#and their heated argument has suddenly shifted into something else entirely

[clandestinegardenias]

Summary:

They are…sliding, James careening past Francis rather alarmingly, his mouth a round little ‘o’ of surprise, and as Francis watches, rather stunned, a hand shoots out and grabs Francis by the waistcoat and then he is sliding as well.

—

Inspired by some fabulous art by @jacquelying on Tumblr of the ship taking matters into her own hands and quite literally throwing James and Francis together. 

Tagging some folks I thought might be interested!

@sunlaire @atkeks @apocalypticdemon @plutoshark @merit-rose @anicety @anthonymire @fitzconte @marshmallow--galaxies @croziers-compass @tigerballoons @caleblandrybones @girljopson @bunnyloaves @jkrockin @girljopson

[bearbos-kindledtales]

5. Bearing the Frostbite 

In the early years of Bearbo's life, there was a pivotal moment that etched itself deeply into his memory. It was a moment of overwhelming emotions, confusion, and a profound sense of vulnerability. 

During a heated argument with his parents, Bearbo felt his breath catch in his chest, as if the air had suddenly turned thick and suffocating. His heart began to race, pounding against his ribcage with a frantic intensity. The tears welled up in his eyes, and before he knew it, they were streaming down his cheeks, a testament to the depth of his feelings. 

But what Bearbo had hoped would be a moment of empathy and understanding turned into something entirely different. His mother, her anger fueling her words, accused him of faking his tears. The accusation stung, for Bearbo had never been one to pretend or exaggerate his emotions. He had always been sincere, and yet, in that moment, his authenticity was questioned. 

As the argument intensified, Bearbo struggled to catch his breath. The sensation of panic gnawed at him, tightening his chest with each passing second. It felt as if he had to hold his chest so, his heart wouldn’t burst out, making it difficult to find solace in even the shallowest of breaths. The distress didn't relent, and his hands and feet, once warm and vibrant, began to feel numb, their vitality slipping away. 

Amidst the chaos, Bearbo desperately tried to communicate his genuine anguish. But his words were drowned out by his mother's escalating anger. She demanded answers that he couldn't provide, unable to find words amidst the tumultuous whirlwind of his emotions. 

The world around Bearbo started to spin, his head becoming light with dizziness. It was as if the ground beneath him had shifted, leaving him adrift in a sea of confusion. And then, like a cruel twist of fate, darkness enveloped his vision. The world became a canvas of shadows, and a disorienting static clouded his sight, leaving him feeling lost and disconnected. 

In that moment, Bearbo felt a profound sense of loneliness. The accusatory words, the physical and emotional distress, and the loss of vision all contributed to an overwhelming feeling of isolation. It was as if he was trapped within himself, unable to bridge the gap between his internal struggles and the external world.  

After what felt like an eternity of tears streaming down his face, Bearbo's mother finally approached him. She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace, but there was an unmistakable chill in the air. Bearbo hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to push her away. But in that fragile state, unable to catch his breath and with his vision still shrouded in darkness, he accepted the cold comfort because, in that moment, he had no one else by his side. It was an uncomfortable embrace, lacking the warmth and solace he so desperately needed. 

As Bearbo gradually regained control over his racing heart and slowed his trembling breaths, he mustered the courage to apologize for the argument that had spiraled out of control. With a heavy heart, he retreated to the solitude of his den, seeking solace within its familiar moss-covered walls. Alone in the sanctuary of his personal space, he couldn't contain his anguish any longer. His body convulsed with sobs, his tears staining the fabric of his vulnerability. 

In the depths of his despair, Bearbo grappled with the incomprehensible. He couldn't fathom why he had lost control of himself so completely. The weight of vulnerability, embarrassment, and self-judgment bore down upon him. It felt as if he had unveiled a part of himself that he wasn't ready to share, exposing his raw emotions to the scrutiny of others. In those moments of shattered composure, he made a solemn vow to himself—a promise born from a place of self-preservation. He resolved not to cry in front of others again, convinced that showing too much emotion was a sign of weakness. 

Yet, life has a way of defying our resolutions. Despite Bearbo's determination, tears would fall, and emotions would overflow in the presence of others. Each time it happened, a seed of self-criticism took root within him, and he began to despise himself for his perceived weakness. The inner voice grew louder, condemning him for displaying emotions that society deemed unacceptable.

>>Next: 6. Coping Through the Storms >>

[whythinktoomuch]

recovered in time

(pt. i)

“From what I can tell, the implant seems to be interrupting the connection between your visual cortex and your emotional center,” Brainy says, eyes narrowed in concentration, two fingers pressed against the incision point at the base of Kara’s neck. “As well as inhibiting your frontal lobe and sending distress signals to the amygdala.” 

“What does that mean?” Kara asks. 

“It means that... you weren’t feeling like yourself,” Alex says, and Kara nods hesitantly at that. 

“So, can you rid of it or not?” Alex asks, fixing Brainy with her most hardened stare. 

“I’ve already determined five different ways to extract the device—”

“Great! So, we can—”

“—but none that wouldn’t immediately prove fatal or result in permanent brain damage.” 

Eventually, Alex releases a long-suffering, shuddery sigh. “... You could have fucking led with that.” 

“I did feel like myself though...” Kara interjects, suspending what was surely about to result in another very unproductive argument. “And I still feel like myself now. It’s just...” She ducks her head, fiddling with the sleeves of her shirt, already frayed from anxious attention. “... I felt so alone? Like, I’d been abandoned, or was suddenly in a world where I’d lost everyone all at once. Again.” 

Kara shifts uncomfortably in her seat, now able to feel everyone’s eyes on her, burning holes into her skin. She has long since traded in her super-suit for comfy clothes, and her scarf has been upgraded to a pair of heat vision resistant blackout goggles, but it would take more than 24 measly hours for her to adjust to, well... everything. 

“You’re not alone though,” Alex says, giving Kara’s knee a firm squeeze as if in reminder. “You know that, right?” 

Kara rubs at her nose, sniffling herself back into some semblance of composure. “Yeah, I know.” 

But of course, knowing something hardly ever outstrips the feeling of it, and Kara kinda just wishes that she still had Lena’s scarf on her. 

//

“Hey Lena,” Kara calls out softly from the bed. She doesn’t lift her head from her pillow, but still offers a small wave in greeting. 

“What gave me away?” Lena asks, and it’s almost playful, which makes everything that much easier. 

“Well... Pretty much everything, actually.” 

“Ah.”

Then the smell hits her, overwhelming her senses in an unexpected rush of heat and spice. Kara sits up right away, startled. “How did you...” is all she manages to get out, then pushed into her hands is a considerably sized takeout box of potstickers. 

“I wanted to surprise you, so I might have created a hermetically sealed lunchbox just to sneak these in,” Lena says, and Kara’s already laughing softly. “The food’s still good though! I literally just slipped them inside right before walking into the building, so...” 

“... Thank you,” Kara says. She inclines her head to the spot next to her, and feels the bed sink with Lena’s weight accordingly. 

Kara starts eating, but does so with only one hand. The other just fidgets at her thigh, tugging at her sweatpants, lying in wait so impatiently. Then Lena takes the hand and holds it firmly in her own, and finally, it feels like Kara can breathe freely again. 

“I never thanked you,” Kara says, “for, you know... everything.” 

“You already did,” Lena reminds her, squeezing Kara’s hand. 

“I... did?” Kara feels Lena nodding beside her. “Okay... so then, why does it feel like I still have so much left to owe you?” 

Lena tries to hold her breath quietly, but Kara hears it; of course, she hears it. “I can’t answer that for you.” 

A couple of hours later, when Alex pops into the room for her usual check-in, she stumbles upon an unexpected sight: Lena sitting up on the hospital bed, her legs tucked beneath the sheets as she answers emails on her phone, and Kara fast asleep, curled up around her. 

Kara’s still holding Lena’s hand, her face buried in Lena’s shirt where it smells most like her, apparently, besides her hair. 

Lena blushes a little, but can’t find it in her to regret her position. 

//

“Alex says it’s because I didn’t see your face,” is the first thing Kara says the next time Lena visits. “I pretty much saw everyone else’s, but... never yours. So, I’ve imprinted on you, or something.” 

Lena recovers quickly, “Well... what do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Kara admits, running her fingers down the back of her neck, feeling the tender skin still raised in jagged lines. “There’s still so much I feel like I can’t trust right now.” 

“But you trust me...” 

“Yeah.” 

Lena carefully cradles Kara’s hand in both of hers, and it feels like a thank you of sorts. Then Kara draws their joined hands closer and closer, pressing her lips gently to Lena’s knuckles, and sighs in a way that could only ever be an expression of deep gratitude. 

//

Kara’s days all seem to unfold the same way, with Alex and Brainy running tests, Lena stopping by once per day for company, and Kara just trying to break up the monotony of it all with podcasts, books on tape, and tossing a tiny bouncy ball around the room to test her reflexes. 

For that last one, she has to stop the moment she hears Alex approaching her room, of course, because of all the broken glass and knocked over plants, and such. 

Until one day, she overhears a couple of DEO agents discussing some urgent mission—not exactly a rare occurrence, given her super-hearing, but she perks up, ears honing in at the mention of Lex Luthor. 

But when they also mention how Lena might be in danger, Kara is already out of bed and flying out the window.

Kara hasn’t flown since donning her blackout goggles, but she remembers enough to travel at a height that would be safe from any threat of collision. And before long, she’s hurtling straight for the source of all the distant commotion now pounding in her ears. 

She practically crashes in landing, the earth cracking beneath her bare feet. She whips her head toward where Lena’s heartbeat is fluttering the loudest, then hears low chuckles coming from the same direction. 

“You’re all so pathetic and predictable,” Lex crows. “At least try to make it somewhat of a challenge for me. God, it’s all just too easy.” 

“Kara, get out of here!” Lena’s voice shouts out to her, muffled and desperate. “It’s a trap!” 

But Kara takes a step toward them anyway, and immediately, the entire world seems to scream in protest. 

Kara falls to her knees, hands clapping over her ears but to no avail. The excruciating sound is coming from her own head, akin to hot spikes scraping at the inside of her skull. She calls out to Lena, but can’t even make out her own voice over the pain. 

She crumples over, helpless, her teeth gritted as she pushes her face into the dirt and shakes uncontrollably. She knows she has to get up; she’s a sitting duck like this. She can’t save Lena like this. 

And so, Kara does the one thing that she can do. 

She rips the goggles off her face, hurling them somewhere behind her, and jerks her head up. 

She sees a blur of colors, then a single hand outstretched towards her, clutching onto something silver and vaguely rectangular. 

She fires a burst of heat vision right at that hand, and feels the back of her head explode. 

//

“Man... she couldn’t just put them down gently?” mutters a voice that’s not unfamiliar. “She just had to throw the goggles like a goddamn shot-putter or something? These things cost a fortune!”  

“All right, that’s enough, Demos,” says Alex, a much more familiar voice. “I’ll worry about the budget, okay? You just get everyone else back to headquarters.”  

“’M’sorry,” Kara says, or at least she tries to say. “My bad...” Her eyes still shut tight, she flashes a thumbs up, then lets her arm flop back down to the ground. Alex stops her when she attempts to sit up. 

“Hey, not so fast, you jerk,” Alex says, somehow keeping Kara grounded with a single hand pressed against her shoulder. “We’re getting a stretcher for you.” 

“I don’t think I need a stretcher.” 

“Yeah, well... nobody asked you,” Alex sighs, before grumbling, “God, what’s taking them so long? Ugh, hang on... Hey, can you watch her? I’ll be right back.” 

Lena’s there now, and Kara can actually feel herself grinning without even meaning to. “No, don’t... You shouldn’t have come, Kara.” But there’s a smile in Lena’s voice, and Kara’s grin grows wider for it. “I’m serious!” 

“Okay, me too.” Kara then winces as a sharp pain gradually surfaces, trickling into reality. “The back of my head is killing me...” 

“Yeah, you’re bleeding.” 

Kara scoffs. “I don’t bleed; I’m Supergirl.” 

“Okay, Supergirl... but somebody got blood all over my shirt, and it sure as hell isn’t me, so...” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Then check for yourself.” 

Kara goes rigid, her humor dashed and her brow furrowing heavily.

“... You know I can’t do that.” 

Soft fingertips brush down Kara’s face, tucking her hair behind her ear so tenderly. “Listen,” Lena says. “You destroyed Lex’s transmitter, along with most of his right hand, and I think you blew out the implant in your head in the process as well.” 

There are thoughts then—the kind that Kara is unwilling to say aloud lest they develop reasons to be true. Thoughts like, what if the explosion damaged parts of her brain permanently? What if it severed that neural link between her eyes and everything else for good? And, how can she risk losing the one person who she believes to be absolutely, 100% real? 

Lena draws Kara’s attention with a gentle hand squeeze. “Hey, where’d you go?” she asks softly.

“I’m still here,” Kara says. “Still just right here.” 

But Lena seems to understand Kara’s concerns, unvoiced or not, because she leans a bit closer and asks, “Do you trust me...?” 

And, yes; yes, she does.  

With a deep breath filling out her lungs, Kara slowly opens her eyes. Everything’s a blur at first, just like before. But then little by little, bit by bit, the night sky comes into focus. She stares up at the darkness, counts as many stars as she can to put off the inevitable. 

Then her hand is being tugged and squeezed in the gentlest reminder, so she turns her head, blinking her eyes in preparation before looking up to see Lena Luthor smiling down at her. 

“Hey,” Kara says. 

“Hey yourself,” Lena returns. 

Kara nods thoughtfully, then gestures to Lena’s shirt. “Sorry, but I can’t afford dry cleaning,” she says, squinting at the various splashes of red—light but unfortunately prominent against the very white material—and Lena just laughs and laughs. 

[prose-for-hire]

Bad to the bone

Part One

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Request: Not really requested. Inspired and suggested by the 🏜 Anon !! This is a second part to ‘Bad boy, lunchable reader’ 

Warning: Bit of a rocky relationship with Dad!Giles, mention of reader feeling a kind of abandonment by him.

A/N: I’m not sure how similar reader is to the original fic (can a reader be ooc lol). I just wanted to show the softer side of their relationship despite the people around them being more hostile. It was really nice re-visting this one !! 

You ran, waiting on the kerb rather than in the house. You knew your dad wouldn’t follow you out. Not after that argument. You tried to just ignore what had been said, as if it had never happened.

You waited for the sun to set, knowing he would come for you as soon as he physically could. Your vampire. Ever since he had told you he loved you, you had been completely loved up. And everyone around you appeared to be against you both for it.

Despite it all, you couldn’t help your heart soaring when you saw him approaching on the motorbike that had suddenly come into his possession.

He grinned when he saw you, dismounting the bike as you walked towards him. He pulled you into a deep kiss. It knocked the breath from your body, his tongue meeting yours with a fierce passion. He always did this as soon as he saw you, just couldn’t resist it. Could never resist you.

He gestured for you to join him and you happily started to sit behind him but he paused you, brandishing something you hadn’t noticed what with his distracting kiss.

“On. Not bloody moving ‘til it’s on” He warned, coaxing the helmet into your arms and stared, waiting. When you didn’t put it on he spoke again, “Come on, stole it special didn’t I?” He encouraged softly. It made you smile when his tone softened that way. He only did it for you. You had always known his heart was softer than it appeared.

“Hey! You don’t even wear one, you’re treating me like a baby”

“Humans have skin. Soft, squishy parts. And you got the softest of all, pet” He said tenderly, moving his hand to rest against your upper arm ,as if in appreciation of said skin, “Can’t have you in harm’s way”

“Fine, but only if I can drive on the way back” You warned, putting the helmet on your head.

“Love-”

“If we crash you can do the hero thing, y’know, save me all vampire-style and kissing me”

“Yeah while all your bones are crushed beyond recognition”

“You… you wouldn’t kiss me if I was smushed into the floor?” You pouted, which made him tense his jaw. He loved you, God he loved you, but you didn’t half ask some stupid questions sometimes. You were so soft and unassuming though, you really wanted to hear the answer. He was a sucker for you.

“’Course I would”

“You mean it? You’re not just saying it?!” You laughed, looping your arms around him still stood beside the bike and pressing yourself into him. Almost hitting him with the extra padding around your head. You closed your eyes, so relieved that he was here.

“Just… come on, pet” He gestured behind him, trying to peel your arms from him. You just smiled a little giddily because you were in his presence and tried to press more kisses to his face through the visor. He looked around, making sure Giles or the Slayer wasn’t around. You weren’t listening so his tone changed a little harder, “Get on the bike or I’ll drive away into the sunset”

“Yeah, dust in the wind” You muttered with a pout but moved to sit behind him. He caught it but didn’t say anything.

You were clinging to him, his waist. He loved having you this way, driving you through the streets. Allowing everyone to get a good look that you were his. You leaned against his shoulder, the tension releasing from your shoulders the further you drove away.

You arrived at his crypt, a place you loved. It was a solace. You were able to love freely here. Without anyone’s unwanted opinions or fists getting in the way.

Nobody accepted your relationship and your dad was the worst. You had argued with him again. Just before Spike came to pick you up. It was becoming almost every day now. You wished you could share how much you adored Spike. How happy you were. How he took you to the library and sat there the entire time you were studying. How he offered such loving comfort. How he was there for you without question, without agenda. He was yours.

This is how you had ended up exchanging more infuriating words with your father.

“Look at him, Y/n, for pete’s sake! He’s bad to the bones of him!” He seethed as you tried to mention casually that you were staying over at Spike’s. You didn’t ask permission seeing as you had lived alone for most of your life until you had moved back in with him again.

“Dad, please, just believe me – I love-” You began, trying in earnest to get him to understand.

“You don’t know the bloody meaning of the world, child!”

“I’m an adult, Dad, I’m not your kid anymore!”

“No, I suppose you’re just some stranger I allow to live here rent free”

“I can leave”

“Then you should do so, as quickly as you can” He had said it in the heat of the moment and instantly regretted it. He was driving you further into Spike’s arms and he only comprehended this as his last syllable pierced the air towards you. Leaving you wounded, fleeing the scene.

Spike took your hand softly in his, guiding you through the grave stones and into the crypt he called home. Nobody would ever believe you if you told them how soft his heart was. All they saw was the big, bad vampire that had crashed into Sunnydale.

But he was good, no matter his faults. He was so good to you. He could get violent, you had seen the evidence from the fights he got into. But he would never let you see that. Wanted to protect you, make sure you were always safe.

He had been so close to trying to hurt your Dad recently. Giles had threatened him away from you. Shoving him hard into the wall upon realising he couldn’t fight back. Spike stood and took it. No matter how angry he got. He would have risked the headache if it hadn’t been for you. His way of proving he wasn’t backing away. He wasn’t going to lose you.

Spike hadn’t told you though, didn’t want to see you cry again. He hated to see you cry. Didn’t want to be the reason you were upset. He’d hide it from you, not wanting you to fall out with your Dad again. He knew how much his approval mattered to you.

It soon became apparent, however, that you were already slightly down. He didn’t press you to talk to him, just pulled you into his side. You had settled on the sofa in his crypt. He had cleaned up again, always swept around the crypt and tried to make it look habitable when you were coming over.

Wanted the best for you. Always.

You leant into his chest, not able to hide your frown now. What your Dad had said was finally sinking in. You didn’t know whether to ask Spike if you could stay here. Or whether this would only make things worse.

But this worry began to dissipate with every loving second you shared with him. You loved his jewellery. He often wore a single silver chain around his neck. You twisted your finger to look his necklace. Thinking, brow furrowing lightly now as you did.

He kissed you softly on the forehead before casting his eye back to the tv as he spoke, “Your old man again?” he questioned, knowing your moods as if they were his own. You just nodded, hiding your face. Nestling into the side of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively. As if he sought to save you from the world outside the crypt.

This is the man that was entirely bad to the bone. The vampire. A killer. But one who would never harm you, hated even a word said against you. Who would defend you even past his last breath. Who would whisper such tender love. Such sweet affirmations. His poet’s heart sung for you. You had found him writing feverishly. About you. For you.

You couldn’t describe it properly, but with him you felt safe. Safer than you ever had before. Despite everything you knew. He had told you his past in excruciating detail. But you still confirmed your love after. Because of the way he was with you. The way he cared. You knew something had shifted within.

He put something on the television as he pressed such tender kisses against your skin, trying to get you back to face him. God, he loved your face. He pressed his lips along your jaw, small kisses making a path of his love.

“Let me make you feel better, love?” He posed the question innocently but his eyebrow was telling you different. He loved to kiss the pain away. he was a big believer in healing through this kind of affection. He always wished to make you feel his love so intimately. He was the typical bad boy but you loved the bones of him.

Spike latched onto your neck, soothing kisses. Hands slowly roaming. He cherished every inch of you, sliding you onto his lap as he pressed further kisses against your skin. Your lips.

Wanted you to know that he was with you. But you never doubted this. His love always surrounded you. Like a quilt. An aura.

Suddenly this soft moment was shattered. This peaceful moment you held in reverence lost. Buffy had dropped in. Again.

“Get off them! Now!” She barked, an obvious disgust written all over her face. It made you both so uncomfortable. You loved so deeply and yet nobody could see through the attitude. The past he wasn’t ashamed of sharing with you despite always worrying about your reaction. You knew it all now and loved him more for it.

You didn’t understand how everyone else hated him so.

“Buffy, what the fuck!?” You muttered, she always brought this reaction from you now. You sprung from Spike who just moved his head a fraction to lazily glare at the slayer.

“Get up, Spike” She scowled at him.

“You can’t just come by unannounced and start slaying! It-it’s like Spike just coming to your house and starting to bite people at random!” You complained.

“He has done that…” Buffy said, crossing her arms over her chest, “Twice”

“Oh… right” Your brow furrowed a little, you were still getting used to the vampire thing.

“’S’alright pet, only a nibble. Like when I-” He arched a suggestive eyebrow as a heat ran up your face.

“Do not finish that sentence” Buffy warned before turning to plead to you, “Y/n, you know he’s no good. You know what he is. You don’t have to do this, to disrespect yourself this way”

“Buffy, I love him… he’s my boyfriend”

“Apart from the boy part, oh and the friendly part!” She rolled her eyes, “Come on” she grabbed your wrist and started to pull you away with her.

“Buffy, we’re not friends! You didn’t care to even know me until you found out that I was with Spike. This isn’t about me, it’s about… how you feel”

“No. it’s about you breaking Giles’ heart. Have you seen him lately?” She prodded, her tone turning harsh. She had tried to be understanding, played the concerned friend but she had given up.

She couldn’t understand liking Spike without hating yourself for it. Without treating affection as a transaction. He’s a demon. He had done horrible things and appeared to her to have no redeeming qualities. Apart from, admittedly, the fact that he was kind of attractive. Only in the right lighting, obviously.

“Yeah, I saw him thirty minutes ago when he threw me out of his house” You replied firmly. Your softness gone as she had made your life her business. Again. Buffy was so shocked she dropped your wrist.

Spike instantly got to his feet and moved swiftly to your side. His hand on you, he knew what this meant. He knew this would hurt you so much. You had felt distant with Giles for a long time, he moved away to basically raise some other kid. And left you behind. And now this was happening all over again.

You felt abandoned. Like he had created an entirely new family right here. Not made of blood but with the young people he helped all of the time. It was a secret he had kept from you and they had all been in on it. How could your own father make you feel like you were an outsider in your own home?

Spike’s hand was soothing on the small of your back. His eyes only on you. Sensitive to every minute inflection of emotion on your face. His expression held such understanding. Buffy looked between you, faltering only slightly before righting her face. He really did appear to love you. On the surface at least. His eyes didn’t move from you, his eyes glassy as he felt your emotions almost as strongly as you did.

He couldn’t help that swell of hope that you would move in with him though. No matter how concerned he was for you and your troubles, he was overjoyed that you might want to stay with him. To have you, by his side even in the day. To be close to you. Domesticity that he pretended he didn’t crave when you were around.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…” Buffy offered. It was sincere. Of all the things she knew about Giles, she hadn’t expected him to parent like this. It was harsh, much harsher than he was on her even. She appeared to soften, want to offer a hand of friendship.

But Spike was already ushering her out of the door without her so much as collecting up her thoughts before she left. He hurled some choice insults out of the door with her before slamming the door shut.

He immediately moved to your side. Closing the space between you and allowing you to lean against him. He cradled your head whispering hushed assurances. That he would never leave you. That he would always look out for you even if everyone else turned from you. Which was exactly what it had felt like.

He knew this, knew your own thoughts as if they were his own. He didn’t like to admit it, although it was evident to you in abundance, but he was so soft for you. Especially when you were alone this way and you needed him. He was so comforting the gentle nature he shared with you almost made you cry. He continued to reassure you and held you to him through the night.

He wasn’t able to bite back any comments he had on your Dad, ones he had held inside for a while. He had never really liked that man.

Spike, this man who was so bad to the bone was your only comfort. All he wanted was for you to be happy, no matter what. He was soft with you where nobody else had been. He lifted you up, helped you carry on. He was yours.

You did move in with him after this, spending time together. It only made your relationship stronger.

You would make up with your Dad eventually. At your college graduation. He felt guilty, you had very rarely spoken to him since he told you to leave. He was protective, despite you having spent a large portion of your life looking after yourself.

He would never approve of your relationship with Spike fully, despite his assurance that he would never stop loving you because of it. He apologised though for his behaviour, something you hadn’t recalled him saying to you often. And something else.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n” He said, a hand patted yours. Your gasp audible. He had never said that to you before. It had honestly been all you had wanted to hear from him.

You still returned home to Spike though. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He wished so badly he could have been there but it was the middle of the day. He showed you just how pleased he was for you either way when you returned. He was so supportive, even if you hadn’t made up with your father, Spike was all that you needed.

It wasn’t a fleeting love, you were his. For life.

[rhaenyratargeryn]

Title: sense

Pairing: Adam x F!detective

Summary: just a little scenario I imagine absolutely happened at some point.

Notes: ao3 link

***

“Oh, thank god— Nate, please be the voice of reason here.”

The detective’s tone was one of intense exasperation, her hand rubbing across her eyes as she stood in the Warehouse kitchen opposite of Adam, who was appearing equally perturbed. A deep line had settled between his brows and he had crossed his arms at her words.

Nate suddenly regretted having not gone the other direction.

“Yes, please. As sense has seemed to have completely evaporated.” Adam countered, his eyes trailing over to Nate expectantly.

At a loss, Nate smiled faintly, “... what am I voicing upon?”

“She is putting herself in a position of unnecessary—”

“Adam doesn’t want me sleeping with my windows open!”

The detective erupts over Adam’s voice, earning a cool glare from the other man. Upon moving his gaze to meet Nate’s utterly bewildered one, his pale skin seemed to flush just a fraction. Realization of just how preposterous the detective’s explanation made him seem flitted across Adam’s eyes for the barest moment before he shoved it down deep.

“It is an issue of safety. Anyone could enter through that flimsy screen.”

“I’m on the second floor!”

“As if such a thing would be an issue for a supernatural.” Adam said, rising up taller, as if he’d won with that statement, “You would be safer staying here if you wished to sleep in such a way.”

“If supernaturals are coming to break into my apartment I don’t think glass or locks would be an issue either!” the detective said, throwing a hand up and out to the side in a gesture of utter annoyance.

Adam had no retort for that.

Nate wondered idly if they would notice if he slipped back out. He got his answer when Adam turned to him, eyes as near to pleading as the older vampire could get.

“She has a point,” Nate said slowly, gauging the way Adam’s expression shuttered.

“Fine.” Adam said with bite, “But do not expect us to come running when you place yourself purposefully in harm's way.”

He turned and exited the kitchen, the detective’s words following behind.

“It’s just a window! For goodness sake!”

Once it was obvious Adam had no intention of returning to the conversation, she sat down with a soft thump into one of the kitchen chairs, attempting to return to her coffee and breakfast with minor success.

“How on earth did this start?” Nate asked after a moment, moving to take a seat across from her with a rueful smile.

“I just mentioned how I was happy the weather was cooling down in the evenings… the air is nice and I sleep so much better at home when it gets all cozy like this.” the detective sighed, “And Adam well— was Adam about it.”

“He just cares.” Nate offered, an insufficient excuse for certain, “This is how he shows it.”

The detective looked doubtful, but did not question the honesty of Nate’s words.

--

There was no way she would stay at the warehouse tonight after that display. The detective returned to her own apartment, throwing open both her bedroom and living room windows the moment she arrived and enjoying the chilly air that had settled in the twilight hours.

She brewed a mug of tea and settled into her plush papasan chair, tucked a few pattern pillows out of the way and opened a book. It took awhile for her to turn her thoughts away from her own act of stubbornness, which had in turn put her back into the argument from that morning.

Theoretical arguments with Adam were a constant daydream, right next to the ones where he didn’t flinch when she reached out to touch his face.

It didn’t help that the novel was littered with romantic subtropes and finally, with a sigh, she closed it after darkness finally settled across the room. The detective closed the living room window a fraction, as was her usual routine and shut off the lights, heading to the bedroom.

That window she left wide open, changing into her pajamas even in full view. No one was typically out on that section of the street this late and she was high up enough not to worry about anyone getting too much of an eyeful. Even so, she changed quickly, keeping her bare back to the glass as she tugged on a large t-shirt.

After, she shut off the lights and curled into bed, sighing contentedly at the way the ceiling fan spread out the chilled, night scent of fresh clean air. It was nice after having to spend so much time keeping the heat out to huddle beneath the blankets and slowly drift off.

The detective had just fallen into a soft dream when her phone chimed. Groaning, she turned her face into her pillow.

The phone chimed again. And again. And then finally began to ring.

Throwing her blankets off, she fumbled for the device in the dark and answered.

“...speaking.” she mumbled, barely annunciating her title and name. On the other end, the familiar voice of a patrol officer greeted her.

“Hey, sorry to bug you so late. You got a sec?”

“Sure, sure.” she yawned.

“We keep getting calls from folks in your apartment block. They say there is some weirdo hanging around. Big hulking type. Got folks worried about break ins. Have you seen anything? I’m halfway across town so I figured I’d save the trip if it was nothing.”

The detective took a deep measured breath, held and let it out.

“It’s okay. I got this.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. No problem.”

The officer thanked her profusely, apologized again for waking her and then once they hung up, the detective selected a number from her contacts and plopped back against her pillows.

The answer was quick.

“Commanding Agent Du Mortain.” came the clear, professional answer. Too clear. Too professional.

“Where are you?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I am patrolling.”

“Good, maybe you can help me then.”

“Is something wrong?” his voice lifted, the mask of disinterest fading.

“I got a call from an officer. Says a hulking, unscrupulous and unsavory character is loitering around my apartment parking lot.”

Silence.

“Have you seen anyone like that?” the detective continued, unable to hide the smile in her voice.

“Did you tell them it was handled?” came Adam’s terse, unamused response. The detective thought she heard the sound of his footsteps.

“Yes. Ya know, if you want to keep watch? In the future? Do it from inside.”

There was silence for a prolonged moment and then, the detective startled, sitting up and rushing to find the light at her bedside table at the sound that came from her hall.

“I am inside.” came Adam’s voice, both from the phone and the outside of her bedroom door, sounding way too smug.

The detective threw off her covers completely and marched to the door, throwing it open.

“As I said. Entirely unsound. You did not even hear me remove the screen—”

“Adam.” she said, voice terse and annoyed and tired. Whatever she hoped to say next was lost as her shoulders hunched forward and his expression softened a fraction.

It was then he seemed to note more fully her attire, standing before him in nothing but a thread-bare t-shirt that was so large it hung off one shoulder and a pair of boyshorts. The detective felt the sudden tension roil to the surface, warm and familiar and yet distant. Out of reach.

He swallowed thickly and the detective began to wonder just how long he had been outside her window.

“Just stay here… if you’re that concerned.” the detective said with a sigh, turning and crawling back into bed. She turned to look back at him, noting while his body was frozen his eyes had followed her every step of the way, blazing with vibrant green at the sight of her, half-dressed and lazing on the mattress.

“... I… I cannot.” Adam was at a loss, the prospect no doubt making his head spin and his heart hammer as intently as her own.

“You can. Since it isn’t all of the team, you should be able to find a place to sit out there.” she said with a nervous laugh, the spell breaking the moment Adam realized what it was she was offering. Tension rolled off his shoulders, relief in his exhaled breath.

“You meant in the living room.”

“Where else would I have meant?” the detective replied, making a point of lingering near one edge of the bed, leaving the side closest to him open and terribly inviting. For a moment she enjoyed watching the way his breath puffed from his lungs before catching. That tiny flicker of wanting that he snapped back up and hid down deep the moment it dared rear forward.

“I guess you could always bring a chair in here,” she said, yawning and stretching her arms above her head until the t-shirt rose up high on her waist, revealing the bare line of her thighs. She relaxed and watched Adam’s eyes follow the hem back down.

Without a word, Adam vanished from the doorway. For a moment, the detective felt her heart seize, worried she’d pressed too hard.

But in a moment he returned, one of the antique padded, high backed chairs from her small dining table in hand.

He set it by the window, making a point of glancing out over the parking lot before he sat down.

They lingered like that for a moment, the sound of insects, the soft breeze of the wind outside and the gentle whirl of the ceiling fan filling the silence.

“I’m going to turn the light off.” the detective warned quietly. Adam gave a nod. She leaned over and flicked off the switch, sitting for a moment in the darkness until her eyes adjusted and she could make him out.

He was watching her.

She settled under her blankets, stilling once she had become comfortable again and finding the sleep that had been right at the forefront of her thoughts suddenly illusive.

“...well, good night.” she said with a soft, nervous laugh. Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest. She wondered if he could hear it. No. She knew he could hear it. She willed herself to calm, letting her thoughts fade to the daydreams that helped ease her into sleep. Every once in a while she heard him shift, the sound of fabric, of the chair. His presence was a soothing one, even if it did also make her heart skip and patter in her breast.

It took awhile, but eventually her pulse settled and slowly she drifted back off to sleep.

--

The sound of her heart was like that of a rabbit caught in a snare at first, thrumming with beats and the flow of her blood, rippling like a stream. Adam had felt his own racing to match, falling in pace now as it settled and slowed.

He tried not to move. Not to make a sound. As if doing so would make his being here less— real. Less present.

It did not help.

It only took an hour or so before he could tell she was truly and wholly asleep, her soft breaths deep and even. At that point, Adam felt himself finally able to relax, able to set fully to the task of keeping a watch out over the complex.

This was why he preferred her to stay at the warehouse. Where he could stand watch without her ever knowing he was there. Which he did—every night she stayed with them. Distance made his chest ache, restrictive and demanding. Searching. As if his heart would escape his ribs if it could to seek her out, only calmed when she was near.

Adam knew this was not just fear for her safety. Knew it was deeper than that, but still refused to place the words that so obviously described the feeling to it.

But now, in the dark, in the quiet calm, he let them flit through his head.

He missed her when she was gone. Without reason. Without sense. Which was why he tried to attribute something rational, something vaguely resembling reason when he argued why she should remain at the warehouse. With them. With him.

This, Adam supposed, was suitable enough.

She shifted in her dreams, the blanket pulling from her legs as she clung to it. After a moment, she shivered. Adam stood, pulling one of the soft quilts from the bed out and laying it over her. He smoothed his hand down her leg from the knee, resting his palm on her ankle until she calmed once more.

He had to fight the urge to lift his hand, to retrace the soft path it had just taken. When the feeling was well under control, he returned to his spot by the window.

When the sun rose, Adam would be gone.

But for now, he closed his eyes and listened to her breathe.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

Part 8:

It’s a sunday evening, and you’re kicking your feet up. The television is on low, and your apartment smells like the food you’d had for dinner earlier. All things considered, it’s the most relaxing day off you could’ve asked for. You’d slept in, stayed in, and not got off your couch for anything more than food or a bathroom break. It was perfection.

But perfection expires. Even quicker when somebody forcefully shatters it with a fist against your balcony door.

At the sight of Bakugou, you can’t help but be confused. You’d seen him last just a few nights ago, and, as he already proved, he only came around as a last resort. But, even stranger that his mere presence was his appearance. It was nearing evening, and Bakugou was standing behind the glass in civilian clothes. Normal ones, with a scarf and a coat for once- no hero costume or gauntlets in sight. He had a shopping bag held in the other hand, crinkling the plastic with impatience as you open the door for him. 

“Back again so soon?” You comment.

“Shut up.”

“You could try a hello once in awhile, you know.” You sigh, sliding the door open wider for him. “But I guess I’ll let you in. It is pretty cold out.”

“It’s not cold, you’re just a bitch-”

“Ah!” You scold, spinning around to face his smirk. “What did I say about calling women, and me, that?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugs, mouth drawn up in that way you’d quickly come to realize irritated the hell out of you. “Wasn’t listenin’.”

Bakugou brushes past you easily, somehow leading you into your own kitchen. A part of you wants to yell at him for it, but a larger part quickly realizes how much of a lost cause that would be. After all, it would be pretty pointless to yell at a wild animal for acting like a wild animal. 

Swinging from his hand is a plastic bag, and with no ceremony whatsoever, Bakugou slams it onto your counter. The sound makes you cringe and you’re not sure what takes more damage- the contents of the bag or your own countertop. Then he turns his back, stepping away without a word. He takes a seat at your table, flipping the chair backwards, settling into it, and resting his chin on his hands- and says nothing, of course, because it’s Bakugou. 

“So- what, you’re just gonna leave your stuff there?” You ask, fighting the urge to look inside the bag. “Just, like, out on the counter?”

Bakugou must see your eagerness, because then he’s rolling his eyes. He lifts his head like the gesture pains him, and points loosely towards the bag. 

“Go. Look.” He says. “Knock yourself out, leech. ‘s for you.”

“You bought me something?”

“Yeah? And? What about it?” He bites out defensively. “’s not a big fuckin’ deal or anything.”

“Nothing- I- that’s just nice, I wasn’t expecting it. Thank you.”

He seems to fluster at your words, casting his eyes to the floor. But he waves his hand again, and you realize he’s waiting for you to open the gift, so you near the counter.

 Inside the bag are new dish rags and high-quality bandages and a mountain of cold compresses. You dig a little further, finding some tissues and gauze and even painkillers. He seems to have accounted for and replaced everything you’d ever given him- and then some. 

“I- this is really nice. Really.” You say earnestly, unpacking everything and setting it down on the counter. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Only did it so you don’t think I owe you anything.”

“I never thought you owed me anything in the first place, you know.”

He just shakes his head at that, mouth curling around a subtle smirk. “Only an idiot serves people for free.”

“I don’t- I’m helping you!”

“I know, chill the hell out.” He laughs. “I was kidding, leech.”

You look at him, and Bakugou looks a lot different that you’ve ever seen him. He’s refreshed, skin no longer pallid, his eyes bright and alert. It’s nice, you realize, to see him in something other than pain, absolute exhaustion, or a mood for once.

He almost beautiful- in very much the same way his explosions are. From an incredibly healthy distance.

You shake your head of the thought, turning around quickly before he can notice the heat in your cheeks. It’s a silly thing to be embarrassed about, and you know it, but that doesn’t stop the feeling. 

So instead of dwelling on it, you ignore it entirely- spin on your heels and start walking towards your bathroom. 

“Where’re ya going now?” He asks, and you hear the chair squeak as he stands. Then he’s trailing behind you for a few steps. “Hah?”

“Bathroom. Gotta get the kit so I can put all the new stuff in it!”

“Well don’t sound so fuckin’ happy about it.”

“I am happy!” You call over your shoulder.

Truthfully, you’re actually little unsure- almost assuming there must be some sort of catch to Bakugou’s gift. Sure it’d be a normal gesture from anyone else, but this was him. He didn’t just do nice things regardless of whatever reason he claimed.

You grab the medkit, striding back out to find him leaning against your counter. His eyes follow you, focused and intent as you start packing the new things away. It’s a little intense honestly- you almost start to wonder if Bakugou even knows how to blink.

“Wow- this is the exact brand I like and everything.” You smile at him, tucking all the bandages away neatly. “How’d you know?”

“Noticed.”

“You noticed?”

“The packaging, idiot. ‘s not hard.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe not. But I didn’t expect you’d notice it while you were injured is all- oh, and speaking of, good job! Showing up here, not bleeding out and exhausted, I mean. It’s nice to see you not on the brink of death.”

“Yeah- just means you shouldn’t piss me off. I’ll kill ya for sure this time, leech.” 

His tone is a little weird- a little too light, almost teasing. It’s not until you look up at him that you notice- he’s joking. Bakugou Katsuki is making a joke, in your kitchen, and somehow smiling with very little argument beforehand. A part of you is sure that hell must’ve frozen over.

Still, you smile right back, rolling your eyes at him playfully. “Mhm, I get it.” You say. “You’re totally scary and mean. No need to threaten me any more with it.”

Bakugou just nods, seemingly very satisfied with your comment. You wonder if he knows you were being sarcastic, but knowing his ego, you’re not sure it even mattered anyway. You chose to say the words at all, and that was your worst mistake. 

You finish putting away all the medical supplies into your kit, organizing it neatly within the compartments. Bakugou watches you intently the entire time, not really moving much aside from taking his previous seat back on your kitchen chair. It’s a silent for a while, nothing but your little shuffling sounds and his quiet breathing- until he clears his throat, sighing and slumping forward against the back of your kitchen chair.

“You going shopping again soon?” He suddenly asks, voice pinched and terse. Like even bringing the subject up at all irritates him. “Gonna be out even later or whatever?” 

“I mean- yeah, some time in the next few days? Why?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is clipped- short and harsh like every other word he’d ever spoken to you, but his expression has shifted. There’s no pretense or tough act to follow his command. No front whatsoever. 

“That’s- that’s not really something you get to decide.” You finish unsurely. Something about him is making you nervous- the intensity over something so seemingly trivial. “Why’re you even asking?”

Bakugou straightens in the chair, dropping his arms from over the back. He rolls his shoulders, puffing out his chest with authority. “It doesn’t matter why I’m fuckin’ asking. Just do what I say and stay inside.”

“How many times have I told you this, you don’t get to make orders-”

“It’s not orders.” Bakugou sneers, mimicking your voice. Then he drops the posturing, tilting his head as his voice colors condescending. “I’m saying it’s dangerous, idiot. Quit being so goddamn stubborn.”

“I’m not.” You scrunch your nose at the insult. “And dangerous? Really? I’ve literally never been attacked, not once, in the entire years I’ve lived here. If it’s concern, I appreciate it, but I’m fairly confident I’m fine.”

“It’s- you even listenin’ to me?” He sneers. “I’m warning you. Tellin’ ya not to go out and do something stupid just to prove a stupid fuckin’ point. I’m serious about it- don’t.”

His tone strikes you as odd. Bakugou wasn’t the type to ask for anything. He didn’t bow to anyone or anything, but in that moment you could’ve sworn he was pleading with you. Like he knew something you didn’t. You start to realize you were right earlier, about the way his gift had a catch.

“Bakugou. Did you see something? Like, around here or-”

“No. Not yet.”

You want to tear your hair out. Once again, it seemed Bakugou had you pulling teeth with him, even though he was the one who showed up at your apartment in the first place. 

“Not yet? What does that even-” You sigh in frustration. “Look, if you know something, and that something is dangerous, then you need to tell me.”

Bakugou’s entire face to seems to scrunch up at that, but then he’s dragging a hand down his face and smoothing his features. When he looks up at you again, you can see the way his eye twitches. The way his jaw ticks when he leans forward.

“I can’t.” He growls, running a hand through his unruly hair. “If I could just fuckin’ tell you I would, but it’s not that goddamn easy. Even knowing in the first place is how they- just, just fuckin’ listen to me about this!” 

Bakugou tilts his head, catching your eyes with his hardened stare. His eyes are solid again, like strengthened steel as he looks at you. It’s almost harder to keep his gaze than it is to even try and look away.

It’s yet another stare off, and up until now, you’d won every match. You had seen him at his worst, had forced him to relent even if it was through brute force- but this didn’t seem like those other times. Between his clenched fists and merciless stare, it didn’t seem like surrender was even part of his vocabulary. 

In that moment, Bakugou was serious. More serious than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Yeah. Okay.” You say, nodding. “I got it- but I’m not sure what you want me to do exactly? My shift’s graveyard, so if the problem is it being dark and late, then I’m not sure what to tell you.”

Bakugou nods, but he doesn’t look exceptionally thrilled. He rolls his lips together, thinking for a moment, before he speaks. “Same time every night?”

“Yeah? Most nights?”

“Then it’s fine.” He nods once more to himself, shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll be there.” 

You look at him a little funny, squinting in absolute disbelief, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugou’s already made up his mind it seems. 

“What- like every night?” You ask. “You’re just gonna walk me home, every night?” 

“Got a fuckin’ problem with it or something?”

“No, but that’s- do you not have a job? I don’t- you really don’t need to go through all that trouble just to pay back whatever debt you think you owe me and-”

“Idiot.” He shakes his head, swearing under his breath. “This isn’t about a stupid debt, alright? It’s about your shitty quirk. And don’t start fuckin’ asking me to explain how, because I won’t, no matter how much you beg. Just believe me, and fuckin’ listen. For once.” 

You shrink back a little bit at that- your stomach dropping.

Your quirk? What the hell would your quirk have to do with anything? 

“Don’t give me that shit, woman. I already told you.” Bakugou gruffs suddenly. “‘m not saying anything else, so shut up about it alread-

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t have to, leech, could see it in your beady eyes.” 

“Well excuse me for having a natural reaction!” You snap, squinting at him. “You can’t just walk in here, say something cryptic, tell me I’m in danger apparently, and then expect me to just be perfectly calm about it, alright? It’s not fair.”

To his credit, Bakugou does actually seem to mull over your words for a second. He huffs another breath, something exhausted and a little annoyed before he speaks again.

“Don’t go spiraling about it, leech. Nothing’s even fuckin’ wrong. Yet.” He gruffs. “All ‘m saying is that going out alone at night is a shitty idea, even for you, and you should stop doing it.”

“Okay. Fine. I guess. Even though it feels sorta backwards, I guess stuff like this is pretty much your job, huh?” You sigh. “But what did you mean earlier, about my quirk? What would it even have to do with anything? No one but you even really understands it.”

“Mhm, and we’re keepin’ it that way.” 

“That’s unreasonable. I can’t just, like, stop using it. It’s a huge portion of my job!”

“Tough.”

“Tough? Tough? Really? That’s all you have to say?” You huff in frustration. “It’s- Look, I can admit you probably have a point about the not going out at night thing, but I’m not just gonna stop using my quirk entirely and-” 

“When the fuck did I tell you to stop using it completely? I didn’t, so stop putting your words in my mouth, leech. What I said is you need to stop just fuckin’ usin’ it on everybody you see. Any idiot with half a brain cell could see how strong it is, alright?” He says. “So you need to figure out how to keep it to yourself. Stop drawing so much goddamn attention.”

“Drawing attent- Bakugou! I’m a nurse, alright? Not a celebrity. Not like you.” You huff, irritation coating your words. “I appreciate the concern, but I really, really, don’t think me doing my job, is gonna put me in danger! I hardly have control of it as it is, and I highly, highly, doubt my unimpressive skillset is gonna attract some crazy supervillain!” 

Bakugou just stares at you blankly while you rant, hardly even blinking as he lets you calm down. When your settled at bit, taking a deep breathe, he clicks his tongue at you.

“You already did.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, you already did, you moron.” 

“That’s- are you- you’re kidding? Right? Please tell me you’re kidding!” 

“What the fuck? Of course I’m not, idiot.” He scoffs, arms flexing as he wraps them around the back of the chair. “I wouldn’t even be here right now if I was. Stupid shit like that is a waste of my fuckin’ time.”

At his words, you can feel the nerves rolling in. It seems your life only got crazier and crazier the longer Bakugou invaded it, but this was something else. You had no business being involved in his world at all, you knew that, and especially not like this. At the very center and seemingly the cause of the problem. It made you feel sick. 

“Oh wipe the dumbass look off your face.” Bakugou rolls his eyes. “You really think I’m that useless? Nobody is going to get you. If anything, it’ll just make it easier for me to catch these fuckers with you sittin’ out like bait all the damn time.” 

“Bait? I’m not being bait for you!” 

“Jesus, leech. That’s not what I meant and you know it, so calm the hell down.” Bakugou reassures. “I meant, they’ll get greedy and sloppy sooner or later. Maybe even do something really stupid like go after you- but it’s fuckin’ fine because I’ll be there. No villian worth anything is dumb enough to come after you in the day, and I’ll walk you home at night. So there’s no goddamn issue.”

“No issue? This entire thing is an issue! I feel like you’re not taking this seriously!” 

Bakugou’s eye twitches at that, and you see him huff, pushing the chair away as he stands. He nears you, solid steps against your kitchen tile until he’s just a few feet away. There’s fire in his eyes, raging and relentless as he towers over you, his broad shoulders almost blocking out the overhead light. His expression is pinched something harsh, shadows gathering under a jaw he sets sharp enough to cut steel. In the dim glow of your kitchen, Bakugou looks mean. Much, much, scarier than he’s ever been around you before.

“I am taking this seriously.” He seethes. “Those evil, sadistic motherfuckers are not going to get away with this shit- but this only works, if you do as I say. ‘m gonna blow ‘em to hell either way, and I’d rather  not do it with you tagging along as their idiot fuckin’ hostage. So you’re gonna stay in and not take any stupid risks. You understand? Leech?” 

A part of you wants to shrink for a moment, cower and collapse under the heat of his gaze. Bakugou is intimidation like you’ve never experienced before, and strangely enough, you find that brings a weird sort of comfort to you; because he looked furious, but he looked incredibly determined too. Like no force on the entire planet, divine or otherwise, could possibly save those villains from his wrath. 

“Yeah. Okay. I get it.” You say. 

“Good.” 

Then he backs off, taking and few steps back and shoving his hands in his pockets. The rage seems to melt off his face, running fluid down his nose until his eyebrows relax and his grimace goes smooth. You’d always thought he’d looked angry before, but compared to his previous expression, you realized you were wrong. As it looked now, around you, Bakugou might as well have been docile. 

“It’s- is there anything you can tell me about whoever this is?” You ask shakily. “I know what you said, but I can’t just throw myself into danger like this, alright? If it involves me, I need to know.” 

“You can’t. Knowing is the entire fucking issue.”

“What does that-”

“I already told you, I’m not telling you, alright? So fucking drop it.” 

“I can’t! How am I supposed to watch out for myself if I don’t even know what we’re up against-”

“We’re? No. We’re not up against anything.” He barks out. “You’re staying inside. I’m serious. No exceptions- that is the only fuckin’ way any of this’ll work. Don’t make it any goddamn easier for them then it needs to be.” 

“H-how do you even know any of this? Where is this even coming from? I didn’t even live anywhere near here until I met you, and even that was only months ago!”

“It’s not important how I know. I just do, alright? So stop makin’ this so hard and just quit fighting already. You’ll be fine if you just let me do my fuckin’ job.” 

You run shaky hands through your hair, trying to battle the anxiety coursing hot through your veins. A part of you wants to protest, to screech at him, but you’re not sure that would be of any help. Bakugou looked dead set on his plan already, like he’d already strategized ten steps ahead, and, when you thought about it, maybe he did. Nobody could become a top-ranking pro off pure luck, and concerning Dynamite? Well the skill behind the intimidating name was obvious. Bakugou had never been beaten. Not once in his entire career had he ever let somebody get away without injury. It’s a strange, frightening, bloody kind of bright side, but concerning your situation, you figure you’d take what you could get. 

And, when you thought about it, maybe his plan wasn’t all that bad. It was just laying low. You could do that. You could do that. 

Maybe. If you didn’t die of a panic attack first. 

“So- you thought you could butter me up with a gift and then drop a bomb on me, huh?” You ask tiredly, dropping your elbows onto your kitchen counter. You collapse into them, head in your hands as you slump. “Nice strategy, you asshole.” 

You hear him exhale something like a laugh behind you. 

“Don’t laugh!”

“Oi- quit your bitching. I told you- I’ll gonna kill them all, so chill the hell out already.” 

You turn to look at him, replying flatly. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to kill anyone. Even villains.” 

“Not literally, you bitch.” He grumbles. You hear steps behind you as he moves closer. “Just listen to me and you’ll be fine. Don’t go running off and trying to take care of it yourself. Don’t waste my time like every other dumbass civilian.” 

When you lift your head up again, Bakugou is leaning against the other side of the counter. He’s towering over your slumped form, and when you look up at him, he actually doesn’t look that pissy. You almost find that to be the strangest occurrence of the entire night. 

“Oh god no. No self-sacrifice here. You can do all the fighting, thanks.” You shiver. “Even the thought of it nearly makes me sick. I don’t think I could hurt anybody.” 

“Good thing. You’d be flat on your ass in seconds, leech.” 

“I would no- actually, no, you’re probably right.” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “God, I’m fucked, aren’t I?” 

“No. Don’t be so goddamn weak about this. You’re fuckin’ fine.” 

“What- you’re gonna protect me?”

Bakugou seems to nearly seize at your remark, his face pinching up into a snarl. If he was half an iota more juvenile you’re sure he would’ve made an audible gagging sound.

“Jesus fuck, shut your mouth.” He barks at you, cheeks flushing. “I’m gonna get ‘em, but it has nothing to do with you.” 

“Mhm. Yeah. Whatever. As long as they can’t get to me, I don’t care what reason it’s for.”

You fall into silence after that, and you try to focus on just your breaths. They feel less momentous, less anxiety-inducing, in your world that has quickly become very stressful. You can’t help the nausea settling in your stomach. You were scared.

You’d meant it when you said you couldn’t hurt anybody. Even in a life or death situation, you’re not sure you could do anything to cause harm. It just wasn’t in your nature, and the thought of being violent made you sick almost as much as the fear did. It was a strange sort of battle- one that left your fingers itching for somebody to heal. Somebody to soothe since you wouldn’t get any peace in your own mind it seemed. 

After giving yourself a few minutes of grace, just standing there in the fear didn’t seem like enough. You were overwhelmed, yes, but you weren’t alone. Even if he was bit of an asshole, you knew he’d keep his word. You wouldn’t get hurt- as long as you tried your best to be vigilant. With that thought in mind, you turned to Bakugou, trying your best to steady your voice.

“My shift ends at midnight. Or it’s supposed to. Most nights we run late, but there’s not much I can do about that.” You tell him. “I’m not sure if you already knew that or if that’s even helpful, but I figured I’d tell you anyways.” 

“So you’re listenin’?”

“Yes?” You ask confused. “It’s not like I could fight them off myself- not successfully like you could at least. What other choice do I have?” 

“That’s-” Bakugou shakes his head, disbelief rising for a second before he masks it. “Didn’t expect it, leech. Thought you’d fight like an idiot about it. You wouldn’t believe how fuckin’ stupid most civilians are. You tell ‘em they’re in danger and the morons just stand there and watch.”

“No, I know. I’m the one patching all those morons up, remember?” 

He nods, laughing something exhausted before he drags a hand down his face. It’s a strangely humanizing gesture- something devoid of anger and almost bordering genuine connection. You’d come to realize that there were cracks in his armor. Little bits of him that really did seem fond of all those people he worked so hard to save.

“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. And every day afterwards.” You say, rolling your shoulders back. You stretch you arms out in front of you, sighing tiredly. “Congrats on the the promotion to being my glorified guard dog.” 

Bakugou scrunches his nose up in disgust, lip curling. “I’m not your fuckin’ guard dog.” 

“Kinda seems like it.”

“It doesn’t seem like shit, leech.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever you say.” 

“I’m serious.”

“I know. God forbid I make a joke, grumpy pants.” You mutter quietly, clapping your hands with finality as you change the subject. “Alright, I think that’s enough panic for the night, thank you. Is that all? Or are there any other horrifying tidbits you wanna share with me?”

“Nope.”

“Well that’s- actually, no, I was gonna say that makes me feel better, but it actually doesn’t. Not at all.”

“Don’t be a bitc-”

“Bakugou! What did I say about that word?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Little bitch. Don’t be a little bitch.” 

It’s a strange thing to laugh at- an insult in the face of so much fear. But you do. His comment makes you laugh, slices the tension in your string wound far too tight. Bakugou seems satisfied at that, smiling slightly in return as he retrieves his jack and shrugs it back on. 

“Oh- you’re not staying? It’s late.” 

“Nah. Got patrol, leech.” Then he looks you up and down, squinting at the slippers on your feet. “Some of us actually got our lazy ass out of bed today.” 

“Hey! It’s my day off, you dick!”

Bakugou just laughs under his breath, nimble hands winding his scarf back around his neck. “You’re too fuckin’ easy.”

“Only because you’re dead set on being an asshole!” 

“Yeah? And?”

“That’s- don’t defend yourself!” You sputter, following behind him to the door. “You shouldn’t feel confident about that!”

He just shrugs, pulling open your balcony door with excessive force. He steps out, and the cold air floods in quickly, pinking his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Maybe it’s his lack of costume or his relaxed expression, but suddenly, you can’t help yourself with the words you say next. 

“Be careful, yeah?��� You say. “I don’t wanna see you again until tomorrow night.” 

He looks at you a little strangely, tilting his head almost imperceptibly. Then he’s shaking it off, clenching his fist as a dangerous smirk rolls across his face.

“‘m all good. Bitches won’t even get a scratch on me.” 

You’re about to yell at him for word choice again, and he must see it in your eyes. Bakugou waves you off, laughing as he vaults on top of the balcony railing in one leap. There’s sparks popping in his palms, before he turns back once more, cheshire grin and fire in his eyes as he flips you off. Then he’s skydiving below the horizon line and out of sight. 

You curse him out, but your words are drowned out by explosions. 

When you walk back inside, rubbing the cold from your arms, you realize you left the first aid kit open. You latch it shut, but leave it on the counter just in case. You were being honest earlier- you didn’t want to see him again that night, especially not injured, but you’d help him if you had to.

At this point, it felt like no matter what you did, you just couldn’t get rid of him. 

--/--

edit: pls y’all i forgot to add the taglist when i originally posted ,,, omg this is so embarrassing whoops

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the2ndl @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02 @devastyle @shoto-supremacy00 @shotoful

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 8 - Heat

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Tension. 

Summary: Rina spots you and Gojo together out in public. Furious that you are keeping a secret from her, she confronts Gojo instead to try and get some answers.

A/N: x

- - -

Goosebumps creeped up Rina’s arms as a weight dropped to the pit of her stomach. She blinked a couple of times, thinking she imagined the scene that played out. Her heart was racing uncontrollably and her response was to dodge behind a tree to try and catch herself.

Rina was working on her day off but she wasn’t too mad about it. In fact, she was glad to spend her time outdoors instead of being confined to her store. What she didn’t expect on her little morning adventure was to find you and Gojo at a park. Without hesitation, Rina stepped her way towards the two of you to say hello but froze when she saw Gojo cup your face in his hand and draw you in for a kiss. His lips lingered for a moment until you lightly pushed him away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but smiling otherwise. His hand was still pressed against your cheek, his fingers trailing down your neck where his touch stayed as he spoke. Rina couldn’t tell what he was saying, but from the way you reacted she could see that something in his words took your breath away.

Lovers , the two of you were behaving like lovers…  

Lifting her back from behind the wooden tree, Rina trudged in the other direction hoping to avoid any confrontation while her thoughts ran rampant.

You were keeping a secret, a first since all these years you have known her. Suddenly your strange behavior started making sense to your dumbfounded best friend. All the secret phone calls and text messages, your constant excuse of not being able to hang out with her, the person who came into your life and somehow uplifted you from this terrible cloud that shrouded you…

There was no “guy at the office” you were dating. Rina swallowed hard when she realised that the person who you have been with this whole time was none other than Gojo.

By the time Rina arrived back home, the hurt began sinking deep in her bones. How long have you been hiding this from her? She could understand keeping things on the low for a while since you have been hesitant about jumping back into a relationship but what possessed you to start getting romantic with Satoru ? You knew better than anyone else that the man could barely commit to a favorite pair of sunglasses let alone an entire relationship!

None of it made any sense…

The two of you talked about everything, it’s been that way since you were teenagers. You weren’t just Rina’s best friend, you were practically her sister. The fact that she found out in this way pained her beyond words. There had to be a reason why you wouldn’t tell her…

Gojo.  

This is his fault.

That’s the only explanation.

She clenched her fists together in annoyance. After all this time she thought she could rely on him to keep the one promise he made her but he didn’t.

What else was I expecting? she thought to herself, he’s always been selfish.  

***

A few days later, Rina decided she needed to confront the truth head on and get some information. At first she was thinking of speaking to you directly but hesitated. There was a wall that barricaded her from questioning your relationship and she found herself nervous even approaching you to ask. Instead of treading that very awkward path, Rina decided to ask the only other person who could give her some indication on what was happening. That’s how Gojo wound up sitting at the counter of her confectionery shop, drinking lemonade and watching her with curiosity as she tended to her last few customers of the evening.  

“Rina-chan,” Gojo said with a big smile, his voice almost sickeningly sweet. “You did well today! I am glad to see your business is so successful!”

Rina nodded her head, forcing herself to return the smile but Gojo could clearly see that she was faking it.

“Thank you.”

Gojo leaned back, folding his arms over his chest while maintaining the happy mask on his face. “I appreciate you asking me to come over to try out some new things but honestly, I don’t think you seem very interested in my feedback,” he paused for a moment, gesturing that he was thinking hard before jokingly adding on, “are you just feeding me to get rid of items you don’t like?”

Rina furrowed her brows, not finding his teasing words amusing at all.

“No.” she replied curtly.

Gojo hooked his thumb underneath his blindfold, lifting it up as he leaned on the counter.

“Rina-chan…” he said softly, “are you mad at me?”

Rina squeezed the apron she was wearing with her hands, unable to look him in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“ Yes.”

“Huh,” Gojo let go of his blindfold, aware that Rina was completely avoiding his gaze. “Sometimes I don’t realise it. If my criticism was too harsh, please don’t get upset with me! Who am I to tell you what improvements you need to make for you products-”

“It’s not that. I don’t care about that …”, Rina blurted, finally shifting her attention on to him and noticing that her string of words caught him off guard.

“Well, at least you’re saying full sentences now!”

For whatever reason his careless attitude was making her angrier. Rina could feel herself erupting but knew she was being irrational. She needed to explain her feelings calmly so as to not cause a scene. She’s seen Gojo clock out of conversations before when they got too serious. Inhaling slowly, she took her time to remove her apron before standing in front of him.

“Do you remember a conversation we had three years ago?”

“You’re mad at me about something I said three years ago? We’ve had quite a few conversations since then, I think I need you to jog my memory…”

Rina looked down at her feet, “the conversation where you promised me something…”

Gojo’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what Rina was talking about. “I never broke my promise…”

“ Liar,” Rina hissed, “I saw you two at the park, Gojo!”

The smile that had been settling on the curve of the sorcerer’s lips finally rested into a straight line. Gojo sensed that he might have seen Rina in the distance that day but second guessed his gut instinct.

“ Oh”

“ Oh?! That’s all you have to say!”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I want to know why you broke your promise! You told me you had no intention of crossing the line with her. You said you wouldn’t!”

“I know what I said…”

Tears brimmed Rina’s eyes, she was clearly visibly frustrated and Gojo wasn’t helping the situation at all. She expected him to confess immediately once she informed him that she knew the truth but he brushed her off like it didn’t mean a thing.

“I never broke my promise,” Gojo explained nonchalantly, casually taking a sip of his drink before placing it on the counter. “I never made a move on her. She approached me.”

“She... what ?” Rina questioned, a wave of confusion running through her and making her slightly nauseous.

“Look, I’m sorry you found out this way. I understand how you feel, nothing hurts more than when the person closest to you keeps secrets from you,” Gojo continued, hoping to diffuse the situation. “In my defence, you didn’t specify that I couldn’t accept her if she were to ask for my company...”

“Then why would you ask her to lie about it?”

Gojo scoffed, “do you really think so little of me? I don’t care if you know. I don’t care if anyone knows! She’s the one who is choosing to keep it from you.”

Rina’s shoulder slumped, realising that hearing those words was definitely worse than proving her initial theory right.

Gojo wasn’t manipulating you into hiding your relationship from Rina because you were doing that yourself. On top of that, you were distancing yourself from her by not revealing the truth. Whatever was going on between you both, you were working damn hard to ensure that Rina wouldn't find out, which was making her worry even more.

Gojo remained stoic, an usual response for his character but he knew he was treading on unstable ground right now. You and Rina were two peas in a pod, and right now he was caught in the middle of an argument. He didn’t want to say anything that would further upset your friend, nor was he willing to disclose any information that might betray your trust.

Tsk, this is annoying, he thought to himself.

Rina placed her hand on the table, her body trembling slightly but she ensured she made full eye contact with Gojo before she said her statement, “I don’t care how handsome you are, or how strong, or powerful...She’s too good for you . She always has been. The only reason she’s with you right now is because she’s hurt . She is convincing herself that dating you will make up for her heartbreak but it won’t…”

“Wait, you think we’re…”

“Once you get bored of her, you’ll toss her aside. You’re just going to end up hurting her! You think I don’t know that you are the reason why her ex broke up with her in the first place?! He told me about the conversation you had with her the night of my Halloween party! He told me that you threatened him! You pathetic excuse for a man. ...”

“Rina…”

“You’ve been trying to get with her since you met! Your immature, selfish nature is the reason why she hasn’t been able to get over her sadness! You don’t care about anyone but yourself!”

Gojo slammed his fist on the counter, the vibration from his strength forcing Rina to jump back in surprise, snapping her out of her anger.

Her emotions began fizzling away, taking her out of the rage that she was in. The words she shot at Gojo were now registering in her head, and her hurt was replaced with guilt. She didn’t mean to yell at him. She couldn’t understand why she was angry to begin with. None of this was her business and frankly if you wanted to start a relationship with Gojo who was she to stop you?

Except, she didn’t trust him.

You were fragile as it is, and he was the last thing you needed.

“Gojo... I …”

“Rina-chan,” Gojo said, softening his words and flashing her a cold grin. “Clearly, you’re upset about this situation. I think the best solution is for the two of you to speak directly with each other. I’m sure she’ll give you a proper explanation that will ease your worries.”

He stood up from his seat, bowing politely in her direction and taking this opportunity to leave.

“I’ll get out of your way now. Thanks for the lemonade.”

“Gojo...wait…” Rina protested, her voice breaking but he merely waved as he walked out the door.

***

Gojo was seeing red.

He paced down the streets, his own irritation brewing within him like a hurricane from the scene that just unfolded. He held his tongue for your sake; most people would think twice before even thinking of speaking to him in that matter.

He didn’t care that Rina was upset. Frankly, that wasn’t any of his business. However, the fact that she threatened him with his own secrets was the reason he couldn’t suppress his growing vexation. Despite what he was feeling, he empathised with Rina; it’s frustrating not being able to speak to the person who mattered to you the most.

The sorcerer understood that more than anybody else.

He would give anything to talk to Suguru again.

When  he needed somebody to turn to is when he missed his best friend the most. Even if it was over a petty, meaningless situation like this. The fact that Suguru filled the silence with words was something. Nowadays he suffers with his own thoughts, his dear friend’s voice merely conscious in his mind.

Why are you allowing yourself to get upset over these monkeys? , is what Suguru would probably say. You’re pathetic for letting them twist you in this way.  

Then again, there was another side to Suguru, the man he was before he changed. That man would have probably said: “ just tell her the truth, you’re digging a hole for yourself trying to control the situation.”  

Although Gojo was calculative with his decision, his mind was volatile. Sometimes he would act then settle the aftermath of his choices later. As a result he had a habit of not thinking things through. He had no clue what your ex-boyfriend told Rina but she had a picture perfect idea on who the villain was in the scenario. Gojo, on the other hand, would argue his case if you were to ever find out what really happened.

She has to believe I was looking out for her, he thought.

Were you looking out for her? Or was her friend right about your intentions? Suguru’s voice replied back.

With nowhere else to go, Gojo decided to make his way over to your place. The two of you were always busy and rarely planned surprise visits, but right now he was desperate to see you and all he wanted to do was blow off some steam.

By the time Gojo arrived at your door it was dark outside. He waited patiently for you to open it for him, his heart racing slightly as he heard the patter of your footsteps from behind the frame.

“ Satoru…” you said, greeting him in a pair of fleece shorts and an oversized tee, your voice soft and gentle as always. “What are you doing here?”

Gojo leaned against the frame, peeking into your apartment for a second. He caught a glimpse of your table, your laptop was open and documents surrounded your entire set up. He could hear the sound of some music playing from your computer, and could smell the coffee that you had resting on the coaster next to it.  

“Are you busy right now or working?”

“I’m working but I can stop for a couple of hours if there’s something you need.”

He passed the threshold, stepping around you before shutting the door on your behalf. He was positioned behind you, one of his large hands planted on the door as he looked down at you with desperation.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked, squinting your eyes at him with confusion.

There’s no way she would hate me, Gojo thought, finally answering the question Suguru posed in his mind. If I was looking out for her, who cares what my intentions were?  

The sorcerer bent down to pick you up from your thighs, carrying you in his arms before pinning you against your front door. He felt you grab onto him for support before crashing his lips onto yours and proceeding to kiss you with sheer intensity. Your lips were soft against his and he could tell you weren’t anticipating his reaction, but the two of you have made kissing such a habit it was easy for you to find your rhythm with him the minute you settled yourself. Your legs were wrapped around his stomach, and he felt your thighs clench against his waist as he slid his tongue on yours. One of his hands gripped tightly around your leg, while the other snaked its way underneath your shirt.

Gojo groaned into your mouth, realising that you weren’t wearing a bra and his thumb stroked your nipple, feeling it perk up at his touch. One of your arms was draped lazily over his shoulder, the other tangled in his white hair which you tugged at before pulling away from him. You pressed your forehead against his, the two of you breathing heavily as you finally managed to open your eyes to face him. Your cheeks were flushed, your heart racing so hard that Gojo could feel it beating against his chest.

“Is-is everything alright?” you asked, panting heavily and only fueling Gojo’s growing desire.

“I don’t really feel like talking,” he replied through gritted teeth, squeezing your breast as he brought his lips back down to yours, wanting nothing more than to suffocate himself with your lips.  

- CHAPTER 9: INTIMATE (1) - 

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 21)

Previously, in LBitR...

Lena has to admit she’s impressed—albeit exceedingly exasperated—when Nia does not budge an inch in her resolve to keep her locked away from Lex. They young hero apparently has a stubborn streak to rival Kara’s, and at some point, Lena simply has to concede defeat, if only for the fact that Nia seems close to bursting into tears whenever she tries to explain there’s no place Lex can’t reach.

Whatever Nia has seen in her visions, it’s enough to make her adamant and completely unmoving on the matter. It hurt; Lena understood it, even if she did not agree with the decision in the slightest, but still. It hurt.

Brainy is the one who comes to collect her, a silent Nia in tow, a few hours later. Lena had only recently been allowed to walk around her room—under heavy guard—so he comes to her with a rather apologetic look when he pulls a fresh pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

Lena offers her hands with only a resigned sigh. The cuffs barely close around the cast.

“My apologies,” Brainy says as they click into place, barely even tightened. “But we must keep up appearances.”

Nia is completely silent when Lena shoots her a look.

“This is a mistake,” Lena tries for the last time, a last-ditch effort. There’s no changing the resolve in Nia’s gaze. “We have to disable the implants—it’s the only way.”

Nia tries to remain utterly impassive, but there is a slight tremor to her lips that does not bode well. Before Lena can press further, Brainy interjects, looking apologetic. “There isn’t time,” he says, cutting through Nia’s determined silence with worry in his tone. “Supergirl has been spotted in Nevada—she’s undoubtedly on her way here. We cannot take the chance.”

Lena doesn’t try to say that they should take the chance, now more than ever. She doesn’t say that somehow, Lex will find her wherever it is they are taking her, and she’ll be powerless to stop him when he is literally inside her head.

Instead, she bites her tongue and lets DEO agents put a bag over her head. She doesn’t try to count the number of steps it takes to get to the van, or how many curves they take to this new, supposedly Lex-proof facility. She doesn’t even try to count the seconds in her head to work out how long the trip takes.

No, the entire time, Lena keeps her eyes shut and thinks.

She thinks about the miniscule implant in her skin, under a fresh layer of clean bandages changed only this morning. She thinks about the pattern in which the flashes of memories first appeared, tries to think about the memories she lost, she thinks of the blinding pain Lex’s trigger words had wreaked in her brain and her mind, physically and emotionally.

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

Most of all, Lena thinks about how the fuck she’s supposed to stop it from happening again.

The bag finally is taken off her head in a corridor so poorly lit Lena barely has to blink to adjust her eyes. It looks like any of the many run-of-the-mill military bunkers she’s seen in her lifetime. The main difference is the endless row of reinforced Plexiglass containment cells, all dark except for two, at the very end of the corridor.

One of them is empty; Lena assumes it will be hers. The other holds only a redheaded figure, slumped over a cot.

“Alex?” Lena breathes—the whisper comes out before she can even think about stopping it. The figure shifts ever so slightly in the cot, but Alex Danvers doesn’t deign to look her way. From where she’s standing, Lena can just see the white of fresh bandages at Alex’s temple.

The one other thing that draws Lena’s attention is the tall, brooding and stoic presence of J’onn, looming by the open cell next to Alex’s. Lena wonders why he’s here, wonders what he could possibly have to say to her, but the Martian remains utterly silent as Brainy and Nia escort her into her cell.

Once the handcuffs are off, Lena takes one step backward, and the door hisses shut; the loud click of the locking mechanism echoes eerily down the corridor, drowning out the breath that escapes Lena’s lungs.

They all stand there—well, Alex is still lying on her cot—for several moments. The air is thick with tension, and Lena wants to say something, but all she has to say are more arguments as to why what they’re doing is a terrible idea, and she already knows they will not be heard.

To Lena’s surprise, Nia’s the one to speak first.

“This—” she waves at their cells, hands trembling despite the strength and certainty she injects into her tone “—this is temporary. I promise.” Her eyes meet Lena’s framed by the blue of her Dreamer mask—it somehow makes her anguish even more apparent. She looks to where Alex is lying dejectedly in her cot, lips pulling into a thin line. “We’ll take care of Lex before he can activate the implants. I promise.”

Lena doesn’t tell her not to make promises she cannot keep. She just smiles, as frankly as she can, and lets Nia walk back down the corridor in a determined strut, Brainy following shortly after, leaving Lena behind with a pained look.

J’onn lingers. He stares directly at Lena, wordlessly for several moments, like he is staring through her soul. Lena tries very hard not to think about what she knows of Martians’ and their telepathic abilities—knowing she can’t exactly shield her own mind, instead she focuses on keeping it blank, a vast emptiness with nothing for him to find.

She can’t exactly look away—this feels like a test of sorts, and Lena has never not risen to the occasion. She’s not entirely sure she succeeds, but the silence is interminable as the tension slowly, slowly ebbs away.

Unfathomably, the Martian chuckles.

“Very good, Miss Luthor,” he says, his deep voice a rumble behind the glass of her cell. Lena cannot even begin to understand what he means.

J’onn steps closer—his eyes drift to Alex’s curled form for a moment, a glint of worry glimmering through them before they settle back on Lena. “You are more prepared for this than you think, Lena.”

The statement shocks her, enough for Lena to let her guard down for a moment. Her fist—which was clenching tightly at her side—suddenly relaxes, and it is as if the movement releases a ball of pent-up energy she has been carrying ever since her heated argument with Nia.

“Excuse me?” she says, her disbelief and confusion plain in her expression. She’s stuck in a cell, with an incapacitated Alex Danvers in the cell beside her to boot. They’re essentially sitting ducks for Lex.

“You are not as vulnerable as you think you are,” J’onn continues, as if he had read her… wait. He smiles, following her realization with something akin to amusement.

“I have a mind-control device in my head,” she says matter-of-factly, eyes narrowing. “I’d say that’s pretty vulnerable, especially now that I’m being left stranded here with no recourse.”

“Lena. You know. And knowing is half the battle,” J’onn murmurs cryptically.

Lena’s good fist clenches again, her aggravation evident. “I can’t win half a battle,” she hisses.

J’onn shakes his head, like he’s discussing something with a child who can’t comprehend a fairly simple concept—it only serves to irk her further. “Lena. You know about the implant.”

“Yes!” She half-yells. “I know about the implant, I know how it works, I even know how Lex put it in my head! But I also know there’s nothing I can do about it. So tell me, J’onn, what good is knowing all of this if I can’t use it??

J’onn regards her pensively for a moment—that hint of amusement that glimmered in his eyes is gone; however, it looks as if it has been replaced with something else entirely.

He looks impressed.

“Lena,” he says, and his voice is… encouraging? Optimistic? “You said it yourself. You know you have a mind-control device in your head. You are aware Lex will use it at any point. And thus, if you are aware…” he trails off, taking a step back and eyeing Lena knowingly.

Lena feels her jaw slackening, her fist unclenching. The hand encased in her cast throbs mildly, just enough to remind her of how she stopped what Lex had triggered. She thinks of his words, thinks about the blinding shock that seized her psyche when he did it, of how it pulsed inside her skull, white-hot and agonizing.

She thinks of how she expects it to happen, literally any minute now, how Lex’s words seem to have been swirling in her head ever since he used them against her.

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

The Martian’s smile returns as he follows Lena’s train of thought.

“You know, Lena,” he repeats, beginning to walk away. “That means you are prepared.”

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[sunlightwoo]

Five Day Confessions

pairing: baseball player!eric x g.n reader

genre: college au, best friends to lovers trope with like some slow burn?? in a way??? but also they’re like lowkey pining over each other cause why not with your usual fluff, humor and angst

wc: 4.7k

plot: you think that it’s amusing to see the star baseball player of your school pining over your heart, seeing as though your winter break was coming around the corner. maybe it was the holiday season that was coming, or the unspoken feelings that you might’ve had for your flirtatious best friend that was clueless about your own thoughts to him. let’s hope that maybe these five days that you both confess to each other indirectly finally go unnoticed.

a/n: this lowkey ended up being the longest oneshot that i have written on this blog, and i’m really shocked HOUEHGOEA of course it’d be eric sohn.. bUT ANYWAYSS :)) i hope you enjoy this piece that i’ve been working on these days for @timextoxhajima​‘s collab cause the pain i felt while writing this... yeah hehe anyways happy new yearrr

COLLAB MASTERLIST | MY TBZ MASTERLIST

Day One

It was five days before you were finally let out onto the winter break that you had been longing for since Thanksgiving weekend. An entire semester that was filled with endless assignments, stress and exams that definitely would’ve been the end of your existence, had it not been spent with your best friend along the way.

You were surprised that the star baseball player that was too close to your heart for your liking was passing, considering you never saw him come back to your shared apartment until the late hours of eight at night. Whether it was during the spring, or like now in the winter where he was conditioning for months before the season could even start, he was always focused on excelling in both baseball, but also securing a career in entrepreneurship if baseball happened to be a setback.

You argued the latter, that he was far too good to not be let into the major leagues, but he always found a way to downplay it and rather change the subject.

That was how Eric Sohn was, you concluded as you lived everyday being best friends with him.

The afternoon sun was already beaming down on you through the window as you sat at the seat closest to it in your last class of the day. Words that would’ve left your professor’s mouth sounded like complete gibberish as you were struggling to concentrate on whatever lesson he was trying to teach until you locked eyes with the said best friend, his eyes already scheming with mischief in them.

A smile crosses his lips as you watch him mouth something incoherent to you, making you distracted momentarily as you giggled to yourself quietly and shook your head. Turning away from the latter, the bell rings just in time for you to finally leave from your class as you hear the yells that were slowly growing louder come closer to your own ears.

“We’re free for the rest of the week!” He cheers as he tosses both yours and his bags over his shoulders, a habit that he picked up over the past few years even after you argued with him numerous times to not do so because of how bad you felt from the heaviness of your own bag combined with his sports gear.

That never seemed to stop him, however, since it was an everyday thing that he seemed to pick up to this day.

“Sounds like fun. Any plans for today?” You ask him curiously, walking out of the room together with him as the two of you were already heading out of the building to head back to your shared apartment, ready to start feeling the stress-free vacation that you needed for a while and for Christmas to arrive.

There was a beat of silence as you could tell that he was thinking about what to do for today, making you look at him momentarily and take in the tiny details that painted his face carefully. You knew that your best friend was handsome, there was no argument against that.

“Quit staring at me, I know you’re in love with me,” He chuckles slightly and you blink back to reality to see that he was already staring back at you, making heat rush up to your cheeks as you pulled away from his gaze to stare at the clear sky above you.

“There was just something on your face, that’s all stupid.” You retort, hoping that maybe he would’ve bought the excuse and it seems as though that he did as he lets another beat of silence pass by.

What was he thinking about?

“Hey, do you want to get some ramen?” He nudged you gently, making you look up at him with widened eyes as he broke you from your thoughts when you smiled in response, nodding as the two of you began to head towards the convenience store that was just down the street.

“Last one to get there has to pay.” You grin, already breaking out for a sprint as the latter decides that maybe giving you a five second head start wasn’t too bad, hiding the amused smile on his face from the fact that you were too cute when you were excited about the thought of ramen.

Up until he feels the emptiness of his back pocket, making him realize that you had stolen his wallet to buy your own stuff before he could even notice it.

“Oh shit wait- they have my wallet. Y/N, you can't just call that and then take my wallet!”

Luckily for you, he wanted to pay for your meal anyways just to keep the smile on your face aligned with the stars that always seemed to twinkle in your eyes.

Day Two

“Hey, are you busy?”

You turn your head to see Eric standing at your door frame, seeing that he seemed to be in distress as you paused the drama that was on your television for a moment. Patting the empty beside you on the bed, he immediately rushes over to where you sat in which he steals the opportunity to cuddle you in his arms as he wraps them around your waist tightly while laying on top of you.

A breath escapes your lips from his sudden weight and you shifted over so that you were no longer on one end of the bed but rather the middle, so that neither of you would fall off of the mattress as a result of his antics. This particular position was one that you were all too familiar with considering these cuddle sessions would only happen when one of you had problems to spill to the other, and you could only assume that in this situation, it was Eric that had something to say.

However, the only thing you were confused about was the reason as to why he was like this when there wasn’t anything that he has told you about these days, whether it was about relationships, baseball or even himself.

“Everything okay, bubs?” You mumbled quietly, staring at the blonde in question as his nickname that you gave him easily slipped past your lips when he let out a soft hum in response.

It wasn’t unusual for him to come into your room to talk about whatever was on his mind in which he found it comforting that he was able to confide in you for such things. He knew that if he told any of his friends, they might not be able to emphasize his emotions with him, which was why he was grateful that you were both best friends but also comfortable enough with one another where anything that was said would only be kept between the two of you and only you two.

A special thing that you two had.

“I think I’m overthinking things again.” He bluntly whispers and moves his head so that he is now looking out the window as your hands found their way to gently play with the soft strands that were tickling your stomach slightly.

It was silent as you continued to play with his hair as you listened to him talk about whatever was randomly on his mind, in which he talked about how he missed visiting his family since they weren’t around this time of year because they went on vacation assuming Eric was conditioning again this year not knowing he took time off to spend time with them.

It made you think about how you must’ve been the only other person that he could spend the upcoming holidays with, since you knew that your close mutual friends were also heading home as well to spend time with their families. However, your plan was to stay at the apartment alone since you didn’t have anything to look forward to until now.

“”I’ll make sure that you have the best Christmas ever, Eric, I swear,” You softly smiled, holding out your pinky down towards his face and you felt him hook his pinky around yours, sending the familiar sensations of warmth down your spine at your wordless promise, “That’s all that was on your mind?”

You wonder if this was what it must’ve been like to fall in love with someone, seeing as though your heart was still pounding in your chest at how close he was to you. His soft breathing on top of yours was making you feel warmer in your heart, and you could only hope that he didn’t feel how fast your heart was beating underneath his ear.

“I think I like someone too, but I don’t know what it’s like to fall in love with someone.” He says and you look at him in confusion just as he looks back at you in pure curiosity.

You didn’t think that he actually liked someone at the moment, considering he wasn’t really good at keeping secrets from you regardless of how hard that he tries. However, you could feel the slight sting of jealousy in your heart, paining you at the fact that he was indeed too out of your league, and also your best friend.

It was too risky, you knew, to even date your best friend and also the star baseball player of your university as everybody loved Eric. No matter how flirtatious or friendly he was towards everyone, it was all strictly platonic on your end.

“Falling in love with someone can be the most beautiful, but also the most painful feeling in the world, bubs. Have you ever felt like that with someone these days?” You reply and suddenly feel him get up from where he was lying on you, the emptiness from his warmth leaving your own making you frown invisibly, but you knew that there was something going on in his head.

He really did like someone else.

“I think so… Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, I’m not that serious about it, okay?” He chuckles while ruffling your hair slightly as you could feel the loud shatters in your heart resonate in your chest, and you could only smile as you hope that he never catches onto the feelings you buried in your heart.

“Have you ever felt like that though, Y/N? It’s like you’re the one who has been in a long relationship like that, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about one since freshman year?” Eric mumbles, slightly facing you as you let out a quietly chuckle, sitting up against your bed frame to stare between him and the golden sun that is slowly setting outside your window.

It’s a painful feeling because it’s you, You think to yourself as the thoughts of possibly confessing to him would be minimal because you knew that he was only being friendly as your best friend, and nothing more than that.

“Not everyone is worthy of my time and kindness, like you sometimes are buddy.” You smiled, feeling the bitter feeling of guilt crawl up the back of your throat as you swallowed the lump once again, hoping that these feelings for your best friend would possibly leave you alone.

Hopefully.

Day Three

You envied all the couples that were able to show off their relationships that they were in as you were at the mall with your close friends, Kevin and Hyunjae. The three of you were out buying Christmas gifts for your loved ones and friends and you were in distress considering you haven’t bought anything for Eric yet that would count as both a birthday and a Christmas gift.

It would’ve been harder if he had tagged along like he originally planned on doing so, until he got a text from his coach for conditioning this afternoon after school. You were grateful for the fact that you didn’t really have to worry about hiding what his gift was in plain sight, however you decided that maybe you should catch up with some mutual friends rather than going to the mall alone, hence the reason for Kevin and Hyunjae tagging along with you.

The three of you walked around the mall and goofed around, as if you didn’t have a care in the world since they seemed to have noticed your sour mood from looking at the couples in the mall. However, it wasn’t until you had pointed out that you needed to buy a gift for Eric that they finally pulled themselves together to help you come up with something to give to your best friend.

Eric was simple.

He wasn't exactly all that big on expressing what he wanted as he was happy with whatever was given to him, which was why it was almost a challenge for you every year to be attentive of his words and things that he’s had eyes on for a while. Because of this, you made it your goal every Christmas that was spent together to be sure that it was a gift that he would’ve mentioned unintentionally but would’ve hinted that he wanted it.

You suddenly end up at a shelter that was right beside the mall and look at the little animals that were looking for new homes to belong to, remembering all the times that you and Eric had visited a dog cafe this year. For all the times that he mentioned about wanting a dog to keep in your apartment to keep one another company when the other wasn’t there, you had the idea to adopt a golden retriever that had eyes that reminded you of his bright ones.

After signing the adoption papers and looking over papers for immunizations, you agreed to come back tomorrow to pick up your new furry friend as you decided to finally go for a quick coffee break at a nearby cafe. The three of you sat by the window in peace, feeling as though today had already gone by so quick when the events of yesterday in your bedroom started to cloud your thoughts.

It wasn’t likely for him to hide something from you when it came to relationships, and you wondered why he didn’t come to you sooner about it. You also then felt selfish as you didn’t like the idea of him liking someone else because of your own mixed emotions towards him and his flirtatious actions.

There was never any established words between the two of you whenever you exchanged cheesy lines or words of endearment that wouldn’t be seen as normal between best friends, but you wanted to believe that you two were more than that because you shared an apartment together. However, you began to ponder on the idea longer than you had wanted to, because now you were wondering who he might’ve been talking about the other day in your bedroom as you were pitying yourself over the unrequited feelings that you held for your best friend.

“Hey, do you know if Eric has told you guys who he likes?” You ask the two boys that were now looking at you in confusion, giving each other looks before turning to you with their drinks back onto the table.

“I thought that you guys were dating? Are you guys not?” Hyunjae mumbles and his words sent heat up to your cheeks as you were the one that was now flustered at the very thought of your friends assuming that you both had been going out.

Did that go for the rest of them?

Shaking your head slowly in response, you watch as their eyes widen into saucers and it seemed as though lightbulbs had been going off in their heads once you clarified the situation between both you and Eric, making the atmosphere quieter than it already was. Luckily it didn’t last long considering Kevin was the one that broke the silence that was filling up and invading your thoughts of why nobody asked about it.

“It makes sense now, for all the times that he talks about you and Hayoung from calculus.” Kevin says answering your thoughts and you feel your heart sink into your chest at his words, realizing that it was true that he liked someone else.

Maybe it was too selfish of you to bribe for his love with a dog, you think to yourself as a frown was now drawn at the corner of your lips at the thought of the dreadful rejection that you would inevitably face. You wondered how badly you’d be heartbroken after his rejection for your feelings, in which you thought that maybe this was a bad timing to tell him and not go home for the holidays.

It’d be better to ignore him than to face him at all.

“So he likes Hayoung?” You speak up quietly, looking at them while trying to not let your emotions falter the atmosphere, however you could tell that from the looks that they were giving you, one that you knew too well as empathy and pity, that you were in too deep into your own heart.

“I wouldn’t blame him anyways. Good for him.” You whisper and take a sip of the drink that was now bitter on your taste buds, trying to bite back the tears that were threatening to spill from your own eyes at your own selfishness.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine, guys. I’ll be okay.” You reply and give them a weak smile that doesn’t meet your eyes, because you know that eventually you should tell him the thoughts that cloud your mind more than it should’ve.

You were in love with your best friend, and you hated yourself for never telling him in the first place.

Day Four

“Thank you, I hope that you have a good rest of your afternoon!” You grinned and waved to the shelter owner before taking your new golden retriever friend into your arms to bring into your car.

It was the afternoon before Eric’s birthday that you were finally bringing your gift for him back to your apartment as you were giggling at the excited pup that was trying to give you kisses on your cheek. You let her down onto snow and watched as she took some time exploring the cold snow that was beneath her paws before happily skipping back to where you stood as you crouched down to scratch behind her ears.

“Today is going to be fun huh, Byeol?” You whisper, looking at the way that her golden fur resonated the bright stars that you were so used to seeing at night whenever you couldn’t sleep.

Your plan for today was ideally to surprise him with Byeol, hoping that maybe he would love her as much as you already did in the short span she got familiarized with you. The only change in your plan was that you had forgotten he was conditioning today at the batting place, making you want to give Byeol to him earlier than you had planned.

Maybe this time you’d be able to find the guts to tell him with Byeol there with you.

Already driving to where you knew that he would be conditioning near your campus, you hummed to yourself while pretending to make a conversation with Byeol, hoping that the golden retriever’s presence could ease your nerves at the moment. There were a million scenarios that were already playing out in your head as you were scared for what was yet to come when you would by then arrive. However, all you were scared of was his reaction for when you would tell him, since he was your best friend overall before anything else.

You make it to the nearby gymnasium with Byeol in your arms, shushing her quietly as you wanted for her to be a surprise for when you had found Eric by the batting cages, but for some reason you felt a bit breathless.

He was easily recognizable as you could tell who your best friend was immediately by his amazing skills considering he was the ace, but there was something that felt off. You were most definitely feeling the familiar butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, but there was someone that approached him first when he went on a short breather before you could even make yourself visible.

“Youngjae! You did really great!” A girl squeals and based on her tone and appearance from where you stood, you knew that it was Hayoung.

Oh.

“What are you doing here, Hayoung? I didn’t expect for you to be here, since I thought you did student council?” He had asked her with his hands on his hips when she gave him a small shrug before moving closer to him so that they were now only inches apart.

You felt like someone had stuck something into your heart and twisted it tight enough for the dulling ache to appear in it. Of course Hayoung would be here, you think to yourself, as you think that he must’ve invited her to watch him practice and condition to win her over that way, making you feel even more hurt from the thoughts that were now reentering your mind.

“I have heard from the grapevine that you had liked me, and I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go on a date since I liked you too?” You hear Hayoung ask him slowly and watch as she walks up to him with a smile on her face as she looks at him with a soft smile on her face, making your heart strings pull at the sight of it in agony.

Deciding to head back to your apartment, you left the scene as Byeol continues to walk with you back home in the chilly air. You think to yourself in that moment that you were right about your thoughts, about how you never would have stood a chance considering he had only seen you as a best friend and nothing more.

And it hurt knowing that there was nothing you could do to possibly change his mind.

Eric, on the other hand, was looking at Hayoung in confusion as she was still looking at him with a smile, when he had suddenly let out a quiet no. Her face scrunched up at the response as she was confused as to why he would say it, but there was something in him that knew it didn’t feel right, even if he had told his friends that he liked Hayoung.

The only reason why he had told them that he liked her in the first place was to lie about his feelings towards you, knowing that they wouldn’t be reciprocated with the miscommunication you both had about unrequited love.

“Hayoung, I don’t like you in the way that you think I do,” He says slowly and watches as her face then contorts to one of sadness until she gives him a weak smile as he thinks that maybe she knew why.

“You’re in love with Y/N, aren’t you?” She whispers in a quiet tone, making Eric feel guilty about the way that he was rejecting her when he was admitting in that moment that he actually did fall in love with you more than he should’ve been.

It was as though a flip as switched as he suddenly had the urge to go find you and leave the indoor batting range, wanting to talk to you instead before it was too late to even say it.

“Yes, yes I do love Y/N.”

Day Five

Eric is sprinting his way past the cold December night back to your apartment as he was tightly clutching onto his baseball gear from conditioning. He knows that although it was less than forty degrees outside while it was beginning to sprinkle light specks of snow, he shouldn’t be running this late in this weather.

However, the events of earlier had finally clicked as he was still running to your shared place with his heart beating loudly in his chest.

The apple watch that he adorned on his wrist had shown that it was already five minutes before midnight, making him think that you could possibly still be awake doing something if you were watching a drama like you usually would on a Friday night. He began to wish that maybe it wasn’t too late for him to tell you everything that was going on in his mind while his thoughts were running at half a million miles per hour.

It doesn’t take him much longer to finally arrive at your apartment complex as he had darted up the stairs to rush and find you as quickly as he can. Although he might’ve been slightly shivering, he couldn’t help but continue to think about what you could say when he tells you that he had loved you.

Would you hate him for it, or would you actually reciprocate those same emotions?

When he unlocks the door to a dark apartment, he notices the dimly lit kitchen where there was a small cake waiting for him, a candle that was unlit as a note was visibly seen beside all of it. He checks the clock in your living room to realize that it was a little past midnight, the date underneath it illuminating that it was now the twenty second of December.

“Happy birthday, Sohn.”

He turns around almost immediately, nearly giving himself a whiplash because of it, to face you who was holding Byeol in your arms. There was a long beat of silence that passed by between you both, him being in shock that you had a new puppy in your arms and you noticing how he looked tired even in the darkness as the two of you continued to look at one another. It wasn’t until you noticed that he was slightly shivering where he had stood that made you snap out of it and blink back to reality.

“Eric, did you actually just run when it started snowing? You’re going to get sick, you idiot.” You say, almost bursting into shouts and put Byeol back onto the floor to grab him some warm blankets when you suddenly feel him grab your wrist gently.

Without another word, he goes in for a soft kiss on your lips and you hesitate for a moment as you realize what was going on. It didn’t take long for you to pull him back in for another kiss when you felt him slightly pull away, wanting to let him know with the kiss that your thoughts were exactly in line with his.

Even if these past five days of indirectly confessing to him were painful.

When you both finally pull away to collect your thoughts and breaths, he holds you close as his forehead rests on yours as you look up at him in curiosity, wondering where the sudden boldness of his actions had blossomed from. However, it was the sounds of Byeol barking that made you look down and giggle at the small golden retriever before picking her up into your arms again.

“I don’t think I’ll get sick, if I have you with me,” He whispers quietly, a small smile painting his lips as he looks into your eyes before looking down at Byeol, “Is this little puppy ours to keep?”

“She’s technically your birthday and Christmas gift, so yes,” You grinned as he carefully takes her away from your arms to hold into his, cooing softly at the beautiful fur coat when you realized what had just happened in the past few minutes, “Hey, why did you kiss me? What if I get sick too?”

“Then I guess we’ll both spend our Christmas sick, but with cuddles, kisses and our new baby as a couple. How does that sound sweetheart?” He muses, making heat rush up to your cheeks as his lips were now somewhat hovering right over yours when you quickly pecked his lips cheekily before grinning to yourself while crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea, since my best friend will finally be my boyfriend this year.”

[hug-your-face]

Expecting Difficult Conversations During the Holidays?

(Thanks to @squeeful for posting the original link from the WSJ; but it’s behind a very tenacious paywall. I did the work of scraping it out from behind the paywall so you can read it --HYF)

Worried About a Difficult Conversation? Here’s Advice From a Hostage Negotiator.

Elizabeth Bernstein 9-11 minutes

There are so many to have right now. Tensions over racial issues, politics and the coronavirus pandemic are provoking arguments within families and between friends: Spouses are arguing about money; siblings are fighting about how to keep parents safe from the virus; some people are confronting relatives about race. Many conversations have the potential to become heated, especially as chronic stress is keeping our fight-or-flight systems activated, making us more likely to react.

Christopher Voss is a former hostage negotiator for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and CEO and founder of the Black Swan Group, which trains companies and individuals to negotiate. He has decades of experience guiding people through conversations that are high tension and high stakes. Mr. Voss is the author of “Never Split the Difference: Negotiating As If Your Life Depended On It” and once did a video series for a website run by Dow Jones, which owns The Wall Street Journal.

I spoke with Mr. Voss about how to navigate a conversation where both parties are worked up and entrenched in their viewpoints. Here are edited excerpts of that interview.

How should you prepare for a difficult conversation?

Mr. Voss: We often prepare but don’t realize it. When we think about the conversation, we picture ourselves getting mad. That is preparation. And we default to our highest level of preparation. So if that is all you prepared for, that is what you are going to get.

You need to do what athletes do. They prepare by envisioning their performance, by envisioning themselves doing things right. First, you need to envision yourself taking a different tone. If you use a calm tone of voice, it will actually calm you down.

Then you want to rewire yourself for gratitude. The brain functions more effectively when you are in a positive frame of mind. And gratitude is highly positive. So tell yourself you are lucky to be in this conversation or to have this person in your life, that you will miss them when they are gone. If all else fails, remind yourself you’re lucky to be on this planet.

A few years ago, we had a colleague who was trying to cheat us. As I was preparing for the conversation, I couldn’t stop envisioning myself getting angry. Then I had this thought: “I am lucky to be in this position, because she wouldn’t be after us if we weren’t so good.” Instantly, by shifting into gratitude, I thought of all the things I needed to say to make it an effective conversation.

Should you have a goal?

Yes. You want the other person to get a hit of oxytocin. You’re going to get that by getting them to say: “That’s right.” You do this by listening and then really summarizing their perspective for them. You especially want to focus on articulating any negative thoughts they have. Don’t dispute or deny them. When the word “but” comes out of your mouth you are denying and it is time to shut up.

Once you’ve articulated their perspective for them, they feel understood. And a person who feels understood is getting a feel-good wave of chemicals in their brain. The one you are really going for is oxytocin, the bonding chemical. Once they get a hit of oxytocin, everything is going to change. They’ll feel bonded to you. And if they feel bonded, whether it’s a little or a lot, that’s to your advantage.

So your power is in making the other person feel heard?

This should be your goal. When people have arguments, they raise their voices because they don’t feel heard. Ask yourself to remember what it felt like to feel acknowledged during a disagreement. You’ll remember how great you felt. You won’t remember what happened afterwards. That means the fight didn’t continue.

Ask yourself: What is this person saying about this situation and about me right now? We usually know what people are saying. We just don’t want them to say it. Say it out loud and see how they respond.

Some people think that acknowledging how someone is upset allows them to dig in more. But it’s the opposite. As soon as you articulate the other side’s point of view, they are a little surprised. You’ve made them really curious to hear what you are going to say next. And you’ve made them feel that you are in this together.

How do you start the conversation?

You want to start out articulating their negative thoughts about you or the situation. If you’ve had an argument with someone, what do you know for sure? They probably think you’re a jerk. So open the conversation: “Right now, you probably think I’m a jerk.”

This takes a lot of courage—until you know how effective it is. When you see how well it works, you’re like: “Ooh, I’m going to do it this way every time.” It’s like a shortcut in a videogame. It accelerates a positive outcome.

This has to do with the emotional wiring in our brain. Brain science shows that every time you identify a negative emotion, that negative feeling diminishes. So if negativity is an obstacle, and just calling it out reduces it, this accelerates the process of defusing the tension. Then from there you are able to talk.

What if a normal conversation suddenly turns heated?

Remember that people elevate their voice because they feel they aren’t being heard. So you want to acknowledge: “I am being an idiot.” Use the strongest synonym you can: idiot, jerk, something stronger.

You don’t want to be sarcastic. You want to demonstrate that you understand their negative perception of the situation. This has an inoculating effect. It doesn’t matter whether you think their perception is fair or accurate.

How do you deal with your anger?

The whole process of working to make them feel heard will keep you calm. It puts you in a completely different head space and the anger circuitry in your brain will not get triggered.

What are some pitfalls to avoid?

A common derailment is trying to explain stuff to people. Explanation is a nice word for argument. When you are explaining something, the other side feels you’re telling them that they don’t understand, that they aren’t smart.

Once you’ve listened to their viewpoint and they feel heard, there’s a really good chance you won’t need to explain your point at all.

How do you move forward?

Once the person feels heard, you can put it back on them: “How do we move forward?” This makes them take a broader look at the entire landscape. The answer isn’t nearly as important as the thought process you forced them to go through. The “how” question is designed to get them to think about negative consequences. And you’re defending your line in the sand by shifting the problems back onto the person causing them, without being seen as combative.

What if the other person becomes irate?

If you use a soothing, supportive tone of voice, this will have a neurochemical impact on them that will calm them down. Your tone of voice has an impact on someone’s thinking before you finish the sentence.

Should you apologize?

An apology should always precede something negative. The apology is a bit of a warning that bad news is coming. It allows the person to prepare. And it is amazing what people can handle when they are given the slightest opportunity to be prepared, rather than blindsided.

What do you do if there’s a stalemate?

Here is the critical game-changing move: Remember that the last impression is the lasting impression. If you are struggling to get the last word in, that’s when the last word is a cheap shot. But when your last word is something positive, it seeds the possibility that the other person will think about what you said and come back and propose a resolution.

[evarcana]

I See the Moon

Oh when you are looking at the sun

Ev wears some very impractical shoes and learns that she does not know the city quite as well as she thought.

characters: the usual cast of Ev and consul Valerius

words: 2,4k

warnings: none!

notes: I wanted to write something short and sweet to act as a placeholder between the previous part and what is coming next, but I think I got a bit too emotionally attached in the process. The title is from “Be the One” by Dua Lipa and I will leave it open for interpretations.

Darkness strikes Ev’s eyes as she steps out of the theatre doors and for a moment she is completely lost in time and space, staring at her surroundings as if seeing everything for the first time - the disorientation which comes with returning to reality after the magic of the theatre wears off.

A few myopic street lanterns glimmer faintly and the moon, pitched extraordinarily high, is covered by the ragged organza of thin clouds and barely available to light the streets below. Passing groups of people turn into clusters of dark silhouettes, and Ev watches the collars being lifted and scarfs wrapped tighter, as the theatregoers hide themselves from the wind moist with the cool evening dew and disappear into the shadows, leaving only trails of soft footsteps and animated chatter behind them. It is this time of the year when night falls suddenly and way quicker than anyone anticipates.

The impatient tug on Ev’s arm cuts through the hazy darkness. “Are you going to let me leave or what?!” Valerius sounds desperate in his exasperation.

“Just a moment and you are free.” Still watching the dark street, Ev reaches for her bag and throws a pair of flat pointy mules decorated with golden beads and tassels on the ground in front of her. Using Valerius’s arm for support, she lifts one leg to untie the ribbons on her ankle. Somebody behind them helpfully holds the theatre door open, letting the light out, and they both stare at Ev’s bright red toenails as she steps out of her shoes. Ev frowns to herself and curls her toes - it is hard to be an intimidating opponent when you wear a cute sparkly little ring on your fourth toe, when she feels another tug and catches her breath in surprise, losing her balance. The arm slips from under her hand causing her to immediately crash into Valerius. Well, no chance of looking like a menace now. At least Valerius can’t run away, she thinks, because her entire face is smashed into his chest. “So impatient,” Ev rolls her eyes and tucks her heels in the bag.

Valerius hurries to brush off something invisible from his coat and then looks down at Ev’s feet with cynical interest, “Going on a hike?”

She contemplates telling that it took her a very detoured walk from the palace and four nervous circles around the Town Square to finally burn all that destructive energy her body generated in their morning argument, and that right now she is dying to rub her sore ankles, but decides against it. After all, wounded animals are easy prey. “Looks like it,” Ev says, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She scans the road once again and clicks her tongue. There is a carriage pulling away, two people inside, and another one rolling on towards the theatre, the coachman already waving to somebody, but most of the theatre crowd chooses to walk. They all must be locals, or heading to the closest tavern, Ev realises.

“Don’t tell me, -” Valerius’s voice says and Ev looks up, surprised that he is still standing there, “you don’t have a carriage because you were hoping to find a date to continue the night. You shall forgive me for ruining this little plan of yours.” His words are dripping with distaste.

She realises that Valerius must have been following her eyeline. The nervous lough blasts out of her but she manages to catch it and it turns to sound like a cough. A lucky guess on his part? Or did he take inspiration from his own plans? Ev refuses to think about the whole theatre fiasco. The sinking feeling in her chest has started and she puts her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I thought there would be carriages waiting,” she manages to say.

Valerius arches his brow in response, “...how pathetic.” Ev gives him her best withering look and turns away.

The last carriage departs with the din of wheels hitting the worn edges of the stones. Valerius’s eyes are still set on Ev’s face and his brow begins to crease slowly. He is clearly deliberating something but Ev cannot see it. She is watching clouds moving slowly across the moon. “Where do you live?”, he finally asks.

“By the Town Square,” Ev responds automatically, squinting at the sky above her.

“Not in the Heart District?” It sounds like a genuine question at first but the edge of his mouth lifts in a wry grin. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t the only one with the money here?”

“Too close to you,” she smirks back, “the urge of leaving a dead fish by your gate at least weekly would be -,” she leans in closer, turning her voice into syrupy sweet hush, “- irresistible”. This is getting weird. “Anyway,” Ev hurriedly looks behind her shoulder at the theatre doors, “I think it is going to rain later. Have a good night,” the words come in a flat orderly row, she is already concerned with something else, “I will see whether the theatre director can fetch me a carriage.”

“My carriage is waiting down the road.”

“Mm good,” Ev mutters to herself but then the realisation hits and she turns to the consul, eyes wide. “Are you offering me a lift home?” A ‘thank you’ sign lights inside her head but she crashes it with a wave of suspicion. It’s Valerius out of all people. He has no reason to offer her a ride in his carriage besides plotting to murder her and then ditch the body somewhere in the forest. Ev gives him a hard stare.

Valerius breaks the staring game first - his eyes flash with the new unidentified emotion before he regains his usual dismissive look. “Not home,” he snorts, “to the Town Square,this should suffice for a favour.”

“No no, hold on,” Ev raises her hand in protest. “I haven’t asked you anything yet, and hospitality is not a favour.”

“What hospitality are you talking about?”

“You repeat that it is your city all the time! Technically, I am still a guest.” Inside her head Ev is thanking all the available gods for her ability to just keep talking, regardless of whether it makes sense or not, because she definitely has not processed what happened yet.

“Yes, well, just keep your mouth shut,” Valerius says and walks off without a backward glance, his back soon disappearing in the darkness of the narrow lane.

Ev’s eyes follow his path and then she throws another look at the theatre building. The light in one of its rounded windows goes down. She watches the emptying street and feels the goose bumps scatter her forearms. The air is beginning to chill. She looks down at her feet. Ev decides that the consul is the kind of man who would rather pay somebody if he wanted to get rid of her than being involved himself and for the second time this evening she rushes after Valerius. This is so weird.

She is about to call him out to slow down because the sound of duck feet that her ‘emergency’ shoes make is getting on her nerves when she hears a loud thud and a curse. In the darkness of the path Ev is not sure how close Valerius is to her but she knows that he stumbled and it makes her giggle in delight. She stretches her hand out glancing at the strips of warm candlelight coming from the gaps in the window shutters and the ivory glare of the moon. A small globe of light, the size of a plum, forms above her hand. Its light is delicate and warm, as if filtered through the frosted glass, but bright enough to fill the space between the two of them.

The consul straightens up quickly, “Why -”

“I don’t know about you but I like my toes all intact,” Ev walks over to him. “It’s only a small trick, here,” she raises her hand and the light gets brighter, “you can touch it, it’s not hot.”

Valerius takes a step back, looking at the ball of light suspiciously. “You are full of tricks, aren’t you?” he says.

“Don't even make me start on what you are full of.” She bunches her hand in a fist and the light sphere drops down but, before hitting the ground, it bounces back in the air like a small ball and splits into a dozen of smaller lights, startling Valerius. They hover in the air along the path similar to a garland of lanterns as they walk in silence until the lane ends, opening to the canal, and Ev asks, “Is it your carriage there?”

***

The servant opens the carriage door and much to Ev’s astonishment, Valerius waits for her to get in first. She gives him a confused look but complies. There is no evening chill inside and the cushioned seats are invitingly soft, so Ev’s immediately decides that regardless of what is going to happen it was a good idea not to walk home. Valerius takes a seat opposite her and reaches to unbutton his coat and pull his long loose braid from under the collar. His head rolls gently to the side and Ev sees a couple of inches of the neck, soft lines and the glowing skin. She feels her cheeks beginning to heat, suddenly remembering the warmth and the bitter almond fragrance she breathed in every time she got too close to the man, and gods did she get too close tonight.

This is about as far from the real world as Ev can imagine. The carriage is small and the little triangle of her beaded slipper somehow ended up between the consul’s leather boots. If she was to stretch her leg, the bareskin on the side her foot would brush along his shin. They have never sat this close together. Ev thinks about the old lady from the theatre. How would she feel if she knew that she was the only thin barrier stopping them from recognising each other and fully succumbing to the mutual hostility, claiming at least half of the theatre as casualties in the process. This could have been a disaster.

Ev looks at Valerius again and tries to understand how could she not recognise these features straight away. The signature crease between the dark brows and the sulky mouth. Valerius sits in silence, and his eyes are definitely not the ones she knows. They are so wistful and lonely, and so golden under the lamp light, Ev has to look away.

She puts a hand under her chin and leans to the window. A fine mist of rain has started to grit on the glass, and behind the sparks of its tiny drops - a bridge arches over the canal’s silver curve, both ends of which are clipped by infinity, which, in the dim light of the early night, is only ten feet away. The backdrop is all in flashes of the lit windows and the black outlines of pointed rooftops, round cupolas and slender towers, all together resembling a crown adorned by a single grand jewel of the moon, burning bright white. Then, the skyline and even the moon gets momentarily obscured by the huge wall, deprived of any lights, looking ghostly in the tempered gloom.

“That massive rounded building, what is it?” Ev is surprised with herself for striking a conversation.

“Have you not seen it before?”

“No, I have not really been to this part of the city,” she says, turning to Valerius, “What is it? A hippodrome?”

“It's the coliseum. The count’s favourite place,” he gives a chuckle which sounds bitter. “The man loved... performances.”

“What kind of performances?” Ev asks, watching his mouth twisting in distaste. Something about his look makes her frown.

“Gladiators. Bloodshed which lacked any order or purpose besides the count’s own entertainment,” Valerius rubs the bridge of his nose and glances to the window. Ev cannot tell whether he is looking at the moon or the looming coliseum, considering something. “But it’s not what this place was intended for,” he pauses. He turns back to Ev and the expression in his eyes is softer. “It was built before Lucio became a count, although it was slightly less grand back then. The rituals and ceremonies were conducted there during the festivities and the previous count used to reenact scenes of the famous battles there, using the actors. It brought the whole city together. Nobody wants to remember those days anymore.”

Ev feels a weird tremble inside and she is not sure what has caused it until she realises that it is a strange, unusual affection in his voice. She crosses her arms and seats back to contain the feeling. It’s so freaking strange to talk to him when his face is not a mask of boredom. “Did you use to come to watch?” she asks.

“Only when I had to. As if I would mix myself with the roaring crowd of plebeians. Besides, it was terribly distatestful and the smell inside was disgusting.” His mouth tightens, and a strange shadow clouds his expression this time. “Pointless waste of human life.”

“Oh,” is all Ev can manage. She cannot stop staring at Valerius. There is some kindness beneath this asshole facade, human decency, fairness even. It is not the perspective that she has been prepared for. “I meant before that,” she adds faintly.

“Yes I did, when I was much younger.”

“I cannot believe I have never heard of it.”

“Did you do any research before you came here?” The consul is back to his dismissive tone.

“Honestly? I had other things to worry about.” Ev turns back to the window, suddenly unable to look at him anymore.

She hears an irritated snort from Valerius but then, after a brief silence, he starts talking again, and it is not about Ev’s inadequacy. He talks about the canals named after constellations, traditions which Vesuvia used to have, and what you could find in the city before the plague. His voice is calm and steady, and has this velvet quality to it, which fits the night perfectly. Ev closes her eyes and thinks that maybe if she asked Valerius, as that favour she got from him, to continue his stories sitting by her bedside, she would finally be able to fall asleep before the sunrise.

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 7/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage with less shenanigans this time around and more...well, explanations. (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3, chapter 6 tumblr | AO3)

This Author does not normally deign to speak of love in these papers, as love is not what society marriages are traditionally built on (nor, for that matter, is good gossip built upon love). Love, it seems, is good for nothing more than making one do foolish things: it causes men and women alike to abandon all reason and do things to which they would otherwise not be remotely inclined.

And yet sometimes love is the simplest explanation in the world that one can offer to allow everything else to make sense.

Rumor has it that the Marquess of Enjolras has taken his new bride on a brief honeymoon trip before returning to the city, leaving Mr. Grantaire behind. A honeymoon seems an odd choice for a couple forced together by circumstance, which is why this Author is pondering whether there is more to this story than meets the eye.

Perhaps this was no mere scandal, after all. Could the Marquess have traveled to the Grantaire manor only to find not just a bride, but love? Could that explain the delay in returning to the city, and the reason for not involving friends or family, lest they try to talk him out of it?

Or could there be another explanation for why the Marquess seems so reluctant to show his face?

If this is a love match, this Author will owe the Marquess and his bride a mea culpa, but never fear – the course of true love never did run smooth, and this Author suspects that one way or another, there is certainly more to this tale than meets the eye. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 8 MAY 1831

Grantaire glared defiantly at him, which Enjolras thought was quite extraordinary, since the man’s clothes and hair were completely plastered to him by wind, rain, and mud. “I said I’m in love with you.”

“You are?” Enjolras asked dumbly.

Grantaire jerked a nod. “And evidently I’ve been much more subtle about it than I thought.”

“Let’s perhaps not rule out me being extraordinarily stupid quite yet,” Enjolras said, unable to take his eyes off of Grantaire, as if seeing him for the first time. Despite the fact that he was soaked through to the bone, he felt a warmth flooding through him as he looked at Grantaire, really looked at him, the man he had known for years and the man he was beginning to suspect he didn’t really know at all.

But God, he wanted to.

Something shifted in Grantaire’s expression as if he realized Enjolras was not going to throw him out on his ear for what he had just confessed. “I’m certain I owe you an explanation,” he started, but Enjolras shook his head. 

“I believe we can save that for when we’re back indoors.”

For one moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue, but then he jerked his head in another nod and both men started trudging back towards the house. Enjolras kept glancing sideways at Grantaire, so many things that he wanted to say dying on the tip of his tongue. 

It was probably for the best that he couldn’t seem to speak: the rain and mud made the trek far more hazardous than it should have been, and besides, as the rain soaked through all of Enjolras’s clothing, his teeth began to chatter, and he could only imagine how much worse it was for Grantaire, who had been out in the rain for much longer—

He stopped in his tracks so abruptly that Grantaire almost did not notice, pausing only when he seemed to realize Enjolras was no longer next to him. “Have you lost your mind entirely?” Grantaire demanded, half-turning to glare at him.

“Not my mind,” Enjolras assured him, unbuttoning his coat as quickly as his shaking fingers would allow. “Just my manners.”

“Your—” Grantaire started, his confusion turning to bafflement as Enjolras shrugged out of his coat and held it out to him. “What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“Wear it,” Enjolras said, as if it was obvious. “A gentleman should always offer his coat when his companion is cold, and I’d imagine you’re considerably colder than I am, given how long you’ve been out here.”

Grantaire just stared at him. “And what, pray tell, is your coat supposed to do?”

“Keep you warm.”

Grantaire took the outstretched coat and held it up. “This is supposed to keep me warm?” he asked, incredulous. “It’s soaking wet.”

Enjolras blinked, realizing all too late that Grantaire was right. “You may have a point there,” he admitted.

Then, suddenly, both men were laughing, deep belly laughs that had them both almost doubled over, oblivious to the still-pouring rain. “God,” Grantaire said finally when he straightened, wiping rain, or tears, or both from his cheeks. “What a pair we make.”

Enjolras laughed again, a gentler laugh. “I did warn you not to rule out me being extraordinarily stupid.” He held his hand out. “You may return my coat to me,” he told Grantaire. “I won’t make you carry it the rest of the way just because I’m a fool.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “Last I heard, a gentleman has an obligation to offer his coat to his companion,” he said mildly. “I heard nothing about an obligation to return it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Perhaps not an obligation, but I really must insist.”

“Oh, you insist, my lord?” Grantaire returned, with a playful lilt to his voice, something about it warming Enjolras more than his sopping wet coat possibly could. “And what if I were to insist upon wearing it? After all, you offered it to me. Would you renege on your offer?”

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes, doing his best to drum up some requisite irritation, despite feeling like he wanted to grin. “Grantaire, don’t be daft—”

“Do you wish to stand here and argue with me, or do you wish to return indoors?” Grantaire interrupted. Truthfully, there was a not-small part of Enjolras that would quite rather wish to stand and argue, but he knew a losing argument – on both fronts – when he saw it, and just sighed and shook his head in acquiescence. “That’s what I thought,” Grantaire said, just a little smugly, as they started toward the house again.

Were it not for the smug tone in his voice, Enjolras might have let it slide, but he had never let Grantaire have the last word when he could help it, and he was not about to start now. “You’re an idiot,” he said, more of a sigh than anything else.

Grantaire just shrugged blithely. “Perhaps,” he said, before glancing sideways at Enjolras. “Or perhaps a gentleman also does not allow his companion to feel like the only foolish one.”

The warmth that flooded Enjolras from that was almost enough to sustain him the rest of the way to the cottage.

By the time they arrived, the rain was finally beginning to let up, not that it did anything to help the two men as they hurried inside and made a beeline for the fireplace in the library, teeth chattering. “I’ll bet you wish you had some alcohol in the house now,” Grantaire muttered, rubbing his hands together.

The exact thought had crossed Enjolras’s mind, but he refused to dignify Grantaire’s comment by admitting as much. “We should bathe,” he said instead, remembering the boiling bath his governess had forced him to take after his horse had foundered and he’d been forced to walk home for several hours in the pouring rain. “Warm water will do us good, and that way we can also get the mud off.”

Both men had indeed attracted an absurd amount of mud from sloshing their way back to the cottage, enough so to make it difficult to tell where their clothes ended and their skin began. 

“Personally I think the mud only adds to my good looks,” Grantaire said blithely, before adding, “Besides, Jehan was telling me that in ancient times, they used mud as a restorative for the skin, so perhaps we should leave it on to be safe.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You were that child that always refused to take his bath, weren’t you,” he said with a resigned sigh.

Grantaire laughed. “I have no idea what makes you say that,” he demurred. “That said, I’ll let you take your bath first.”

“Don’t be an idiot, you’re the one who was out in the rain for two hours,” Enjolras told him.

“Yes, but—”

“Besides, the tub is big enough for the both of us.” Grantaire’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and Enjolras added, “After all, you owe me an explanation, and this seems as good a time as any.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed, but he attempted no argument against the idea, merely telling Enjolras, “Then we’d best start heating some water.”

They worked in seamless unison in the kitchen heating massive pots full of water to transfer into smaller buckets to carry up to the massive porcelain bathtub in the room off of Enjolras’s bedchamber, as it was the only tub in the house. As Grantaire hefted his fifth and sixth bucket for his third trip, he gave Enjolras a look. “I bet you’re also wishing you had servants in this house.”

“Who needs servants when I have you?” Enjolras shot back, saccharine sweet, and was surprisingly gratified when Grantaire just flushed and mumbled something incoherent in response.

If anything, the task of filling the tub was enough to warm them up even without the bath, but since Enjolras had been the one to suggest it, he felt they might as well follow through. And he really did want to get the mud – which had now dried enough to be caked onto his skin – off.

Once the tub was full, both men stood awkwardly in the bathroom, and Enjolras wondered if he should again offer to let Grantaire bathe first, and alone.

But before he could make his offer, Grantaire started unbuttoning his shirt. Despite his initial reluctance to the idea, he exhibited no shame in peeling off his damp clothes in front of Enjolras, who, despite it being his idea in the first place, still hesitated.

“I have seen you naked, you know,” Grantaire told him as he struggled to get his wet trousers off, adding, “if that was your concern.”

They both had, having gone swimming many times during one summer at one of the de Courfeyrac’s country manors, one that boasted a secluded lake perfect for young men to cool off in. None of Les Amis had brought their swimming costumes but they were all young and foolish and didn’t care, stripping down to nothing and splashing about more like children than the young gentlemen they had been.

But Enjolras rather suspected that they both realized this was nothing like that.

Still, Grantaire’s words were enough to finally dispel Enjolras’s hesitation, and he began stripping his own clothes off, albeit at a much slower pace from Grantaire.

Grantaire got into the tub first, settling in on the far side of the tub and tilting his head back, eyes closed as he soaked in the steam. Enjolras hesitated once more and Grantaire cracked one eye open. “I’m not going to do anything to you, you know.”

Enjolras flushed. “I know,” he said, finally stepping out of his trousers and slipping into the tub, settling opposite of Grantaire.

“Do you,” Grantaire murmured, his head still tilted back. “Sometimes I wonder if you would even know what it looked like if someone were to try to do anything to or with you.”

The warmth of the water was slowly seeping through the chill that clung to Enjolras, and it felt good enough that he was tempted to let Grantaire’s comment go uncontested.

But even when stark naked and still freezing cold, Enjolras had never been one to let things go uncontested.

“I would too,” he said, knowing full well that he sounded like a petulant child and hating it. “I am not completely ignorant, you know, to the world.”

“To the world,” Grantaire repeated.

Enjolras busied himself with trying to scrape the mud off of his fingernails. “To…to the physical act of lovemaking.” He flushed scarlet and studiously avoided looking at Grantaire. “I am not a virgin.”

“I see.”

Those two words may have been the most infuriating thing that Grantaire had ever said, if only because Enjolras had no idea what to read into them, if anything. Grantaire’s eyes were still closed, his expression as unreadable as his tone, and Enjolras felt as if he had no choice but to explain further. “Courfeyrac took me to a brothel when my father died,” he said, still flushed. “He said that he could not in good conscience allow me to become a Marquess without ever having lain with someone.”

Grantaire opened both eyes. “I truly cannot imagine you at a brothel,” he remarked.

Enjolras shrugged, trailing a hand through the water. “It was not as terrible as I expected,” he admitted. “Courfeyrac picked out a young woman for me, and I spent over an hour or so just talking with her.” Grantaire looked very much like he wanted to interrupt, but Enjolras did not let him. “I wanted to know about her conditions, about what working there was like, and how she had found herself there. She told me that she used to be a factory worker but made twice as much in less than half the time worked, and with four mouths at home to feed…” He trailed off an shrugged. “To her, it seemed a fair bargain, and no matter my personal hesitation with the profession, she seemed in a better position to judge it than I.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Only you could go to a brothel and emerge with a tale of the plight of the working class,” he said with a dry chuckle. It was his turn to hesitate, just for a moment, before asking, in what he clearly deemed a casual sort of way, “And then after that, you slept with her?”

“No.” Grantaire’s eyes flew to his and Enjolras felt himself color again. “After that, she kissed me, and it was…fine. Serviceable. But then she asked—” Enjolras’s blushed deepened. “She asked if I would prefer the company of a man.” 

Something almost like relief flickered across Grantaire’s face before his expression smoothed back into something unreadable. “Ah.”

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “And I said yes. So she went and got a man who worked at the establishment, and...well…I did. Very much so. Prefer it.”

“I see,” Grantaire murmured. “And did you similarly inquire of this man what conditions had led him to working there?”

“We found ourselves rather too occupied to do much talking,” Enjolras muttered, assuming Grantaire would understand his meaning. He took a deep breath before asking, “Is that…is that what you were hoping would happen when you agreed to help me?”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “This was not an elaborate seduction, if that’s what you mean.”

It had been, but Enjolras felt suddenly foolish for asking. “No. Yes. I’m not sure what I mean. Speaking of my father’s death,” he said, ignoring the look Grantaire gave him at the abrupt segue, “I don’t recall seeing you much in those days.”

Clearly judging himself clean or at least warm enough, or perhaps just tired of sitting in the water, Grantaire stood, and Enjolras averted his eyes as he reached for a towel. “Yes, well. Some of us took it harder than others.”

“The death of my father?” Enjolras asked, confused, and he was so taken aback that he looked at Grantaire, modesty be damned.

Grantaire had a strange, closed look on his face. “The death of what could have been, more accurately,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Enjolras. “It is one thing to want something you know you’ll never have, and quite another for the world to remind you at every turn that it is an impossibility.”

“I’m not certain I understand,” Enjolras said slowly.

Grantaire shook his head, once, before looking at Enjolras. “Ask me again,” he said abruptly, and Enjolras frowned.

“Ask you what?”

“You know what.”

Grantaire sounded almost impatient, and Enjolras realized he did know what, the question that had been answered in the most unexpected way in the pouring rain, the question whose answer still demanded an explanation that Grantaire had promised to provide. “Why did you do this?”

“Because you asked me to,” Grantaire said simply. “Because only once before had you ever asked me to do something, and I failed you then.”

Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably, well aware of that to which he referred. “The Barrière du Maine was not—”  

“I failed you,” Grantaire interrupted sharply. “And when presented with another opportunity, I knew this was my only chance to prove I would not fail you again.” He shook his head, bracing himself against the wash stand. “It was meant to be simple, really. One and done, fake married to my sister and then we part as friends with you having consented to try me once more and this time with me proving you correct in your estimation. But you…”

He trailed off, but Enjolras did not try to interrupt again. “I love you,” Grantaire said finally, and even though he had uttered those words once before, they still hit Enjolras just as if he was hearing them for the first time. “That is why I did this. Not to seduce you, or to take advantage of you if that was also something you feared. I did it because I love you, and because you asked me, and if I could not have you – and I cannot, I know that as clearly now as I did the day your father died and elevated you to a position you’ve never wanted, a position that made how I felt for you more of an impossibility than it always had been – then at the very least I could have this.

“It is why I left earlier,” he continued. “Because this, whatever this is, was nothing like I pictured it, spending this time with you, and I could not stand to hear you call everything I have ever dreamed of a fiction, even though it is, even though it must be. For me, every word I have uttered has been the truth, including the words I spoke before the wedding and the vows I made therein.”

Enjolras felt his heart sink in his chest as he remembered how he had laughed at Grantaire’s words before the wedding, how he had brushed off every hint at what the man had felt. He felt foolish for not realizing it all sooner, and, true to form, he took it out on someone other than himself. “Well, why in the world did you not say something sooner?” he demanded.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “When would you have preferred I tell you?”

“I don’t know, at any point in the past decade?” Enjolras shot back.

“What good would have come from it?” Grantaire asked simply, but the words felt like a blow to Enjolras’s gut. “I was...not happy, I suppose, but content, at least, with the pieces of you that I was privy to, with our bickering and arguing, even, if that’s what it took to get your face to flush that delightful color I love so much.” Grantaire’s expression hardened, something bitter creeping into his voice. “And now I don’t even have that. Just this fake, preternaturally nice version of you and all because I suppose you think you owe me something, as if I was doing this all from the goodness of my heart and not because I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Grantaire turned to leave. “You should get some rest,” he said over his shoulder. “I will see you in the morning.”

With that, he left, and Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was just the nature of the bathtub water cooling to lukewarm or something else, but it felt like all the warmth went with him.

----------

Enjolras had a reputation for rash action that he felt was remarkably unearned. Weeks if not months of planning went into every public action he took to assure maximum impact, and the same could be said for his personal considerations. If anything, he was even more deliberative in his personal life – once, he took so long figuring out the best way to tell Combeferre that he hated his most recent haircut that by the time he got the words together, the man’s hair had already grown out.

Still, it was a reputation that lent him credence in some circles, so he did not often push back against it.

But as he lay in bed that evening, staring at the ceiling, his usual deliberations did not seem to be helping him make sense of the day’s revelations. 

Once the shock had worn off from Grantaire’s confession, Enjolras found that one thing he didn’t seem to feel much of was surprise. It wasn’t that he had known all along, or anything remotely of the sort. It was just that, looking back on it, all of the signs were there. Signs that Enjolras had ignored, certainly, or pretended weren’t there, but signs nonetheless. Breadcrumbs leaving a trail to this very moment.

And as he pondered it, he realized that the signs were not just from Grantaire. He had left a trail of his own in every conversation, in every action, in – just as frequently – every inaction. He and Grantaire had never had the same type of friendship that he had with each other of Les Amis, or even with Marius. Theirs had always been more complex, more complicated, more— Well, just more.

Nothing from what Grantaire had said had changed that. It had just provided him with a long overdue reason for it.

A reason that to Enjolras did not change anything, least of all his own feelings. It simply illuminated them.

He stood, his mind made up, and grabbed his dressing gown before slipping out of his bedchamber and crossing to Grantaire’s. He hesitated, his fist raised to knock on the door. There would be no going back after this, and a decision of this magnitude required deliberation at the very least.

But it wasn’t rash, he reasoned. It was the furthest thing from rash, this decision having been deliberated for years now if he was being honest with himself.

No, it was anything but rash.

It was just that his mind was finally made up.

He rapped on the door and waited, hoping that Grantaire had not yet fallen asleep, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Grantaire called, “Come in.”

Enjolras opened the door and stepped just inside, leaning against the doorway as he looked at Grantaire, who, though in bed, looked no closer to sleep than he had been. “Is it morning already?” Grantaire joked, clearly aiming for a moment of levity to hide the wariness Enjolras could read in his expression.

Enjolras ignored him. “Would it make it better or worse if I told you that I never once thought you were doing this from the goodness of your heart?” he asked, picking up the conversation where they had left it as if no time had passed.

Grantaire blinked, his brow furrowing. “Why did you think I was doing it, then?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I genuinely had no idea. It was driving me a bit mad, honestly.”

“And now?”

Some of the wariness from Grantaire’s expression crept into his voice. Enjolras just shrugged again, crossing his arms in front of his chest mostly to give himself something to do. “Now at least I have an explanation.”

Grantaire snorted. “And what an explanation it is,” he said, a little bitterly, tracing a finger down the stitching of the quilt as he avoided look at Enjolras.

“It’s almost a gift, actually,” Enjolras said mildly, and Grantaire looked up, startled.

“How could what I have said possibly be a gift?”

“Because it gives me the words to use to understand what I’ve been beginning to feel. Or rather, what I’ve been beginning to allow myself to feel.” Grantaire stared at him, and Enjolras took a deep breath before continuing, “I choose my words carefully, you know that more than anyone else—”

Grantaire did, more than any of their friends, as it was he who was always at the Musain late at night when Enjolras grew frustrated with his writing and sought to punch it up. “I do feel at times as if I’ve been little more than a walking synonym dictionary,” Grantaire said faintly, and Enjolras smiled slightly before continuing.

“So I’m not fully prepared to make an equal confession. Not yet.” He paused and took another deep breath. “But when I stood up next to you on our wedding day, it was not fiction for me either. Not fully. And it took, as it always seems to, you shouting at me for me to realize it.”

Emotions flashed so quickly across Grantaire’s face that Enjolras could not possibly track them. He thought he saw relief, and just a hint of smugness, and something so soft that it made Enjolras’s knees feel weak. But then Grantaire’s expression evened out, and the look he gave Enjolras was almost calculated. “I made an oath to myself,” he said, his voice low, and Enjolras felt his heart stop. “I swore to myself that when I kissed you before, that I would never do so again. But I believe I may need to amend that oath.”

“In what way?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire grinned at him, too jubilant to be the smirk he was almost certainly intending. “That I will never kiss you without your full and enthusiastic participation.”

Enjolras was only too happy to oblige.

He crossed the room in three long strides and caught Grantaire just as the man was starting to get out of bed. He cradled Grantaire’s face between both his hands, their noses just brushing against each other, and for one moment that might have been infinite or the briefest of seconds, neither man moved, both just breathing the same air in the mere millimeters between their lips.

Then Enjolras kissed him.

Their first kiss in the church had been chaste, and clumsy; their second, that Enjolras had not even been able to participate in, had been like fire.

This was like a lightning bolt of perfect clarity, the undeniable knowledge that there was no where else in the world that Enjolras would rather be than right here.

And then Grantaire turned it back to fire, teasing the seam of Enjolras’s lips with his tongue until they parted, his hands grasping Enjolras’s hips hard enough to bruise through the fabric. He tugged him down onto the bed and Enjolras was only too happy to comply, eager to rid them of any space left between the two of them, eager to drink in every noise and sigh that came from Grantaire’s mouth, usually wielding words so sharp and now so soft against his own.

Enjolras did not know if they stayed that way for a minute or an hour or an entire day – every option seemed equally likely, lost in each other and this moment years in the making. And when they finally broke apartm neither man moved far from the other. “How was that for enthusiasm?” Enjolras asked, a little hoarsely.

Grantaire laughed lightly. “I’ll take it,” he said, reaching up to card his fingers through Enjolras’s still-damp curls, and Enjolras shifted to pillow his head on Grantaire’s chest. “You should really return to your room, though, lest I be tempted to see just how far I can press your enthusiasm.”

It was an idle threat, and they both knew it: Enjolras knew as he always had that Grantaire would never do anything to hurt him or trespass upon his boundaries. And the kiss had been spectacular and more meaningful than Enjolras thought he would ever find the words to describe, it had also been somewhat chaste, neither man making a move to turn it into something more salacious. 

So Enjolras merely tipped his head up to capture Grantaire’s lips again. “Let me sleep here,” he murmured, his lips moving against Grantaire’s.

Even as he said the words, he knew he did not just mean for the evening. This was not just one night between them, and even if he was not yet ready to return Grantaire’s confession from earlier in word, he knew that he was ready in practice. He was asking for so much more than one night – for a lifetime more.

For one life and one love.

Let me sleep here until I die.

Grantaire sighed, and Enjolras wondered if he knew what Enjolras felt in that moment, if he understood what he was asking, if he felt the same way, too. “I am, as always, helpless to refuse,” he murmured, but the way he wrapped his arm around Enjolras’s waist and pulled him close told Enjolras that he had equally little desire to let Enjolras go.

It was Enjolras’s last coherent thought before Grantaire kissed him once again, and when sleep finally claimed them, he fell asleep with a smile.

[taetaespeaches]

“You’ve been my future since we were teenagers.”

taehyung x reader (or oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 2.3K

a/n: Hi, lovelies! In this drabble, Peaches gets jealous over Tae getting close with a music collaborator and it leads to a small but a bit heated argument. It just kind of shows how Tae and Peaches handle conflict in their relationship. I hope you all enjoy and thank you for reading! :))

EYES peering over the top of your book, you inhaled deeply at the small smile tugging on your boyfriend’s lips as he stared down at his phone. Taehyung had been like that for most of the twenty minutes since he’d gotten to your place.

He was sat at the opposite end of the couch, you perpendicular to him on your own respective side as you watched him text his collaboration partner. Frustration building, you closed your book and tossed it to the coffee table, drawing Tae’s eyes for one of the first times that night.

You met his widened gaze. “I can’t focus,” you answered his silent question, the man nodding as he kept staring at you. His hand curled around your ankle, soothing your limb for a moment before you pulled your legs off the couch and stood up.

Without a word, you left the room to the kitchen, feeling Tae’s watchful eyes on you. Standing above the sink, you prepared to do the dishes before your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I told you I’d do the dishes, Peaches,” he said gently, his nose nuzzled against your neck.

“I just thought you were too busy on your phone,” you told him coldly, Taehyung looking up at you.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked sheepishly, you sighing.

“I’m annoyed with you,” you corrected, Taehyung cocking his head to get a better look at your face.

“Why?” He asked tentatively. You were sure he already knew why, but he must have needed to hear it.  

“You spent the entire day with her in the studio and now you’re spending the evening smiling at your phone as you text her,” you told him coldly, plugging the sink to fill it with water. You were never one to evade conflict, which was something Taehyung appreciated about you. Neither of you ever played games with each other when it came to your emotions.

“You’re jealous?” He asked, a small amused smile forming on his lips.

“Of course, I’m jealous,” you told him, looking down at him with a glare.

The man let out a light laugh, dismissing your frustration. “You shouldn’t be, Peaches.”

Shrugging him off, Taehyung backed away slightly, removing his arms from your body in concern. “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny,” you told him angrily, not impressed by him trying to make light of your jealousy, no matter how silly he found it to be.

“Wait, you’re like jealous?” He emphasized the word as if it gave it a different meaning. You supposed it did, because you weren’t feeling the cute form of jealousy where you pouted and acted protective of him from whoever was trying to steal his attention. You were feeling the bad kind of jealousy where doubts started to seep into your thoughts, along with all of your insecurities.

“Yes,” you told him shortly. “Obviously.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” he assured you, staring at you intently as you avoided meeting his eyes. “Peaches.”

“Ever since you started the collab you’ve been talking about her constantly and-”

“Not her, I’ve been talking about the collab,” he interrupted, making you turn to look at his face, his expression showing his quick rise to anger. “Because I’m doing a collab. My first one outside of the group,” he explained.

“You’re sitting there on the couch with me, smiling at your fucking phone, Taehyung,” you lectured, your boyfriend taking a deep breath.

“I’m talking to a friend and collaborator about our collaboration. You don’t have a reason to be jealous,” he told you again, the words just pissing you off further.

“And yet here I am being jealous, so explain that to me,” you glared at him. When he shrugged, you huffed. “I have reason to be jealous, and that’s on you.”

“That’s not on me,” he defended crossly, his eyebrows pulled together. “That’s on you and your irrationality.” The words were mean and you both knew it, but he stood stubbornly as he expected your irate response.

“Oh, fuck off,” you spewed, crossing your arms across your chest. Taehyung shot you a look with just as much anger as you, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. “Call me irrational again and you’ll see how irrational I can be.” Taehyung kept staring at you, giving no indication of saying more, but also giving you no sign of an apology. “My feelings are valid, don’t dismiss them.”

“I’m not dismissing them but I’m not going to entertain them, and I’m not going to take blame for your crazy accusations,” he told you, anger clouding his judgement and choice of words.

“Crazy?” You asked through a bitter laugh. “Now I’m crazy?”

“If you think I’m cheating on you, then yeah, you’re crazy,” he told you, breaking eye contact for the first time. He couldn’t hold your gaze when he was speaking to you like that, but his pride was too overbearing to allow him to backdown.

With your chest heaving as you fumed, you shook your head. “Well if there’s one way to make me act crazy, it’s by calling me crazy,” you told him coldly. “Keep it up.”

“Jesus, Peaches, I’m just saying if I tell you that you have no reason to be jealous, just listen to me,” he stated in frustration.

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t tell me to listen to you, your actions speak louder than your words, which by the way have been all about this collab anyway,” you said, fully aware of how ridiculous and unsupportive you sounded.

What shot across Taehyung’s face wasn’t anger but rather sadness as he shifted on his feet. “I know I’ve been talking about the collab a lot,” he started, his voice low. “I’ve just been excited about it.”

Fuck. You knew the he was excited about the collaboration, and you wanted him to share all of it with you. His connection with the girl was just grating on your insecurities, and you hated how that was making you react.

“I know you’re excited, I’m excited too, Tae, but you’ve just gotten so close to each other the past week,” you told him, your sadness seeping into your tone, your expression dropping.

“We’re friends,” he reminded you, toying with the bracelets around his wrist.

“We were friends,” you pointed out, Taehyung looking at you in surprise. His wide-eyed expression looked so innocent, you immediately cursed yourself for insinuating that he was repeating your love story with someone else, as if it was some pattern he repeated over and over.  

A tense silence filled the room, a stare off ensuing between you and your lover as you both waited for the other to make a move. You couldn’t read the expression on Taehyung’s face, or maybe you could but didn’t want to admit to yourself that you’d upset him that much. He looked angry and disappointed and beyond hurt.

Suddenly, Taehyung shook his head as he began to turn his back on you, panic rising within you, your heart racing as anxiety hit you like a train. “What are you doing?” You asked in haste, the speed of the words giving away your alarm.

“I don’t want to have this conversation anymore,” he told you, though he didn’t take a step away from you yet. “Not if you’re going to reduce me to some asshole who just tries to get all of his friends in bed.”

“I didn’t-,” you started somberly.

“Didn’t you?” He cut you off sharply. “I pined after you for years, I was in love with you for years,” he reminded you, “And you’re going to throw that in my face as if I just fall for anyone?”

“Tae-”

“I’m in love with you, I’m committed to you,” he pointed out. “I take that very seriously, if I didn’t why would I wait six fucking years to tell you? I mean, jesus christ, I wouldn’t even admit it to myself,” he told you, his volume increasing as he got more worked up.

“I know,” you assured, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize now, you were very firm in your stance just a moment ago,” he refused your apology. “You know, I don’t appreciate the doubt.”

“I know,” you repeated lamely.

“I gave my heart to you and you gave yours to me,” he told you with tears gathering along his bottom lash line. “I’ve made it my whole life goal to protect your heart, I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that, Tae,” you said again.

“Do you?” He asked, tightening his jaw as soon as he posed the question in an attempt to compose himself.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted. Directing his gaze to the kitchen cabinet to his side, he took a deep calming breath. “Tae, I’m not trying to doubt you, I’m just feeling insecure,” you admitted.

“What do you have to be insecure about?” He asked you, turning to meet your gaze.

“Is that a real question?” You asked with a hint of a disbelieving laugh.

“Yeah,” he told you, though you realized with the pureness in his expression that he wasn’t asking because he was dismissing what you believed were your shortcomings. Rather, he genuinely couldn’t understand what you could be insecure about. And that’s when you realized how pointless the whole argument was, because when Taehyung saw you, he saw perfection.

It’s not that he thought you were perfect, he just thought that every single thing about you, flaw or not, was remarkable and worthy of all the love in his heart.

You sighed, dropping your eyes to the floor, wishing it would swallow you up into some time vortex that would allow you to go back to when these feelings first invaded your mind. You’d stop them right then and there, reminding yourself that even though you didn’t see what Taehyung saw, he saw everything in you.

“I wouldn’t even date other people for our entire friendship because no one compared to you. No one has ever been enough since I met you, Peaches,” he spoke overtop your consuming thoughts, you looking up at him tearfully. “You’re my future, and you’ve been my future since we were teenagers.”

“I’m sorry, Dearest,” you pouted.

Taehyung sighed, watching you for a moment as he processed everything that just happened. However, when he saw the first tears fall down your cheeks, his stubborn demeanor melted as he opened his arms to welcome you into a hug. Shuffling the few feet to him, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist, his folding over your shoulders, pulling you close.

“I know you have your insecurities,” he whispered into your hair before leaving a kiss to the top of your head. “But you can’t use those against me like this,” he told you gently.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you apologized again.

“I’m sorry too,” he said sincerely. “I’m sorry I made you feel so jealous, and I’m sorry I dismissed your feelings.”

“I just really love you a lot,” you mumbled against his chest, Taehyung chuckling against your hair.

“I love you, Peaches, you know that,” he told you, reminding you of how dedicated he was to you and your relationship. Nodding against his chest, he smiled. “Look at me, baby.”

Lifting your head to meet his eyes, you found him flashing you a soft smile. “We’re ok,” he told you.

“Ok,” you agreed just as Tae leaned toward you, catching your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Now,” he started, turning you around in one quick twirl so he was holding you in a back hug, gently guiding you toward as he waddled behind you. “You’re going to stand right here, just like this, as I wash these dishes like I promised you I’d do, alright?”

Giggling, you rested your head back against him, looking up at his cheerful face. “Okay,” you responded, dragging out the word with a sigh.

“You wanted my attention,” he reminded you, “now good luck getting rid of it.”

“I don’t want rid of it,” you spoke through a pout, the man chuckling.

“Good,” he grinned before placing a kiss to your temple. “Oh, but first,” he said almost giddily, “do you have your phone? I left mine on the couch.”

“Why?” You asked hesitantly, pulling the phone out of the hoodie pocket, holding it up for him to take. He easily typed the passcode in with one hand, opening up your music app.

“Donny Hathaway or John Lennon?” He asked, you gasping in surprise.

“Tae, no,” you whined, the man gigging behind you.

“Pick one,” he insisted.

With a groan, you lightly bit his wrist that was slung around your chest. “Hathaway,” you relented, Taehyung smiling against your temple as he searched up Donny Hathaway’s cover of ‘Jealous Guy’, a song all about letting your insecurities make you jealous, causing harm to your lover. The song was actually pretty heavy in meaning, but you and Tae had used it in the past to poke fun at yours and his jealous tendencies. It was a way to make light of the situation and turn it into a joke as a means to move past it.

“I was dreaming of the past,” Taehyung sang next to your ear, you elbowing him gently in the ribs, the man giggling as he pressed a series of kisses to your cheek. “I love you,” he told you once more.

“I love you more,” you replied.

As he started the dishes, you standing between him and the sink making the task much more difficult than it needed to be, you were reminded yet again how lucky you were to have someone who made it so easy to forgive, easy to forget. By the time the dishes were all washed, the front of your hoodie was soaked and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. And your heart? Well that was full of love for one Kim Taehyung.

[theladyismyshepard]

Mother Miranda

#7 prompt fill — Betrayal (Myra)

(Anonymous with a dream, you’re next)

The sun was at its highest peak in the sky, and unleashed its powerful rays upon every inch of the earth. It warmed your skin from the usual chill that lingered throughout the castle, making it feel like winter year round. The Dimitrescu family might be comfortable, but you needed the occasional reprieve that only straight sunlight could provide.

So there you were, sprawled along the grass of the courtyard, your fingers interlocked behind your head as support. Your eyes stared up at the clouds that idly floated away, but after a moment, they went unseen as your focus blurred and shifted to the way your morning had went so far.

A smile slowly twisted the edges of your lips upward, and you didn't fight it. You awoke to red hair in your line of vision, and became acutely aware of the lips peppering the column of your throat with kisses. You had to swallow the dryness from your mouth, and as you did, you felt her smile against your skin before she gently bit down, not even hard enough to bruise.

"Someone's in a good mood," you mumbled, still shaking off the layer of sleep that had you in a haze.

"That is every morning with you." said Myra easily, as if she were speaking of the weather.

You felt your heart pumping wildly in response, and as you briefly wondered if she could hear it, she answered in kind by grazing her fingertips across your chest before sprawling them out and lying her palm flat to your heart.

"Well then tell me what I can do to help keep up this good mood. What do you want to do today?" you asked kindly, nudging against her until she got the hint and rolled over to allow you to hover over her.

"Actually," started Myra, her face already morphing into apologetic. "Mother wants to speak with my sisters and I today. I must be going soon, but I couldn't resist."

You puffed out a small "oh", a little disappointed, but you quickly recovered, giving Myra a reassuring smile before surging forward and connecting your lips in a searing kiss, soothing the line forming between her eyebrows.

"I think I might get me some sunlight today then." you decided, nodding once for emphasis.

"Come find me after," she demanded, pulling you close by the front of your shirt to give one last kiss.

She rolled you off of her, and donned her hooded robe before taking her leave to undoubtedly collect her sisters for the meeting with Lady Dimitrescu. That was how you found yourself sunbathing in the courtyard. The warmth that tingled the top layer of your skin was easing you into alertness, warding off the sleep that left traces throughout your body. Although a thundering crash gave you an extra jolt.

You bolted upright, neck already craned in the direction of the disturbance. A crease formed between your brow when you recognized that the sound had come from Lady Dimitrescu’s office. Dread had you rooted to the spot as you eyed the window, expecting the worst.

You had been given free reign of the castle, but you do have the common sense to know that it is disrespectful to eavesdrop, and Lady Dimitrescu prides herself of her poise and respect. The occupants of the castle were expected to hold the same morals (though Daniela struggles). You knew you should wait and let someone explain when the meeting was done, but the crash was too violent to not respond to out of mere reflex.

You kept your footing light despite knowing they are aware of your presence by your scent and heartbeat alone, and crept along the courtyard until you found yourself ducked beneath the window sill outside of the office. You were uncertain if you had already been caught, but the conversation at hand must have been more dire than originally thought because after a moment, you remained undetected.

“To hell with the ceremony!”

It was so shrill that your brows couldn’t help but to disappear into your hairline. There was venom lacing every syllable of the shriek, and while you were no stranger to fury echoing down the corridors, you hardly heard such harshness come from Myra’s mouth. The silence of the room led you to believe that the other occupants were as stunned as you were.

“Myra-”

“No!”

You had to swallow down the gasp that bubbled in your throat, your hand thrown over your mouth as an added precaution. It was one thing for Myra to lash out, but to outright talk back to Lady Dimitrescu was something that seemed forbidden. If the two sharp intakes of breath that immediately followed were anything to go by, the sisters knew so as well.

“I am well aware that emotion is clouding your perception right now, but you do not ever raise your voice to me.” warned Alcina, her tone clipped.

There was a pause, and you could practically see Myra’s calculating nature taking over in your mind’s eye. The brief silence allowed for her mother to continue.

“As you are well aware, we cannot afford to cross Mother Miranda, especially when your fool uncle already has her on edge with his own mistakes... The ceremony must happen."

You had heard about a man named Ethan Winters evading Heisenberg, and while you didn’t understand the exact severity of it, you knew it was stirring trouble within the castle. It brought enough hesitancy to even have Alcina tentative to call Mother Miranda. What you were wracking your brain over was the ceremony that had prompted this argument. What had Myra so heated?

"Is there really no one else that will do?"

When people speak, you have always listened to the tones more so than the actual words, so you didn't miss the underlining desperation when Andromeda whispered.

What the hell's going on?

"No... I truly am sorry, Myra, it might not seem like I care, but it pains me greatly to have to take away your pet. Mother Miranda chose your human specifically."

You had long since gotten over being referred to as "pet" in the third-person by the Lady, but is she really to just discard of you as such? Your face went slack as it couldn't comprehend which emotion to show first. There was hurt, there was anger, there was fear, and it was coursing through your veins, pumping into your heart. Please don't hear me.

"Yes, mother,"

Betrayal.

There was no emotion in Myra's voice. It was a solid deadpan, and somehow you were able to hear everything she wasn't conveying to Alcina. You know Myra doesn't want to let you go, you know she isn’t allowed to have you lingering around... but you’re still going to be taken away for this ritual for Mother Miranda.

You thought you were something special to these women after your loyalty and adoration for Myra had you squeezing into the family. You thought you had solidified something... but you didn’t, and you wouldn’t mean anything after time had eased you from their memories, something to be forgotten.

This is what I get for eavesdropping, I suppose.

You began to lose your inhibitions as nothing really mattered to you in that moment — Remaining unseen, going unheard, you had no care, not when it appeared as though you were on borrowed time as it was. You gazed back up at the clouds idly floating by and realized that although your world felt as though it was at a standstill, reality would continue on with or without you.

All thoughts of sunbathing had drifted from your mind as you wandered towards the gate at the edge of the property. The exit was just within your sight, and you could run before they thought to chase after you...

Myra.

You turned back to Castle Dimitrescu, a war raging inside of you. You had nowhere else to turn to, and honestly... where could you run? Who could possibly hide you when Mother Miranda had her eyes set on you? It all felt unfair, but you suppose it was bound to happen when you fell in love with a woman whose family’s basement had enough standing blood that it submerged to the calf.

You always wondered when it would be your turn to hang from the ceiling down below, and it came a lot sooner than you had prepared for. You sighed so heavily that it had you closing your eyes. What were you supposed to do now? You could only stand there aimlessly, no real purpose driving you forward.

But you suppose you should start walking back, but suddenly it took everything in you to slowly inch forward, step by step. You had never appreciated walking before... breathing in fresh air... living.

The castle door swung open to reveal none other than the woman who occupied your entire mind. Her back was stiff and she couldn’t keep her hands still. As you approached, you stilled them. Her eyes locked onto yours and there was so much screaming inside of them that she didn’t even need to open her mouth.

“Where to now, hun?”

Her lips set into a hard line, but you know by now that that was her tell when she was about to cry; Her chin always wobbled when she couldn’t contain it anymore.

“We... we are throwing a party.” whispered Myra.

“Oh?” you acted surprised. “When is it?”

She stared down at her feet as she said, “Tonight.”

Your breath was stolen from you, almost like she punched you square in the gut. How could they? That quick? As if you never meant anything at all... You gulped.

“That short notice, eh?” The tremble was getting harder to hide. “What are we waiting for? Can’t keep everyone waiting — speaking of! Who’ll be coming?”

“Only the most important people,” deadpanned Myra, showing no enthusiasm. “Let’s ... get this over with.”

The smile you plastered on was all wrong, it didn’t feel right on your face; completely uncomfortable. The curves were too forced to slip into genuine and natural. Just get it over with... like a bandaid.

You wanted her to fight, wanted her to be angry, wanted her to feel as lost as you, but the emotionless mask she was wearing had you feeling betrayed. She accepted this so easily... she could find a replacement for you before the ceremony was even over.

“Let’s get it over with.”

***

All traces of sunlight were erased from the sky as the moon blanketed darkness across the land. The hours had flown by before you could really blink even, and you were left wondering where the time went.

You and Myra had met up with Daniela and Andromeda inside the castle, and you found that they didn’t have much to say either. However, all three stared you down the entire day. You could feel their eyes boring into you throughout preparing you for the ceremony... no one else had a dress code it seemed. Your white robe contrasted against their black ones, making you stand out as you stood among them.

Myra had offered to bring you a tray full of food, any kind you wanted, but the knots in your stomach couldn’t uncurl enough to allow you to eat a single bite. Your heart dropped even further when you saw her face fall when you denied.

She’s the one doing this to you. To us.

You hardened, pressing on through the day, and before you knew it, you found yourself sitting with the sisters in Myra’s bedroom, just waiting as your time was dwindling. Soon, you could hear Lady Dimitrescu’s heels clacking down the staircase and to the door when there was a sharp rap. One glance out the window and you see that night had fallen.

Myra had become hyper aware of that fact as well, and the nervous energy she held just below the surface was oozing out in waves. Daniela and Andromeda hovered, obviously on edge themselves, but the eldest sister was shooing them away once she noticed you had started trembling.

“My love,” Myra whispered, reaching for your hand. You flinched. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

Your eyes connect, and it was the softest you had ever really seen them. Your vision blurred, and you didn’t even try to stop the tears as they clung to your lashes before you blinked and they spilled down your cheeks, leaving tracks. You gave her a smile that wobbled.

“What’re you gonna do? Kill me?”

The soft smile you’ve come to love waking up to was gone too quick for your liking, and you briefly wondered if that was the last time you’d get to see it. You were seated on the foot of your shared bed, Myra standing before you. You accepted the hands that cupped the back of your neck and the side of your throat, reeling you in.

“I have to do this, please.” The first tear broke free, and you reached up to brush it away with your thumb.

“I know,”

Teeth embedded themselves into your neck, and you couldn’t help the yelp of pain as you felt your flesh tear away. A hiss escaped you as you felt suction, and while you could kind of get into it when the moment is heated, this felt different, wrong.

You felt lightheaded from your blood rushing, but you also burned from the inside out. You’d tear into your own skin if Myra wasn’t holding onto you with a death grip. Your throat stung as well and only then did you realize that your hiss had turned into a scream.

You felt sick to your stomach, but you could tell it was your organs failing you. You could barely keep your eyes open, too weak to fight against the heaviness of your eyelids. You weren’t even aware that she was leaning you back against the bed. You weren’t aware of your blood adding color to your white robe and spilling out into your bedsheets. You weren’t aware of the tears adding wetness to your neck. You merely closed your eyes and accepted the darkness creeping into the edges of your vision.

...

Until you bolted upright in bed, sending Myra toppling back onto the floor. There was a burning sensation in your throat that left you with a haze settled around your brain, unable to focus on anything else.

Not the oxygen that you didn’t require, not the change of your iris color, not even your heightened sense of smell.

A hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up, and you met worried eyes. She had never looked more beautiful, and you told her as much, relishing in that megawatt smile that you thought you had lost.

“I will never let anyone take you away from me.” Myra vowed, leaving you floored.

Oh how easily you had doubted her love for you before. You felt so foolish for second guessing her now that you stood there, completely reformed for her, by her. You had felt so weighed down by being betrayed that your body completely bounced back and had you feeling ten times lighter.

“Not even Mother Miranda?” You pushed, though you couldn’t rid yourself of your grin.

“Did I not just prove to you that not even Mother Miranda can take my pet away?” she asked, attempting to sound oh so innocently.

“You’re a little brat.”

Before she could get a word in, you pulled her closer to you, capturing her lips into a searing kiss. Nothing seemed impossible or scary in that moment. Not even the notorious Mother Miranda waiting downstairs could stir fear into you. You had eternity to face her after all.

“I love you, you know?”

Myra smiled softly before pulling you into a hug, tucking her face into your neck. A gentle kiss was placed upon the bite mark that turned you.

“You have forever to tell me, now.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

My Side

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: language, lots of smut, prostate massage, fluff, some mentions of angst (but it’s very minimal)

Genre: Marriage AU

Word Count: 4K

Summary: Y/N has had her entire future planned out ever since she could remember: step one- graduate college (done), step two- find a good-paying job (done), step three- marry someone she adores (done), and step four- have kids (???). She understands that life is full of obstacles, but is it too much to ask for your husband to finally knock you up?

A/N: Big apology to this anon user who requested this and had to wait like 8 billion years for me to finish it.

The fertility clinic was unusually cold, and I found myself shivering in direct contradiction with the sweltering summer heat collecting outside of the office building. Maybe that was the point: the doctors wanted to keep you totally alert while you waited for what seemed like hours for a standard routine visit. Because I could’ve already fallen asleep at this point - taking advantage of my day off from work to do something other than fret over the working condition of my reproductive system.

Of course, there was also the issue of my grumpy husband who had been thoroughly displeased when he found out exactly what a pap smear test implied. “He was totally checking you out when we came in,” Chan said. “Then, he insisted on sticking that thing up your vagina?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Chan,” I said. “I knew they would do that before I even came here.”

“I think he just wanted to look at your pussy,” Chan insisted. “And he did it right in front of me like I didn’t even exist!”

“You weren’t forced to stay in the room,” I pointed out, which I would’ve preferred but Chan insisted on standing over me like some kind of jealous observer who actually wanted to watch such an intimate procedure. 

“Yeah, he would’ve preferred that,” Chan said, leaning further back in his chair. “How the hell is this even supposed to help us? We’ve only been trying for a few months.”

“Well, I want to make sure everything is working properly,” I said, and (just to spite him) I glanced down at his crotch. “What if you’re having performance issues, honey?”

“My dick works just fine,” Chan insisted. “But you know what? I think it’s partially your fault that we can’t pregnant. You’re putting too much pressure on him and it’s hard for me to focus.”

“Him?” I questioned with a grin. "Do you really want to personify your penis?”

“That’s not the point!” Chan exclaimed. “Did you even hear me, Y/N?”

“But what is the point, Chan? What exactly are you having trouble focusing on?” I asked. “We’re talking about fucking, not a tax audit. Keep the office out of our bedroom.”

“You don’t think I know the difference?”

“Apparently not since it requires more effort than necessary for you to orgasm,” I screeched, barely getting the words out before the doctor’s return.

Immediately, Chan and I were both forced smiles, pretending like we weren’t just having a pointless argument. “Well,” the doctor said. “Everything is fine on your end, Mrs. Bang. I guess that means we can perform some tests on your husband.”

“Oh, that would be great,” I said, even as Chan shifted restlessly from next to me. “Is there anything you need?”

“We’d like to ask you for a sperm sample,” the doctor replied while handing Chan a clear, transparent plastic cup that he accepted with obvious hesitation. “I’ll give you some time.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking over at Chan who was glaring at the cup as if personally offended by its presence.

But at least he waited until the doctor was gone before looking at me with wide eyes. “What do I do?” Chan asked, holding up the plastic cup while appearing thoroughly taken aback.

“It’s just masturbating,” I hissed at him.

“They want me to jerk off into this cup?” Chan gasped like the idea was so totally perplexing to him.

“How else will they get a sperm sample?” I asked him, rolling my eyes because I was growing impatient.

But Chan still hesitated, using one hand to hold the cup while his other traveled down to the front of his jeans. “Do I just...”

“Yes!” I shouted while standing up from my chair. “It’s nothing hard, Chan, you’ve been masturbating since 9th grade!” 

“Yeah, but it’s embarrassing to do it here,” Chan argued, and I sighed for what had to be the thousandth time that day.

“There’s a curtain for privacy,” I said, reaching for my bag from the floor. “I’ll be waiting outside until you’re done.”

“Y/N!” Chan whined, but I left without another word, hoping that Chan could get his shit together because I was exhausted and the prospect of the bed waiting for me at home was suddenly everything that I wanted.

It turned out that Chan and I were both perfectly healthy, and there should be nothing impeding my ability to finally get pregnant. Chan even managed to smile after our doctor complimented his sperm because they were powerful swimmers or whatever the hell that meant. But that had also been hours ago, and after a well-deserved nap, I was feeling exceptionally horny. Thankfully, Chan was never the type to turn down sex, and a few innocent kisses had turned into a full-blown pornography session within moments of me circling my hips against the front of his jeans.

“Fuck me, Chan,” I said, and he nodded eagerly as we both helped each other escape the obstacle of our clothes.

“You should apologize to my dick first,” Chan said teasingly when he had me spread open in front of him, fisting his cock as he started jerking himself off.

“What? Why?”

“You questioned my performance earlier,” Chan said with a shit-eating grin. “Maybe my cock isn’t good enough for you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, whining when I tried to wrap my hand around the base of his erection, only to have Chan knock it away with a sharp growl. "Alright!” I groaned. “I’m sorry I questioned your all-powerful shaft, okay? So, can you please just fuck me already?”

Chan chuckled at my easy compliance, and he ran his thumb across the slit of his cock before positioning himself at my wet entrance. “Remember that next time, Y/N,” he said, exhaling shakily when he started to push inside.

“Shit!” I cried, reaching out for his broad shoulders as I held on as tight as possible for the ride waiting ahead of me.

“Such a tight cunt,” Chan remarked, pausing a moment to grind himself against my insides just to feel the pressure around his cock.

“Go faster,” I requested, throwing my head back when he complied, smacking his hips into mine as he searched for the perfect angle to leave me seeing stars.

“Yeah?” Chan purred, and he started thrusting faster than before, dragging his cock against the pulsating walls of my cunt, forcing more arousal to leak out around him. “Look at how good you always take my cock, baby.”

I reveled in the praise, craning my neck to the side just so that I could watch him disappear inside of me over and over again to match the sensation of his thick cock filling me up so well that it was almost mind-numbingly good. The best part was the pleasing sound of Chan’s moans, and I admired the way that he held himself up over me so that his muscles were practically bulging as he rolled his hips with seductive grinds. Meanwhile, I was drooling over the visual of his bulging biceps, whining underneath him because Chan was being unusually rough. Not that I would ever complain since every thrust managed to brush the tip of his cock perfectly against my cervix.

But it was only after Chan reached down to add a finger to the already tight fit of his cock inside my pussy that I remembered something that I had read on the internet as part of my endless pregnancy research. My eyes flew open at the reminder, and the lustful haze surrounding my sex-addled brain quickly vanished. “Hold on, Chan,” I said, pushing against his chest and disrupting the steady rhythm he had been maintaining.

“W-what?” Chan stuttered, pulling out while watching me roll over onto my stomach. 

“This is a better position,” I said, raising my ass high into the air before giving him a teasing wiggle. 

“Whatever,” Chan grunted, still too gone in his pleasure to care that much about my shenanigans. He immediately caged me in with his thighs, fumbling with his erect cock before aligning the tip with my aching cunt. I was relieved when he started jostling his cock back where it belonged, meandering in elegant strokes that resulted in the best friction.

“Make sure you come,” I told him while decorating the pale skin of his shoulders with nail marks as I reached behind me. 

“You first,” Chan insisted, and my heart warmed at his selflessness even while it felt like all the blood inside of me was rushing south, moving through my veins and spilling over with a rapid descent that left me seeing white while Chan moved even quicker, thrusting like a man deprived. 

I felt him come only moments later with the familiar heat that I had grown to appreciate more and more over the last few months. Thereafter, I immediately reached for a pillow from behind me, wincing at the sensitivity that lingered between my legs. “What are you doing?” Chan asked when he collapsed on the bed next to me.

“It’s supposed to help,” I said, raising my hips to place the pillow directly underneath me. “This article said that raising your legs after sex can improve your chances.”

“That seems ridiculous, Y/N,” Chan said. 

“Hey! Blame your sperm,” I countered. “It’s not my fault they need an extra boost.”

“My sperm are just fine,” Chan grunted. “You heard the doctor. They’re excellent swimmers.”

“This is just a precaution,” I told him, sighing in relief when I reached down to cup my heat, ensuring that all of Chan’s cum stayed inside where it belonged.

For the past several weeks, work had become something of a chore that I was forced to endure on a regular basis. It was often a struggle to force my way through piles of paperwork or tedious emails that always said much of the same thing. After a while, I would find myself glaring at the clock because I was quite certain that time was moving slow for the sole purpose of annoying me.

There was also the issue of dealing with my colleagues, especially the ones who liked to gossip and had effectively made a whole thing out of my failed attempts at pregnancy. “Oh, Y/N,” they would tell me. “It’s been three months, hasn’t it?”

Like they didn’t have anything better to do with their lives besides meddle in mine. But the worst of them all were the ones who decided that they were some kind of authority figures and tried to give me helpful “advice.” Everything from the shit that I had already heard from my doctor and the articles online, to bizarre practices that left me wondering where they found their information.

My manager’s personal assistant was a frequent advocate. She was far more insistent than the rest of them because she already had two kids at home who she described as future Mozarts in the making. And because she had already been successful (twice, I might add), she always sat next to me at lunch with a new suggestion that supposedly guaranteed fertilization.

“It could be that he’s under too much pressure,” she told me before biting into her salad.

“I’m asking him to have sex with me, not invent a new computer,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ve both been having a lot of sex, which might seem like a good idea,” she continued. “But it might actually turn out to be far worse.”

“What do you suggest then? Should I kick him out of the bedroom for a week or two?” I snarked, but she was hardly bothered by my sarcastic attitude.

“My husband and I tried stimulating him more directly,” she explained. “Maybe you could try it out.”

“How so?”

“It’s something like a prostate massage,” she revealed in a hushed tone as if it was top-secret information. “There’s all kinds of information about it on the internet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, wanting nothing more than to brush aside her words, but maybe I was too desperate because I found myself skimming through countless articles after lunch, soaking in the vast amounts of information that I uncovered.

And I left the office that day with a new strategy in mind to surprise my husband.

The moment I first walked through the door, I was yanking off my jacket and calling for Chan who ducked his head out of our bedroom. “Why the hell are you yelling?”

“Because I have a wonderful idea,” I said, practically skipping over to him and offering him a deep kiss.

“Y/N,” Chan murmured against my touch, grabbing my shoulders to pull me back. “What are you going on about?”

“Just take your stupid clothes off,” I said, skirting past him into the bedroom. “I want you naked on the bed.”

“You’re already horny?” Chan chuckled, but he made no protest of yanking his shirt over his head.

“I want to try something,” I told him, opening the door to our closet to search for something that we hadn’t used together in a long time.

“Should I be afraid?” Chan asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as he fisted his half-hard erection.

“Not if you have an open mind,” I said, turning around to hold up the bottle of lube, and Chan’s smile instantly vanished.

“What’s that for?”

“Well, tonight I’m using it on you,” I said, laughing at the way his forehead creased in confusion. “My co-worker actually made a pretty useful recommendation today.”

“Okay?...” Chan trailed off with an expression of perfect concentration - like he was doing his absolute best to understand.

“The internet called it prostate milking,” I explained, biting my lower lip to keep myself from laughing at the horrified expression on Chan’s face. “I want to stimulate your prostate.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Chan asked.

“Look, it has a lot of medical benefits,” I said. “Plus, I read that it can feel really good.”

Chan squired anxiously on the bed when I sat down next to him, and I could see that his cock was perfectly flaccid between his legs. “I don’t know, Y/N-”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupted him. “This is perfectly normal. Now, be a good boy for me and get on your hands and knees.”

Chan frowned. “Good boy?” he grumbled before obeyed my command, crawling his way up the bed to position himself in the way I had suggested.

“There we go,” I said, softly running a hand down his spine. 

“So far, I’m not impressed,” Chan muttered.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” I said, situating myself behind him before palming his ass. “This looks better than I remember, Channie.”

“Yeah, I guess the squats helped,” Chan said, and he flinched when I snapped a glove in place over my right hand. “What���s that for?”

“You think I’m gonna mess around your ass without a glove?” I snorted. “That’s not very hygienic.”

“Hygienic, yeah, okay,” Chan huffed, and he let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a grunt when I opened the bottle of lube and drizzled some on my fingertips. 

“Hold still,” I said, trying to get him to relax when my finger started circling his asshole, pushing against the tight muscle which wasn’t so easy to penetrate. However, with enough perseverance, I forced one finger inside and heard Chan release a rather unattractive sound.

“How does it feel?” I asked him, trying to move my finger around like I had read online.

“It just feels like you’ve shoved your finger up my ass,” Chan snapped, and I knew not to take it personally since he wasn’t so willing to go along with my crazy scheme in the first place.

“Don’t be so tense,” I said, rubbing my hand along his lower back. “Should I use more lube?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Y/N,” Chan groaned, and I could tell that he was growing frustrated.

I was also losing confidence - wondering if this had been a bad idea because it definitely wasn’t as easy as my co-worker promised. Plus, I could tell that Chan was uncomfortable, squirming around under me while his cock hung limply between his legs. Clearly, he wasn’t finding any pleasure from this, and maybe it was entirely my fault for jumping into this without more preparation. 

“Shit, Chan,” I said, removing my finger while releasing a sigh. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have done this.”

I cleared my throat, feeling increasingly anxious when Chan refused to respond to my apology. He was still supporting himself on his hands in front of me, chest heaving up and down with each breath. I could see that the bright red tint to his ears betrayed his embarrassment and that only made me feel worse because the last thing I wanted to do was make this bad for him.

Eventually, Chan rolled off to the side of the bed, collecting his sweatpants from the floor before walking into the bathroom. I closed my eyes when the door slammed behind him, and I quietly left the bedroom to give Chan some privacy because it was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with the situation. 

So much for my co-worker’s stupid suggestion.

However, in the grand scheme of things, I was always the first to recognize when my actions warranted reprimand. 

After sleeping on the couch in the living room, I woke-up with a sore lower back and a guilty conscious. Chan had already left for work that morning, and he probably hadn’t paid me a single glance. But I probably deserved his wrath, which meant I would do everything that I could to make it up to him.

Consequently, I found myself flashing a bright smile at Chan’s office secretary who greeted me politely before calling Chan’s phone to see if he had some time to see me. There was a small part of me which worried that Chan might send me away because of last night’s events. Thankfully, his secretary waved me inside and I took a deep breath before opening the door while carrying the packed lunch I prepared for him.

Once inside, Chan offered me a cursory glance that only lasted a brief moment until his attention was once again focused on the file in front of him. “Channie,” I said, wincing at my shrill tone. “I brought you some lunch.”

I hesitated when Chan didn’t respond - walking over to his desk to carefully deposit the bag on his desk. I waited for a brief moment, but Chan refused to acknowledge me, which meant I needed to approach him more directly.  “I’m sorry about last night, Channie,” I said, coming around his desk to perch myself on the edge. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m also sorry about the past few months because I’ve been so desperate to finally have my positive pregnancy test that I started to really neglect you.”

The pen Chan had been writing with stopped in the middle of whatever sentence he had been writing, and my husband finally allowed me the privilege of looking into his dark brown eyes. “It’s hard for me to stay mad at you, Y/N,” Chan said, and I nearly burst into tears at the simple declaration.

“You deserve to be mad at me,” I said. “I can’t believe you let me get away with acting like this. You should get the husband of the year award or whatever.”

Chan chuckled, tossing his pencil aside. “Sweetheart, I know how much this means to you, and I want it just as much, but maybe it would be nice if we could be intimate sometimes without worrying about whether or not we’re following all those advice columns you read.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, and I pushed myself away from the edge of the desk and fell onto my knees in front of him - reaching out to grab his thighs between my hands. “What if I blew you right here in the office?”

Chan’s answering moan was enough to solidify my resolve, and I easily worked apart the belt fastening around his suit pants. My fingers worked with an experienced touch because this wasn’t the first time we had done something like this in his big executive office and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “Fuck, Y/N,” Chan said, grabbing large handfuls of my hair while directing my lips closer to his exposed cock-head. 

“Let me take care of you, darling,” I said, offering a tentative lick to his pulsating tip. Chan was already hard, and I gave him a few strokes with my hand before allowing my mouth to take care of the rest - opening wide to take him as deep as I could without gagging. 

“Look at you,” Chan snarled, and his fingers traced the seam of my lips stretched obscenely around his cock. 

I moaned around his erection, and Chan closed his eyes as he fingers tightened their hold - hips moving every so often to force his cock even further down my throat. But I’m sure it made for one hell of a visual, and I hollowed my cheeks as I ran my tongue across the distinct vein trailing along the underside. 

“Keep going,” Chan said, and I could tell that he was close. And I started bobbing my head up and down, mimicking the same effect of his cock fucking my pussy, relaxing my throat and encouraging Chan to do whatever he needed to push himself over the edge.

He eventually came with an exaggerated groan, and I wrinkled my nose at the taste of him. Yet, I knew better than to let anything go to waste, and I struggled around the rawness of my throat as I swallowed - swiping my tongue around the head of his spent cock to clean up the excess.

“Was it good?” I asked him with a hoarse voice.

“Of course it was,” Chan replied, encouraging me off the floor and into his lap. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as I listened to his heart slow back down to normal. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said, teasing his lips across mine. “You’re not gonna freak out over the fact that we just wasted my perfectly good semen?”

I rolled my eyes before playfully hitting his shoulder. “It’s never a waste if it makes you come like that.”

He smiled, bringing out the fullness of his dimples, and we sat together while Chan ate his lunch and I mindlessly talked about the latest office gossip. It was moments like these that I loved more than anything about my marriage to Chan - pregnancy be damned. Ironically, it was only a few weeks later that I found myself looking down at a thin white strip with a blue cross displayed across the surface: positive.

[morganaspendragonss]

Hello! Fic request please. Okay, so TK and Carlos never got together. During the Boba date, TK let Carlos know that they should be friends and Carlos understood. So they became good friends but TK just self sabotages a lot so he loved Carlos then but didn't want to let Carlos in so he thought it better to just let him go and settle for a friendship. So one day, they decide to check out this new place for lunch. TK excuses himself for the bathroom and he hears this huge explosion and feels the impact. When he gets out, it's a fiery mess. All that is on his mind: I have to find Carlos. Even when the 126 respond to the explosion, TK refuses to leave until he has found Carlos. Carlos is found unconscious, injured and with severe smoke inhalation. 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 13: couldn't utter my love when it counted

thank you! you've given me such wonderful prompts and it's been a pleasure to write every single one of them! 💚😊

ao3 | 3k | canon divergence, explosions, major character injury, angst with a happy ending, love declarations

TK has made a lot of mistakes in his life, but undoubtedly one of the biggest was letting Carlos Reyes go. He hates the person he was back then, the one who was too blind to see that what he needed—what he wanted—was right in front of him, in a very literal sense.

“How long are you going to avoid talking about it TK?”

“Us?”

“What are we? Are we even a ‘we’?”

TK wants to say yes. He looks at Carlos with his soulful brown eyes and kind tilt to his mouth and he just knows that this is someone he could let in. He’s already seen some of TK’s darkest depths, and yet he’s still here, still asking, still wanting to be with him.

Then again, Carlos isn’t the only one who has been with him despite, and the last person who did that ended up growing tired of him. Carlos would promise against it if he knew what TK was thinking, but it’s an impossible promise to make, far easier said than done. He isn’t that kind of person, TK knows this—but then, neither was Alex, until he was.

He can’t risk it. Besides, he barely recognises his life anymore, and he can’t ask Carlos to hang around indefinitely until he can get his head in order again. If there’s one thing TK is certain of, it’s that Carlos is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to have to deal with all of TK’s bullshit, however much TK may want it.

So. That’s it.

“I like you, Carlos. I want to get to know you better. But as friends. I’m not in a place for a relationship—I don’t know if this is where I belong, or even if I can be a firefighter anymore. And I just. I just think that I have to work out who I am before I can let someone else in on that, you know? So… Can we? Be friends, I mean?”

Carlos would be well within his rights to say no, after all. But instead he smiles, a little sad, but still as gentle as ever, and says, “Sure. I’d love that.”

TK realised three things pretty quickly after that moment.

One: Austin is his home.

Two: He belongs at the firehouse—but as a paramedic.

And three: He is in love with Carlos Reyes.

But his moment has come and gone. That conversation is the kind that can’t be taken back; the damage has been done, and now TK has to live with the consequences. It’s not all bad—he still has Carlos in his life, and things are… Things are good. They hang out regularly, they have an ongoing text thread, there’s no awkwardness or resentment between them. All things considered, they’re in a better place than they were back during their pseudo-dating phase.

But still, TK misses him.

It’s a strange feeling, missing someone who’s right there beside him. TK hadn’t realised how much he would lose when they became ‘just friends’ for real, but now he finds himself noticing more and more the absence of a flirty twinkle in Carlos’s eye or the suggestive lilt to his words. There’s still an air around them, a sense that, if he just pushed a little, they could easily tip over into more. Into whatever they were on their way to becoming before TK drew his line in the sand.

He won’t, though. It wouldn’t be fair—Carlos has already put up with so much from him that it’s a miracle he’s even still around at all—and TK is not willing to risk what is now the best friendship of his life. If having Carlos in his life means keeping his hands to himself and forever refusing the urge to kiss him senseless, then it’s a small price to pay.

*

“You’re such an ass!” TK shoves Carlos lightly as they walk down the street, rolling his eyes at the smirk sent his way. “Why can’t you just suck it up and accept that maybe you don’t know Austin as well as you think you do?”

Carlos raises a solitary eyebrow. “Because I’ve lived here my entire life?”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Besides,” he cuts in, before Carlos can come back with some other stupid, logical argument, “this place only popped up a few months back so there’s no way you’ve had enough time to make a proper judgement.”

“And you have?”

“Shut up.”

Carlos laughs and, though TK tries to glare at him, he can’t help but be drawn into it. He shakes his head and looks down to avoid Carlos’s eyes, only for his gaze to catch on their hands, swinging in sync mere centimetres apart. How he aches to close that distance and thread their fingers together; to tell Carlos everything he’s been pushing down for months—

Carlos lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair, and the moment is broken. If he noticed TK’s lapse, then he doesn’t show it, instead turning to him with an amused smile. “Alright,” he says, “how about this? You take me wherever this is, and next time, I’ll take you to the actual best pizza place in Austin; then we’ll see who’s right.”

TK wishes he could kiss that self-satisfied smirk off his face. See how smug he is then.

“Fine,” he agrees. “Prepare to eat your words, Reyes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

God, TK hates him.

*

Carlos is being infuriatingly quiet as they eat, and it’s grating on TK’s every nerve. TK is well aware he’s doing it for that exact purpose, but he’s never been known for his patience—a fact which Carlos knows all too well and is rudely taking advantage of.

“So?” TK demands, folding his arms on the tabletop. “Was I right, or was I right?”

Carlos hums, pretending to consider the slice in his hand with great care. Then, he meets TK’s eyes and drops it back on the plate, re-settling in his seat with a shit-eating grin. “It was okay.”

TK’s mouth drops open. He blinks at Carlos for a good few seconds, then snaps his jaw shut with a click, shaking his head and sighing. “I hate you,” he grumbles, refusing to look Carlos in the eye.

Carlos has the audacity to actually laugh. “No, you don’t,” he says, and he doesn’t know quite how true that is. TK feels a blush start to rise on his cheeks, which cannot happen, so he clears his throat and slides out of his seat.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says. “Maybe you’ll have reconsidered by the time I come back.”

TK can’t stop a grin from forming the second he turns his back, his heart doing a stupid little dance in his chest. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his face is bright red, and he’s going to have to splash a significant amount of water over him before he can even think about facing Carlos again.

He takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken.

For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

*

He’s floating.

He’s… He doesn’t… Something’s not right. Something…

Underwater. He can’t hear anything and he’s floating and he’s underwater, except he can’t be because he was just in a restaurant with Carlos and they were talking and—and—

The world slams back into him with the force of a freight train and TK coughs as he instantly feels like his entire body is being compressed, his airways closing up. It takes a few seconds to realise his eyes are closed and several more before he can open them, only to be met with even more darkness.

He blinks—so he definitely has opened them—but he still can’t see a damn thing. Is he… He can’t be blind. He can’t.

TK’s chest tightens even further and the panic causes his limbs to twitch, to scrabble at the ground, and the movements must be enough to dislodge something because suddenly there’s light streaming into his eyes. He slams his eyelids shut instinctively, and it’s a long moment before he can crack them open again.

His surroundings come to him in bits and pieces. To his left, a pile of cracked porcelain—the sink, he realises. The floor glitters with a material TK can’t identify until he catches sight of his reflection in a shard of glass just in front of him. And on top of him, something heavy, rough—wood?

The door!

Slowly, agonisingly, he manages to shift to all fours, then to his knees, then finally staggers to his feet. He sways in place, watching the bathroom door hit the floor, and—that’s strange. It doesn’t make a sound.

He can’t hear anything, actually, aside from a faint, high-pitched ringing. The paramedic in him tells him that this is a bad thing, but he feels separate from both his brain and his body; he’s floating somewhere outside his body, this whole situation feeling like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.

A thought drifts through his mind then. No, not a thought, a name.

Carlos.

He was with Carlos. He has to find Carlos.

TK stumbles forward, grabbing onto anything within reach as the battle to stay upright gets harder with each second that passes. An intense heat hits him as he makes it into what he thinks is the main seating area and the change in atmosphere is instant—thick, black smoke invades his lungs, sending him back to his knees, body heaving with coughs.

The restaurant is on fire and TK can barely keep his eyes open as he searches for any sign of Carlos. He forces his aching body further, any pain taking a back-seat as the need to find Carlos grows. He’s still not sure what’s happening or how they got in this mess, but he knows that Carlos is in danger, and TK isn’t going to let him die. Not now. Not ever, if he can help it.

He crawls through the restaurant, blind and deaf to where he’s going, but he’ll know it’s Carlos when he finds him. He knows he will. There’s nothing that could stop him from recognising Carlos.

TK doesn’t know what’s happening when he suddenly feels himself being lifted, something bulky being placed over his face. It’s a shock, the sensation of being able to breathe clean oxygen, and it goes to his head for a moment, the dizziness growing even as his vision begins to clear up.

He catches sight of 126 emblazoned on a helmet and familiar, worried eyes looking down at him, and that’s when it connects. His family are here, they’re here, but Carlos is still somewhere and TK is not leaving without him. He struggles in his father’s grasp, managing to squirm and flail enough to get his feet on the floor and for his dad’s grip on him to falter.

But the relief is momentary; no sooner is he standing than the vertigo and nausea takes over, and he crumbles.

This time, when the world goes black, it stays that way.

*

They tell him it was a gas explosion in the restaurant’s kitchen. They say he’s lucky to be alive, that his trip to the bathroom saved him. They say he needs plenty of rest and time to heal.

They don’t tell him anything about Carlos.

TK asks, he’s been asking since the moment he woke up in the hospital. But the team knows nothing and the doctors keep saying to focus on his own injuries rather than worrying about someone else.

Someone else, as if that’s all Carlos is. He’s the love of TK’s fucking life, but they might never get the chance to be anything more than friends; TK has seen the news. His dad had switched it off the second he caught him watching it, but he’d seen enough to know that survivors are few, and, of those, most of them weren’t as lucky as TK.

His injuries were serious, but they’ll heal. He’ll probably have scars from the shrapnel from when the explosion first went off and from the burns he acquired looking for Carlos, and he’s going to have one hell of a tinnitus case for a while, but it’s nothing. Less than nothing.

He’s alive, which, if Carlos is dead or dying, is far more than he deserves.

*

On his fifth day in hospital, they tell him he can go home later. He should be grateful, but it just feels like another thing that’s happened to him in a long line of things. He’s waiting for his dad to come back from picking his prescription up when there’s a knock at the door, and TK looks up to see an older Latino couple, the woman looking at him with a deep sadness in her eyes.

“I… Are you TK?” she asks haltingly.

TK frowns and nods, surprised by the relief that floods her face when he does. He doesn’t have to wonder for long, though.

“I’m Andrea. Carlos’s mother. This is his father, Gabriel.” She gestures to the man next to her, who nods at TK, his mouth pinched. TK swallows nervously, terror building in him at the thought of what Carlos’s parents could be doing here. “The doctors tell us you’ve been asking about our son,” Andrea continues. “We wanted to come and talk to you and give you the news ourselves.”

TK swears his heart stops in his chest. “Is he…”

He can’t get the words out, can’t put the idea into existence, but Andrea clearly picks up on what he’s thinking as she crosses the room, taking his hands in hers.

“He’s alive,” she says. “He… He lost a leg in the explosion and his lungs were damaged from the smoke, but the doctors have told us that the worst danger has passed. We’re just waiting for him to wake up now.” Andrea pauses, biting her lip. She looks at Gabriel, then back to TK, releasing his hands. “How do you know our son? Are you…”

“We’re friends,” TK says, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “He’s the best friend I’ve got. Thank you for telling me.”

*

He leaves his number with Andrea and Gabriel, and they promise to keep him updated on Carlos’s condition.

Four days after TK goes home, he gets a phone call to say that Carlos is awake. He’s back at the hospital within the hour, racing as fast as he can (which, infuriatingly, isn’t very fast right now) to the room number they gave him.

The sight he’s greeted with just about takes his breath away.

Carlos smiles at him, and he’s covered in bandages and scrapes and he’s clearly exhausted, but he’s smiling, and TK swears he’s never looked more beautiful. He stands in the doorway for a long time, just staring at Carlos for the first time in nine days, so captivated by him that he doesn’t notice the knowing look that passes between Andrea and Gabriel.

“We’ll give you boys some time to catch up,” Gabriel says. He pats TK’s shoulder when they walk past him, and it’s enough to spur him back into action.

TK crosses the room in three quick strides, reaching for Carlos’s hand the second he’s settled in the chair. He almost sobs when he feels Carlos squeeze his hand back; it’s weak, more just a twitch of the fingers, but it feels like everything.

“Hi,” Carlos says, his voice quiet and raspy.

TK sniffs, opens his mouth to say hi back, but maybe the explosion knocked him about more than he realised, because what comes out instead is, “I love you.”

Their eyes widen at the same time, a flush rising on TK’s face as he processes what he just did. “I—I’m so sorry, Carlos, I—” He shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back, but Carlos’s grip tightens, keeping him firmly in place.

“Say it again,” he demands.

TK blinks. “What?”

“Say it again.”

He hesitates another second, but the slight uptick to Carlos’s lips gives him the confidence he needs to look Carlos in the eyes.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for the longest time and I’m so sorry that I couldn’t see it before. I was scared, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle a relationship, and I figured it would be easier to let you down than risk hurting us both when we inevitably realised it couldn’t work out.

“But I was so wrong, Carlos. Back at the restaurant, after the explosion, all I cared about was finding you and making sure that you were okay. I couldn’t stand the thought that anything might have happened to you, and I’ve been going out of my mind since it happened because I didn’t know how you were. I—I can’t lose you, Carlos.”

He takes a deep breath and blinks away the tears beginning to gather in his eyes, attempting a trembling smile to match Carlos’s own. “I love you,” he whispers. “If it’s too late, then I understand. I just. I need you in my life. I need you, Carlos. However you’ll have me.”

Carlos holds his gaze for a long time after TK has finished speaking, and it feels like he’s seeing right through him. Eventually, after so long that TK’s lost all sense of time, he slowly raises his hand, brushing his knuckles across TK’s cheek, then coming to rest on the back of his neck.

“I love you, too.”

And the light pressure from Carlos’s hand is all the invitation TK needs to close the distance between them, his heart pounding as he kisses Carlos for what feels like the first time.

Hopefully, it’s the first of many, and the first of the rest of their lives.