin against skin, edged on by your beautiful moans.

“(Y-Y/N)!! I-I’m gonna! I-!” He could barely form any sentences, all that spilled out of that drooling mouth were moans and mindless babbles and praises.

You were just as close, but you wanted more.. So, you ripped one hand free from his grip, licking a digit before thrusting it down just to furiously rub at your puffy clit aching for attention.

You both moaned simultaneously, him at the sight, and you at the combined stimulation.

He was about to break, about to hit the point of no return when he found your G spot. You cried out in ecstasy, body practically arching of the mattress as he focused deep, powerful thrusts on that area.

And by some miracle, you reached your high before he did.

A wave of electrifying pleasure washed over you as your body tensed beneath him, back arching impossibly high off the mattress as your walls seemed to clamp down on his cock like a vice just as that burning hot coil wound tight in your belly burst. Stars bloomed in your eyes as your vision went black, Izuku’s name tearing from your throat.

Your hot, wet walls clamping down on him threw him into his own long-awaited and intense orgasm. His thighs tensed as he cried out in ecstasy into the night air, hips slamming into your fluttering cunt once more before thick, hot cum shot from his dick, filling up the condom deep inside of you.

You both stayed like that for a moment, basking in the afterglow of something you both waited weeks for.

He inhaled shakily before pulling his softening member out, rolling the condom off in a sleepy haze before tying it off and throwing it into the trash bin.

He flopped down beside you, far too sleepy to even think about getting up.

You were already fast asleep, and he couldn’t wait to join you. Wrapping his scarred arm around your waist, he pulled your warm body to his chest, tangling his legs with yours and falling asleep within moments to your soft breaths and the crickets singing outside his glass door.

There was a lot to talk about tomorrow morning.

You’d both have to explain yourselves, talk about what happened, what was next, and confirm feelings for each other. That this wasn’t just a ‘one night stand’ between friends.

And, of course, you’d be hit with a truck of pain between your legs, rendering you unable to walk properly. At least Izuku is there to take care of you, and that it was a Sunday.

Until you both come to the horrifying realization that Izuku, in the heat of the moment, accidentally flung your panties out the open window, which was then miraculously carried by a stray gust of wind just for Kaminari to find in a bush by the side of the building the following morning when taking the trash out.

Thank god nobody recognized them, but you could only hope you’d get the chance to get that back before he, along with Mineta, no doubt do something with them.

[alectoperdita]

Do you inhabit that slim intersection between Verge reader/Vergecast listener, Yu-Gi-Oh! fan, and Kaijou shipper? Then boy do I have the short fic for you! If you don’t (which is pretty much everyone that’s not me), please enjoy my most arguably niche AU yet. A meet-cute(?) featuring tech reporter Joey Wheeler and his big gay crush on tech CEO Seto Kaiba. 

Includes references to the current pandemic because this is centered around a real-life event that took place last month and vaping. So consider yourself warned in that regard.

📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱

What could be more luxurious than rubbing elbows with tech bigwigs for three days at one of Beverly Hill's swankiest hotels?

LA!

Sunny weather!

Beautiful, rich people abound!

Well, the pandemic was kind of a buzzkill.

Although if Joey was going to be quarantine-bubbled in any joint, it might as well be at the fabulously renovated Beverly Hilton! Gag. He'd been watching way too many promo commercials.

Joey had been excited to come. Press passes, if you weren't already affiliated with Vox Media, were limited. He had been even more thrilled to be reunited in person with Yuugi, who had moved back to the west coast six months into the pandemic to be with his grandpa. It had been more than amazing to hug his editor/best friend for the first time in over a year after they both got the "all clear" from their rapid testing.

Now that Joey gave it more thought, Covid-19 was likely the reason their modest tech publication had snagged not one, but two press credentials. The pandemic loomed large over the conference even as people went around networking, sampling green juices, and taking part in early morning group workouts. Joey had seen photos and read tweets from the Before Times. Compared to that, all the sessions that Joey attended for work felt barren. The crowds were thin, exacerbated by how far the venue spaced the chairs.

Unfortunately for him, the nightcaps and hard boozing after the day's sessions ended didn't go away. Maybe it was more subdued than previously, but it was still far more than what Joey was comfortable with.

Oh, the woes of being a tech reporter that didn't drink.

Even Yuugi partook when prompted, determined not to let his lightweight stature deter him from prime networking opportunities. Joey never did, though, which made him the odd-man-out at every happy hour-esque event in his adult life.

He had his reasons. Damn good ones. Namely, his old man and fear of a genetic disposition toward addiction. Not that it was anyone's business why he didn't drink.

Which was why he was sulking and smoking in an isolated corner by one of the hotel's several illuminated swimming pools. He had to get away. He was about two seconds away from knocking out that WaPo reporter's teeth for hassling him about his teetotalism.

That would not have advanced Joey's journalism career.

He supposed smoking wasn't that much better. Definitely not healthier. But he'd never make a fool of himself when saturated with nicotine.

The nightcap wasn't a complete wash. He bagged a business card from a Verge reporter before excusing himself.

With a sigh, he checked his texts. Still no response from Yuugi, who must still be clearing the bank at some techbro's illicit hotel room poker game. He'd give it another half-an-hour, then he'd retire to his own hotel room.

He removed the vape pen from his lips and exhaled a puff of smoke through his nostrils. The pool's blue-tinted floodlights made the haze iridescent, turning dust motes in the air into tiny, glimmering stars. Joey took another banana cream pie-laced hit and amused himself by blowing smoke rings. They ended up lopsided on the most part, but no less pretty when they drifted over the pool water before dissipating.

A tall shadow moved on the edge of his vision. Joey ignored it. Several people, alone and in groups, had passed him since he made camp by the pool. Except this one came entirely too close for polite pandemic standards, stopping two feet away from Joey.

"Do ya mind..." He trailed off as he got a good look at who it was.

Tall, lean, and dressed entirely in black that he virtually melted into the shadows. It was too dark to appreciate the beautiful brown color of his hair, like coffee blended with the perfect ratio of milk. But his eyes—they were electric reflecting glowing pool at their feet.

Holy shit. It was Seto Kaiba. Seto freakin' Kaiba was standing next to him at a LA hotel pool for some reason?

CEOs were a dime a dozen at Code Conference. That was the point. You couldn't charge $7k a ticket if you couldn't deliver the goods. Hell, Joey even passed Elon Musk once after the welcome lunch, when Yuugi led him off to meet Marc Benioff. Satya Nadella, much like his company's products, seemed to be everywhere he turned. And though Kaiba was also a speaker this year, Joey didn't expect to see him until his panel on the last day.

With his vape pen dangling between his fingers, Joey gave the other man a stunned once-over. There was no doubt he was Kaiba. He was wearing his signature outfit: a black, form-fitting turtleneck on top of skin-tight leather pants that blended seamlessly with his knee-high boots with at least a dozen too many belt buckles. "Steve Jobs as a leather-daddy" as internet commenters summarized when he first came onto the tech scene. Some went further and declared him "gay flamboyance personified." But that'd never been confirmed. Kaiba refused to entertain questions on his sexuality. He didn't even appear to date, which would've also revealed something.

Joey hoped he was—gay, that was. It'd bump his currently 0% chance of getting with Kaiba up to a nice 0.1%.

Joey continued to gape with wide eyes as Kaiba pulled his black surgical mask down to his chin and stuck the thinnest and sleekest vape pen between his lips. Joey was mesmerised by those pursing lips, highlighted by a blue sheen from the ambient lighting. September LA nights were already warm enough, but Joey swore the temperature rose several notches.

The ring Kaiba blew was perfect in almost every way.

Then an overwhelming wave of menthol hit Joey. "Holy shit, dude!" he exclaimed before gagging. Tears sprung to his eyes. 

So much for not making a fool of himself...

Kaiba regarded him with a cool, dispassionate look. Joey tried not to shrivel under his intense gaze, but failed. Inside, he was screaming and dying. Fucking Seto Kaiba, frequently featured on Forbes' 30 under 30 and now Fortune's 40 under 40 and number one on BuzzFeed's list of the hottest tech entrepreneurs, probably thought he was a wuss. Seto Kaiba, who may or may not be gay and/or asexual but was certainly Joey's biggest homosexual crush since he first laid eyes on him on the stage of a CES presentation four years ago, must think he was a loser.

Maybe Joey should drown himself in the pool now. Could he possibly embarrass himself any more?

Then Kaiba opened his mouth and spoke in that deep, gravelly tone of his. "Are you Wheeler?"

For a moment, Joey considered coughing more and feigning the Rona. Or consumption like a Victorian lady about to pass out on a fainting couch.

Because on the one hand, Seto Kaiba knew who he was? And on the other, Seto Kaiba knew him! Joey couldn't decide if he was going to die from glee or shame or a horrifying mix of the two.

Kaiba furrowed his brows, his frown deepening when Joey didn't answer. "Well? Are you Joey Wheeler or not? You fit the description."

"Description?" Joey asked with growing hysteria.

"Scruffy but good-looking." Kaiba's gaze dropped to his feet. "You should spend more money on taming your hair than your overpriced sneakers."

Joey bristled. His Yeezy was his pride and joy.

Unaware of Joey's ire, Kaiba continued sourly, "Maybe your friend can help with that after he's done cheating Mokuba out of the rest of the pot." He exhaled another eye-watering puff of menthol-scented death. It almost looked like he was pouting.

The whiplash between annoyance and confusion and anxiety, the likes of which he hadn't felt since a 7 train nearly killed him when he tried to retrieve a review unit he'd stupidly dropped onto the tracks, made Joey nauseous. Floundering helplessly around his celebrity crush didn't help. "What's happening?" he asked desperately.

Joey jumped when Kaiba reached over and tapped the other end of his vape on the press badge hanging around his neck.

"I don't see how you can do your job as a journalist if that's the extent of your critical thinking skills. Fine. Your insufferable friend, Muto, wouldn't take an IOU so I could raise. Instead, he insisted the stakes include an interview for his sorry publication," Kaiba grumbled. "Done by you."

It finally clicked for Joey. "Oh my god, you lost to Yuugi. He's at your poker game."

"It's Mokuba's game, actually. But a deal's a deal. He sent me down here to greet you."

Damn, how did Kaiba still look so pretty when he was that sour-faced? Must be the lighting. Then the rest of Kaiba's words sunk in and blind panic broke out.

"Wait. Right now? I ain't prepped. I don't got questions ready!" he exclaimed. Joey needed at least three to five business quarters to psych himself up for an interview with Seto Kaiba. He might never be ready. He wracked his brain for a question—any question.

Only one came to mind, though. The only one he cared about at that moment. "Are you gay?" Joey absolutely couldn't ask that. Never in a million years.

Kaiba remained thankfully oblivious to his internal meltdown as he fished out his phone. With his vape pen clenched between his teeth, the CEO flicked open his calendar app and scrolled for several seconds. "Tomorrow. I have an hour after the lunch. Should I reserve a hotel conference room or will you?"

"No. No. I'll do that." He couldn't let Kaiba take care of arranging the details. Downright unprofessional. "Uh, how do I let you know where?"

Kaiba considered him at length before smirking and tapping something on his phone screen. "Email me," he said before pulling his face mask over his mouth and gliding away.

Joey's phone pinged. One new email. He didn't need to read it to know who sent it. He gave a shaky laugh and sank into a squat, hugging his arms around his knees. Eventually, he'd have to pick himself up and go prep interview questions. And yell at Yuugi for a while. Then thank him. But until then, he just wanted to breathe in the bizarre mix of menthol and banana cream flavors before they faded completely. 

Website for CodeCon2021

[soradragon]

Prank full of love

Dwalin here! Woooo!! changed my style a bit to fit with the type of genre this is, this is a comedy x reader fic. I’m very proud.

Also, thank you my sweet @deepestfirefun​ for helping me out! And Thank you my beta reader for helping me out! I love you!

Warnings: cursing, shirtless dwarf (wink wonk) and fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Dwalin x F! reader,  mentions of bagginshield

Check out my main masterlist if you liked what you read and wanna read more!

If you want to be tagged in the upcoming fics don’t be afraid to ask me! ^^

Please, if you liked the story leave a little comment to let me know you liked it!

Anyway, enjoy^^

~~~~~~

"You..!"

A deep, threatening and rough voice bounced against the walls of the passages. 

Not much further ahead was a woman, pushing a man of what looked like a high status to the side. She was running like a madwoman, fleeing from what people would think; the devil. 

That woman is you. Yes you; surprising, isn't it? 

What did you do to get yourself ending up in this peculiar predicament, you probably wonder?

Well then, no need to look further nor to scroll down to nitpick every sentence in this story to make even the slightest sense of what's going on in this world of chaos. It shall all be explained right here and now! 

If you didn't care nor wonder what, how, and why this all happened, then too bad! You have no power over this story! Haha, take that!

Ahem, anyway...It all happened at a feast around midnight before all this chaos came to be.

*(*)*(*)*

Fili and Kili dragged you with them. The blonde prince led the way as the younger brother pulled you with them.

They had been spouting stuff about "the greatest idea ever." and "going in the history books for being the legendary mischief-makers." Or something like that. You didn't really listen, like at all, only perking up and paying a biiit more attention when they mentioned 'you' and 'food.'

Were you getting an all-you-can-eat-buffet?

Aww, such sweethearts! They shouldn't have.

Weelll, you did deserve it, after all. Going along on this journey and defeating a dragon is not an easy feat. They should make you an entire statue while they're at it! 

Yes, one right next to the entrance so all visitors and passers-by could see you and know of your magnificent and heroic deeds.

You mentally patted yourself on the back. The look on your face was a mix of smugness and pride.

But you were forgetting one small itty bitty detail (or two) in your only sliiightly intoxicated state:

You weren't the sole hero who slew the dragon. You already got your fair share of the reward: a high status in the kingdom - a place in the High Court of the company who went on that dragon-slaying quest - and a luxurious comfy home included. And not to forget the gold you were promised. Thorin also offered work in a high place in the kingdom like a royal scholar or something, but you gracefully declined. You liked working in the toy shop with Bofur and Bifur - so...no statue for you.

But you didn't remember that.

You snapped out of your daydreams when Fili softly helped you to sit down on your bed. 

How did you get here in the first place?

"Are you alright Y/N?"

Fili or Kili, you don't know which one as they looked the same to you at the moment, wiggling in front of you with their two clones.

When did they become a quadruplet?

"Y/N?"

Oh yeah, you still needed to answer them. 

"...'M fiiinee."

You managed to slur out with difficulty, sleepiness slowly taking over. The brain cells were already going to bed, leaving behind a heavily drunken brain to operate the whole system.

What could go wrong, am I right?

...A lot.

*(*)*(*)*

"Ugh, stupid hangover..."

You moaned, resting your chin on the edge of the bucket pathetically.

You felt like you died and came back to life again, moaning over a bucket you desperately tried not to look into, for you knew the meal you had yesterday would not be a pretty sight.

At least you could tell what was up and down...yay for you...

You didn’t forget that you had somehow convinced Fili and Kili you were really fine and totally not wasted. How was beyond you, and you were not in the mood to figure it out.

Maybe they were also drunk or just took advantage of your pickled state. Yeah, they would do that to guilt-trip you into going along with their prank. They knew you never break a promise, even if you made it in your totally half-sober state. They were too cunning for their own and others’ - mostly others’ - good.

Anyway, somehow (not surprisingly) without knowing what you were getting into, you had nodded along with everything they had said. 

You vaguely remember Kili or Fili tucking you in and saying goodnight. 

Note to self: Never try to win against Bofur - or any dwarf for that matter - in a drinking match ever again.

You chastised yourself while staggering towards your wardrobe.  How late would Fili or Kili pick you up to set his prank in motion? You didn’t even care which one it was - you hated them both at the moment...Okay, who are you kidding; you would do the same thing again in a heartbeat for either of them. And of course, they would give poor little you the hardest and most dangerous job to fulfil... Great. Just peachy.

Sigh.

Let's get this whole shenanigan over with, dammit. They’d better sing tales and praises about you once this is over. 

Not long after you put some clothes on, The two brothers barged into your chamber, loud and boisterous as ever. How they both could be so lively in the morning (with probably a hangover too) was beyond you.

"...Stupid dwarf genes..."

You mumbled to yourself as you let the two princes drag you to the training hall with their arms hooked around yours on either side. 

You felt dread pool inside your stomach as you got closer to the training hall. 

Now, normally you loved the training hall. After all, it was the front row seat to a heavenly sight of young warriors and their amazing muscles being put to use in a workout. Not to forget there was one dwarf in particular who you just loved to watch while he flexed his muscles by throwing other dwarves around.

But right now, you feared it with a burning passion, for that place was undoubtedly the place where you would meet your inevitable doom.

"Don't worry dear Y/N, it's gonna be fun!"

Kili spoke up happily, seeming to notice your unease Oh, how you would love to give him the big finger. But knowing Kili, he would drop you for the fun of it and make a whole drama show out of it, gasping and acting like a stereotypical blonde rich girl, one who just overheard the most scandalous gossip about herself. You cursed yourself for showing Kili how to be a true drama queen. (Prince, in his case, but you get the point.) The traitor uses all those tricks against you every chance he gets. You could just kick yourself for being so stupid to show him the ropes. What's worse is that if you would put Kili in a dress he would be the definition of a diva! How he does it? 

No one knows!

Why couldn't you just say no and walk away?

"Because you're too nice to leave your favourite dwarves hanging, Y/N. You promised you would help." Kili said. Technically, your autopilot did, not you. Unfortunately for you, Kili was right. You wouldn't leave him hanging. 

You glared at Kili and the stupid cheeky grin he gave you. You would have rolled your eyes at him if that wouldn't hurt as much as it did, so you decided to roll your eyes mentally instead.

Wait...did you just say that out loud?

"Yes, yes you did."

"Fu-"

*(*)*(*)*

After what seemed like ages Fili and Kili had finally managed to drag your miserable self to the big wooden doors of the training hall. You had given up the struggle after the longest ten minutes of your life, deciding to formulate a master escape plan before you would reach the training halls. Unfortunately for you, it was too late. You threw your carefully thought-out plan down the drain when Kili accidentally slammed the door against the wall too loud when he kicked it open with his boot.

Still having his arm looped around your's, mind you.

Everyone and everything quieted down for just a moment. Heads turned towards the entrance where they were all, no doubt about it, greeted with a comical sight. 

Fili and Kili, obnoxious as always and wicked smiles on their faces (and everyone who even remotely knew the young princes, grasped that the two were up to no good.) 

dragged a very anxious looking you with them. One would guess you were about to be sacrificed as a dragon's dinner.  Which you were, in your opinion.

"Come on Y/N,  time to teach you how to disarm opponents," Fili said, leading the way to a part of the area where a couple of young dwarves were thrown on the ground by one dwarf in particular, one you came to recognise as the hottest and grumpiest dwarf in all of Grump Town. And oh boy, you were not ready to get destroyed by him, and you showed it, too, pulling and protesting and cursing at everything that lived.

How you wished you could tell people that you managed to free yourself from the boy's grasp and run for the hills. 

Sadly, that wish didn't come true; God hated you or something, for Fili and Kili  - those little rascals - managed to push you right into Dwalin. 

You didn't know if Dwalin catching you was a blessing or a curse. What you did know, however, was that you most definitely were blushing, if your burning cheeks were anything to go off of.

Dwalin was shirtless... His strong, hairy arms encircled your waist delicately, and you were practically pressed against his chest...

Against his strong, warm and bushy dwarven chest.

The scent of sweat, smoke and a vague hint of cookie dough entered your nose, and it strangely made you feel at home.

You were a goner, yep completely gone, nobody's home. Come back later or leave a message after the beep for Y/N dot exe has stopped working and took a vacation to cloud nine.

Sadly, your cloud nine had been sucked away too quickly by the dwarf himself who put you there in the first place. 

Dwalin, being the grump that he is, grunted at you and pushed you back on your feet as if you had burned him! 

"Rude much," you grumbled once you managed to keep your balance, dusting yourself off.

Dwalin (the ass) only grunted in return. Him and his damn grunts. 

You ain't special enough for him to form a full sentence for you, now?

Fine, if he was gonna play it that way then, you were gonna give it to him back tenfold.

Screw consequences, the dick deserved this. You were gonna go all out. 

You turned around and stuck your tongue out like a real child woman.

Fili and Kili started to giggle behind you, getting quiet real quick when they saw Dwalin glaring daggers at them. 

You marched towards the two princes, whispering four words as you moved past them. 

"Let's do this shit." 

The boys definitely heard you, for their grins turned wicked. 

One glance and you knew what was about to come. If being the two princes’ guinea pig for pranks with poor Bilbo the entire journey taught you anything, it would be to recognize the twinkle in their eyes. 

It spoke in volumes louder than any dragon could roar; chaos was about to unfold, both in their brains (as they looked each other in the eye) and soon, in reality. You looked slightly over your shoulder. 

Yeah, they were scheming alright, communicating with that brotherly bond they share or something. 

Watch out Dwalin:

This. Is. War.

*(*)*(*)*

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Oh, how you came to regret tripping Dwalin up. In your defence, it wasn't your fault that he couldn't take his dark eyes off of you when you pulled your shirt off because the heat was getting too hot to handle. 

Wink wonk.

Hey, at least you wore a white undershirt. One which clung to your breasts tightly. Yeah, that'll give him something to look at.

Anyway! 

It wasn't your fault, either, when Dwalin marched towards you with purpose in his steps when you bent over to grab a dagger off the ground, showing him your assets in the process.

It was his fault, really! He should've noticed that Fili and Kili were waiting for him to stand on the grey X. And now you were running for your life with a very, very angry dwarf (who was covered in white glue and colourful feathers) on your heels. Thanks for everything, Kili. Thanks for shrieking out, "Y/N planned it!" The moment Dwalin glared at them...

The snitch.

You pushed dwarves to the side as you ran for your life, screaming sorry as you went, because you are a polite gentlelady. Dwarves watched you go with wide eyes, confused as heck as Dwalin stormed past them not long after.

Most of the time, you were glad they made the hallways mainly one straight line, but now? You cursed its existence and its creator.

There was unquestionably no doubt about it that Dwalin would catch up. Curse you and your hate of exercise.

You should have taken Gloin's offer of jogging with him when you had the chance, but Bombur's pastries were too tempting to pass up on at the time.

And now here you were, fleeing like the devil was behind you, with burning lungs and protesting legs. You were afraid to glance back; you could almost feel your pursuer’s breath go down your neck. You silently prayed to all the deities above and beneath you to help you out, and it seemed one took pity on your little mortal soul. For the moment you finished your prayer, you were rewarded with two things: two dwarves carrying barrels, and a small corridor you almost missed if it hadn't been for someone came out of said corridor. 

You took the opportunity without hesitation and slammed against the two unexpecting dwarves, who dropped the barrels in surprise. You managed to slip past them before the barrels hit the ground - like freaking Indiana Jones - skidding through the corridor with a sharp turn. 

Without a second wasted, you pressed yourself against the wall like a ninja on a mission and held your breath. This was the moment of truth. There were two possibilities: either Dwalin wasn't fooled by the stunt, or he runs right by you. You prayed for the latter.

Lo and behold, for your prayers have been answered again! The deities really loved you at this moment, or just had lots of pity for you.

Dwalin ran past the corridor.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief in your life Patting yourself on the back, you turned around with a smile... Only to come face to face with the king of the mountain. The smug-ass had a knowing smirk on his face.

Shitpopcicles...

"Why are you so out of breath Y/N? You look as if a warg was on your heels." the smirk faltered as Thorin rubbed at his chin as if he were thinking. 

The grin returned tenfold. "Is a certain dwarf chasing you, perhaps...?" His voice was teasing; he dang well knew why.

Oh, how you wished you could smack that smirk off his face, but sadly that was not a good idea. The bugger knows about your crush on Dwalin and teases you often. 

He found out about it during the journey and he had always put you and Dwalin on watch together. 

He shipped it, you just knew he did.

You pointed a threatening finger towards him. "Watch out, boy." You were close enough to Thorin to be the only one allowed to do something like this.

"Or this little lady won't hesitate to tell the whole damn mountain and a certain someone that you have a crush on a certain hobbit."

His face stayed the same - stoic and not moving - but you saw it at his softly reddening cheeks that your suspicions had been right. You grinned victoriously at Thorin, who stood there without uttering a word. Serves him right! Now you had blackmail. Internally, you were cackling evilly.

Your body froze while Thorin opened his mouth to speak. You felt as if Hell had just frozen over for that's when you heard it:

"You...!"

It sounded like thunder rumbling. Deep, rough and threatening. You would have totally been turned on if you weren't scared for your life. 

Dwarfzilla was coming...

Without noticing it, you pushed Thorin to the side and ran like a madwoman. This is how it all happened. Now you're all caught up, so let's continue.

Fili and Kili had better sing tales about you after this.

You turned many corners and hallways, zooming past Dwarves who flushed themselves against the narrow walls in haste as you ran past them.

Some of them called out to you, but you couldn't hear what they said; Being chased doesn't really give you the time to stop and listen to what they had to say, now does it?

At one point, you began to notice the path becoming disproportionate and rough. Stones stuck out of the floor and walls. You tripped over a couple of those, those little buggers. Soon, it was as if you weren't in a hallway anymore, but in a cave instead.

Dwalin had been calling out to you after a while of running through the cave-like hallway. But the thing was, he didn't sound angry anymore. 

He sounded worried, desperate even, which was very much out of character for Dwalin, to be honest...

Sadly, you hadn't had the time to realize why Dwalin acted the way he did before you dropped down a hole in the floor with a yelp. At least you found out why he was so concerned.

What a great day...

*(*)*(*)*

A short cry reverberated throughout the chamber, and a high pitched voice followed after.

"Could you be more gentle!?"

You glared at Dwalin, who like always, grunted his replies instead of talking like a normal Dwarf-being!

Though he did what you asked and rubbed the ointment on your bruises more gently, which felt like heaven on your sore skin...

You felt absolutely stupid, sitting on a wooden bench with Dwalin treating your bruises and wounds. (Oin was too busy to do it himself so he shoved ointment in Dwalin's hand. The other was holding you at that moment, for Dwalin wouldn't allow you to walk yourself. Oin said that Dwalin should do it before promptly leaving.) Dwalin had to pull you out of the hole, though he spoke more words than he had said to you this entire day. You counted that as a victory.

You still felt your heart flutter every time you thought about it: He had been extremely gentle, lifting you out of the hole with both his arms. Cradling you to his chest while muttering in dwarvish. Checking all over your body before caressing the back of your head and pressing it against his shoulder as he held you close. This time, you understood his mumbles: "Thank Mahal, yer safe," his voice was so quiet, wavering with raw emotion;

"never do anything like that ever again, ya hear me."

Dwalin was still shirtless and covered in glue and feathers during the entire ordeal.

Your heart had skipped multiple beats right then and there, cheeks flushed red. You had been trying to process those words the entire way to Oin. Still trying to figure out the meaning behind the words he uttered with such intensity.                

You were brought out of your trance by Dwalin tapping on your shoulder, you looked over to see him staring at you, "Lift yer left foot."

You did as he asked, lifting your foot. Dwalin grasped it gently in one hand as he removed the boot delicately. If this was in a different situation, it would have been very intimate. No, wait, scratch that; it's intimate even now, which was not good for your heart, which was doing summersaults inside your chest. Yep, you were screwed...

So badly, and heavenly screwed. 

Yet you couldn't find it in yourself to really mind.

Once Dwalin removed the boot and sock, he started to massage your foot with ointment, muttering to himself. "Why did ya let yerself be dragged in the princes' pranks."

It wasn't a question, but you answered anyway, "Those princes made me promise to help them out when I was drunk- don't look at me like that Dwalin! You know I never break promises, even if I made them while I was drunk."

He averted his eyes, stilling his ministrations slightly. "Ya need to learn to say no."

His voice was almost too soft to hear, but you did.

You huffed in return, "I'm getting better at it though! I said no to Fleder-Fledder something when he tried to get me to marry him!"

Dwalin chuckled, "Aye ya did. Ya kicked him good in the nuts."

"Well, he deserved it, I didn't even know him and wouldn't take no for an answer, so I had to make it clear." 

You grinned at Dwalin as he shook his head, a smirk on his face.

Your eyes turned soft, remembering how Dwalin had positioned himself between the man and you when the man tried to grab you by the neck. Your hero had glared at the man fiercely, threatening to gut him with his axe if he didn't take the hint and shove off.

The man had pissed himself before he had sprinted off, too scared to utter a single word.

You had hugged Dwalin to thank him and since then, he only acknowledged you with grunts... That was the day before the feast.

Balin had said not to take it personally, that Dwalin needed time to sort himself out. But damn was it hard to not take it to heart.

"Why did you do it?"

The dam broke, spilling your most inner thoughts. Fumbling with your fingers, you stared at the ground, missing the confused look on Dwalin's face. "What?"

"Why did you ignore me after I hugged you?"

You were not gonna beat around the bush with this one. You made your bed, and now you need to lie in it.

"You didn't acknowledge me for three days. Balin said to give you space, so I did. But damnit Dwalin, you ignored me for three days! Why?"

You didn't mean for your voice to crack when you looked him in the eyes. You didn't mean for the tear to slip past. Dwalin's eyes widened in return. Very slightly, but you noticed. He averted his gaze to the ground for a second, placing your foot down gently and then looked up into your eyes. 

"I...I got confused," he began, eyes full with emotions, some you couldn't even place. "I got confused...Emotions which I thought I had buried deep down, long ago resurfaced..." you blinked. Were his eyes getting glassy? 

"They resurfaced tenfold. I didn't know what to do or think… I didn't think," he grabbed your hand in his delicately, tracing the skin with his thumb, never taking his eyes off you even once. "I threw up my walls in a panic, I shouldn't have, but I did..." he took in a deep breath. "Hurting those dear to me." Dwalin pressed his lips against your hand, it was gentle and soft. Butterflies fluttered inside your stomach.

"Y/N, lass, I truly regret putting ya through such pain. Could you forgive this fool of a dwarf?" He whispered, staring at you with pleading eyes.

You did what everyone would do in this situation.

You hit him on the head and yelled, "you idiot!!" and slapped against his chest multiple times. "I thought you hated me...!" Dwalin grabbed you by the waist and raised you into the air without much problem. He stared into your eyes with passion as he uttered one word.

"Never."

The two of you were only a small length apart. Without hesitating, you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his. He passionately returned the kiss, both of you closing your eyes as you relished the feeling of each other.

Yeah, you were on cloud nine alright. The touch of Dwalin's hands holding you so gently set your skin aflame. You could get used to this.

Parting to gasp for air, you glanced at Dwalin's face. Eyes lidded, and mouth slightly open. You smirked then, leaning in, you brushed your lips lightly against his.

He groaned in return. 

"Yer doing things to me, lass," he pressed his head against yours, his eyes soft as he looked at you. "Be mine?"

You only nodded, leaning in for another kiss to seal the promise.

Yeah, today was a great day...

~~~~~

Thank you for reading! And keep soaring high!^^

Hobbit taglist

@that-place-called-middle-earth​ @an-adventureland​

Forever taglist

@theincaprincess​ @strongholdinthedark​

Sora’s Rambles!

If you are on a tag list of a fandom or requested something you will get notified for Sora's rambles. When I'm working on that fandom or request, i will post little ramblings about the story I'm working on, a sort of teaser if you will. If you don't want to be notified on Sora's rambles please let me know^^

[cali-holland]

Cherry- Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Prompt: When you and Tom are cast as co-stars in Cherry, you can’t understand why Harrison begins to act so weird about the sex scene… it’s not like you’re dating either one of them.

Word Count: 4100

Warnings: lots of talk about sex, making out, some swearing

A/N: sooo obvs the release details of the movie are gonna be off; I’m ignoring covid for this fic :)

Masterlist   Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

“A sex scene?” Harrison repeated, and Tom nodded.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be so weird.” Tom said. As they walked into their regular gym, they discussed the news that Tom had just heard over the phone- he’d just landed the role in Cherry a couple days ago, and he was told only this morning that there would be a sex scene involved in the film.

“Have they cast your co-star yet?” He asked, curiously.

“No. I haven’t even done screen tests with anyone else yet.” He shrugged. “I just hope they cast someone hot, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harrison laughed, still in disbelief that his friend was going to have to film a sex scene with a complete stranger in the coming months.

“Who would you want?” Tom asked and his friend looked at him quizzically, “If you had to do a sex scene, who would you want to do it with? A stranger or a friend?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it much thought.” He tried to shrug it off, but his red ears told otherwise. He began to work on one of the weight machines, getting it to the proper setting for him, as Tom wandered over to a treadmill.

“Why did I even ask?” Tom chuckled, shaking his head teasingly, “Of course it’d be Y/N.”

“What would be me?” You asked, coming into the room to join them with a little more spring in your step than usual. Harrison went red in surprise at your presence, making you look at him confused. You three had a regular routine of meeting up at the gym to workout so your presence wasn’t surprising.

Back in Brit school, you had become close friends with Tom and Harrison. You had always harbored a crush for Harrison, unable to deny the attractiveness in his blue eyes. You were just too caught up in your own head to realize he felt the same. Neither of you made a move, neither of you could bear hurting the dynamic of your group. Tom was oblivious to the fact that you liked his best friend, which made it harder for you to even think about changing the friendship.

“Harrison needs a spotter.” Tom said quickly, distracting you from the previous topic.

“Uh, yeah.” Harrison cleared his throat, trying to control his scarlet face.

“I’ll spot you, if you spot me.” You teased, tightening your ponytail as you went to stand by him. You watched as Harrison began to life the weights, your eyes getting trapped on his muscles.

“Oh, Y/N.” Tom spoke up, pulling your attention from Harrison, “Did you ever get a call-back for that audition last week?”

“Yeah, I totally meant to tell you.” You laughed, turning to continue watching Harrison to make sure he was fine, “I got the job, not even a call-back. I just got it, but I don’t even know who’s on the project.”

“What’s the movie?” He asked.

“Cherry.” You replied. Harrison’s arms faltered and you moved quickly to catch and stabilize the weight. Laughing lightly, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“Cherry?” Harrison clarified. He looked almost horrified as he put the bar back.

“Cherry?” Tom added, stopping the treadmill.

“Yes, that’s what I said.” You nodded, looking between the two of them in confusion. “What’s up?”

“Y/N, I’m playing Nico.” Tom said, and your jaw dropped.

“We’re going to be in a movie together?” You replied, a wide smile growing on your face. In all the years you three have known each other and worked on projects, none of you had been cast in the same movie as leads.

“We’re romantic leads.” Tom stated as Harrison shifted uncomfortably on the bench below you.

“I didn’t think about that at all.” You admitted. Your excitement left your body as you thought of the film.

“Did they- did they mention anything about certain scenes with us?” Tom asked, almost hesitant as he glanced over at Harrison, who looked like he was quite ready to vomit.

“Fuck.” You groaned, piecing together how, yes, you were told your character had a sex scene and how Tom, as your partner in the film, would be the other person in that scene. “Well, filming will certainly be an experience.”

“I think I’ll just use the treadmill today.” Harrison stated, getting up from the bench and heading over to a treadmill. Tom started up his treadmill again, leaving you questioning Harrison’s reaction.

~~~

In some ways, you appreciated that Tom was your co-star for Cherry, but sometimes you just wished it was someone else- you’d rather have it be Harrison. For the next few months, none of you really talked about it, especially not the sex scene, because it put all three of you in an awkward situation; although, you still couldn’t quite tell why it was so uncomfortable for Harrison.

You had a week before filming started, and so you and Tom decided to practice your lines together. All three of you would help each other learn lines for various projects, but it felt better to have your actual co-star going through the scene with you.

“Want to run that scene one more time?” Tom asked you as the two of you sat at the dining room table, both of you holding your scripts.

As soon as the question left his mouth, Harrison came into the kitchen in nothing but loose basketball shorts that hung low on his hips. His hair was pushed back by a sweatband, fully displaying his sweaty forehead. He had been out playing basketball with Harry, and you were grateful for the clear view of his body from your seat.

“Yeah.” You nodded, distracted by Harrison. You not so subtly watched as he got himself a drink of water. 

“Y/N? Y/N, you there?” Tom waved a hand in front of your face, calling your attention back to him.

“Sorry, distracted.” You said, shaking your head. As you read your line, Tom looked over to see his friend in the kitchen. Tom’s eyes trailed back to your flustered form- he had caught you full-on checking Harrison out. He started to wonder if maybe Harrison’s feelings for you weren’t so one-sided.

A few more days went by of you, Tom, and Harrison enjoying your last days at home before leaving for Ohio. You stayed with the boys at their house, wanting to be able to spend more time with them. Tom started to notice your lingering gazes on Harrison more, and he wondered how he didn’t see it before. He already felt guilty about playing the role of your love interest in Cherry- because that meant he’d have to not only kiss his friend but kiss his best friend’s girl, and now he felt even worse thinking that you definitely liked Harrison back.

You were anxious about filming. You had kept most of your nervous butterflies down, but now it felt so real. Your flight to Ohio was in a few hours, and you couldn’t sleep. You found yourself sitting on the roof, looking out at the stars and trying to find some sort of serenity.

Kingston was quiet and peaceful that night, but the cool night breeze made you contemplate returning to your bed. You were about to give up hope and go inside when someone sat beside you.

“Can’t sleep?” Harrison asked. He was wrapped up in a blanket and wrapped his own around you, shielding you from the breeze with the warm blanket and pulling you into his embrace.

“Just stressed and nervous.” You let out a soft sigh, sinking into his warm chest comfortably. “I’ve never done a big movie like this.”

“You’re going to do great. I just know it.” He reassured you.

“Am I making a mistake though? Tom’s like a brother to me, and we’re going to have to kiss in the movie, amongst other things.” You felt him tense a little underneath you. “Should I have backed out?”

“It’s not a mistake. You and Tom have been friends for years. You can do this, it’s just acting.” Harrison said, but it felt more like he was telling the last part to himself.

“Why are you so weirded out by this? You’re not even in the movie. You don’t have to do any of this.” You asked quietly.

“You and Tom are my best friends. It’s weird to think you have a sex scene together.” He stated. There was a pause that filled the air; it was the first time someone had explicitly said “sex scene” since you had found out about the role.

“I feel a bit bad for you.” Harrison teased lightheartedly, “Tom’s probably a shit kisser.”

“Know from experience, Haz?” You joked, looking up at him.

“God, no.” He chuckled, smiling down at you, “There’s just got to be something wrong with him.”

“Oh, alright. So what’s wrong with me then?” You bit your lip nervously, sitting up to face him and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders. You watched as Harrison’s eyes trailed down to your lips momentarily before they met your gaze again.

“Nothing. You’re perfect.” He said. You could feel his heart start to race a little as you started to lean in. You were so close; his warm breath hit your face, your nose brushed his-

But he pulled away.

“Sunrise.” Harrison said, diverting his eyes away from you to the sunrise over your shoulder. You turned around to face the sunrise, wanting to hide the hurt look on your face.

You two sat quietly on the roof, watching the sun come up over the skyline. Your phone alarm went off, signaling that you needed to get ready to leave. You and Harrison went back inside and separated to your rooms, finishing up last minute packing.

“Tom, can I talk to you for a moment?” Harrison asked, stepping into his friends room.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Tom replied, transferring socks from his drawer into his suitcase.

“Y/N, uh-“ He sighed, crossing his arms in an attempt to find the right words.

“You okay, Harrison?” Tom asked. He gave his friend a concerned look at his flustered state.

“Y/N and I almost kissed.” Harrison admitted, making Tom smile.

“That’s a good step.” He replied, happy for his friend and turned to continue his packing.

“I pulled away from her.” At Harrison’s words, Tom looked back at him in confusion.

“Why would you do that? You’ve been wanting to kiss her for years.” He said. Harrison shifted uncomfortably, like he couldn’t form the words to express his feelings, “Is it because of the movie?” At his lack of response, Tom had an answer. “Haz, look, you’re my best friend. I’d never make a move on Y/N. This is just a movie, it’s not real.”

“I know.” Harrison sighed. “It’s just going to feel real.”

Before Tom could respond, you called out to the boys from the kitchen, informing them all that you’d made breakfast.

“We’ll talk later.” Tom said as he and Harrison exited his room.

But later was with you. Leaving for Ohio, you were with Tom and Harrison for every minute, and Harrison feared the conversation would never be finished. Meanwhile, you feared that you read too much into Harrison’s comment- maybe he was just being cheeky when he called you perfect, maybe he didn’t think that, maybe you were crazy for trying to kiss him. No matter what, filming started with you feeling hurt from rejection, Harrison feeling confused by his own feelings, and Tom getting caught in the crossfire.

The next couple weeks held an odd air between the three of you, building up to the day that you filmed the sex scene. You and Tom hadn’t even filmed a proper kiss yet; the scenes you’d had together only called for holding hands or intimate forehead kisses. Today, not only would you have to kiss Tom, but you’d also have to make out with him, touch him, pretend to have sex with him- and make it believable.

Your nerves were building all morning as you reviewed the script again and again. You hadn’t seen Tom or Harrison at all until you were called to set.

“Hey,” Tom greeted you, handing you a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” You replied, taking the cup but avoiding all eye contact with both boys. It didn’t help that Tom’s character started the scene off fully clothed, whereas your character conveniently happened to only be in her lingerie, and so you awkwardly stood with your fully clothed best friends as you wore a robe over your undergarments. It’s not like Tom and Harrison hadn’t seen you before in a bikini, but it was a completely different situation this time around.

“Tom, Y/N, it’s time!” The director called out. You and Tom set your coffees on the side table. You tried to ignore Harrison’s lingering gaze as you stripped out of your robe, revealing the black lacy undergarments. You and Tom walked onto the set, standing in your positions.

“It’ll be alright.” Tom told you, trying his best to comfort you.

“We’ll see.” You tried to reply in a lighthearted attitude, but you couldn’t bring yourself to even fully smile at the situation. You glanced over to where Harrison stood off-set. He was watching the two of you, and he even looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“And action!” The director announced.

You and Tom began the scene with ease, going back forth with dialogue. You pushed down your nerves when he kissed you, as scripted. Your hands tugged up his t-shirt while he led you back to the bed. You fell back onto the bed and he stood between your legs. He broke the kiss to pull his shirt off, but Tom got flustered as it got stuck.

“Cut!”

“God, how do they make it look so easy?” Tom groaned, fixing his shirt. When he realized he was still standing in the compromising position between your bare legs, he stepped back and cleared his throat.

“How was that as a start?” You asked the director.

“It was good. You two make it look natural” He said, making the nervous pit grow back to life in your stomach. He further suggested, “When Tom takes off his shirt though, start unbuckling his jeans to make the scene pick up pace. It’s not meant to be a sensual scene.”

“Gotta get right to the point.” Tom chuckled, elbowing you playfully.

“Let’s start it again.” The director ordered.

And you and Tom got back into your positions and ran through the scene again. This time, as Tom took off his shirt with ease, your hands went to work on his jeans. Soon, Tom was fully on top of you in just his underwear, kissing along your neck and collarbone.

The director called cut again. After a few more takes, he was still having some problems with the look of it all.

��The first take, you two moved so fluidly, and now it’s stiff and unnatural.” The director informed you and Tom, showing you the playback on the screen. You tugged your robe closer over your body, weirded out by the footage. He was right- it did look unnatural, but after so many takes, it only felt more awkward. It was taking a lot longer than either of you had expected, but, luckily with camera angles and editing, you and Tom were able to keep your underwear on the entire time.

“Let’s take a ten minute break.” He announced. You and Tom walked over to where Harrison stood.

“You guys looked great.” Harrison said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“We look awful.” Tom stated, making you nod in agreement.

“It’s taking so long, it’s just getting worse.” You sighed.

“Just try not to think of each other.” Harrison offered weakly. None of you were sure what to say about the bizarre situation, but you never expected him to offer advice.

“You mean like picture someone else?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Y/N, we need to reapply your lip makeup.” Your stylist said, coming over to the three of you. You assumed she didn’t notice the awkwardness in the air as she applied more chapstick and lipstick to your lips. When she left, the director called Tom to the side to discuss tomorrow’s shooting schedule, leaving you with just Harrison.

“Must be boring, just watching the same scene over and over.” You said, trying to strike up a conversation with him.

“I haven’t been watching really. It’s too strange to watch you two act like you’re having sex.” He admitted.

“I hadn’t thought of that before- picturing someone else instead of Tom.” Now with the idea in your head, you’d try to picture Harrison during the next scene.

“It’s just a suggestion.” Little did you know, he wanted you to think of him, not Tom; he wanted it to be him on the bed with you, not Tom.

“Places!” The director announced, and you went to untie your robe.

“Hold this for me?” You asked Harrison, handing him the robe. He stood there speechless as you walked off back to the bedroom set.

The director called action, sending you and Tom back to making out on the bed. You thought of Harrison as Tom kissed you, trying to lose yourself in the scene. After a moment, the director called cut, claiming that was the best take. Wanting another angle for the last take, he started rolling again.

So again, Tom kissed you while you pictured Harrison. You thought of how Harrison’s lips would feel tracing over your skin; how Harrison’s hands would feel caressing your sides. As scripted, Tom began to move his hips against yours and started to kiss your neck. It was written that you would moan out his character’s name, but you were so caught up in your own thoughts of Harrison that you couldn’t even try to think about the proper line.

“Oh, Harrison,” You moaned and Tom halted his movements. Realization hit you immediately and your eyes opened wide.

“Shit.” You muttered. You dared to look over, past the crew, to where Harrison stood. You didn’t have to wonder if he heard your mistake as he was standing frozen in shock, eyes wide and face red.

“I knew it.” Tom chuckled from on top of you. His laughter died when Harrison regained movement and dropped your robe, exiting the set without another word.

“Are we done?” You asked, looking over to the director.

“We’ll edit it.” He nodded. You shoved Tom off from on top of you and hurried to grab your robe. Avoiding the crew’s eyes, you rushed back to your trailer with your head down. You let out a heavy sigh once you shut your trailer door.

“So,” You jumped, looking over to see a still red Harrison sitting on your trailer’s couch as if he was waiting for you.

“Well, I took your advice.” You said after a moment, sitting down awkwardly next to him on the couch.

“I could tell.” He nodded, fidgeting with his hands. “I didn’t know you thought of me like that.”

“Harrison,” you sighed. Before you could get anything else out, he leaned in and kissed you. When he pulled away, you both smiled.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve just been too scared to tell you, and when I figured out you were supposed to do a sex scene with Tom, I couldn’t handle it.” He explained. You placed a hand on his cheek, smiling softly.

“I’m in love with you too. I didn’t want to do all that with Tom. I want you.” You said, leaning in to kiss him again. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer to him.

And just like that, your concerns of the sex scene were free from your mind as Harrison held you in his arms.

~~~

Months later (a.k.a. whenever Cherry is supposed to come out now)

“Are you ready?” Harrison asked you as the car pulled up to the red carpet. You could already see the flashing cameras and bright lights outside.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You smiled, straightening his tie one last time. Leaning in to kiss him, you said, “Damn, I’ve got the hottest date.”

“I think my date’s much hotter than yours.” He teased, going in to kiss you again. The driver knocked on the door, signaling it was time for you two to emerge from the vehicle. Harrison squeezed your hand reassuringly before you both got out of the car and started your walk on the red carpet.

You and Harrison had been red carpets before, but never as each other’s date. In fact, it was your first “major public outing” as a couple. Though it was for your movie with Tom, you were more than happy to show off Harrison. You two walked down the carpet together, stopping to talk to the fans and pausing for pictures. Tom made his way over to the two of you so that all three of you could get pictured together.

The press wanted pictures of you and Tom as the movie’s leads, and so Harrison stepped off to the side. They also called for individual shots of you before you got dragged into the carpet interviews, when all you really wanted to do was be with Harrison.

“So, Y/N, who’s your date tonight?” The interviewer asked, eyeing Harrison in the distance. You blushed, smiling over at him. He was too distracted talking to Tom to notice your gaze at first, but he smiled when he saw you already looking at him.

“That’d be my boyfriend, Harrison.” You answered.

“Do you want to invite him over here?” The interviewer suggested and you let out a small laugh.

“Sure.” You waved Harrison over to you and he wrapped an arm around your waist as he joined you at the interview.

“I’m getting the date questions tonight.” You teased, making him laugh.

“Oh I see.” He joked.

“How long have you two been together?” The interviewer asked, calling your attention back to them.

“Almost a year.” You replied and Harrison hummed in response.

“Now, how did the filming of the movie go, Y/N? You’ve been friends with Tom for years, right?”

“Yes, actually I went to school with Tom and Harrison, so we’ve all been close for a long time. It was definitely strange to act like a couple with Tom in the movie.” You laughed a little. You felt Harrison’s thumb begin to trace light circles on your hip; you knew it was his way of distracting himself from the nervous conversation.

“You’ve been friends for so long I would bet it’d be weird. Was it difficult to film that scene? How did you get through it?”

“Uh,” You chuckled nervously, placing one of your hands over Harrison’s on your waist, “We got through it by not talking about it. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever done, so it will definitely be interesting to sit through that tonight.”

Before the interviewer could press anymore, your manager came by, pushing you further down the carpet and inside the theater.

“That was the first time I’ve ever been asked about that.” You said quietly as you and Harrison took your seats. The seat beside you was open for Tom, who was still outside.

“You’re not wrong though. I don’t know how the three of us are going to watch that right now.” Harrison replied with a laugh.

“Well, I did get something good out of it.” You smiled, leaning in closer to him.

“Mm, and what was that?” He asked teasingly.

“One hell of a boyfriend.” You stated before kissing him passionately, not really caring about the rest of the theater filling up with the rest of the cast and crew.

“Hey, now, do I have to separate you two?” Tom asked loud enough to make you and Harrison jump apart from each other.

“I’m about to sit through two hours of you kissing my girl. I think I’m allowed to kiss her before the movie.” Harrison defended the two of you as Tom sat down beside you. You smiled at him calling you his girl.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom playfully rolled his eyes. “We’re in an agreement though to not watch that scene, right?”

“Yes.” You and Harrison answered simultaneously.

As the movie began, Harrison gave your hand another reassuring squeeze, making you smile in the dark room.

And yes, when that scene came on, all three of you suddenly found the ground more interesting. And all three of you cringed from the sounds and the thoughts of it.

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Superpower

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~4,300

Summary: Bucky has an infatuation with The Incredibles that he might be taking too far. It takes some stern words from you to help him figure that out.

Warnings: A bit of angst, but also fluff, too

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and showing so much love to my last fic so much! I hope you all enjoy this one just as much. I like to write based off of little pieces of inspiration, so this time it was a tweet from Dr. Thema on Twitter and a response by Ashley C. Ford. I bolded both quotes since the quote-block format I usually use doesn’t fit right here!

...

“Super-strength is a superpower.”

“I never said it wasn’t. I was saying that you don’t have it.”

Bucky scoffs and folds his arms across his broad chest. In this moment it was hard to tell if he was puffing it out on purpose or if he had been putting in extra reps in the gym. Probably both, you decide. “Please, (Y/N), we just watched The Incredibles. We both know that I am literally Mr. Incredible.”

You couldn’t stifle your laugh. Two months ago, Bucky decided to catch up on all the movies he missed over the past seventy years. It took years to finally understand the internet, modern technology, and Wi-Fi (to be fair, you still aren’t exactly sure how that last one works, but you got the point across just fine). While Bucky had seen the basic movies: classic, old-timey movies, it was time to focus on the more enjoyable movies: kid movies. You watched Wall-E, making sure to explain the implications of that movie, Up, obviously you both cried, and Lilo & Stitch, an underrated classic.

Last night, in preparation for this mission, you’d insisted in watching The Incredibles. You thought it would hype him up for the tropical mission Steve was bringing him (and Sam) along on. And boy oh boy you were spot on. It had been twelve hours of nonstop Incredibles talk.

The night before, you two were snuggled up on the couch, mountains of blankets on top of you, bowls of popcorn and candy littered around you. Bucky’s arm slid around your back and you used the crook of his shoulder as a pillow. “What is going on here,” Bucky muttered to himself, squinting at the screen as the beginning of the movie started, Mr. Incredible fumbling around with his microphone.

You grinned in anticipation, wrapping your arms around his torso, pulling yourself closer to him. “Isn’t it so cute?” You said into his chest.

Bucky shoves his mouth full of popcorn, laughing loudly at Frozen talking about babes and Mr. Incredible ranting about the world in jeopardy. You didn’t think that he’d be laughing this much already (you know it’s a cinematic masterpiece, but still); maybe this movie was just that relatable. Although you were just a desk jockey in the Avengers tower, you knew they were always off saving the world and sacrificing themselves to do so.

It was safe to say that Bucky clearly enjoyed the movie – it just felt so realistic to him. The next morning, he spent breakfast rambling on about the fact that Syndrome literally lived in a volcano; how could Mr. Incredible not know? Tony brought up the point that Hydra set up camp in the exact opposite climate, so Bucky should cut the animators some slack. Bucky was not having it. “Aren’t you technically Edna Mode?” He rhetorically asked Tony with a deadpan stare.

Tony scoffed, holding a hand over his heart to feign hurt, before returning the glare to Bucky. “Remind me to talk to you about your hobo suit later.” With that, he left the kitchen, strutting down the hall, followed with him yelling: “no capes!” as Thor walked past him, the god raising his eyebrows in confusion.

Later that night, Bucky had to leave for a mission. You’d spent the afternoon in Bucky’s bed with each other, holding one another close; and where you tried to have some light pillowtalk, it ended up being about The Incredibles II after he got back. The two of you ended up in the shower to wash off the afternoon workout. While you were wrapped up in a robe, brushing your post-shower hair in the mirror, Bucky popped up behind you with just a towel around his waist. “Honey, have you seen my super-suit?” You could only roll your eyes and smile in response.

…

“Well if you’re Mr. Incredible, then I’m Mrs. Incredible.” You took a step closer to him, closing the space between you such that your chests are touching.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, dangerously close to the hem of your jeans. “I know,” he smiled, leaning forward to give you a kiss. “Those moves earlier? You’re even more flexible than her.”

“Cut it out, lovebirds,” Sam interrupted, his tone playful. “We don’t need a live show.”

Bucky drops his hands and leads you towards the hangar to where the jet was waiting. “All I’m saying is that I could definitely lift one of those train cars like he does. I could do more than one – ” he cuts himself off, stopping in his tracks. “(Y/N), I could juggle them.”

“Sure,” you hum, hooking your arm around his back and leaning into his side. “Although, when you think about it, you might be more of a cyborg than Mr. Incredibles, y’know?”

He groans, dropping his head and shutting his eyes. “But I don’t wanna be a cyborg.”

“We’ll watch Teen Titans then see how you feel.”

“Teen what?” He turned to stare blankly at you.

“Forget it, I’ll show you when you get back.” You smiled warmly up at him before he pulled you into a bear hug.

He kissed the top of your head and murmured “I love you” before pulling away.

“Love you, too, baby,” you responded softly. You sent him away with Steve and Sam, telling all of them to be safe before watching the jet take off.

With a sigh, you turned on your heel, seeing yourself out of the compound, heading back to your apartment. The streets of New York were busy despite the cold weather outside. Early November had its benefits: the streets were lined with orange, red, and brown as the trees were ready to shed their summer colors; but it also had its drawbacks: the streets were cold, and you could see your breath outside. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, pulling the collar closer around your exposed neck. If Bucky were here you already know he would’ve wrapped you up in his own coat to keep you warm, he would’ve held your hands in his own warm ones and nuzzled his nose against your own red nose. He was actually very sappy, when it came down to it. He was a sucker for you – constantly having to have his hands on you, make sure you were always warm.

You finished the thirty-minute walk to your apartment, taking your time to appreciate the fall scenery around you, glancing at all the Thanksgiving-soon-to-be-Christmas window displays, and enjoying the pumpkin scents around every corner. Pushing your door open, you were met with the warm heat and smell of the chrysanthemums Bucky had given you earlier that week. You tossed your keys to the side, shrugged your jacket off, and made a big mugful of hot chocolate.

You plopped down by the window and leaned your head on the glass, letting the steam from your drink warm your cheeks. You’d wondered in that moment where Bucky would be going exactly. He did mention it would be a tropical/forest vibe; the only thing you knew about that is that it’d be humid. Although you knew of Bucky’s disdain for cold, he wasn’t much of a fan of heat, either. He was much more of an autumn guy. You made a mental note to go for a walk through Central Park with him when he gets back.

He’d been gone for six days. Today was Thursday and you’d been stuck at your desk all morning. It hurt a little bit to have to walk to the Avenger’s Tower everyday without Bucky meeting you at the door (or Bucky walking with you to work, having spent the night before at your place) but you had to make do – paperwork needed to be completed.

Your eyes were aching from staring at your computer screen and your hand was cramping from all the scribbling you’ve been doing all day. The alternative was a coffee break in the café on the first floor – and you know what? Anything sounded better than work at the moment. You pop a post-it note on the door telling anyone looking for you that you’ll be back in ten. You make it to the elevator and straighten out your skirt as you stare at yourself in the reflection of the doors. Skirt a little wrinkled – nothing you can’t fix quickly in the elevator – button up shirt tucked in smartly, heels that made your feet ache, reading glasses that usually sit perched on your nose now shifted to sit on the top of your head, keeping your hair away from your face.

Despite how put-together you may look, you were exhausted and quite frankly, defeated. Not only was work kicking your ass lately but combined with the fact that Bucky was gone, and you hadn’t heard from him nearly wrecked you. Normally, he’d not take more than a day or two to reach out: a call or text simply to say he’s okay. You had to tell yourself that there was terrible reception wherever he was. That was going well for you, until you ran into Wanda one day on the elevator.

“Hey, (Y/N),” she greeted kindly, smiling wide as you entered the elevator next to her.

“Hi, Wanda, how have you been?” You responded. You’ve hung out with the Avengers at times. Usually your time with Bucky consisted of just the two of you, but sometimes you got the go-ahead to join their events and movie nights. Everyone welcomed you with open arms because not only was your personality so winning, but also you were the girl that brought Bucky out of his shell – in Sam’s words: “you made him sociable.”

“Good! It’s been busy around the complex, I’m sure you know already.” You’re not sure if she’s saying that because she’s aware of the pile of paperwork you’ve been working on for ages or if she can feel exhaustion radiating off your body.

“Yeah, you guys have given me a whole lot of paperwork,” you say, trying to give a hearty chuckle before awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

She nods and hums in response. “The boys have been busy,” she responds casually.

You bite your lip before taking a deep breath and nodding in affirmation. “I haven’t heard from Bucky lately, so I’d imagine so.”

She shrugs – again so casually. Can she not feel the fact you’re about to freak out right now? “Actually, nobody’s heard from any of them.” How did she just end that sentence like that? Nobody’s heard from them. Not with any of this trillion-dollar equipment – it can’t connect them one continent away? She senses your panic; there’s a change in your breathing and you eyes go wide, staring now directly at the floor. “(Y/N), no. I mean – they’re fine. Just because they haven’t said anything doesn’t mean – ”

The elevator dings and opens to your floor. You politely hold up your hand to her and smile. “I get what you’re saying, Wanda. Thanks for keeping me updated.” You shuffle out the door, calling out for her to have a good day.

You make it back to your office and don’t even try to stifle your loud sigh as you plop into your chair. Fuck.

…

So, it was sufficed to say you hadn’t slept very well since that interaction. It’s been three nights since she’s told you they were basically M.I.A.; you spent your nights rolling around in bed, holding his pillow to your chest, constantly checking your phone for any kind of notification from Bucky. Without hearing from him, you didn’t know how long he’d be gone; without hearing from him, you didn’t know if he was even okay. Screw your sleeping schedule, you just needed to make sure he was even alive.

You make your way back to your office, taking a sip of the piping hot coffee and as you swing the corner you hit a brick wall.

And there was a brick wall standing in the middle of the hallway.

You gaze up at the man, blue eyes staring directly into your own. He’s breathing a little fast, especially for someone who had been standing in front of your office door, staring at the post-it note for quite some time. His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders a little hunched – he was nervous; something was wrong.

Very wrong.

It wasn’t even until his hand reached out to you, stopping in mid-air in front of your shirt before you noticed the coffee that spilt down the front of your shirt. It was warm, sure, but your racing heart took precedence over the splash of liquid that coated your black shirt. “Sorry, (Y/N), I – ”

“It’s fine. When did you get back?” You don’t care about the coffee; you barely even felt it. You shifted the weight between your feet, squeezing the coffee cup in your hand. Why were you so nervous? There was so much tension in the air. Just staring at him as he waited patiently for you to return from your coffee run. Neither of you knowing what to say. Its like you were strangers.

He runs a hand through his hair, huffing out a deep breath. He was actually still in uniform; you didn’t notice until you asked that question. His face was grimy, slick with sweat and remnants of mud and maybe even some flecks of blood if you squint. He then scratched at the stubble gracing his chin. “Just now.” He still can’t breathe. How was he supposed to tell you? You were certainly going to kill him when you found out.

He didn’t know what to say. He was thinking about this the whole plane ride home, the whole walk to your office, the whole ten agonizingly long minutes he’d spent waiting outside your office. But now, looking into your curiously wide eyes, glazed over with concern – you were basically paralyzed in fear; if it weren’t for your incessant shifting. It was almost driving him crazy to look at someone who is about to jump out of their skin with fear, yet unsure of what move to make or what to say. “Where is he?”

And Steve swallowed hard. “He’s okay.” You stared straight into his soul. “Well, he’s – ”

“Steve.”

“He’s alive. He got shot. A couple times.” Each fragment that left his mouth was punctuated by the prompt shutting of his mouth. It was important to him to stop himself from saying too much. Your mouth actually dropped open. There was nothing left for you to say, but your jaw dropped. He reached out and took hold of your arms in his hands. “He’s alive,” he repeated, the words not resonating in your brain (and he could see that). “He’s in med-bay. (Y/N), he is fine.” He didn’t think he could be any clearer.

Nothing made sense. You felt as though you were asked to complete a 100-piece puzzle with only three-pieces. You were struggling to comprehend anything that came out of Steve’s mouth. Instead, you sharply turned on your heel. You were calm – this cannot be emphasized enough – you walked with your shoulders pulled back and gaze straight ahead; but you weren’t looking at anything, simply following your own muscle memory on your way to the med-bay.

Steve chased after you – he walked behind you, taking long strides as to not overtake you. He kept saying your name, telling you to calm down, but you already were. Except your heart was thumping out of your chest. You couldn’t even form any more questions for Steve. Obviously: “where was he shot” was a glaring question, “how close to death was he” is another; you can’t even put those words together right now.

You shove open the doors to med-bay, blatant disregard for the coffee still in your hand, splashing now-tepid liquid again on your shirt and sleeve. That’s when you see him: sprawled out on a cot that’s too small for him; his boots hung off the end of the bed, dry mud caked to the bottom of his heavy boots, flaking onto the floor. As soon as you’d shoved the door open, Steve following you in toe, Bucky’s head lifted towards you. He actually grinned.

You’d nearly fainted. His face was littered with cuts and scrapes, dirt around each wound scrubbed away by the doctor then coated in slick, clear antibiotic. His shirt was long gone, leaving him in his combat boots still riddled with weapons (visibly and concealed, you could only assume) and his dirty boots. His chest was completely bandaged; he was grateful you’d walked in after he’d already been covered because he knew that he’d be hearing an earful from you if you’d actually been able to see the damage. This way, you’d only be able to see the wounds to change the dressing probably hours from now. His body would be nearly healed.

“James.” It was stern. You weren’t mad, per say; you couldn’t be mad – you were glad he was even alive. You didn’t know why your tone was so harsh; you were pissed that he was shot, probably due to some heroic act of saving one of his teammates, or maybe he was just being careless? You didn’t know and you didn’t want to find out – they’d never tell you which it was, anyway.

“Hey, doll,” he says casually, already trying to schmooze his way back on your good side.

“James.” This time you breathed his name, finally getting close enough to put your hands on his chest – fingertips ghosting off the edge of the gauze, where the bandage met his collarbone. He took both your hands in his, pulling them together and placing them tenderly over his heart. There must have been six layers of gauze over him – not a speck of dirt or blood poking through.

“Baby, look at me,” he whispered. You flicked your eyes up to his worried ones. His eyebrows were drawn together, mouth pressed into a firm line. “I’m fine.”

“James,” you sobbed, tears that were once held at bay now falling freely down your cheeks and falling onto his pants. You choked back any more words, nodding furiously as you found it hard to breath. He pulled your arms and yanked you to the bed and now you were sitting beside him, his hands now cupping the back of your neck, cradling your head against where his neck meets his collarbone. He cooed softly into your hair, whispering sweet nothings as he rubbed your back up and down.

“I’m okay,” he murmured. And all you could do was nod against his skin, crying more and more as he pressed each kiss onto your head.

It was probably ten minutes of crying before you calmed down, now laying against him in silence, your eyes shut resting against his shoulder. “You know,” he whispered, pulling you from silence. “I always love seeing you in your work clothes. All smart and sexy.” You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, snuggling further into him. “But you smell like coffee.”

…

Bucky was barred from missions for three months. And while he was physically healed within a week and a half, Steve wasn’t so sure about his mental state – and you weren’t so sure either. Actually, it had been a more than pleasant three months. He started off doing physical therapy once a day, then adding in workouts and phasing out the therapy. This occupied maybe four hours per day. That meant that the rest of his free time he spent in your office, at your apartment, and in your bed.

That would be fine with you if you could confidently say that Bucky was one hundred percent okay.

Most of the time, he’d spend all day next to you being a total chatterbox – actually, he any willing conversation he had would be about the book you were reading, that one episode of friends the two of you watched last night, rambling on remodels of his place and if he should paint his dresser. It was the unwilling conversations that he had that concerned you.

The words he’d mumble to himself as he rolled around in your bed having a nightmare. Every time, you’d spend five minutes trying to wake him up. At first you started out by nudging him awake, it developed to the state that now you had to fully grab his arm and shake him wildly to get him up. You’d sit there, pulling your hands through his hair, whispering sweet nothings until he calmed down. Every time, you’d ask him if he wanted to talk about it; he’d say now. You then asked him to tell you – you pleaded for him to let you into that side of his life. You begged to understand and cried for him – with him.

It was no different tonight.

If he wouldn’t talk, then you would. “Baby, you can’t keep doing this.” He sat up in bed, sheets twisted around his legs, leaning over with his back pressed into the iron-rung headboard. It was cool against his hot skin – the only thing making it semibearable as the bars pressed into the tight muscles in his back. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s not good for you.”

He didn’t say anything. He stared straight in front of him, his hands clasped over one another on his lap. You held one of his forearms in both hands, dragging your fingers in light patterns softly over his skin. You continue pleading with him: “you can tell me anything. Please, I hope you understand that.”

With this, he peers up at you with sorrow filled eyes. You can barely see them in the dark. “I know I can. It’s not a big deal, though. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You drop his arm in frustration, instead bringing your hands up to your hair and gripping it tightly, feeling like pulling your hair out might be a better option than bringing this conversation where it needs to go. “You have these nightmares every night, James. It’s only getting worse. I can tell that you’re hurting, and it hurts me to see you like that. No matter how much you don’t want to admit it, I can see that somethings wrong.”

He shrugs. “I can take it. Look, I’m sorry if I keep waking you up. I won’t stay over anymore.” He turns his head sheepishly towards his lap again, shoulders hunching forward. You know he thinks it’s a joke; he’s putting on an act. He wants you to curl up to his side, beg him to stay, make-out, have sex to take his mind off it, and fall asleep peacefully. You know because you’ve done it before. Multiple times.

God, he can be so annoying. “James.” Your stern tone had returned, you dropped your hands out of your hair and let them fall heavily on your lap. “A history of trauma can give you a high tolerance for emotional pain. Just because you can take it doesn’t mean you have to.”

He wasn’t sure what to do in that moment. There was nothing to say – nothing he could say. There wasn’t anything he could follow that up with; not a joke, not a sound, not even an intelligent sentence. He instead stared down at his hands, not even moving a muscle, not even to blink.

You were calm once again. You knew that your words had finally gotten through to him. Your relationship was strong: you’d built an emotional connection such that you two could be in the middle of the most serious discussions and still be able to crack a joke. But the both of you knew this wasn’t the time. That’s why he still hadn’t said anything: he didn’t have a smartass response, nor a comment he could make to get out of this one.

“Suffering is not a superpower.”

And with those final words, Bucky broke, his face contorting in pain, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling into an open frown. His shoulders shook slowly as he struggled to breath, holding his face in his hands. You couldn’t sit idly by, so you grabbed his hands and swung a leg over him, sitting on his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist so he had something to hold on to; his arms wrapped tighter around you as his head dropped to the front of your chest, quietly sobbing into your shirt. You secured your arms around him, looping them over his shoulders and around his neck.

You sat there absorbing his tears, not saying a word, not even whispering a small “shh.” It was about time he let his emotions out and you weren’t about to cut him off now. You’d spent every waking moment with him (save for his workouts and physical therapy) so you knew how long this emotional release had been building up inside of him. Every once and a while everyone needs a good cry – Bucky hadn’t had one in years.

You didn’t know how long the two of you sat there. His sobs turned into quiet sniffles turned into calm, steady breathing. You knew this conversation was far from over. He needed therapy, or at the least needed to vent to you more often. Whatever solution you two would come up with could wait until the morning. Right now, he needed rest, he needed tranquility.

You didn’t know if he was asleep, and hell, you, yourself, were almost asleep. It wasn’t until he broke the silence when you got your answer. “Can we watch The Incredibles II?”

[louiserandom]

Play Games with Me

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: E

A/N: Commission for the amazing @rookie-d​💙💗 thank you so much! *hugs* 

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi and fic commission info in the header!

Tobirama SenJERK has never had sex in his life, Madara types, as always brimming with spite when it comes to his least favorite person in town. Maybe on the planet.

Rereading the comment and satisfied that there aren’t any typos or any hint whatsoever at some kind of hidden affection (which isn’t there, never was and never will be, Madara reminds himself firmly), he hits ‘Comment.’

“Take that, you dumbass,” Madara mutters under his breath, and really, this could be classified as childish, were he not completely in the right to take vicious revenge upon the fucking asshole who dared refer to Madara as ‘so idiotic it’s pitifully adorable’ on his last stream. Hah! Like Tobirama isn’t the less intelligent one of the two of them; Madara has watched enough of his Uncharted 4 gameplay to note that Tobirama took twelve seconds longer than him to figure out arguably the most difficult puzzle in the game. And although Madara’s sub count doesn’t quite reflect his superior intellect compared to Senju’sーnot that he’s checked in a whileーit’s likely a testament to the viewers’ total lack of taste, if anything else.

(Two thousand, nine hundred and thirty four viewer’s, to be precise, according to this morning’s stats and minus the handful of Madara’s fake accounts that he created just in case to keep up with his chief competitor. Admittedly, it might be a tad annoying.)

A notification pipes up.

Hm, I wonder how you’d know that, MaddyGamerboy? Are you stalking me? I must admit, I’m flattered.

Madara sputters at the reply. At yet another butchering of his perfectly adequate nickname. The fucking nerve of the guyーand people fucking wonder why Madara hates his guts?

(Madara knows it doesn’t really help his case that he’s touched himself to fantasies of the younger Senju more times than he’d care to count, but hate-fucking a thing isn’t it? Hate-masturbation must be too, he supposes. Not the healthiest outlet for negative feelings, but it makes him feel good enough.)

(Heavenly, to be precise.)

I AM NOT, YOU SELF-OBSESSED DUMBASS, Madara types, simultaneously taking care of the half-a-dozen typos that appear of their own accord.

No.

Deep breath. Stop fingers from shaking. Think about something witty to say.

Pff, he writes, for lack of any better word to express his indignant huff, like I give a shit about you. You’re dumb.

It did sound much better in his head, but Madara has spent over a minute writing the comment already, and he doesn’t want to appear as if he’s thinking too hard on it.

He posts his answer, not dwelling too match on the number of likes on Tobirama’s comment far outnumbering the hundred Madara’s garnered. Again, Tobirama’s audience is clearly not the best judge of character.

“FUCK. YOU. SIDEWAYS, SENJU!” Madara shouts at the reply that follows, consisting only of the words:

Thanks for the sub btw.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Madara hisses. “Like eight fucking fake accounts do anything to boost your stats, I don’t even like all your videos from each one of them, you ass!”

I DID NOT SUB DONT BELIEVE HIM

I’m happy to have another loyal fan ;)

HE IS FUCKING LYEING!!!

With seemingly every single person in the comments raving about how it’s about time MadGamer69 and admitted he admires FlyingThunderGod’s skill, Madara has to consciously restrain himself from smashing his laptop against the wall.

“You can just tell him you like him, you know.”

Madara startles, almost stumbling to the floor when Hashirama returns with their drinks and quickly put-together snacks, always the one to rummage through Madara’s kitchen because Madara hardly cares what edible and inedible things existed there or what to do with themーthat’s Izuna’s job.

“I do not,” Madara snarls, as Hashirama flops next to him on the couch, “like that stupid clusterfuck you call a brother!”

“Madara!” Hashirama whines, with that ever-present pout on his face. “Be civil.”

“Yeah, when he returns the favor,” Madara glowers, grabbing a milkshake from Hashirama’s hand. “Did you forget that he fucking started it? Do I need to quote his “pitifully adorable how so much stupidity can fit in such a short man” again?” Madara can’t help flailing his arms a little, though far too conscious of this habit now since the Tobirama has started pointing it out. He makes up for it with what he hopes is a deadly enough glare. “Did no one in your family bother to teach him manners? Did you?”

Hashirama only sighs. “And did you forget,” he asks, “how before that you abused my invitation over to our place to hide his Golden Youtube Gamer Tablet?”

Madara groans. “It’s called a Gold Play Button. Idiot.”

“Now you’re insulting me,” Hashirama grumbles, “and who cares? The point is, you’d be upset too if he hid yours.”

“Youtubers care,” Madara says, “and also, that’s irrelevant, that was revenge for him making fun of my perfectly adequate gameplay.”

“To be fair, you were dying quite a lot in that playthrough...”

“He took twelve seconds longer to figure out that puzzle in the game!” Madara growls.

Hashirama rolls his eyes. “Well, of course, because that Yellow Flash guy was flirting and distracting him in the chat.”

Madara blanches. "That good-for-nothing pipsqueak was what?”

“See,” Hashirama drawls, “you are jealous. Why would you be jealous?”

“I-I’m not!”

“Madara, you are so far in denial, that as your best friend,” Hashirama says firmly, slapping a hand over Madara’s mouth before he can muster another protest, “I cannot stand by and watch you suffer. Anymore, that is, because this has reached a breaking point. So, please, for me, I am begging you, just try politely asking if maybe Tobirama would like to accompany you for coffee somewhere tomorrow? Maybe brunch? I mean, come on, I know you guys don’t hate each other anymore. Seriously, you guys seem like you enjoy arguments, and hey, who am I to judge how people express affection?”

“Affection?!” Madara shrieks, shoving Hashirama’s hand away.

“And please stop pretending you don’t have printed out screenshots of my brother’s videos hidden under your mattress because Izunaー”

“Is a fucking snooping rat!” Madara hisses.

Hashirama sighs. “If it helps you feel better, maybe Tobirama might possibly not feel extreme dislike towards you but actually the opposite,” he says, smiling nervously as Madara blanches.

Because... what?

He blinks, running Hashirama’s words through his mind again.

“And how would you know that?” he asks, suspicious. “I swear if you dared tell him anything about my possibly nonexistent feelingsー”

“Possibly?” Excitement starts bubbling in Hashirama’s eyes. “That’s progress!”

“Definitely nonexistent feelings, dammit!”

Hashirama, the asshole Madara calls best friend for some reason, giggles. “Don’t worry, I didn’t. I promise, stop glaring or I will start pouting,” he threatens, and Madara schools his expression back into a light scowl to avoid the infamous Senju pout.

Like a curse, memories of said pout curling Tobirama’s lips spring to mind, and Madara has to physically shake his head to banish those thoughts.

“Listen, the fact that we’re not as... aggressive as we used to be,” Madara says, “doesn’t mean we suddenly like each other.”

“Madara, you insist on coming along every time we hang out,” Hashirama points out.

“I like hanging out with you.”

“Yet every time we do,” Hashirama presses on, “you’re hyperfocused on bickering with Tobirama instead of talking about wholesome stuff with me. Did you even notice that I brought Mito with me the past few times and it was literally a double date?”

“Was not!” Madara shoves at Hashirama with his shoulder and stands up to pace, because there goes the tell-tale sweating of his hands, the fluttering in his chest and stomach and the memoriesーof him and Tobirama secretly filming the other on camera when they do stupid shit, their almost daily Best Playground Insult Contest that’s been memed half to death on Twitter, the one time they got separated from Hashirama and Izuna in Disneyland because they’d got caught in their arguments so much it devolved into discussing their favorite games and an actual conversation that had Madara’s insides tingling.

No.

No, no, no. If anything, they were just gradually becoming something not unlike friends. And Madara’s occasional fantasies behind closed doors were nothing but a means to a pleasant end.

Not. Feelings.

No matter how much he’s grown attached to the site of messy, white-gray hair that he knows is soft to the touch from all the times he’s tugged on it to irritate him. No matter how piercing Tobirama’s unique red eyes may look. No matter how objectively hot his recent workout routine video wasーand Madara knows he’d only watched it so many times because he wants to improve his own routine, right?

Right?

Madara groans. “Why are emotions so fucking confusing!” He slumps onto the floor and wraps his arms around his knees, hitting his head over and over again on his kneecaps because, “I don’t even know what I want from him, okay?”

There’s a brief silence before Hashirama joins him and keeps him from abusing his head further. “How about,” Hashirama suggests, rubbing a comforting hand on his back, “you just ask? Listen, he’s my brother. And you’re my best friend. You two fighting less and at least making an effort to get to know each other better?” Hashirama brings out the puppy dog eyes. “That would mean the world for me.”

Madara glances at him before looking away again, focusing on a random photo of the wall. One featuring Tobirama right after his university graduation with a wide smile on his face. Quite the adorable face, too, and the unprompted thought makes Madara want to descend into oblivion. Preferably forever.

“That’s difficult,” he says lamely.

“But not impossible,” Hashirama says, “and hey, it’s better than waiting for the Yellow Flash guy to actually make a move on Tobi and start occupying all of his time. He’s a really big fan.”

“Fuck Minato,” Madara scoffs, “the guy just showed up and is just shamelessly emulating Tobirama’s style. That’s dumb.”

“Dumber than you claim Tobi is?” Hashirama prompts.

Madara thinks about it. “You know what? Yes.”

“As I saidーprogress!”

Madara can never go through with his impulses to punch his well-meaning best friend, and so grabs the nearest pillow from the couch and smashes it into Hashirama’s face to shut him up.

Tobirama returns home only to find Hashirama and Madara standing by the front door, frowning as they watched something that sounded like a tsunami of some kind.

“Listen, it’s gotta be one of those black holes or something twisting that vortex. Look how stuff disappears right into it!” is his brother talking, and Tobirama is already heaving a frustrated sigh.

Please don’t tell me you think there’s a black hole on Earth.

“There’s no black holes on Earth, idiot! The nearest one is way off, like near Pluto or something,” Madara says.

Ah. Even better. Tobirama chuckles under his breath, crosses his arms and leans against the wall, observing the two idiots he knows and loves.

He mentally kicks himself.

Well, one of them, he loves. Of course he loves his brother.

The other is... complicated.

“And besides, that could just be the Loch Ness monster or a cthulhu or something. See how dark the water is?”

“Or maybe,” Tobirama says, making them both jump, “it’s a natural phenomenon that’s a tad too difficult for both your brain cells to comprehend? I’m happy to explain though.”

“I’m happy to see you fuck yourself,” Madara greets him his usual way, scowling despite the exceptionally conspicuous blush painting his cheeks.

The contrast never fails to make Tobirama’s heart beat faster. He hates himself for it.

“Mm, Madara,” Tobirama teases, “not in front of my brother.”

As expected, Madara starts spluttering, and Tobirama is left wondering again how he avoids making a total fool of himself in each and every one of his videos. It seems Madara saves most of his flailing for the comment section.

“You,” Madara snarls, pointing Tobirama’s way, “are an asshole, Senju, but spending time with the better part of society might do you some good. So see you at brunch tomorrow and do not be late.”

And with that, Madara gives Hashirama a cursory wave and stalks off, leaving Tobirama frozen on the spot.

Did Madara just?..

Tobirama blinks, swallowing heavily as he feels his throat running dry and his heart rate pick up.

No fucking way.

He must have imagined it. Through his stupor of trying to figure out what the hell just took place, Tobirama vaguely registers Hashirama’s facepalm.

“Sorry for that,” Tobirama hears his brother speak through the rush in his ears. “He meant, uh, will you please join him for brunch? Tomorrow at 11 am, Eggspectation?”

Tobirama blinks harder.

“I,” he starts, “I don’t... Did you blackmail Madara into asking me out?”

Hashirama looks scandalized. “What? No!”

“Did Madara just ask me out?”

“Well, yes, Tobi.” Hashirama chuckles nervously. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Tobirama glares. “The idiot’s wake up text to me today was literally a collection of trashy limerick poems about how much I suck. Sorry if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You,” Hashirama says, wincing as a long-suffering expression settles on his face, “you guys send wake up texts to each other?”

A moment of awkward silence hangs in the air.

“Sometimes,” Tobirama says, defensive, although the damage is already done.

“And you’re still not going out? Tobirama, you do realize he’s in love with you, right?”

“Don’t say things like that, Anija!” Tobirama snaps, hoping the dim lighting in the corridor conceals the blush he can feel heating up his cheeks. Fuck. Now he’s turning Madara. “Yet, I mean.”

“I’ll save the celebrations until after your date then!” Hashirama sing-songs like the idiot he is.

Tobirama resigns to his fate. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ll thank me for this.”

“If it goes well,” Tobirama glowers though it’s ineffective, really, against his brother’s bubbling positivity, and the sheer awe still coursing through him from Madara asking him out on a fucking date is actually enough to make Tobirama want to hug him. He refrains. "Now, thanks, Anija, but I have work things to attend to.”

“Sure! Just don’t forget, 11ー”

“Eleven eggs and uh, no expectations, got it.”

“Wait, Tobi, noー”

With no time to waste, naturally, Tobirama bolts into their apartment and straight to his room to choose an appropriate outfit. And to mentally prepare himself for something he’s almost given up hoping for.

Tobirama cannotーwill notーmess this up.

Tobirama makes sure to arrive about ten minutes early. Not because he’s worried or nervous, of course; maybe just a little, but mostly just to get his bearings beforeーfinallyーa date with Madara goddamn Uchiha.

Madara, who’s been Tobirama’s stupid crush since high school, and just as in love with gaming as he is, only that didn’t turn out to be such a great bonding point between them, as Tobirama had hopedーbefore he actually got to know his Anija’s best friend.

Madara, who seemed to dislike Tobirama at first sight and only grew to hate him more over the years as they both found more joy in arguing than they did in talking.

Madara, who, despite this, blushes every rare time Tobirama genuinely smiles at him or drops a suggestive joke, who has an arguably unhealthy obsession with Tobirama’s ass which he always ogles when he thinks no one is looking.

Madara, whose plastered ass Tobirama had to drag home the other week, amid drunken speeches about capitalist injustice, some wacky conspiracy behind the disappearance of the dodo bird and... something quite interesting.

 “Listen, Senju,” Madara was slurring against Tobirama’s shoulder, as the latter cursed every single nonexistent god that Hashirama had chosen that fucking day to go on a road trip with Mito, Toka and Izuna, leaving Tobirama in charge of this walking trash fire of a man. “Listen. Tobira... Tobi. Tobirama. You’re so hot.”

The words almost made Tobirama stumble.

“What, Uchiha?”

“And cute... So pretty, too, I wish you could see that...” Madara went on babbling. “I think you do. But still. Wish you could see me like I do. I mean see you. Like I do...”

“Tobira, you’re just, you’re unfair...”

“I hate you and I like you then I love you and I hate you again, why you’reー” A hiccup. “How do you exist...”

“I just want to hold hands and just... walk and talk and be together and...”

Tobirama watched in ever mounting confusion as Madara leaned completely into him, humming as he hugged Tobirama tightly and said,

“Is that too fucking much to ask...”

Tobirama stood, shell-shocked, with Madara whispering impossible nonsense in his arms, wondering if he was in a dream.

 The next day saw Madara returning to his usual self insulting Tobirama at every goddamn opportunity, which left Tobirama... confused.

Confused, and conflicted, and sleepless for the rest of the night, thoughts held captive by the utter idiot whose ultimate goal seems to be to ruin Tobirama’s life.

It’s maddening.

Of course, he’d suspected that Madara’s flailing and constant blushing interspersed with screams and insults (the most creative ones, reserved only for Tobirama, it seemed) were signs of not so much dislike, as the complete opposite. Of course, Tobirama had tried flirting with Madara, just bordering right there on the edge of suggestive, only for his advances to be seen as patronizing or condescending. And hearing Madara speak to him this way, in a drunken stupor no less, when he’d probably have no causeーor abilityーto lie is...

Maddening. Annoying. Exhilarating. A tantalizing opportunity. Maybe a glimmer of hope.

And of course, Tobirama told his brother; they never really had any secrets between them. And of fucking course Hashirama had a hand in convincing Madara to change his usual behavior, which is nice and all, but doesn’t help the nerves wracking through Tobirama’s body, nor the crippling fear that he’s going to somehow screw this up.

But no. Deep breath. Exhale. And remember Anija’s advice.

Tobirama takes the last turn before he’s faced with their meeting place, surprised to find Madara already there.

Even though he’s usually always late. Sitting inside by the window, looking out onto the street with a slight frown, Madara keeps worrying his bottom lip and, apparently, trying to break a spoon.

It paints an endearing picture. Tobirama sighs, feeling a smile tugging at his lips.

This man...

Tobirama comes in, approaching him slowly, allowing himself a few moments to watch Madara needlessly fix his wild mane of hair, appraise his reflection in the spoon, try out several fake-looking smiles before settling on a scowl and going back to his nervous tics again. With another sigh, Tobirama takes the few steps left to his date, repeating Hashirama’s advice over and over in his head.

Just be yourselfーand have fun!

Just a few minutes into their date, it becomes obvious that Madara didn’t get the same advice from Hashirama.

Or just didn’t get the advice, period.

With their orders made and beverages served, they’re left to wallow in a less than comfortable silence, broken only by Madara’s... uncharacteristic attempts at conversation.

“Are you enjoying the tea?” Madara asks Tobirama with all of the softness of a brick wall.

Tobirama isn’t used to the man being eloquent, much less polite, and he has yet to have at least one conversation with Madara that doesn’t devolve into a pissing contest. So theoretically, Tobirama should be enjoying this.

But it only seems wrong. Annoying. Not them.

He tries to recall if, maybe, their first meeting was an adequate exchange? Tobirama thinks to the day Hashirama first introduced them. Only flashes of spilled milkshakes and jibes at intelligence run through his mind, and of course that was the very first time he’d called Madara an idiot pipsqueak, receiving quite the lame ‘stuck-up dandelion’ in turn.

Unsurprising.

“Yes,” Tobirama says, taking another sip as he eyes Madara struggling on the other side of the table. Struggling to do what is the question: either sit straight, or assume a more relaxed posture, or reach towards his own drink, or avoid eye contact, even though he keeps glancing his way when he thinks Tobirama won’t notice. Tobirama does, every time, and that just makes the whole ordeal more awkward. “Nice weather,” Tobirama says, with about as much enthusiasm.

If Madara wants to play this stupid game, Tobirama will indulge. Just to see how long it takes for Madara to break and return to his blustering status quo.

“Yeah...” Madara clears his throat, eye twitching as he manages to hold Tobirama’s gaze for a commendable three seconds this time. “Hate the sun. I meanーI mean I love the sun. Ugh. It just, uh. Burns.”

It’s both saddening and funny to see Madara visibly deflate.

“Skin too sensitive, huh?” Tobirama starts small. “Just like your ego?”

Madara’s jaw clenches and his nervous look shifts into a glare before he looks away again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm himself down before he flashes an unnaturally cheery smile.

“Heh, nice,” Madara grits through his teeth, “nice joke, Senju.”

Tobirama raises his eyebrow as Madara flinches at his own words.

“I’m glad you appreciate my sense of humor,” Tobirama says, barely reining in a smirk.

“Sure! You’reーyou’re funny.”

“And?”

“And what?” Madara frowns, confused.

“And what else am I?” Tobirama demands, feigning thoughtfulness. “A recent assessment of yours was that I look and act like a self-obsessed dumbass, I think.”

“No-no,” Madara blurts out, looking much a cornered animal, “I think you... you are... you look not at all so terrible today?” he finishes with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

Tobirama wants to scream from the agony.

No. This won’t do, otherwise he might as well leave.

“Can you just call me a stuck-up asshole like you always do or recite one of those horrible limerick disses?” he demands.

Madara actually yelps. “What? No! I mean, wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re acting weird.”

“We’re on a date, if you were too stupーpreoccupied to get my invitation, Senju,” Madara says, jaw still clenched as he doubtless refrains from swearing, “and I’m being civil!”

That’s the advice he must have gotten from Anija, Tobirama thinks.

What a tragedy.

“Madara,” Tobirama implores, leaning his eyebrows on the table and meeting Uchiha’s gaze, “have you considered thatーI prefer it when you aren’t?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, thank fuck!” Madara slams his hands on the table, heaving a massive sigh as Tobirama laughs in relief. “I was ready to fucking die, you piece of shit! How does your brother stay so fucking kind all the time, it’s fucking torture!”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “It’s a talent, naturally. Just like your talent at embarrassing yourself and mine at being awesome.”

“You’ve got it a little backwards, Senju,” Madara sneers, “but it’s excusable, given your level of intellect.”

“Twice as high as yours?” Tobirama parries.

“Twice as little.”

“That’s more like it,” Tobirama says, grinning despite himself, “I thought you were a decoy or something. You’ve told me to fuck off every single day since we first met and this was getting worrisome.”

Madara’s laugh is sudden, melodic, sending those irritating tingling sensations through Tobirama’s body. He makes an effort to appear outwardly calm.

“Maybe because you managed to piss me the fuck off every day that I’ve known you,” Madara scoffs, “but you’re all right sometimes. I guess.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance even as he keeps nervously fixing and running his fingers through his hair.

A stupid, tantalizing habit. Tobirama imagines carding his own hands through the messy locks, tugging Madara’s head back toー

He forcefully aborts the thought process before he’s faced with a problem of the harder kind. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll try to strangle each other when we game together.”

“We’re playing today?” Madara asks.

Tobirama tilts his head to the side.

“You haven’t planned one gaming session after our date?”

“Um,” Madara says, blinking rapidly, “why should I be the one with the plan?”

“Because you’re the one who invited me,” Tobirama deadpans. And anyway, Madara is always the one to egg Tobirama on to gaming, which would usually only ever lead to semi-playful brawls and their fighting making Hashirama cry.

And without Anija there to assault them with his antics, Tobirama wonders what their play-fighting might lead to... and promptly shuts off those thoughts again. Control, dammit.

Madara opens his mouth, then closes it, sighs explosively and says, “All right, fair enough. But you’re the strategy pro here. And my thing is RPGs.” He smirks. “I can improvise.”

And Madara does, in fact, improvise, leading Tobirama on what he hopes is a satisfying daylong adventure. It’s strange, walking by themselves around Konoha without anyone else with them (not that they’ve taken to ignoring Hashirama and Mito anyway on their most recent group outings), free to talk about and do anything they want. Strange and perfect, the way Tobirama switches between poorly concealed bashfulness and his usual confidence, as their jokes and jibes at each other, every little prank they pull never fails to make them both laugh.

It’s perfect.

Just like Tobirama’s smile is, directed at him without any pretenses as they set off to explore the lush, gigantic forest surrounding the city, rumored to be home to mythical, many-tailed creatures. And that’s followed by their forays into an abandoned chemistry lab; the scares they get in the woods from intermittent growls coming from the shadows are nothing compared to the horror Madara feels when Tobirama insists on touching broken vials and experimental equipment, and going through doors with dilapidated ‘DANGER. CHEMICAL HAZARD’ signs.

“If we’re infected by some deadly and insidious poison,” Madara whispers as they explore the lab’s tunnels, “I’m going to fucking kill you before it does. Painfully.”

“It’s for science,” Tobirama says. “And trust me. We’re safe. I got a degree in this.”

“Youtube is practically your full-time job at this point. What the fuck else do you need?”

“The satisfaction of discovering something cool?”

“And deadly.”

"Unlikely.”

Madara groans, cursing his life, as well as his inability to say no to hisーapparentlyーnew boyfriend.

The boyfriend who’s just discovered another hidden pathway to a deeper level and has scurried off towards it like an excited five-year-old. Despite himself, despite his intent to keep complaining, Madara can’t hold back the grin tugging at his lips.

Still perfect.

Just like their lunch date which turns into a picnic by the Naka river, where Madara remembers meeting Hashirama way back when. Just like the first time Tobirama grasps his hand, fingers gently massaging it as he laughs at Madara stuttering to a stop from whatever rant he’d been on, heart in his throat and mind suddenly focused on whether his palms are too sweaty or not.

His mind goes blank. Eyes focus only on the man in front of him, whom he yearns to strangle just as often as he craves to tackle him onto any surface and ruin him completely. And it should feel wrong, it should be, only Madara hasn’t quite felt so right about anything in a long time, and with every minute they spend with their familiar bickering, just with a layer of something more behind it this time, it becomes harder and harder to deny how good being near Tobirama makes him feel. Happy. Complete.

Madara winces. Oh, gods. He’s waxing poetic now.

All worries about that fly out the window when Tobirama, without so much as a word of warning, leans in and draws Madara by his collar into a kiss.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t spring up to awaken alone in his bed like he always does, after dreams like these.

And, unsurprisingly, it turns out to be Madara’s best kiss to date.

Maybe he’s exaggerating, if just because he’s been craving this so damn much. Tobirama’s lips are hot, gentle, and welcoming against his, a curious tongue darting out to coax Madara’s lips open and deepen the kiss. The delightful drag of his tongue, his hands, rough and demanding on Madara’s chest, waist, thighsーit’s not long before he’s dizzy with it, barely holding back moans of pleasure for fear of sounding too desperate.

“Fuck,” Madara gasps as they pull away for breath, lips still touching as their eyes stay locked and he’s treated to Tobirama’s downright ravenous gaze. “That wasー”

Tobirama cuts him off with another kiss, then another, and it’s not long before they find themselves tangled in a mess of limbs and loose clothing. The hard ground presses against Madara’s back as Tobirama settles on top of him, ravaging Madara’s mouth with a passion that soon has his pants feeling too tight.

Fuck.

He groans, hips thrusting of their own accord and feeling Tobirama's own erection through the fabric.

Madara makes an immense effort to pull away, stifling a whine at the loss of contact.

“Bed,” he says, mortified at his own crudeness far too late after the word comes out. “Fuck, I meantー”

“Yes,” Tobirama growls, capturing Madara’s lips in another open-mouthed kiss before he hauls him up to start gathering their things. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours? Izuna,” Madara rasps, head too clouded to explain more in-depth, but Tobirama seems to understand.

“Anija shouldn’t be back for a while,” Tobirama says, a devastating grin on his face, “lots of time for us to play.”

Gods.

Madara scrambles to his feet fast enough to stumble, and for once, Tobirama has nothing to say about his clumsiness.

They all but crash through the front door, not even bothering to lock it as they rush through a cursory check to make sure Hashirama is out like he said he’d be.

“Fuck, thank the gods,” Tobirama sighs in relief before dragging Madara back into liplock.

Madara can’t hold back a moan this time, heat ratcheting up between them as he wraps his hands around Tobirama’s neck, pulling him closer as they stumble to the couch. Madara ends up straddling him just so that their cocks brush through too-rough clothing, kiss growing urgent and sloppy, as wandering hands touching every inch of uncovered skin.

Clothes fall away, leaving them both shirtless, and Madara needs a few moments to take in the miles of pale skin, so soft to the touch, toned muscles rippling as Tobirama squirms under him, gasps and groans escaping his lips in answer to every one of Madara’s touches. He leans in to mouth Tobirama’s neck, sucking bruising kisses onto the soft skin there pleasure flaring at the base of his stomach each time Tobirama moans and arches against him.

“You’re so sensitive,” Madara whispers, with a hint of incredulity. “That’s... fuck.”

“Yeah,” Tobirama rasps, eyes unfocused, “because... just get on with it.”

“If I knew this is what it took to finally get you to shut up,” Madara chuckles, “I would have tried this a long time ago.”

If he weren’t so sure Tobirama genuinely despised him. Butー

“I fucking wished you would!” Tobirama snaps, though the irritation rings hollow with the breathless tone.

Madara blinks in shock.

“You did?” Madara asks, moving lower to lap at Tobirama’s nipple, sucking the hardened nub into his mouth and eliciting another delicious whimper. “You thought about this? About my hands on you, touching you?”

“Yes!” The desperation in his tone only adds to Madara’s mounting confidence, one that he so rarely ever feels in Tobirama’s presence.

“My mouth on your cock,” he continues, heart hammering against his ribs as he trails kisses lower and lower, “would you like that? While I finger you, getting you ready to take me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tobirama’s hips jerk, making them both moan at the friction.

“Off,” Madara grunts, tugging at Tobirama’s pants with one hand as the other works the belt off his own. They scramble, a bit awkwardly, until they’re both naked and sprawled on top of each other, and Madara all but drools at the sight of Tobirama’s cock, hard and straining, beads of precum already leaking from the tip.

Perfect.

It’s tempting to just let go but Madara decides to take his time. Strokes Tobirama’s sides and chest, fingers his nipples, kisses every inch of skin he can reach, sucking bruises and biting slightly. He marvels at every little keen and groan he wrings from Tobirama, relishing how needy he grows with each second, how he moans Madara’s name, curses him and urges Madara to touch him, sliding his dick against his and huffing when Madara doesn’t do anything about it, before finally devolving into pleading.

Just what Madara’s been waiting for.

“Madara, please,” Tobirama’s whines, a soft, desperate sound that makes Madara groan in turn.

“Please what?” he asks, knowing he’s being a tease and enjoying the hell out of it.

Tobirama musters a pretty non-intimidating glare. “Just... fuck.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that what you want?” Madara raises an eyebrow, making sure to wet his lips, letting his tongue gently graze the head of Tobirama’s cock. “I can bottom. I don’t mind.”

“Fuck!” Tobirama squeezes his eyes shut, heavy breathing interspersed with desperate whines. “Just... suck me off. Please. Now.”

“That’s it, Tobirama,” Madara drags out the syllables of his name, a smirk tugging at his lips, “when you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?”

He wraps his lipsーfinallyーaround the head, licking at the salty fluid gathered there, ears ringing from the heady feel of Tobirama’s cock against his mouth, his hands tangling in Madara’s hair, the sounds slipping from Tobirama’s lips that are borderline fucking obscene. Madara takes a breath to brace himself and takes Tobirama a few inches deeper. His length is hot, stiff, and heavy in his mouth as Madara presses the flat of his tongue against the underside, sucking hard, wringing another delectable whimper. Tobirama’s thrusts up, cock hitting the back of his throat, and Madara chokes for a moment, his own dick jerking at the sensation.

“Madara,” Tobirama breathes, “Madara, gods, you feel amazing.”

The words send another rush of pleasure through him, and Madara takes himself in hand to release some of the unbearable tension, stroking himself slowly as he relaxes his throat and sinks down to take Tobirama to the base.

Tobirama’s moan is a sweet, drawn-out melody. One that Madara enjoys making louder and louder as he starts moving, setting a fast-paced rhythm, uncaring for how debauched he may look, drool leaking out of his mouth and coating Tobirama’s cock, throat constricting around it as he takes him deep, lets him stay there, tongue gliding along his shaft. Tobirama soon devolves into barely coherent pleading, until ‘please’, and ‘more’, and Madara’s name are the only words coming out of his mouth.

It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming, far too much. Madara gives up stroking himself, the pleasure ramping up far too quickly, too soon, though Tobirama isn’t doing much better. Madara draws his lips up along his length, lapping up more precum gathered at the head, even as Tobirama’s hips jerk again and the hand in Madara’s hair tightens, urging him back down.

“Madara, please,” Tobirama keens, “I need...”

Madara has a pretty good idea of what he needs. He swirls his tongue over the head, descending again until his nose is pressed against Tobirama’s stomach. Madara swallows around him once, twice, a third time before he feels Tobirama nudging at his shoulder in a warning he doesn’t pay heed to, starting to bob his head again, wrapping his fingers around the base of Tobirama’s cock, using both his mouth and hand to bring him to completion.

“Fuck, Madara, Iー”

Madara lets out a muffled groan once he feels cum spilling against his tongue, swallowing rapidly as Tobirama’s cock pulses, again and again, through an orgasm that has him writhing and and trembling underneath him, hands tightening in Madara’s hair enough to hurt with the kind of tantalizing pain that only adds to the pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good,” Tobirama pants, watching Madara through white lashes, eyes dark and hazy as another shudder runs through him, “fuckーI want...”

Madara releases him with a wet pop. “Want what, Tobirama?” he whispers, voice too hoarse for him to speak properly.

Tobirama grips his shoulders in lieu of an answer, directing Madara to turn around so his back is pressed against his chest.

Then Tobirama’s hand wraps around his cock andーoh.

Madara has pretty much forgotten about his own pleasure, too focused on not coming too soon and making sure Tobirama was enjoying himself.

“My turn,” Tobirama murmurs against his ear, tone still breathless but with a commanding edge to it now that makes Madara shiver, “and lemmeーlet me hear you, Madara.”

Gods. He groans just from the sound of Tobirama’s voice. The feel of his teeth nibbling at his earlobe, his hand setting a quick, harsh rhythm that builds up the pleasure to impossible degrees. Tobirama’s heated skin pressed against his back, his thighs, the fingers of his other hand carding through his hair with a gentleness that contrasts with his harshness before.

It’s too much.

“Go on, Madara.”

Tobirama’s fingers swiping at the precome gathering at the head of Madara’s cock, smearing it over his shaft. His voice, a muffled whisper coaxing Madara to let go, to come for him, to say Tobirama’s nameー

“Just like that, Madara,” Tobirama grunts, “louder for me, come on.”

Madara thrusts into his grip, all but fucking into Tobirama’s fist at this point, moans his name as the heat grows unbearable the closer he gets to release.

“To-bi-rama...” He comes with a broken groan slipping from his lips as cum spills all over his stomach and Tobirama’s hand, each pulse coming stronger than the last, leaving him dizzy and boneless in Tobirama’s arms for however long it takes for his orgasm to abate.

Feels like forever. Probably a lot less. Time does seem to slow down, though, both of them collapsing against each other onto the cushions, breathing raggedly and curling into each other as Madara turns to bury his head in the crook of Tobirama’s neck.

It still seems unreal. Too perfect. So right.

They lie there for a minutes, coming down from the high, limbs tangled and lazy kisses exchanged here and there. Tobirama looks so peaceful, like Madara’s never seen him before: eyes half-lidded, hair messier than ever, sticking in every direction, skin still flushed and marked, all over, with hickeys and teeth marks, the mere sight of which has Madara’s dick stirring in interest, recent orgasm or no.

“You know,” Madara says, hands running over Tobirama’s chest, barely grazing his still sensitive nipples and making him shiver, “if this is the game you want to play, I’m really not against binging it. The rest of the dayーweekend, if you want.” Madara presses a kiss to Tobirama’s neck. “Make the playthrough as thorough as possible.” To his collarbone. “Unlock all achievements and, uh,” Madara trails his hand along Tobirama’s chest to his groin, past his length and to his ass, "explore every location.”

“If that was some thinly veiled euphemism,” Tobirama says, barely holding in laughter, “for you wanting to fuck me sideways...” Madara holds Tobirama’s gaze as his fingers hover just over Tobirama’s hole. “Then Madara, for fuck’s sake, stop trying to be subtle and get to work.”

Madara barks out a laugh.

“Whatever you say, Tobirama.”

Madara dips his voice low and deep, like he’s noticed Tobirama loves, and relishes the whimper it earns him. Relishes the way Tobirama arches against him, looking for friction, how delectable he looks, ready and responsive, so eager for Madara’s touch.

He knows then and there that if it’s up to him, Madara will do anything to make this last.

[andiandyandee]

Runs In the Family

Look, the title is an Amanda Palmer song because my wife was listening to it and it worked, so whatever. 

Also I wrote this instead of writing the Next chapter of We Are Going to Be Friends, deal with it.

You’ll probably need to have read some of the AU to know what’s going on here tbh.

Words: 2206

Virgil is sick of looking like Logan. (That’s it that’s the summary.)

Here’s  the first part of We Are Going to Be Friends  and Here’s the whole series on Ao3

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

Okay here’s the Fic:

    After another conversation with another store clerk who asked if he was related to the Starrs, Virgil was officially sick of this town, and so he was currently working through his annoyance in the best way he knew, by punching things.

    “I. Am. So. Goddamn. Sick. Of. Looking. Like. Papa.” Virgil grunted as he swung at Patton. Or more specifically, at the boxing pads Patton had on his hands. The younger of the two laughed a little and his brother’s pout.

    “Why? Papa isn’t like, ugly or anything. And guys and girls alike would kill for the chance to ‘gaze into those icy blue eyes’” Patton mimicked one of the girls who had recently asked Virgil out. “What’s the problem with looking like him?”

    “Every teacher expects me to be Just.” Punch. “Like.” Punch. “Him.” The last swing missed the target pad, only narrowly missing Patton’s face. “Jesus, sorry Pat.”

    “It’s alright! Maybe let’s take a break from this though, you can use the punching bag, I’m gonna do some yoga I think.” Virgil perked up at that.

    “Oh, actually would you mind if I did your routine with you? I really need to work on my flexibility, and I could definitely use some relaxation” Patton nodded, pulling out a second mat and block from the cupboard. Having a home gym was certainly something they both appreciated. The only one who didn’t use it was Dad, who preferred running outside to working out in the basement, so they had a pretty decent array of workout equipment. “I just get frustrated when everyone sees me and their first thought is ‘Oh god Logan reproduced’. I love Papa, I just wish I didn’t have his face. I can’t believe they decided to stay in this stupid town anyway.” They both started in a sitting position, going through some basic stretches.

    “I mean, you two look similar, but I don’t really think you look as much alike as people think. You just look close enough that they’ve convinced themselves that’s what Papa looked like too.” They were kneeling in child’s pose now, and Virgil was already struggling.

    “God how do you do this every day, my back already hurts.” They moved back into a sitting position, in the pigeon pose. “This is so much worse. ” Patton giggled. “Listen, even if we didn’t have the same face, which we do, by the way, It’s still frustrating to have people say ‘you look just like your father’ every day. I wish people would say I looked like literally anyone else at this point.” Patton rolled his eyes and moved down into a head-to-knee bend, which had Virgil whining, only halfway down.

    “How are you so inflexible? I swear me and Papa do this with no issues. I’ve even had Dad in that position without much complaint.” Virgil Flipped Patton off, sitting back up and crossing his legs into a Lotus Pose. “I mean you’re going to college out of state, aren’t you? You’re going somewhere - No Virgil, you don’t cross your legs in Marichi’s Pose, just tuck it in, yeah there you go- you’re going somewhere they won’t even know Papa. You’ll have tons of people who won’t think you look like anyone!” Patton had twisted around into a revolved head-to-knee pose that made Virgil nauseous just to see. That’s not how spines worked .

    “I don’t think that’s any better, honestly. I hate being alone, I just don’t always want to be ‘Logan Starr’s Kid’, You know?” They were kneeling again, both in a hero pose, Patton half leaned back easily, Virgil shaking as he leaned back only half as far as his brother.

    “Yeah, I mean I get it, I guess. I mean I don’t really look like Papa or my Surrogate save for her eyes and this mop of hair, so I’ve never actually been recognized as their kids, so I don’t really understand, but people make assumptions on the last name, you know? Mostly because of Grandpa, but Dad too.” Patton giggled as Virgil switched to a camel pose, unable to hold himself up or lower himself completely down to the reclining hero. “You have so little core strength for someone who enjoys punching as much as you do.” Virgil again flipped him off, now sweating way more than was really necessary. “Just use your block, I don’t know why you’re so against sticking with the easier poses until you get it figured out, Virge.”

    “Easy poses are for cowards. Can we stand up and do some poses that don’t involve my feet bending like this?” Patton laughed, obliging his brother. They tabled the conversation, mostly because Virgil was too busy groaning to actually talk.

***

    The next morning, which was really more like early afternoon, Patton woke Virgil up with his regular cheerful knocking. “Virge! It’s Saturday! We run on Saturdays!” Virgil groaned, trying to ignore the way his muscles protested moving after the nightmare yoga session.

    “I know exercise is healthy, but I think I’d rather die than move, Pat.” Virgil groaned into his pillow. He heard his Dad laugh loudly at that.

    “Come on, Virge! It’s the one day a week we actually spend together! And I’ll buy you lunch at that diner across town that just opened up!” Virgil was not a fan of running, or being outside, but the teen was nothing if not food motivated.

    “Do you think a cheeseburger and milkshake counts as a balanced breakfast?” Virgil asked, already pulling on a tank top and a pair of running tights, trying his best to brush his hair with his fingers. He pulled the door open, faced with looks of amusement from both his Dad and brother.

    “No. Grab a protein bar, water, and maybe a hairbrush, and meet us outside in like, fifteen minutes for stretching, Panic! At the Everywhere.” Roman chuckled, leaving the hallway with Patton. Virgil did grab a hairbrush, and made his way to the kitchen, only to find his Papa sitting at the island with a cup of coffee and what appeared to be a lukewarm bowl of oatmeal next to him, immersed in a book.

    “Hi, Papa.” Virgil grabbed a kind bar from the basket on the counter, and a water bottle from the cabinet, filling it with tap water.

    “Hello, Virge. Are you all heading out for the afternoon?” Virgil nodded, stealing a drink of Logan’s coffee as he passed.

    “Yeah. You wanna come? We’re going to get lunch after.” Logan wrinkled his nose.

    “You will see the heat death of the universe before you see me jogging outside with your father. I wouldn’t be caught dead in public with that man when he’s on a runner’s high.” Virgil laughed, shrugging and leaving his Papa sitting in the kitchen alone.

***

    The run, as expected, was miserable, and Virgil was sweating and starving by the time they made it to the diner.

    “Jesus, how am I so out of shape compared to you two?” Both Roman and Patton were a bit sweaty, but not even out of breath.

    “Well we run that distance three times a week, and you run it twice a month, so..” Patton joked, walking towards the diner door. “You’re also way stronger than me and Dad though, so I guess you have that going for you.” Roman nodded, holding the door open for his sons. A voice greeted them as they walked through the door, peppy and quite loud.

    “Hi! Welcome to Dot’s Diner! I’m Dot! Y’all can sit anywhe-” The voice cut off, the woman staring at Virgil with a bit of horror and a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Oh, uh, you-you can sit anywhere, boys.” Virgil glanced at Patton and Roman, confused. They both shrugged, sitting down at a booth and shooting glances over at the woman who greeted them.

    “She looks kind of familiar, actually... Maybe she went to school with Me and Logan?” Roman whispered. “I don’t know.” Roman pulled out his phone, texting Logan to ask if he remembered a ‘Dot’ because she definitely recognized Virgil. Logan texted back thirty seconds later, instructing them to stay right where they were. Roman showed the boys the message and shrugged again. “He must know her.” A waitress, not Dot, took their drink orders, dropping off menus. They were all discussing what they wanted when the bell rang again, and Logan came in, looking around. His hair was still a mess, but he was in a pair of blue jeans and a Greenday shirt that had no business being tucked in instead of his pajamas. He spotted Roman, Patton, and Virgil, and waved, but was obviously looking for someone else. When Dot came through the kitchen door, and saw him, they both looked a little tearful.

    “Logan! Oh, it’s so good to see you, I haven’t heard from you in so long,” Dot came around the counter, pulling him into a hug.

    “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch, Dot. I lost your number, and the only social media you had hasn’t been updated since-” He cut off, and Dot glanced to Virgil, who was staring at the pair with a look of confusion that was mirrored in Roman and Patton’s gazes.

    “He’s yours, then? It’s too uncanny to have been a coincidence.” Virgil rolled his eyes. Of course, she thought he looked just like Logan, they always did.

    “I know, it’s like looking in a photograph, sometimes. He even has the same color pallet. Black and purple everything.” Logan said conspiratorially. They weren’t that loud, but there were only two other patrons in the diner, so it was easy to hear them talking. Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. He had seen pictures of his papa when he was young and never had he had much of a black and purple pallet. The two walked over to the table, Dot still looking at Virgil with that same sad look.

    “Hi, I’m Dot. I’m a friend of Logan’s. I’m sorry how I reacted earlier, you just look so much like” Virgil went to sigh, but before he could, Dot said something that stopped him in his tracks. “Your Uncle Larry, I thought I was seeing a ghost.” Virgil was dumbfounded.

    “What?” Logan laughed at his son’s face.

    “I guess we’ve never really talked about it, but my older brother, L, shares an astonishing amount of features with you,” Logan explained, pulling out his phone. “Hold on, I bet I can find a photo…” Dot was smiling sadly at him.

    “I was newly engaged to your uncle before he passed.” She swallowed, “I’m sure you get it a lot, but I haven’t seen you boys since you were so young, I wasn’t expecting it.”

    Roman mumbled “Oh!” to himself before smiling at Dot. “It’s been so long, Polka Dot, I hardly recognized you!” She smiled at him.

    “If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t tell if you were you or Remus. The only way I used to be able to tell you apart was the scar, but you both have it now so..” Roman laughed.

    “Remus is quite a bit thinner than I am now, so we don’t actually get mistaken for each other much anymore. I had almost forgotten what it was like!”  

    “Ah Hah!” Logan held out his phone for Virgil to see. Staring back at him was... Well, him. This teenager, probably around 17, the same age as Virgil, was leaning on who was clearly Dot’s shoulder, a purple and black hoodie and shaggy hair looked eerily similar to Virgil. Logan swiped to another photo, of Logan and Larry standing next to each other in what he assumed were their prom outfits, Logan an easy 6 inches taller than Larry, much like how Logan towered over Virgil. Seeing them next to each other, Virgil realized that while the two looked similar, Virgil looked much more like Larry. They had the same nose, slightly shorter faces, less defined cheekbones.

    “Holy shit, I have his whole face.” Virgil croaked, glancing up at his Papa. “I thought I looked just like you, but like, that’s like, time travel. If he dyed his hair purple that could literally be me.” Patton and Roman were glancing between the photo and Virgil, looking more and more confused as they did.

    “How have you never mentioned our oldest son is literally your brother?” Roman asked, a little dumbfounded. Logan laughed softly.

    “You know how I feel about talking about him. And I didn’t realize until he was about fifteen, anyway. Remember when he got the tattoo? When we were fighting he did that thing, Dot, you remember, where he just kind of-” They both did the hand gesture, which from an outside perspective looked a lot like a combination of jazz hands and flicking water at someone, and started laughing, and Virgil blushed. He DID do that hand gesture a lot. “and I was like, Oh my god, He’s literally Larry.” They all dissolved into talking about old memories, and Virgil sat there content, leaning on his brother's shoulder. Sometimes, he hated how much he looked like his Papa, but he supposed looking like his uncle wasn’t the worst thing in the world.