#This was pretty rushed with only an hour worth of work but I don’t regret it! Pretty decent sketch overall ^^

[alpheuslibrary]

“ Don’t think, Master Jim. Become. “

I bring upon ye—Jim fanart!

Not sure what possessed me at this moment but I just thought it’d be cool to do something with him (and give him cool armour ehehheeh).

Obligatory fellow Tales of Arcadia Enthusiast mention: @alchemisticramblings

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

In Your Dreams

Moodboard by @softhecreator

Chapter Six: You Got Inside My Head & Set A Fire There Instead

AO3 info one two three four five six seven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts, and we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face. And I’ve always lived like this; keeping a comfortable distance, and up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness, ‘cause none of it was ever worth the risk.- Paramore, The Only Exception

Lea really hadn’t meant to stick around for so long. She’d figured that once he’d, uhhh, ‘claimed’ her or whatever, that would be enough, that she’d be able to go back to her shared shoebox apartment with its windows all facing brick walls and the kitchen she couldn’t turn around in and the doors that didn’t stay closed and her cold bed, to her rapidly increasing student loan debt and her crippling anxiety and the constant, neverending sense that something about her life was wrong.

In any case, she had intended to go home once Tim was in the clear.

She was showering the following afternoon, staring out the window that overlooked the city. Water droplets from the shower dripped down the glass, and Lea sighed, tilting her head back to finish rinsing her hair and wondering how in the hell she was gonna go back home after all this.

“Well that’s a sight I could get used to.”

She damn near jumped a foot in the air at Tim’s voice echoing off the marble floors, immediately rushing to hide behind the wall of the large shower.

He laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you, I was just appreciating the view!”

Lea blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening. She still hadn’t fully processed the night before, and here she was, butt naked, totally regretting using his shower rather than one of the ones in the guest rooms. He had fuckin’ five of them, so it wasn’t like there wasn’t space.

After several bests of silence, the only sound the running water from the shower, he softly said, “Are you afraid of me?”

Lea jolted towards the clear shower door, looking at him around the corner of the wall. “Of course not!” she squeaked, eyes wide.

He looked back at her, his gaze sad. “Then why are you hiding from me?”

She glanced down briefly at his body, only just now noticing his nudity. “I just…” She gulped. “I just feel weird about you, like. Seeing me this way, y’know?”

Frowning outright then, Tim asked, “I’ll admit I’m pretty casual about being naked, living as an incubus for several thousand years will do that, but why on earth would you be shy with me?” When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “I’ll respect your feelings, don’t get me wrong, I just— you’re my mate, we had sex a few hours ago, and I legitimately cannot fathom why you’d feel weird. Will you please help me understand?”

“I’m… not used to being naked in front of anyone,” she admitted softly, standing back upright to lean against the wall of the shower, hidden from him again. “Like, okay, how often do you have to, y’know. Feed?”

There were a few seconds of silence as he considered this. “I dunno. Every few weeks, maybe?”

“Right,” Lea confirmed her understanding, “and do you feed from a different woman every time?”

“Usually, yeah,” he said slowly, as if he were trying to figure out where she was going with this.

“And that’s even when you were in relationships?”

He was silent for a few moments again. “I can only feed from humans, and I haven’t been involved with one romantically in I don’t even know how long—centuries, at the very least, maybe longer—, so I had to… with other women.”

“You were with another human before?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Alane.”

Lea’s heart thudded in her chest.

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

He sighed, and she heard him slide down the outside wall of the shower.

“I’ll have to tell you eventually, I guess.”

“You don’t have to,” she assured him hurriedly.

“No, you need to know.” A deep breath. “She was a Gaul, captured by Romans. I knew what they did to women, so I went to help. No clue why, I’m fucking useless with that kinda thing, but I went to help. But when I got there…” He let out a hoarse laugh. “She’d killed two of them and was working on a third.”

“Jesus,” Lea muttered.

“Totally covered in blood,” he went on, “I think she would’ve tried to kill me, too, if I hadn’t blurted some random shit out in French. Gave her enough pause to let me help her escape, I guess.”

“Then… why aren’t you with her now?” Lea asked softly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the quiver in her voice.

“We were together for a few human lifetimes,” he admitted. “We were careful—we were so fucking careful—but birth control wasn’t an exact science then, and, well… I told you that most women can’t stay pregnant with an incubus’ baby.” Another snort. “Stubborn girl—she was a lot like you that way, actually; maybe that’s what attracted to me to her in the first place, was her similarities to my future mate—refused to let me get it flushed out of her. I told her, I told her she couldn’t survive it, but she was damned and determined to try anyway.”

“And then?” she asked shakily.

“She died.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant. Regretful. “She died because she loved me.”

Despite the rather intense jealousy she was feeling, her heart ached for the pain he’d been through. It was clear he blamed himself for Alane’s death.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, Lea reached out and opened the shower door. The hot water was beating against her skin, the sound of it almost drowning her out when she whispered, “You can come in, too.” A slight hesitation. “If— if you want, I mean.”

There was silence for a few long moments before she heard him stand, and then he stepped into the shower.

His hair was tousled from sleep, but his skin wasn’t sallow anymore; the bags under his eyes were gone, too. He was still a bit thinner than she knew was normal for him, but he definitely looked better. Healthier.

He closed the door behind him, gazing down at her and not taking his eyes off hers. “It wasn’t your fault, Tim.” He grimaced, so she reiterated, “It was not your fault. It wasn’t your fault she got pregnant. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault that she chose to continue the pregnancy, either. None of it was your fault.”

He wasn’t grimacing anymore, just kinda studying her expression. “You aren’t jealous?” He looked almost disappointed, the prick.

“I never said I wasn’t jealous,” Lea admitted slowly, “but I don’t want you to blame yourself for something that’s not your fault. I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

A small, soft smile twitched at the corners of his lips, and he took a step closer to her, taking one of her hands in his. “Everything’s less painful when I look at you,” he murmured. “Hearing your voice, seeing you smile, touching your skin— it sets me at ease. Even when I was close to death, whenever you were next to me, it felt like everything would be alright.”

Tears filled her eyes at that, and she looked away. “Tim…”

“I think,” he went on in that soft, sweet voice, “that I could conquer the world if you held my hand while I did it.” After a moment, he added, “Plus, you’re jealous, it’s very obvious, and it’s awesome—“

Lea flushed, crossing her arms over her breasts with a grumble of, “Like you wouldn’t be jealous, too, demon boy.”

“Psh,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “You kidding? I’m jealous of everyone that’s so much as looked at you.”

“You’re a dork,” she muttered, fighting off a smile.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or maybe I just love you.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling then.

“Are you done showering?” he asked quietly.

Lea blinked, surprised at the question. “I should probably rinse my hair again. Might still have conditioner in it.”

He stepped closer, and her heart lurched up into her throat at the anticipation of feeling his skin against hers again, but he just reached behind her and took the handheld shower nozzle. 

“Turn around.” It was a soft, gentle command, but it was a command nonetheless. Steadfastly ignoring the fluttering in her abdomen, she obeyed, turning to face the marble tiles of the wall and adjusting her hair so it fell in a wave of dark red curls down her back.

“Lean your head back,” he told her gently. She did so, keeping her eyes shut, and he held the nozzle close to her scalp and ran his fingers through her hair, careful not to miss anything. “Did you comb your hair out already?”

“Y— yeah,” she mumbled, pointing vaguely in the direction of the wide-tooth comb that sat on the ledge with the various shower-related items.

He hummed before continuing to rinse out her hair in silence.

Once he was done, he leaned forward to replace the shower nozzle again, and the one on the ceiling began to cascade down onto them once more. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her so her back was against his chest. And stomach, too, because he was a tall bastard.

Tim’s arms were around her waist, just below her breasts, and his thumb brushed the underside of one of them.

Lea gulped anxiously, wishing he’d touch her fully, grab her breast the way he’d done the night before. “How are you, uh… how are you feeling?”

“What d’you mean?” he mumbled into her hair.

“Well, you almost died yesterday,” she said slowly. “So, how are you feeling?”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m alive. You’re here. I’m alive because you’re here. So I’m doing pretty fuckin’ awesome, I’d say.”

She reached up and brushed her hand gently over one of his, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

She felt him shrug. “I wasn’t expecting to be, but I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not thrilled about you loving me.” He paused momentarily before admitting, “And also that you let me fuck you. That was pretty great.”

He moved her hair to one side and started kissing her neck then, and she squeaked in surprise. “Are you, uh… are you hungry again? Not— not for food, I mean, but like, for… y’know…”

She could hear the smirk in his voice, feel it against the damp skin of her neck. “I only need to feed every few weeks,” he reminded her. “However, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you again, because I very much do. It’s less about my biological need for it and more about my love for my incredibly sexy mate and the natural desire I have to watch said mate’s tits bounce as I fuck her until she cums on my cock.”

Lea’s face flamed, the sensation intensifying further when she realized he was hard behind her.

“But,” he was saying, “we don’t have to. I will never try to make you or convince you to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“I know,” she said, tightening her fingers over his. “You almost died ‘cause you didn’t wanna risk guilting me.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding down her side to grasp her hip firmly. “God do I want you.”

“Tim,” she exhaled, leaning back against his chest.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse, desperate, and he went on, “Do you want that? I won’t ask you to if you don’t want it, but if you do…” 

Flushing, she looked at her feet and said, “Maybe we could… go back to bed?”

“If you want.” He shrugged before gesturing to the windows. “The windows are tinted, though. No one can see in; they look completely black from outside.”

She blinked rapidly, eyes wide. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” Tim confirmed, taking her hand in his. “So why don’t you just jump up here—“ he guided her to the windowsill, encouraging her to sit down. “—And spread your legs for me?”

“Are you sure you wanna—“

“Lea,” he cut her off, voice serious, “knowing you want me, I think that I cannot possibly handle the prospect of not having you.”

“O— okay,” she managed. 

“Good girl,” he praised with a smirk, stepping between her legs, his hands on her knees. “Gonna make you feel good, baby.” He reached between them, gripping his dick and guiding it to her entrance, pressing against her.

Lea bit her lip, whimpering. “Please, Tim, I can’t—“

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he crooned gently, rubbing his cock up and down her folds teasingly. “Tell me what you want.”

Embarrassment gone, she begged, “Want it, want you, want you inside me—“

“Good girl,” he told her again before sliding into her.

She moaned, her head falling back against the glass of the window.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunted, pulling out briefly before slamming back in. 

He was looking down at her, and she marveled at how gorgeous he was; the city lights behind her were glinting off his jawline and cheekbones and those red fucking eyes—god, he was feeding from her again, he was feeding from her again—, and his hair hung in soaked curls, longer than it usually was so it nearly brushed his shoulders, water droplets falling from the tips of the strands and onto his bare skin.

It was looking at him, at how insanely, ridiculously, unfairly sexy he was, that caused a desperate, fervent need to touch him to overtake her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. He obliged, slanting his lips over hers with a startling amount of ferocity, but it was short-lived because then he was trailing kisses down the column of her throat before taking the tender skin between his teeth and sucking. 

Moaning, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and he groaned at the sound she’d made, thrusting in again. “Made for me,” he grunted against her damp skin. “This pussy was fuckin’ made for me.”

Her fingers tightened around his curls, holding him against her neck as he repeatedly kissed the bruise he’d given her. “Feels— feels good,” she gasped out, spreading her legs wider, wanting him to fuck her senseless, fuck her until she couldn’t walk or move or breathe.

Tim righted himself again, leaning his forehead against hers, his red eyes boring into hers, pinning her there against the window as if each snap of his hips didn’t have the same effect. “You like it?” he wanted to know, the words an exhalation brushing against her lips. “You like it when I fuck you?”

Nodding jerkily, Lea arched into his touch when he reached down to grasp one of her breasts, tugging sharply on the nipple. “I like it,” she admitted, her voice breathless. “God, please don’t stop—“

His hips jackhammered against her, and he slid one hand up to cup her neck, the one on her breast moving to grasp her hip so as to hold her in place. “No god here, baby,” he muttered, stroking her skin affectionately. “Just you and me.”

Something about this statement made her feel as if she had the sun inside her, starlight under her skin, and she wanted nothing more than to keep him there, to stay there with him, safe in his apartment, their own little world. Nothing existed outside of what they had together, outside of what he was giving her, of what she was giving him. It was just the two of them, and she felt as if as long as he was touching her, nothing else ever could.

It was quiet and unprompted when she gasped out, “I love you. I love you, Tim.”

The hand he had on her neck slid up to her cheek, and he leaned down, kissing her with desperation equal to that of his thrusts into her. “I love you, too,” he said against her lips, into her mouth. “More than anything. You’re everything, Lea. Everything.”

She could’ve sworn that the sun inside her shone through at that, and if anyone looked at her, they’d go blind from it. Instead of responding, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He let her, allowing her to kiss him as much as she wanted, returning her kiss with fervor. He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged on it lightly, making her moan and close her eyes.

“No,” he growled when he released her lip. “Look at me. Look at me. I want you to see who’s fucking you, who’s making you feel like this. I don’t want you to ever forget.”

Lea opened her eyes, difficult as it was, and gasped out, “Could never forget you. Love you too much and you feel too good, fuck but you feel so good—“

His lips quirked into a smile against hers. “Yeah?” He kissed her again, the hand on her hip tightening, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Feels good when I give it to you, baby?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered, undulating her hips as best she could despite being seated and pressed up against the window. “More, I want more, please.”

“Such a polite request,” he mused, leaning down to kiss the bruises he’d left on her throat. “You know I’d never refuse you, don’t you? My sweet girl, all mine.”

He gave a particularly harsh thrust at that, and she moaned loudly in delight, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “‘m yours,” she agreed immediately. “Yours, Tim, all yours— fuck—“

“Good girl,” he groaned, thrusting into her again. “Been waiting all my life for this, sweetheart, all my life for you, for your perfect little pussy, all for me, fuckin’ made for me, baby, made to take this cock.”

Something about what he was saying—babbling, if she were honest—made the heat that was already swirling in her abdomen to grow, intensifying further and spreading throughout her body, a tingling sensation that made her feel like she was burning, like there was fire beneath her skin, in her veins. She was made for him. She was his, she wanted to be his, to belong to him. How could she not, when belonging to him felt so good?

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “can I make you cum? I wanna make you cum. I can feel the way you’re clenching around me, I know you want it, I can tell, just let me—“

“Yes,” she cut him off without hesitation. “Yes, you can make me cum, yes yes yes yes yes—“

“Fuck,” Tim grunted, snaking a hand between them to where they were joined and finding her clit with practiced ease. He may not have had much experience with her body specifically, but he knew exactly what to do anyway, how to make her quiver and shake and scream. Plus, by the time he brushed his fingertips over her clit, she was so turned on—by the way he was fucking her, the way he looked when he fucked her, how he was looking at her, the things he said as he pounded into her relentlessly, everything—that his touch had her moaning loudly, her toes curling. She was already so fucking close and he’d barely started stimulating her. “So good for me, sweetheart,” he groaned in her ear. “Give me those pretty little noises, baby, c’mon. Wanna hear you say my name.”

“Tim,” she moaned desperately. “Oh fuck, Tim, I’m gonna— I’m—”

“That’s it,” he encouraged gently, rubbing her clit faster. “Give it to me, Lea. Cum on my cock, wanna feel it.” When she moaned wordlessly—though his name could probably be deciphered if one tried hard enough—and tightened her legs around his waist, her core clenched down on him, and then a few more swipes to her clit combined with punishing thrusts had her bursting apart at the seams.

He fucked her through her orgasm, his eyes such a bright shade of red they almost glowed. Still, once it had ended, he didn’t stop rubbing at her, instead growling into her neck, “I want another. Gimme another, sweetheart.”

Lea’s pulse was thrumming in her clit already, so it wasn’t exactly a difficult feat to manage. He kissed her neck wetly, murmuring words she couldn’t quite hear into her skin. She couldn’t seem to formulate any speech at all, only capable of desperate, high-pitched keens of, “Ah, ah, ah, unh—” over and over again until his touch sent her over the edge a second time.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he grunted. “So pretty when you fall apart, gonna fill you with my cum, Lea, fill this sweet little pussy up, love you so much, baby, so fuckin’ much, fuckin’ take it—”

She could do nothing but whimper and cling to him, yearning for him to cum inside her, to fill her exactly as he was promising to.

And then he did, release finding him with an almost pained-sounding moan of her name.

Her head was buzzing, her ears were ringing, and the room—the shower, they were still in the shower—was wobbling. So when he panted against her neck for a few minutes before pulling back to kiss her briefly and step away, she nearly collapsed to the marble tiles of the shower floor.

Tim caught her, pulling her close with one arm and reaching to turn the shower off with the other. “‘s okay, baby,” he murmured, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to her scalp. “Let’s get you back in bed, okay?”

“O— okay,” she mumbled, her voice sounding groggy even to her own ears.

Tim opened the shower door and grabbed a towel that was hanging on the rod and drying her off, having her lean against the wall as he did so.

Was sex always so exhausting, or was it just her? Maybe it was ‘cause she had no experience prior to him.

He hung the towel back up and took her hand again. “Do you want me to carry you, sweetheart?”

“No,” Lea assured him, horrified at the thought even through her exhaustion. “I can walk.”

“Okay,” he agreed, though he sounded a bit reluctant, “I’m gonna be right here, so fall against me if you need to.”

She hummed in acknowledgment as they made their way out of the bathroom and back to bed. He pulled the covers up over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m gonna go make you some food, okay?”

“Mmkay,” she mumbled.

And then she was dead to the world.

Tim’s sweet, gentle voice eased her into wakefulness.

“Lea, sweetheart,” he said, a hand on her shoulder.

“Mmf,” she grunted into the pillow.

“I brought you some food,” he told her. “An omelet with hashbrowns and bacon. Extra crispy, just how you like it.”

The guy knew her well, he really did. But she was so tired.

“You’ll feel much better after you eat,” he promised. “Cmon, baby. Will you sit up for me?”

She groaned, pushing herself up onto her palms. “There you go, sweetheart,” Tim encouraged. “God, you’re so cute when you’re tired.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be this tired,” she grumbled in annoyance, tucking the blankets under her arms so her chest was covered. “I just woke up a little while ago.”

Tim blushed, settling the tray of food in her lap. “It’s, uh… it’s an incubus thing. You’re tired because I’ve consumed your energy. I’m sorry. I’d avoid it if I could.”

“Oh,” Lea said with a hum, picking up her knife and fork. “It’s okay. If the consequence of you not starving is me being tired, I don’t mind.”

“You’re a fuckin’ saint,” he muttered, sitting down on the bed next to her.

She let out an inelegant snort. “You make me tired and then provide me with food. Not gonna complain about it.”

“I absolutely do not deserve you.”

Lea glanced up at him from her meal. “You literally brought me breakfast in bed.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Don’t care,” she cut him off. “You’re being sweet. No complaints.” She smiled softly at him in reassurance.

He took her hand, holding it tightly in his. “Okay.”

He didn’t let go of her hand the entire time she was eating.

No, really. She really hadn’t meant to stay so long. She’d ended up staying for a month and a half, though. But in her defense, Tim was really sexy, and he was being so wonderful to her, and she loved him so much.

It was hard to reconcile with the fact that all of it was temporary, that she’d have to return to her boring, shoebox apartment and her day job.

And then she missed her period.

But it was nothing to worry about, right? There was no reason for her to be concerned. She was on birth control, had been for years. She’d missed periods before, usually when she was stressed. It was probably the next semester looming over her head.

Tim was ordering some delivery from the grocery store—he rarely went out for such things himself; a privacy concern, he’d said—and asked her if she needed anything.

He knew what sort of food she liked, so that wasn’t a concern. However, even if her period was late, she’d definitely be getting it soon.

“Uh, yeah,” she told him when he asked what she needed. “Some tampons, I think.” She paused. “And some Midol. And a heating pad.”

He blinked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Uh… okay, but why?”

She looked at him skeptically. “Why do you think? I’m about to get my period. It’s a little late, so it should be coming any day now.”

He frowned outright at that. “Um, Lea. There’s a reason your period is late.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, hunting through the drawer in his closet he’d temporarily dedicated to her clothes for a fresh pair of panties. “Stress about school, most likely.”

“No,” he said slowly. “It likely won’t be coming at all.”

She paused, turning around to face him. “Why not?”

“Because… because you’re almost certainly pregnant.”

Tag list

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake

To be added, please ask 💗

[yandere-dandelion]

Hi, sorry for bothering you again but can you do yandere izuku reaction to reader escaping, please ?

It’s absolutely not a bother! Thank you for your request 💚

No smut in this one, gender-neutral reader

One of the best parts of Izuku’s day is coming home to you after a long day of hero work. Your beautiful face and sweet voice are a much-needed balm to his nerves and just thinking about it makes him calmer.

“Puppy! I’m home!”

Coming home to an empty house wasn’t alarming at first. Puzzling, yes, but not alarming. You must’ve just been hiding again!

At first, your hiding games were infuriating, but now Izuku enjoys them almost as much as you do. He enjoys the challenge, the suspense, the chase, and most of all, he enjoys catching you.

So, he’s not suspicious— at first.

But when he checked all of your usual hiding spots only to find them empty, he started getting nervous. What if someone took you from him?

“Puppy? Where are you? I want to see your pretty face!”

The police and heroes had given up looking for you months ago, and no one else was stupid enough to mess with him, but the possibility was still there. Did some villain take you to get revenge on him? See, that’s exactly why he brought you here— to keep you safe! The outside world is just too dangerous for someone like you. But now even his own home isn’t safe? He’d have to move somewhere better after he gets you back. The commute would be longer, but—

He’s overthinking again.

Izuku huffed out a laugh. His home was the safest place in the world for his puppy. It was practically a prison a fortress! No one would be able to take you from him. Even if they somehow managed it, they wouldn’t be able to keep you from him for long. He’d get you back no matter the cost.

“You’ve gotten better at hiding, puppy! Oh, you’re so smart! Where are you?”

Hours later, he’s turned the entire house upside down in his search for you. You’re nowhere to be found and he’s starting to get worried. “Puppy? This isn’t fun anymore! Where are you?”

What if you ran away? You can’t survive on your own! You could get hurt! The image of you, scared, hungry, and alone, sends him into a panic. He can’t live without you, and he knows you can’t live without him.

When he checks the cameras, he kicks himself for not realizing it sooner. You’d gotten out! He’d been too careless and you’d gotten out! Now you could be anywhere!

Izuku grabs his raincoat and a flashlight and rushes out the door.

“Don’t worry, puppy! I’m coming!”

—

Deku had taken care to ruin your entire life when he took you in.

Your home was gone. Supposedly, it was destroyed by villains, but you knew better.

You had no money. Deku had taken it so you would have no way of surviving on your own.

Your car had been impounded. Your train card had been confiscated. Your phone had been destroyed.

No one was looking for you anymore.

You had nothing and no one.

You were tired, cold, hurting, and soaked to the bone.

So, it was safe to say you were regretting your decision to leave.

With Deku, you had everything. Love, warmth, food, a roof over your head, someone to care for you.

You had everything except freedom.

But if freedom was found alone in an alleyway under a dark, stormy sky…

You didn’t want it.

It wasn’t worth it.

That’s why you’re almost happy to see your kidnapper walking into the alleyway where you hid.

“Pup?” Izuku calls softly, shining his flashlight on your makeshift shelter. “Is that you in there?”

You respond with a quiet, choked sob.

“Oh, puppy! Come here, let me hold you again.”

You comply, hobbling out of your lean-to and into his arms.

Izuku envelops you in a warm, tight, inescapable hug as you sob into his shoulder. “You’re freezing, puppy! And you’re covered in filth. And you’re bleeding! Oh, puppy… it’ll be okay. Let’s get you home.”

He strokes your hair and rubs your back as you cry. He gently rocks you and coos sweet nothings, and when your legs give out, he catches you with ease.

You spend the drive home in a drugged daze— Izuku had given you some “calm-down medicine” to dull the pain of what was likely a sprained ankle and keep you relaxed as he drove home.

As you sit silently beside him, Izuku chatters on about his day as if nothing had happened. You can barely process his words— they’re muffled, as if you’re underwater.

When he looks to you, seeing your uncomprehending expression, he smiles softly and pats your head. “You must be exhausted, poor thing. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you? It’s okay, just go to sleep. I’ll take care of you— I always will.”

You comply.

What else can you do?

When you wake up, it’s to Izuku placing you gently in bed. Did he carry you? He smiles, seeing your eyes open, and kisses your forehead. “There’s my puppy! Did you have a nice nap?” You open your mouth to speak, but he talks over you. “I bet you did. Now, you’re all covered in muck, so we’re going to have a nice, warm bath, and then we’ll fix up those scrapes of yours. I’ll go turn the water on, you just be a good puppy and stay right there, okay?”

It’s not as if you can do anything else.

When he comes back, you haven’t moved an inch. “Good puppy! Now, while the tub fills up, we need to have a talk. Why did you run? Did I do something wrong? Do you not like living with me?”

“You kidnapped me, Izuku.”

“I wouldn’t call it kidnapping. I rescued you!”

“From what?”

“The world, puppy! The world is so big and dangerous and you’re just so small and soft. I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

“People get hurt every day. You’re a hero, Deku, you should know that better than anyone. What makes me so different?”

He frowns, perplexed. “What do you mean, what makes you different? You’re special, puppy.” Then, his expression morphs into one of understanding. “Did you run because you think you’re not worthy of me?”

“That’s not what I—“

“Oh, puppy! It’s okay! I’ll just have to make you understand how amazing and special you are!”

Dammit, Izuku. He always twists your words, hearing what he wants to hear so the narrative he’s constructed won’t fall apart, so he’s never the one at fault.

But you’re too exhausted to protest. It’s not like he’ll listen anyway.

[forever-rogue]

Obvious

Summary | It’s so obvious, isn’t it? Maybe not to Bucky. But you’re going to make his first Father’s Day something to remember.

Pairing | Bucky x Pregnant!Reader

Word Count | 2.8k

Warnings | slight language, pregnant!reader, references to sex

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At first you were positive you’d eaten something off and were suffering from a mild case of food poisoning. With your luck, it wouldn’t have been the first time. But then it lasted for more than a few days...and then some more after that. After a couple of weeks of denying that it could be anything but a mild stomach bug, you came to the earth stopping conclusion that it was something different entirely. 

The signs were all there, and it wasn’t that you had been ignoring them but...you had been ignoring them. The idea that it could have possibly been anything but a stomach bug was terrifying. But there was only so much hiding you could do from Bucky before he came extremely concerned at the sight of you repeatedly hunched over the toilet. He insisted you go to the doctor and knowing him, if you didn’t comply, he’d throw you over his shoulder and take you himself. 

After a little white lie of saying you’d go right away, you’d sneaked off to the corner drug store in search of those dreaded pregnancy tests. Bucky was off doing whatever the hell it was he and Sam did half the time, so you had a few hours to yourself. You felt like a criminal as you bundled up in a hoodie of Bucky’s and looked around furtively as you grabbed one of each of the tests and took them to the counter to pay before practically running home. 

You felt so silly, so dumb as you had the six tests on the counter, while your phone slowly ticked down the time. All the signs were there - how could you have ignored them? The missed period - wait, was it two? You’d been so bad about tracking them, you honestly didn’t even know. The morning sickness, apparently not food poisoning, the extra sensitive breasts, the fatigue. It all seemed so obvious now. 

You sighed as your timer went off and looked at the various tests. 

They only confirmed what you had already accepted. Pregnant. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You felt like you were floating on air as you walked out of the doctor’s office with some of the grainiest photos you had ever seen. But the only thing that mattered was the small little bean that you could clearly make out in the middle of them. Your little bean - yours and Bucky’s. Your baby.

It’d been a week since you’d taken the tests and made your little discovery. After that it had become a little game of hiding it all from Bucky - you wanted to tell him and soon, but you wanted to surprise him at the perfect time. You knew he’d be over the moon about it all. You’d talked about children, and it had been decided, especially since you’d been together for a few years now, that if it happened it happened when it would happen. But you just knew he wanted this - and honestly, so did you. Despite the extreme nerves it had set upon you.

So, you decided to play a little game with Bucky to see if and when he finally realized you were pregnant. Hopefully it’d be before you were showing - he wasn’t that blind after all. But you were going to have fun with this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey Buck,” you were sprawled on the couch, resting your head in his lap as the two of you watched a movie on Netflix. It had been a long day and there was nothing you wanted more than a quiet evening in - this was nothing short of pure bliss. He made a small sound of acknowledgment as he gently played with your hair, silently telling you to go on, “what do you think you’d want to name our baby? Boy or girl?”

Sure, it was anything but subtle, but the way you had been resting your hand on your belly wasn’t either. And he hadn’t caught onto that either. 

“Hmm, I’ve never really thought that much about it,” he mused as he looked down at you and offered you a soft smile. You grinned back at him as you grabbed his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, “I like...and don’t laugh at me - the idea of naming a son Steve. Maybe a daughter Rebecca or Sarah.”

“Bucky,” you could see that despite his seemingly disinterested attitude, he had actually given this a lot of thought. You knew they were so much more than just names,”those are lovely names. I think any one of those would be a lovely name for our baby.”

“Yeah?” he asked, almost timidly as you reached up and touched his cheek, running your fingers over his stubble as you nodded. He practically keened into your warm, gentle touch as his eyes closed, “I love you.”

“I love you too, bub,” you whispered as he pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand, “let’s get to bed, huh? It’s getting late and I’ve just been so incredibly tired lately.”

“Come on,” he slowly ushered you up and off his lap before standing and stretching. You couldn’t help but admire him as a rush of love overwhelmed you. You really loved him more than anything - well him and your small bean now. Bucky effortlessly leaned over and scooped you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest as he walked towards the bedroom, “you’re so beautiful.”

“You’re not bad yourself, Sarge,” you grinned as you rested your head against his shoulder, “but I almost feel like I’ve just got this...glow lately ya know?”

“You always do,” he promised with a kiss to the top of your head as you almost burst out laughing. So many not-so-subtle-hints and he still didn’t catch on. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Bub? You in the kitchen?” you called from the bedroom, knowing damn well he was there, finishing up a big weekend breakfast for the two of you. You tip-toed out of the bedroom, pulling on your - his - shirt to indulge in a lazy Sunday. 

“I’m in here, sweetheart,” he looked up and smiled softly as soon as you came into view. He still looked at you as though you had personally hung the stars and moon, like he was still in the process of falling in love with you every single day, “hi.”

“Hi,” you walked over to him and motioned behind, “can you do me a huge favor and get me a glass of water and my vitamins? I left them on the counter.”

“So demanding,” you both were aware of the fact that he’d never say no to you. You took a seat at the bar, hopping onto your stool as you swung your legs back and forth and waited for him to either realize what was going on, or make some sort of joke. But instead he hummed some tune under his breath as he set a glass of water in front of you and grabbed your vitamins. 

The man, this silly, lovely man, picked up the bottle of prenatal vitamins, opened them, and handed two of them to you before following up with your other supplements. Your mouth hung open as you looked at him in awe - you’d literally put it all in front of his nose and he still didn’t catch on. 

Goodness Gracious.

“There you are, pretty girl,” he leaned over and kissed you gently before turning back to the stove. You watched him with a dumbfounded expression but slowly  grabbed your water and vitamins and downed them, “anything you want do today?”

Alright. You were willing to push a little further and see if he finally caught on.

“There’s a new store that opened up downtown,” you said noncommittally, “they umm...have a lot of baby and kid stuff and I wanted to go ahead and check it out.”

“Sure thing,” nope. Apparently you were going to have to hit over the head with a two by four, “sounds good. We’ll go after breakfast?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, shaking your head in amusement, “sounds good to me too, bub.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been almost a month of dropping hint after hint, and they had been becoming increasingly less subtle. You were pretty sure that you could have just straight up told him you were pregnant at this point and he still wouldn’t have gotten it. 

But you had one last little idea - Father’s Day had come around and you were going to make sure his first father’s day was special. Maybe it was silly to celebrate when the baby wasn’t even born yet, but you didn’t care - you just wanted to finally tell him. 

The evening before Father’s Day, you’d let Bucky go to bed first, telling him you were just going to be a little longer, needing to finish up some work. He believed it hook, line, and sinker, and told you to join him soon. Once he was snoring soundly, asleep on his back with the gold and black vibranium arm splayed over your side of bed, you pulled out all the supplies you’d gotten. 

You made quick - and quiet - work of blowing up multicolored balloons and throwing some confetti around. You’d regret it later but the surprise would be worth it. Once you were satisfied, you grabbed the newest sonograms you’d gotten at the doctor the day before and tucked them into the envelope along with the card you’d picked out. After writing on the card, you sealed the envelope and on the front side simply wrote Happy Father’s Day. 

On the back, knowing how Bucky was, you scrolled one more little note. You left it all on the counter, along with the box of cupcakes you’d snagged from his favorite bakery, ready for him to discover in the morning. He’d be up before, and he’d have the little surprise to wake up to. 

Hopefully this time the message was loud and clear.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bucky stifled a yawn as he slowly crawled out of the bed, stretching his stiff limbs. You were still all bundled up and lightly snoring with a little smile on your face. He reached down and gently brushed a lock of hair out of your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

Slowly making his way down the hall, a confused expression crossed his features as he noticed the glittering confetti on the floor. How strange.

But as he walked into the living room and saw the ballrooms all over the place he was visibly confused. What on earth was going on? He picked one that was close to his foot up and played with it for a moment before lightly smacking it across the room. He perked up when he saw the colorful box on the counter, a clear giveaway that it was from his favorite place.

Shuffling across the room, he was ready to throw open the box and indulge in an early morning sweet treat when he was stopped by the card on top. He picked it up and instantly recognized your handwriting. Happy Father’s Day!

It must have been for your father...maybe this all was for him and your parents were coming over and he’d somehow managed to forget about it all. He would definitely hear about that later on from you. Shit. 

No...he surely would have remembered that. He was old but his memory was still sharp. He felt the envelope beneath his fingers, noting that it was slightly thicker than a normal card. Curious. He flipped it over and his heart almost stopped when he saw what you had written on the flap.

Yes. This is really for you, James.

James. That’s how you knew you were being serious. 

His heart felt like it was almost bursting out of his chest as he slowly slid a vibranium finger underneath the seal, careful to prevent any rips or tears. After what seemed like a millennia, he opened the thing and pulled out the card, along with the sheet of photos. 

Bucky’s mouth fell open and formed a small o as he looked as he read over your sweet message in the card. Once he studied the grainy photos and realized that holy shit, this was your baby - his baby. You were having a baby! He inhaled - a shaky broken little thing as he fought back a few tears. After all this time, he was getting something he thought would only be a dream. 

“Surprise,” you whispered so you wouldn’t completely scare him. You’d woken up a few moments after him, already missing his body and warmth as soon as he had left. You had tip-toed after him and watched him finally realize what you had been dropping hints about for almost a month. His reaction had been everything, priceless. 

“Sweetheart…” he looked between you and grainy photos in his hand, his blue eyes gentle and glossy as you walked over to him, “we’re having a baby?”

“Yeah, bub, we are,” you promised, feeling tears well up in your own eyes as you carded a hand through his soft hair, “I’ve been trying to tell you for like a month. But you, sir, do not pick up on anything. Baby names? Prenatals...the baby store? The continued morning sickness. For a moment I thought I’d have to have the baby before you realized what was going on. I wasn’t being subtle anymore.”

“Oh...oh,” he said as a dark pink blush crept into his cheeks, “okay now it all seems so clear. I guess I...man, I’m blind.”

“Yeah, old man,” you teased softly, “turns out that food poisoning was never food poisoning at all. It was morning sickness.”

“Shit,” he was incredulous, “a baby. I can’t believe it...how far along are you?”

“Almost twelve weeks at this point,” you laughed, “I was wondering if you’d realize before I started to show.”

His hands found your hips as he played with the hem of your sweater before slowly pushing it up. A warm, gentle touch found your belly as he leaned in and brushed his lips over yours, offering you the sweetest kiss, “thank you.”

“For what?” you eagerly accepted his kiss and offered him a few more. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling you into his body and holding you close to him. Soon it would be a very different type of closeness. 

“For you,” he whispered, “for this...us - our family. I...it’s just that I never thought I would be good enough for all of this.”

“Of course you are, Bucky,” you promised softly, reaching up and touching his cheek, “you are a good man. You are. I love you so much, more than anything in this world. You are worthy of this, you have always been worthy. I will gladly spend every day of my life showing you that if I have to.”

“I love you,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“I love you too,” you beamed, “now, how about you eat a cupcake and I’ll start breakfast. Then we can start telling everyone that you knocked me up!”

“It sounds so dirty when you put it like that - I like it. I’m sure we had fun doing it too,” he snorted as he opened the box of cupcakes, grinning when he saw that they too proclaimed Happy Father’s Day. 

“What makes you think that, old man?�� you bumped his hips with yours as you opened the fridge to get the ingredients for some omelets.

“Because we always have fun.”

“Cheeky!”

“Well, it’s not like it’s a lie,” He grabbed one and took a bite before offering you a taste, but you shook your head, “no?”

“It’s not me,” you insisted, pointing at the tiny swell that was slowly becoming evident, “the bean doesn’t seem to like sweets very much. At least not right now.”

“More for me,” he grinned as he pumped his fist in victory, causing you to dramatically roll your eyes before laughing, “hopefully the bean will be nice soon and let you partake. Oh…”

“Oh?”

“We have so much to do,” reality suddenly hit as his eyes widened and you laughed, “we’ll have to set up the spare room as the nursery. Your doctor’s visits - I want to come of course, and then all the stuff we’ll need when the they come-”

“James,” you put a finger to his lips as you quietly shushed him, “relax, bub. Breathe - we have plenty of time. There’s no reason to panic...today we’ll be lazy and relax, tomorrow we can figure everything out. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he visibly calmed down as you grounded him - just like you always did, “we’ll figure it out. We can do this.”

“Yeah, we can,” you agreed softly as he took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze before kissing it. Gods, you really loved him more than anything, “Happy Father’s Day, Bucky.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[therealpussybangs]

When you figure out they cheated pt. 1

A/n: Tw- ANGSTY ANGST ANGST, swearing, yelling, crying, fighting, cheating

Tooru Oikawa 

You had just gotten home from a week long trip with your best friends, and all you wanted to do was cuddle up with your gorgeous boyfriend. He had just hopped out of the shower and was changing when he asked you to grab him his phone from off the dresser. But when you picked it up, there were three missed messages and one missed call from a number you didn’t recognize. You asked Tooru if you could read them, and he of course said yes. 

“Hey I had a lot of fun last night!”

“Wanna meet up again sometime??”

“I really enjoyed myself, “Mr. Bedbreaker””

Your eyes fill with tears as you continue reading, and as you get down to the last notification, you see a voicemail. You were about to click on it when your soon to be ex-boyfriend walks out of the closet.                                                   “Babe? Why are you crying?!” he asks, full of concern and worry. But he doesn’t have time to pull you into his arms because you are already brushing passed him into the closet. Oikawa reaches down to grab his phone when he sees the open notifications.                                                                                  “Shit...” How could he have been so careless...He wanted nothing more than to hear your distant sobs stop, to cradle you and tell you it meant nothing..but he was frozen. Frozen by fear. Frozen by self-hatred. Self-hatred for hurting you, and self-hatred for the fact that he too...enjoyed last night’s activities. 

Oikawa was feeling rather lonely and wanted to go out for a bit before you got home. So he decided he wanted to go to the bar. Bad idea. He ended up in some gorgeous girl’s bed the next morning, instead of waiting patiently for you to come home. He at first thought you would never know and life would go on, but as the hours past after he left the woman’s house, the guilt started to pool at the bottom of his stomach, making him feel sick.

He slowly padded into the closet where you sat crying, packing your things.       “Baby please don’t leave...please i beg you,,we can work past this I can-” You cut him off mid-sentence, already having enough of his pleas.                            “You did this you yourself Oikawa, you can’t do anything now. We’re over, I’ll have my brother come and grab the rest of my shit tomorrow.” Sobs wrack his body as regret swims in his desperate eyes. “Please don’t call me that- i’m your Tooru, your baby, your lovebug! A-and don’t say that either, we can move past this talk through it! it meant nothing I- I love you and you only.!!” He started grabbing onto your shoulders almost more to keep him steady on his feet rather than him trying to get you to stay. You shrug him off however, and walk away only stopping at the door. “Please don’t contact me again, I don’t ever want to see you again.” He rushes to your side and says “baby...please anything just stay...I love you so much”                                                                “Then why...why’d you do it...was I not enough?? Was I not pretty enough..not skinny enough..?” He looks at you with stress written on his face, and as he looks into your broken eyes, he knows exactly what he’s losing, and he hates it. “No baby...god no, you’re perfect, beautiful, it was a mistake!” You shake your head and walk out the door, before you close it you say “ 

That was the last thing you ever said to him. And that was the last time he ever saw you...until about 6 years later when he saw you holding the hand of an infant, and wiping the ice cream off the child’s face. He was going to walk over there and explain how much he’s changed, until he saw a handsome man walk up to you, kiss your temple and pick up his daughter. Your daughter. 

It’s funny how quickly someone’s life can change, the unfunny part is the way in which it changes.

Suna Rintaro

Suna had just gotten back from an extra long day at work, and you know something was up the moment he came through the door. He was so far gone, drunk, high, all things bad. You wanted to ask what was up but when you went in for a hug another girl came through the door.                                                  

 “Babe, whose this girl in your house..?” She slurred her words, unable to even keep herself up straight. That’s when you realized he wasn’t drunk, or high at all, the smell was coming from that awful woman. You’d almost wanted him to be wasted. Then he wouldn’t have that horrified look on his face. A face of regret, horror, and he looked like he was going to be sick. The girl turned around and asked you “So, who are you, bitch?” 

You lost it. You broke down, crying, glaring at Suna, slowly backing away from him. “Baby, please I-” You just shook your head and walked into your room, sobbing. He explained to the woman standing at the door that you were in fact, his fiance. She widened her eyes and started screaming at him. Little did he know, you were already packing your things. When Suna walks into the closet, he panics. “Baby please don’t leave I can explain I’m so sorry I love you so much-” You shake your head and look down. “Was I not good enough....”

He just wants to hug you. Tell you it’s going to be alright. That he loves you so much, but to his horror, you flinch away. You start sobbing and screaming about how he brought another woman into your shared home. He starts crying and hiccuping, apologies and “She meant nothing!”’s stringing out of him. You eventually finish packing, and he grabs onto you. “PLEASE DON’T LEAVE I LOVE YOU I’M SO SORRY” he screams, trying to keep you there. He needed you. 

He needed your good morning kisses, the goodnight cuddles, the ‘I love you’s”, the delicious meals you cook and the encouragement you gave. You were walking towards the front door and you said, “the damage is done Suna, I trusted you and you brought another woman home, I’m sorry I loved you, and I’m sorry I wasted my time building a relationship with you.’ his eyes shot wide open and he knew, he was done for, and he didn’t have anything to do about it.

What happened to being your “Rinnie” “Rin” or “Taro”?? He always loved those nicknames you gave him even tho he always said they were stupid. “Please baby...” His voice was so quiet and scared you almost gave into the urge to kiss him on the forehead and hug him and tell him it’s okay. But you didn’t. You left and told him you never wanted him to contact you again. “I’m sorry Suna, goodbye” you said, the both of you crying now, him in worse shape than you.

You trusted him.

You loved him

But that’s okay, because it’s been 5 years, so it’s all past-tense.You Trusted, loved him. All in the past. You love someone else now, and you deserve that persons’s love just as much as they deserve yours. You learned your worth, and you learned that you deserve happiness. 

And now you’re okay.

[sugako]

my roommate’s toys

kuroo x f!reader

sum: after listening to you, his roommate, get off on her toys most nights kuroo comes home early to accidentally find you when you weren’t expecting

cw: 18+ mdni, nsfw, smut, slight voyeurism (dub/non-con, kuroo listening to you masturbate), mentions of male masturbation, female masturbation, toy use (dildo, vibrator), oral (receiving), size kink, creampie, some aftercare, roommates to lovers

wc: 2.4k 

a/n: i just had a teeny tiny thot and suddenly it was like 5 pages long, but mostly all just pure smut 

If by some miracle you had been able to hear the front door open, you still probably wouldn’t have stopped. You knew he might be home late. That was what he said at least the night before, work was busy and he might be home late. Might, in your opinion, was a strong word that turned out to be a complete, accidental lie. 

Kuroo really had thought he was going to be home a little later than usual, only telling you because he knew you wanted to watch some movie with him that night. Instead, he got even his extra work done all before he had to punch out. When he walked in, the house was a little quieter than normal. You weren’t in the main room of the apartment, the television wasn’t on, the shower wasn’t running, there was nothing for only a moment. The second he got his shoes off he heard you. 

Pitchy moans barely quieted by the thin walls of the apartment hung heavy in the air. This wasn’t the first time he had heard you, of course. Sometimes late at night or in the bright hours of the morning, he would hear your quick breaths, muted vibrations, and occasional wet slaps. His hand would snake down to hold onto his remarkably hard erection, driven solely by the thought of you. The first time he had regretted it, felt awful after he came all over his stomach to the sounds of your sighs, but now it felt like part of his routine. 

Now felt different. He longed to hear you and see you, to really see you. It would be an accident, he decided, feet already padding toward your door. Ever so slowly, he dragged a knuckle down the surface just above the handle, but the subtle noise didn’t alert you. 

He had said “might”, which you had taken as “would definitely”. This was why you were backed up against the wall above your headboardless bed with a dildo hilted in you, rocking back and forth on it, grappling for your vibrator, knowing you needed to finish soon before he got back. 

“Hey, I saw-!” His voice cut off at the sight before him, so much more than he had imagined. Parallel to his frame of vision, he got the perfect view of you being split open by a dildo suctioned to the wall behind you. It was a light pink, almost clear, completely coated in your slick. 

The moment was extremely brief as, within the next tenth of a second, you rushed to cover up with a blanket, kneeling with your back flush to the wall. The blanket you had recklessly tossed over yourself barely covered your back or ass, but it was worth the try. 

“Tetsurō!” You squealed, motioning to the door. He was motionless, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “What are you doing?! Go!” Your entire body burned in pure shame and embarrassment, completely unable to look at him but knowing he was still right there. 

“I… what if…” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. He had practiced these silly cliche words time and time again in his head, always imagining it would come down to this, but not knowing his dream would turn into reality tonight. “I can help you.” He said with as much cool confidence as he could muster. 

“That’s not funny. Just… just go so we can pretend this never happened.” You stumbled over your words, tears welling up in your eyes as you tried to imagine this wasn’t real. He took careful note of how you were trembling, nerves melting away.

“I’m not joking.” He said evenly. “I hear you all the time and now I come home to you basically screaming while you fuck yourself on a dumb, little toy. I want to help you.” 

Finally, you looked at him again. His eyes were hardened, stuck exactly on you with a steely expression. Your chest heaved a little faster and you were suddenly acutely aware of how naked you were under the plush blanket and the toy still tucked inside of you. 

It wasn’t difficult to admit to yourself that he was handsome and you had certainly thought of him other than a roommate in the past. The words were stuck in the back of your throat like putty, “Um, I…” 

“Yes or no?” He kept his eyes straight on you, never wavering. The answer was simple you just had to get it out. 

“Yes.” You finally said with a small nod. Kuroo couldn’t begin to hold back his small grin as he closed the door behind himself and advanced toward the bed. It dipped with his weight when he sat on the edge, forcing you to shift around the toy. 

“Why don’t you start with taking that blanket off?” He trailed the back of his hand down your cheek, watching your teary eyes clear up as they filled with want rather than embarrassment. 

“Yeah, just let me,” you gulped, trying not to wince while you pulled yourself off the fake cock. 

His throat went dry when he realized what you had just done. Before the blanket could slip past your shoulders, he grabbed you and forced his lips against yours. It felt so natural, you cursed yourself for not having tried anything months ago. Tongues met each other in a messy, impassioned war, that you ultimately just let him win for the sake of his ego. 

When he leaned you back on the bed, you had almost forgotten all about the toy still suctioned to the wall until it bumped the back of your head. Kuroo held back a chuckle but pulled it off the wall anyhow. You opened your mouth to tell him where to put it, quickly stopped by the cool, damp tip pressing against your lips. 

“Think of this as a warm-up before the better and bigger things.” He purred while he pressed it deeper and deeper into your mouth, watching the pink plastic slip inch by inch into your mouth. Sucking lightly, you cleaned it, greedily tasting yourself, while he slowly and shallowly pumped it and out of your lips. 

At last, when he pulled it away and saw the pornographic string of spit that connected your lolled, panting tongue to the narrow tip, he thought he was going to lose it. The next words you said didn’t help either. 

“Bigger?” You whined quietly, concern and excitement etched onto your face. Groaning into your neck, he carefully tossed the toy toward the bottom of the bed. 

“I’d say so, but you can be the judge.” Needing to unbutton his pants to relieve some pressure, he sat back up, making sure to pull the blanket completely off of you. “At least you’re a little prepped, but I think I can do more.” 

In less than a moment, he had slinked between your legs, spreading your thighs wide with your knees draped over his broad shoulders. The first, hurried lap against your folds made you twitch against him involuntarily. Your hands immediately found his messy hair and grabbed on to steady yourself as he found your clit. 

“Mmhm, you sound better in person than you do behind a wall.” He mumbled against you before he went back to lapping you up. 

“Why…ah, why were you listening?” Too blissed out to feel embarrassed anymore, you barely felt a twinge of shame at his comment. 

“Wasn’t listening, you’re just too fucking loud. And these walls are thin.” Kuroo rolled his eyes, trying to keep his focus all on how you were squirming under him, hips bucking against his face as you chased release. 

Eyebrows knit, you tug a little harder on his hair, forcing a deep groan out of his that vibrates against you. “Should’ve told me,” you gasp when he gives your clit a hard suck, “told me before.” 

“And not get this show?” Is the last quip he mutters back at you before his tongue flashes across your clit, forcing the growing coil in the pit of your stomach to snap. Completely out of your control, your hips grind and tremor against his face even though he has a tight hold of your legs. 

While you struggle to recuperate under his, he’s tearing away the layers he still has on. His tie is somewhere near your side, button-up tossed on the floor, pants and boxers shucked to the foot of the bed, threatening to slide off. Blinking away the haze, you finally get a good look at him. The look is more than good. 

Your eyes rake down his build, slim but obviously very fit for someone who works in an office. It’s obvious that you’re not being conspicuous, but you can’t help it, especially not when he was being honest about his ‘warm-up’ comment. 

“My eyes are up here,” he chuckles before engulfing you and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “How do you want me?” 

“Huh?” 

“This is all for you, so how do you want me? Want me to fuck you like this?” His eyes flickered up and down your close bodies. “Or do you want to be on top? I could pick you up. Maybe from behind like you had that dumb, little toy stuffed in you?” He watches as your breath silently hitches at the last comment. “Tell me.” 

“Y-yeah, want you, um, behind.” You choke out, feeling his hard cock brush against your thigh as he sits back on his heels again. Before he can instruct you, you’re already on your hands and knees, chest pressed into the mattress. 

He’s glad you can’t see the way he slowly blinks at the sight of your pretty ass and the curve of your back. It almost doesn’t feel real. His perfect, cute roommate all splayed out, drooling cunt exposed and begging to be fucked by him.

Soothing a hand over your lower back, he pulls you back by the hips to line himself up, eliciting a little squeak from you as you’re jostled across the blankets. He presses his tip to your entrance, fingertips digging into your ass, as he slowly presses himself in. When he hears you whimper, clenching around him when he’s only halfway in, he pauses, letting you settle. 

“Shh, it’s okay, you can do this. Relax.” He grunts, gently easing in another slow inch. 

You’re so wet you’re already dripping cum along your thighs and down onto the sheets, but it isn’t enough to quell the stretch he gives you. 

“Just so big,” you cry, trying to focus on relaxing while he splits you open. “Feels so good though.” 

“I know, I know.” 

He’s grateful that you’re holding your body so well, otherwise, he was worried he might just collapse on top of you now. Finally, he’s bottomed out, heavy balls resting against the top of your plush thighs. 

“Please…” You sputter out, gently moving your hips back against his. “Want you to fuck me hard, please, Tetsu.” 

He can’t say no to that. He also can’t say much of anything, transfixed on the way you’re creaming around his cock, pretty white ring already settled around his base before he gets more than three strokes in. The first few times he thrusts against you are light, he’s still easing you in, but by the fifth or sixth he’s slamming against you and picking up speed with each second that passes. 

You’re whimpering and moaning in the sheets, going slack as his hands work in tandem with his hips to pull you off of him and bring you right back so he can slam in even harder. The front of his thighs slap against your ass, the smack echoing in the room along with the slick squelches from where your bodies meet one another. 

“Like being fucked by a real cock?” He grunts out, hands grappling through the sheets for something he saw earlier.

“So good, yeah,” you whine, words barely stringing into a coherent sentence. “A lot better.” 

“Wanna cum on a real cock?” 

The loud whir of your vibrator makes you clench around him and whimper out some more nonsense. “Ye-eah, wanna cum. Wanna cum on your cock. Want you to cum in me.” 

His entire body flares at your words, but he keeps up his bruising pace and reaches around to press the vibe to your swollen clit. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up with everything I have, baby. You just gotta cum first.”

The latter part is easy. Already so sensitive and so full now, the vibrator makes easy work of you, forcing you up and over that ledge once again. Your pussy flutters around his length, holding on so hard it nearly forces him to still, but he pushes through. He turns the vibe off, letting you settle before he really starts pounding into you, so close to his own release.  

Your torso is slack, hips only held up by pure will and his hands that drag you along his cock like a ragdoll. A slurred string of praises to him, how good he feels, how good you feel drip out of your mouth like honey. You’re not even sure if he can really hear you, but you keep going until you feel him twitch inside of you and hold your ass flush to himself before strings of his cum splatter against your insides.

There’s so much filling you up, you feel hot, sticky drips trail down the inside of your thigh. Kuroo, a panting, flushed mess behind you, watches when he slips his softening cock out of you and his white cum slowly leaks from your still quivering entrance. 

Daze finally breaking, he reaches up and grabs some tissues beside your bed and gives you a rough clean-up before he does himself, throwing the messy tissue toward the small bin in the corner of your room. 

You let yourself fall to your stomach, lazily rolling over and pulling the blanket over your chin, motioning for him to get under as well. He complies, with a small, goofy grin, and snuggles close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hoist you closer. 

“Good?” He asks quietly. 

“Very good.” You grin, taking his face in your hands to push his stray hairs out of his eyes before you press a kiss to his forehead. 

[manonblaqkbeak]

Worth It

Hello, I’m back for Day 3, a secret relationship. I’m so happy that you guys liked the first prompt, despite the angst lol. This one here isn’t angsty at all, there’s my usual favoured fluff involved, with some Serious Conversations.

Anyway, enjoy!! :)

1.9k words

cw: none

Aelin's mind was buzzing, torn between happiness and nervousness. That was all she could feel ever since the pregnancy test revealed the positive sign over an hour ago and she had just been staring at it since then, wearing nothing but her underwear and one of her favourite hoodies that she had stolen from Rowan long ago.

She and Rowan had talked about children, but had decided that it would be best to have them once things weren't so...complicated. When Aelin would get another job, because all over Rifthold, secretary positions were being offered, but no positions in Rowan's level were being offered.

Because Rowan was her boss, and she was his secretary. And at Havilliard Accounting Firm, office relationships were off the table. If anyone was found out to be in a relationship, it was straight to the HR office for a scolding and a firing; and that the was the absolute last thing that either of them wanted, and since Rowan was her superior, she feared of what would happen to him. Their relationship was equal, there was no manipulation from either side, both of them wanted the relationship and so they decided to be in one.

So Rowan and Aelin dated in secret, keeping their romantic and personal lives out of their professional lives. Which was hard at times, considering that they lived together, and sometimes it was hard to keep a straight face when an unresolved argument was hovering above them, so they had to repeat to themselves about professionalism and boundaries until it was time to go home and fix what problem they were facing at that time.

Aelin hated it, and so did Rowan. It made them feel dirty, like there was something wrong between them, when that was the furthest thing from the truth. When Aelin had first started on the job, she didn't think that she would be with Rowan—honestly, she thought that he was a bit of a bastard, but she got to know him, and found that they had many things in common, and slowly, so slowly, Aelin started to see Rowan in a different light, and when she looked back at that time, she came to the realisation that Rowan had felt the same, that the look he held in his eyes for her were the same as back then.

And once that shared attraction made its appearance, they had fought their feelings for so long, up until a year and a half ago when they had ran into each other at the State Museum on the weekend, had lunch together at the museum cafe and things just went from there.

They made it work, despite the secrecy of it all. Only a few of their friends knew and they promised to keep it to themselves. Absolutely none of the few Whitethorn cousins that worked in the same building knew, as they were complete busybodies and would tell everyone, not at all caring about the circumstances.

None of Aelin's work friends knew either. All they knew was that she was single and not looking for a relationship, that she was focusing on herself before she made any commitments; Rowan had told his work friends something similar.

At first, the secrecy of it all was exciting, like something straight out of the romance novels she adored, but a year and a half later, when they talked about marriage and Aelin had even told him the type of engagement ring she would like, it was becoming tiresome. Aelin just wanted the whole world to know of her love with Rowan, but so far, that was not to be.

Sighing, she wondered back to the now. She supposed she could say that it was the result of a one night stand, but it felt cruel to reduce Rowan to nothing as if was a stranger she fell into bed with and was nothing but a quick fuck after one too many drinks.

Besides, once she had the baby, it would be obvious who the father was. Silver hair and green eyes were dominate in the Whitethorn family, and the chances of her having a silver-haired, green-eyed child was high—it wouldn't take more than two seconds to figure out who the father was, especially if the child inherited Rowan's tanned skin and straight nose.

If the child inherited Aelin's fair skin, her ocean blue eyes, and button nose, however, it might be easier to come up with some story about how someone in Aelin's family had silver hair.

But Aelin didn't want to lie. Didn't want to pass off their child as someone else's.

According to the test, she was seven weeks along, and she was all ready exhausted.

The jingle of keys had Aelin's head snapping up from her seat in the living room, the pregnancy test heavy in her hand.

It was time to tell him. She had to leave work two hours into the day when she was overcome with nausea, and he had kept it professional when he wished her well, but she spotted in the concern in his eyes as he silently asked her if she was okay. Later on, he had texted her, asking if she needed anything from the shops, but she didn't.

Aelin told him she was fine, but now...now she was nervous. Not at all because of Rowan's reaction, but just because of their damned circumstances.

She had never hated the secrecy more until now.

But Aelin made herself smile as he made his way over to her, kissing her on the forehead and asking if she was okay again, once more asking her if she needed him to get her anything. Taking a deep breath, and telling herself that everything would be okay, she clutched the stick in her hand and told him to sit down. He did, his brows furrowed as he looked at her.

Wordlessly, Aelin handed over the test. Rowan took it from her outstretched hand, his eyes wide as he glanced at her, to the test, and then back to her.

“You're pregnant?” he asked, his voice a breathless rush.

Aelin could only nod.

“Fireheart, that's...” he trailed off, Aelin's heart near bursting out of her chest as she waited for his next words, she knew that they'd be positive, but still. Rowan smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing Aelin had ever witnessed. “This is amazing.”

“It is?” The words fell out of her mouth of their own accord. Clearly, she wasn't listening to herself.

Rowan sensed her unease and took her hands in his own, kissing her knuckles as he did. “I know that we've talked about having children later on, but I couldn't be more happy.”

Nodding, Aelin took a deep breath. She was excited too, despite everything. Which was why she said, without a hint of doubt, “I'll hand in my two week notice once I pass the first trimester.”

“Fireheart, I can't ask you to do that,” Rowan said, clutching her hand. “I'll ask for a transfer, and you can stay until you go on maternity leave, and if you still want to quit afterwards and look for work elsewhere, then I'll help you, but you've worked too hard to quit now.”

“Everyone thinks I'm single, Rowan, and I don't want to come up with a horrid about one night stands. We're all ready lying, and I don't want to add more to the pile.”

“The transfer—” Rowan started, but Aelin cut him off.

“You'll just be in a different building, but the company policies will still stand. I know what you're thinking, that in the future I'll resent you and that I'll blame you for making me quit, but I won't. I'm sick of lying, and I know you are too—it's been a year and a half of lies, and with this child are we going to extend that lie for another eighteen years? What if the child is a carbon copy of you? Then all the lies will blow up in our faces. I know you don't think it is, but this is the best option.” Part of her did want to stay, to utilise her maternity leave, but Rowan could be fussy, especially when she wasn't feeling well and if Rowan started fussing over his pregnant secretary then the questions would start flying.

Rowan sighed and was quiet for a long while. “I'm sorry,” he said eventually, “about the lying. I wish it didn't have to be like this. I wish that you didn't think you had to quit, but I understand why.” Again, he hated the whole expandable aspect of it all—but annoyingly, it made more financial sense for Rowan to stay and for Aelin to leave.

Rowan really did hate it, but Aelin had clearly made up her mind, and would not change her mind, she was stubborn.

“I know, but Rowan, I don't regret being with you, not for a moment. I just want to start this journey on a more joyful road. I love you, to whatever end.”

Rowan smiled softly at her, his worries easing away just a little bit at their words—their promise to each other. “To whatever end. We'll figure it out.”

“We will.” Deciding that she wanted to be wrapped in his arms, Aelin snuggled against him, breathing in his pine and snow scent, she was close to drifting off, when Rowan cleared his throat. Glancing up at him, he had a smile on his face, and an unreadable look in his eyes. “What?”

“I suppose now would be a horrible time to propose?”

Sitting back in a blink of an eye, Aelin crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “Rowan Whitethorn, if you propose to me while I'm wearing this shitty old hoodie, I swear to the gods, I will singe off your eyebrows right now.”

“So that's a no?” He asked, his lips twitching, eyes swimming with barely concealed mirth at her. Her own lips wanted to rise in a smile, but she slammed it down.

“It's a no for now. I want to be wearing a nice dress, eating good food—but not in a crowd, you know I hate crowd proposals—with a pretty view—”

“I thought that I was the pretty view?” Rowan interrupted, laughing at the glare Aelin sent his way.

“And I forgot the rest of what I was going to say, but I am not being proposed to on a sofa.”

“Okay, no sofa proposals, I can remember that.”

“Good,” Aelin muttered and returned to his arms. They spoke of their future, of their baby and a list of potential names.

X X X X X X

Rowan proposed six months later at the beach, three months to the day that she had quit, with work being none the wiser, until recently, and they got off scott-free since Aelin was no longer employed there. The sky was a beautiful canvas of pink and peach, the only sounds the crashing of the waves, with no people around.

The ring was the exact one she had picked out long ago—a sparkly emerald with size of her fingernail on a gold band.

And it was exactly as she wished it, her in a nice sundress, with good food and ever-growing pretty views.

Having a secret relationship for a year and a half was exhausting, but well worth it in the end.

[smallraindrops-blog]

Made To Break

Part two.

4k

Warning: noncon/dubcon sex, yandere, talk of death. No beta. Read at your own risk.

Note: never wrote something like this before. Hope it was worth wait. Let me know if you like it! Enjoy!

Time dragged on, especially without your phone. You watched the clock, not able to pay attention to anything else.

The house felt different without the god inside. Your gut had been right the first night, he had been here the whole time.

You still regretted returning Hypnos his cloak, it was the only thing keeping you warm in the drafty house. 

You debated trying to escape but you held off. Where would you even go? There was no one else who could help. Even if Hypnos was keeping you trapped, he could be the key to getting your dad back.

Also you're pretty sure Hypnos would follow you to the end of the world and then some. 

Maybe if you just play along for now, you could show him the truth later when the spell doesn't work on you and he would be forced to admit you weren't the one he was looking for. 

"Just one more day." You told yourself. 

That's what Hypnos told you, "And when time gets close to twilight, make sure you are by his side." He said, locking his cloak in place.

You agreed, "Is there anything else I could do?"

Hypnos grinned, and tapped his lip, "How about a kiss good-bye?"

You rolled your eyes at him even though you were charmed by his cheekiness and shook your head. You knew that if you responded to his flirting, it would make the letdown worse.

"Oh well, can't blame a guy for trying." Hypnos said before he vanished before your eyes. 

You had a sinking feeling of realizing that you wouldn't have been able to outrun him.

💮

It was in the middle of night during another round of tossing and turning when you realized something wasn't right. 

There was a humming under your skin, like little jolts of energies that never stop moving. 

Maybe you couldn't fall asleep due to stress or maybe you got used to Hypnos being around. He was the god of sleep, he must have played some role in helping you rest. 

You crawled out of your bed and went to the window and stared out to the backyard. Little red poppies stood out from the blanket of snow, gently swaying in the wind. 

Magic was real and Hypnos was as well, he felt human when you touched him. His grief when he talked about his lover sounded real. And he seemed hellbent making sure not to lose you.

Is it really that impossible that you were someone in a past life, a deity even? It sounded like something out of the fantasy books you read as a child.

You pressed your forehead against the cold glass, an welcomed sensation. You didn't want to admit it. Not to yourself at all. 

But something in you has changed or is changing you just don't know what yet. 

You just hope you don't lose yourself in the process.

💮

You were in line for coffee when the thought came. It was some honey glazed  pastry you just happened to notice and thought  'Hypnos would love that especially with his sweet tooth.' 

You froze, how in the world would you know that? You don't even know if the god could or want to eat. 

You rubbed your eyes, it was the lack of sleep you told yourself.

You got to the hospital at the end of dusk, a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in hand. You took a big bite, trying to finish it before getting to the elevator.

It was early but you wanted to be here, even if Hypnos couldn't help, you wanted to at least be with your dad for what time he had left. 

You slipped the coffee, grateful for the warmth. After getting in the elevator, you tabbed your foot nervously. Even the last bite of the sandwich couldn't calm your stomach. 

You almost didn't see them when you stepped out, had you not glanced to the left you would have never seen them at all.

"Mrs. Johnson?" You asked, even in your anger at your ex, you still liked their mom. She mothered everyone and she always made sure to have your favorite cookies when you visited. She turned to face you, her blonde pixie hair was unkempt. Her red and puffy eyes widened in surprise. You tossed the coffee in the trash can as you made your way over. 

"Oh my god, Y/N?" Mrs.Johnson sniffed, "Are you here to visit?" Even her voice sounded rough.

Your heart dropped, "For my dad, I don't know if they told you but he is in a coma right now." 

"Oh honey. I'm so sorry, I didn't know." She hugged you tightly, her rose perfume was a comfortable smell in the hospital. She took your hands, her tears still flowing. You tried not to roll your eyes, of course your ex wouldn't even care enough to tell their mom, the sweetest person ever.

"Why are you here?" You asked worried for the poor woman.

"Something happened to (Ex/N), they were out partying and I don't know. Their roommate thinks they hit their head and haven't woken up since. It's the oddest thing, they couldn't even find where the brain bleed was. Or any marks." She shook her head, "it doesn't feel real."

You gasped, not able to make sense of her words. "Like they just went to sleep?" You asked, feeling like you've been dropped in ice. 

She nodded, not saying anything.

"How long ago?"

"Two days or so, late during the night." She replied, she didn't notice the dread on your face. Did Hypnos use your phone? You had a feeling he was the one who took it but there was so much going on you had forgotten about it.

"Can I see them?" You asked, you need to see with your own eyes. Surely, this had to be a coincidence.

"Of course, hon." 

💮

You had fully planned on never seeing your ex again. You kept meaning to block them but You weren't ready yet because you didn't want to admit you wasted your time.

You stared down at them, at the tubes, at the heart rate monitor. And You knew (Ex/N) was paying the price for your inability to block them. 

You didn't love them, not in a way a person should love another you think. But you cared for them and wanted them to be happy. It wasn't until the cheating started, that it got bad.

Mrs. Johnson sat down in the chair and held their child's hand. Her face showed her heartbreak and every time there was twitch, there would be a hopeful look in her eyes only for it to die when nothing happened.

It was just like your father's coma.

You closed your eyes, anger boiling inside your chest. At yourself more so than Hypnos.

How could you been so stupid?

💮

You stared outside the window. It was the first clear day in weeks and the blue skies with the fat, lazy clouds seemed so more vivid than you remember. 

Your father's heart monitor beeped steady and true. You couldn't look at him, guilt and anger was warring in your chest.

You had brought in the story Hypnos weaved for you. You didn't know how much was truth or lies. You think it was a healthy mix of both and it made it so much harder to know what really happened. 

You covered your face with your hands, trying to make sure the tears didn't come out. 

How could You get out of this? You saw some of Hypnos' powers, and you knew that it was the tip of the iceberg. 

You couldn't stop thinking about the book, the warnings that you didn't see. This was a god that had once put the world to sleep, and you couldn't see a reason why he wouldn't again if he didn't get what he wanted.

it felt more cruel that he was playing games with your life, with all their lives. It would have been kinder to just kidnap you and leave everyone else out of it. 

You looked up at the clock, just a few more hours left to go. 

You really wished you brought your bat. 

💮

Twilight was beautiful, even with the city skyline. You paced around the room, waiting for a change or for him to show up. 

You almost didn't notice, too deep in your anger.  

Your father's hand twitched, and you paused, not wanting to get your hopes up. Then his head turned to the side and you rushed to him.

"Dad! Oh my god, dad." You touched his arm gently, not wanting to spook him. His eyes opened up groggily, his head turned to you. He didn't react to seeing you but you weren't worried. 

"I will be right back, I'm getting a nurse." You rushed out, giddy with relief. 

💮

He doesn't remember you.

Your own father doesn't remember you. 

You collapsed in the chair, the doctor tried to calm you down but you couldn't hear anything over the buzzing in your ears.

You knew. You just knew this was Hypnos' doing. Your hands tighten into shaky fists on your knees. 

How fucking dare he do this. You gave him a chance and this is what he does.

Without a word, you stormed out the room.

💮

 

You don't remember getting in the car or the drive home. You knew Hypnos would be waiting for you.

He wasn't going to stop, you could feel in your bones. He would do to you in every single life you live and he won't care the cost it will take.

You slammed the car door shut, not brothing to hide your presence. You stood in the cold, uncaring how bitting the wind felt against your skin. Snow was still on the ground and little red poppies peeked through, bright against the snow. 

Your breath came out in white puffs as you stared at your home. For all you knew this would be the last time you ever see it. 

You took a deep breath, gathering what strength you had left. 

It was time to face the music. To face him.

💮

You stopped in the entryway, not wanting to get closer than you had too. You could see even in the dark that the books were gone as well as the horrible eye and words. The one thing that lit the room was a single candle on the side table.

You looked at the other walls and saw pictures of you had been taken down. Fear tightened your throat and you stepped into the living room. Your eyes darted around but there was no sign of Hypnos. 

You stepped into the living room and after a moment, you walked to your bedroom.

You whimpered when you opened the door. Everything was gone. The bed, the desk, all of it. 

You took a step backward and another without looking away from your room. 

Your heart stopped when you bumped into a warm chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly and his cheek pressed to your head.

"It's time to come home, Y/N." Hypnos said, tightening his hold to the point you couldn't breathe. Or scream as you watched the world you once knew vanished.

💮

You kicked and twisted in Hypnos' arms. "Let me go." You gasped, "I can't get air, please." 

He loosened his hold but you were too busy gulping for air to care. You pushed away from and he allowed you to, unconcerned about you escaping. 

You tried to steady yourself only to stumble, Hypnos grabbed your elbow. 

"I'm sorry I forgot it takes some getting used to." Hypnos said. "You should have seen my brother the first few times. He used to get sick all the time."

"Don't touch me." You snapped, jerking away.  You've been here before, the sound of water rushed to your ears. You turned to face him, to tear him a new one but when you saw him, you were shocked into silence.

Hypnos smiled, and pointed at his head. Two white wings had appeared out from his head and in the middle of his forehead, a single red and gold eye stared back. "So tell me Y/N, what is more surprising; the wings or the eye?"

You shook your head, "What the hell, Hypnos?" Your voice cracked. "Is this what you normally look like?" At least before he looked closer to humans, just a little odd looking. This was something else.

"Hhm, not when we first met but after the... you know, I just have these sometimes." Hypnos shrugged, his golden eyes on you. 

"How could you?" You asked and Hypnos tilted his head at the question. 

You took a step forward even though all you wanted to do was run. "I know what you did to my dad, to (Ex/N). Was it all a ruse? A game to you?"

Hypnos scowled, "I really don't appreciate hearing that name." 

You stamped your foot, "Unbelievable! Is that all you have to say?" 

"Oh no, the person who hurt someone I love is now having to suffer the consequences. How sad for them." Hypnos rolled his eyes at you. You have never wanted to choke someone more.

"His mother is suffering, just like how my dad is!" You yelled, hating how helpless you felt.

You walked closer, you knew he could grab you again but you needed him to listen. But Hypnos spoke before you.

"Your father isn't in pain, if anything I fixed it. He doesn't remember you or his wife. He will live out the rest of his days without you but you know humans are so quick to replace family." 

Hypnos sighed, "I really did try to help him for your sake, Y/N. I felt sorry for him since he and I were both familiar with this kind of pain. But he already messed up once, I couldn't trust him not to try something else." 

You were silent for minutes before you spoke. "You said you would never hurt me."

"And I haven't." Hypnos replied, he almost moved closer, wanting to comfort you.

"Liar." You spat out the word. "You have done nothing but hurt me since you showed up." 

You glared at him,"You may have not touched me but you had caused so much hurt to everyone around me."

"And what makes you think I should even care about those humans?" Hypnos hissed, he grabbed your arm but you willingly went along with his tug. Words were your weapons now. You glared up at him, mere inches between you and him.

"Because I do. That should be more than enough for you." You licked your lips, "This isn't the first time we had this fight." 

His gaze sharpen, golden and hard like a predator. "No it isn't." Hypnos agreed. 

You could tell he wanted to ask more questions, to know exactly what you started to remember. Good. 

"I had held my part, Hypnos. I agreed to come, to do whatever you needed from me." You said, "in a twisted way, yeah I guess you did help my dad even if it hurt me. And you warned me."  You closed your eyes for a moment before meeting his again.

Hypnos stayed silent, his eyes watching you.

"But none of the other stuff had to happen. Mrs.Johnson was good to me, she was the closest thing I had to a mom." You whispered. 

You didn't know how but something in the humming inside of you knew Hypnos would bend to you. His biggest weakness had always been you.

You laid a hand on his chest, "Listen to me, I'm willing to stay. I want to stay." You thought it would sound like lying but it didn't. Your heart twisted because you weren't lying and you knew it. 

Was it really that easy to walk away from your human life? 

"But I can't have you hurting people just for the sake of revenge. That is not who I am and that used to be you too." You murmured.

"Things changed Y/N." Hypnos murmured back. Just like before, he covered your hand gently. 

A faint memory rises from the depths of your soul. Of Hypnos admiring your hands, always touching or holding them. You took a breath, not yet you thought to this other side of yourself, not yet.

"Then change again, Hypnos. For me." You pleaded. 

"It's not that easy." But his tone was softer, you just had to push a little more. 

"You once put the whole world asleep because you loved me. You became softer, kinder because you loved me. This is nothing to you." You keep your tone soft, not willing to break the quiet.

His eyes, all three of them, closed in defeat. "Okay...Okay Y/N. Just answer me this, do you love them?" 

"No." You said bluntly. "They were a friend once but even though you were a jerk, I felt more with you than I ever did with them."

Hypnos nodded, the third eye opened again while his golden ones stayed close. "Good." He held a palm up, and a small dark, almost black mist formed, you could faintly see your ex and Mrs. Johnson. 

The mist swirls quickly, and it changes into a soft white cloud. "It's done. They will wake up, and they will live." The cloud faded away and Hypnos dropped his hand. 

His golden eyes opened and looked at you. 

"Thank you."  You told him. You cupped his cheek and he pressed into your hand with a sigh, his eyes closing again. "Darkness' sake, I've missed you." Hypnos said. 

You leaned into him and hugged him. After a moment, he hugged back, resting his chin on your head. Neither one of you said anything for a while, just holding on each other.

"What do you remember, Y/N?" Hypnos asked, and you shrugged. "Honestly, just small bits here and there. I remembered you like honey."

Hypnos hummed, "I do. Is that all?" 

You yawned, "No, sorry, it's mostly just me going by instinct or this feeling of deja Vu." You pressed into his chest. "I'm really sorry."

Hypnos rubbed your back slowly and you felt your body relax against his. This was so much nicer than anything you ever felt before.

"Come, let me show you where we can get some rest." Hypnos spoke, something was off about his tone.  But you followed along anyway, too tired to even think.

💮

"You said anything, right?" Hypnos asked as you wandered around the cave. There wasn't much of anything. You see baskets of pomegranates, onions and other stuff in one room as Hypnos gilded you past it, his hand on your lower back. 

Books were stacked on a desk but weren't what caught your attention. There was a bed, big and piled high with blankets and pillows. It looks like what exactly a god of sleep would want. 

"Oh wow, this is the biggest bed I've ever seen." You walked toward it, "What side do you sleep on?"

You walked around the bed, keeping one eye on the god. "The middle but you can pick whatever side you want." 

"O-oh." You stopped at the realization that of course this would be the only bed. There would be no reason for him to have a guest bed.

"You didn't respond to my question, Y/N. You agreed to do whatever I needed you to do, correct?" Hypnos said calmly as he held something in his hand. A small glass bottle. 

You walked toward him, your heart racing at the almost predatory look he gave you. 

"I. I did, yes, to get my memories back." You stopped just out of his reach. "Will that thing help?" You pointed down at the bottle

"In a way." He said and you stared at him. 

"What are you not telling me, Hypnos?" You stood your ground. "I thought we were getting past this."

"You're right. It's going to hurt, just a bit. But it will help restore you." Hypnos held it up between his fingers, inside the liquid looked like water. 

"Why do I feel like you're downplaying it?" You muttered. You took the bottle and popped open the cork. 

You sniffed but it smells sweet, almost too sweet. 

"Make sure you get every last drop, Y/N." Hypnos said, his golden eyes watching your every move.

You knew he wasn't being honest about something but you will have to deal with it later. 

"Well, bottom up." You swallow every last drop. It didn't taste bad or anything at all, not even like water. 

You felt his hands on you could do anything else. He pushed toward the bed and that when it hit you. A wave of dizziness made the room spend and he laid you down.

"Oh, I don't like this." You moaned. You didn't notice until it was too late, that he had pulled off your shirt. His hands felt too warm against your skin and you tried to push him off. 

"I know, my love." Hypnos comforted, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't need to." 

"Why?" You slurred, "I thought we were…" but you couldn't continue.  The heat and the dizziness was too much for you.

"We are. We really are. But If I don't do this now, I won't get a chance until you are older and I can't risk you dying on me."

"I wouldn't have said no." You closed your eyes.

Hypnos pressed a kiss against your forehead tenderly "Yes, you would have, my love. You would want us to have more time. This way I can make sure we will have nothing but time."

His hand slided down your pants and past your underwear. He kissed you on your mouth, and pressed down against you. 

You couldn't stop the gasps you made against his mouth as he rubbed you with his fingers. The pleasure you felt was far more intense than what you were used to.

"You even respond the same as you used to." Hypnos told you. "Blood and darkness, I could watch your face all day like this." 

You hide your face in a nearby pillow out of spite and embarrassment. "Shut up." You moaned, hips arching against his touch.

Hypnos yanked the pillow away and tossed it out of your reach. He grabbed your chin to kiss you again. You met his kiss with as much force as you could. 

"I hate you." You tried to pull away but he just pulled you back into another one. You could the heat building inside you along with the humming, the always moving energy built inside of you 

And Hypnos himself consumed you,all of you and you wanted him to. Fates help you but you did. You wanted him to make you whole. 

You moaned against his lips, tears running down your face as you arched and peaked. 

You collapsed against the bed, Hypnos pressed kisses against your neck and collarbone. 

You closed your eyes, shaking with the heat. "Hypnos, what did you give me?" You sobbed. The heat nor energy still haven't died down yet. 

"Just gimme a moment, Y/N." Hypnos pulled away from the bed, and you sobbed again. 

He came back and shushed you. His hand pulled down your pants, yanking your shoes along off them. You flushed at your nudity. 

Hypnos loomed over you and he pulled you into a kiss. You buried your hands in his white curls as the kiss deepened. His knees nudged your legs apart as he broke the kiss. 

"If I have to be nude, so do you." You tugged at his cloak. Hypnos laughed, "No, later."

His fingers worked you open and you found yourself spreading your legs more.

"You're so good, so so gorgeous. Y/N, do you know how good you look like this?" Hypnos priaised. And you somehow just flushed even more. 

His fingers left you and he crawled toward you. "Kiss me." He demanded and you obeyed, the kiss you gave him was sweet and slow. He hummed against your lips and you felt him pushed inside you. 

Your head tilt back to the bed with a gasp. You shook as the moment seem to stretch out, a endless moment of being taken.

You never felt so full and damnit, you hated how good he felt against you. The soft clothes gave you goosebumps as the brush against your bare skin. You sobbed as he moved inside you leisurely, like he had all the time in world. 

"Hypnos, please." You begged. Your fingers curled against his tunic, trying to ground yourself against the feelings.

He shushed you, "I've been waiting for you for so long." 

"I'm sorry, Hypnos." You whimpered as pleasure built back inside of you. 

"Don't be." Hypnos groaned, his hips started moving quicker. "Losing you killed me, Y/N. I never thought I would have this again."

You were lost for words and just pulled him into another kiss, hoping that it will say everything for you. 

During the kiss, his hips snapped against you quickly, fingers digging into your thighs.  

"I love you Y/N. Fuu- I love you." Hypnos murmured against you. In a whisper, "I love you, Hypnos." 

He moaned and you feel the hot wetness inside you. You trembled as you followed him. 

You stared upward and the humming had become overwhelming. This was it, you thought weakly. 

You don't remember closing your eyes.

💮

Later you wake up, Hypnos sleeping next to you and holding you tightly. He looked so much younger like this. 

You could remember everything. The people, your role as an deity, Hypnos, of loving him and he loving you in return and... and your death.

You grimaced as you rubbed your chest, you could feel the sharp burning pain. Of magic that kept from dying like a normal deity.

But now you were reborn in a way.

There was strength in you too now. A sureness you didn't have an human. You blinked at Hypnos' sleeping face. The third eye was gone but you wasn't sure what it meant exactly. You both were going to have relearn one another. 

You reached up and touched one of the wings. It twitched at your touch, and you smiled, amused. 

"I missed your smile." Hypnos said, his voice rough with sleep."I think it worked, Y/N." His golden eyes studied your face. You stared back. 

Then you reached up and flicked him on the nose. "You should've been honest from the start." You said.

"Ow! And I was, it's not like it was my fault humans won't listen." Hypnos scowled at you.

"Not that. About restoring me. I understand why you wouldn't be but you need to more honest with me from now on. Especially since I know it cost you some of your powers." You said as you pulled Hypnos closer. Tears had filled up in both of yours and Hypnos' eyes.

"Thank you. For bring me back. I felt something was missing in me since I was born but you found it. You found me." You  kissed him, chaste and sweet. 

Hypnos sobbed and held on to you tightly, his face in your neck. "It worked. It really worked." 

You kissed his head, your tears matching his. The both of you weeped with joy, with sadness and relief of having each other again.

"I'm so sorry. It was my fault. I should had gotten there sooner." Hypnos said roughly. 

"It was no one fault, we didn't know." You brush his curls to smooth him. "I don't blame you."

He nodded against your neck and you held him. 

After a few minutes, he pulled away to look at you. His hands cupped your face. You cover his hands with your own, smiling.

"I still haven't told you everything." He said softly. 

"That can wait." You murmured. "We got all the time in the world." 

"We finally do, huh?" Hypnos said, and you meet him a long, slow kiss.

It was good to be home.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Soulmate au! Countdown - Harry Hook x Reader -oneshot

soulmate au idea sent in by Anonymous 

=

Everyone in the world was born with a watch, not on their wrists or anywhere attached to them, just a simple watch that would appear when a new soul was born into the world. Doctors would blink, and suddenly, next to the new babe, was a watch.

A watch that had a set date of years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds until the new soul would meet their soulmate, the one destined to love them forever.

Some watches were simple ones, a simple leather band with a plain clock attached to go around their wrist. Some got more…exotic clocks, one person, whose soulmate was an astrologist, watch had planets instead of hands to tell the time.(luckily for the person, who didn’t know how to read the time by looking at planets, there was still a small digital timer in the middle just above the sun) some had intricately carved pocket watches, some had sundials.

Prince Ben’s watch had confused some people, being a pure gold and silver watch, rusted slightly (and unable to be buffed to perfection as so many tried) with a horned dragon decorating the top, the back engraved with thorned vines. It wasn’t till years later, as Ben locked eyes with Mal, the daughter of Maleficent, did the watches ticking stop (small A/N; Ben and Audrey don’t date since they know they aren’t meant to be already. Okay let's get back into it!)

Audrey’s watch hung off a silver necklace, the top cover being diamond-like glass that seemed to shine like magic. Her watch had stopped when she met Chad at only six months old, his rose gold wristwatch stopping at the same time.

Doug's watch, a gorgeous gold-plated pocket watch decorated with heart-shaped red rubies, had stopped when he first locked eyes with Evie, daughter of the Evil Queen, who for a small while had denied that her own watch had stopped ticking, and had only admitted it after she and her friends had proclaimed their decision to turn their backs on their parent's evil ways.

Most people your age had met their soulmate already, you knew some who had yet to meet theirs but mostly everyone had already been found.

Not that you personally knew that.

You hardly talked to anyone really, so how were you to know if someone had found their soulmate yet or not.

You were just a regular person in a school of the descendants of heroes and royalty, a loner at that. The only interesting about you was your watch.

It was a gorgeous gold watch with thin black paint under the gold curved detailing that looked like waves, surrounding the outer rim of the cover, with an anchor and a ship's steering wheel in the middle of the cover, the back was a carved compass, the entire thing connected to a strong bronze chain.

You admired it every day, excitement and anxiety running through you as every second passed. And those feelings were amplified recently.

The clock now read seven days, seven hours, eight minutes, and forty seconds. It was only that until you met your soulmate.

You only hoped they wouldn’t think you weren’t worth their time…as everyone else did.

-

Harry had been born with a pretty plain-looking pocket watch, smooth and silver metal protecting the gears.

You could imagine the surprise he felt when he finally opened it for the first time. The inner works of his watch were beautiful, the silver metal had turned to gold, curving details surrounded the hands and timer, a shining scale texture covered the inside of the cover, never leaving a residue on his finger when he traced it.

Many villain kids were told to never open their watches, being told that it was pointless to even look since they would never need their soulmate in the first place.

Some obeyed, some, like Harry, had gotten too curious and looked anyway, and some just looked because they could.

And Harry couldn't say he regretted looking, every day he grabbed his watch and popped it open, smiling as the ticking hands signified the ever-coming day of meeting his soulmate.

Like now, it read seven days, five hours, three minutes, and seven seconds. Coincidently, it matched the same day he would be going to Auradon prep, seven months after king Ben had invited the original four to Auradon.

His closest friend, Uma, had a plan to get the wand and do what the original four couldn’t. but Harry had another plan.

He wanted to meet his soulmate, he knew they couldn’t have been on the isle, he had met basically everyone on the isle, there was no other explanation than for his soulmate to be in Auradon.

He looked up from his watch to gaze at the bright lights of Auradon, his breath visible as he let out a sigh and leaned against the rails of the lost revenge. “you ready for next week?” he suppressed a flinch as Uma suddenly appeared next to him, joining him to look at  Auradon.

“aye” he simply muttered back, clenching his pocket watch in his hand. He looked away slightly as Uma turned towards him, her brow quirked.

“…you want to find them, don’t you?” Uma asked, turning back to Auradon and resting her chin in her hand.

Harry stayed silent.

Uma reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder “I won't stop you from doing that, I know our parents told us that soulmates are bullshit but I could give less of a fuck, if you decide not to go through with everything because of them, I’ll leave you two alone…” Harry sighed in slight relief and turned to Uma.

“even if it would ruin yer plans?” Harry asked softly, laughing as Uma grumbled a bit.

“yeah yeah…if you’re happy im happy” Harry tossed his arm over Uma’s shoulder and pulled her into his side, grinning as she quietly complained at the hug.

“Thank yeh Uma” he whispered, closing his eyes as Uma sighed against him and hugged him back.

“you’re my best friend Harry, I would do anything for you” Harry smiled against her hair, squeezing her shoulder a bit before letting her go as she started to bat at his chest “Alright alright that’s enough, come on we got night shit to do” Harry snorted and shook his head a bit, grabbing his hat from the milk crate next to him and flipping it on, whistling slightly as he followed Uma off the ship.

-

You looked up from your summer history essay as a group of girls rushed up to the window, giggling to themselves as they pointed out whatever it was they were talking about.

‘oh right’ you mentally sighed, closing your book and packing it away, knowing that the study hall you were in was going to be filled with the laughter of these girls for who knows how long ‘the new vks’

You spared a glance back at the girls, sighing wistfully to yourself as they smiled amongst each other.

What you would give to have friends like that, but you had always been closed in on yourself and always froze up when someone tried to talk to you, that you had never gotten the chance to make friends.

You shrugged your bag over your shoulder and walked out of the study hall “where to go now” you whispered to yourself, taking out your pocket watch and smiling slightly at it, rubbing your thumb against the wheel before popping it open.

Six hours, forty-five minutes, and seven seconds.

You would meet your soulmate today.

You closed the watch and held it against your chest, letting out a giggly sigh and walking towards the other end of the dorms to get to the other study hall so you would write your essay in peace.

Behind you, you heard king Ben talking, taking a glance back you saw a flash of a scarlet red coat pass by the entrance to the hallway you had just entered. You brushed it off and looked back in front of you.

-

One and a half hours, ten minutes, and forty seconds.

Harry stared anxiously at his watch, his foot tapping rapidly against the floor of his new room. “you know if you just sit and stare at that thing it's not going to go any faster” Gil offered, setting his new laptop down and sitting next to Harry, reaching out to close the watch.

Harry blinked back into reality, pouting at Gil slightly. Gil just gave him a look and pushed the watch towards Harry's chest “sitting in here won't help you find them either, go explore or something, you might find them easier” Harry huffed and grabbed his watch, sticking it in his pocket and walking out of the room “you’ll thank me later!”

-

You groaned a bit as you rolled your shoulders, you had finished your essay, along with a handful of other projects, and had decided you needed a break. So it was off to your “secret” spot near the dorms, it was well hidden by the forest and you had to cross a hanging bridge to get to it so hardly anyone knew about it.

You shrugged off your top and pants, kicking off your shoes and setting everything next to your towel and watch before diving in.

Underneath the water your body shimmered, your legs turning to a transitioning (f/c) and (f/c) tail with a strong fabric-like tail, scales the same color as your tail appeared next to your eyes and trailed down your cheeks, your shoulders being covered as well.

You let out a soft sigh as you swam through the clear water, trailing your fingers across the smooth rocks that lay at the bottom of the lake.

You picked up a particularly shiny clear and black one, swimming back up to the surface and examining it, humming to yourself as you waded through the water.

-There once was a ship that put to sea/ And the name of that ship was the Billy o' Tea/ The winds blew hard, her bow dipped down/ Blow my bully boys blow-

You started to sing one of your favorite sea shanties aloud, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift across the surface of the lake as your voice echoed around you.

- Soon may the Wellerman come/ To bring us sugar and tea and rum/ One day, when the tonguing' is done/ We'll take our leave and go-

-

Harry sighed quietly as he walked around the grounds of Auradon prep, tubbing his thumb against the smooth metal of his watch as the comforting -tick tock- of its gears rang in his ears.

He sighed again as he stopped in the middle of a pathway, running his hand through his messy hair. He pulled out the watch and quirked his brow.

three minutes, forty seconds.

Suddenly something caught his attention, he turned his head towards the forest, his lips separating as a lovely drifted towards him.

He started walking towards it, entering into the forest and pushing past the bushes that covered the main path. He quickly walked over the hanging bridge that led him directly to a sparkly crystal-clear lake.

And wading in the water of that lake was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen or heard.

- No line was cut, no whale was freed/ An' the captain's mind was not on greed/ But he belonged to the Whaleman's creed/ She took that ship in tow -

As he walked closer to the mermaid, he didn’t notice the timer on the watch tick down to the seconds.

3…2...1.

Suddenly the mermaid looked up from their rock and gasped, her glowing (e/c) eyes locking with his ocean blue.

The ticking stopped.

The mermaid squealed in embarrassment and ducked under the water, Harry quickly snapped out of his stupor and ran towards the edge of the lake, kneeling at it and looking around for the mermaid who had suddenly disappeared. “where did yeh go?” he whispered, yelping and falling back on his butt as the mermaid suddenly popped up in front of his face and tried to reach for her items behind Harry.

He watched her struggle to reach toward them before she groaned and flopped on the ground, her top half lying pitifully on the dry ground as her tail angrily hit the surface of the water.

Harry let out a soft chuckle and looked behind him, spotting a gold pocket watch resting just next to a (f/c) towel, he glanced back at the mermaid for a moment before reaching out for the watch and gently handing it to the mermaid.

She quickly popped it open and gasped.

Harry watched as the mermaid just stared at her watch, then slowly look up at him. He took out his watch and popped it open, stopping as he realized the clock had stopped.

00:00:00:00:00:00 blinked rapidly

Harry looked back at the mermaid and turned his watch towards her. She reached out slightly, looking at him for permission to take it.

He pushed it into her hand and she set it next to her watch, a smile growing on her face as the blinking of the timers synchronized perfectly. Only soulmate watches could sync perfectly as they did.

She looked back up at Harry with a wide grin, Harry's heart fluttering like crazy as she did.

“I found you” she whispered in the most melodic voice, squeaking a bit as Harry stood and started to strip out of his clothes “what are you doing?!” she yelled, pushing off the edge and diving down under the water a bit, only her eyes and the top of her head above the water.

“joinin’ yeh,” Harry responded simply, kicking off his shoes and pants and tossing them aside with his shirt, jacket, and belts.

Once he was down to just his underwear, he jumped into the water next to his soulmate, closing his eyes as he sank into the surprisingly deep lake.

Almost immediately after he jumped in, arms wrapped around his waist and kept him afloat. Harry cracked open his eyes to see the glowing ones of his soulmate, their pupils slanted as they stared back at him.

Harry let a smile grow on his lips as he and his soulmate floated under the water. Then Harry's body proceeded to realize he was underwater and that he needed air.

His soulmate watched him look up, realize what he was doing, and grabbed his face. Harry looked at them and let out a muffled squeak as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He snapped his eyes shut and felt his face burn with a blush as she licked his lips and opened his mouth, breathing into him.

She pulled back and giggled, which oddly wasn’t muffled. Harry opened one of his eyes and pouted slightly as his soulmate covered her mouth with one of her hands as she laughed at his expression.

He took a breath to say something, but then realized he was breathing underwater. He gave her a wide-eyed look and she giggled again.

“mermaid kisses can let the person breath and speak underwater” her voice purred, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to the surface. Harry shook his head, smirking as his soulmate squealed a bit as the water droplets hit her.

“I’m Harry” Harry spoke first, swimming slightly closer to his soulmate and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek “Harry Hook.”

“(y-y/n) (l/n)” she squeaked slightly, Harry smirking at the heat that burned against his lips as he pressed another kiss to her cheek.

“I think” he pulled back and pressed a kiss to her other cheek “you and I are going to get along very well~” he purred, grinning as (y/n) set her forehead against his.

“whys that?” she hummed, pushing her lips together as Harry tightly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him.

“a pirate and a mermaid? What's a better match than tha’?”

-end-

Short but sweet, might do another one of the suggestions! Thanks for reading!

permtaglist

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @remembered-license

@random-thoughts-003 @jatp-rules-my-life

@verboetoperee @imtryingthisout @thecaptainsgingersnap

@rintheemolion​

[jingyismom]

Another twt threadfic import! Wangxian, 9k, post-CQL getting together Explicit, No Warnings POV switches wildly at will, and LWJ gets drunk but nothing happens at that point! Proceed for humor, tension, sweetness, and spice.

Anybody else think about what would happen if post-CQL, pre-relationship wangxian were traveling and Lan Do-Not-Indulge-In-Pleasure Wangji walked in on his very good friend Wei Wuxian...

...Indulging In Pleasure?

First, he would Run. Door slammed shut. Possibly colliding with a few walls while he tries to figure out how to Get Away to Meditate Immediately.

Wei Wuxian comes after him asap to apologize. There is a lot of overlapping apologizing, and little to no eye contact.

Maybe after, though, Wei Wuxian would feel a little...frisky. And a tiny bit defensive. "Lan Zhan, everybody does it!! It's not THAT upsetting!"

Lan Wangji cuts a glare at him. "Everyone does not do it."

Wei Wuxian suddenly has a lot of new things to think about.

(This is only ONE interpretation of Lan Wangji's relationship to self-pleasure...but it's a pretty fun one imo)

Wei Wuxian can't stop thinking about it. Has Lan Wangji really never...like NEVER never...is that. How could he even ask that? He can't, right? It'd be weird.

It Eats At Him. He loses sleep.

Coincidentally, so does Lan Wangji. They both lie awake at night in their shared room, very determinedly Not Thinking About the things they have learned.

Lan Wangji recites rules for hours trying to get the image of what Wei Wuxian looks like when he's doing THAT out of his mind.

Maybe, ages after Wei Wuxian thought Lan Wangji had fallen asleep, he hears him shift. It's a small sound but Wei Wuxian knows Lan Wangji doesn't move at all when he's really out.

"Can't sleep?" He says into the dark.

Lan Wangji takes a long time to answer. He's debating pretending not to hear. "No."

Wei Wuxian sort of thinks he knows why, but isn't sure exactly WHY why...like. Is Lan Wangji freaked out and disgusted? Is he confused? Is he...intrigued?

"It's because of the rules, right?" He asks instead. "It's a Lan thing."

Again, Lan Wangji takes a long time to answer.

It is only partly true. It is a rule, in a way. At least, that's how Lan Wangji had interpreted it when he was young. But it became a mixture of habit and shame, of self-disgust. And then after Nightless City, it simply did not occur to him. His body did not seem to work that way anymore.

He can't say any of that.

"Yes." It's not entirely a lie.

The horrible inconvenience of his body working that way, again, now, is another thing entirely. He does his best to ignore it. He does not want to address it. Meditation is his best friend once again.

"I really thought you'd started bending rules," Wei Wuxian muses aloud. "That's such a...specific one to stick to."

Lan Wangji has no answer for this. He honestly agrees.

After a pause Wei Wuxian goes on. "You never even thought about it? What about if you marry? Or what if you NEVER marry?"

Even in the oddly comforting unreality of the dead of night, Lan Wangji can't begin to discuss most of this.

"You said yourself no woman would want to marry me," he deflects.

"Ugh, did I?" Wei Wuxian says. "I suppose I did. Stupid. Anybody would be crazy not to want to marry you."

The silence after this declaration is particularly loud. Wei Wuxian covers it with an awkward laugh. "Anyway, I guess you probably think it's just another way the rest of the world is...gross. And...debaucherous. Huh."

Lan Wangji hears the self-effacement in his tone. "No. It is natural."

Wei Wuxian goes silent for a long moment. "Then why the rule?"

"It is...easier," Lan Wangji struggles to merge truth with the fib. "To deny one's—it is not a question of judgment. Do not worry, Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian huffs. "I'm not worried, Lan Zhan." Well, he's not anymore. But then he processes the rest of it. "So. Then, it's less of a rule? And...more of...a...guideline?"

Lan Wangji says nothing. He's already said too much. He should be asleep. He should have pretended he was.

Wei Wuxian doesn't know why he's pushing this so hard. He can't make his mouth stop saying words, carried forward on a tide of morbid curiosity and an abstract sense of unjust wastefulness. If Lan Wangji is going to miss out on the natural pleasures of life, he at least wants to understand.

"That's a lot of years of dedication to a not-rule," he says.

Lan Wangji is silent, again.

"Must be difficult," Wei Wuxian insists.

Lan Wangji resists the urge to say both "it isn't" and "it is."

"You're not even curious?"

Lan Wangji is not. He understands the concept. Understands the truly unsettling ferocity of his own feelings, his own desire. Understands that some things, once begun, have a way of getting under one's skin and living there. The combination of these things is unthinkable.

"You could ask, if you were," Wei Wuxian goes on, unperturbed. "I don't mind."

This is not what Lan Wangji thought he meant. His mind is suddenly bursting with the most inappropriate of questions: mainly, horribly, "What do you think of, when you do it?"

"I would not," he manages to say.

"No, you wouldn't, would you," Wei Wuxian concedes. He is aware, distantly, that he is trying to cover up the acute awkwardness of being caught with his dick out with the hazier, less severe awkwardness of talking too much. It doesn't stop him. "You're not made of jade, but you do like to pretend you are."

He knows, immediately, even before Lan Wangji's sharp intake of breath, that he's said the wrong thing.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I didn't mean that. I didn't." The silence is accusing, unforgiving. "I'm sorry. That was wrong."

Lan Wangji just lies there, silently blindsided. This is how Wei Wuxian sees him. Not as the bloodless statue of a man others see, but as a man desperately trying to realize that vision. And this...all of this, has only reinforced it.

"No," he says quietly. "You are right. It is easier."

"You keep saying that," Wei Wuxian says after a thoughtful silence. "Easier than what?"

This, Lan Wangji does not have the words to explain. There is no way to encompass the depth and breadth of it.

"It is time for sleep," he says.

Wei Wuxian chuckles darkly. "It was time for sleep ages ago. But alright. I can take a hint."

Neither of them sleep.

~~~

Days pass, and they do not speak of the incident again, though neither of them find themselves capable of forgetting it. The next time it comes up is completely by virtue of a series of accidents.

At dinner Wei Wuxian, in the habit of adding more food to Lan Wangji's bowl every time Lan Wangji adds some to his, does so without looking at what he is doing. When Lan Wangji hurries to douse the fire on his tongue with water, the nearest cup to his grasp contains something else entirely.

Wei Wuxian fortunately catches him before his head hits the table, this time.

When he wakes, bleary and unsteady, Wei Wuxian hustles him up and over to the stairs before he can get loose and wreak havoc. He learned his lesson the last time.

He helps Lan Wangji up to their room with an arm around his waist, and it's necessary but still feels a little bit like a violation. Lan Wangji does not like to be touched. It is probably a blessing that he won't remember this come morning.

Wei Wuxian is proud that they only stumble once before he figures out how to hold up the hems of both their robes with his one free hand, even with the distracting, warm weight of Lan Wangji's head on his shoulder. Once in the room, however, Wei Wuxian begins to regret his strategy of supervised confinement. There is nothing to do but sit while Lan Wangji stares at him, unfocused but intent.

"Lan Zhan...are you in there?"

Lan Wangji nods but doesn't break his stare. The room feels uncomfortably warm.

Wei Wuxian rolls his head back to look at the ceiling. Maybe a couple of petty crimes are worth ending this...but no. It wouldn't do to have rumors of Hanguang-jun vandalizing farms across the land. As funny as it would be, it wouldn't do at all. Wei Wuxian groans.

He stands and begins to putter around the room, pacing when that fails. Lan Wangji watches him with his silent, heavy gaze. The room really is far too warm.

Wei Wuxian unbuckles his belt to get rid of his thick outermost layer. Lan Wangji makes a small noise and laboriously turns himself around to face the wall.

"Lan Zhan? You alright?"

"Mn," comes the reply, with an exaggerated nod.

"What are you looking at over there?" He's irrationally half afraid Lan Wangji could start hallucinating.

"Away."

"A what?"

"Looking away."

"From?"

Lan Wangji glances over his shoulder, slow and shy, his heavy-lidded eyes falling on Wei Wuxian's hands at his belt.

The room gets warmer.

"Ah...hahaha...Lan Zhan. I'm just feeling a little hot, okay? Don't spit blood."

He takes off his belt. Lan Wangji faces the wall. When he shrugs off his long, thick vest, Lan Wangji starts wobbling, and it takes Wei Wuxian a confused minute before he realizes he's trying to stand up. He rushes to help.

"What now??"

"Leaving."

Wei Wuxian sighs. It has begun.

"You can't leave, Lan Zhan, it's late. Where will you go?"

"Outside." He's tugging insistently against the hand holding onto his arm.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian relents. He does sort of want to get out of this room. Get some fresh air. "Alright. Let's go."

Lan Wangji makes a distressed noise and tears his arm away. "Alone."

Wei Wuxian stares. "You can't—why?"

"Privacy."

"You—what do you need—" Wei Wuxian deliberately drops the question. "Sorry, Lan Zhan, you can have privacy in here, OR you can go outside. Not both."

Lan Wangji pouts. It's horrible. Wei Wuxian is not equipped to handle it. He opens his mouth to distract him.

Lan Wangji speaks first. "Not me. You."

"Me what?"

"Privacy."

Wei Wuxian's brain stalls, unable to follow Lan Wangji's logic. "What for?"

Lan Wangji makes a gesture at him that manages to be sloppy, elegant, and vaguely suggestive all at once. Wei Wuxian's face heats.

"I'm--I'm not. Doing. I wasn't going to do anything, Lan Zhan. I was just taking off one layer, see? To be more comfortable."

Lan Wangji blinks, unfocused, and sways. He's silent long enough that Wei Wuxian starts to relax and hope that he might just fall asleep. Which would be a blessing, given how difficult his heavy stare and softly parted lips are making it for Wei Wuxian not to Think Bad Thoughts.

Lan Wangji, however, is trying very hard to think thoughts with very limited success.

"Why?"

Wei Wuxian frowns at him. Which is bad.

"Why not?" He tries again. His words are not very good at present.

"Why am I not comfortable? It's a warm night."

Wei Wuxian is speaking slowly, like Lan Wangji is a child who does not understand such things. Lan Wangji frowns. He understands plenty.

He shakes his head and makes the motion again, the one Wei Wuxian understood. "Why not?"

Wei Wuxian is silent a long while, his face screwed up strangely. Lan Wangji wants to pat it smooth but knows he should not.

"It's..hah, Lan Zhan, it's not like people are always...you're not always...in the mood, you know?"

Lan Wangji does not know. He cannot, at this moment, conceive of not being at least slightly aroused. And besides there is nothing different now from the time he had seen—no, he does not think of that.

"Why?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. He almost looks sad. That's bad.

"Sometimes you're thinking of other things, or busy, or lonely, or..."

Wei Wuxian keeps speaking, but Lan Wangji has stopped listening. Wei Wuxian need not be lonely. He is here. He can help. He can help with this and Wei Wuxian will stop looking sad.

"Not alone," he says. "’M here."

Wei Wuxian stops talking, and smiles at him. Good.

"That's true."

Lan Wangji nods. Good. Wei Wuxian smiles some more, and shakes his head.

"Don't you think it's time to go to bed, Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji's ears heat. He would like to. He did not expect Wei Wuxian to ask. He nods and takes Wei Wuxian's wrist, pulling him toward the bed. Wei Wuxian makes an odd sound when they get there, and Lan Wangji looks down at where he's holding onto him, to make sure his grip is not too tight.

"Lan Zhan, I'm not sleepy," Wei Wuxian says. "You can...you can sleep though."

Lan Wangji stares at him with that same, open-mouthed stare. Wei Wuxian's own mouth is very dry.

"Not sleepy."

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian, jittery. "Maybe. You could just try lying down. And see if you get sleepy."

Lan Wangji looks at the bed. And then looks at Wei Wuxian.

"Not sleepy."

"...Okay."

Lan Wangji tugs on Wei Wuxian's wrist. Wei Wuxian's stomach lurches. He clears his throat.

"What is it?"

Unsteadily, Lan Wangji turns toward him. He reaches for the ties of Wei Wuxian's robes.

Wei Wuxian grabs his wrists and holds them away from himself as if they're on fire. A nervous laugh fights its way out of his mouth.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I...I'm good. I'm not warm anymore. I'm fine. Happy. Like this. Okay?"

"Happy," Lan Wangji repeats.

"Yeah."

Lan Wangji seems to consider this.

Eventually, he relents, and goes to sleep.

Wei Wuxian sits up all night wondering if Lan Wangji was actually trying to do what it seemed like he was trying to do, and what it might mean if he was.

~~~

The time after that, it is Wei Wuxian's fault entirely.

It has been three days since Lan Wangji's accidental drunken night, and Wei Wuxian can't stop thinking about the intent in his drowsy gaze, or the brief second Lan Wangji's hands were at his waist. Every night when they go to bed, the room, the inn, are different. But the tension created in his spine by the memory of wanting and being so close but so far, is the same.

Wei Wuxian wants to drink.

But he knows that he probably should not under any circumstances get tipsy alone with Lan Wangji if he wants to preserve their friendship. So drinking is out. But he needs...he feels like he's going crazy. He needs some kind of...release. And it's been days, he's been too keyed up to try jerking off since The Incident. Plus Lan Wangji has just always been nearby. Which is great, actually, he would gladly go on forever this way, but it's also not ideal when being around him at all has been getting him half hard with no way to take care of it.

But they're two mature adults. They fight monsters every day. Wei Wuxian has been dead for crying out loud. It shouldn't be hard to ask for some privacy. It's understandable that he should need some, sometimes. Lan Wangji had seemed to understand even when he was drunk out of his mind. Of course he understands—Wei Wuxian has only gone a few days and he's starting to fray, imagine Lan Wangji going all these years without. Imagine if he ever did...it

would probably be. It'd probably be...really...

He doesn't think about it. He doesn't ask.

He decides to sneak off into the woods, instead. Except, when he gets up to leave, Lan Wangji gets up as well.

"Ah...are you. Going out too?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji blinks at him, and backs up a step in that unconscious way of his. "Apologies. I assumed, from the hour, that you had deemed it was time for us to eat."

"Oh. We could do that."

Lan Wangji shakes his head. "I would not infringe on your plans."

Wei Wuxian cringes internally. "You're not. I was just...I was just. Going. Out. To...to walk."

Lan Wangji stares at him with new suspicion. Wei Wuxian crumbles.

"I needed some privacy."

Lan Wangji's ears heat, and his eyes slip to the ground. "I see."

Wei Wuxian turns as if to leave again, and suddenly Lan Wangji realizes that he has nowhere to go.

"Stay. I will go."

"Ah, you don't have to, Lan Zhan, don't worry about it."

"Nonsense. It is more comfortable here."

He barely gets through the sentence once it registers what he is saying. What they are discussing happening in this room. His ears are on fire.

"Yeah which is why you should just stay here, comfortable."

Lan Wangji shakes his head and moves to brush past him.

"Or we could both say."

Wei Wuxian has no idea what makes him say it. He's playing with fire, and this was not the plan. But he keeps hearing Lan Wangji's sad voice saying it is easier. The loneliness in it. A twisted part of him doesn't want Lan Wangji to be left out in the cold. Literally or metaphorically.

Lan Wangji has frozen. He does not know what Wei Wuxian is suggesting. Does not want to assume. Does not want to even entertain the idea that he might mean—

"I don't mind if you don't," Wei Wuxian goes on.

Mind? Lan Wangji does not mind. That is not the cause of the white noise now roaring in his head.

"It's up to you. We both stay, or I can go,” says Wei Wuxian.

It is childishly manipulative, transparently so. On reflex, Lan Wangji cuts a glare at him, but quickly looks away. It feels lewd to look at him at all, just now.

"You could...play a song, or something, if..."

Lan Wangji has to look at him then. He wants him to play for him while he...while he...

Wei Wuxian's face scrunches up. "That...that's probably. This is probably weird. You probably don't want to be aware of—this was weird. Forget it. You can go, I can go. I just thought you might not mind, since—"

He cuts off as if he's said something he didn't mean to.

"Since?" Lan Wangji prompts. He has no idea where the sentence was meant to lead.

"Ah..." Wei Wuxian rubs the back of his head. "That night you drank my wine," he starts.

Lan Wangji's stomach drops.

"Ah, it's nothing bad!" Wei Wuxian hurries to say. "Don't look so upset."

"What did I say?"

Wei Wuxian has been acting distant the last few days. This explains everything. He must have said something untoward. Unacceptable.

"You didn't really say anything much."

Lan Wangji's alarm heightens.

"Did I—do—"

"Don't worry!" Wei Wuxian almost shouts. He can't handle the stricken expression on Lan Wangji's usually calm face. "You didn't do anything bad."

"Then what—"

"You...sort of. You. You wanted to help, is all."

Lan Wangji's eyes widen further. He looks absolutely horrified. Wei Wuxian wants to kick himself.

"I—it wasn't—"

Except it was sort of like that. But not in...not in a bad way. It was sort of...weirdly cute. He doesn't think he can say that. He takes a deep breath.

"It wasn't bad. Nothing happened. You just seemed...you weren't upset by the concept."

Lan Wangji stares at him.

"...But you clearly are now, so."

There is a long, awkward silence. Lan Wangji stares hard at the wall.

"It does not upset me," he hazards. He wants to be clear on this. Does not want Wei Wuxian to think him judgmental, or a prude.

"Okay."

"It is natural to require privacy for such things."

"Yes."

"Therefore I shall leave you."

"...If you like."

That strange opening, once again. The offer to...to share space, while he—

"What would you like?" Lan Wangji finds himself saying. His breath leaves him with the words.

"I'd like to know what really keeps you from doing it, even now."

Lan Wangji looks at him, shocked.

"If you just didn't want to, or didn't feel like it, that would be one thing," he goes on, "but that's not what you said."

Lan Wangji curses himself for speaking so freely, that night. "Why does it matter?"

Wei Wuxian frowns at him, thinking.

"Because sometimes, I think you find little ways to punish yourself. You don't deserve that. Especially not like this."

It feels like a physical strike, and Lan Wangji flinches from it. The worst part of it is that it might even be true.

"Pot. Kettle. Black," he counters.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "That's fair. Yeah, that's fair."

"So is your point," Lan Wangji is forced to concede. "Possibly."

Wei Wuxian's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, that...that's unfortunate."

"If you say so."

"We should do something about it."

The both of them go very still.

Wei Wuxian did not mean it to sound like such a pointed suggestion.

Lan Wangji does not know what to do with it.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, but it trails off pitifully.

"I didn't mean—" he starts at the same time Lan Wangji says,

"Alright."

They both snap their mouths shut.

Lan Wangji knows he has said the wrong thing, now. Knows he has given away a weakness, read the wrong thing into their situation, making it hopelessly awkward between them at last.

Wei Wuxian takes stock. It's rare for Lan Wangji to express himself like this. He can't shoot him down. He can't let that wounded look stay on his face.

"You could try it," he says. "I could...whatever you need." That sounds wrong. He tries again. "I could answer...questions. Or I could. Be moral support." Everything he says sounds stupid.

Lan Wangji is turning slowly pink. It's extremely fetching. Wei Wuxian can't help but try to deepen the shade, an old reflex.

"I could show you how."

It's a joke, and it's not. He meant to tease, probably. It did not come out that way at all. He can't take it back.

Lan Wangji thinks he should probably feel patronized, but his heart is thudding too hard for him to think clearly. He should say no. Of course he should. He knows what this would do to him, knows he would never be able to look at Wei Wuxian the same. He is already tortured constantly by the glimpse he accidentally stole. This would make things exponentially worse.

But at the same time, contrary to popular belief, he is only a man. How is he to deny something so close to what he has always wanted, freely given? No matter that it means nothing. He cannot quite refuse outright.

"I understand the mechanics," he says instead. Neither a yes nor a no.

Wei Wuxian smiles crookedly. "There's a little more to it than that."

This is somewhat of a genuine surprise. It must show on his face.

"Tips and tricks," Wei Wuxian says, "I know a few."

Lan Wangji can feel his face flushing now, hot and likely obvious. It is not a usual occurrence.

"I've had way more practice than you, you have to admit."

Lan Wangji generally tries not to think of it. "I suppose."

"Ah, Lan Zhan, are you mad there's something I'm better at than you?"

"Of course not," Lan Wangji replies, automatic. "You are very skilled at many things."

Wei Wuxian is grinning at him now. It feels more natural. He realizes he's been baited into relaxing somewhat.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, his grin fading a little, "if it's too awkward, then forget it. But the offer stands."

Lan Wangji feels very much pulled along by Wei Wuxian's current. It is a familiar feeling. He does the only thing he knows how to do any longer: he gives in.

"Alright."

Wei Wuxian blinks. In absolutely no part of his mind had he expected Lan Wangji to accept. He doesn't know what he thought. He wasn't actually thinking.

And now...

He. Well. Now he has to do as he said he would.

"Alright," he echoes back. "I...then. Alright."

It should be easy, in a sense. Once he'd become an official Jiang disciple and entered the dorms, it had become a necessity to tune out the presence of other people. But other people aren't Lan Wangji. And he can't remember anyone ever watching. That's certainly...something else. 

He goes back into the bedroom, stripping off layers as he goes. He leaves most of them on—he's pretty sure this isn't supposed to be that kind of show.

Unless it is.

But it's not.

He turns to find Lan Wangji hovering, eyes averted, very much visibly embarrassed, and he has a very genius, very stupid idea.

As a teacher, he has come to appreciate that interactive learning is a powerful tool.

"Lan Zhan," he says, "learning by doing works best, sometimes."

"That is true," Lan Wangji says slowly.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. "Just an idea."

"Clarify." He does not want to misunderstand again.

Wei Wuxian fights his own blush at being made to say it. "We could do it at the same time. I could show you and you could try it. That way I could...you could. It might help."

Help what, he's not sure. He knows how all of this sounds. And yet here they are. He just can't stop himself.

Lan Wangji is having trouble deciding which of Wei Wuxian's suggestions should be accepted and which should be dismissed. He is unversed in what parts of this might cross the line of friendship.

But Wei Wuxian is offering. And in a deep, secret place, deeper even than his hopeless love, a part of him not only wants to see Wei Wuxian this way, but wants to be seen by him. He wants Wei Wuxian to have this part of him, whether he would care to keep it or not. He wants to give it to him more than he wants to have it himself.

"How?"

Wei Wuxian has once again not thought that far ahead. He scans the room, mind scrambling.

"Well. I...could sit. Here. And then you could also...you could sit."

He's staring at his bed, trying to think of a way this is not just him asking Lan Wangji to climb into bed with him. It occurs to him that's what he's been doing this entire time. He almost panics, but then...

Lan Wangji has been agreeing.

He looks at him again. Really looks. He's embarrassed, yes. A little lost. But underneath that, he looks determined.

For whatever reason, Lan Wangji wants this.

It settles the disquiet in Wei Wuxian. There's something Lan Wangji needs, here, and he's in a position to figure out how to let him have it. That's as worthy a cause as any.

"Get comfortable first," he says. "No Hanguang-jun allowed, this lesson is for Lan Zhan only."

Lan Wangji reaches up to take down his elaborate set of hair ornaments, and Wei Wuxian turns to consider the bed. It doesn't look very comfortable to lean on any part of it, so sitting is probably not ideal. It might be a hard sell, but he sees only one option.

"Lan Zhan—"

Lan Wangji is standing behind him, undone and soft. Smaller, without his tall hair and his billowing layers. Vulnerable. Wei Wuxian's heart does something complicated but familiar, and then picks up its pace. He'll have to tread carefully. To be careful with him.

"We'll just lie down first," he says. "Get used to that and go from there."

He expects A Look at the concept of getting used to lying down. But Lan Wangji only nods at the floorboards.

It's a little bit heartbreaking. Wei Wuxian is fairly certain a comforting touch wouldn't help. He stretches out and shimmies over to the side, as far as he can go to leave room. Lan Wangji only hesitates a moment before following suit. It's unfair how graceful he is, even in moments like this.

"Alright?" Wei Wuxian keeps his voice as soft and unobtrusive as he can.

Lan Wangji nods at the ceiling this time, his hands folded over his chest as if ready for sleep.

"It's really not a big deal, once you're used to it," he says, letting his mouth run. "It's like eating, or playing music. You figure out the ways you like to do it, and

try to get better at them." 

He feels silly, giving a lecture on this, but he thinks the chatter is having the desired calming effect. Lan Wangji's breathing looks deeper. More even. But maybe he shouldn't be staring at him so much just now.

He turns to the ceiling, too.

"It's good to start slowly," he says. "Relax, get your body tuned into touch the way you want it to be. Don't just dive straight in."

There is a beat of silence, of stillness.

He actually has to do this now.

He takes a breath and pulls open his robes. Sets a hand on bare skin.

"Like this."

Lan Wangji can barely hear him over the rushing, pounding blood in his ears, in his mind, in his everywhere. He is aware of movement beside him, and the awareness that Wei Wuxian is undressing further, is bare, is touching himself, floods him with something like burning slush.

"Whenever you're ready," Wei Wuxian says, and the rustle of fabric sounds lewd in the silence. "Just touch your stomach or something. Ground yourself."

Hastily, jerkily, Lan Wangji unties his robes and tunic, opening them just enough to lay fingertips on flesh. 

He cannot get enough air.

"When that feels nice, you can try something else. Like finding other places that feel particularly good. You know."

Lan Wangji has vague ideas. He does not really know. Does not think he could find them now, like this, strung so tightly.

"And whenever you feel like it, you can move on to more things. Or even The Thing, depending on how it feels."

Lan Wangji hears the slide of skin on skin. Hears Wei Wuxian's hand moving lower. The displacement of the waistband of his trousers.

He has never been so hard in his life. He wonders if it is possible to die from such a thing. He feels as if he might.

"How is it?" Wei Wuxian asks. His voice is breathier than it was a moment ago.

Lan Wangji feels dampness bloom in his own trousers. He clenches his fists and shuts his eyes.

"Lan Zhan?"

Wei Wuxian glances over, and sees the pained look on Lan Wangji's face. He stops the light, tentative touch he's been using on himself.

"What is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. Wei Wuxian frowns.

"We can stop this right now," he says. "I'm sorry if I pushed it too far. I..."

"No," says Lan Wangji. "You did not. It is not your fault. I should not have agreed."

"Why not?"

Lan Wangji does not know where to begin.

"I should have known I would not be able to."

Wei Wuxian considers this. "There's nothing wrong with not being able to...perform. Under pressure. That—"

Reflexively, he glances down at him, and learns with immediate, brain-melting clarity that performance is not the issue. The sight chokes off the rest of his words. He tries to compose himself. He’s supposed to be helping, not panting like a dog. That's just taking advantage.

"Or. Ah...Do you feel like trying to tell me what the problem is?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head and blows out a frustrated breath. "I am sorry."

"Don't apologize," Wei Wuxian says, resisting the guilt that wants to spring on him. He can troubleshoot this. It's Lan Zhan. He deserves to feel good. "Is it just because I'm here? I can go."

"No," Lan Wangji says quickly. "I will go."

"Lan Zhan..." Wei Wuxian says gently. "You can't go out in public like that."

Lan Wangji knows this. And he has had this problem before, to a lesser extent. He is very good at getting rid of it. Only just now, with Wei Wuxian's warmth palpable beside him, he finds himself unable to concentrate. 

Embarrassment and frustration are rolling off of Lan Wangji in waves. Wei Wuxian casts about, desperate for a solution to the distress he has inadvertently caused.

"Lan Zhan, relax. It's only me. We have time to figure it out. Take a deep breath."

Lan Wangji breathes. It shudders out of him.

"Can I help?" Wei Wuxian asks.

He means it in a general way.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open and fix him with a disbelieving stare, and he hears, then, how it sounded.

But Lan Wangji looks so...helpless. Almost pleading.

He doubles down.

"Let me help."

Lan Wangji stares at him with confusion just on the edge of fear. Wei Wuxian reaches out to hover a hand over his arm.

"Can I touch you?"

He sees Lan Wangji's throat bob as he swallows hard. He gives the slightest of nods. Wei Wuxian presses down on his bicep in what he hopes is a comforting way, and sweeps his thumb back and forth. Lan Wangji is so warm, even through his remaining layers.

"It's only me," Wei Wuxian says again. He runs his hand down to the fist curled tightly on Lan Wangji's stomach and gently pries it open. He wraps his fingers around his hand and rubs the back of it with his thumb until it relaxes. "It's just us. You trust me, and I trust you, right? Nothing to worry about."

Every word Wei Wuxian says is like another blade to Lan Wangji's gut. He should not be allowing this. In the name of trust, he should not let Wei Wuxian touch him with kindness, with the assumption of pure friendship. He should stop this.

But Wei Wuxian's hand is warm on his. A gesture so simple, reducing Lan Wangji to a hopeless, lovestruck fool. He cannot pull away from it. He could not bear to.

But then Wei Wuxian is moving their hands to rest on the bed between them, and letting go. He slides his hand back up Lan Wangji's arm to his shoulder, then down just slightly. Almost to his chest. Lan Wangji cannot breathe.

Wei Wuxian goes up on an elbow, looking down at him. His robes fall open just slightly, revealing a slice of skin. Lan Wangji looks away.

"Can I show you?" Wei Wuxian asks softly. His hand is a heavy weight. He is asking...he is asking to...

Lan Wangji should say no.

He cannot say it.

He nods. 

When Wei Wuxian's hand moves, when it slides to the center of his chest and beneath the fabric there, Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The first touch is a shock. With considerable effort, he does not flinch. He does not gasp. He keeps still and quiet as the small, shivery waves of sensation roll across his body, growing and fading as more of Wei Wuxian's hand comes in contact with his skin. It rests there, then, and Lan Wangji is grateful for the pause. He needs it to calm himself, to keep from shaking out of his body and into the ether.

But then it begins to move, a slow caress, and Lan Wangji feels all of his hair stand on end.

He did not know touch could feel like this.

"Alright?" Wei Wuxian asks, his hand petting up and down the center of Lan Wangji's chest, gradually widening into oblong circles.

The bright softness of it is beginning to overwhelm Lan Wangji, the sharp awareness it brings to his body unfamiliar and heady. He nods.

They have come this far. He does not know what it would do to him to stop, now. The only way out is through.

Wei Wuxian brushes his fingers out deliberately farther, catching across a nipple. Lan Wangji does not manage to stop his shocked intake of breath at the difference in feeling, at the very pointed, very intense pleasure. Wei Wuxian circles his fingertips almost casually, and does it again. As if it is directly connected, his cock jerks, the damp spot in his trouser spreading. Again, and he clenches his teeth against the sounds working up in his throat.

"Is that too much?" Wei Wuxian asks. He feels unsteady, jittery with adrenaline and determination. He can't believe Lan Wangji is letting him do this. He knows he has to make the most of this one chance.

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and Wei Wuxian gives his nipple a gentle squeeze. At that, Lan Wangji does gasp quietly, his hands fisting tight in the bedding.

"Enough," he forces out, hoarse.

Wei Wuxian's fingers still. "You want—you want me to—"

Lan Wangji nods, his skin flushed with embarrassment and arousal in equal parts. Wei Wuxian moves his hand to rest low on Lan Wangji's stomach, and all his muscles jump and tense in response. It is too intimate, this touch, somehow. More intimate than the others. His cock aches, and leaks, and he is nearly tempted to take it in hand himself. But he is paralyzed still by fearful embarrassment, and now also by his ferocious desire, empowered by all this unexpected fulfillment of distant, illicit hopes.

He waits.

"Lan Zhan, look at me," Wei Wuxian murmurs. He doesn't think he can do this without looking into his eyes and knowing he's really alright.

Lan Wangji's eyes open with a flutter of dark lashes, and their darkness, their intensity, shocks straight through to Wei Wuxian's own arousal. He had expected discomfort and uncertainty. The nerves are there, the slight fear, too, and the embarrassment, yes. But these are nearly subsumed by stormy, determined desire.

Wei Wuxian sees now, he thinks, what Lan Wangji meant. How simply not giving in to the slightest temptation might prove easier than keeping such fierce feeling leashed. He had not realized Lan Wangji might contain such heat, such extraordinary worldly needfulness.

It's insanely arousing. Wei Wuxian struggles not to fall upon him and ravish him on the best of days, but this...

He clears his throat. "Ready?"

Eyes still locked on Wei Wuxian's, Lan Wangji nods, clear and careful. Wei Wuxian slips his hand down, beneath his waistband, immediately hot and slick. He can feel Lan Wangji's hard muscles twitching beneath smooth skin and coarse hair. He lifts his fingers to skim his knuckles along his length, and holds back a shiver. Lan Wangji is hard, and hot, and smooth as silk. And big. Really big.

Wei Wuxian's mouth waters, and that is...a new response to this type of information. He files it away to think about never again.

Lan Wangji can only breathe in short, shallow pants. The light touch is driving him to distraction, too much and not nearly enough. His hips jerk unconsciously. His focus, his restraint, is beginning to drift out of his grasp.

Wei Wuxian wraps his hand around him loosely, and strokes him once from root to tip.

A long breath shudders out of him along with a small, pained sound he does not mean to make. He shuts his eyes tight, but then Wei Wuxian lets go. Lan Wangji makes another sound. Quieter, yet more embarrassing.

"Not enough room," Wei Wuxian says, his hand flat on Lan Wangji's stomach, between his hips.

Lan Wangji does not understand how a touch that was so overwhelming a moment ago could be so grounding now. He is able to fill his lungs easier, for a moment, even though he aches for the touch to return.

"These—can I—” Wei Wuxian tugs at his trousers.

Lan Wangji nods without looking, without thinking. He does not care. Not now.

Wei Wuxian shoves them down. Lan Wangji knows he is shifting, straining for him, but cannot do anything to stop. He is bare and pleading, and he finds he cannot mind at all.

Wei Wuxian knows he shouldn't stare, but it really is impossible not to. Lan Wangji's cock is huge, beautiful, and dark with need. It looks almost painful, honestly, and Wei Wuxian very purposely does not think about how that might be particularly turning him on. Instead he does what he's here to do. He helps.

He touches him gently at first, then more firmly, each stroke coaxing another pulse of precome from his tip. Wei Wuxian didn't even know you could get this wet. But then, he hasn't really taken stock of the state of his own trousers. All of this is very new. He's honestly happy to be surprised.

Lan Wangji is shifting under his hand, breath erratic and noisy, his face contracted in an ecstatic, agonized expression. It's so beautiful Wei Wuxian wishes he could paint it. Wishes he could paint it across the backs of his own eyes and look at it forever.

"Come on, Lan Zhan," he hears himself saying. His voice sounds like a stranger's. "That's good, just let go."

Lan Wangji groans. It's low, and quiet, but it makes Wei Wuxian's cock twitch so hard he gasps.

"Come on," he breathes. "That's right."

Lan Wangji tosses his head to the side and gasps, then visibly bites back another noise. Wei Wuxian tightens his grip and focuses on twisting his hand at the right time, adding and releasing pressure in the right places.

Lan Wangji cuts off a louder sound, sweat breaking out across his skin.

"Wei Ying," he murmurs then, as if dreaming.

Wei Wuxian knows he will be hearing it in his own dreams for the rest of his life.

With one more aborted cry, Lan Wangji's perfectly muscled stomach tenses up in a shallow crescent, and he comes. Head thrown back, throat working with the ragged sounds forced through it. He comes, and comes. Wei Wuxian has never seen this much come in his life. He strokes him, and pulls him through it for what seems like forever. Finally, he quiets, and the ribbons of white shorten and then cease entirely.

Lan Wangji's breaths come hitched and wet, almost like little sobs. Wei Wuxian stares. His mind is entirely, screamingly blank.

At length, Lan Wangji's eyes blink open and look at him with bleary shock. He looks drunk. He looks fucked out. He looks incredible. His eyes are big and damp, his mouth full and red and open. Wei Wuxian wants to—but no. He can't, because—but then Lan Wangji's gaze cuts down to Wei Wuxian's lips, and—

Wei Wuxian leans down and crashes their mouths together. No finesse, no care, no gentleness. He just needs to taste him, to feel him.

Lan Wangji makes a soft, wanting sound and kisses back, sluggish but no less enthusiastic for it. He grabs him with both hands and holds on tight. Wei Wuxian licks into his mouth, hot and soft and insistent, and Lan Wangji hears himself make another awful sound. He tries to keep up, wants distantly to be good at this, feels as if maybe, somehow, if he were, he might be allowed to have it again.

This need collides with the more present one to feel the give of Wei Wuxian's lower lip between his teeth.

Wei Wuxian is the one to make a sound now, sudden and cut-off but needful nonetheless. His fingers dig into Lan Wangji's waist, slippery with come. This combination reawakens Lan Wangji's briefly calmed desire. Now that the dam has burst, he finds himself wanting all sorts of filthy things, most urgently for Wei Wuxian's spend to mix with his own on his skin.

He tries to focus on the kiss. Tries to make Wei Wuxian make that sound again.

Wei Wuxian is losing the struggle not to rut against Lan Wangji's hip. This all started because he was already going out of his mind, and now that the barrier between them has crumbled, what he has wanted hopelessly and what he needs immediately have become the same thing.

"Lan Zhan," he pants against his open mouth, "I...I need. Can I—"

Lan Wangji's fingers dig into his arms. "Yes." His voice is low and shredded. It's so hot Wei Wuxian is surprised he doesn't just come from the sound. "Please."

"Oh, fuck," Wei Wuxian mumbles, and fumbles his trousers down.

He gets a hand around himself—the same hand, still wet, and fuck, oh fuck—but Lan Wangji puts an arm around him and pulls him close, against his side. He sees, out of the corner of his eye, that Lan Wangji is—he's still—

They lock eyes. Wei Wuxian swallows hard. "Do you...do you still need..."

Lan Wangji blinks rapidly, then nods mutely.

He does not actually know. He has no idea what he needs, other than to see what Wei Wuxian might do next.

What he does is push himself up, thighs astride Lan Wangji's hips.

Lan Wangji is not prepared for it. All his breath leaves him once more.

"Is this—too much?" Wei Wuxian asks, leaning over him, breathing hard, pink with his own flush.

Lan Wangji tries not to do anything too extreme, like gripping Wei Wuxian's bare, muscled thighs with both hands.

"It is not," he manages roughly.

Wei Wuxian grinds down against him, and his curse is drowned out by Lan Wangji's sudden, anguished oh.

"Is it—Lan Zhan—is it—"

Lan Wangji's hands are fisted tightly in the bedding, his eyes squeezed shut and turned away. The pale column of his throat is exposed, tense and lovely.

"Please," he breathes.

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian chides softly, an odd pang in his chest. "It's alright."

He brushes damp hair from Lan Wangji's face, careful not to touch his ribbon. He leans down close and kisses the corner of his mouth. He's so perfect. Wei Wuxian hates to see him seem so conflicted about something so good.

"You can let go," he says again. He doesn't know how to make him understand. "With me, you can, if you want to. I want you to. I really...if you need—whatever you want. I'm here."

As he speaks, he can't seem to stop his hips from moving, little catches of almost-friction between their cocks making Lan Wangji's breath hitch beneath him.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He could be ruining everything. But he can't stop. He's never been this close to anyone, or wanted anyone this much. And it's not anyone, it's Lan Zhan. He wants him. He wants to make him feel good. He wants to be the person to do that. Preferably forever, but he'll take just this for as long as he can have it.

He kisses Lan Wangji's jaw, his perfect throat.

"Is this good? Do you want it?" He has to ask.

"Yes."

Breathless, the both of them undone. He kisses farther down.

"Do you...do you want to touch me too?" He tries not to sound too hopeful.

A pause, then the hoarse reply. "Yes."

"Then touch me."

Another pause. Hesitant fingertips at his knee, sliding upward. The barest touch of a palm on his thigh. He places his own hand over it and presses it down.

"Hold on," he says.

Then he thrusts against him and bites down gently at the same time.

Lan Wangji grips him hard and gasps, chest heaving against Wei Wuxian's.

"Yeah," Wei Wuxian goads, thrusting again. It feels so good. It feels better than anything he's imagined. "Yeah, like this, Lan Zhan, oh fuck."

It's incredible, and yet he needs more. He does his best to line them up and take them both in hand, but his hand is only so big, and between the two of them he's pleased to say neither of them would be considered small. He tries though, and it's almost perfect. Lan Wangji beneath him, writhing and panting, his helpless little noises and upward thrusts. The slick drag between them as he holds them together. He knows he's not going to last, but he almost doesn't care. The best part is watching him.

Lan Wangji is coming apart. He is reduced to sensation, overcome entirely by the sharpness, the omnipresence of pleasure. The only thing anchoring him to the world is Wei Wuxian's soft voice in his ear, Wei Wuxian's hands on his body. He has no idea if a second release is possible, but for now he is blissfully, mindlessly tossed in the ceaseless current.

He is aware of Wei Wuxian taking his hand and moving it, and then the hot, slick mess of them pressed together in his hand.

"Ah," Wei Wuxian pants against him. "That's—good. Together, like this—oh, fuck, Lan Zhan, your hand is—I—"

He groans right under Lan Wangji's ear, and it's so obscene, so honest, that Lan Wangji's climax drags him under with no warning. It feels like every vein, every nerve bursting, filling his limbs, his mind, his mouth with something bittersweet. Like something breaking in him beyond repair.

Lan Wangji moans, long and low and pleading, as he comes. The sound, the sight, the tightening of his hand around them, are all too much. It sends Wei Wuxian over the edge after him, jolting and groaning. He looks down to watch, awed where he might've thought he should be disgusted. In the height of it, he wants to smear his hands through their spend on Lan Wangji's perfect skin, to paint their names in it.

He doesn't do that. This has already pushed through too many boundaries. He collapses into the mess instead, an unsubtle compromise, and then finds himself too weak to move.

When the euphoria fades, it hits him. What they've just done. What he's done, really. Mad with want and lacking any impulse control whatsoever, he may have just done what demonic cultivation and 16 years of absence couldn't manage. He may have just driven Lan Wangji out of his life for good. He...he thinks, probably, the effect won't be quite that drastic. But he's suddenly afraid it could be.

Lan Wangji comes back to himself warm and pleasantly weighed down. Slowly, as his breathing evens out, the comfort bleeds out of him leaving only exhaustion and nerves.

He is not sure how much he has given away, in this. How much of what he has just done can be excused. He tries to still the tremors that are still pulsing through his muscles. Tries to regain his footing, to think. It is nearly impossible with Wei Wuxian still draped over him, boneless and pliant. But he would not trade it away, not a single moment of it.

Eventually, unfortunately, Wei Wuxian lifts up and off. Lan Wangji feels a moment of stark, certain grief, and turns away from him.

"We should clean up," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji nods. They should. There is...much to clean.

A hand grasps his arm, sudden and solid.

"Lan Zhan, we're okay, right? I didn't. I didn't...this wasn't wrong."

Lan Wangji shakes his head. It was far from wrong.

"Okay...okay. Then, are you okay?"

Lan Wangji does not want to lie. It is a difficult question. It is possible he is alright. He simply does not know.

"Did you know?" Lan Wangji asks suddenly, without premeditation of any sort. 

He wishes he could shove the words back into his mouth. But he cannot help but wonder. How much of this was...a knowing kindness? How much of this was pity, born of his own horribly obvious desires?

"Know what?"

Lan Wangji takes a breath. As much as he wishes he could, he does not think he could go back. Back to before he had this, knew this, felt this.

"That I wanted you."

There is a stunned silence. The hand on his arm tightens painfully.

"No," Wei Wuxian says. "You—how long?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. That, he is not sure he can make himself say.

"Did...did you know?"

"Know?" Lan Wangji repeats, confused. Of course he knew his own desires, as unfortunate as they were.

"That I wanted you."

The silence then is suspended. The moment before a fall. Lan Wangji turns.

"You what?"

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. He really is an unparalleled mess. Lan Wangji aches with how much he loves him.

"Lan Zhan," he says, covering sheepishness with a reprimanding tone. "You didn't really think you were the only one, after that?"

Lan Wangji feels as if he is making rather a habit of complete and utter breathlessness. He stares at him, at the earnestly hopeful look in Wei Wuxian's eyes.

"I did not know."

"Well," Wei Wuxian says. "You do now. In case...in case that matters."

Lan Wangji does not know what is happening inside him, but it is riotous. He shoves it down, out of the way. This is something, but it is not...he cannot. He has lied by omission, he feels, too much now. He cannot continue.

"Then you should know," he says, measured as he can, "that what I feel is more than wanting." Wei Wuxian continues to stare at him. Lan Wangji has to look away. "In case that matters."

"It matters," Wei Wuxian says, a thin croak. "It—Lan Zhan, how much more, exactly, could you be, ah, specific? Because I don't want to say the wrong thing, but—"

Lan Wangji cannot bear to speak of it anymore. He unties his ribbon and lays it across Wei Wuxian's palm, at which point Wei Wuxian stops speaking and stares at it, instead of him, for a long moment.

"Lan Zhan..."

Lan Wangji's heart is heavy even as anxiety sparks through his overtired veins. But then, suddenly, he is horizontal again, and there is a riot of a different sort, of heat and limbs and lips, and he is being kissed all over his face.

"How long?" Wei Wuxian is saying again, between sweet pecks and lingering presses. "You wouldn't say. How long?"

"Wei Ying?"

Wei Wuxian can tell Lan Wangji hasn't yet caught up, and it's adorable and sad at the same time. He takes pity.

"I'll go first. I think I've probably loved you since forever, but I didn't know until, well, until I thought I'd lost you, back then. How stupid is that? Now you. Tell me how stupid we both are, how long we could have been doing this."

Lan Wangji is staring at him with unadulterated awe. It's cute, but it also makes Wei Wuxian feel squirmy and uncomfortable. He kisses him again, deep and slow, a new way they haven't tried. It's extremely good.

He manages to tear himself away. "Tell me or I'll stop kissing you," he says. He doesn't even know if it's a good threat. He hopes it is. It'd get him to speak if their places were reversed.

"Always," Lan Wangji breathes, still awed, still wide-eyed and sweet. It gives Wei Wuxian pause.

Lan Wangji sees him looking back through his spotty memories, trying to fit this information into them. He feels a stab of regret that he never made it clear before now. He resolves to make it abundantly clear every moment from here on out. He surges up to kiss those memories away.

It takes a long, long time before they clean up and do anything else.

In the future, Lan Wangji still doesn't make a habit of engaging in self-pleasure. He doesn't have to. Except, of course, when Wei Wuxian realizes he's rather sad he missed out on watching.

~The End~

If you enjoyed this, you can keep up with new threads as they happen on my twitter. If you want to see me in Real Writing Mode, check out my works on ao3!

[marjansmarwani]

flicker, into a flame

13.1k || ao3

When their home is attacked and they get separated, TK is left to face the awful possibility that he might lose Carlos. When he finds out later that the attack on their home could be in retaliation for his dad's newest obsession with Austin's arsonist, he lashes out. Owen never wanted any of this to happen and if he could he would take it all back, but that's not possible. All any of them can do is hope for the best and that Carlos makes it through. If he doesn't nothing will ever be the same, for any of them. ----- A 2x12 spec fic

This got a lot longer than I meant it to be. But here it is - just in time to be proven wrong! This was started before the promo clip of Gabriel arresting Owen so that is not in here, but there are still many of my theories, and just as many from @silvarafael who helped a lot with the plot of this one. Yes it is angsty, but I promise there are soft parts, and a soft ending because they deserve it.

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

TK woke up to a soft kiss on his forehead. He blinked his eyes open to find his fully clothed boyfriend staring down at him with a gentle smirk. “What,” Carlos began with a raised eyebrow, “three weeks of living together and we’ve already hit the ‘in bed before 9’ part of our relationship?” 

TK rolled so he was facing Carlos, giving him a warm smile that morphed into a yawn. “Sorry babe,” he said around the yawn, “it was a really long shift. I figured I’d just get a quick nap in before you got home but I must have fallen asleep for real. What time is it?” 

“Just past 8,” Carlos replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed and studying him, “you look exhausted.” 

“Non-stop calls,” TK provided by way of explanation. “I don’t think we were ever in the station longer than a half-hour all day.”

Carlos winced sympathetically, reaching out to run a hand through TK’s hair. “Everyone needed to be saved by you, huh? Can’t say I blame them.” 

“Or something like that,” TK agreed lightly before starting to sit up and throw the blankets off of him. “But you’re home now, I’ll get up. We can do something.” 

“We could,” Carlos agreed. “Or, we could stay right here. I have some ideas.” 

TK paused in his movements to raise a suggestive eyebrow, “Is that so?” 

“Mhmm,” Carlos confirmed, leaning forward and capturing TK’s mouth in a hungry kiss. TK smiled into it, reaching up and placing his hands on either side of Carlos’s face as he returned it.  

“Hi,” he said breathlessly when they broke apart for air, “how was work?” 

“Work was fine,” Carlos responded lightly, “just your average day of speeding tickets and domestic disputes. But I don’t want to talk about that right now. In fact, I’d rather not do much talking at all.” 

TK grinned mischievously, sliding his hands down from where they framed Carlos’s face across his neck and down to his chest, pulling lightly at the shirt covering it. “Then I regret to inform you that you are wearing too many clothes, Officer Reyes.” 

“Is that so? Well, that can be remedied easily.”

He pulled his shirt over his head, leaning forward again, pulling TK into a kiss as he blindly fumbled with his belt. He grinned into the kiss as TK made a noise of triumph and he felt his belt loosen and he lowered himself down, bracing himself on either side of TK’s body as he deepened the kiss. TK’s arms wrapped around him as he shifted, raising himself up on the bed so that they were closer, closing the distance between them. 

Their bodies were flush to each other now, their frantic breaths matching. Carlos moved his mouth from TK’s, trailing kisses down his neck instead. He was about to keep working his way down when he suddenly felt the warmth of TK’s hands leave his body. He barely had a moment to process before TK’s voice cut through the silence of their bedroom: “Wait, Carlos, Stop.” 

Carlos froze instantly, pulling away and looking down at TK with concern, “Is everything okay? We don’t need to if…” 

“No, it’s not that. It’s...do you smell something?” 

Carlos frowned at him but shifted his attention to the world outside their bed. There was a smell, drifting up from below them. It smelled like…

“Is that smoke?” He asked, glancing towards the doorway in alarm. 

“I think so,” TK agreed grimly and Carlos cursed, pulling himself off of TK and the bed before crossing to the doorway. TK followed him but was forced to stop when Carlos froze in the doorway. He watched as his boyfriend halted at the top of the stairs, reeling back at the sight of flames eating through the first floor and making their way up. He stepped further back as Carlos turned, stepping back into their bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him. 

“There’s fire downstairs,” he informed TK unnecessarily, “we’re not getting out that way.”

TK cursed and glanced around the room before heading to the balcony. “Any chance there’s a fire escape somewhere you forgot to mention and I never noticed?” he called as he went. 

Carlos, who had been in the act of following TK towards across the room looked up only to shake his head before he returned his attention to the bag he had dropped when he had entered the room, rummaging through it in search of his phone. 

He made a noise of triumph as he found it, briefly holding it up for TK to see before dialing. His eyes tracked TK on the other side of the room as he waited for the call to connect. TK offered him a smile before he turned back to the task at hand and pulled open the doors to the balcony. The smoke was even more obvious out here, leaking out into the night air through the window he was fairly certain he had left open. He stepped to the railing and looked down, trying to gauge how far of a drop it was. All the time he had spent here he should already know, but he had never thought to check. It was hard to tell in the dark, even with the orange glow of the home burning below him, but it didn’t look too far. If they went over the railing and then lowered themselves down, they should be able to make it. 

He turned to tell Carlos as much and was alarmed to see how much smoke was now filling their bedroom, despite the closed door. Carlos was still on the phone with dispatch but looked up when TK stepped back into the room. 

“I think if we can lower ourselves over the railing and drop down, we should be fine,” he called out and Carlos nodded, speaking into the phone before he lowered it from his ear and started to walk across the room. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, I trust you,” Carlos called as walked. “Either way, pretty sure it beats staying in here.” 

TK grinned at him as stepped further inside the room. He fully intended to make sure that Carlos got out first. He may be a paramedic now, but 7 years of firefighting left him feeling a lot more confident in his ability to survive in a flaming building than Carlos’s. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else unless he knew his boyfriend was safe. 

At least, that was the plan. 

Carlos was only about 6 feet away from him when it happened, so close to their exit; so close to safety. But the fire downstairs must be burning hotter than he had thought, or maybe he just wasn’t thinking clearly. Because when the floor buckled under Carlos, TK felt a shock unlike any other. There was a pause; a split second, where he felt a wave of fear overwhelm him. Where his eyes met Carlos’s to see the same mix of fear and surprise in his expression. It was only a moment, but it was enough.

In the next breath, TK lunged forward; reaching out to grab Carlos, to pull him back to safety. But that one moment had been his window, and he had missed it. He slid forward, stopping just short of the edge with a shout, able do nothing but watch in horror as Carlos fell with what had been their bedroom floor and out of TK’s sight into the flames below. 

He froze at the end of the hole, staring down into the destruction beneath him. He couldn’t make out anything: it all blurred together in a blinding haze of flame and smoke. He called out but his voice, tinged in panic and desperation, was swallowed by the roar of the fire. TK coughed harshly, instinct causing him to pull the neck of his shirt up over his mouth as he forced himself to look past the panic that was threatening to swallow him. He needed to get to Carlos. He needed to make sure he was okay. 

He picked himself up off the ground and carefully edged around the hole in the floor, heading back over to the door at the top of their stairs. He pulled it open and was almost toppled by the wave of heat that rushed through; staggering and reaching out for the doorframe to steady himself. He pulled his hands away a moment later, hissing in pain as the heat of the doorframe seared into his hand. A step through the doorway confirmed what he had feared: there would be no getting down that way. The stairs were fully engulfed. Even in his full turnout gear it would have been a challenge. In nothing but the t-shirt and sweats he had fallen asleep in earlier; it would be impossible. 

He could feel desperation and fear creeping back into his mind. He needed to get to Carlos. He needed to make sure he was safe. He needed Carlos to be okay. Nothing else mattered. 

He glanced back over his shoulder into their bedroom. There were no flames in there yet, just thick dark smoke. He turned that way, heading back into the room and to the edge of the hole in the floor, pausing for just a moment. He knew one way to get down to Carlos, even if 7 years of experience and instincts were yelling at him to stop. 

But it was Carlos, and he was worth every risk. 

So he clamored to the edge and lowered himself down, into the inferno below. 

It took him a few moments to get his bearings, to adjust to the bright light cast by the flames surrounding him. He blinked against the light and the smoke, hiking his t-shirt - far too thin to make any real difference - further up his face, doing his best to keep it secured above his nose. He had no idea where Carlos had fallen, or what shape he was in. He just hoped that he wasn’t too far or too badly hurt. 

He moved forward carefully, blinking the sweat running down his forehead from his eyes as he glanced around, looking for any sign of his boyfriend, any hint of where to head next. He thought he might be in the dining room, but it was almost impossible to tell. Everything looked wrong bathed in the sinister orange glow and for all his years of working in fire, TK was certain he had never hated it more than he did at this very moment. 

More of the ceiling crumbled as he walked beneath it, flaming pieces of plaster and wood singing his arms as he threw them protectively over his head. He could feel his skin blistering from even the briefest contact with the flaming debris but he ignored it and pushed forward, hoping that where ever Carlos was he was nowhere near the flames. He had a fleeting thought of what prolonged exposure to these flames could do if the briefest contact could leave him burned, but he pushed it away. He didn’t need to dwell on it, there was no point in considering the worst. 

TK reached the edge of the dining room and turned on the spot, scanning the surrounding area. Carlos was here somewhere, he just needed to find him. And fast – the flames were spreading. They didn’t have much more time, and Carlos had even less. He turned again, forcing himself to look past the flames. He could just make out a pile of rubble a few feet in front of him, mercifully untouched by flames and he rushed towards it with bated breath. He was forced to stop again when more of the ceiling rained down on him and he covered his head with his arms. He could feel new burns forming but he rushed forward the moment the shower stopped, bending down and moving the rubble. 

He almost swayed in relief when he saw a familiar arm underneath the scrap of wood he lifted, but his relief was short-lived when he realized that Carlos wasn’t moving. In fact, he seemed entirely unaware of either TK’s presence or the chaos that surrounded them and that filled TK with dread. He moved the rest of the rubble, quickly but carefully, until he had a better view and bent even further down, leaning closer to listen for any sounds of breathing; for any sign that he was alive.

He found none and could feel his world begin to collapse right along with their home.

But somewhere and somehow years of training emerged from the depth of his mind and took over, blanketing the pain and the fear with muscle memory as he shifted onto his knees before Carlos’s still form, stacking his hands on top of each other and starting to pump. The motion was rote and repetitive and if he tried, he could almost lose himself in the act; the rhythm of the motion and the counting almost distracting him from the fact that it was Carlos’s heart not beating beneath his fingers. 

But one look at Carlos’s slack face was all it took for reality to come crashing back in, each and every time. 

He paused at the end of his 30 compressions, shifting so he was at Carlos’s head and placing his mouth over his just like he had not even an hour before but in such a different way it shook him to his core. He breathed in, three times, before he switched back to compressions, wincing as he felt another rib give under the force of his hands. He lost himself in rhythm, so focused that he didn’t hear the footsteps or the shouts; that he didn’t realize the figures in turnout gear were upon him until a gloved hand on his shoulder startled him back to reality.   

The hand was trying to pull him away from Carlos but he resisted, pulling away and continuing to give compressions. He couldn’t stop; he needed to save him. 

The hand pulled more forcefully and was joined by an arm wrapped around his waist wrenching him away from Carlos. He fought against the grip, blindly lashing out as he turned. He only paused in his movements as he recognized Paul under the mask. 

“TK,” he was saying, shouting to be heard through the mask and over the din of the fire as new pieces of their ceiling crumbled to the ground as the flames grew ever higher. “You need to stop so we can get you out of here – both of you.” 

“Carlos…” TK started, and Paul nodded. 

“We’ve got him, I promise. We’re not leaving either of you behind, but you need to stop fighting me.”

Paul’s gaze was scared and desperate, and TK deflated with a nod. He allowed Paul to pull him further away as Marjan and Mateo grabbed Carlos, carefully lifting him and bringing him out. TK didn’t remove his eyes from him for a second, allowing Paul to do the work of navigating out of the burning structure that had been their home not even an hour ago. He watched as he was handed off to the B shift paramedic team even as he was pushed down onto the back of the ambulance by Paul. He saw Marjan and Mateo shoot him worried and fearful looks before they were off, returning to the truck and the hoses so they could attempt to stop the fire. He heard words exchanged to his right and the feeling of Paul's hand leaving him, but he only had focus for Carlos and the paramedic currently continuing compressions as another checked him over. 

“Here, kid, you’re going to need this.” 

The voice was gruff but gentle and TK spared a glance long enough to see Judd standing beside him now, reaching out to place an O2 mask over TK’s face. TK put up a hand and went to argue – he didn’t need help, he needed them to help Carlos – but his protests were stolen by a deep, rough cough that ripped from his chest. 

“Like I said,” Judd griped, but the hands that placed the mask on his face were gentle. The fresh oxygen filled his lungs and TK could feel some of the tension in his chest tighten, but any relief was fleeting as he saw the paramedic captain preparing the laryngoscope. He tried to rise from his spot on the back of the ambulance, to move closer, to help; but firm hands on his shoulder held him in place. 

“Let them work,” Judd told him calmly. “You know better than I do that they’re fully capable, and you’re in no shape to help anyone right now.”

TK tried to protest, going as far as reaching up to pull off the O2 mask, but his movements were halted by the sight of Captain Ramos getting into position and inserting the laryngoscope and beginning the process of intubating. TK had done it himself a hundred times, he knew the steps by heart; the feeling of resistance, the tricky process of placing it correctly. He knew why, he understood that it was the best approach for any patient with a compromised airway, especially from smoke inhalation. He knew all of these facts, had done the task with a professional detachment. Watching the tube being inserted into Carlos’s body – seeing the reality of an ambu bag being attached to pump the air he needed to survive into his body – was another matter entirely and if he hadn’t been pushed back down by Judd, he is sure he would have crumbled. 

As it was, he was shaking. 

This couldn’t be happening – it shouldn’t be happening. They should still be in their bed; Carlos should be standing. Their home should not be crumbling to embers before him while someone else did the breathing for Carlos. It was a scene he had seen more times than he could ever count. In the past 7 years, how many homes had he watched burn? How many victims had he transported, had he treated? He had thought it had all become routine, but it all looked so different from this side, and he hated it. It was wrong, every bit of it. 

He turned his gaze from their home back to Carlos, trying to follow the flurry of activity from the paramedic team. Instructions were given and stats were relayed but it was all white noise and soon a blur as his eyes filled with tears. He went to raise a hand to wipe them away only to be stopped by hand on his arm. 

“Your hands are burned, you’ll irritate them,” Judd murmured, and TK was dimly aware of the presence of pain now that it had been brought to his attention. The physical hurt was nothing compared to watching Carlos, to knowing that Carlos wasn’t breathing on his own. Even in his detached and confused state TK was following well enough to know that Carlos was not in good shape and the thought that he might lose him was worse than anything he had ever felt. The physical pain from the cuts and burns littering his body didn’t even hold a candle to that. He could lose him. 

“Hey,” Judd said softly, “don’t go there. Don’t count him out yet. Have a little faith; he’s not ready to leave you yet either.” 

TK wasn’t sure if he had said anything aloud or if Judd just knew, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Carlos. He glanced back over at the paramedic team surrounding Carlos, trying not to focus on how badly the sight of them working to keep him alive affected him, on how it sucked all the air from his lungs and made his heart ache. 

He watched until they started to get ready to move him, to load him into the ambulance. He shot up, determined to get out of the way, to not slow them down but the sudden change in elevation caused him to sway. 

“Hey now,” Judd said, reaching out to grab him, “easy there. No sudden movements.”

TK didn’t respond, too focused on watching them move Carlos to focus on anything else. The moment he was in he moved towards the ambulance, only vaguely aware of Judd stopping him and pulling him into a tight hug. “He’s going to be okay, kid,” he assured him quietly before releasing him and helping him up into the ambulance. The last thing he saw before the doors closed was Judd’s worried face looking up at him, and the sight of their home burning brightly against the night sky.

--------

 He had just finished counting the ceiling tiles, again. 

 Owen had been sitting in the interrogation room ever since APD officers had shown up at his door and brought him to the station without a word of explanation. They had read him his rights, loaded him into their cruiser, and escorted him to his windowless room. That had been two hours now, or so he thought. It was hard to judge time in a windowless room full of fluorescent light.

 He was trying to be patient, trying to play it cool. He knew how it worked: they left suspects alone for a while, to let them get worked up. To make them more likely to crack. But Owen wasn’t a suspect; he had done nothing wrong. This was all a big misunderstanding and the sooner they came to talk to him, the sooner they would know that. 

 Or so he kept telling himself. 

 He was staring at the door again, willing it to open and for someone to step through when it finally did, taking him completely by surprise. 

 “Captain Strand,” the figure said as he stepped into the room, “I’m Detective Caldwell. Do you know why you are here?” 

 “Can’t say I do,” Owen replied evenly, studying the detective standing before him. The man nodded and set down the folder he had been holding, pulling it open as he took a seat in the chair across from Owen. 

 “You’re here,” he began, looking up from his folder to meet Owen’s eyes, “on suspicion of arson. There has been a rash of fires throughout the city in the past few weeks and somehow, you keep ending up tied to them.” 

 “I had nothing to do with those fires,” Owen said heatedly. “There’s some other psycho out there who has burned down four homes, you’re wasting your time with me.” 

 “Five.” 

 Owen froze in the middle of his defense, “What?” 

 “Five homes burned down. There was another one tonight, about 3 hours ago now.” 

 Owen stared at Detective Caldwell, “And you think I did it?”

 “You have a connection to this particular location,” the detective explained. “Tell me, Captain, what does 2421 W 9th St mean to you?” 

 And just like that, Owen’s world ground to a halt. 

 “What was that address,” he asked slowly, desperately hoping he had misheard. It had to be his brain latching on to familiar syllables, that was the only explanation. 

 “2421 W 9th St,” Caldwell repeated, reaching into his folder and pulling out photos that he slid across the table to Owen. He picked them up with shaking hands, still praying that he had heard wrong but there was no mistaking the familiar scene in the photos. A doorway that he had carried boxes through not even a month ago, the remains of a kitchen he had insisted on helping with the dishes in after dinner just last week. His son’s car parked out front. 

 He could feel the detective’s eyes on him, no doubt studying and judging his reaction, but he couldn’t care less about that at the moment. “Were they home?” he asked, well aware of the desperation seeping his voice but unable to stop it. “Please tell me they were out, that they’re okay.”

 “They were both home,” Caldwell informed him curtly. “And they were both rescued and transported to the hospital. I’m not at liberty to share any more information beyond that.” 

 Owen stared at him, trying to remember how to form words past the roaring fear in his head. 

 “Not at liberty…” he said distantly, staring at the other man. “That’s my son! How are you not at liberty to share that information?” 

 “I don’t have any information beyond that,” Caldwell explained, “and even if I did it is generally against protocol to provide such information to suspects.” 

 “Suspects?” Owen asked incredulously, fingers tightening on the horrifying photos still clutched in his hands. “You think I am a suspect? You think I could have done...this,” he broke off, gesturing to the destruction in the photos, “to my own son? To Carlos? Are you out of your mind?” 

 “I think that’s the question I am supposed to ask you, Captain.” 

 Owen studied him, taking in the hard set of the detective’s jaw. “You really think I did this,” he noted, the shock he was feeling seeping into his words. 

 The detective shrugged, “Why not? You’re a fire captain, you would have the knowledge and means to do so.” 

 Owen scoffed, “Yeah but you said it: I’m a firefighter. I have dedicated my life to saving people from fires, not to starting them.” 

 “But things haven’t been going all that great for you lately, have they? Maybe you decided to mix things up, try something else for a thrill.” 

 “Things have been fine.” Owen retorted calmly, holding his gaze. “And even if they weren’t I promise I’m more the ‘binge drink tequila’ type than the ‘arson’ type.”

“So you’re fine with your ex-wife deciding to move back to New York instead of continuing with your attempt to rekindle and start again?”

 “Yes. Gwyn is a capable and smart woman, I wouldn’t dream of trying to tell her what to do or stand in her way once she’s made up her mind.” 

 “And your girlfriend before her?” 

 “Zoe was never my ‘girlfriend’,” Owen stated, leaning forward and tapping the table for emphasis. “We were just two adults who enjoyed each other’s company. Besides, she was offered a position at Berkley and since that was closer to her family and it was the start of the pandemic, she decided to take it. It made sense, and she’s happy there. Do you have a point anywhere in this?” 

 “What about your son, then?” 

 Owen stiffened as he glanced away from the detective, “What about him?” 

 “He’s leaving you too. First, he left your fire crew to become a paramedic, now he’s moved out, again. Moved in with his boyfriend, right?” 

 The detective leveled his gaze at Owen, who held it for a second before scoffing. “Please don’t tell me you think this is a homophobic thing. TK came out to me when he was 15. That was over a decade ago; pretty sure I would have acted on those feelings before now if they existed.” 

 “No, I don’t think it’s a homophobic thing. I think you’re scared of losing your son. It’s reasonable, and I do see where you’re coming from, honestly: how many times has he almost died in the past year alone? Three times? Wanting to keep him close, make sure he’s safe, it makes sense.” 

 Owen simply stared at the detective for a long moment. When he spoke, his tone was incredulous again, “You realize how insane you sound, right? I love my son and all I want is for him to be happy. He’s happy with Carlos. Besides, what parent in their right mind would not want their child dating Carlos Reyes? He’s kind of perfect. I know TK is safe with him and I know TK is loved with him.” 

 He paused here for breath, holding the detective’s gaze as he continued, voice more serious, “The only thing I am worried about right now is if they’re okay. At what point would putting my son in danger like that accomplish anything. Why would I risk that? He is the only thing that matters to me. I would never do that to him, or to Carlos.”

 There was silence in the interrogation room in the wake of his words. The detective was studying him again, but Owen was out of patience. 

 “Every minute you spend with me is another minute that psycho has to do this again,” he spat. “I’m not the one you should be worried about, detective, I promise you. All you’re doing is giving that monster more of a chance to get away, or to hurt someone else.”   

 There was silence in the wake of his outburst. The detective studied him, but Owen held his gaze. He hadn’t done this; he wasn’t the person they were looking for. 

 A knock on the glass of the observation room interrupted their staring contest as the detective stepped out of the room to see what it was about. Owen leaned back in his seat and sighed, trying to keep his mind from running with all the awful possibilities. TK and Carlos could both be hurt or worse and he had no way of knowing. He had faith that they weren’t there alone; there was no chance the rest of the team wouldn’t be there for him. But it didn’t change the fact that Owen should be there and that he wasn’t because someone at Austin PD decided this would be the best time to interrogate him. 

 He was about to tell the detective as much when he reentered the room a few minutes later but was saved the trouble when the detective stood in the doorway, door open beside him. 

 “You’re free to go, Captain Strand,” he said. At Owen’s startled look he sighed, “You’re not in the clear yet but we don’t have enough to hold you on. Suffice to say you’ll need to stay in town.” 

 Owen stared at him for another moment before he was up, heading towards the door. He was just about the exit when the detective stepped sideways so he was blocking Owen’s exit. 

 “I know you didn’t ask for it but, my advice? Maybe take some time and focus on your son, and Officer Reyes. I’m sure he could use you right now and poking your nose back into this isn’t going to help anyone, let alone you. If you’re telling the truth and it’s not you, let the guy hang himself. We will catch the arsonist, whoever it is.” 

 The detective held his gaze and Owen swallowed before nodding, stepping out of the interrogation room and into the bright lights of the hallway. He paused for a moment, blinking to readjust his eyes when he heard a voice behind him, “Owen.” 

 He turned to see Gabriel Reyes leaning on the wall across from the interrogation room, a grim look on his face. 

 “Gabriel,” Owen said, crossing the hallway so he was beside him, “How’s TK? And Carlos? Were they hurt?” 

 Pain flashed across the other man’s face for a moment before he stood up straighter, “TK’s fine, a few burns and cuts and some minor smoke inhalation. Carlos...is hanging on.” 

 Owen winced at the implications, “Are the Rangers helping with the investigation now? Do you have any new leads?” 

 “My department is involved now, but I’m not. My only concern right now is my son, and yours.” 

 “How is he holding up?” 

 “As well as can be expected, I’d say. He’s scared, worried, and angry. Your crew has been there, right alongside us, but I’d say he could use his father.” 

 “Yeah well, the APD seemed to have other ideas for how I should be spending my time. I suppose you’re the one I have to thank for springing me? I think the word of a Texas Ranger is about the only thing that could have gotten them to let me go.” 

 “You’d be right, but I didn’t do it for you. I did it for TK.” 

 Owen glanced at the other man, startled by the harsh tone of his voice. There was steel in his voice and his eyes as he met Owen’s gaze, “You know what they’re saying, Owen? They’re saying this looks like retaliation. A personal attack meant to hurt you. To get you to stop. And that’s from the people who don’t think you started the fires yourself.” 

 Owen froze, hands fisting the material of his jacket in his hands. The other man was looking at him with disdain, but there was pain behind it. 

 “I didn’t…” he began, but Gabriel didn’t give him a chance to finish. 

 “Those are our children, Owen. Don’t we have enough to worry about with the jobs they chose? None of us need you bringing more trouble. None of us need more danger.” 

 “I didn’t ask for this to happen!” Owen reminded him heatedly, feeling his anger rise. “I never wanted this to happen! If I had known that this could be the result, I never would have gotten involved!” 

 “You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place!” 

 The outburst from the typically stoic Gabriel Reyes took Owen by surprise, as well as everyone else in the hallway. There were concerned looks shot their way and Gabriel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 “You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place,” he repeated, voice more even. “It’s not your job. If you had concerns you should have brought them to someone. Your OFI, me, even Carlos. Anyone who is actually qualified to deal with this. But you didn’t, and now look where it’s gotten us.” 

 “That’s not fair,” Owen ground out, voice tight and low. “I didn’t ask for this. You know I never would have put him at risk, either of them.” 

 “Maybe not,” Gabriel agreed, “but that doesn’t change the facts. The damage has already been done, Owen. My son...” he trailed off as his voice turned thick. He looked down and cleared his throat before trying again, “My son is in a coma with a machine breathing for him,” he told him, “and yours is scared and hurting. You may not have wanted this to happen, but that doesn’t change the fact that it has.”

 Owen was quiet in the wake of his words because everything Gabriel had said was true. This was his fault, no matter how indirectly. He had brought this upon them and he would have to live with that and whatever the outcome might be. 

 He just hoped it was one he could stomach. 

 The two fathers stood quietly in the hallway for several more long moments before Gabriel shook his head. “Us arguing isn’t accomplishing anything,” he told Owen. “The only thing that matters right now is our children, and I am sure TK could use you right now. I’ll take you to the hospital, if you’re ready.”   

 There was so much more to say, Owen knew. He knew he should apologize, that he should assure the other man again and again that it wasn’t him until he was sure he believed it. That he should vow to do better, to never make the same mistakes again. But there was one thing on which he and Gabriel agreed: they weren’t the important ones right now. What he had to say didn’t matter. 

 So he nodded and quietly followed the other man out of the building and towards what did. 

 -------------

 “You need to get some rest, TK.”

 “I’m fine,” TK replied, and Andrea scoffed. 

 “You are not fine, and you should know better than to lie to me. You’re hurt too - in more ways than one.” 

 TK spared her a glance before returning his gaze to the still figure in the bed beside them, “It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyways,” he whispered. “Our home is gone.” 

 “You could come home with Gabriel and I,” Andrea offered, reaching out and placing a soft hand on his arm and squeezing lightly, careful to avoid the bandaged burns, “you’re always welcome.” 

 “I appreciate it,” he told her, throwing her a quick, small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I really do. But I can’t leave him.”

 And that was the crux of it. Logically he knew that his presence didn’t change things one way or the other; staying didn’t give Carlos any more of a fighting chance. But leaving felt like gambling with something he wasn’t willing to risk. He had almost lost him; he had placed his hands on his chest and felt the stillness of the heart he loved most not beating and now he couldn’t get it out of his head. The memory of the sensation was so strong that even the rhythm of the heart monitor beside him wasn’t enough; he kept one hand wrapped loosely around Carlos’s wrist, his fingers pressed against his pulse point and allowing him to trace the rhythm of his heartbeat in his mind. It was a balm and the only thing that was keeping him from going absolutely insane at this moment. He couldn’t leave that; he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. 

 “Besides, I’m pretty sure the only reason they let me leave my own bed is that they know I’m not going anywhere,” TK noted wryly. “I don’t think the doctor is convinced I’m not about to keel over. I told him I wasn’t in the thick smoke for as long but…” 

 He trailed off, any humor leaving his voice and his gaze turning back to Carlos. He reached up with the hand not clutching his wrist to stroke his face.

 “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, not entirely sure who he was talking to. “I should have done more. I should have gotten to him faster. I should have never let us get separated in the first place. I should be the one in the coma; not him.”

 “TK, no,” Andrea said, tears in her voice as he reached for him again. “This is not your fault, none of it. And you did everything you could to rescue him, to make sure he was as safe as he could be. I don’t have a single doubt about it.”

 “Besides, I’m pretty sure Carlos would object to that,” a new voice said from the door. TK turned around to see his father standing in the doorway, his hands worrying the material of the hoodie clutched in his hands as he studied the scene in the room with sad eyes, offering TK a small, fake smile when their eyes met. “He’d say you being in one coma in the past year is more than enough, and I can’t say I’d disagree with him.”

 TK didn’t respond. He just stared at his father. Beside him he heard rustling, but he paid it no mind until Andrea spoke.

 “Gabriel and I are going to go home for a little while, try to get some sleep. We’ll be back first thing in the morning.” She hiked her purse onto her shoulder and bent down to press a kiss on Carlos’s head. She lingered for a moment, muttering something softly in Spanish that TK wouldn’t have understood even if he could have heard it before turning and placing second kiss on TK’s forehead.

 “Try to get some rest, please,” she told him gently. “You still need to take care of yourself, and you know my Carlitos would be telling you the same thing.”

 He swallowed and nodded. Andrea gave him another sad smile before turning and leaving the room, giving Owen a nod on her way out. Soon the found of her footsteps faded down the hall and it was only TK and his father in the room.

 TK turned his full focus back to Carlos as he heard footsteps drawing closer and coming to a halt on the other side of the bed. He could feel his dad’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up until Owen spoke.

 “What did the doctor’s say?”

 “That there was too much damage to his windpipe and lungs,” TK started, voice low and still hoarse. “On top of the broken ribs and severe bruising from falling and being trapped under bits of the ceiling. The only good news is that it means he was still breathing for most of the time he was down there. They think he must have just stopped right before I got to him. Either way, they’re going to keep him on the ventilator for at least a day, probably more. Until his airway is stable enough to support him breathing on his own.”

 “What about you?”

 “I’m fine,” TK said dismissively, unconsciously tightening his grip on Carlos’s wrist. “Some burns, nothing past second degree. Bit of smoke inhalation; nothing I can’t walk away from.”

 “Your voice sounds like it was more than just a bit of smoke inhalation. It sounds like you should still be on oxygen.”

 “My levels are fine.”

 “TK…”

 “The team was here,” TK said instead, interrupting Owen before he even had a chance to speak. “They came by after shift. I was still being treated but they hung around. Judd even managed to talk his way into being in the room with me, so I wasn’t alone. They would have stayed, would still be here, but I told them to go home. Nothing they can do. They didn’t want to though.

 “They’re good like that,” Owen agreed, and TK finally looked up at his father.

 “It was nice to have some family here,” he said, holding his dad’s gaze. He saw the older man flinch, but he pressed on. “Is it true, what they’re saying?”

 “It was arson,” Owen confirmed grimly, but TK shook his head.

 “No, I know that. I meant the other thing.”

 He held his dad’s gaze and the way Owen looked down at his hands told him that he knew exactly what he was hinting at.

 “Was this connected to what you’ve been up to?” TK pressed, not willing to let him weasel out of this conversation. He was filled with so many emotions, he had filtered through too many in the past few hours. He had been scared; he had been sad. He had cried and he had sat in silence; marinating in his dread and letting his anxiety run wild through his mind. Now it was time to poke at the anger that had been lurking in the wings that had only grown when he had heard the rumor: retaliation.

 His dad was quiet for another moment before he looked up, his eyes first landing on Carlos’s slack face before he met TK’s hard gaze, “It may have been.”

 TK nodded tightly, looking away from his dad and turning his gaze back to Carlos. He leaned closer, left hand still wrapped around his wrist to run his right through is hair, carding his fingers through the curls. He knew his dad was watching him, waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want to start a shouting match with his dad in Carlos’s hospital room and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth that is exactly what would happen.

 “If I had known,” his dad said softly, but stopped. TK pulled his gaze away from Carlos to look at his dad, registering the guilt so evident on his face.

 He wanted that to be enough, for that to quell the fury inside him, but his nerves were stressed past their breaking point. He didn’t have any composure left in him; especially not for his dad – the one person he should always be able to rely on to be there for him, to protect him.

 “You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place,” he spat, taking a small amount of petty pleasure at the sight of his dad recoiling from his tone. “I told you not to get involved, that it was a bad idea. But you didn’t listen to me – just like always.”

 He pulled his gaze away from his dad to study Carlos again, as if his attention might change anything about the awful reality surrounding him.

 “I was worried you were going to get hurt,” he confided. “I was worried that even after you finally got the damn cancer surgery you had just managed to find another way I could lose you. I guess the joke was on me though; look where we are instead.”

 He knew his words were bitter, that he was probably being unfair. He was pretty sure if Carlos were here, he would tell him to think about what he was saying; to give his dad the benefit of the doubt. But Carlos had always been better than him, and Carlos wasn’t here right now.  

 “They destroyed our home, dad. Which I hate and it makes me so angry, but I could live with that, you know? Houses can be replaced, but Carlos…” he trailed off, looking down at the hand wrapped around the wrist resting on the bed. His words had lost all their anger now and he could feel the tears he thought he had run out of earlier threatening to return.

 “I could lose Carlos,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper now, “and I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with that.”

 “Son,” his dad started, and TK looked up to see his more sadness in the older man’s eyes than he had ever seen before. It seemed to weigh on his entire body, his usually excellent posture drooping as he looked at TK and at Carlos. For the first time that TK could recall, his dad actually looked old. The anger had already left TK; extinguished in the act of expressing it. But looking at his dad now he didn’t think he could have found it in him to be angry in him regardless.

 “I know you never would have put either of us at risk,” he assured his dad. “Never on purpose. I could never think that.”

 Owen nodded and TK looked back down at Carlos’s still form. He heard the noise of his dad dragging the other chair closer and settling into it but said nothing. He meant what he said: he knew his dad would never have purposefully put them at risk. At worst he was guilty of getting caught up in the moment; at getting swept up into the action. TK knew that and he had meant what he had said. Maybe it wasn’t quite forgiveness, but it was a start.

 For now, they could wait together in silence because despite everything TK didn’t want to be left alone right now. He might not be pleased with his dad at the moment but just knowing that he was here was a weight lifted off his shoulders because knowing someone else was there to help shoulder it made it all the more bearable.

 ---------------

 Morning came, but change did not.

 TK startled awake at the sound of footsteps in the room; sitting upright and coming face to face with a nurse, who offered him a smile. He looked from her back to the bed to see the same sight he had fallen asleep to: Carlos, completely still save for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest from the ventilator. He felt his heart sink all over again. Somehow, he had managed to convince himself that things would be better in the morning, despite the fact that he knew damn well it would be at least another 12 hours before they even considered taking him off the vent.

 “Any change?” he asked the nurse, and though he knew the answer it still hurt when she shook her head.

 “No, but he’s stable and that’s a good thing.”

 She offered him a sympathetic smile and TK tried to return it before asking the next question, “Has there been any discussion about when they might try to take him off the vent?”

 “Not that I’m aware of, but the doctor will be by to check on him in the next hour or so. You could probably get a better answer after that.”

 He nodded and as she finished her checks on Carlos, her gaze turned back to him. “And what about you?” she prompted. “How are you doing? Any problems with shortness of breath, headaches, or coughing?”

 “I’m fine,” he assured her, “I just need him to be okay.”

 Her expression softened again and on her way out of the room she paused to pat his shoulder, “I think he will be. He has everything going for him right now.”

 He took a deep breath and nodded, mumbling a thank you as she slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with Carlos once again.

 “You hear that?” he asked him, reaching his hand back out and placing it on his wrist again, seeking the familiar rhythm of his pulse once more. “You have everything going for you. Which means it shouldn’t be much longer until I get to see those eyes of yours again.”

 He tried to make his words confident, tried to infuse his voice with certainty. He wanted so desperately to believe it but he was so scared it wasn’t true. He leaned closer, bringing their joined hands up to his face and placing a kiss on Carlos’s. “You can’t leave me yet,” he reminded him, his voice dropping to barely a whisper, “we’re just getting started and we have a lifetime ahead of us. Don’t make me face it without you.”

 He got no response and though he hadn’t expected one it still stung. Looking at Carlos like this stung. Looking at the face of the person he loved and seeing no recognition or acknowledgment stung in a way he couldn’t quite describe. Knowing that his body was here in the room but that everything that made him Carlos Reyes wasn’t ached with all the physical pain of a part of his own body missing and, in a way, it was. He and Carlos were one now; so intertwined their friends joked that sometimes it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. They had been for a while and not seeing his smile or hearing his laugh felt like a missing limb.

 His dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and he turned to see Carlos’s parents in the doorway. He offered them a smile as they entered leaning back from the bed.

 Andrea came up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over to look at her son more closely.

 “Any change?” she asked softly and TK shook his head.

 “No, but the nurse said that the doctor will be by in the next couple of hours to check on him and we should know more after that.”

 She nodded and turned to him, casting a critical look over him. “Did you sleep at all, TK?”

 He nodded, “I did, I swear.”

 Gabriel had crossed to the other side of the bed while they were talking, studying his son’s sleeping form as his wife and TK spoke. Now he looked up at TK.

 “Was your father here?”

 TK nodded, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the reminder. “He was. He came in right after you left and was here when I fell asleep, he must have left at some point before I woke up.”  

 Gabriel nodded and TK could tell he also had more to say on the subject but instead he sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face before sinking into the chair Owen had occupied the night before. They all existed in silence for a few more moments before TK stood up. The other two both looked at him and he offered them a small attempt at a smile, “You two should have some time alone with him and,” he continued, speaking slightly louder as they tried to protest, “I should stretch my legs, maybe get some fresh air. Sitting in that chair all night may not have been the best idea.”

 Andrea was watching him with a concerned expression, so he continued, “I’m okay, I swear. And I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

 She nodded and gave him a smile, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “As long as you know you don’t have to leave. You have just as much right to be here as we do and I know Carlitos would want you here.”

 “I do know that,” he assured her, finding what might be the first genuine smile since the smoke had drifted into their bedroom the night before. He nodded to Gabriel before stepping from the room, giving the Reyes some time with their son without an audience.

 He rubbed at his eyes as he walked down the hall. He had meant what he said though: he needed to stretch his legs. Whatever sleep he had gotten the night before had been inadequate which wasn’t surprising, given everything, but it left him feeling wrung out. He needed to be on top of things so he could be there for Carlos and the way he was feeling now he wasn’t sure that was possible. Maybe moving would help; maybe getting his blood flowing would help to shake the lethargy that was pressing on him.

 He had just reached the waiting room and was planning on continuing to the front doors to get some air when he heard his name called from the direction of the waiting room. He turned to see Paul, Marjan and Mateo settled in chairs nearby and changed course.

 “What are you guys doing here?” he asked in surprise as Marjan stood up and pulled him into a hug.

 “Checking on you, of course,” Paul explained as if it were obvious. “And Carlos. How is he?”

 “No change since you left last night,” TK informed them glumly. Paul gave him a sympathetic smile and Marjan squeezed his arm. “How long have you guys been out here?”

 “Not long,” Marjan told him. “Maybe 20 minutes. Cap said you were alone, but then we saw Carlos’s parents come in around the same time we got here so we figured none of you needed any more bodies in his room.”

 “And where is my dad?” TK asked, unable to stop the disdain that entered his tone.

 “I think he went home to take care of Buttercup,” Mateo offered. “I don’t know though; he didn’t say much.”

 TK nodded tightly and he could tell that the others had noticed his tension, but they didn’t push and for that he was grateful. He wasn’t ready to talk about that particular disaster just yet.

 “Have you eaten?” Paul asked instead, tactfully changing the subject. “One of us can go grab some food or…”

 TK smiled, but shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’m ready to eat just yet,” he told them. “Maybe later, but right now…”

 He trailed off but he was sure they all understood. Right now his was full of anxiety and fear. Focusing on something as normal as food seemed impossible.

 “I’ll hold you too that,” Paul assured him firmly. “I know you’re worried, but you still need to take care of yourself so you can take care of him, when the time comes.”

 TK nodded, offering a smile even as he could feel tears filling his eyes. He didn’t think he could ever find the words he to properly express the gratitude he felt at this moment for them all. Their presence and their unwavering certainty that Carlos would be okay. So he settled for a smile and nod. He trusted them to figure out the rest.

 -------------

 It’s several more hours before another familiar face appears.

 Both Nancy and Tommy had called, had offered to stop by but he assured them he was fine. They had a shift after all and given the late noticed they would be doing it shorthanded. They didn’t need anything else to distract them from that. Carlos’s parents had stepped out about 10 minutes prior in search of some fresh air and some food that Andrea informed him in no uncertain terms he would be eating when they returned.

 Even the doctor had been by. He had assured them all that Carlos was progressing nicely and that he would strongly consider taking him off the vent in the next few hours, if everything stayed the same. Which was good news. It was all good news, but TK still couldn’t shake the fear that filled him every time he saw Carlos’s slack face.

 He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat by the door and turned to see Judd studying him before turning his gaze briefly to Carlos. He entered the room and settled into the chair beside TK without a word, not speaking until he was sitting beside him.

 “I don’t know how it’s possible,” he began, “but I think you look worse now than you did last night.”

 TK rolled his eyes at the jab, but even he had to concede that there was probably some truth to that. “Not my fault that someone decide to test the limits of my nerves by spending the day in a coma,” he fired back, but there was no heat in his words.

 Judd nodded solemnly. “I know exactly how you feel,” Judd admitted, and TK knew that he did. It hadn’t been so long ago their roles had been reversed and Judd had been the one in his position, waiting and hoping for the person he loved to open their eyes.

 “Even then I wondered how you did it,” TK confided quietly. “I kept thinking I would never be able to, if it were Carlos in Grace’s position. I was right,” he proclaimed dryly, “because I am barely holding it together.”

 “No one’s expecting you to,” Judd assured him. “You’re allowed to feel the way you feel and ain’t nobody gonna judge you for that. Least of all me. We’ve both been doing this for a while and we’ve both had our share of injuries. You know all about the physical pain, you learn how to handle that. But no one ever prepares you for when the shoe is on the other foot and you are the one doing the waiting because no one can.”

 That sat in silence for a while before TK spoke again, his gaze trained on Carlos. “I just keep thinking about what would happen if he doesn’t wake up,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

 “You would,” Judd said softly, “because you’re stronger than you think, and you wouldn’t be alone. And because it’s what he would want. But it’s not going to come to that.”

 “You can’t know that Judd.”

 “No,” he agreed, “but I have faith. You should too.”

 TK scoffed, “I’m hardly what you would consider religious. My mom may be Jewish, but we never really practiced, and religion was never really my dad’s thing. And I always found other ways of coping when things got tough,” he concluded bitterly.  “So I don’t think ‘faith’ is my best option.”

 “Doesn’t have to be religion,” Judd explained. “You don’t have to have faith in a higher power or anything, if that doesn’t work for you. The only person you need to have faith in is Carlos. Do you believe in him?”

 “More than anybody,” TK agreed without a second thought.

 “Then trust that he is going to do everything he can to make it through this because I personally believe he is every bit as stubborn as you, he’s just quieter about it. And I don’t think he’s ready to leave you yet either.”

 TK pulled his gaze away from Carlos to study Judd. The other man looked so sure that TK couldn’t help but nod. He did believe in Carlos, after all.

 “Can I ask you one more thing?” Judd asked a few minutes later, after they had lapsed back into silence. At TK’s nod he continued, “What’s going on with you and your old man?”

 TK stiffened, but didn’t speak as Judd continued, “Because I find it strange that he’s not here and when I saw him this morning, he looked even worse than he did when you were the one in the coma, and I didn’t think that was possible. Can’t help but shake the feeling that there is something more to this.”

 Judd was watching him expectantly and TK sighed. “They’re saying that the attack on out house was retaliation,” he admitted, “against him. The arsonist trying to scare him off, to get him to stop investigating.”

 “Shit,” Judd breathed, and TK nodded. “I take it you talked to him about and I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

 “I know he didn’t do it on purpose,” TK agreed, “but the fact remains that he had no business getting involved in the first place. That I asked him to stop more than once. But he just carried on like he always does and, well.”

 TK trailed off but his meaning was clear, given their current state and location.

 Judd was quiet for a while before he spoke again. “Lord knows your dad’s not perfect, and he can be a frustrating sonofabitch, but if there is one thing I know for sure it’s that he loves you more than anything.”

 “I know that,” TK agreed, “and I’m not saying I’m never going to forgive him. I know it’s not his fault. But I’m just not ready to forgive him just yet. I will, though.”

 Judd nodded and they lapsed into comfortable silence, the sound of the heart monitor and the ventilator the only sounds between them.

 ---------------

 Eventually the doctor determined it was safe to take Carlos off the vent and to wean him off the sedation. If TK had been determined to not miss anything before, now he was absolutely glued to his seat. He refused to miss the moment Carlos opened his eyes, not after staring at the sight of them closed for so long.

 The moment he did was not dramatic, it looked as if he is just waking up on any given morning but it was still enough to bring tears to TK’s eyes.

 “Hi baby,” he said softly, thickly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He paused for a moment to brush away one of his tears that landed on Carlos’s face as Carlos gave him a smile. It was soft and warm, and it lingered even as Carlos’s eyes closed again as he drifted back to sleep a mere minute later.

 TK sank back into his seat, feeling the relief wash over him like a tidal wave. He had woken up; that was the first step. From here everything should follow in time, and that was all he needed.

 He exchanged smiles with his parents as he pulled out his phone, typing an update into the group chat. He received a deluge of emojis and exclamation points in return and he smiled.

 Everything would be okay now; he was sure of it.

 -----------------

 The rest of the day is filled with the long and arduous process of Carlos rejoining the land of the living, but TK couldn’t care less. He would watch Carlos open his eyes every single second if he could. It still felt like a miracle each and every time.

 Slowly he was able to stay awake for longer periods of time and each time he became a little more lucid. It was sometime in the middle of the night that his voice pulled TK from his own restless slumber and he opened his eyes to see Carlos studying him in concern, his fingers lightly tracing the bandages on his arm.

 “What happened?” he asked, his voice still raspy from both the vent and the smoke.

 “Just some burns, nothing major,” TK assured him evenly. “I’m okay, I promise.”

 “I’ve asked you that before, haven’t I?”

 Carlos was giving him a pointed look and TK laughed, the first genuine laugh he had given in days.

 “Yeah,” TK agreed, “but it’s okay. I’m pretty sure you’ll start to remember soon, and I don’t mind answering whatever questions you have as many times as it takes.”

 Carlos smiled at him – bright and warm in the way only Carlos could manage – and TK felt the last vestiges of dread fall away. Carlos was going to be okay, and so were they. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

 ------------------

 The next morning when Gabriel and Andrea showed up Gabriel looked at TK.

 “They found the arsonist.”

 “What?” TK asked in surprise, sitting upright in his chair. “When? How? Who was it?”

 Gabriel gave a small smile at his rapid-fire questions as Carlos chuckled beside him before his expression grew more serious.

 “It was a woman named Vicki Nadler. She apparently had a list of vendettas against people she felt had wronged her, and a few months ago she was turned down for a position as a paramedic.”

 TK made the connection with a sense of dawning horror, “The position I got.”

 Gabriel nodded and TK shook his head, staring down at his lap and avoiding the gazes of the others in the room, “Then it’s my fault. She was after me. God, Carlos, I am so…”

 “Hey, Carlos said firmly, “it is not your fault.”

 “He’s right,” Gabriel agreed, “people like that, there is no predicting what could set them off or what they perceive as a wrong against them. There is no way you could have known, but it wouldn’t have been your fault anyways. All you did was be the better candidate for a job.”  

 TK knew he was right, but that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at his gut. Maybe the fire hadn’t been his fault, but something else was. And it was something he needed to fix right away.

 The opportunity presented itself sooner than he thought. The Reyes stayed for a while, conversation flowing comfortably between the four of them. It was about an hour later when Gabriel broke off mid-sentence and cleared his throat.

 “We should be going,” he said, standing from his seat and leaning down to give Carlos a hug. “We’ll come by later to check on you, Carlitos.”

 TK gave Carlos a bewildered look, startled by the abrupt exit until a different but familiar voice drifted in from the doorway, “Don’t leave on my account. I just wanted to check in, I don’t want to get in anyone’s hair.”

 TK stiffened at the sound of his dad’s voice and Carlos gave him a curious, if concerned, look.

 “No,” Carlos’s mother added, “we really should be going anyways. I plan to bring by some home cooked food tomorrow which means I need to be home to cook it. We’ll see you boys later, let us know if you need anything.”

 Then, with a kiss from Andrea for both Carlos and TK, the Reyes were gone and it was only Owen Strand left standing awkwardly in the doorway.

 He glanced at TK, who looked down before shifting his focus to Carlos, a wide smile spreading across his face.

 “It’s good to see you awake, Carlos, how are you feeling?”

 “It’s good to be awake,” Carlos agreed, reaching out for TK’s hand and squeezing it. “And much better, thank you.”

 Owen nodded and glance again at TK, who still had yet to meet his dad’s eyes. He could feel Carlos’s hand tighten on his as his boyfriend spoke again, “My dad was just telling us that they caught the arsonist.”

 “Yeah,” TK heard his dad agreed with a scoff, “that was a surprise. Definitely did not see that one coming.”

 Carlos hummed appreciatively and TK took a breath and looked up, meeting his dad’s eyes for the first time. He was startled to see the same look in them as before; when TK had finally fallen into a fitful sleep all those nights ago, after he had blamed his dad for everything.

 “Dad, I…” he started, but Owen shook his head.

 “You don’t need to apologize son,” he said gently. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

 “Still,” TK insisted, “I implied. And not only was I wrong, but I never should have even hinted that it was your fault. I know you would have never put us in danger, and I knew that then too. I was just...” he trailed off, not sure there were words to describe everything he had been feeling that night. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, “really.”

 His dad held his gaze for several moments before he smiled, and TK could almost see the weight sliding off his shoulders.

 “I’m sorry too,” he admitted. “I still should have listened to you when you asked me to stop. I know you were worried, and I should have listened. I really should have never gotten involved in the first place.”

 “Promise me you’ll never try to take on an arsonist on your own again and we’ll call it even,” TK offered and Owen laughed, crossing over to slid into the chair on the other side of the bed.

 “Deal,” he promised. “My crime fighting days are over. I’ll leave that to the professionals,” he added with a nod at Carlos. Carlos looked baffled, looking between TK and Owen in confusion before shaking his head.

 “I’d be lying if I said I had any idea what that was about,” he admitted, “but I’m glad you got it sorted out.”

 “I’ll tell you later,” TK promised, squeezing the hand still holding his own, “we have time.”

 -------------

 A week later Carlos is finally cleared to leave the hospital.

 “Are you sure your dad doesn’t mind?” Carlos asked for the fourth time in the past hour, “I’m sure we can find somewhere else to stay.”

 “He wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t sure Carlos,” TK pointed out. “Besides, he kind of insisted. I don’t really think we had much of a choice, actually. It makes sense too: there is plenty of room and it’s close enough to the station that once I have to go back to work if you need something during the day either I or someone else on the crew can take care of it without a problem.”

 “I’ll be fine, TK. You don’t have to worry about me.”

 “Humor me,” TK asked drily, and Carlos rolled his eyes. “Besides,” he added, closing the bag he had been packing and crossing the side of the bed where Carlos was sitting and stepping into his space, “I’m always going to worry about you, just like I know you always worry about me. So don’t be a hypocrite, Carlos Reyes. It’s unbecoming.”

 Carlos raised an eyebrow, “Unbecoming, huh?”

 “Yes,” TK confirmed with a solemn nod, “extremely so.”

 “Maybe I could change your mind,” Carlos suggested, placing his hands on his hips and pulling him closer.

 “You can always try,” TK agreed. He leaned closer, happily giving into the kiss that Carlos initiated when a sudden voice from the doorway startled him, causing him to pull away abruptly.

 “You sure your doctor cleared you to do that, Carlos?”

 “Dad!” TK exclaimed, burying his head into Carlos’s shoulder for a moment before turning to face his dad with a scowl, “could you not?”

 “What?” Owen asked innocently and TK groaned.

 Carlos chuckled, though his red face betrayed his own embarrassment and TK took pity on him by changing the subject, “We’re all set to go, we just handled the last of the paperwork.”

 “Then what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Unless you want to see if they’ll let you stay…”

 “No,” Carlos cut in emphatically. “I’d rather leave now, before they change their minds.”

 TK rolled his eyes fondly but offered Carlos an arm to lean on as he stood from the bed. He helped him into the wheelchair a nurse had dropped off as his dad grabbed their bag and they headed towards the door. His dad’s truck was waiting outside, and he helped Carlos into it before climbing in besides him. He studied his boyfriend, noting how much the quick activity had taken out of him.

 Carlos noticed him looking and shook his head, “I’m fine TK,” he said before he could ask, “I’ve just been stuck in a bed for a week. My endurance will come back, I just need to build it back up.”

 “Yeah well, as long as you do it slowly,” TK reminded him. “Pushing yourself could do more harm than good.”

 “As I have been reminded multiple times by both the doctors, nurses, and my paramedic boyfriend. I know, Ty. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

 TK shook his head fondly at him before turning his gaze out the window. He frowned as he processed their surroundings. This wasn’t the way to his dad’s house. He should know; he had done this trip more times than he ever cared to count.

 “Where are we going?” he asked his dad, who just smiled at them in the rearview mirror.

 “You’ll see.”

 He exchanged a confused look with Carlos, who shrugged.

 It wasn’t long before the roads grew more familiar, and TK realized where they were going.

 “Dad…” he started but trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been to their house since. He knew he probably should have gone to see what could be salvaged, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself too. He knew that he probably should, but now seemed like a poor choice in time.

 “Turns out,” Owen explained as they took another turn, bringing them closer to where their home had been, “it wasn’t actually a total loss. Some structural damage, yes, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired. And we’ve had the best working on it all week. As of this morning they informed me they were just putting on the finishing touches.”

 TK stared at his dad. “Are you saying,” he began, “that you hired people to rebuild our house?”

 “Hired seems like a strong word,” Owen replied thoughtfully. “They mostly volunteered and they only thing I’ve been paying them in is takeout.”

 TK was even more confused now and glanced at Carlos to see his own befuddlement mirrored on his face. Before they could ask any more questions, they made the last turn, bringing them to their street.

 TK couldn’t do anything but stare because there was their house, looking none the worst for the wear. He looked over at Carlos to see the same shock in his expression. Their eyes met and TK could see that there were tears in Carlos’s eyes too to match the ones he could feel forming in his own. He reached out and grabbed Carlos’s hand, winding their fingers together as his dad came to a stop and started talking again.

 “We did hire a contractor – a friend of Judd’s – to handle the major structural work and to make sure everything was up to code, but for the most part it’s just been the crew and some friends.” He turned in his seat so he could see them as he smiled, “Turns out there were a lot of people that wanted to help you both. There’s been people from other fire stations, some people from Carlos’s precinct; it’s been a pretty full house here. Which was good, because it meant that we were able to get it done in time.”

 TK was at a loss for words. A glance at Carlos told him that he wasn’t any better off. Owen watched them both for a bit longer before he laughed, “Do you guys want to sit in my truck all day, or do you want to go home?”

 Without a word TK slid out of the backseat, reaching in to help Carlos out as well. He wrapped an arm around Carlos’s waist as they moved up the front walk, letting him lean on him as he opened the door and they stepped inside.

 There was a small crowd in their living room, but it was their living room. It looked much the same as it had. Sure, some of the decorations and knick-knacks they had lying around were gone and the furniture was definitely different, but it felt the same.

 TK looked around, noticing the same elsewhere. It wasn’t the same, but it was standing and that was more than he could have ever asked for at this point. He looked over at the gathered crowd: his crew – both fire and medical, Officer Mitchell, Carlos’s parents. They were all standing and beaming at them and TK was too overwhelmed to put everything he was feeling into words.

 Thankfully, they seemed to understand.

 “It’s not like we were about to let you be homeless,” Marjan quipped as she stepped closer, “besides, we’re pretty handy.”

 TK looked up at Carlos, who met his gaze. His eyes and expression were warm, and TK knew he was feeling the same thing he was: the love emanating from every square inch of their home from these people who cared so much; who had done so much to help them.

 “Thank you,” he finally managed to get out. “I know it’s not nearly enough to cover everything you’ve all done but…thank you.”

 There was chatter then as everyone started talking at once, assuring them that they were happy to do it, that no thanks were needed. There were hugs then and smiles and laughter from all around and through it all, TK never let go of Carlos once. ‘

 Eventually Andrea made her way over to them and pulled them each into a warm, strong hug. TK savored it, beaming at her when she pulled back.

 “Welcome back home,” she told them, Gabriel materializing at her side with a smile.

 TK took another look around, at the gathered crowd already digging into the food that had been provided, through the combined efforts of Charles and Andrea, no doubt. He found his dad in the crowd and met his eyes, giving him another smile of thanks. He’d find time to talk to him soon; to make sure he knew exactly how much he appreciated everything he had done for them, but for now the smile he got in return told him it was enough.

 Finally, he looked at Carlos, who like him had been surveying the room. He felt TK’s eyes on his and turned to meet his gaze, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. TK smiled and turned back to his boyfriend’s parents who were still standing in front of them and watching them with fond smiles on their faces. It was all he could ask for; in all honesty it was more than he had ever dreamed.

 He returned the Reyes’s smiles and squeezed the hand now intertwined with his own.

 “It’s good to be home.”  

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Enough for me

Series masterlist

Word count: 1796

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: None (lmk if I need to add any)

Summary: You decide to tell Natasha how serious you are about your relationship and things don’t go exactly as you hoped but it’s still good.

A/n: Thank you to the multiple people who wanted another part in the mini flustered series that I’ve totally made up as I went along. Also I want to clarify that although this could be read as a part four to flustered it honestly isn’t super related so you can definitely read it seperately and it wouldn’t matter to the plot bc there is no plot besides soft nat. Also I don’t know if this one is any good because I didn’t edit as usual but hopefully you all enjoy!

You admire your work as you gaze out over the table you had just finished setting up. It had taken some work dragging a table all the way up to the roof and then having to make multiple trips to bring up all the plates, glasses, cutlery and food, not to mention the other things like candles you had set up. The effort was totally worth it in your opinion though because anything for Natasha was worth it.

You’ve spent a lot of time together since your first date and have gone on a couple more but so far all of your dates have been pretty casual and nobody on the team knows about you so you want to do something special to prove that you’re serious about her. Although looking up at the sky you realize you probably should have chosen another night and you cross your fingers that it doesn’t start to rain until after you’re done.

Your cell phone ringing interrupts you. “Tasha?” You answer it, looking at the caller id as you pick it up.

“Hi Y/n.” She responds. “So why am I supposed to call you?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“You told me to call you at seven so I’m calling.” She says and you slap your hand up to your face because you can’t believe you forget that part of your plan.

“Right sorry, I forgot.” You tell her. “Anyways I need you to put on something nice and come up to the roof.”

“Mysterious, I like it.” She says which makes you smile. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.”

“Okay, see you then!” You respond before hanging up and panicking. You didn’t expect her to be so quick and five minutes really isn’t a lot of time. You still have approximately one hundred candles to light and you’re not sure that you can get it done on time. 

You run around, trying to be careful and not burn yourself, and start to light all the candles that were all over the ground surrounding the table and the pathway to the door. Just as you’re finishing lighting the last one and standing up the door to the roof opens and Natasha steps out. She’s gorgeous as always but you especially love this dress on her. It’s black like most things she wears and is tight fitting at the top but slowly gets looser until it flows around her legs. You love it because you can tell she’s dressing to look beautiful and not sexy which she only ever does if she’s letting her guard down (so not very often). You are well aware that your jaw is open and you’re blatantly staring but luckily she’s busy looking around at your setup so you have time to collect yourself.

“Do you like it?” You ask her.

“It’s beautiful.” She breaths in response.

“Not as beautiful as you.” You reply and it’s so cheesy that you nearly regret saying that but there’s a light blush on her face and she’s smiling so you smile back and take a seat at the table, gesturing for her to sit with you. 

“So what’s on the menu?” She asks lightly as she sits, still smiling.

“Just some paninis and lentil soup, hopefully it’s still warm.” You tell her.

“Well I’m sure it will be good either way.” She responds before taking a bite and moaning in delight. “It is amazing, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” You say. “Now how about you tell me about your day?”

You listen attentively as she complains about paperwork and schedules and as she practically glows as she tells you about a new move she had used to take down Steve in training today. You love listening to her, it makes you happy that she likes talking about mediocre things with you and there’s a level of domesticity to it that makes your heart feel full. You just want to know everything about her, no matter how boring people deem it to be because it’s important to her and therefore it matters a lot to you.

You talk to her for hours comfortably as she continues to share but also asks you questions. There is never a lull in the conversation and you could listen to her voice forever. Eventually though, long after you both finish eating, the conversation dwindles to a comfortable silence. At least for her. You’re inwardly freaking out because you want to tell her exactly how much she means to you and although you think she’ll react well it’s not a guarantee. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, always observant. 

You gulp nervously but answer truthfully. “I’m thinking about how I am more serious about you than I’ve ever been about anyone before, even if it’s only been a few weeks.”

“I’m more serious about you than anyone too.” She replies. “But I think you already knew that.”

“I hoped so.” You tell her, continuing on your path since so far she is reacting well. “I was-I was thinking that maybe we could tell the others about us now, or at least stop hiding it and wait until they find out.”

“But I thought you were fine with it just being for us for now?” She asks, a frown tugging at your lips. Your heart sinks at her expression-you never meant to push boundaries that she wasn’t comfortable with yet.

“And I’m still fine with that.” You reassure her quickly. “I just thought it might be nice to tell the others but it’s totally cool if you aren’t okay with it.”

She stands up and starts to pace a little. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Hey, hey.” You stand up too and grab her gently by the arm so she stops and faces you. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do it, I just thought it would be nice so everyone knows how much I love you.”

Instead of calming her down your words only seem to make her more anxious. “You what? You-you love me?” She stutters out.

“Shit I am so sorry Natasha I promised not to rush you.” You immediately apologize, hoping that you didn’t mess things up to badly.

She picks her way through the candles carefully and sits down on the edge of the roof, her feet dangling over. You follow, sitting beside her, making sure you don’t accidentally do anything to further surprise her. She sits quietly, obviously deep in thought and you think as well. You know, or at least you hope, that Natasha won’t break up with you already because of this. You just wanted to give her a special night and the first part of it went great but you just had to push too far. You had promised that she would dictate the terms of the relationship when you had first asked her out but of course you weren’t able to follow through. You just wish that you could hear her thoughts so you could try to fix your mistakes. She stays silent and only speaks up after a few more agonizing minutes.

“I’m sorry-” She starts and you interrupt.

“It’s okay if you’re breaking up with me.” You say and she watches you with a strange look on her face.

“You just told me you love me-I’m not breaking up with you.” She tells you and you sigh in relief. “But I can’t say it back, not yet anyways.”

“That’s completely okay.” You reassure her, slightly disappointed but understanding and just happy she wasn’t breaking up with you.

“I want to but I can’t.” She explains, her face visibly upset, seeing a hint of your disappointment. “It just doesn’t work, I can’t say it, I’m sorry. But if you want to we can tell the team about us.” She turns away when she’s done, biting her lip, afraid of your reaction.

“Tasha. Tasha.” You say, waiting until she turns back to face you to continue. “We won’t do it unless you’re ready and it’s okay that you aren’t. I’m not going to take back my words, I do love you and being able to tell you that and be here with you is enough for me, you don’t need to do anything.”

She pauses a moment and you can’t read her expression so you start to get nervous. Maybe you should have taken back the ‘I love you’ part of your mini speech. Before you can overthink too much she throws herself at your side, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” She mumbles against your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m happy with this because having you is enough for me because I love you.” You tell her, awkwardly un-wedging your arm from between your side and her body and wrapping it around her, rubbing her back in mindless patterns.

She shivers slightly, not from the cold. “Can you say that again?”

“What, I love you?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah.” She says, almost shyly, nodding her head against your neck.

“I love you.” You tell her, kissing the side of her head at an awkward angle. “I love you. I love you so much Tasha.”

You repeat it over and over for a few minutes, feeling as though your heart is going to burst. You no longer care that she can’t say it back because she has her reasons but she wants you to say it and she’s cuddling with you and you never want to let her go because this moment is so perfect. 

Unfortunately the weather has other plans and just as your words start to die out the sky open, a few small drops then a complete downpour. The soft glow that once covered the roof from the candles disappears as they go out, releasing smoke. You know you have to clean things up but you figure it can wait until morning, once things are drier, so you take Natasha’s hand and pull her up. She starts to run towards the door, helping you so you don’t step on the candles, giggling the whole way. Technically things hadn’t gone to plan, her not wanting to tell the team or say she loved you and it raining at the end, but those things don’t seem to matter when you see her bright smile, her hair plastered to her face but somehow looking as beautiful as ever. And it matters even less when she pulls you inside and immediately presses you to the door, kissing you hard. You’re more than happy to fulfill her request when she pulls away, asking for you to say it again. Anything to keep her happy and make her feel loved.

---

<<<previous chapter // next chapter>>>

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[imasimpforshanks]

Hiya ! Could I request Marco from op and the fluff alphabet ??? Thank you so much and hope you’re doing well 💕💕💕

Fluff Alphabet - Marco

a/n: hiiii!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you enjoy this 💗 I absolutely adore Marco 😭

A-Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?)

Marco enjoys to anything domestic really. Just spending time with you in any way, shape or form is enough for him. The two of you could be lounging about on the deck of the Moby Dick or you could be exploring a new island – if it’s together, he doesn’t mind what it is you’re doing.

B-Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

Your heart is one of the most beautiful things about you. It’s so kind, always filled with empathy and a selfless desire to put others before yourself. He’s never met someone like you and every time he looks at you he can’t stop thinking about how blessed he is that you chose to be with him of all people.

C-Comfort (how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?)

Marco undoubtedly gives the best advice. He is amazing with words and always knows exactly what needs to be said. He also makes it abundantly clear that you are not going through this alone – he is there to lean on any time you need it.

D-Dreams (how do they picture the future with their s/o?)

He doesn’t envision his future as being any different from how it is now. Sure, he can see you two settling down eventually, after his time as a pirate has come to an end, he can also MAYBE see a child or two if that’s what his partner wants. But other than that, he’s enjoying things just as they are, and honestly, he doesn’t really want anything to change for a while.

E-Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or rather passive?)

If needed Marco can be more dominant, putting his foot down and being the decisive one. However, more often than not, he tends to just go with the flow of the relationship - he’ll openly and actively listen to what you have to say and if it doesn’t sit right with him then he will communicate that to you.

F-Fight (would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

Marco is great at holding his tongue and remaining calm during any kind of fight or disagreement with his s/o. He doesn’t want to say or do anything he might regret. Also, he’s extremely quick to forgive. Life is too short to fight with the ones that you love.

G-Gratitude (how grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?)

Not a day goes by where Marco doesn’t thank you for being a part of his life. Sometimes he just outright tells you how thankful he is. Other times he performs little acts of service to show his gratitude. He is always making sure you know how grateful he is.

H-Honesty (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

Marco is one of the best people ever at communicating in a relationship. Honesty is extremely important to him. He shares practically everything with you without hesitation and he trusts you to do the same.

He only keeps a secret if it involves some sort of a surprise for you.

I-Inspiration (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

He’s an extremely easy-going individual who likes to take things as they come. So, throughout your relationship Marco has taught you the joy and pleasure that lies in going with the flow.

J-Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

It takes a lot for him to get jealous. In fact, I’d say Marco rarely gets jealous – honestly, it’s practically NEVER. There’s no reason for him to be jealous because he doesn’t doubt your loyalty and love for him at all. Occasionally, he teases you and asks, “oh so you don’t love me anymore?” but there is absolutely no truth behind it. He knows with his whole heart that you love him, and you know that he loves you more than anything in the world.

K-Kisses (are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?)

He’s definitely had a bit of experience, so it’s safe to say he knows what he’s doing. Even if he lacked the experience, I view Marco as someone who is just naturally a great kisser.

Your first kiss was practically like one from a romance anime. The two of you sitting outside looking up at the stars and talking about anything and everything. There was a brief pause where the two of you looked at each other and you smiled so brightly. Marco couldn’t help himself as he leaned in to place a soft yet deep kiss to your lips.

L-Love confession (how would they confess to their s/o?)

Marco makes the mistake of telling Thatch, Izo and a few others of his feelings for you. They try to convince him to do some big elaborate confession with candles, flowers, and everything of that sort. But, to their dismay Marco shot down all of their ideas, instead opting to go for something a little more low key. It’ll happen near the end of one of the Whitebeard Pirates’ big parties. Everyone’s either passed out or passing out, and the two of you are just sitting together giggling to yourselves about it. After a moment or two he’d just come right out and say it.

M-Marriage (do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?)

Marco is in no rush to get married. He loves you and you love him. That’s all he needs to know. He doesn’t need a ceremony or a piece of paper to tell him what you both already know. Not to mention you guys practically already act like a married couple. That being said, if marriage is something you really want, then he is all for it. If it makes you feel more confident and secure in your relationship, then he will propose to you as soon as you want.

N-Nicknames (what do they call their s/o?)

He likes to use the classics ‘babe’, ‘love’, ‘sweetie’. But he also has a teasing nickname that you absolutely hate, it’s from an inside joke between the two of you.

O-On cloud nine (what are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

When Marco first falls in love he starts randomly whistling the tunes of some love songs (HOW CHEESY I KNOW). He doesn’t notice he’s even doing it until Thatch or Izo point it out to him (not without teasing him about it first). After it’s been pointed out, it’s as if the whole world finally makes sense to him.

P-PDA (are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?)

Marco is pretty chill when it comes to PDA. He doesn’t mind standard PDA like a peck on the check, a kiss on the lips, hand holding (etc.), but he’s definitely not going to have a pash right in front of everyone. HOWEVER, if his mates are complaining about how single they are he is more than happy to rub in how happy and in love he is by giving you a massive smooch on the lips right in front of them.

Q-Quirk (some random ability they have that is beneficial in a relationship?)

As a matter of fact, Marco is quite the handyman. You never have to seek out someone to fic anything because Marco is there to fix it for you. Although, he does still recommend that you don’t use his work as a permanent solution.

R-Romance (how romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?)

I think his love language/s is acts of service and quality time. He uses these to express his love and affection. Sometimes his expressions of love can be cliché (e.g. a bouquet of flowers), but other times they could be creative and very specific to the dynamic of your relationship.

S-Support (are they helping their s/o achieve their goals do they believe in them?)

Marco is by your side every step of the way. But he wants to make sure he doesn’t overstep any boundaries and achieve your goal for you. So rather than getting involved, Marco is that unwavering support from the side lines – constantly uplifting you and providing reassurance that you can do it.

T-Thrill (do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship or do they prefer certain routine?)

Marco is content with the way things are. You have a comfortable routine, and it works for the both of you. He feels no need to spice out your relationship, mainly because life as a pirate does that enough. However, if either of you ever expressed any desire to spice things out even more, then he would welcome that idea with open arms!

U-Understanding (how good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at reading you. When it comes to you, he just knows. He needs to be able to just know, so that he’s ready to help whenever you need him.

V-Value (how important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

The relationship is very important and it’s up there with being one of the most important things in his life, possibly the most important thing. The only possible competition your relationship has, is his loyalty and responsibility to Whitebeard, but even then, Whitebeard is happy so long as his family is happy. And since you make Marco happy, well that’s pretty self-explanatory.

W-Wild card (a random fluff headcanon?)

He’s the type of person to keep a photo of you and him in his wallet, and he loves when he’s out and about paying for something and someone happens to point it out because it gives him a reason to brag about you.

X-XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

Like I said, he likes to show affection (but no big acts of PDA). He’s most cuddly and affectionate in the early hours of the morning though. He peppers lots of kisses all over your face and cuddles you so tightly that you have to tap him on the shoulder and warn him that you can’t breathe.

Y-Yearning (how will they cope when they are missing their partner?)

Most of the time he copes by involving himself in little shenanigans with a few of his crew mates. He finds it to be a great way to distract himself, while also continuing to be surrounded by his loved ones.

Z-Zeal (are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

Most of the One Piece characters are willing to go the extra mile for their relationships. Marco is no different. We need to remember he is a Whitebeard Pirate, so we already know how much he values any of the relationships in his life. He joined the battle against the Marines to get Ace back, so just imagine the lengths he would go to for your relationship.

[from-seas-to-skies]

The Teacher / Bakugou x Reader ♕︎

warnings: NSFW, teacher/student relationship, oral sex, spitting, sir kink, slut shaming, somewhat brat taming, age difference, unprotected sex

words: 5,772

(a/n): Bakugou is 30 in this; reader is younger (college age)

-

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

One, two, three, four… How long was it going to take until class ended again?

Looking up from your notebook, you stare up at the clock, the large, monotonous face seemingly glaring straight back at you. You don’t know how it happens, but time always moves so slow when it comes to your calculus class. Frankly, you’d rather ditch the class altogether, but if you wanted to graduate from college, you had to pass. Curse stupid curriculums and all that shit.

However, despite absolutely dreading having to stare at numbers for a solid hour and a half, there is a plus side to taking this dreaded class. In fact, it’s the very reason why you signed up for it in the first place. You’ve heard so many wonderful things about it, all from girls and guys alike, and you knew you had to see it up close and personal – rather, you had to see him.

Professor Bakugou.

Age thirty, drives a Land Rover, and, most importantly, single.

He’s about as dreamy as they come; a complete and utter Dreamboat Annie, absolutely huge in both height and stature, intelligent, and handsome. He’s only been a professor for a few years, but it’s been made apparent to the school that he’s worth it. Not only are his teaching methods and lectures incredible, but he’s turned out some of the highest grades your college has even seen. That itself is impress, and, combined with the hype of how hot he is, it’s no wonder people rush to take his classes.

So, when it came time for class schedules to come out, you were excited, needless to say. Despite having a general disliking to math in the first place, you figured this one guy could be what it takes to turn that idea around. Oh, but that was before you first laid your eyes on him.

Shit, you had heard that he was attractive – godly, even – but this? You weren’t expecting this. His biceps alone could crack a watermelon, and his sharp jawline could easily cut diamonds. It sounds cliché, that’s true, but you have no other way of putting it. Words did not do this man any justice.

At first, his constant yelling and crude demeanor were a total turn off. Professor Bakugou was essentially the teacher version of Gordon Ramsay, and you weren’t entirely sure if you liked that or not. However, as time continued, you actually grew accustomed to it. In fact, if he didn’t yell at least once during the class, you’d immediately figured he was having a bad day.

That’s when the thoughts began. Call it infatuation, a mindless crush, whatever, but you wanted Professor Bakugou. Your eyes soon began to watch his large hands flex while he wrote on the board rather than the content itself. You’d watch his forearms flex while he turned the page in his textbook, prominent veins inviting you for a better look. How you longed to touch him, to grab his sturdy shoulders or pull his wild hair. He always looked so good, clothes tailored to fit his muscular frame perfectly.

You’d fantasize about the most random of scenarios, each of them usually ending up with him bending you over his desk at the front of the room. You liked colder days the best, especially since Professor Bakugou had the habit of wearing form-fitting sweaters that outlined his massive pecs or the swell of his arms. You wanted to make him feel better, to sit underneath the desk and suck him off while he taught the rest of the class. Those narrow hips had to be strong, and you’d be damned if you never got to experience their power at least once.

It’s almost as if Professor Bakugou had cast a spell over all of his students. Nearly all of them gushed about how great he was; and, if you were in the proper company, they exchanged fantasies or proclamations about how fucking gorgeous he was. You’d usually grow bitter at these types of conversations. It was a crush, for fuck’s sake. There was no need to get all pouty like some problematic schoolgirl.

Still, the thoughts wouldn’t go away, not when he taught, not when he yelled. His booming voice became a part of your wicked fantasies, wondering how it’d sound to hear him grunting your name or commanding you to spread his legs for him. Again and again, you told yourself that it was fine, that people develop crushes on their teachers all the time. It was only in the dead of night that you’d have your hand stuffed down your pants and mouth moaning his name into a pillow was when you regretted it. It was a phase, nothing more.

And yet, over two months into the semester, and these thoughts still won’t go away. The constant ticking of the clock brings you back down to Earth, your eyes focusing on the problems before you. Swallowing thickly, you loosen your hand, now just noticing how hard you’ve begun to clench your pencil. Your insides feel oddly warm, that pleasant, heavy feeling sitting behind your belly button. Dammit, you mentally curse, this is not the time to be getting distracted.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

If only class could end sooner.

“Right,” Professor Bakugou suddenly says from his desk, “this Friday, I’m holding a study session for the upcoming exam on Monday. There’s only going to be a limited number of seats available, so if you wanna join, here’s your chance.” With his words, he holds a blank sheet of notebook paper up, a rather bored expression on his face.

He must be tired, you think, unconsciously biting your bottom lip. But why?

Around you, students shuffle to the front of the class, waiting for a chance to scribble their names onto the paper. Some seem a bit more excited than others, obviously arching their backs or flipping their hair over their shoulders. With a scoff, you look back down to your work. Did they really think they could catch his attention like that? Yeah, so he doesn’t show off a ring on his finger, but it’s pretty likely that he has people throwing themselves at him all the time. Besides, Professor Bakugou is a strict guy; there’s no way he’d engage in a relationship with a student.

You really shouldn’t be getting your hopes up. It’s pointless to pine after your teacher like that, especially with the risks that come along with getting involved with each other. Still, you can’t help but feel bitter. Professor Bakugou is a god that walks amongst men, so how could you not want somebody like him?

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed,” Professor Bakugou calls out. Dammit, you spaced out again. Maybe you should get that checked out?

With a sigh, you stuff your belongings into your backpack and draw to a stand. You wish it would be spring already; trudging through snow and ice is never fun, and the fact that your dorm is basically on the other side of campus makes it even more rough. Pulling your coat on and slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you make way towards the classroom door, completely unaware of a set of eyes watching your every move.

-

“Man, this is impossible,” your best friend, Ashido Mina, groans. “I’m going to bomb this exam for sure!” Sprawled out on her stomach, she squirms on the floor, her face scrunching with her displeasure.

You, on the other hand, sit cross-legged across from her. Notebooks and math textbooks surround the two of you, your laptop and calculator at the ready. Bags of chips and pretzels sit to the side, along with abandoned coffee cups and empty water bottles. Professor Bakugou’s exams were notorious for being hard, but at the same time, if you payed attention in class and studied, you’d succeed. The thing is, though, that neither you nor Mina are the best when it comes to math.

“I thought you went to his study session?” you ask, glancing up from your own notebook.

Flashing you a pout, Mina nervously runs a hand through her fluffy hair. “Well, yeah, but you know how it goes! A secluded area with Professor Bakugou! It’s like a dream come true! It was hard to focus when he’s leaning over your shoulder like that…”

Rolling your eyes, you puff in amusement. “Really? Mina, you know what will happen if you fail this test.”

“Yeah, yeah, but come on! You can’t blame me! You would’ve done the exact same thing!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yes you would’ve!” Mina exclaims, pointing an accusing finger your way. “Don’t pretend like you don’t ogle Professor Bakugou during class! He’s one hell of a hunk, isn’t he? I never knew college professors could be so hot!” she gushes, a giggle following her words. “And that study session – oh my god, I nearly thought I was going to heart attack when he helped me solve this one problem. He’s so warm and he smells great!”

You cock an eyebrow at her. “You were smelling our teacher?”

At that, Mina blows a raspberry and waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not Kaminari, sweetheart. I have class. Besides, Professor Bakugou smells like caramel. Can you believe it? I wonder if he uses cologne or feminine soap.”

Caramel, eh? Now that’s something you can get behind.

“You want him to fuck you, right?”

Wait, what?

Narrowing your gaze at her, your brows knit closely together. “What kind of question is that?”

Mina rolls her eyes. “What, like you don’t think about it? Practically everyone on this campus has thought about it at some point or another? I mean, hello! He’s totally Daddy material. I’ve heard that he goes to the gym sometimes here on campus – turns out he’s huge.”

Huge. Of course this is what Mina chooses to focus on. You wish you had a spray bottle to squirt at her horny ass.

“And I don’t mean muscle wise,” Mina continues, a mischievous expression coming to her face. “I bet he tastes like candy.”

“Mina.”

“Why yes, Mr. Bakugou sir! I’ll gladly suck your fat cock for an A!”

“Mina.”

“His ass is really nice, too. I wouldn’t mind pegging him-“

“MINA.”

“What?”

You smack your forehead and groan as your hand trails down your face. “Are you going to study or not? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather graduate than work at McDonald’s for the rest of my life.”

Mina purses her lips at you in an excessive pout. “You’re such a fun sponge, holy shit. I think you need a good dicking down by Professor Bakugou. Maybe then you’d stop staring after him all the time during class.”

Your face heats up at her words, but there’s no way you’re owning up to that. Okay, so yeah, maybe getting fucked by him would be a dream come true, but you’re more realistic than that. “And you’re not concerned at all that he’s our teacher? You know, like he could lose his job and you could be expelled? That doesn’t bother you? At all?”

Mina shrugs. “Meh.”

“Woooow…. You really are shameless.”

“Hey, you win some, you lose some. If I could get that man to put a ring on my finger, then I’d be okay with it.”

“Yeah, because you definitely want to bring your math professor home. Uh huh, great one. Tell me how that goes.”

With a grunt, Mina rolls over and sits up. “Whatever, man. I’m hungry, so I’m going to go down to the dining hall. Wanna come with?”

Glancing at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand, you see that it’s only 5:15. True, you could get a bite to eat, but you’d rather stay back and finish a few more problems. “I think I’ll join up with you later,” you tell Mina.

She nods her head and offers you a small smile. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” Gathering up her things, she unceremoniously shoves them into her backpack and salutes you with a goodbye. After she pulls the door shut behind her, you turn back to the task at hand.

It shouldn’t be this hard to solve these last couple of problems, but your brain is really starting to feel the struggle. A dull ache is already forming between your eyeballs, and you truly wonder if you’re going to make it through this or not. Maybe you should take a break, or at least give your eyes a rest. Still, that little stubborn streak in you tells you to carry on. You only have a few more problems left, and you’re so close to finally finishing!

As you set to work, the digits on your alarm clock change as time drags on. Okay, so maybe you’re demanding too much of yourself. Your brain is absolutely fried, and your headache is spreading. Glancing back up at the clock, luminous green lines glare a 5:31. Jeez, it’s only been sixteen minutes since you last checked, yet it seems as though hours have passed. You really want to finish this study session, but the last problem is throwing you in for a loop.

You’ve already scoured your notes and the textbook for how to go about the problem, but your mind is drawing up with a blank. It has to be because you’re tired, right? It’s not that hard… Or is it?

“Dammit,” you mutter, sitting back and pressing your palms flat against the floor. Again, you look at the clock. Frankly, you don’t want to spend all night pouring over this, and you don’t want to skip dinner, either. You know for a fact that Mina will beat your ass for skipping out on food. “Screw it.”

Scrambling off the floor, you throw a thick coat on and slide on your sneakers. Professor Bakugou sometimes has the habit of frequenting his office during the weekends (or so you’ve heard), and you desperately need to know how to solve this problem. Chances are something similar will be on the exam, and you want to get as good of a grade as possible. Plus, if he is there…

You swallow thickly. Now is not the time to let Mina’s previous words get to you.

And so, with your notebook tucked underneath an arm, you take off.

It’s a damned shame that his office is practically on the other side of campus, but you figure it wouldn’t be too bad to get your body moving after spending so much time hunched over. Now that you think about, you could just email him, but you’re not sure how quick he’d respond. This is a dire moment. Okay, maybe not, but still. Maybe you want to see Professor Bakugou. Maybe.

You’re thankful when you finally enter the building, free of the flurries of snow and the seeping chill. Stomping your feet free from snow, you look around, creeped out yet fascinated by the silent, empty halls. You doubt very many people are here besides lingering staff and the janitors. One could only hope that Professor Bakugou is frequenting his office.

As you draw closer and closer to his office, your footsteps bounce off the walls, reminding you of how alone you are. There’s a fifty/fifty chance that he’s even going to be in his office, yet your heart pounds frantically in your chest. If he isn’t there, you’ll just simply turn around and stalk back to your dorm and hope for the best. If he is there, well, you’re not entirely sure what you should say.

He’s your teacher, dammit. It shouldn’t be this hard going up to him and asking him for help. It’s literally his job to help students out; nothing more, nothing less. Still, Mina’s words ring throughout your mind. It’s just a crush, you remind yourself. Stop getting so worked up about it.

There it is, just straight up ahead – Professor Bakugou’s office.

Like the other offices lining the hall, it’s made from a heavy wood, a frosted window place in the top half with Professor Bakugou’s name printed on it. A simple door like this shouldn’t intimidate you so much, but yet it does. All you have to do is knock on it, wait for a possible response, and then go from there. However, now that you’re in front of it, you somewhat hope he’s not there. Your palms are growing clammy and your throat feels fuzzy.

“Here goes nothing,” you tell yourself, reaching up and rapping on the door.

For a moment, nothing happens. Perhaps Lady Luck has decided to spare some mercy on you, after all. Releasing a pent-up breath you didn’t know you were even holding, you prepare to step back and walk away, but then a muffled come in sounds through the door.

Oh, shit.

You wince as your cowardice floods you with a renewed force. There’s no way you can just leave now, not if you want Professor Bakugou potentially chasing you down. Taking in a deep breath, you turn the brass knob and poke your head inside. “Uh, Professor Bakugou?”

Oh, shit.

There he is, sitting behind an oak desk, hunched down over a stack of papers. He holds up a single finger, a signal for you to give him a moment. Immediately, your eyes skim over his exposed forearms, skim over the tight black turtleneck that fits him like a glove. Rolled sleeves, watch on wrist, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, he’s just dripping with classy sexiness.

The steady tick tock, tick tock fills the otherwise silent room. It grates on your already wired nerves, mocks you for just standing there, waiting. You can’t help but glance at its face – 5:49. It’s already dark out, winter’s everlasting darkness sapping the Earth’s light. Stepping fully inside the room, you gently shut the door behind you, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

After another moment or so, he finally clicks his pen closed, tosses it onto the desk, and leans back in his chair. “Oi – what do you want?”

Removing your notebook from underneath your arm, you hold it out for him to take. “I was… I was wondering if you could explain how to work out this problem?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Professor Bakugou sits upright and glances at what you’ve written. “We discussed this during the study session on Friday.” His eyes dart up to yours. “I’m surprised you weren’t there.”

Is he singling you out right now? It feels like he’s singling you out right now. But wait, doesn’t that also mean that he noticed you not being there? He’s just saying that to say it, right? …Right?

“There was a lot on my mind,” you say softly.

Professor Bakugou sighs. “Alright, come here.” Maybe it’s the gruffness of his voice, but the simple command nearly has you whimpering on the spot. Jesus, you need to get your act together!

“Of course, sir,” you reply, the title subconsciously rolling off your tongue. Skirting around the desk, you come to his side, unaware of him shifting in his seat.

“It’s really not that hard if you put your damned brain to use,” he grunts, picking his pen back up. You notice how the tendons in his hand flex with the subtle movement; actually, now that you’re up close in personal, you can clearly see the veins racing up his forearms, the sheen of blond hairs.

Warmth seems to radiate off of him, just like how Mina said. You wonder if he gets hot easily, or if that’s just the way he is. Either way, you shimmy the slightest bit closer to him, eager to ward off the chill that still clings to you from the outside. He goes into great detail about how to go through each step surrounding the problem; you lean over his shoulder as he goes through the steps, the heat emanating from his skin drawing you in more and more. With each breath, the scent of caramel floods your senses. You’re almost half tempted to press your nose to his nape and get a better smell, but that’d just be creepy. Plus, even if you did that, Professor Bakugou could probably pick you up and literally throw you out of his office.

Still, despite knowing the risk, your mind takes off, just like it usually does whenever you’re in his presence. It would just be so easy to squeeze his thick arms, to run your fingers through his thick blonde hair. Maybe you could push the collar of his turtleneck down, expose his neck and bite the pulse. It’s almost ridiculous just how big he is, how easily he could overpower you. A familiar warmth floods your system, encasing your insides and clutching onto your heart. This is bad – very, very bad.

“Oi, what the hell are you staring at?” Professor Bakugou barks.

Snapping yourself back to attention, you notice him staring at you, his glasses now off his handsome face. If possible, he’s even more attractive up close; thick lashes, full lips, a slight gleam in his eyes that demand power and control. He almost looks entirely different like this, face lax instead of fixed with a scowl. Good lord, you really are whipped for him.

“Oh, um, sorry,” you ramble, eyes going wide. “It’s just that your hair looks really… fluffy…?”

“…Hah?”

You quickly avert your eyes. “Nevermind…”

“You know,” Professor Bakugou starts, voice low, “you stare at me a lot during class, too. You’re not very subtle.”

You wince at his words. “I… I’m not sure what you’re talking about-“

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs and tosses down his pen. “You’re not majoring in theatre, are you? Because you suck at acting.” He flashes you a cocky smirk when you look back to him. “Just admit it – you like what you see, don’t ya? Can’t say I blame you.”

Okay, wow, cocky much. Yeah, sure, he’s an absolute babe, but wouldn’t you think he’d be a bit more… modest?

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Didn’t know my math professor thought so highly of himself.”

“Tch. Looks like you got a damn mouth on you, after all. Well, if you’re done undressing me with your eyes, do you want to learn how to do this problem or not? I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll let it slide just this once since I like you.”

Wait, wait, hold up. Did he just say he likes you?

“You’re a good student,” Professor Bakugou continues. “Even if you do focus on me more than my lecture.”

Is this how the conversation was supposed to play out? Because damn you’re nearly shaking, and you still have your coat on. He knows too much, dammit. He’s known this entire time and he’s playing you.

“And yet you could’ve easily told me to stop,” you shoot right back, sick of being prosecuted like this. Sure, it might be a bad idea to pick a fight with a teacher, but this is outside of classroom hours; and, frankly, he can kiss your ass. Crude demeanor or not, you’re not about to let this man push you around.

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

No. There’s no way he just said that. This big-headed narcissist is relishing in this, isn’t he? Bastard.

“Hate to break it to you, Professor, but almost everyone stares at you like that,” you tell him. You realize you just admitted it to the accusation, but there’s no point in defending it anymore.

“Like I give a shit about the others? Really? You’re gonna talk about them?” He scoffs his amusement and leans back in his chair, thick arms crossing over his chest. “Did you come here to ask me questions about the exam or did you just want to be with me all by yourself?”

You hesitate. Is that really the reason you came here tonight? The whole way here you debated this yourself, Mina’s words circling around your head. No, you’re smarter than this. It’s a bad idea to get involved with a teacher – it’s wrong.

“I’m not going to lie or deny the truth,” Professor Bakugou continues, his voice dropping to an uncharacteristically low pitch. “I’m also not stupid. You’re just as scared as me, aren’t you? Of the repercussions.”

Your mouth falls agape. What is he going on about…?

Slowly, Professor Bakugou sits back up, his face getting dangerously close to yours. Hot breath fans over the bottom half of your face. His eyes are heavily lidded, his lashes kissing his cheeks. “I’m not going to force anything on you,” he murmurs. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Oh my god.

Unable to resist the close proximity anymore, you shoot forward, your hands landing on the arms of the chair; Professor Bakugou’s lips are softer than you anticipated, but in no way is he gentle. Right away he’s clutching the back of your neck, dragging you forward so you’re settled on his lap. The arms of the chair pinch into your thighs at the tight fit, but you could care less. You’re on Professor Bakugou’s lap, you have his tongue in your mouth, his hands landing on your ass and kneading the flesh.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this forever,” he growls, his hands slipping under your shirt and gliding over your lower back. You arch into his touch, a breathless moan slipping past your lips.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you pant.

“I know.”

Fuck, it’s all so good, his tongue licking the inside of your mouth and hands unbuttoning your jeans. A startled noise erupts from your throat as a large hand slides into the front of your pants, cupping your crotch. You buck into his touch, all sense dissipating from your thoughts as you fervently grind into his heated palm. There’s a clutter of paper and office supplies as they hit the floor. Before you know it, you’re rising from the chair, your ass landing on the wooden desk instead.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Professor Bakugou grits. Your ass is barely on the desk by the time he’s done dragging you forward, your jeans aggressively getting yanked off, your underwear following suit. Your thighs instinctively snap shut at the cold air making contact with your bared skin, but strong hands pry them apart, fingertips kneading into the flesh. “I wanna make you cum with my tongue.”

“Wai- Ah! Fuck!” you cry out, your fingers clutching onto the edge of the desk as his head ducks down, his mouth latching onto your sex. Until now, you weren’t even aware that you were dripping with arousal. Sinful noises spill from between your legs as Professor Bakugou fucks you with his mouth, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive parts.

“God, you’re such a slut.”

Smack.

You cry out as he brings a hand down on the innermost part of your thigh; your nerves quake, your blood pumps wildly through your veins. Again, he slaps your thigh, a growl tearing itself from his chest as he looks up, his eyes catching yours.

“Say it.”

Smack.

“I – I’m a slut,” you babble, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Smack.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m a slut!” you exclaim, voice cracking.

“I expect you to refer to me properly,” he says darkly, his pupils dilating to the point where you could barely see his irises. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

A single smirk is thrown your way before his mouth is back on you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. His moves are quick, sensual. It’s clear he’s experienced, and you don’t blame him. Just look at him for Christ’s sake. The man is basically sex on legs, all nicely wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater and a simple pair of slacks. The pleasure only heightens as his fingers come into play, prodding at your hole; the tips just barely push past the muscle, leaving you moaning even louder and clutching harder on the desk. Your fingernails scratch the surface, the lacquer coming off.

“Tasty little brat, aren’t ya?” he drawls. Your entire body jolts as he spits on your sex. “I could get used to doing this.”

“Please, sir,” you plead, desperation filling your voice. You want his mouth back on you. You want to cum. “Please, it feels so good…”

Professor Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Shit, you’re even obedient. How nice.” He redoubles his efforts, then, wet noises filling the room along with your heavy breathing.

“Shit, shit, oh my god,” you babble, your body tensing. Still, his tongue digs in just right and there goes your sanity, flying out the window as you cum.

A deep chuckle fills your ears as Professor Bakugou sucks it down; drawing away, he flashes you his tongue, your arousal coating his tongue before he makes a show of swallowing the last bit of it. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he draws to a stand. The tent in his slacks is obvious, the front of it darker than the rest. Your insides squeeze around nothing, the idea of making him get like that making you feel hotter than before.

You’re hypnotized as he pulls his hands away. His movements are slow and methodical, the clink of his belt echoing throughout the room. Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip as he leisurely undoes his belt and slacks. Blood rushes through your ears, your mind a complete mess. You feel dizzy with want, with the need to sink your teeth into the swell of his pectoral, to claw the plains of his back.

All the air is sucked from your lungs when he finally pulls his cock out, the head flushed a deep red. Your eyes trail over the prominent veins, the fat bead of precum pushing its way out the tip. Fuck, he’s huge, both in length and girth. Whoever told Mina that he was big wasn’t lying. Your legs subconsciously spread even wider, a silent plead for him to fill you up and fuck you raw.

“Tell me you want this,” he husks. He does the honor of unzipping your coat and slipping it off your shoulders before easing you onto your back. The cold from the wood permeates through your shirt, brings a new wave of goosebumps to your flesh.

“Only if you tell me the same thing,” you croak. “Do you fuck all of your students who walk in through that door?”

“No,” Professor Bakugou blatantly says, and you can tell he’s being earnest. “It’s wrong of me to think so, but I’ve been wanting to do something with you since I saw you. It sounds like some sappy bullshit, but it’s the truth. I was too much of a pussy to ask you out for a coffee.”

Something about hearing him confess his feelings to you sets your heart alight. A slight smile tugs at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Tch. And you’re a fucking brat.”

Hunching over you, a large hand plants itself by your head while the other guides his cock to your awaiting hole. A shaky breath passes through your mouth as he pushes himself in; the stretch burns, his thick cock filling you up in a way that you didn’t even know was possible.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathes. “Look at you, sucking in my cock like that. What a good little slut. I bet you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I bet you touched yourself while thinking about this very moment, about me fucking you on my desk like this.” A surprised squeak bursts from your throat as he grabs your legs and throws him over his shoulders, effectively bending you in half. “Gotta fuck you nice and deep, right? Because that’s how a slut like you likes it.”

Like this, with your knees almost touching your ears, the tip of his cock hits your soft spot. A pathetic whimper comes from you as he grinds his cock into you, his eyes carefully watching your erotic expressions, figuring out what you like best.

Before long, he’s fucking into with vigor, his hips moving restlessly. His cock pounds into you mercilessly, the slap of skin against skin mixing with your cries. His mouth is at your throat, teeth skimming your jugular before he latches onto your thundering pulse. You helplessly claw at his shoulders, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt. You’re so fucking full, your velvety walls clamping around his cock selfishly. A blend of curses and yes, fuck, you fucking slut fill your ears; he’s panting hard, a slight chuckle breaking through every once in a while.

“Fucking let everyone know who’s fucking you this good,” he grits. “Jesus, look at the mess you’re making…”

“Professor Bakugou!” you whine. “Your cock feels so good… Fuck, fuck, oh my god, yes-“

“Katsuki. My name is Katsuki.”

Katuski.

The name rolls around your brain like a loose bolt. It settles on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be let out.

It’s when you cum that you shout his name, your walls tightening around him harshly while your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders. A load groan rumbles from the depths of his chest as he follows suit shortly after, his hips moving erratically as his cum splashes against your insides.

The both of you are sweating, panting messes by the time he finally pulls out. You whimper as you clench around nothing, the emptiness a bit too much to bear. Surprisingly, Professor Bakugou – no, Katsuki – is gentle as he cleans you up, his free hand rubbing your side. Swallowing your pride, you clear your throat.

His eyes flick up, land on yours. “What.”

“Do you…” You worry your bottom lip. “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

Katsuki snorts. “Wow, got a real fucking charmer here, don’t I? How about you come to my place instead and I make you a proper dinner. You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

As if on cue, your stomach growls. Well, you did deny Mina’s offer for dinner, after all. You smile nervously and give him a shrug.

Chest swelling (with pride, you assume), Katsuki flashes you a cocky smile. “I’m a damn good cook, brat. I’ll cook a meal that will have you weak in the knees.”

“Maybe… Maybe you could finally show me how to do that problem?” you offer.

He rolls his eyes. “Will you finally pay attention this time or will I have to pound it into your brain?”

[honeymoonjin]

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

--

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

--

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

--

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment,  unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

--

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

--

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

--

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

[astaroth1357]

I love reading your how to guide they're fun to read and I was wondering if you do a how to be the brother's sugar mama 🤣

So I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty sure Lucifer would let you be his Sugar Mama over his actual dead body so... I did a Sugar Baby instead. If you really want me to write the Sugar Mama, message me and I wiiilllll but I think it’s more of a stretch then I was comfortable taking otherwise. But if we're doing this at all, we're going to have to do it NSFW people. It’s going to be sort of unavoidable either way, so strap in cause I sure did.

How to be a Demon's Sugar Baby

Make the Most of Your Bartered Soul!

Well, well, well this is quite the arrangement you've made with the forces of Hell now, isn't it?  There's nothing wrong with expecting a full return on your investment since you did give away your soul for this so it's time to enjoy that compensation! While we're sure that you're ready to be spoiled rotten by your beloved demon, there are going to be certain things expected of you in order to keep that affection flowing. In our guide, How to be a Demon's Sugar Baby, we will give you insight into what kind of actions you should expect to perform as well as the benefits you can receive when you start pampering your dearest demon! Always remember, love isn't material, but having good stuff is really nice regardless!

ATTENTION: This guide contains material not suitable for all workplaces. Reader's discretion advised.

Lucifer

What a wonderful selection for this kind of relationship because this demon is loaded! You need not worry about asking for too much. Whatever your heart's desire, Lucifer can provide.

HOWEVER… He's not a very generous demon. Every cent that he gives you, you will have to earn. The man isn't in the business of giving handouts, even to cuties like yourself.

Lucifer can be a demanding Sugar Daddy for sure. He will expect you to be ready for him at the drop of a hat. One text, one call, even a passing mention of your name, and you should be there. No questions asked or you will be punished.

It pays to be astute with Lucifer, too. If you're good, then he shouldn't even have to command you. One step in the room and you should know just what to do and how he's going to want it. Though remember, even if he doesn't say much, he's in control here.

There will be times where he's not looking for a little release and just needs some relaxation. You'll, of course, be expected to provide for that too: back rubs, tea, and pleasant conversation are all options you should get acquainted with very quickly.

Understand this now, anything short of perfection is not tolerated. If he's taking you anywhere, you're going to have to look/be amazing Every. Time. He'll make sure you'll have everything for it, but there's going to be no slacking off with him. Ever.

If you're looking to satisfy Lucifer, you won't just be a side piece or arm candy. You will be a trophy and he will spoil you like one.

Mammon

So maybe you don't like your Sugar Daddy with a lot of cash, but just the inability to say "no" to you in nearly any capacity…? Then Mammon's is your perfect pick!

True, it may not be wise to choose a Sugar Daddy who seems chronically without sugar to give but if there's any gambler in you then Mammon can be a near constant rush.

His highs are your highs, if he's out gambling then he'll want you on his arm or in his lap for good luck. Cheer him on and sprinkle in a bit of teasing because he's positive he makes better bets when he feels on top of the world.

If he makes a killing, then it's an all night celebration. He may even cover you in the Grimm just to enjoy how it looks. You won't stay like that very long though, because he'll need to have his way with you quite a few times before the sun comes up.

Don't fret, most of that money that he makes is going to go towards you anyway. You won't have to worry about him putting his bills over his Sugar (even if it's ill-advised).

Do remember that Mammon is a cheapskate at heart, but you shouldn't have any trouble bypassing that if there's something you want. Flash him some big, watery eyes and he'll cave every time until he goes broke again...

And then his lows are your lows… But if you still show him kindness and compassion even when he's flat broke, we guarantee he will never leave your side.

Leviathan 

Are you an otaku/gamer/geek who wants copious amounts of that sweet, sweet merch and a little love on the side? Then you also want Levi.

Just know that this demon is desperate for love in his life so you'll be busy on most days. Levi needs to be lavished in attention: cuddles, pets, kisses, and probably more sex than you can process. He's veeery pent up...

Thankfully, he stays in his room all the time so you can do whatever you like away from prying eyes! Which is good, because he tends to get adventurous when he's confident. There won't be a spot in his room you two have not been before.

Like Mammon, Levi's going to need a cheerleader as much as he does a lover. Nothing is quite like starting a competitive match with someone very vocally in your corner.

We do hope you like anime, video games, or general geekry because he won't tolerate indifference. You need not have memorized the entirety of the TSL Extended Compendium, but you should at least be able to identify his favorite characters or scenes in anything he watches. You won't last long otherwise.

If you can then consider the entirety of Akuzon's wares to be yours. You'll only need to ask. If there's any particular series that you enjoy, expect its merch to be gifted to you whenever he sees it. He'll have very little self-control (especially if it's all for you).

Truthfully, we have no idea where Levi gets his money so just don’t question how he keeps buying you so many things... It's probably some shady cryptocurrency or black market type stuff so we recommend you stay out of his finances, lest you learn something you regret...

Satan 

Ah, an intellectual are you? Not satisfied with just a fancy new car or a designer handbag? Do you need the very best that the world has to offer? The most beautiful, artistic, and thought-provoking goods you can find?? Then really your only choice is Satan.

… But do you like pets? We sincerely hope you like pets…

In truth, Satan will want two things from you: some stimulating conversation and a little pet play.

This is very much a "gentleman by day" arrangement. He'll be sure to treat you to very nice things all the time: wine tastings, art shows, even red carpet events thanks to his connections.

He won't mind taking you anywhere as long as you can engage that brain of his. Abstract conversations or discussions about hard topics will earn you even better trips the next time around...

But "by night" you will have a nickname, a collar, and probably a tail plug too. This man is bound and determined to have a cat and he does not care how.

If the idea of crawling for him makes you want to save face then don't worry. You needn't be an obedient kitty, not even for him.

In fact, he'd much prefer you act out from time to time because if there's one thing he likes more than cats, it's brats. Be cute for him and maybe he'll go easy on you if you like.

Asmodeus 

Do you like shopping? Just, the act of shopping in general? Do you want someone who won't just sign a check but shop with you? Asmo's the man.

He loves shopping and he loves shopping for you! He won't just stand outside the dressing room on his phone, he'll be a very active participant in making you happy.

A veeerrry active participant… Everywhere… Probably including that dressing room…

You need to understand now that Asmo is insatiable. Whatever you believe a high sex drive is, double it and then you will get Asmo on a Tuesday.

He's giving. Very giving in fact, in money and in bed, but that won't change that he is a monster. His stamina is unreal, his desire is unmatched, and assuming that you are not an incarnation of Aphrodite herself You. Will. Not. Keep. Up.

If you choose to be with Asmo it will be a hellish bliss. You will be pampered like royalty on a sea of euphoria until the tide overtakes you and you drown.

If this warning isn't enough to dissuade you, we wish you the best of luck. Asmo may bring you to the greatest highs of your life, but he very much can be the death of you too...

Beelzebub 

You know, food can be expensive. Especially if you have a bit of an appetite… If an endless food supply is what you're after, then you need Beel in your life!

He'll always be down to go out and try new foods or take you to whatever restaurant you like (provided he's eating there too, of course).

Considering the amount that he eats there's no way you can top his bill so order as much as you like! You'll get through what? Four? Five courses? He'll get cut off around 12.

Restaurants aside, food will be mostly what Beel expects from you so we do hope you like cooking. Cuddles and kisses are well and good but this demon needs to eat.

Speaking of which… Truthfully, being with Beel is almost just like a normal relationship but there's just one catch….

Beel is practically an oral addict. He will want to get a taste of you and once he does you ought to resign yourself to being his new fix. 

A session with Beel is not for the faint of heart. He can be down there for hours and won't stop even if you're a drooling, overstimulated wreck. His aftercare is sweet but it's a hell of a journey getting there. Be warned.

Belphegor

So maybe all these other options just sound like too much work... You want a Sugar Daddy, but someone who's on the laidback side, right? Introducing Belphegor.

Belphie is a man of simple pleasures. A quiet afternoon, a long nap, and maybe a game or some mischief in the middle of the night. You won't have to worry about doing very much because he won't be conscious very long...

He will, however, get his money's worth in the hours that he's awake.

Belphegor is a lazy soul, so don't expect him to put much work into things. His favorite tactic will be to get you so frustrated that you jump him. Then he can just sit back and enjoy the fun with a smug smile on his face…

If you're not riding him in some way then you're probably going to be his new pillow. He will find a way to sleep on you in every position possible until he finds a favorite and just sticks to that.

As far as what he offers, Belphie will pretty much just toss money in your direction and leave it up to you to spend it. He’s not a shopping man...

In the rare cases that he does go out and buy you a gift take it as a compliment. You’ve motivated him to leave the House for longer than twenty minutes so you must be exactly what he was after.

For more of my “How Tos...” check out my Masterlist!