#because he was an entire foot taller than me so it was almost awkward at times???

[m1ckeyb3rry]

icl whenever nagi is standing next to like. isagi or smth it Always makes me giggle because he is so much taller WHEWWWW #needthat

[reiding-writing]

I’d love to know how Spencer meeting cold!reader for the first time went! Like I’d imagine she wasn’t always as soft on him as she is now right?

GREETINGS & SALUTATIONS — SPENCER REID!

you meet spencer reid for the first time.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 0.9k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — this is super short but i wrote it to procrastinate an essay i have due in tomorrow 😭

The air is sharp with the tang of coffee and the subtle rustle of case files as you step into the BAU conference room for the first time.

You're no stranger to these environments—two years of working with the VCAC Program have hardened you to the sterile camaraderie and cautious smiles of seasoned agents. But this is a new team, a fresh start, even if you’re not entirely convinced you need it.

Agent Hotchner stands at the head of the table, his presence as steady and no-nonsense as you expected from your prior phone calls. “You’ve all been briefed on the newest addition to our team,” he says, his deep voice cutting through the quiet murmur of the room. “She’s joining us after transferring from VCAC. Her experience will be invaluable here.”

You nod briefly, scanning the room. There’s a mix of polite smiles and speculative looks, each agent sizing you up in their own way.

One face catches your attention—not because he smiles, but because he doesn’t. A young man with a mop of brown hair and wide, curious eyes hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, studies you like a puzzle he’s already halfway through solving.

He looks too young to be an FBI Agent. But you can’t say much about that yourself.

—

“Your desk will be over here,” Hotch says after the short introductions, gesturing for you to follow him out of the room. You’re led to a desk directly opposite the curious-eyed man, his desk cluttered with neatly stacked books and meticulously arranged pens.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch introduces. “He joined not long before you, so I trust you two will be able to aid in each other’s adapting to working here.”

“Hi—” Spencer blurts, standing too quickly and almost knocking over a coffee mug. He’s taller than you realised, looming slightly as he tries to straighten his tie. You’re grateful he doesn’t try to shake your hand.

You nod curtly. “Hello.”

It was like looking at a perfect opposite of yourself, both in the same situation, but so utterly different in the way you conducted yourselves.

Spencer's smile falters for a fraction of a second before he launches into what can only be described as a deluge of words.

“You know, it's really great to have multiple academic doctors on the team. Statistically, the BAU has a higher concentration of advanced degrees than most FBI units, but even then, it's rare to have two people with different PhDs working in tandem. It reminds me of this study I read about cooperative dynamics in small teams—“

You tune out the rest of his rambling, nodding occasionally out of thinly-veiled politeness while setting your bag on your desk and beginning to unpack. His voice is animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he dives into tangent after tangent.

“—and, of course, there's the entire field of developmental psychology, which is fascinating, especially when applied to criminal behaviour, though some people argue it's more of a soft science compared to neuroscience, but I disagree—“

You glance up, meeting his gaze with a neutral expression. “Sure.” Your tone is flat, your attention already shifting back to arranging your space.

Spencer stammers slightly, clearly searching for a way to salvage the conversation. If you could even call it that. “I-I mean, I guess you probably already know all that, given your background.”

“Yes, I do.” you reply simply, not offering him a lifeline.

There’s an awkward silence as Spencer shifts from one foot to the other. “Where did you complete your degree?”

You bite the urge to tell him you’re not interested in small talk. God knows you’re going to be sat across from him for who knows how long.

“Stanford.”

“Wow,” Spencer’s eyes widen just a tad, nodding. “That’s really impressive,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No—” He back tracks immediately. “Not like— I didn’t mean—” He takes in a sharp breath. “It’s a very good place for Psychology, and I’m sure learning there was a great opportunity for you— Stanford has been held to extremely high academic standards since it was founded, and so the workload has been known to overwhelm a lot of it’s students, especially PhD students, so you having graduated from there is a really impressive feat,”

“It’s a College. Who cares?”

“Right… Uh, well— Welcome to the team,” he says, retreating into the comfort of his desk chair at the dismissal in your tone. You definitely didn’t want to speak to him.

You don’t miss the way he glances at you periodically over the rest of the work day, as if trying to figure out the best way to approach you next time.

You don’t mind that as much. At least he’s not numbing your eardrums anymore.

[whatwooshkai]

Heatwave, H E A T W A V E

Eight letters

Number 8, please :D

Heatwave is not small.

Sure, he might be a little out of the average size class for fire trucks, but that’s negligible! He wasn’t even the shortest of his friend group back in Kaon!

But apparently his size is an anomaly in Iacon, because it’s all anyone can seem to focus on.

He's never been insecure about his size before, he's never had a reason to- but the nicknames are getting to him.

Heatwave is at most maybe half a foot shorter than the second shortest mech in their class, but it's all "Hey, Half-Pint!" "What's up, Runt?" "Shortstack" "Little Guy"-

He is this close to killing someone.

“I have an assistant today who’s joining me from the Autobot Fire Force today,” their usual instructor, Rex, announces. He’s a grizzled old mech who has been nothing but the bane of Heatwave’s existence this entire class.

It’s just Firefighter One, and the damn mech runs it like a fucking boot camp.

The other mechs in the class elbow each other and start whispering. He gets some looks from some of the mechs he's friendly with, the kind you exchange when you know the instructor is going to partner you up.

“Now, I expect all of you to treat Quint with the same respect you treat me,” Rex is saying when Heatwaves tunes back in. "He has graciously offered to spend his day off with you worms, so I will not tolerate any disrespect." He glares pointedly at a pair of giggling mechs, who quickly shut up.

"Alright, at attention!" Everyone's spinal strut snaps straight, and Rex looks over the line of mechs. "Alright, everyone's par, okay." He taps away at his comm a little bit, and a silhouette appears in the doorway.

The first thing Heatwave notices is that the mech has to duck through the doorway. Then he stands to his full height, and holy shit.

He's definitely a size class or two above the average for firetrucks, standing maybe five or six feet taller than the tallest mech in the class. His shoulders alone must be twice the width of Heatwave's!

And then he notices the second pair of arms, tucked neatly against the mech's chassis. Four arms!

The mech appraises them with yellow optics narrowed, mouth set in a small frown. Finials flick from where they're pressed against his helm, and when his shoulders shift, the ladder on his back squeaks slightly.

There’s an odd, dark weld over his upper lip and little spots all over his face- and somehow he simultaneously looks like the oldest and youngest mech Heatwave’s ever seen.

“You got anything to say before we start, Quint?” Rex talks like they’re familiar, like they’re friends, but Quint gives him a detached look.

“It ain’t your Primus-given right to be a firefighter,” Quint starts, and damn, that’s a Kaonite accent if Heatwave’s ever heard one. His accent is unusually thick, like he learned Common the old fashioned way instead of just getting a universal translator installed. “You might all be firetrucks, but you ain’t all cut out for this. So don’t expect me to coddle you.”

“Well said,” Rex says with a solemn nod, and Quint side eyes him. After a suffocatingly awkward moment, Rex claps his hands. "Alright. Truck ops with me, engine ops with Quint. My guys, we're running search evolutions until you can do them blindfolded without killing each other. Engine ops, you're stretching until you drop. Alright, break!"

Quint's gaze immediately lands on Heatwave as he shuffles to join the rest of the engines. Heatwave glares right back, shoulders hiking up to his audials.

"Hey, Runt." Heatwave bristles, whirling on Quint with fangs bared.

"Don't call me that," he snaps, but Quint looks unfazed. The rest of the engines are almost at the training tower, but Quint has hung back specifically to talk to Heatwave. Probably about how it's not my Primus-given right to be a firefighter, he thinks bitterly. Fuck off with all that.

"Do you speak Kaonite?" Quint asks, in Kaonite.

Oh, uh. Not what I was expecting.

Heatwave optics go wide, then narrow. "...Yeah," he says slowly in his native tongue, quashing the thrill of hearing it from his own voice again after so long.

Quint brightens significantly, his finials flicking up happily. He gestures for them to walk. "Your accent ain't strong, but it's there. Universal translator?"

"Yeah. I assume you aren't using one?" This feels weird. He's not quite sure why. Quint's lower two arms have uncrossed and are now swinging at his sides, while the top to gesture as he speaks. Heatwave sidesteps to avoid the swinging ones hitting him.

"Nah, learned the old fashioned way," Quint hums. "But that ain't what I'm here to ask you. Why're you so small?"

Heatwave bristles defensively. "I can't control how small I am, okay? It doesn't matter at all, I'm good at what I do-"

"I ain't sayin' you're bad at this, Runt," Quint interrupts, ignoring Heatwave's angry growl at the nickname. "I'm sayin' you should be bigger."

"What?" Heatwave's tanks suddenly cramp, sending a sharp pain through his tcog. He rapidly tamps down his panic. No, not here, fuck, shit-

"You're like, squashed," Quint continues, making gestures with all four of his hands now. "Like you got more mass than your frame knows what to do with."

Heatwave's tanks cramp again. "Are you calling me fat?" he accuses.

Quint rolls his optics. "No. Forget I said anythin'." He points to the training tower. "Now get over there. You're goin' in first."

Fair enough. Heatwave transforms his smoke mask over his face and gets into position next to his fellow firefighters as Quint begins to shout directions in heavily accented Common again.

His size doesn't matter.

Heatwave tries to forget the interaction.

[moeblob]

You know, I'm sorry for another story time but my life has been very stressed lately and today I got a huge boost. SO.

As some of you may know, I moved states at the end of July and have been here since August 1st basically. Social anxiety is a struggle but I'm making it. And there's this easy to reach by walking convenience store and almost every time I walk there I walk past a gem store. And I think to myself almost every single time "I love the store has a bouncer". I didn't say anything to him at first! But one day I got brave and proceeded to make an absolute FOOL of myself as I am on my way back from buying some sodas and ask him "are you like the store bouncer?"

The man looks at me and smiles and gives a little chuckle and says pretty much yeah? And then I say more awkward things and then promptly leave feeling very embarrassed. I purposefully AVOID that lil corner for a couple days and then finally feel brave enough to walk by cause it's ... like. Literally right by my destination. Man isn't even outside that day and I think phew! I can't be creepy if I can't talk to him!

BUT THEN I SEE THAT HE IS DIRECTLY INSIDE CHATTING TO A WORKER. And he sees me. And smiles and stops whatever conversation he's having and exits the store to say hi. (I am definitely beaming, like a normal person, because I apparently am NOT creepy enough to this man more than a foot taller than me who could easily kick my ass if he wanted) So we just chat. For maybe ten minutes? It's very nice! We have a Very Normal Conversation! I feel better about the first interaction because I had a second interaction.

So now............ today. I am once again wandering around and on my way to lunch when I pass the gem store and I'm like "hello again!" to the gem store bouncer. We begin to chat again and he mentions a pendant they recently appraised that he likes and I, thinking this entire time that the store was ONLY appointment only and I would never be allowed inside, am casually mentioning "yeah, I was born in June and we have three birthstones and like.... none of them are dark enough for me. I mean there's pearl which I'm not a fan of and then moonstone and another." And so he's saying they have a sheet inside to show birthstones so we walk in together to find out the mysterious third stone.

And the sheet only shows pearls. And I'm like "this is a crime against June babies" and then I somehow start talking to one of the female workers and I'm saying "yeah I just kinda like walking by here and seeing the bouncer" and she looks at him and is like "oh I like that." and I admit I have no other idea what to refer to him as (I don't know his name at this point anyway) and she's like "most often security guard."

Ah. Yes. Like a normal person would think. Security. Yes. Not "gem store bouncer". She then leaves to grab a coffee from across the street and I leave with the bouncer and somehow we get into talking about wearing mostly black and how he's pretty goth and then I mentioned a sweatshirt my aunt sent me once saying "I'm only wearing black until they come out with something darker" and he grins and says it's a life motto. Then the woman returns with her coffee and he tells me to tell her what I said, so I repeat it and she looks me dead in the eye and says "that was made for me. Also I love that you called him a bouncer it's hilarious".

I now observe that he (all black suit black shirt black tie) and her (black sweater with black/white striped pants n black shoes) are indeed somehow the gem store goth club. And then she heads back in and he says he's sorry they don't have any cookies to offer me, they normally have cookies in the back for employees, and I'm like "ah no it's fine thank you".

And then I left feeling like I was somehow allowed to join the Cool Goth Club at the gem store.

Anyway, sup, my new favorite person is the goth bouncer at the gem store and he makes me smile so much when I see him.

[harrieatthemet]

Park

I’m baaaaaaack!

In which you take a phone call and Harry can’t do this anymore.

This is uncomfortable.

Not that he’s the bragging type, but he’s been to his fair share of new places. And with new places come a fresh panel of strangers, different energies in a room, new scenery even. He’s seen a lot, been around and experienced enough, so he likes to think that there’s no social scenario that can off put him.

But he was very, very, wrong. And he can’t believe that he had even suggested the idea.

“Could be good fo’ her,” he insisted, “y’know?”

And yes, you did know. In fact you had been keen on the idea for a while and it was him, up until now, who had been adamantly pushing back against the suggestion of inviting in a new chapter. The ‘co-parenting chapter’ not so fondly known by him.

“I love that idea!” and just getting you to agree with him on something made his stomach flutter, which is likely what prompted him to suggest it in the first place.

It’s exactly what landed him here, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. One hand is stuffed awkwardly in his pocket, fingers mindlessly pushing around a piece of lint from the wash. The other has his camera, thumb locked and loaded, so any time Angel Baby decides to look cute (which is always, that’s why he’s got an entire cupboard full of processed digital photos) he’s prepared to eternally document it.

You had set it up nice. Very artistic in a vintage kind of way, that’s what he told you when he met you at the park. And he liked that you packed that Barbie doll angel baby loves, the one that’s been ridden hard and long and was missing a foot.

“She’s gotten bigger,” he mused, a shameless attempt to break the silence.

“Bigger than when she was with you last Thursday?”

He had almost forgotten she’d slept over at Anne’s with him the weekend before. Days in between his time with Angel Baby felt like painfully long, drawn out weeks. A fear of his, regardless of whether or not it was realistic, was that for every minute he spent in separation from her she’d have gotten a little taller or a little older. She’d lose a tooth and he couldn’t play tooth fairy, or she’d have a nightmare and he couldn’t be the one to hold her tight to his chest so she felt safe enough to fall back asleep.

“Everything going good?” Your uppity tone makes his neck twirl to look at you, “like, you know, with the music and the new album?”

He can appreciate you taking interest in his work, and he doesn’t care if you’re just trying to make small talk as the two of you look on at Angel Baby collecting random blades of grass. He’d like to think you’re feeling just as awkward as he is. Are your palms clammy too? He’s wondering if you have that weird, knotted pit in your stomach like he does.

“Yeah,” he nods, “mhm, all good, goin’ real well. S’a process ‘nd all.”

He feels stupid. What a stupid answer, especially because you say nothing back to him and the conversation went right to the graveyard and buried itself 6 feet under.

There was a time where conversations never were like this between the two of you. In fact, they were some of the very best times of his life to date. Not one moment would pass by where the two of you weren’t chatting about something, usually nothing at all really. The banter would ramble on and on. And talking to you felt easy, comforting even, like he had a soundboard to voice off of and a partner who never tired in stimulating his thought process. It never felt like this, like it does right now; forced, uncomfortable, dreary and even a little sad.

“Daddy,” Angel Baby’s voice comes to him in a wave of sing-song, paired with a big grin, “play princesses with me!”

There’s next to nothing in this world that she could ask of him where he wouldn’t immediately agree to her. He’s fully at her Beck and call. No was a word she seldom heard come from Harry, so naturally he agrees.

“I’m gonna answer this call,” and he fights off the frown creeping up on him as he sees your face light up at the caller ID, “do you mind?”

Reluctantly, he shakes his head in a way affirmative enough for you to practically skip off. And when you’re far enough away, out of earshot beneath the shards refuge of an old tree, he lets out the disappointed sigh he’d been swallowing.

“Daddy,” angel baby’s tone is melancholy, frowning as she places her face directly in front of Harry’s, “you’re sad.”

“Sad?” He inquires playfully, though forced, “m’not sad, poppet. Couldn’t be sad when y’with me.”

She doesn’t want to giggle when Harry’s like this, all down in the mouth and out of his element. The two of them are almost alarmingly in sync with one another. When he feels a certain way she never fails to tap into it, like a weird sort of telepathic type of connection. But she can’t ward off the shrill of a belly laugh that bubbles out of her, serene music to Harry’s ears, when he grazes his fingers atop her belly to start tickling her.

“Who was that?”

He doesn’t know why he asked, because that’s rude. And if you don’t tell him, he has to understand that it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to share. He’s not in the position to be invasive anymore, it was a privilege he surrendered when he put his signature on the divorce papers. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to know, just for the sake of curiosity.

“What?”

“On the phone,” he repeats, tone a little more shy, “sorry, was rude of me t’ask.”

“Oh,” your nervous laugh was enough of an answer in itself, “just my sister.”

For all the years you’ve known him, shared a bed with him, woke up in the morning and fell asleep at night with him, if not for the fact that the product of your love for one another was sat beside him eating a cookie and brushing the hair of an American Girl Doll, he’d have liked to think you’d know he’d realize you were lying.

There’s no sense in pressing you though, so he doesn’t. Anymore detail you provided would just be twisting the knife.

He’s bitten off more than he could chew. There was no sufficient amount of mirror pep talks or hours worth of phone calls to his mother that could have prepared him for this. The only time the two of you had really spent together post divorce, before his lackluster suggestion of a family picnic, was at Angel Baby’s birthday party three months ago. Even than, it was chalk full of other people to mingle with and not just the intangible concept of the family unit he had just a year ago.

This is too fucking hard.

“I can’t do this.” He breaths it out almost all in one word, “I really just.. can’t”

He doesn’t want to disappoint Angel Baby, but if he doesn’t leave now he very well may cause a scene in front of the few stray bystanders loitering in the park. So he sturdiest himself up until he can crouch down, stroking the top of Angel Baby’s head before finishing with a long kiss to the part of her hair.

“Can you stay,” she whines, jutting her lip to really put an emphasis on her begging?, “just 3 more!”

He has to refuse, though he wishes he could just tough it out for her. He can’t though, and while you’re bewildered for a minute, a good look at the expression on his face tells you exactly why he’s in such a rush to book it to his car.

“You can stay,” you insist, to which Angel Baby violently nods in agreement, “and we can walk to the edge of the pond to-“

“I can’t” and now his voice is completely defeated, “(Y/N), I really can’t,”

You let out a defeated, solemn sigh, “Harry we talked about this. It’s not gonna be easy but with time-“

“S’never gonna ease with time,” and now he’s getting up to leave, “m’trying but I just can’t, this is too hard,”

And as excruciatingly hard as it was to play his role in the united family forefront bit, something he used to never have to force, walking away with his back to you was even harder.

This, all of it, is just too fucking hard.

[mercy-burning]

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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[wri0thesley]

nat something about toji drives me absolutely feral, can i have a scenario or something where he meets reader at a bar and they have a steamy one night stand i don’t know i just want this beeg beefy dilf to absolutely ruin my puthy (fem reader please!)

anon, i really hope you have a corruption kink

Favourite (So Far) - Toji x Fem!Reader (5k)

Toji sees you sitting alone at a bar; all quiet and soft and unsure, and absolutely begging to be ruined - and he decides he can help with that.

warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. not sfw, mentions of murder. corruption kink, virgin reader, dacryphilia, fingering, coming inside, dirty talk. 

Toji normally doesn’t bother lingering after he’s held up his end of the bargain, but the money is burning a hole in his pocket and the minute he’d left the body of the man he’d been hired to kill locked in the back office of the bar, he’d remembered you.

He estimates he’s got a good half an hour before anyone realises the man is dead. If they’d wanted him to clear up after himself, they should have written it in the contract – still, with how awkward you’d looked and how your eyes kept darting about the place, Toji is pretty sure he’ll have you away from the bar and with his arm around your waist in . . . ooh, ten minutes? Fifteen, at a push.

He knows your type.

You’re uncomfortable, watching your friends go off and flirt and dance – pulling at your skirt (you’re uncomfortable in that, too), tugging your thin shirt up to cover your chest, ordering something non-alcoholic and looking morosely at it. Your eyes avoiding when men try and catch your gaze, your posture tensing – he’s pretty certain that you do not want to be here, and Toji is going to offer you an alternative that he thinks you might prefer.

You don’t notice him until he’s right beside you (people never do), leaning in against your ear, one of his arms slapping on the bar beside you, caging you in on your barstool. You start, moving back, blinking your pretty eyes at him in clear surprise, your mouth a soft ‘o’ – ah. Toji can tell you’re the kind of girl who isn’t used to male attention, who doesn’t think that you’re anything special. Shy. Probably untouched-- he’s grinning at you, and he doesn’t miss the little swallow, the flash of interest in your eyes (girls like you always like the idea of getting involved in something a little dangerous)--

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?”

The voice is rough and low and dark, startling you from your reverie. Your friends have all, indeed, long gone – after sighing at you that you’re no fun, that they shouldn’t have asked you to come out with them anyway – you’re surprised by the man it belongs to, all raven hair and piercing green eyes and a scar on his lip that your eyes can’t help but trace the line of – how does somebody end up with a scar like that?

“Oh,” you bluster, feeling embarrassed and unsure by the way he’s looking at you, the easy way he throws out the pet name, the casual authority he’s emanating by how you’ve been caged. “I’m-- I don’t really--”

He chuckles.

“Me neither,” he says. “Lemme get you somethin’ soft, then--”

It would be easier, he thinks, if you had agreed – if you’d been softened a little bit by the buzz of alcohol. Still, he knows that what he gives off is heady enough that you’ll come with him anyway – he doesn’t drink himself, so he’s not exactly going to blame you for wanting to keep your wits about you. Smart thing, for all of how vulnerable you look in a short skirt and high heels and a low-cut top. He’s ordered something for you before you can refute – you can’t deny to yourself that it’s nice. It’s nice to have someone be interested in you. It’s nice, too, that said someone is rugged and six foot something with corded veins and muscle in thick biceps and forearms.

You’re staring at him, and Toji allows it, letting his own gaze crawl across your pretty face, your body, the way the cheap lights of this dive are picking out the shine in your eyes and the gloss of your lipstick.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doin’ on her own somewhere like this?” He asks you, lifting the glass to his lips. You try not to stare at them, though your stomach is twisting. You shrug, awkwardly.

“I got dragged here by some friends,” you say, inclining your head towards the dance-floor, where your friends are very much living up to their earlier assertion that they were going to have a wild time and if you weren’t going to join in, then you could just wallow in your misery.

“Ah,” he raises his eyebrows, eyes briefly brushing over where you’d indicated before returning to you. Something about the way that those eyes are pinning you like a butterfly to a cork board makes you squirm, heat curling in your lower belly. Nobody has ever looked at you like that before. This man is staring at you like he wants to take you apart, and it’s exhilarating. “You not the dancin’ sort, huh?” Another swallow. The bob in his throat is mesmerising. “Can’t blame ya. Pretty thing like you’s probably inundated with attention the minute y’get out there--”

You laugh, softly, heat rising to your cheeks. Toji can’t help but think how cute that is – you’re so obviously unaware of yourself. When he gets you on your back, he knows you’ll have that certain kind of naivety that never fails to get him hard and aching in his pants; wide eyes and bitten lips and breath dying in your throat at the touch of his teeth and hands and cock.

“Nothing like that,” you say, “I just--”

Your eyes catch something. Toji looks too, as you’re interrupted by a pretty girl tottering up to you both in an even shorter skirt and even higher heels. Her eyes linger on Toji, a fraction too long, before she turns to you and pouts and says your name, making you wince. There’s a whining tone to her voice.

She’s complaining that someone’s spilt a drink over her, and Toji sees now that her expensive-looking shirt is stained dark brown. He hadn’t noticed the scent of beer wafting from her because of the overall air of the bar is absolutely saturated in it, but now that she’s right there . . . he wrinkles his nose.

“You have to come home with me, nobody else will,” she tugs on your arm. “And you said you weren’t having fun anyway, so you can always stay there, but I need to change out of this--”

There’s a world-weary quality in your eyes. Something that suggests to Toji that you’re used to being the designated person to take care of your friends, to dropping things to clean up after them – those big eyes and the downturn of your mouth and the softness of your voice all suggest to him that maybe part of the reason you’re so demure, so . . . innocent . . . is because you haven’t had a chance to explore anything else.

Toji drapes a thick arm around your shoulders. You jump at the contact – but almost as if it’s against your will, you nestle into him. Closer to him. A prey animal knows when it’s being protected, after all – even if it doesn’t know, yet, that he’s the predator.

“We’re a bit busy here,” he says, keeping his tone affable with a knife-sharp edge. The girl opens her mouth, as if she’s going to protest – but Toji grins, his eyes darkening, his mouth tilting to show just a little bit too much teeth. He lets himself draw himself up a little taller, so that his breadth and his height and the taut muscles beneath his tight shirt are unarguable. Your friend falters, shoots you a look, and then shrugs.

“F-fine,” she says, “I’ll go on my own--”

She walks away, pouting, storm clouds rising off of her. You’re trembling imperceptibly (adorable) – he thinks this might be the first time you’ve ignored one of your friends. Eager to please little thing, he supposes – the kind of person who wants to be liked and will do almost anything to keep it that way, with big doe eyes and a trembling lip and your chest thrust out unconsciously.

Oh, he will ruin you, and you’ll thank him for it afterwards.

“Sorry if I’m oversteppin’ my boundaries there,” he says to you, and you look at him with your eyes big and wide and wet your lips, his cock giving an answering throb. You breathe very softly;

“N-no, thank you, it’s . . . it’s nice to not have to deal with them, for once--”

Toji leans further into you, his arm not leaving your shoulders – close enough that his breath tickles the shell of your ear, and your brain short-circuits at a handsome older man leaning so close and intimately to you.

“You don’t wanna stay here, though, do ya?” His other hand is suddenly on your leg, calloused fingertips brushing the soft skin of your thigh. Your heart skips a beat, your body reacting – threads of heat sewing themselves into knots between your thighs. “You wanna split?”

His eyes do not stray to the clock behind the bar, but he estimates it’s been about eleven minutes. Longer than he was expecting, but – as you bite your lip and stand up, letting his fingertips drag dangerously close to the part of you between your legs, Toji decides it’s worth it.

His place is nothing special. For a man as well-paid as he is, you’d expect something a little classier, maybe – but for a man with the kind of profession Toji Fushiguro has, he doesn’t spend much time in it. He’s too busy travelling to care about it beyond anything other than a place to crash, eat, and bring home his conquests. And you don’t seem disgusted by it as he pushes you roughly into the room, arm locking around your waist, mouth dipping to taste you – so Toji doesn’t worry about it too much.

You’re still trembling against him, your entire body thrumming with energy that you’re not used to – but that all works to his advantage. It works to the advantage of directing you into his room, until your back hits the bed with a soft ‘whoomph’ of air and Toji is kneeling over you, your eyes big and wide and blown as they look up at him.

You’d been so easy to convince back here. You’d made a couple of quiet whispers about how you shouldn’t, the way that good girls like you do – but his fingers had cupped your cheek and his body had pressed against yours and he’d smiled that dangerous knife-edge smile and you’d been putty in his hands, trembling kneed and so very adaptable as you’d walked beside him with your breath unsteady in your chest at your own daring.

Now, though, with a man’s bed behind you and a man’s cock digging into your stomach where he has you caged underneath him, things are beginning to feel far more real. You take another shuddering breath, not meeting his eyes as you whisper;

“I—I haven’t--”

Oh, fuck. If you knew what those little words did to him – if you could have heard the monster roaring in his chest at how excited he was that he’d not only get to utterly ruin you, but to get to be the first one to do it . . . He’d let himself hope, based on your way of holding yourself all demure and prim, that you’d be a virgin, but to hear it from your own lips with your skin rapidly heating up under the confession.

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Toji practically coos at you, as his big fingers go to your shirt, tugging it off with expert precision. “I ain’t gonna break you—”

(Well. Not in any way you aren’t going to beg for.)

Breath caught in your throat as your bra is unclipped, the lacy garment dropped onto the floor. His own shirt follows – you can barely stop yourself ogling him, the firm abdominal muscles, the scars across his pectorals. You can tell, based on how many scars he’s bearing, just how dangerous the man above you must be.

The one like a starburst is a bullet scar, you’re pretty sure. The one wrapping around his side is too big to be anything but a knife or a sword – this is a man involved in something dangerous, something shady – and even that isn’t enough to get you to ask him to stop.

Staring down at your newly exposed breasts, Toji can’t resist leaning in; sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth across the sensitive bud, lapping at it until your back arches and you whimper so prettily that it goes straight through him and straight to his cock. The wet kisses trail back up to your neck, blunt teeth tugging at your skin, sucking quickly stinging bruise marks into the skin so that everybody will know what this cute little virgin was up to last night--

A rough tug to your earlobe makes you moan. A nip to your lower lip makes you practically mewl. And his rough fingertips pushing up your skirt to your waist, letting his fingers dig into your plush thighs so hard that there’s no way you won’t be marked with fingerprints tomorrow – that makes you whine.

“You like bein’ pushed around a little bit, cutie?” The pet name, again, has blood rushing to your face and heat rushing to between your legs. You’re suddenly so very aware of how slick you are, how your underwear is clinging to the folds of your sex. How much of that is his fingers and how much of it is his voice and how much of it is how exposed you are in front of him, you don’t know – but you bite your lip and avert your gaze, and this just seems to spur him on. Both of you know the answer: yes. Yes, you do like being pushed around a little bit--

“These are soaking wet,” he tells you, as the matching lacy underwear to your bra is peeled off of you. He readjusts himself, grabbing your thigh and pressing your knee against your chest so that he can move his hips between your two legs as well as get a proper look at what you’ve been hiding beneath the tiny skirt – he lets out a low whistle, those green eyes greedily drinking you in like you’re a painting hung in an art gallery. “Well, look at you. Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He sees how the compliment makes you squirm at the same time as it makes your cute little hole, exposed thanks to the stretch of your leg, flutter around nothing. He might break you if he doesn’t prepare you properly; you’re so small, and it’s been a real long time since he bedded a virgin--

One of his fingers drags through your slick with no preamble, brushing your fluttering hole, and the noise catches in your throat – halfway between a whimper and a soft sigh, a noise that does not serve to do anything but make him repeat the motion, gathering your glimmering arousal on the same thick digit. He brings it to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you.

“Mm, you should taste yourself,” he says to you, eyes glinting. “You’re like honey, sweetheart--” Toji doesn’t wait for you to say yes or no. His finger pushes past your lips, so you’re forced to taste yourself on his fingertips, brushing over your tongue. His eyes focus very deeply on you, like you’re the only thing in his orbit worth paying attention to. “Why don’t you give my finger a suck, darlin’? You’ll want it as wet as you can get it--”

Not that you’re not plenty wet enough. But there’s something so endearing about the feel of your tongue hesitantly licking at him, the shine of your eyes. If he wasn’t hard enough to cut diamonds, he would have you suck his cock first, if only to see those pretty lips wrapped around his shaft and to hear you choke a little bit, to see your makeup go runny and messy and ruined--

“Atta girl,” he says, roughly, pulling his finger out (the trail of drool sends another of those throbs of heat through him). The finger drags over your slit again, parting the plump lips – and then, he’s pushing his finger inside you, your walls pulsing around him. You’re so fucking tight. He knows you weren’t lying about being a virgin – the gasp that dies in your throat, the hand that tangles in his bedsheets, the little lift of your hips to help him along – all of those are things that are entirely sensation responses, not in the least calculated, and Toji loves that.

The finger pumps in and out of you, helped along by your slick, until he can press another alongside it and scissor them gently, stretching out your channel in preparation for what you’re going to take in a matter of minutes. Your teeth keep digging into your bottom lip, as if you’re afraid to make too much of a noise – he chuckles as he brushes your swollen clit with his thumb.

“C’mon,” he growls, “don’t hold out on me. Lemme hear you--”

Oh, you’re so embarrassed – but you’re also, he can tell, the kind of girl who can’t resist an order. You let your mouth relax, drop open – and next time his thumb rubs firmly across your clit, the noise is caught only by the ceiling above you both. He makes some little noise of praise that you can’t fully discern, because now he’s started pulling forth your pleasure he doesn’t want to stop. Three fingers. His thumb, toying with your clit, rubbing firm circles with it as he feels your channel clench and quiver around his fingers. He rubs at the textured spot on your inner walls and you groan, your other hand gripping his forearm, your brow forming sweat. Your hips are circling, needy, in search of more stimulation.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Toji asks you, his voice like cigarettes and leather. “C’mon. Let me see-- let me feel your pretty cunt clench--”

Something about the dirty words pushes you over the edge and you tumble down a dark hole, fireworks exploding inside of you, stars bursting into being behind your eyelids as pleasure washes over you in great waves. You soak Toji’s fingers, your walls sucking him in deeper and deeper.

Your breath comes in great pants, the aftershocks of your orgasm still gently rippling through you even as Toji pulls his fingers out of you. You look up at the man as he adjusts himself with his other hand, as if in a haze – and as if in a haze, when he roughly pushes those three fingers back into your mouth, you suckle on them with your mind and thoughts all misty. All you can think about is him. That’s what he wanted, anyway – cute little demure virgin, cock drunk even without him fucking you properly – he breaks girls like you on the regular, but you might be one of his favourites.

He tugs down his pants enough to reveal his flushed cock, curving to lay against his stomach, hard and leaking precome from a reddened tip. Your eyes widen (he always loves that moment), as you realise why he took pains to prepare you with his fingers.

“Whaddya think?” He asks you, teasing, wrapping his fist around the shaft. Even his big hands around it do nothing to make it look smaller, and you barely realise that you’re staring until he slaps your thighs with it, streaking his own wetness all over you. “You’ll give a man a complex, sweetheart--”

“I-I don’t have much to compare it to,” you say, desperately, heated and needy even though you literally just came. You want him inside you. You never thought you’d be so easily broken down into wanting to be fucked, but here you are – something primal inside of you is awoken by the size of his cock and the glitter in his eyes and the sculpted muscle, and you want to be desecrated. “Y-you look big--”

He laughs at that. Yeah, you definitely don’t have much to compare it to if that’s your take-away. Still. It’s cute, how you’ve spread your legs a little wider, how you’re not hiding the fact you’re looking at him like he’s some kind of angel who’s finally granted you a taste of the celestial city.

“I feel big too,” he tells you, with a smirk that rattles you to your core. “Wanna find out?”

When you nod, he grins – those big hands take a hold of your thighs, pressing both of your knees to your chest this time. He takes a moment to enjoy you in this position – those wide eyes, the lewd splay of your legs revealing the glimpse of your cunt still tantalisingly shining with the remnants of your orgasm. You squirm under his hungry gaze, exposed – and that does nothing to quell the hunger that seems to be thrumming through Toji, with every clench and wriggle.

“Good,” he tells you, rubbing his cock through the mess you’ve made of yourself, making sure the head nudges your clit and he can see the way you shiver. “You’re bein’ such a good girl for me--”

He catches on your entrance and you let out a keen. With your knees pressed to your chest, you’re unable to get a grip on Toji’s shoulders, and you have to console yourself with fisting the bedsheets beneath you (rumpled even before you’d ended up there).

The position he’s got you in means that you feel every ridge of his cock, every vein, every throb – inch by inch, as he sheaths himself slowly inside you. He can’t help but watch as your jaw goes slack, as your eyes cloud with the feeling of him entering you – as tears bead in the corner of your eyes at the burn and stretch--

Oh, fuck, the tears. He wonders if you feel the way that his cock seems to harden at that, at how pretty you look all glassy-eyed and helpless and trying to take him. He’s maybe two thirds in and almost at the limit of forward motion, but you whimper, letting your head fall back--

“P-please,” you say, “I—I can take it--”

He laughs, low and dangerous. He leans in, brushes his lips over your sweat slicked forehead. His tone is syrupy sweet when he speaks, as he angles his hips just so that he sinks another aching inch into the sweet kiss of your tight cunt.

“Oh, I know you will, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sounding almost like a threat. His eyes flash downwards, to see how tightly you’re clinging to him – how big his cock looks, disappearing into your slick sex. How the glistening ring of your need coats him. Just a bit further – watching himself claim you is almost hypnotic.

He wants to see you on your hands and knees, watch his cock stretch you out that way. He wants to see you gag and choke and drool around his cock, wants to see your small hands wrap around him, wants to have you in every position until you’re so fucked silly you can barely move--

But for now, he hilts inside of you, his balls slapping against your slick skin. His face splits into a smile as his eyes travel back up, to the bulge in your stomach that he knows is from just how big his cock is, to your thighs trembling even with him keeping them prone against you. You’re so cute. The tears have spilled past the rim of your eyelids now, wetting your cheeks – they’re so maddeningly sexy, on your pretty face. He’s not going to last half as long as he wants to, he doesn’t think – not when you’ve been driving him to distraction since the moment he laid eyes on you.

He can barely remember he killed a man less than an hour ago.

That’s old news, unimportant compared to how your walls flutter around him as he pulls out. Unimportant compared to the arch of your back, the rock of your breasts, the great gasps of air.

He’s not a kind man, but he doesn’t go out of his way to be an asshole to his conquests – so he lets you get used to the rolling rhythm of his hips, slowly. He doesn’t piston his hips in and out of you, not at first. He lets the slow drag of his cock on your sensitive inner walls make you shiver, make you gasp and moan and whimper. And only after he’s earned the light hump of your hips against his, searching for the sensation yourself, does he let himself fuck you the way he wants to.

He wants to record the moan-squeak-whimper of surprise as he begins to pump his hips in earnest. It’s a noise he’s heard before, but coming from your pretty mouth it seems all the more potent. His hips jerk into you and out of you, the noise of skin slapping against skin very loud in the bedroom. The slick noises of his cock driving in and out of your tight cunt would be shaming if it didn’t feel so good, if you didn’t get a shock of want every time his body ground against your clit on the inner thrust.

You lose track of time, with the dangerous man you met at the bar bent over you. He mouths greedily at your lips, seeming to treasure every noise you make and swallow it down his throat like a sweet candy – he bites at your neck, at your throat, the grip on your thighs never faltering for a moment. You can do nothing but let yourself be folded in half, and let him fuck you like an animal.

That seems right. He’s rutting into you deep and hungrily, almost feral in his enjoyment of your body. He drops one of your legs suddenly, letting it hit the mattress, readjusting his hips so that one of his hands can dive between you and--

He’s playing with your clit again. The pads of his fingers are rough, and you wonder if he handles a gun like the one that gave him that starburst scar. You wonder how dangerous these fingers are, the ones that were buried inside you and are now coaxing your poor, swollen clit to another orgasm.

“Come on, baby girl,” he growls, pressing harder, making your thighs jump with tension. “Wanna feel you come with my cock buried in that pretty little cunt--”

You whimper, throwing your head to the side and letting a cry out into the pillow like a mewl. Toji would be mad that you’d stifled the cute little noise, if the sight of you submissively showing him your neck (one of your softest parts) hadn’t scratched an itch for dominance inside of him – and if the feel of your body clenching and pulsating around his cock wasn’t currently finally pushing him over the edge, making him judder his hips against you as he shoots rope after rope of his come directly inside of you.

Your shoulders are heaving with the effort of the orgasm that’s still ricocheting through you, your toes curling, your body clenching and soaking Toji’s cock with your orgasm. You don’t even realise he’s come inside of you until he pulls out slightly and you wince at the feel of that same come, his load far too thick and full to not have a bit of it trickling out of your stretched hole. Toji admires the look of it; darkened from his persistent thrusts, your syrupy slick mixing with the thick pearly white of his seed.

“Y-you came inside me,” you say, your voice half-clogged with the tears that are still glistening on your cheeks (a low pulse of heat in his groin. His refractory period has always been short – and with a cute little thing like you in his bed, who can blame him for wanting to fuck you again almost immediately?). “I—I don’t even know your name--”

Oh, shit. He’d quite forgotten. He knows yours from the girl in the bar (that already feels like a lifetime ago). He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, the kind of confusion that seems to say ‘good girls don’t do this, I would never do this, who is this stranger wearing my skin with a man’s come making their thighs sticky?’. It’s part of the process of breaking that Toji loves so much.)

“Sure did, darlin’,” he says, absent-mindedly scooping some of the come that’s oozed out of you and pressing it back inside. He wins a whimper for that, one that’s definitely not ‘stop’. “You’re still so sensitive.”

If you notice he doesn’t give you his name in response to your question, you don’t say anything. As his fingers gently circle your entrance again, as his hand brushes your thigh and you shiver, he sees that you unconsciously spread your legs even further apart for his explorations. Oh, you’re so cute.

One lone finger, gently grazing your clit, makes your hips jerk, your voice break in a way that’s all needy. You look at Toji through those tear-darkened eyes, your lips bitten to puffiness, your lipstick and mascara and eyeliner all messed up on your face from crying and biting your lip and drooling. Adorable. Girls like you always look best like this, their polish scuffed when Toji’s taken them to bed and stripped away all of their defences.

Girls like you, Toji always manages to get to move their hips against his ministrations. He always manages to have them gasp, whimper, break--

You’re not the first one in his bed, and you probably won’t be the last. But as he grins at you and asks;

“Well, sweetheart. I’ll give you a choice. Y’wanna take a shower and I’ll call you a cab or somethin’ and you can head off home? Or,” he drops his voice low, drags his eyes over your prone form, brushes his lips over your stomach. They flutter against the soft skin, his breath a hot wash that makes goose flesh prickle all over you. “Y’wanna spend the night?”

And you bite your lip before nodding, nervously running your hand through his hair, your body near trembling with need--

Well. As he asks that and you answer, he really does think you might be his favourite one ever.

[storiesforallfandoms]

caught feelings ~ corpse husband

part one

word count: 1776

request?: sort of?

description: after talking for some, the two of them decide to meet in person

pairing: corpse x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

You and Corpse regularly talked and Skyped after that night. He would regularly invite you to play Among Us with the gang, and you’d end up talking for hours on end before and after. You became someone that Corpse confided in when he was having bad mental health days or insomnia at night, and he became someone you talked to when you felt alone.

One day you were in the middle of making something to eat when your phone rang. It was the familiar ringtone for Corpse. You silently cursed to yourself as you quickly washed your hands and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“What took you so long to answer?”

You couldn’t help but smile at hearing his familiar voice. “Hey, have some patience. I was doing something.”

“Something more important than talking to me?”

“There’s a lot of things more important than talking to you.”

“Ouch.”

You giggled at his response. Before you could say anything else, Corpse asked you, “Where do you live currently, by the way?”

“I live in Los Angeles,” you responded. “I moved out here some time ago. Sean had convinced me to start my own YouTube channel, and I did for a while, but realized it wasn’t my passion. Why do you ask?”

“I live in San Diego. I was thinking...that’s only two hours from Los Angeles...maybe we could meet up sometime. Actually meet one another.”

You were shocked by the request. He really wanted to meet you? Not just video call, but actually meeting face to face? You weren’t sure why, but that really surprised you.

“I-I’d love to meet in person,” you finally responded, realizing you had been silent for way too long. “Do you want to drive here, or me to you, or...?”

“Well...not to be too presumptive or anything, but I was going to ask if you’d like to come here and stay for a while...maybe like a week or two.”

Your heart was fluttering with excitement. You wanted nothing more than to scream and jump for joy like a child, but you knew you couldn’t be that forward with Corpse so soon. Instead, you took a deep, calming breath and responded, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Okay. Okay, cool.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “We can work out all the details later.”

When you both hung up, you excitedly jumped around your kitchen.

~~~~~~

Nearly a week later, you were nearing the end of your two hour drive to Corpse’s place. You kept anxiously checking the GPS every few minutes, hoping to be there soon. The entire ride felt so long, you just wanted to get to his place.

When you finally pulled up to his apartment you were shacking with nervousness and excitement. You got out of the car and approached the apartment door. You hesitated a moment before knocking on the door. Near seconds later, Corpse greeted you.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face the minute you saw him. His face mirrored yours and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies being able to see his smile in person.

Without hesitation, Corpse took you in his arms and hugged you tightly. You melted into his embrace, feeling as though you really belonged there, and as though you never wanted to let go.

“It’s nice to finally meet you like in person,” he said once he pulled away. “You’re definitely as small as I pictured you being.”

“Hey!” you playfully scolded. “You’re only a foot taller than me, that’s not a major difference!”

“It’s major enough,” he teased. “Let me help you bring your things in.”

You only had packed two bags as you were only planning on staying for about a week and a half. You figured it was only a two hour drive back to your place if you needed to restock on clothes, and you and Corpse had already agreed that you wouldn’t be leaving the apartment enough to have to change outfits too much from day to day.

He led you into his apartment and showed you to the guest bedroom. It was a small room with only a bed, a closet and a bedside table.

“I don’t get a lot of guests that use this bedroom,” he admitted. “Never found much use of buying furniture for this room.”

“I have a feeling I won’t be spending too much time in this room anyways, so it’s fine.”

Upon realizing what you said, you felt your face flush with embarrassment. You tried to correct yourself, but it just came out as a string of stutters. Corpse smirked at you before turning to leave the room. You sighed heavily and followed him.

“I don’t know what kind of food you like but we can go to the grocery store later if you want,” he said as you followed him into his kitchen. “I have mainly frozen stuff because I just do quick meals or I order delivery.”

“I order so much delivery, we can just go halfs on food.”

“I knew I was going to like having you here.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Corpse’s words.

You were both silent after that. Neither of you really knew what else to say. It seemed like, when you weren’t face to face, it was easy to say just about anything. But now...now you couldn’t think of a single topic to bring up.

It wasn’t really an awkward silence, though. It almost felt comforting to just be stood there with him, to be in the same room instead of looking at each other through a computer screen.

“I have an idea,” he finally said. “Why don’t we order some take out and watch a movie tonight. Whatever you want to watch, even a cheesy rom-com.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like cheesy rom-coms,” you teased. “But okay, I’d like that a lot.”

~~~~~~

After you fully unpacked your bags, and after Corpse had recorded a video to upload the next day, the two of you sat on his couch to watch the movie you had picked. You both decided to order some pizza, so when it arrived you set it out on Corpse’s coffee table and hit play on the movie.

Halfway through eating the pizza, you began to feel full. You finished your last piece and leaned back, instinctually cuddling into Corpse’s side. Realizing what you had done, you immediately moved away from him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said.

He gave you a confused look. “Why? I didn’t mind.”

Before you could respond, Corpse wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him. You settled into his side, taking in his scent and his warmth. Being in his arms felt natural, like you belonged there. And you definitely had no intentions of leaving that spot any time soon.

You were halfway through the movie when you blurted out, “Do I meet the expectations you had?”

Corpse looked down at you. “What do you mean?”

You pulled away from his embrace to properly look at him. “Like...did you have any expectations about me when we were just talking virtually? And if you did, does the real life version of me meet them?”

He seemed shocked by your question. “No, I didn’t have any expectations. I just...I hoped you’d be the same sweet, dorky girl I had been talking to for weeks, and you are. I didn’t think there was much else that would be different about you.” He paused a moment before asking, “Did you have any expectations for me?”

You shook your head. “No, you’re exactly as I thought you’d be.”

“Okay, good. So, we’ve got that out of the way.”

You nodded and settled back into Corpse’s arms again. You had your head over his heart and you could feel its steady beating. It was almost enough to lull you to sleep, until Corpse spoke again.

“Why did you ask if I had any expectations of you?”

You sighed and pulled away from him again. “I...always have this fear in making new friends online. I’m afraid that I’m setting myself up to let the person I’m being friendly with down because I’m not going to meet any expectations they have of me. Sean is really the only online friend I’ve made and kept being friends with because he refused to let me rescind into myself when he started asking to meet in person. It’s also why I never really kept up with my YouTube channel, because I was afraid of projecting this false persona and then when people meet me in real life I’m not what they expected.”

Corpse put a hand on your arm gently, almost as if testing the boundaries, before moving closer. You expected him to pull you into a hug and tell you that your worries were silly (Sean had done the same when you had met him in person first). You were taken by surprise when he cupped your face instead and kissed you.

You weren’t sure how to react at first. No guy had ever been so forward in making a move on you. Every first kiss you had had with an ex had been you making the first move, or you asking if they’d want to kiss you before they did. It took a while for your brain to process what was happening before yelling at you, Just kiss him back you idiot!

You ran your hands through Corpse’s curly black hair, pulling him closer to kiss him more deeply. His hands were gently cupping your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks before he pulled your head away.

“You’re everything I expected, and more,” he admitted. “You don’t know how happy I am to have you here. It’s been so long since I’ve felt comfortable having someone in my apartment, especially someone I’ve only known a short while. But I feel so comfortable with you, like I can trust you. Maybe...maybe too comfortable, though. I should’ve asked before I kissed you, I just got lost in the moment.”

You giggled. “If you had asked I would’ve said yes.”

The smile on Corpse’s face warmed your heart and made you feel tingly inside. “Well then...can I do it again?”

You laughed before pulling him to you, kissing him again. You could feel him smile against your lips as he pushed you back onto the couch, causing you to exclaim in surprise as he jumped on top of you and began to kiss you again.

It’s safe to say you both forgot the movie and the pizza after that.

[guardianofrivendell]

I’ve Got You

Fíli x fem!reader  

Requested: Yes, by me 😂, based on this post 

Warnings: Jealous and worried Fili, cheeky Kíli, awkward Thorin and angst if you squint 

A/N: It’s finally here! A whopping 7k (when I made the outline of the story I thought about 1.5k, 2k tops but then I added a subplot and I kept going and going...) I wrote this as a treat for myself because selflove is very important and I have no shame.  Special thanks to @katethewriter��� for her advice, grammar check and helping me calm down when I thought this was rubbish!

A/N2: Another reminder that English isn’t my native language, so I’m sorry if it’s not as poetic as it should be. That’s the fault of my lack of decent English vocabulary.

Every quest comes with the possibility of danger, injury or even death. It was drilled into you by your parents, but that didn’t stop you from joining your two friends Fíli and Kíli on their quest to reclaim their home. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do and besides, you never went on an adventure before. How could you say no to such an opportunity? Not even the prospect of traveling with 13 male dwarves could stop you. You liked them, they liked you. This would be like one giant sleepover! There was some small protest from your future companions, mainly Thorin and Dwalin, who didn’t want to take you with them. A tiny woman like yourself on this dangerous quest? You would only slow them down. That’s what they said to you, but the main reason was they only wanted to protect you; keep you safe from all the dangers of the quest. After you asked them again and again - maybe even begged, but you’d never admit it to anyone - and you promised them you could take care of yourself and they needed your skills, and after both Fíli and Kíli had promised to keep an eye on you and keep you safe, Thorin reluctantly agreed. 

The journey had only been going on for a few weeks, when the two brothers broke their promise. It was the umpteenth day of constant hiking, climbing and trudging through mud, water and dirt. Gandalf had left the company, and it had affected everyone’s mood for the worst. You kept yourself at the back of the group the entire day, feet and legs sore from the constant walking, but unwilling to say something about it. You had promised you wouldn’t be a burden, so you weren’t going to be one. 

In the late afternoon you reached a gully with a rickety looking bridge. On the other side, about 100 yards from the edge was a thickly wooded forest that seemed to go on forever. You didn’t know why but it gave you the creeps. A shiver ran across your spine, making you shake your shoulders and Kíli raised an eyebrow at you. He and Fíli took turns walking next to you to keep you company, and today it was his turn. You gestured to him it was nothing, but he kept an eye on you just in case. It wasn’t like you to be this quiet and he was starting to get worried. Maybe this quest was too much for you after all. “We will cross the bridge, and take our rest for the night at the edge of the forest,” Thorin ordered. It wasn’t even near supper time yet, but the dwarven King had noticed his company was getting tired. An extra few hours of rest would do them good, and hopefully lift up their spirits. The otherwise rambunctious and loud group of dwarves were too quiet for his liking.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, Y/N,” Fíli asked you with a worried look, noticing you had been walking slower than before. He had been trying to talk to you before, but Thorin took his constant attention. Now that they were rearranging the weight in their packs in preparation to cross the bridge - that didn’t seem like they could hold their weight, Fíli thought - he had a few minutes to himself. You smirked at him. “I could say the same thing about you, Fee.” He gave you a wide smile. When you were done repacking your bag under the watchful eye of the two brothers, you waited for further instructions from Thorin. 

Dwalin had to go first, and Bombur second. If they could make it to the other side, the bridge would be safe for all of you. The bridge was in ruin, but seemed solid enough. It creaked and groaned when Dwalin slowly crossed it, and everyone thought it would break under Bombur’s weight but it surprisingly held on.

Fíli had to go next, and he looked back at you. “See you on the other side, mimûna,” he teased. (little one) You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but couldn’t stop the blood rising in your cheeks. Even though you were 4 inches taller than him, he still called you little. For a human you were on the small side, true, but what you lacked in height you’d like to think you made up for in fierceness. You hated and loved the nickname. You were the only one fortunate enough to get one - aside from his brother of course - and it made you feel important. Like you mattered. 

The others of the company slowly made their way over the bridge, one by one. It took some time because they couldn’t rush, carefully taking every step, testing the remaining strength of the next log. It seemed to you the ropes of the bridge were making more noise, and most of the logs were creaking so loud you expected them to break at any moment. Every crack made you flinch. Kíli noticed your discomfort. He was about to make the crossing, but decided he would stay with you. Ori shook his head before he took Kíli’s place. 

When everyone else had crossed the gully, only you and Kíli were left. “You go ahead, Kee, I’ll be right behind you,” you said to him. He watched you for a few seconds, before turning his head to the forest, where Fíli was. His brother would kick him into next week if he would let anything happen to you. “You sure?” “Yes! Go on, I’ll be fine,” you assured him. 

You took a few deep breaths when Kíli was halfway down the bridge, knowing it was almost your turn. The others didn’t wait for you, all of them eager to reach the forest so they could rest their feet and have a nice hot meal. When Kíli finally reached the end, one of the logs broke off and he could barely hold himself up on the tattered rope. He jumped over the hole and landed on the edge with a thump. He immediately threw his pack aside and turned around, gesturing at you to start walking. 

“Just go slow,” he yelled. I’d rather just start running and get it over with, you thought but decided against it. You carefully put one foot over the other, hands clamped over the ropes. The logs started groaning heavily under your weight and you didn’t know whether to be terrified or insulted. You decided to freeze instead. “Y/N?” Kíli asked. “It’s okay to be scared! Just look at me alright?” “I’m not scared,” you yelled back. “I just don’t trust this bridge!” Against your better judgment, you looked down. The gully seemed a lot deeper from up here! “No, look at me! Keep your eyes locked in mine, I know you want to!” Kíli laughed, his joking nature never too far gone. You did as he asked, and he guided you over the bridge one step at a time. 

Kíli was relieved he had been able to calm you down. He didn’t like how the bridge moved and protested against your movements, his goal was to get you off as quickly as possible. He kept gesturing at you to keep moving, speaking encouraging words now and then. But the closer you got to the missing log, the heavier the creaks got. The wood had endured too much with a full company of dwarves with heavy loaded packs running over it moments before. He noticed your face twisting in fear. 

“Hey, Y/N, don’t worry. It’s going to be okay!” It was not going to be okay, and he knew. He looked behind him, but the other members of the company were too far off except for Nori and Dori. “Throw me your bag, you’re close enough,” he said, trying to think of ways to make it safer. But he shouldn’t have asked you that. The minute you threw your pack, you placed your foot on another log for support. The log broke off under the sudden weight, and your foot fell through, sending the broken log pieces into the river below. In an attempt to keep your balance, you took a step forward with your other foot on the next log only for it to break as well. 

“Y/N!” Kíli cried, his eyes wide in horror. You frantically clawed at the remaining parts of the bridge, but it all started to crumble down, taking you with it. “No!” he yelled, rushing towards the edge. His yelling alerted the rest of the company, most of them turning around to see what the fuss was about. ”What’s wrong, Kee?” Fíli yelled all the way from the front. They had reached the edge of the forest and were already busy setting up camp. 

“Kíli!” Thorin yelled when he didn’t answer. 

Fíli watched his brother drop to his knees, looking over the edge of the gully. Nori and Dori soon joined him, gesturing wildly to each other. 

“What in Durin’s name are they doing?” Thorin asked him. “Did someone fall down?”

Fíli did a quick headcount, and to his horror he realized there was one person missing. They saw Kíli slowly lowering himself over the edge, confirming their suspicions. His first reaction was to look for you, and when he couldn’t find you, his heart sunk. “It’s Y/N...” Fíli realised in shock, “Y/N!!” He threw his pack to the side and ran back to the bridge as fast as his legs could take him, ignoring his uncle’s cries. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was you.  

In the meantime Kíli had lowered himself to the small ledge you were lucky enough to fall on. It was only a few yards and the undergrowth that was covering the side provided enough material to climb down without a rope. “Hold on, Y/N! I’m almost there,” he assured you. To his relief he saw you were still moving, and nothing seemed wrong at first sight. “I’m okay, it’s just my leg that’s stuck. These things are heavier than they seem.” Most of the broken logs had fallen into the river, but some of them fell down on the ledge with you, crushing your leg. You probably had some cuts and bruises too, but those were the least of your worries. You groaned when you tried to pull your foot from under the bridge pieces, ignoring Nori and Dori’s cries to keep still. The thing that was hurt the most though, was your pride. You had promised them you wouldn’t be a burden, that you could take care of yourself. And the first to be injured on the quest was you. You would laugh at the irony of it all if you weren’t so scared of the consequences. Thorin would probably leave you in the first town you would come across. 

Kíli hopped down on the ledge and started removing the logs that crushed your leg. “How is she?” you heard someone yell. When you looked up, you saw several heads sticking out over the edge. “I’m fine!” you yelled back, irritation clear in your voice. You hated to be the center of attention. Luckily both Fíli and Kíli knew this, and Fíli took it upon himself to send everyone back to camp except for Oin. Kíli lifted the last one, and you pulled your foot towards you. He let the log drop with a thud. 

“What’s the damage?” he asked with a big grin, but his eyes looked worried. You clutched your foot, it was completely numb because the log had cut off the blood flow. There was also this dull pain that started to spread in your ankle towards your foot, but you shrugged it off.  “Nothing, I’m fine,” you reassured him, but Kíli didn’t buy it. “I’ll carry you, it’s a long way up,” he offered, pointing to the edge. Fíli let a rope down, so he and Oin could pull the both of you up. “I can do it myself.” “Y/N, until Oin can look at your foot I’m going to carry you whether you like it or not. I’m not taking any risks,” he said, throwing Fíli a knowing look. 

He wrapped the rope around his wrist and grabbed it, giving it a small tug. He opened his other arm for you and lifted his eyebrow. “Are you coming?” You got up carefully, trying to avoid that one ankle so as to not give you away. The pain was getting worse with each passing second. Kíli wrapped his arm around your waist and told you to wrap your arm around his shoulder for support. “Oh, Fíli is going to love this,” he murmured to himself when you snuggled into his side. “What?” you asked him, not catching what he was saying. “Hold on to me as tight as you can!”

Fíli and Oin pulled the both of you up in no time. When you reached the top of the gully, Fíli took you out of his brother’s arms, wrapping an arm around your waist and under your knees. “Easy, mimûna, I’ve got you,” he cooed, planning to carry you bridal style to the makeshift campsite. Oin was already probing at your ankle but you weren’t having any of it. “I can walk, you know. Seriously, I’m fine,” you swapped Oin away. “You don’t have to baby me!” Fíli put you back on the ground, raised his hands in surrender and chuckled. “Fine, go on then.” You raised your chin and huffed. This would hurt, but you were tough. It was only about a 100 yards to the camp. You placed your injured foot first, and the minute you put your weight on it, a shooting pain shot through your ankle and leg and your knee buckled. Two strong arms caught you in time, and a low voice whispered in your ear. “You were saying?” Fíli swooped you back into his arms and carried you to camp, a grinning Kíli in his wake. 

Back in camp you tried to minimize your injury, terrified Thorin wouldn’t want you in his company anymore. You reassured everyone that you were fine over and over again. Oin proved you wrong when he took off your boot and a high-pitch scream escaped your mouth. Did he have to be so brutal? A little tenderness never killed anyone, you groaned internally. Three pairs of eyes followed Oin’s every move. Every time you flinched when he hit a particular painful or sensitive spot Fíli held his breath. 

Kíli patted his shoulder. “She’ll be fine.” “I know,” he smiled gratefully at his little brother, but flinched when he heard you whimper. “Careful, Fee, someone might notice,” Kíli sang teasingly when he went to sit with the others, leaving him with you and Oin. He couldn’t resist wiggling his eyebrows when he sat down on the ground next to Thorin and Balin. 

Oin was in the middle of bandaging your ankle when Thorin stood up. Everyone went quiet and kept their eyes trained on him while he made his way towards you. “Her ankle is severely sprained, but not broken,” Oin began explaining, “I’ve put a bandage around it for support, but she won’t be able to walk on it for a few days I’m afraid.” This was it, you thought. For you, the quest would end here. You couldn’t walk, and if someone had to support you the entire time, you’d become the burden you were trying so hard not to be. “How far is it to the nearest village?” Thorin’s voice rang over the campsite, asking no one in particular. You closed your eyes in defeat. “You mean to leave her behind?” Bilbo asked, eyes wide. There was some protest going around in the camp, mostly from the two princes. Fíli jumped up. “We are not leaving anyone behind!” “Fíli, don’t be foolish,” Thorin snapped. Just like Kíli, he hadn’t missed the looks his nephew gave their female companion. Fíli let his heart take over to reason, a dangerous thing to do. He will understand eventually, Thorin thought. “I will carry her if I must!” “You can not carry her all the way to the Lonely Mountain,” Thorin argued. “Watch me,” Fíli threw back.

Before things could escalate, Bofur spoke up, “I’ll help.” “So will I. We’ll take turns,” Kíli quickly followed his example. “Aye!” To everyone’s surprise Dwalin rose to his full height. You’ve never really interacted much with Dwalin, since he was against you joining the company and you didn’t want to annoy him too much. So him standing up for you now, took you by surprise. 

You had watched the interaction between the dwarves with a small heart. Fíli going against his Uncle, no, his King’s wishes in front of the company was unheard of, and you didn’t want to be the reason behind their falling out. “You really don’t have to do this, I-” “Nonsense,” Fíli interrupted you. “Let’s face it, Y/N, you’re one of us. And we don’t leave one of our own behind. Ever.” He looked at Thorin when he said his last word, challenging him to disagree. But to his surprise his uncle agreed with him, a tiny glint of mirth in his eyes. “So it shall be, everyone will take their turn in carrying Y/N until her ankle is cured.”

You didn’t sleep that night. At all. If it wasn’t the throbbing pain in your ankle that kept you awake, it were your neverending worries about the quest. Whoever was unlucky enough to be on “Y/N-duty”, was going to be a living target. With no free hands, they didn’t have any chance to defend themselves if they were under attack. You couldn’t live with yourself if something were to happen to anyone in the company. Fíli or Kíli in particular. 

You sighed, and your eyes automatically wandered to the two sleeping princes. There was no denying that you liked them both, though each in a different way. Kíli turned into your best friend almost immediately after you met him. He liked to joke around, didn’t take everything that seriously but had your back nonetheless. You’d feel sorry for anyone who would try to harm you, almost certain that Kíli would annihilate them without a second thought.  His brother Fíli was something else entirely. You joked around as well, often together with Kíli, and you knew he would go to the end of Arda for you if he had to and would also gladly destroy anyone who would even consider hurting you. But there was something else. Something you didn’t have with Kíli. Because Kíli didn’t make your cheeks flush when he changed shirts or flexed his muscles. When he rolled up his tunic sleeves and you could see the veins on his forearms your breath didn’t hitch. Your stomach didn’t flip every time he sat next to you or gave you a lopsided smile. But with Fíli, it did... Kíli stirred in his sleep, which pulled you out of your thoughts. The last thing you wanted was someone catching you staring at them. Come on, Y/N, you thought, there’s no time for self discovery. Sleep!

When the dwarves and Bilbo woke up the next morning, you were still sitting half upright against your rock, eyes wide open. Fíli rubbed his face with both hands, trying to get rid of the sleep. His eyes traveled to your figure and he frowned. It didn’t look like you had the best night. He watched you take a plate with breakfast from Ori, smiling politely but wincing when you adjusted your position. He hated to see you in pain. When Thorin announced you would take your leave, he and Kíli made their way towards you. “Ready to go?” he asked. “Well, I wanted to do my morning run before we left but I guess that’ll have to wait now,” you sighed and broke out into a broad smile when you saw his stunned face. “How do you want to do this? Do I still carry that myself?” You pointed to your pack. But Fíli didn’t want to waste any more time, seeing most of the company had already left. He scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing, and Kíli took your pack. “Already taken care of, mimûna, do not worry,” he smiled. 

Not worrying was easier said than done. Being in his arms meant that you couldn’t possibly be closer to him than you were. You had a really hard time trying to control your heartbeat, convinced Fíli could hear how it practically hammered out of your chest. If he did, he didn’t say anything about it. It was a bit awkward at first too, you didn’t know where to look. Your position allowed you to watch his face the entire time, and as much as you would want to do just that - admiring the depth of his blue eyes, the crinkles around those eyes when he laughed, his jawline and those lips, easy Y/N, get it together! - you couldn’t do that. So you kept your eyes fixed on the ground or on Kíli’s back who was walking right in front of you. 

Fíli didn’t talk much, always looking ahead. Which you thought was odd because before your injury, when you walked with him he barely kept his mouth shut. Did he regret his decision?

“If- If you want to take a break, I could try and see if I can walk for a while?” you tried. He blinked rapidly with his eyes, like you just pulled him out of a daydream, and looked at you questioningly. “You don’t want me to carry you anymore?” “No, I mean… I do! But you know, I might get too heavy after a while, or… I don’t know,” you murmured the last part silently. Fíli scoffed and lifted you above his head before he snuggled you against his chest again. “I can do this all day, mimûna. You worry too much.” You felt the blush rise again. How was it possible that the nickname still had this effect on you after all this time? It took you ages and a lot of threatening before Kíli finally told you what it meant, since you didn’t know any Khuzdûl. Luckily the colouring of your cheeks went unnoticed. 

After a while, the lack of sleep was starting to get to you. Fíli’s warmth combined with the gentle rocking of his footsteps made it very difficult for you to keep your eyes open. You jawned multiple times before you felt yourself slipping away. It didn’t take long before Fíli felt the weight of your head on his chest, eyes closed and your hands still in your lap. He adjusted his hold on you and shifted your body a little, so your neck would be in a better angle. Kíli looked behind him and smirked. “Were you that boring?” He didn’t react, letting his brother have his fun. If he had to admit, he found it oddly comforting to hold you this close, knowing he was the one who was protecting you. The words of his Uncle suddenly came to mind, and his mood changed. For some reason he didn’t look forward to you being in someone else’s arms. 

When the sun was just about set, Thorin made the company halt for the night. He didn’t let them take a break during the day, not even for lunch, so to say everyone was relieved was an understatement. Everyone, except Fíli. If he was honest, he liked to have you in his arms and was rather reluctant to let you go. 

You had only just woken up a few moments before and were still a bit groggy. While you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, Fíli lowered you gently to the ground and let himself fall down next to you. “Thank you,” you muttered with a small smile and he chuckled. You were too adorable when you were sleepy. “Anytime, mimûna.” “How many times do I have to tell you! I’m taller than you…” you laughed, shoving his arm playfully. “You need to think of a new nickname!” The both of you looked up when Kíli dropped your pack at your feet. “Your luggage, my lady,” he greeted you, doing an exaggerated curtsy. You rolled your eyes. “I’m not calling you a lord, Kee. Forget it.” “Of course not,” he smirked, opening his arms and puffing his chest. “Because I’m a prince!” “Prince or not, you can go and wet this cloth for Y/N’s ankle,” Oin appeared behind him, handing him a large piece of fabric before he turned his attention to you. “Let’s take a look at that ankle of yours, okay lass?”

When he took the bandage of your ankle, you heard Fíli suck in a breath. Your ankle was twice the normal size, a dark almost black bruise going from your foot to halfway up your leg. “Y/N…” Fíli breathed, eyes full of worry. “When Kíli gets back, we can take care of the swelling,” Oin tried to comfort you, although you had the impression he was saying it more for Fíli’s sake than yours. 

By the time Kíli came back with the cloth, you were eating dinner and everyone had come to check on you at least twice. Fíli hadn’t left your side. Their kindness didn’t surprise you - after all they had been nothing but kind to you in the past. But it still warmed your heart. “Took you long enough,” Oin said, taking over the wet cloth. “It took me a while to find a river and I-”, he said, his voice caught in his throat when he saw your ankle. Just like his brother, he looked at you with worried eyes. “And I uhm, I had to find something to carry water back here. When the cloth turns warm, you can cool it down again.” “Good thinking, lad,” Oin complimented him. “You went through all of that trouble for me?” Kíli looked at you, and winked. “Anything for you, Y/N.” He didn’t miss the hard look his brother threw him. 

Oin placed the cold, wet cloth on your ankle and you sighed contentedly. “Feels good?” Fíli asked. You hummed, eyes closed. “Leave it until it turns warm. I’ll come back later to check on you,” Oin instructed, and he went back to the other side of camp to finish his dinner. Kíli sat down next to his brother, and elbowed his side. “Heard that? I made her feel good,” he whispered. The others all looked up when Fíli smacked the back of his brother’s head, chuckling at their antics. “The future pride of Erebor,” Dwalin grumbled, shaking his head. 

The next day it was Kíli’s turn to carry you, much to the barely hidden annoyance of his brother. In his opinion, Kíli was getting a little too comfortable with you in his arms... Fíli was walking at the front of the group again, right behind Dwalin and Thorin. He would much rather have walked at the back with you, but his uncle had insisted he’d stay at his side.  But even from up there he could hear the laughter and the giggles all too clearly. It stung, hearing how you were enjoying yourself at the expense of his brother. He hadn’t been able to spend as much time with you as he would have wanted yesterday, since you were asleep most of the time. It did however give him plenty of time to think about how he felt about you… There was no denying he felt something. He just hadn’t decided what it was exactly. At one moment when he looked behind him to check on you, he saw Kíli tossing you up a bit which made you squeal. “Kíli!” he yelled before he could stop himself. All eyes turned to him, including yours. Fíli scratched the back of his neck. “Just… be careful, alright?” “Don’t worry brother, she’s safe with me,” he said, hugging you closer. “I won’t let her fall.” He only grunted in response, before he turned around and stomped past Thorin and Dwalin, taking the lead. “What?” Kíli grinned when you smacked his chest. “Be nice to your brother.” “Oh trust me, I’m doing him a great favor…”

The following day after Oin rebandaged your ankle - which was getting a little better with the swelling almost gone, the bruise already turning purple at the edges - Fíli walked towards you with the full intention of spending the entire day with you. He grabbed your pack and threw it on his back alongside his own. He’d probably regret that by the end of the day, but he wanted to prove something. “Fee, that’s too much! You can’t carry me and my pack!” you gasped. “That is why Bofur will take over today,” Thorin announced. Bofur was standing next to him, beaming at you. “Uncle, that will not be necessary, I’ve got it,” Fíli insisted. “It’s not open for discussion.” You looked at Fíli apologetically. If you were honest, you preferred to be carried by him - for no particular reason at all - but spending the day with Bofur wouldn’t be that bad either. Fíli didn’t handle it that well though, he went to the others, but not before he made Bofur promise him to be careful with you.

“Alright, lass?” Bofur smiled at you, before he took you in his arms. He wasn’t as bulky as Fíli or Kíli, but he scooped you up with as little effort as they did. He entertained you with stories and songs, teaching you a few of the songs he knew but considering the odd lyrics you suspected he just made them up as he went. Not that you minded, it was very entertaining. You kept an eye on Fíli, but to your disappointment he never checked on you. He kept his gaze straight ahead, talking to Thorin once in a while but unlike yesterday with Kíli, he didn’t turn around every few minutes. Fíli’s odd behavior certainly didn’t improve the following days when you were carried by Dwalin, Gloin and Thorin. Yes… Thorin. Dwalin you could handle… a little. It was a very quiet day but not in an awkward way, he just didn’t talk much and you kept your mouth shut. Unlike the others he didn’t carry you bridal style, but on one arm, which you certainly didn’t mind.  How quiet your day with Dwalin was, the louder it was with Gloin. You hadn’t had a chance to really talk to him before so he took the opportunity with both hands to talk all about his lovely wife and son, Gimli. You didn’t mind really, it took your attention away from Fíli who was still acting weird. 

But then Thorin himself announced he would also take his turn. You almost said you could try and stumble or hop on one leg or something to avoid what surely would be a very, very awkward day, but decided to keep your mouth shut. The thing was, while you were in Thorin’s arms - who seemed almost as uncomfortable as you were - you were also close to Fíli, since he walked next to him. You tried to talk to him a few times, but the only responses you got were grunts, hums or a simple nod. ‘Your’ kind and cheerful Fíli was gone. Instead there was a moody, grumpy person who apparently had decided to avoid or ignore you at best. At one point you looked at Thorin in a silent question, who just shrugged his shoulders. The movement made your feet bump against each other, and you hissed. This seemed to break Fíli’s walls, because worry fell over his face instantly and he asked if you were alright, to which you assured him you were. Thorin apologized, and everything went quiet again. You couldn’t wait for the day to be over. 

You decided to talk to Kíli about it. If anyone would know what was bothering him, it would be his little brother. When you were sitting around the fire, moments before everyone would start getting ready to sleep, you hobbled towards Kíli. Your ankle wasn’t cured yet, but you could lean on your toes a bit without hurting too much. It wasn’t good enough to walk on your own - certainly not for an entire day and at the pace the company held - but it made you a little less dependent on others. Fíli saw you trying to take a few steps. His joy of seeing you up was short-lived when he saw you were making your way towards Kíli. Kíli on the other hand was happy to see you and patted the space next to him. He held your hands for support when you lowered yourself to the ground. “Tell me, to what do I owe your visit?” “Your brother,” you sighed. Kíli quirked an eyebrow. He had expected this moment to come, but not so soon. “Go on,” he urged you. “Do you know what’s bothering him? He’s acting weird…” Kíli gave you a look. “Okay, weirder,” you laughed. “He’s ignoring me and that’s not like him.” He noticed Fíli was watching the both of you like a hawk from the other side of camp, his expression unreadable but he knew better. He decided to have a little fun... Kíli threw his arm around you and pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head. That’s when Fíli lost it. He shot up and murmured something about going for a walk, leaving the campsite. “See? That’s what I mean,” you told him. Kíli just smiled, this was going perfectly! “Don’t worry, Y/N. He gets like that sometimes. Heir stuff, you know.” He rubbed your back soothingly. “He’ll come around.” “I hope you’re right…”

Fíli was pacing through the forest, up and down the same path over and over again in an attempt to keep himself from bursting out. He had been watching you interact with his brother, a strange feeling burning in his chest. This wasn’t just friendship anymore. How he couldn’t see you in another dwarf’s arms, the protectiveness he felt over you, the way you made him feel just by meeting his eyes… There was no use in denying it any longer. He was absolutely smitten by you. You were his One. That feeling he had been fighting against for the past couple of days finally had a name. Jealousy. And right now, he was jealous of his own brother. Kíli had met his burning gaze and he had tried to silently warn his younger brother. But instead of taking some distance from you like Fíli wanted him to, that cheeky little bastard threw his arm around you and pulled you against his side. He even had the nerve to kiss your hair! That was when he couldn’t take it anymore and left the camp. He needed to cool down before he would do or say something he’ll regret later. He slumped against a tree, closing his eyes in defeat. Because the worst thing of all was that you didn’t seem to mind the attention. When he thought about it, you always seemed to gravitate more towards Kíli. His brother could make you laugh like no other, and although he absolutely loved how your laugh traveled over the fields or mountains like the tune of a songbird, he wished he was the one to make you laugh like that. 

He wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of your happiness. If you wanted his brother, then he would accept that. Your happiness was his top priority. Even if that meant he was going to be miserable for the rest of his life…

When Fíli returned to the camp, everyone was asleep in their bedrolls. His eyes automatically searched for your sleeping figure. To his surprise you were still up, struggling with the bandage of your ankle. “You need some help?” You were startled by his voice breaking the silence. You’d seen him entering the campsite, but you didn’t expect him to come and talk to you. “I’m just trying to wrap it back up for the night, I didn’t want to bother Oin,” you explained, followed by a frustrated sigh. “But this is a lot harder than I thought.” He sat on the ground in front of you, legs crossed. 

“Allow me,” he smiled. He lifted your foot and placed it in his lap. Without a word he took the bandage out of your hand and started wrapping up your ankle. His calloused hands worked quickly, never hurting you once. His touch was so light you could hardly feel it. And yet every time his fingers touched you, it felt like he burned your skin. Just like that day you were in his arms, you had a hard time keeping yourself together. By the time he was finished, you were a complete mess. 

“Are you alright, mimûna? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Oh no, you did the exact opposite, you thought. You just shook your head, not trusting your voice. The light of the campfire lit up his face, the flames reflecting in his eyes, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. In and out, Y/N… in and out. “Look, I need to apologize for my behavior. I wasn’t being fair to you,” Fíli began. He carefully placed your foot back and took both of your hands in his. You swallowed heavily. Was this the moment you had been waiting for? Were you getting the love declaration you so desperately wanted to hear? 

“I let my own feelings take the upper hand,” he said and your heart stopped. This was it… Fíli continued, “I was being selfish. But no more…” You felt yourself getting lighter with each word he spoke, slowly leaning in with your eyes closed for what surely would be the happiest moment of your life. Well… so far of course. “Your happiness is what matters most to me. And if it leads you to my brother, I will not stand in your way.” Wait… what? You opened your eyes again, shocked at his words. “W-what do you mean?” you asked, eyes wide. This was not going like you expected. At all. “I now know who your heart belongs to, Y/N,” he spoke softly, and you could see the hurt in his eyes. “And even though I wish with everything I’ve got that it wasn’t so, I am happy for my brother.”

You looked at him, mouth agape, absolutely stunned. Your laugh boomed over the campsite, waking up some of the company but neither of you noticed, too engrossed in your own conversation. “Now why in Durin’s name would you say that?” Fíli soon matched your stunned expression. One because you had used a Dwarven expression like it was your own, and second because... what? “Because you like my brother…?” “No silly,” you laughed. “I like you!” “You’re not in love with Kíli?” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “No! Where did you even get that idea?”

Someone cleared his throat, and the both of you looked behind you. Kíli stood there with the biggest grin on his face, hands in his pockets. “I might have something to do with that… I may or may not have tried to make you jealous on purpose.” He was obviously very pleased with himself; his little plan had worked so well. Fíli shot up from his place and Kíli took a few steps back. “Hey, hey, don’t look at me like that. You needed a nudge!”

But then Fíli seemed to remember what you said moments before. He turned so fast, his mustache beads smacked against his cheek. “Wait… you like me?” You nodded. A big smile appeared on his face. “Not Kíli? Me?” “Yes! Now will you please come back here so I can kiss you? I’m kind of stuck here,” you smiled, pointing at your ankle. 

Now it was Fíli’s turn to get all red. He hurried back to your side, and lifted you in his arms like he had done a few days before. Only now he wasn’t planning on letting you go ever again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your forehead against his. “Now how about that kiss,” you whispered. His lips ghosted yours for a second before you lost your patience and tugged at his hair.  It was a sweet and gentle kiss, and he drew away way too soon for your liking. “Always the gentleman,” you sighed, cupping his face and sneaking another short kiss because you couldn’t help yourself. “We have plenty of time, kurduwê,” he laughed. “Kurduwê? That’s new. What happened to mimûna?” “You wanted a new nickname, didn’t you?”

You turned to Kili, who was watching the both of you with a smile. “What does it mean?” “Kurduwê means ‘my heart’,” Fíli answered. “I wasn’t asking you,” you laughed. “But I do like this one better.” You gave him another kiss. Kíli groaned. “Guys, please don’t make me regret this…” The three of you laughed at that, and you promised him you would try to behave yourself. 

The others finally started cheering, letting you know they had heard the whole thing. Congratulations were given and Oin complimented Fíli on his excellent bandaging skills, after he checked your ankle. The company did give Fíli a hard time about his jealousy, and Kíli couldn’t help but contribute. “Oh, and Fíli?” Kíli said to his brother, smacking his shoulder a few times in a brotherly way. “Hmm?” “It’s still my turn to carry Y/N tomorrow.” Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​

A/N: There you go! Please let me know what you think of it with a reblog or a comment, heck, send me an ask or a dm and we’ll talk about this fic! Why don’t we talk about all the possible endings I wrote for this one, before I threw them all out and wrote what you just read?

[mssjynx]

Mic: ON

dreamnap oneshot 3687 words warnings: steamy!!  ao3 link

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“Sapnap. Don’t send it.”

Dream’s warning voice held a lot more threat than usual coming through Nick’s headset, and he suspected it was because the two now shared a house. He was all too aware of his friend’s presence only two doors down, and had it just been the two of them, Nick probably would have already given in and saved himself an ass kicking. Dream was a noticeable few inches taller than him, and definitely stronger though Nick would never admit it outloud. 

Nick was good at picking his fights.

Or he was, usually. 

But with Dream in one ear, and Quackity, George and Karl in the other, he was tiptoeing the line of a very pissed off Dream. The three idiots had been egging him on for the past half hour, begging him to send the video since the moment he’d mentioned having it. And he wasn’t actually going to send it, he just really enjoyed stirring Dream up and he knew the other three found it just as funny. 

“Sapnap! Sapnap! Sapnap!” Karl’s chanting overlapped the other two voices, Alex making odd monkey sounds as George laughed himself into hysterics. 

“Send it, Sap! You have to show us, you have to.” George’s words were gasped out between wheezes in his comically high-pitched voice that appeared whenever he was losing his mind laughing at something. 

Nick knew that if any of them laid their eyes on the video, they would never ever get over it. 

He’d captured the valuable video the night prior when Dream had overslept an alarm that he’d set for a recording session with the Among Us crowd. When Nick had crept in there to wake him up, a task he dreaded after the first time he’d done it and successfully pissed Dream off for two full days, he had been met with a sight he never thought he’d see. It was too good to resist flicking out his phone and capturing the moment. 

Dream had been splayed out across the bed, three pillows tucked under his back and his head tipped back off the mattress entirely. A trail of dried drool stained his cheek and his slack mouth was releasing a mix of whistling snores and little snuffling sounds as he slept. His fourth pillow was clutched to his chest in a grip that made Nick feel bad for it, white knuckles making Nick gulp as he crept back out of the room and returned to his Discord call to pass on the disappointing news. 

He had intended to keep the video to himself, locked away in his phone for a later day of humiliation. He hadn’t intended that later day to be the day following but he made the mistake of mentioning the beautiful video and it had all gone downhill from there. 

Karl, George and Alex were relentless when they wanted something, and to say they wanted to see this video was a huge understatement. 

“We need to see it, Sapnap, it’s worth the risk! It’s worth it!” Alex pleaded. 

“The risk!?” Nick snorted, offended by the lack of care. “I’m gonna get my teeth kicked in, Quackity! The risk is my impending death.” 

“It’s worth it, it’s worth it!” 

“Vouch!” 

Karl and Alex were a terrible influence on each other. 

“Guys, Dream’s scawy,” Sapnap said, hoping his baby “uwu” voice would soften Dream’s heart. He knew that whether he sent it or not, Dream was going to kill him for taking it in the first place. 

“You haven’t seen ‘scary’,” Dream muttered and Nick shot a weary glance to the door of his office. There wasn’t even a lock. 

George whined, adding his own baby voice to the mix, and Sapnap could practically see the stupid pout he was wearing when he begged, “Please, Sap. He won’t actually kill you!” 

Dream’s scoff was dry and humourless, “Oh, I will,” and Nick could hear the exhaustion that layered his irritation. He’d been up for over twenty hours editing his upcoming video and keeping the guys company in their streams. He knew that Dream was ready to collapse into bed the second he could, but the risk of his pride held enough weight to keep him upright for the time being. 

Nick almost felt bad for him, except he remembered the horrific photo that Dream had shared with their chat less than a month earlier. 

This was only payback; well, it would be if Nick was actually going to send it. But he was better than that, he was the bigger man and he also valued having all of his teeth and an unbroken nose. 

With a sigh, he reached to click delete on the keyboard to remove the video from the textbox. The ominous ‘Sapnap is typing…’ that sat at the bottom of all of their screens had only added to the excitement (and anger), but he knew that they’d had their fun and it was over. When he tried to snatch up his water bottle at the same time, his device unbalanced in his fingers and the thunk of it hitting the carpet was accompanied by the little “shwoop” sound of a message sending. 

Every voice except Dream’s exploded in the call and Nick froze in his chair.

“Oh god,” he whispered, dropping his bottle and scrambling for his phone. “Oh, no, no, no- I didn’t- It was an accident, I dropped my-” His voice was drowned out by Karl and Alex’s cheering, hysterical laughter pouring from George’s end. Dream’s icon vanished from the call and the slam of a door opening reached Nick’s ears.

Dream’s footsteps were loud and angry.  

“Guys, guys, GUYS!” His bedroom door burst open and Nick threw off his headphones, ripping the cord from his PC as he stumbled out of his chair. The look on Dream’s face made Nick genuinely fear for his life as he backed up away from Dream. 

“Oh my God, he’s so cuuuute!” Karl cooed. George howled with laughter. 

Nick had messed up. He had royally screwed himself, and today was the day he was going to die. “Dream, Clay. It was an accident, I was going to delete it and I dropped my phone and- I wasn’t actually going to send it, I swear. I promise. Pinky promise? What if we hug and make up?” Words tumbled off his tongue with panicked desperation but Nick knew a losing fight when he saw it. “Dream?” he tried weakly when Dream stepped forward, but the stoic glare didn’t shift. 

He could hear Alex calling Dream’s name, futile attempts at rescuing Nick from certain death. But the laughter that drowned him out only sealed his fate.

He was completely and totally done. 

Dream lunged for him and an embarrassingly high-pitched scream ripped from Nick’s throat. He bolted to the bed, clambering over the mattress with his eyes on the open door. But his chances were shot when a rough hand grabbed his ankle, yanking him backwards and off balance. His face slammed into the mattress, cutting off his yelp, and he barely managed to squirm over onto his back before Dream pounced. 

“You’re done, Nick,” Dream snarled, and Nick knew that it was his turn to be mortified. He caught Dream by the upper arms, straining as he kept Dream’s hands just inches away from his own shoulders and face. “You’re such an asshole, I told you not to send it!” 

“I told you,” Nick gasped, his arms aching as he turned his face away from Dream’s clawing fingers, “I didn’t mean to!” 

Dream growled, glaring down at Nick for a second before spitting: “Liar.” and throwing his weight to the side. Nick lost his grip and within seconds Dream had hooked an arm around his back, pinning Nick’s head between his arm and his ribs. The wrestling training Sapnap did back in middle school leapt to the front of his mind as he got his arms around Dream’s middle and tried to push him back. They both grunted and yelped, jabbing fingers into sensitive spots and cursing as they wrestled and fought. 

From the computer, the other three were cheering them on, placing bets back and forth. Except they were all betting on Dream and Nick couldn’t even blame them as he scrambled on top of Dream’s back for half a second before he was thrown off.

A jab to his stomach knocked all the air out of him and in seconds he was flat on his back with his arms pinned either side of his head. He gasped for air, face hot and red from exertion as he blinked his dizzy eyes up at Dream. 

He made a weak attempt at getting one leg between him and Dream, hoping to plant a foot to his chest and shove him back, but Dream shoved his knee down into the muscle of Nick’s thigh and a shot of pain at the pressure cut his escape attempt off.

The grin on his face made Nick’s head spin faster, though he didn’t know whether it was fear or adrenaline that flipped his stomach like a pancake.  

“Dead,” Clay declared, proud and smug as if it was at all a fair fight. He was six foot two for Heaven’s sake. 

“Shut up, you’re such a dick,” Nick spat, craning his head off the mattress. The grip on his wrists tightened and Dream pressed them harder into the mattress, leaning his weight into his knee. Nick yelped in pain, wriggling in a weak attempt of dislodging his roommate. 

Dream scoffed. “Shouldn’t have sent the video, should you?” His sneer was twisted with a satisfied grin and Nick would have been relieved to see that he was more smug than angry if that smile didn’t trigger every fear sensor in Nick’s body. 

“Well, look- Ow- You got me now, so… you don’t have to, uh, kill me or anything! Wouldn’t want you to go to prison now,” he says, awkward chuckle leaving his lips. He hears Karl and George lose it from the computer speakers, quiet but distinct enough to heighten Nick’s irritation. They weren’t helping him at all.  

“No chance.” Dream narrowed his eyes. “I want some sort of compensation. You have to let me post whatever I want from your twitter,” and the crooked grin he wore told Nick that his revenge would be far worse than the five second video of Dream snoring. 

“No way,” he said, shaking his head and yanking on his arms. The taller man leaned his weight onto his wrists and Nick gave up on fighting. “Get off me, Dream.” 

They both ignored the three amigos cheering in the background, this time for Nick’s demise.

Two-faced assholes...

“What’s your password, Nick,” Dream asked, cocking his head to the side with his sly grin. He was, humiliatingly, completely at Dream’s mercy and his stomach twisted at the thought.

It was definitely the first time that they’d been so close to each other; Nick had never been able to see this much detail in Dream’s face. For a moment, he got distracted by the little scar that marred the right side of Clay’s top lip, wondering when and how he’d gotten it. When his lips twitched down into a confused frown, Nick snapped back into the moment with the realisation that he’d been staring at Dream’s mouth. 

He snapped his focus back up to Dream’s eyes, unable to miss the way his brows were creased with thought, and pushed a defensive snarl onto his own mouth as he glared up at Dream. “It’s not happening,” he said bluntly, hoping the embarrassed red of his cheeks could be passed off from their wrestling. 

Dream’s frown deepened with annoyance. “What’s your password, Nick?” he repeated, pressing his thumb hard into the inside of Nick’s wrist. He watched Nick’s face with an intensity that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago, murky green eyes flickering over Nick’s features as searching for something specific. 

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” 

“George, you dick!”

“He’s from Florida, man! He’ll do it!” 

The pressure on Nick’s inner wrist made him grimace and when Nick forced out a rough: “No, Clay,” he squeezed the other wrist harder, pinching the skin. The jolt of pain mixed with the tingle in his fingertips; Nick sucked in a deep breath and bit down hard on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to think of a way out of this situation. 

His train of thought was slammed to a stop when Dream’s eyes snapped down to Nick’s mouth like a magnet, time screeching to a neck-breaking halt. For a moment, neither of them moved. Dream’s grip loosened on Nick’s wrist but he didn’t even consider moving away, unable to focus on anything other than Dream’s gaze locked on his mouth and his own heartbeat slamming in his chest, in his throat, in his head. 

His lip slipped out from between his teeth, and out of reflex, he flicked his tongue to soothe the sting, and he could not ignore the way Dream sucked in a breath sharply through his teeth. Nick watched his pupils swell and he couldn’t say anything about Dream’s pink cheeks because he knew his own were just as warm. 

And then it was like a flip was switched. Dream clenched his jaw, eyes flicking back up to Nick’s with a clarity that caught him off guard. “Fine,” Dream said, voice low and even. He stuck his tongue in his cheek for a moment of thought, and Nick tried desperately to keep up with the hidden thoughts behind Dream’s eyes. “Have it your way.” 

Those words ran through Nick’s mind just once, before one wrist was released. Before he could even think to make his escape, rough fingers caught him by the jaw, tipping Nick’s head back as a grin flashed over Dream’s lips. 

Then those lips were on Nick’s. 

Dream kissed him and he kissed him hard, sinking his teeth into Nick’s bottom lip without waiting for a response. The jolt of pain dragged a grunt from Nick’s mouth, and he pressed it up against Dream’s, allowing the thumb on his chin to drag his lips apart. Clay kissed him hard and deep and hot and Nick gave it back just as rough and unforgiving. 

His free hand jumped to the back of Dream’s head, threading fingers through loose blonde hair as he tilted his head up into the kiss. He craned his head up off the mattress, nipping at Dream’s tongue when it flicked his top lip. With a fistful of hair in his hand, he smirked into the kiss and yanked hard, dragging Clay’s mouth off him so he could gasp in a breath of air. 

It was only a moment before Dream caught Nick by the wrist, shoving his hand back down into the mattress. Except this time, he slipped his fingers up, interlocking them with Nick’s as he kissed him. He pressed his tongue past Nick’s lips, growling at the sharp bites Nick delivered in return. 

He’d forgotten about Clay’s knee on his thigh until the pressure vanished, Dream instead using his knee to push Nick’s leg to the side. It only felt natural to drag his knee up, dragging his ankle along the backside of Dream’s legs and pulling on the back of his thigh.

Even when they were kissing, they were fighting. Nick tried to press up against Dream, squirming and yanking on his wrists all the while trying to chase Dream’s tongue back into his own mouth. “Dream,” he growled when the Clay once again blocked Nick’s tongue, shoving his head back down against the mattress.

“Shut up,” Dream snarled, shifting his knee up the mattress between Nick’s legs. It wasn’t close enough and Nick’s underwear was too tight and too hot for him to handle. He bit back an irritated whine, and blushed at the smirk on Dream’s face. 

“You’re such a dick,” Nick bit, squirming when Dream put both of his wrists together and with one hand, held them both down. His other hand caught Nick by the jaw as he scanned the Texan boy’s flushed face and kiss-worried lips, holding him still despite how Nick shifted and fought, wanting to get his hands on Dream’s shoulders, in his shirt, in his hair. 

He was frustratingly intoxicating and Nick could not get enough. Dream who smelt like heat, like sweat and aftershave. Dream who dug his fingertips into Nick’s jaw and chin, grinning while he tilted Nick’s head back so he could kiss him deeper. 

The tongue that pressed into Nick’s mouth was hot and greedy as it teased his own, and Nick could feel the smug glee that oozed from the man above him. “Takes one to know one,” he whispered against Nick’s cheek, before pushing Nick’s head all the way back and dropping his mouth to the curve of his throat. 

Somewhere in the back of Sapnap’s head, he registered that he could still hear the other boys. Their conversation, the video, the fight; it felt so much further away with Dream’s tongue abseiling down his neck, and numbly he wondered if the boys had forgotten they were there. 

The sweet trail of kisses that crept up the side of his neck were followed by a sharp bite to the skin just below Nick’s ear, and he couldn’t stop the cry from spilling from his mouth. Grinning lips and a cruel tongue smothered the stinging pain as Nick groaned; words of: “Fuck you, that hurt,” being followed by a moan he couldn’t bite back when Clay’s hand disappeared from his jaw and reappeared between his legs, pressing flat to Nick’s straining arousal. The flush of pleasure that wasn’t quite enough dragged a helpless whimper from his tongue as Nick tried to grind up into the touch only to have it vanish altogether. “Clay-” he moaned at the greedy sucking on his neck, loud and desperate and without a touch of shame. “Fuck, touch me- Please,” he gasped.

And that right there was his second screw up of the night. 

“Woah, WHAT!?” 

“FUCK, no, my ears!”

“Oh God, oh no, that’s- they’re not fighting anymore, that’s not fighting!” 

The clamour of voices exploded from Nick’s computer, their previous quiet conversation completely forgotten as all three men’s heads were undoubtedly flooded with scenes they didn’t want to imagine, ever. 

Dream vanished from on top of Nick within seconds, bolting to the computer as Nick scrambled to sit upright. His face was burning hot and he could barely catch his breath as he watched Dream smack a few buttons on the computer before rounding on him. 

His own cheeks were flushed bright red and the look of alarm would have made Nick laugh had their situation not been as embarrassing as it was for the both of them. “You didn’t mute your mic!?” Dream demanded and Nick stared back at him in disbelief. 

“What, was I supposed to anticipate that!?” he snapped back, squirming under Dream’s dirty look. He was still embarrassingly turned on from their… activities, and he had no idea what was even going to happen now. 

They were best friends who lived together, not horny teenagers who jumped each other when they got a little bit worked up! 

Dream rubbed his face with his hands, taking a deep breath and holding it. After a second of silence, he let it out with an exhausted laugh, shaking his head as he lifted it to look back over at Nick. “Well, that’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation,” he said simply, and Nick couldn’t help but laugh as well. What else was there to do?

“At least they weren’t streaming,” he offered and Dream snickered at the thought, tapping a few more buttons until the screen went black. Nick dropped back onto the mattress, hands on his face as he took a few breaths. His heart was still racing like crazy, and the pressure between his legs was starting to ache. 

When he pushed back up onto his forearms, dropping a hand to readjust himself as he lifted his gaze to Dream. Sharp, green eyes were locked on him, more specifically his hand, which paused in its movements under the intense stare. 

Nick watched with bated breath as a small smile twisted Dream’s lips, eyes dragging up over Nick as if considering all the things he could do to him. Wondering what was going through Clay’s head made Nick’s stomach drop and head spin. Dream slowly returned to the edge of the bed and Nick sat up further, unsure if he felt more scared of excited by the look in Clay’s eyes. He moved to drag his legs back towards him, but before he could get very far, Dream’s hands were locking onto his ankles, one hard pull dragging Nick to the edge of the mattress. 

He tipped his head back to look up at Dream, biting his tongue when Dream cupped his cheek, running his thumb along his bottom lip. 

“That’s an issue for another day,” Dream said, wetting his lip with his tongue as he tipped Nick’s head back further. He shifted back, arms barely holding him up as he tilted his head away from Dream’s hand. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a nervous laugh dropping from his mouth as he scooted back further. 

Dream nodded, grin unfazed as he crawled onto the mattress. A hand to Nick’s chest pushed him back onto the mattress, another hand sliding up the inside of Nick’s leg. “Yeah,” Dream said, ghosting his fingers over the front of his sweats and watching Nick bite back a whimper. “Kinda busy right now.” He dipped down, capturing Nick’s mouth in another kiss; this one sweeter and softer than any of their others. He coaxed a soft sound from Nick’s throat, sucking his bottom lip and drawing his tongue out to flick against his own. 

“Busy?” Nick gasped when Dream pulled back for a breath, both hands falling to the waistband on Nick’s sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” he said with a sly grin, “Really busy.” 

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?

"short fics," I said, like a liar.

anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.

Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!

---

Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.

It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.

He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.

“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.

“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.

“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.

“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”

“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”

“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”

“That’s cheesy as anything.”

“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”

Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.

He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.

“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.

Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.

He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.

And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?

Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.

“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.

“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.

Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…

If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.

“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--

“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.

“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”

The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.

“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”

Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?

Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.

Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.

“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”

Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”

And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.

And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”

It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.

He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.

Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:

“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”

And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.

“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.

“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.

When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.

However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.

[creativeashproductions]

In the Beginning // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: Reggie (Rhodes)’s older sister is the epitome of cool in his, and his friends, eyes with her in a band. Pushed by a hazel eyed brunette with a huge crush on the eldest Rhodes teen the boys decide to start a band. While at first the band is for Luke’s dream of landing you he finds his passion with music.

Warning: Swearing, angst, fluff, dad!Luke

Words: 4.1k

A/N: I couldn’t resist writing another alive!Luke fic with Luke crushing on his band mate’s sister. Ugh, just imagine Luke suggesting a band to impress his crush only to fall in love with music instead.  For my fics it will be Alex Mitchell and Reggie Rhodes until JATP reveals their canon names. 

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1992

The guitar case was a familiar heaviness as you walked into the home for the first time in months after a practice. You ached from the long travel, and all you wanted was your bed. The yawn came first, then the startled yell at the living room.

Four pairs of eyes met the girl standing in the entryway, surprised at a sleepover with her brother and his full friends. Eyebrows coming together you shook your head wondering why they had come here instead of the typical Patterson home.

“Hey!” Fourteen-year-old Reggie beamed towards his older sister excited she was back from her weekend band practice. Your eyes blinked at his usual upbeat personality before switching to the brown eyes from Bobby, too shy to full meet yours.

Spread around the living room watching a movie was Reggie’s best friends; the socially awkward Alex, the shy Bobby, and the Patterson boy Luke. The young typically spent their time at Luke’s place, so seeing them in your home was strange.

“Reg, what’s up?” You asked crouching to untie your shoes confused at the sharp audible gasp coming from Luke. Standing straight up, you saw Luke awkwardly looking away with bright red cheeks.

“How was practice?” Reggie inquired with the smile he got from your mom and his dark hair from your dad.

Reggie usually wasn’t interested in your band leading you to wonder what the hell was going on with them. Being sixteen you didn’t socialize with Reggie’s friends, thanks to the two year age gap, but you were happy he had good friends. Well, less than two years between you and Luke.

“It was good. Since when are you interested in Crimson Queen?” You questioned moving more into the room with the four young teens, “You haven’t even touched your bass in years.”

One eyebrow raised you individually looked at the boys in the room all with sheets of paper around them. From a distance, you couldn’t tell what was on them, but it couldn’t be homework. They all attended the same high school while you had done correspondence with the band and a tutor.

“Luke’s parents got him a guitar,” Reggie spoke gesturing to the decent brand new acoustic guitar on the floor beside the Patterson. Luke’s hazel eyes widening as you came closer to the group.

Your hand picking up the guitar to look it over finding it was decent for a beginner, but it was definitely not tuned. The sheer sound made you wince.

“So, you guys want to be a band?” You questioned sitting on the floor beside Luke. The boy shifting nervously, you weren’t blind that he got shy around girls, “Do you guys even play instruments?”

“I got the bass, Bobby can play rhythm guitar, Alex plays dru-“

“I wouldn’t call it proper drumming. It’s just something my therapist suggested with my anxiety and frustrations.” Alex raised his hand leading to everyone in the room looking at the tall male, recently had a growth spurt, with the backward black hat.

“And Luke will learn guitar as well.” You added, looking at the quiet, “How well can you play?”

“I don’t even know how to properly tune it,” Luke admitted playing with his fingers adorned with a ring.

Luke had chosen a cutoff shirt in an attempt to gain your attention to his arms he hoped had gotten more muscled. He had a massive crush on you but with the guys your own age he had step up; he started working out. He actually enjoyed it, but he’d enjoy it more if you were checking him out.

“You’ll need a place to practice.” You mumbled glancing out the window at the ocean waves thinking. The house was on the prime real estate edge of the beach all thanks to your well off parents; Dad, a doctor and Mom, an interior designer.

Your fingers tapped on the ripped blue jeans you had chosen that day with the flannel shirt opened over the black AC/DC t-shirt. You started standing up, grabbing Luke’s hand to pull him up as well; the boy’s cheeks grew pinker, and his heart fluttered.

“What?” Luke spluttered, staring at his hand, caught in yours in sheer awe.

“You’ll need a place to practice.” You answered, dropping is head to reach in your pocket for your key chain.

The key chain had a few keys on it: one for home, one for your car, one for the band van for gigs, one for the garage, and lastly one for the house the garage belonged to. The boys piled into the car, apprehensive for where you were taking them. The only sound was the radio playing local greatest hits, your foot slammed on the brake at the house of your bassist.

“Well Marty, this song has blown up on the charts. New band Crimson-“

“Holy shit.” You breathed staring at the radio. Your door opened as you sprinted down to the steps that led to the garage. The footsteps of the boys following.

The garage was open already with your band members lounging around the space filled with instruments and amps. Their heads swivelling as you frantic turned the radio on.

“Come on.” You mumbled, turning the radio station to the right one, “Guys listen!”

“-Crimson Queen is an LA-based band making waves in the LA Nightlife and hit the top ten with their newest song Sorry Now.” The radio host spoke, “If you haven’t heard the song before, this is the band’s new single.”

The song was blasted from the radio leading to the four girls screaming the song out dancing around the room. Euphoria was the only way you could call the feeling rising in the bodies of the girls in the place. The room burst into more screams as your drummer. Faith switched the radio station.

“Today history was made, Crimson Queen is an all-female rock band fronted by Y/N Rhodes. They started as a hobby at fifteen, but a year later at sixteen they’ve made waves.” A hit radio station, the second one so far, was talking about your band. Holy shit.

“Lucy, this band is going places. My daughter is seven years old, and she’s telling me this band is the talk of her school. I can’t tell how much Lucy listens to their demo.”

Your eyes saw Reggie having a meltdown of excitement for older sister and her band, and you were so unbelievably happy you should care the moment. You rushed over to Reggie to pull him into a hug.

“Girls…and boys.” Mrs Taylor spoke furrowing her brows at the young boys in the garage her daughter had begged to use for the band. Shaking her head, the middle-aged woman turned her attention to her daughter.

“Hey, Ma.” Dawn, your bassist, spoke spreading her pink painted lips to her perfectly straight teeth too hyped up on energy, “What’s up?”

“First congratulations on the single. Secondly, we’re gonna need to get a personal line for the band because our phone is blowing up.”

A sharp gasp from Dawn before the three of the four girls rushed to the house of the Taylor’s. You hung back to look at your brother and his band.

“So? What do you think?” You inquired with the group, “This idea of yours has to be one hundred percent what you want. It won’t be easy in LA, it will come with hardships, and Reggie Mom and Dad won’t let you drop out.”

The four boys nodded their heads because the excitement they saw in your big break was something they wanted. To be able to connect with people cemented their decision.

“Feel free to hang around.” You suggested glancing around the garage that started it all, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

The Orpheum, Los Angeles, 1995

The crowd screamed as Crimson Queen, the song that started this road played with the girl crouching to grasp the hand of fans. At the beat of the chorus, you stood up eating up the energy of the last show of the tour. You went jumped on the drum riser rocking on the guitar as Faith did her magic.

Dawn on her bass made her way to rock with your rhythm guitarist Sara sharing grins with you still feeling the euphoria of this success. As the song came to an end, your entire band went to the front of the stage.

“We’d like to thank our fans for the last nine months of our world tour. We started this band in LA in 1991, so we thought it fit to end our tour at The Orpheum.” You spoke to the crowd, feeding off the energy as the concert came to an end.

The road crew would load your instruments up in the van to take home after months of travelling. You were so excited to see Reggie, who would be seventeen now, having celebrated his birthday while you had been in Europe. Too excited were shocked as Reggie backstage.

“Reggie!” You exclaimed tugging the teen into your arms, leaning back to take him in, “Damn you grew!”

Reggie grinned not giving a shit you were coated in sweat from performing your setlist, but your eyes went over his shoulder. Standing close and just as excited was Reggie’s friends. Alex was taller, Bobby looked more confident, and Luke could meet your eyes. Luke also had changed, no longer baby faced.

“Sunset Curve.” You spoke, stepping back to look them over, “I haven’t seen you guys in months, how did you change so much!”

“That’s what happens when you go on tour for almost a year.” Luke teased tugging you into his arms for a tight hug.

It was odd seeing Luke taller and more muscled than when you left for tour, and the confidence was honestly hot. You had seen Luke as anything other than your brother’s friend, who tended to stare a little too long.

“You played the fucking Orpheum!” Alex screamed, holding your shoulders with a wrinkled nose at the damp red thin flannel shirt. The girls wandered up behind you each with a grin at the guys.

“Well if it isn’t Sunset Swerve,” Sara spoke swinging her arm over your shoulder with a teasing smirk plastered on her face. Her blonde hair swept up in a bun high on her head from a recent shower.

“Sunset Curve!” The male quartet snapped at the name before they fell back into a happy demeanour. Luke and you both staring at each other with a pink-hued face.

Faith was quieter in the group leaning closer to your band to whisper in your ear, “Jay scored us some drinks. But MJ got us into a party.” Faith’s textured hair tickling your neck.

Grins split the three girls at the suggestion each excited for the party with fellow musicians and plus ones. Sure, the parties had drugs and alcohol, but they were fun and part of the scene. Half of you wanted to go, but the other wanted to spend time with your brother.

“I’ll think I’ll pass.” You spoke up to the girls motioning to the guys, “I’ll head back with them. Meet you at the house later?”

Your black vans moving backwards as you moved to be closer to be flush against Reggie’s side grinning as he bumped his hip against you. Sara, Faith and Dawn each raising an eyebrow at your response since you often dragged them to parties.

“Orrr…we could each take one of them.” Faith cajoled mocha skin gleaming in the light with her hands, tugging her hair into a thick braid.

“You want me to take my seventeen-year-old brother and his friends-“

“-I’m like two weeks from being eighteen-” Luke cut into the conversation buzzing at the possible date, but not date, with the girl he had been crushing on for years. He was pretty sure he was in love with you at this point; he did date a little, but nothing stuck.

“-To a party in Hollywood.” You finished pinning your gaze on the three girls ahead each with mischievous grins. Your cheeks puffed as you breathed out, thinking of the positives and negatives.

Bobby was bouncing on his heels with Reggie leaving Alex shifting uncomfortably in his place. His partially relaxed when Luke squeezed his forearm through the distressed black jean jacket that bought his outfit together. Luke himself was apprehensive on your decision because either way, he got to spend time with you.

“Come on.” Dawn implored, pulling out the big guns with her ocean blue eyes widening into the puppy gaze that did you in each time. Her curtain of short dyed pink hair framing her heart-shaped face.

“I’m going to pass this time. Do some shots for me! Not tequila though, that was a huge mistake.” Faith’s grin widened at having you carry you out of the house in the early morning after a wicked party.

“Did you ever find your tho-“

“Faith!” You hissed turning a bright red at her revelation that you definitely didn’t want Reggie to know. The atmosphere turned awkward as everyone realized what the sentence would end with.

Okay so maybe you had hooked up with a few people over the last three years but nothing permanent. It was fun, drunk fun, but still fun and nothing had gone wrong. Your eyes avoided looking at Luke for a reason you couldn’t decipher.

“I’ll see you later.” You spoke motioning for the guys to follow you to the dressing room you had settled in early in the day. The corner of your lips quirked at the awe on each of the boys’ faces.

“I’m in the dressing where bands become legends.” Reggie gasped circling the room with wide-eyed interest. Alex was interested in the band posters on the walls from previous performers.

Luke, however, was more interested in your curves covered by your sweaty stage clothing that stuck to your form. His Adam’s apple gulped as you grabbed your shower bag moving towards the connected bathroom.

“I’ll grab a shower, and we can head out.” You supplied, “I’ll just need to stop at Rudy’s office for our portion of the concert.”

The guys mumbled a response finding a place to wait without hushed conversations of when they would get to play. Luke’s eyes found yours at the low call of his name from the bathroom; a crack opened he walked over.

“Do you have a sweater?” You mumbled at the taller teen with widening eyes as he realized that you were naked behind the door.

Luke stumbled over his feet, retrieving the black pullover Crimson Queen merch he had had for months now. He had saved up money to buy the merch to support the band. The door closed as you tugged the sweater in the bathroom momentarily before walking out.

“Thanks Lu. I forget to pack a shirt.” Luke awed as your nose scrunched up adorably to the amusement of his friends, “So, do you wanna hit the beach? Or maybe give me a concert in the garage?”

Luke intertwined his fingers in yours as he tugged you out of the room with your bag in hand. His heart fluttered as you held on to his hand even in the little office of the Orpheum’s management for the thick envelope of money.

“Thanks, Rudy!” You called over your shoulder at the short, stout man going over the financials and upcoming performances.

The smell of Sunset Boulevard brought a smile remembering the first time you performed and the small group that had waited outside. The first night of autographs and recognition.

“So, Reg how’s my car?” You questioned the teen who impishly grinned tugging the key chain from his black jeans. You had given him the keys when you revealed Crimson Queen had a world tour.

“Right there.” Reggie pointed leading the group of five to the car that would take them to the garage. Reggie drove with Alex in the passenger while you were crammed between Bobby and Luke; Luke was delighted in your warmth against his side.

While your band members partied, you got a first-row seating to Sunset Curve’s talent in the garage where you had started out. It was amazing to see how much they had accomplished in the three years since they started.

The sudden knock on the door had you flailing off the couch onto the floor with a sheet of paper stuck to your cheek. Your spine cracked as you sat up glancing at your watch, finding it was after midnight, only an hour of sleep after inspiration for a new song.

The door was knocked on once more and coming close the sound of crying could be heard, and you wondered if it was Luke. He had been over a few days in the night following a fight with his parents and needed to crash; helped you were giving dating a chance after his well-rehearsed speech.

Imagine your shock when it was Reggie sobbing, “Reggie.”

“C-can I stay here?” Reggie whimpered cuddling himself into the leather jacket he received at Christmas from you. You had inside in your arms in moments, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are they fighting again?” You murmured to your younger brother content to hold him as he cried. Bringing him to the living room, you held him as he cried humming under your breath the first song you ever let him see.

“Yeah. The music doesn’t work anymore.” Reggie murmured leaning back to wipe his tears off, “Sorry for crashing. I can go stay with-“

“Here. Reginald, you can always stay here.” You soothed the seventeen-year-old boy with sad eyes and a sombre look. His sad eyes shattered your heart, knowing he had suffered the fighting for months alone, “This house is empty Reg. You can move in here.”

His lip quirked up, “Can we play country music?”

“And eat breakfast at night.” You teased him grinning as his lips pulled up into his trademark grin, “The guys can come over whenever they want. I’d actually prefer they know they can stay here, they deserve a safe place to stay.”

You knew that Alex endured living with his parents, who had gone out of their way to avoid him after he came out. Luke couch surfed at your old house, never at Alex’s home; after coming out, Alex didn’t feel comfortable bringing anyone over.

“Good, because they’re outside.” Reggie sheepishly admitted raising his thumbs-up, “Go thinking ahead!”

Snorting the human version of a golden retriever you opened the front door to the house finding two guys in strange positions. Alex was inspecting the light fixture, and Luke was leaning against the wall with his elbow, foot across the other.

“You guys need lessons in the art of pretending you weren’t eavesdropping.” The sigh fell stepping aside for the two to enter the home—each carrying a backpack and small duffle bag for wherever they would have crashed.

The male trio got comfortable in the living room curiously glancing at the mess of papers, sticky notes and pencils. While with good intentions, they didn’t follow boundaries well, even for Alex.

“Whatcha working on?” Luke inquired, leaning closer to a sheet of paper. His pout coming over his face when you quickly tidied up the papers.

“Nothing. I fell asleep on the couch. The label wants new songs.” You groaned rubbing your eyes, “I got inspired last night. Oh! Hey, I took a message for you guys.”

Jogging to your office studio for the band you quickly grabbed the envelope along with the note that you had been given.

“So, Rudy called me, and I had a meeting with him.” You started sitting on the coffee table in front of the trio. The trio leaned forward.

“Rudy?” Luke questioned, pursing his lips together at the male name. While you and Luke were dating it wasn’t official, he was just really nervous with his dream girl liking him back.

“He’s the management for a venue. He asked if our band was available for a concert, but we collectively decided to focus on songs and recording, which you can’t tell anyone about, but he’s in dire need. So, I might have given him something. Specifically a demo of yours and knowing your home situations I gave my information.”

“Okay…so?” Alex questioned, leaning forward. His eyes growing wide as you pushed the envelope in his hand.

Alex quickly opened the cream envelope finding inside a paper along with a mock-up promo poster with Sunset Curve. The squeal was shocking from the teenager as he read the letter and note out loud.

Y/N,

I gave the demo a listen, and we usually wouldn’t do this, but Crimson Queen has been gracious with us. Always mentioning where the band got its start and closing the tour here. To repay the favour, we would formally like to invite Sunset Curve to perform. In the envelope is a mock-up poster as an option for the promo. Get the Sunset Curve’s people to get in touch. I can get the word out to some friends from some labels to come for a listen. Get in touch as soon as possible.

Manager of The Orpheum in Los Angeles,

Rudy West.

 “The Orpheum?” Luke screamed, yanking the paper from Alex to re-read it in complete shock, “We don’t have people!”

“But Crimson does.” You smirked, “On a temporary basis Crimson Queen formally offer our manager’s help.”

In his excitement, Luke lunged to pull you into a kiss freezing the room in shock.

“He got the girl.” Alex breathed elbowing Reggie in the side who’s mouth was open at his best friend kissing Reggie’s older sister. The older sister who was the driving force behind Luke wanting to form a band to impress her, “We need to tell Bobby!”

1995 was the best year for Luke Patterson. He got the girl, his band made it, his parents finally saw his dream was worth it.

The sound of music hypnotized the woman as she wandered down the hall to the open door of the large home. Nothing too over the top like Bobby’s mansion, but it was a nice size in a gated area. Your neighbours being Reggie on one side and Alex on the other side with his partner Willie; Willie had skated into Alex and into a love story pretty much.

Resting against the door edge of the designated home studio you saw Luke had moved a rocking recliner in. Softly playing in the room was a soft acoustic song recorded months previous as a surprise for you.

“When are the lessons starting?” You questioned bringing Luke’s attention to your soft smile and the love in your eyes. Luke’s grin widened glancing down at the miniature version of his love-filled eyes.

“Given her legendary parents, I think at two.” Luke chuckled shuffling the baby to the crook of his arm shifting, so you could curl into his side as well. Both eyes gazing at the little baby you had welcomed what felt like yesterday.

Stevie could fall asleep only to the lullaby her father had created during the pregnancy, and he had written. Stevie had Luke’s eyes, and so far her blonde hair had yet to darken so the question of if she’d take after your hair or his hair was unanswered.

“Hey sweetheart.” You whispered to your daughter falling asleep to the sound of her father’s voice in the room. An adorable yawn pulled from her little body as she nestled into Luke’s arms.

“She’s so gorgeous.” Luke breathed tears welling up as he could understand the reasoning behind his parents’ opinions in his teens. He truly felt terrible at hurting his mom now that he felt the love for his child.

“We did good Patterson.” You murmured back to the man who had held your heart since you were nineteen and back from tour. Your finger tracing Steve’s soft cheek, “I think she has your mom’s mouth.”

Luke’s lips lingered on your cheek heart full of love for his family with you and his little girl. He had known since his eleventh birthday he would marry you even if you were a year older. A year that made the difference when he was months older than his friends, so the year felt like two for you. At eighteen when was tentatively dating you, he knew he would marry you. He never anticipated the sheer amount of adoration for the little girl he would have at twenty-one.

God, he loved his life. He made up with his parents, his best friends, had the girl of his dreams, the most beautiful daughter and it all thanks to music. Can you see why he lives and breathes music?

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[pathofcomet]

look at what you taught me

fandom: bridgerton series

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: Colin and Penelope have never been awkward with one another. Except for this one time.  (AO3) (book spoiler ahead)

In the beginning, when he travels, Colin can think of nothing else but the present moment: a ship under his feet, the lull of a carriage, the wide expanse of the world all around him. Whatever destination is coming next, if he is certain enough – if not, he’ll just make it up as he goes. The furious scribbling of his quill against paper, as he races to put down in words all his eyes take not but a second to admire. It feels like everything he never knew he wanted to do so desperately. It feels right.

Then, it becomes more difficult to return home, the more he travels. But soon enough, the travel starts to wear him down. He begins to look forward to when he’ll return home: despite his own mother’s incessant remarks, despite the brotherly arguments, despite having to see another sister married off. Even the most loving mamas trying to marry off their daughters to him seem somewhat adorable, if he is gone long enough. But the need to travel comes back, like an itch that won’t go away unless he scratches it away. He makes promises to his sisters – so that he can stay as much as possible, but he goes insane with anything more than a couple of months. He likes to believe that by now his family simply made peace with his many eccentricities, and simply paid the cook more when he was around.

He treasures the pockets of familiarity he gets when in London as much as the breathes of fresh air he gets when he’s away. He imagines he drives his mother wild, with all his coming and going across the continent. He knows what Lady Whistledown writes about him as well, and he’d strangle the woman himself, for alerting everyone of his return so punctually. Ambitious mamas are hard to fend off when you’re a young man, and it only gets worse the older he becomes, because the expectation of marriage dawns ever closer.

***

“You must agree, Colin,” his mother says, and at the mention of his name, he straightens in his chair, because it’s a terrible thing to be singled out in a conversation by Violet. “Penelope is quite an agreeable young lady.”

Colin agrees, both because he truly believes so, and because while his mother doesn’t need his confirmation, she’s kinder when she has it. Benedict, from the other side of the room, leans closer in his chair, so he can hear better whatever commentary their dear mother is about to impart with them.

“I dare say she’d make quite a suitable bride for you, really.”

All hell breaks loose. Benedict drops his foot to the floor with a loud thud, while Colin drops his sandwich, eliciting a swear for which he’s reprimanded by three of his sisters. And then.

“Mother!” Eloise shrieks, quite offended – which Colin finds surprising, considering that the two of them are best friends. “That is entirely too daring!”

Colin agrees, but he is too busy desperately trying to cough away the piece of sandwich stuck in his throat. Eloise, though still quite shocked, pushes her cup of tea in his hands, just to get him to make less noise. He downs it in one go, grateful to not have died of this particular cause. His heart, quite in override still, might provoke a heart attack soon enough if his mother does not change the subject.

“I believe you misremember your ABCs, dear mother,” he jests, because he does not want to take the idea seriously. “There’s one son for whom you haven’t found a bride quite yet.”

Benedict shifts in his seat, suddenly finding his newspaper way more interesting. But this time around, Violet doesn’t rise to the so delicious bait of teasing her second, not when her brain is so set on match-making her third.

“I don’t see why not. Isn’t she a friend to all of us?”

She stops, waits for a nod from each one of her children currently engaged in eaves-dropping on the topic.

“She’s polite, witty,” she continues listing reason after reason, all to which Colin is entirely familiar and now that he thinks about, has noticed himself, several times over, in Penelope. “And quite darling.”

He imagines darling is what girls who aren’t called beautiful get stuck with by kind mothers. He never actually stopped to even consider Penelope in any of these ways: she’s always been there, ever since he was in short pants – and that’s almost already half their lives. A fixed presence by the side of his younger sister, and a favourite of his mother, despite all the awkward wallflower tendencies in Penelope. But he doesn’t recall ever trying to pick apart her character, find her individual traits, even consider her as a… woman.

Colin is suddenly shamed by his wilful, manly indifference. Violet arches her eyebrow at him, clearly still expecting an answer.

“Mother,” he adds with a sigh. “I can promise you most certainly that I am not marrying any time soon.”

“One never knows,” she murmurs, though she allows him his momentary peace, and returns to her embroidery.

***

Only that his mother doesn’t stop with her comments, and they seem to grow in number each time she meets Penelope, which unfortunate for him, is often enough. The next morning, as she returns from shopping, she comments on how nice she looked in a dress of her own picking, and not her mother’s own distasteful choices. Each time any married sibling sends a letter, or comes visit, her efforts in getting Colin to marry are reinforced. She jabs at him with comments: morning, afternoon and evening.

And suddenly, Colin can find that there’s nothing else much that he can think about, but Penelope, and how exactly this insane idea came to live in his mother’s mind. So he starts paying attention.

He supposes parties would be generally more enjoyable if he didn’t have to attend them with his family, as much as he loves them. He can physically feel Violet’s eyes drawing across the room, and then settling, decisively, on his back, a list of eligible ladies for marriage already compiled in her mind, alongside one for dancing partners. Colin can already guess what her mother is about to tell him.

And he is right. She pokes at his elbow with her fan, nodding to the edge of the ballroom, where Penelope Featheringston stands, card empty and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, at least they do have that in common.

“Colin, darling,” and really, that’s all that Mrs. Bridgerton has to say to any of her children for them to do her bidding.

He makes his way across the room, trying his best to avoid getting roped into introductions by mothers or old friends alike. The faster he’s getting this over with, the faster he can return to the appetizers, and to a reconnaissance of the room of his own.

“Pen,” he says, and she startles, turning around to him with the widest of eyes, and the shyest of smiles. Huh, maybe she does look quite darling.

“Colin!” she exclaims, smoothing down a hand over her dress, and while it’s a gesture driven by nerves, it looks quite adorable.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

He extends out his arm, which she takes – an answer without needing one. And it’s quite a shame, to all the other men in the room, because Penelope is a wonderful dancer, and a most attentive conversationalist during them. She asks him of his most recent travels, destination known through the letters he sent to Eloise, most likely. He’s received his fair share of foot stepping and the occasional elbow in his side, but never with Penelope.

She animates with each step, blushing at his hand around her back, smiling at a spin. He never considered how soft her body feels under his fingers, underneath the thin material of her dress, but now he is acutely aware of her warmth seeping through. He asks of the books she’s been reading, which he knows are plenty.

And at the end of the dance, he finds that maybe dancing with Penelope Featherington is not such a tedious task, after all. And at the end of the night, he’s quite certain she’s been his best partner.

***

Art exhibitions are not really Colin’s thing, really. His interest lays in a world painted in words, not in colours. But considering the fact that one of Benedict’s pieces is to be exposed to the world for the first time, of course his entire family must be present. He is proud of his brother, for having found a path in life, having chased it so full of determination.

Colin’s good at chasing as well. He’s just been proven, more and more lately, that he chases only things that cannot last, which displeases him greatly. It doesn’t mean he is not entirely supportive of his older brother. What other reason he’d have to be present here, at all?

“Penelope!” Eloise shouts, gathering the attention of her friend.

Penelope spins around, red curls jumping with the movement, and she blushes. Colin is pretty sure she’s done this every single time he’s seen her, though maybe he now begins to understand why. She nods her head in their direction, all Bridgertons replying in kind. Eloise lets go of his arm, rushing instead by her best friend’s side, hands entangled in a most obvious display of friendship and affection.

Colin knows Penelope’s family – and so he knows there’s no such camaraderie between her and her sisters, as it can be so easily observed between himself and his own siblings. He’s glad these two have each other then: a friend is one’s most fearful champion.

He walks by his mother’s side, going through the gallery, the two girls just a few feet ahead. Eloise is the taller one, yet both their heads are bent together as they discuss, such an air of ease and comfort about them. His sister says something, and suddenly Penelope turns a bit more to the side, laughing: a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and the loveliest pull at her mouth. Now, Colin finds himself quite taken with her mouth, staring because he finds it impossible not to. The soft pink of her lips, as she’s worried at them trying to come up with a comment about this and that painting. The white of her teeth, as she smiles. Her tongue, wetting her lips, from time to time, as the rooms grow hotter, with all the people passing around.

He’s lucky that the art pieces all around are distracting enough that Penelope herself doesn’t notice. His mother does, though.

“Quite darling, no?”

And she looks at the exact same person that he is, and most certainly not at the painting of a fruit basket in front of them.

“Mother,” he warns, a slight squeeze around her arm.

“Oh,” she sighs. “You can’t blame me for caring enough to try.”

Maybe not. But he can blame her for opening his eyes to something that he, like everyone else – he begins to realize - didn’t really know was right there.

***

So Colin Bridgerton, like a true hero of his days, leaves for Wales. And like the caring gentleman that he also is, he uses one of his friends as his excuse. It helps – it’s quite a useful distraction, for a while, walking over the hills, staring out at the sea, spending evenings eating hearty meals with someone that knows him well enough, but not too much. And he writes in his journal, of his quiet passing days.

By contrast, the nights are not so quiet. While he tries so hard to forget the society back in London, at night there are no distractions: and even so, while asleep, he cannot really control his unconscious mind.

So Colin dreams: at first, the most innocent of shadows, people that he can vaguely make out. Then the visions get clearer, and longer, and more tormenting. It starts with Penelope’s smile, and that mouth of hers, which in a dream he can admit to wanting to desperately kiss. Which, in a dream, he has leave to do. He knows, upon waking, that whatever taste lingers on his tongue from his haze, it certainly has nothing on the reality, and hates himself all the more for it. Then her body, close to his, the press of her bosom hard against his chest, the roundness of her bottom in his palms. The next morning, he is in need of a change of bedsheets, like he is nothing but a horny teenager.

He is sure his mother must have cursed him. The dreams continue, sweet haunting that only makes the guilt rise in his throat. She’s his sister’s best friend, for heaven’s sake, and here he is, conjuring her up in his dreams with no respite! It’s like his body has decided to take an entirely different path from his mind.

Colin is miserable on a travel, for the first time in way too long.

***

Maybe that’s his excuse. He lacks sleep, and for him, the most pressing issue is, obviously, still the one of his marriage. Violet Bridgerton is popular for many things between her children, but her cutting words and sharp mind are not necessarily one of those, especially if used against one of them. Colin has found himself at the receiving end of exactly that for weeks and months now, so he is apprehensive when he is summoned back to London.

But if his mother has need of him, then he must make haste. Of course, the real reason is simply the news of Daphne’s new pregnancy, which is incredibly happy. Colin loves to be an uncle way better than he likes being a younger brother.

Especially since right now, Anthony and Benedict have taken the liberty to pick up with the teasing where their mother stopped.

“You left in the middle of the season,” Benedict remarks, and Anthony clasps his back in a way that only eldest brothers can do, when they require an immediate answer.

“Oh, very well,” and Colin actually scowls. “I needed to get away. Mother has been incessant with this bloody marriage thing.”

And because they’re his brothers, of course they joke and jest more, at his own expense. Everyone in their house knows that his mother has her eyes set on Penelope, and everyone in their house is already tired of her insinuations, Colin most of all. That doesn’t mean that Anthony, or Benedict are going to pass up the opportunity to rile him up on the subject. It’s been a while, after all, since they’ve had reason to laugh at him in particular.

It’s the damn lack of sleep, and all of these comments, which are entirely unwarranted and so overwhelming, despite his protests, that make him throw all decorum out the window.

“I am not going to marry soon, and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!”

“Oh!”

The softest sound, really – feminine and delicate and belonging to the single person that he didn’t want to see right this moment. With much slowness, burning red with shame, Colin turns around to look at Penelope Featherington. And he knows: by the expression on her face, the haggard breathing with the desperate rise and fall of her chest, and her eyes, that he just broke her heart.

What he says right there on the spot, he cannot truly recall. A fumbling of stupid, empty nothings, apology too small, too unfulfilling, because Penelope draws herself up and protects the little bit of her dignity left.

And she leaves, so fast that he doesn’t have the time to do what he wants: follow her to clear up things.

Benedict punches him in the arm, quite terribly hard. It still doesn’t feel as bad as the gut-wrenching guilt building up inside himself, or the self-loathe that he so much deserves. Because just as he was beginning to make up his mind regarding how dear, truly, she has grown to be for him, he has done the worst thing a person who cares about another can do: hurt her.

***

He shows up at the doorsteps of her house the following day, surprised to find Penelope alone in the drawing room.

“As you might suspect, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says, when he inquires after her mother and sisters. “Many men before you have made the same declaration, though maybe in more private settings. I am afraid any hope of marriage left in this household falls upon my sisters.”

It is the fact that she doesn’t use his name that stings the worst, and makes him understand exactly how much harm he’s done with his extremely horrifying comment.

“Penelope, I am so entirely sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. You must believe me when I say I did not mean to offend you in any way.”

“Must I?”

He stops, opens his mouth: no words come out. She looks the picture perfect of peace, and maybe this is what should worry him the most. It is his first time seeing her as more than a blushing young woman, and suddenly maybe he realizes why she is Eloise’s best friend: she’s made of tougher stuff than what he’s been led to believe so far.

“What I said, the way I’ve said it. I’ve hurt you… It’s entirely intolerable and I apologize for the situation you’ve been put in because of me being an ass.”

Situation that she handled entirely fine, given the fact that he so singled her out in a market of numerous others undesirable young ladies. She sighs at his curse, something that sounds like Colin, that has the tiniest of fondness in the tone. Something in his chest tightens with fondness of its own, for this woman in front of him, who has been nothing but a most beloved friend, to his entire family – and to him, as well.

“I…” she stops, taking in a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I already told you, no feelings were hurt. You’ve made no remark that wasn’t already obvious to everybody in the ton,” she says, and she waves in the air the latest number of Lady Whistledown.

Of course, even when he misses it, his sisters and his dear mama are quick to fill him up on the happenings of the season. In today’s fresh paper, Whistledown has written down that were the two of them ever to get married, she’d have to give up writing altogether – such an unfitting match never having been seen before.

“You can’t possibly believe those writings,” he says, suddenly offended at the paper, though he’s not quite certain on whose behalf anymore.

“I didn’t, until –”

Until he has reinforced them all the more, with his declaration. Colin suddenly feels himself flush from head to toes, at being so openly chastised. His brother Benedict has already told him, that he has cruelly overstepped most demands of polite society when he lost his temper in that way, in such a public place.

“I really do apologize, Penelope.”

He hadn’t realize how much he enjoys saying her name until now, when he so desperately wants her, needs her to say his own. A sign that things between them can be mended, move from the terrible awkwardness between them.

“Pity doesn’t feel that nice to those who already know how pitiful they are, Colin.” His gaze snaps up at her, and finds her already smiling at him – quite charming, even if so utterly self-depreciating. “Though you are forgiven.”

He bows at her in thanks, lower than he’s gone in months, if not years, just to show how entirely grateful he is. Of course, Colin is yet too young, rich, handsome and charismatic to know the meaning of her words, and too stupid of a man to try and understand where she is coming from.

But he will, in due time.

For now, maybe his favourite sight to see during his travels becomes the shores of England, when returning home. Because home has just started to mean just a tiny bit more.

[florenceandthemachine]

hear your heartbeat

happy birthday to the incomparable @elisela!!! just for you, please enjoy a good fake-dating au with plenty of idiotic and family members abound.

12.5k - on Ao3

—————

“I’m telling you, Scotty. New York has been good to me. Maybe we should just renounce California and stay here for the summer.”

“Don’t joke about that, dude.”

Stiles laughed as he shouldered his phone, taking in the city air as he strolled along the streets of Manhattan.

Needless to say, Manhattan was far from home—while the city certainly was his vibe, Stiles was no stranger to tamping down the champagne tastes that clashed with his tapwater budget. The little shitbox apartment he got through NYU’s housing program was almost a thirty minute train ride from school, but Stiles figured that when he was more or less trapped on campus for nearly fifty hours a week, he could justify spending his breaks wandering the streets of Manhattan and really taking in the city.

On today’s agenda, Stiles was looking forward to wandering around a farmers market that literally stretched on for city blocks. There were fruits and vegetables literally as far as the eye could see, spices and roots and mysterious tubers of all shapes and size, but Stiles didn’t give a flying fuck about the food—his real interest were the vendors and the shoppers.

He had learned early on that open air markets like this were perfect meeting grounds for mythical beasts of all shapes and sizes, so, what better palace for him to do some… field work, so to speak?

There were nymphs who had full bouquets of beautiful flowers that lived suspiciously long in their vases as long as you complimented the blooms on a regular basis. Dryads who sold the most delicious fruit he had ever tasted, even if they charged six bucks for a pear.

Stiles had learned early on to avoid the fae—basically, any stand that sold crystal or metalcraft. His first time at the market, he had somehow wound up spending nearly four hundred dollars on quartz; the moment the money had left his hand, the stall had all but vanished in front of him.

“The people are good here. They’re fast. Blunt. Sarcastic. My kind of people.”

“Uh huh.”

Scott liked to call their whole situation lucky.

When Stiles applied to NYU’s doctorate program, he expected rounds and rounds of interviews, lists of deadlines he needed to memorize, and some less-than-subtle digs at his proposed field of study (which was fair, honestly—he knew that criminology and mythology rarely mixed).

What he didn’t expect was Scott, though, the bro of all bros. When Stiles told him he was applying to NYU, Scott had cheered him on, helped him prepare, and then immediately applied to different veterinary positions through the state.

(Scott was golden, obviously—he had years of training, letters of recommendation from everyone he had ever met, and him being a werewolf basically made him the animal whisperer.)

At the end of the day, Stiles got to pursue his passion thanks to a hodgepodge of grants at NYU, and Scott was awarded a fellowship in veterinary medicine through the Bronx Zoo. What kind of weird twist of luck would let the best friends wind up together across the country like that?

So, yeah, Scott called it luck.

Stiles called it karmic retribution for their supremely fucked-up years at Beacon Hills High, but even he could admit that ‘luck’ sounded nicer... and if Stiles was being honest, ‘luck’ was definitely the best way to classify his meeting Derek Hale.

Derek Hale was smart, he was sarcastic, and he could go toe-to-toe with Stiles over completely obscure things for literal hours. He was a first-year professor at NYU, who had the tiny office right next to the broom closet Stiles had managed to shove PHD desk into, and he was probably the only other person in the program that took mythology seriously (meaning he was the only person who didn’t make Stiles want to put his head through the wall).

He was also hot as fuck, but that was beside the point. Stiles had a little bit of a massive crush, but that was also beside the point.

They had built up a fast friendship based on a series of arguments about the Necronomicon, of all things, and Stiles loved the thought of being friends with someone who didn’t know him as the weird kid in high school who knew way too much about ritual sacrifice and circumcision.

He had evened out a lot through undergrad. He was still awkward, sure, but he was awkward with a refillable prescription for Adderall and some sort of brain-to-mouth filter.

(Honestly, the fact that Stiles had managed to avoid making a single joke about the werewolf who was stuck teaching Mythology 101 really did speak volumes to his newfound maturity.)

Speaking of Derek, though…

“Stiles! Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles almost jumped a foot in the air as he heard his name called, doing a spectacular near-drop-mid-air-catch of his phone as he regained his footing, turning on the spot to see a taller woman with jet black hair waving him over.

She was… okay, she was gorgeous—dark hair, smooth skin, someone who looked like she just stepped out of one of the windows on Fifth Avenue—but Stiles was decently distracted, because standing beside her was Derek Hale, the object of his extremely private affection for the past few months. Who, for whatever reason, was standing there looking like he wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow him whole.

“Scotty, I’ll see you tonight, yeah? I gotta go.”

Stiles pocketed his phone as he cautiously made his way over to the pair—trio, he corrected, because there was another woman with them, looking incredibly more invested in the conversation now that another party was joining them.

He hiked his canvas a bit higher up as he smiled, trying to remember where he had seen the two before… students, maybe, but if that were the case, they would know Derek, not Stiles. They weren’t faculty members, he was sure of that. Donors to the program, maybe?

Well, if they were donors, Stiles sincerely hoped that Derek would have tried harder to wear literally any expression other than his current ‘bitter and miserable’.

And if they were donors, why were they so fucking happy to see him?

“I’m Laura. This is Cora.”

The taller of the two women extended her hand confidently as Stiles got within arms reach, and he instinctively reached out to take it, Cora following suit. “Derek has told us all about you. I have to say, I figured there was at least a ten percent chance you were made up, but… here you are!”

“Here I am!” Stiles was officially lost, but he kept his smile up, cheeks pinking up a little bit as he turned back to Derek. “You’ve been talking about me?” he asked, his voice on the line between flattered and teasing, nudging Derek playfully as he tilted his head.

“Stiles, I—“

“Of course he has! Derek’s a private guy, sure, but you can’t be surprised he told us about his new—“

“Laura—”

“Lord, Derek, calm down. You already had your big bisexual awakening, I’m allowed to be excited to meet your first boyfriend.” Laura shot back, her glare rivaling Derek’s absolute best ‘listen to teacher’ look, and Stiles could see the muscle in his jaw start to twitch. He probably would have done something, but… he was basically short circuiting, brain trying to keep up with whatever the fuck Laura had said, because Derek now had his arm around Stiles’ waist.

Derek had a big bisexual awakening?

And a boyfriend, apparently?

How had Stiles missed that??

“Stiles, these are my sisters, Laura and Cora Hale.”

Okay, great, they were Derek’s sisters. Stiles didn’t even know that Derek had sisters, which was a little sad if he thought about it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have long to think about it, because Derek—

“This is Stiles, my… my boyfriend. Now stop bombarding him. Give him half a fucking second before you go a thousand miles an hour.”

Oh—oh God. Stiles was the boyfriend.

He had seriously missed something, then—he didn’t think he had confessed his feelings for Derek anytime recently, or he probably would have died from embarrassment. Scott was really good at hiding his phone when he was drinking, which ruled that entire scenario out. Stiles could be forgetful at times, sure, but he thought he would remember if he had managed to score himself a boyfriend.

He looked up at Derek, trying to ignore the sudden burn of contact where their bodies were pressed together, but his brain was extremely focused the moment that he caught the look on Derek’s face, there and gone in a flash. He felt the hand squeeze at his waist, and the message was clear enough.

Please.

Ah, well. Stiles was always good at bullshitting, and this was no exception.

“No, no, Der, it’s fine! It’s good to meet you both, sorry, I wasn’t even expecting to see Derek until… uh, later, let alone meet anyone new,” Stiles said, his voice 100% betraying his nerves as it picked up an octave.

Laura’s voice was much more evenly toned, even if it was a little teasing. “Oh? You two have big plans tonight? We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?” she said with a grin, giving the distinct impression that even if they were interrupting, she and her sister wouldn’t be leaving until they were good and ready. Stiles felt his mind kick into overdrive, waving the question aside.

“Oh, nothing like that. We were going to meet up with my friend Scott for dinner, introducing the boyfriend to the best friend, you know how it is,” he continued, hoping his little chuckle wasn’t too terribly fake as he reached up to pat the lapels of Derek’s jacket, letting his fingers linger a little too long on Derek’s chest as he nodded.

He hoped that she knew how it was. Hell, Stiles didn’t even know how it was. He hadn’t exactly been rolling in romance since moving across the country.

“Well, if you say so,” Laura mused, raising a perfect brow, head tilted to the side. “You look like you’re about to pass out, Stiles. You alright?”

And, okay, Stiles knew enough to know what that meant. It meant that her super-sonic ears could hear his heart trying to break through his ribs with a staccato beat, typically a tell-tale sign that someone was lying, but… maybe he could work that to his advantage. He swallowed, voice a little tight as he laughed, waving the concern away.

“Sorry, I just wasn't… planning on meeting the family today,” Stiles said, probably the most truthful thing he had ever said. “Usually I’d try to prepare a little more, you know, make sure I’m wearing something nice and avoid putting my entire foot in my mouth. Maybe just a toe or two,” he said, relaxing minutely as Cora snorted from her position near Laura’s elbow.

Okay, so self depreciation was a good way to avoid suspicion with all the Hales. Got it.

“Well, if you both have plans, I’ll make this quick,” Laura said, her voice deceptively charming as she sidled up next to Stiles, though he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the way Derek’s hand tightened around his waist. “The semester is up soon, what are your plans this summer? Never mind, move them back. We’re having a family reunion the week after finals, and everyone is dying to meet baby brother Derek’s new boo after all the stories he’s told.”

…stories?

He looked up to Derek again, who was now blushing up to the tips of his ears, which—okay, cute—but which told him absolutely nothing and offered him exactly zero defense.

“Actually, I already have a flight booked as soon as my spring contract is up. Heading back to Beacon Hills for a few days, and—“

“Wait, did Derek already invite you?” Laura asked, her expression pleasantly surprised, and Stiles was speechless for a half second before Derek stepped in.

“No, I didn’t invite him because I’m not even going, Laura. Besides, he has his own plans with his own family,” he said, and Stiles blinked as he tried to keep up. “And what do you mean, they’re excited to meet him? I was very clear that the further I can keep him away from you and Mom, the better.”

Laura only rose a brow as she turned back to Cora, who took a beat before looking up from her phone, her expression halfway guilty as she clutched the device. “I uh—I may have just sent a picture of you two to the family group chat.”

Stiles choked on a laugh as Derek gasped—actually gasped—and pulled his phone from his pocket, making the mistake of releasing Stiles’ shoulder to unlock the device, looking absolutely scandalized as he glared at Cora.

It wasn’t long before Stiles had a similar look on his face, though, as Laura took advantage of his free arm, linking her own with his as she started to walk. “Alright, Stiles, here’s the deal.”

“Cora, you little—hey! Laura, get back here with my boyfriend!”

“Calm down little brother, the adults are talking.”

“He’s younger than I am!”

“So, Stiles, like I was saying,” Laura started, oblivious or ignorant to the way Stiles' mind had absolutely reeled when Derek had called him his boyfriend for the second time. “Derek hasn’t been home for more than a day visit since he moved out to this dump, and no one has raised a stink about it in years. This year, though, is… important,” she started, and Stiles nodded idly as he mentally ran through the calendar in his head.

The semester was over in just over a week, with finals crammed into three days after that, and then—oh, the full moon.

No, Stiles corrected himself, the blue moon. The first blue moon in May in probably… thirty years, if he had to guess. He nodded up to Laura as that clicked into place, a flicker of curiosity crossing over her face as she continued talking.

“We won’t take up that much of your time—it’s only like two events, I promise, and I also promise Derek will personally take care of whatever flight changes you have to make so you can still get some time with your family. After all, it’s not your fault my bonehead brother tried to exclude you until now.”

“I’m not a bonehead!” Derek said, his tone of voice just exasperated enough that Stiles sighed, carefully extracting himself from Laura’s grasp as they slowed to a stop near the curb of Fifth Avenue, the noise from the farmers market blending in with the sound of traffic as he turned back to Derek.

“Alright, hang on, hold up,” Stiles started, his tone firm enough to stop the three wolves in their tracks, Derek and Laura wearing matching expressions of surprise as they stopped in their tracks—even Cora was peeking over her phone, clearly interested, and Stiles couldn’t blame them. It had probably been a long time since either of them had been stopped by a human.

“Laura, Derek is not a bonehead. He’s smart, and he’s sweet, and he’s very kind, and it’s okay that he’s a little more private. Yeah, he’s also a stubborn asshole, but… well, that’s one of the reasons I like him so much,” Stiles said, the first genuine smile in the entire conversation gracing his face as he looked at Derek again. “But you know your brother. Did you really think that catching him off guard across the country in person was going to be the best way to convince him to visit?”

He was fine taking their silence as an answer, honestly.

“Now, Derek, that being said, I… if you are comfortable with it, I can rearrange my plans and come down with you. If you’re not comfortable with that, that’s okay too. Meeting the family—at least, the rest of the family—is a very big step,” he continued, his words very pointed.

(Yes, Derek, meeting the family would be a very big step for someone you weren’t even dating, please pick up on the subliminal messaging here.)

“But even if you’re not comfortable with me being there, I think you should still go down. I’ll get to spend plenty of time with my dad, you shouldn’t have to be all alone up here while I’m gone.”

Moving to smooth over the lapels on Derek’s jacket again, Stiles only barely tampered down a noise of surprise as Derek intercepted his hands, pleasantly shocked by how easily Derek’s warm, smooth fingers slipped between his own lanky digits.

Stiles felt his cheeks pinks up as he cleared his throat, doing his best to act normal, because he was… well, he wasn’t lying. He had absolutely thought about Derek being alone here in New York while Stiles was gone, but that was more in the sense that Stiles would miss him.

He just didn’t know that Derek might be missing some family, too.

Besides, he may not have known that much about the intricacies of a normal, family pack, but Stiles knew enough to know that a big event like this would probably be good for Derek, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Even if Derek was going to reject his offer and go down alone.

…because Derek was going to reject him.

Derek was going to reject him, right?

Stiles had been fairly sure of that when he offered, but judging by the way Derek couldn’t meet his eyes after something as simple as holding hands, Stiles might have just fucked himself over. Derek opened and closed his mouth twice before he finally let out a huff of air and looked up, doing a remarkably good impression of a guilty animal as he looked at Stiles.

“…you’re sure you don’t mind?”

Fuck.

“Derek, I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” Stiles said, and that much was at least true—but before he could say anything else, Laura was squealing in his ear, wrapping both of them up in a hug so tight Stiles almost had to remind her that he was human, but he was able to breathe again as the car next to the curb chirped.

“Thank God, Stiles, thank you for getting through to him! Oh, Nana is gonna flip out when she hears who’s coming—Derek, you know you’ve always been her favorite—Stiles, do you have any dietary restrictions? Derek, send me his number, and—no, Cora, you are not driving us back to the airport, move your ass—“

Stiles looked up to Derek, his expression somewhere between bemused and fearful as Laura rambled on, but… well, the apologetic look that Derek had on his face wasn’t much reassurance.

“—and Stiles, you’re going to love Beacon Hills. Bye boys! See you in two weeks!”

Stiles was left, partially shellshocked as Derek’s hand slipped from his own, the need for the facade no longer essential as the shiny silver rental car pulled into traffic.

“… Derek, since when the fuck are you from Beacon Hills?”

—————

“Scotty, stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”

“Dude, are you kidding me? This is hilarious.”

Stiles groaned as he shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth, ignoring the burning sensation that spread across his tongue as he tried to pack as much melted cheese as he could into one bite.

Scott’s apartment had been their go-to for the entire time he and Stiles had been in the city—not because it was huge and glamorous, not by any means, but Scott’s shoebox had a door between the bathroom and the living room, and therefore it was the best place for bro-time by default.

Stiles had loudly complained about the entire situation when he and Derek showed up on Scott’s stoop, firmly planting himself in his favorite of Scott’s chairs—the ‘old man’ recliner next to Scott’s little television, the game on screen forgotten as he recalled their harrowed tale.

“Stiles, if you weren’t comfortable with it, why even… okay, no, don’t you dare answer me until you swallow,” Derek snapped, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he swallowed a few times, sticking his tongue out at Derek once his mouth was empty.

“Good. Thank you for pretending to be an adult. Now, why did you even offer if it wasn’t something you were comfortable with.”

Because it was supposed to just be a gesture, Derek. Because I didn’t realize you would take it as a serious offer, Derek. Because you were supposed to say no, Derek.

… because I didn’t want you to be alone, Derek.

Honestly, as surprised as Stiles was that Derek took him up on his poorly-timed moment of goodness, he was even more surprised that after Laura drove off, when he numbly asked if Derek wanted to come over to Scott’s for some pizza, Derek actually said yes.

Derek Hale was being social. Alert the media.

(Well… maybe ‘social’ was stretching it a bit—Stiles didn’t know if it was a territory thing or what, but Derek had turned hilariously, awkwardly stiff the moment he stepped inside Scott’s apartment.)

“I offered because I’m nice, dick, but don’t even think that you can turn this on me. Derek, they knew my name. They knew what I looked like. And yeah, I mean, I’m a complete catch and all—oh fuck off, Scotty—but what in the actual, literal fuck?”

Stiles didn’t think it was possible, but somehow Derek got even more tense, shoulders tightening up toward his ears as he looked down. It took a moment before he answered, but Stiles knew by then that Derek usually had to… wind himself up to talk about some things.

“My mother lives on the opposite end of the country, and even then, she still managed to set up twenty four blind dates for me last year. Twenty four, Stiles. That’s basically one every other week. Do you have any idea how much small talk that is? And how much I hate small talk?”

Yes, Stiles thought, to both of those questions. He would never admit this out loud, of course, but thinking about one of the most intensely private people that he knew stuck at some shitty little coffee shop trying to chat with some random female on behalf of his mother was hilarious to a degree he couldn’t fathom.

It definitely wasn’t a redirection of his own… personal feelings that may or may not be directed at Derek. Not at all. Nope.

“So, around the time the spring semester started, when my mother let slide that she had passed along my number to yet another perfectly eligible barista, or something, I panicked and told her I had a boyfriend. And then she asked for a photo, and the most recent one on my phone was that selfie you sent miming your own death in the stacks, so…”

“Oh fuck, Derek,” Stiles started, downing the last of his beer. “Your big bisexual awakening wasn’t just you trying to get out of your mom setting you up on dates, right?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, ass,” Derek said, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “The two events were completely separate.”

Stiles laughed at the thought, but even then, his mind was reeling. If this wasn’t a recent discovery, how in the fuck did Stiles miss that for so long?

“Well, you’re lucky Scotty and I had a flight booked anyway. I won’t let you face them alone, not when you have a picture perfect boyfriend to show off now—what role should I take on? Doting, love struck fool? Rebel without a care? Some sad forlorn loser who… okay, no, that one is too close to home.”

Scott stood up and laughed as Derek glared at Stiles again, but it didn’t take a genius to see the tiny smile on his face, or the way his shoulders eased as he leaned back into the couch.

“Alright, this is getting too intense a conversation while the game is on. Want another beer, Stiles? You, Derek?”

Stiles made a vaguely affirming noise as he wove his hand in Scott’s direction, eyes drawn back to Derek yet again as the other wolf politely declined, his own attention affixed to the television as the game picked back up.

Derek was… not a particularly expressive person, Stiles knew, and part of that was because Derek had what Stiles affectionately called ‘resting grumpy face’; at least, he did privately, because the one time he said it out loud Derek had thrown the Encyclopaedia of Demomorgons at his head.

So, to the outsider looking in, Derek might have just seemed uninterested in the game; but Stiles had been watching Derek work for the better part of a semester, and he knew perfectly well how to tell when Derek’s resting grumpy face formed an actual frown. Which it did. Because apparently, the Mets had personally offended him.

“I’m sorry, are you seriously glaring at the Mets? While they’re winning?”

Derek leveled Stiles with the most unimpressed glare he could as Scott laughed from his kitchen, walking back into the living room with two beers. “God, I hope he was. It would be nice to have someone with taste in the apartment for once.”

“Scotty!” Stiles gasped, clutching his heart as Scott handed him a beer, extending the claw on his thumb to pop the top off before he handed the bottle over. “The Mets are a treasure, okay? If God lived in New York, she’d be a Mets fan. I have suffered much for my Mets in my lifetime, and they—woah, Derek, you okay?”

Stiles’ charming cliches would have to wait, because when he looked over to Derek, his humor dropped immediately. Derek had gone white as a sheet, jaw slack as he stared at the beer in Stiles’ hand.

He stared back and forth between Scott and Derek, trying to figure what the hell had just happened; it wasn’t until he watched Scott pop the top off of his own beer, looking between the two of them, did Stiles put two and two together.

“Derek, you… you had to know that Scott was a were, right? Like, you had to. He—Scotty doesn’t do subtle.”

“Me?! Stiles, you called me a wet dog for like a month after I fell into the Hudson.”

Derek let out a sort of choked noise as he shut his mouth, coming back into himself as a bit of pink dusted his pale cheeks, hands moving in front of his face. “Of—of course I knew, but—you knew?!”

“Dude, I’m studying mythical lore and criminology. I’m the one who taught this furry fucker how to control himself. Of course I knew, I... oh my god. You didn’t know that I knew—uh, that I know.”

Matching looks of realization dawned on Scott and Stiles’ face as Stiles stood up, putting the beer down on the coffee table. He moved next to Derek as he sat down on the couch, keeping his movement slow, reaching out to pat Derek’s leg like he was a frail old lady.

“Derek, I know.”

After what felt like an age and a half, Derek melted into the couch, a huge sigh leaving his lips as all the tension in his body bled out like a string had been cut, burying his head in his hands.

“We’ve had arguments about wolves in pop culture. I’ve offered to help you out with your coursework every full moon for, like, the entire semester. Dude, you had to know that I knew, there’s no way I didn’t—Derek!” Stiles felt his giddy laughter bubble over as Derek shot him a red-eyed glare through his fingers, his scowl somehow less intimidating now that everything was out in the open.

Okay, Derek wasn’t just a wolf, he was an alpha. That was… interesting.

“God, you two really are perfect fake boyfriends. Two halves of a whole idiot. Derek, are you sure you don’t want a beer? Or maybe something stronger, if you have to deal with Stiles?” Scott said easily, laughing as Stiles immediately protested, though the way Stiles eased himself next to Derek wasn’t exactly subtle, either.

—————

Scott may have been joking, but by the time finals had come and gone, Stiles had accepted the fact that he would have to forgo booze and opt for a mainline of caffeine to keep up with Derek. How one person remained so meticulously organized, Stiles would never know—but in the amount of time it took for Stiles to wrap up his grant work for the semester, Derek had given four exams, proctored three more, cleaned out his office, and shared the updated flight itinerary with Stiles.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Stiles had said, tripping over an empty box in his tiny office as Derek handed him his updated boarding pass. “Why do we have to change our flights? Scott and I are already booked, you can probably just join us, right?”

Derek rose a perfectly sculpted brow as he tapped the ticket again, shaking his head. “Hey, I promised you’d spend as few days as possible with my family, and I intend to keep that promise. The sooner we get in, the sooner we start that clock, the sooner you get to spend the rest your time with your dad.”

Stiles blinked as he looked down to the itinerary, eyes scanning over the earlier time—and it was non-stop too. That would be a bit killer on the legs, but Stiles could handle that, maybe he could take some time to sleep or pester Derek for...

“Uh, Derek... this ticket is for first class.”

“I know, Stiles, I booked it.”

“Dude, there’s a reason Scott and I booked an economy ticket with a layover in Bismarck. There’s no way I can pay you back for this.”

If looks could kill, Stiles would be... maybe not dead, but at least set on fire. Derek sighed, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he rolled his eyes.

“You’re not paying me back, dumbass. You’re already doing a ton for me with this little... charade, the least I can do is make sure your frail human body—“

“Hey!”

”—is comfortable in a lie flat seat.”

“Look, I appreciate that, but I’m not leaving Scott alone on his flight in coach just because of our... fake... whatever.”

Stiles’ voice trailed off in curiosity as Derek sighed, his cheeks pink as he pulled the paper out of Stiles’ hand, pointing to the second half of the sheet—where MCCALL, SCOTT had been printed in big, bold letters, that Stiles had completely ignored.

“... you got Scott a ticket too?”

“Of course I did. He’s your best friend, I wasn’t going to ask you to leave him behind just for me. Besides, who do you think I got your information from to book the flight?” Derek said dryly, as though his deadpan delivery could cancel out the ruddy color to his cheeks, or the way that Stiles’ stomach flip flopped when the reality of that sunk in.

It was nice that Derek acknowledged the importance of their friendship, in the way that tugged at the little space right beneath his sternum, but something about the way Derek so quickly dismissed himself was... concerning.

Stiles couldn’t help but play that little bit of their conversation over in his head as he packed, as he hopped on the train, as he met up with Scott and Derek in security.

Scott, bless his heart, was absolutely elated—his excitement was almost tangible as they dropped off luggage, walked through security, and stood around at the boarding gate. Derek had to smack the both of them to get them to stand up when first class was called to board, and Stiles idly wondered if Derek regretted associating himself with them when he and Scott managed to trip in sync as they went down the jetway.

Derek and Stiles were seated together, of course, and once Stiles got over the novelty of not having a middle seat on a plane, he liked to imagine he fit right in—easing back into the seat, enjoying the comfort of the little blanket he had been given, grinning at the flight attendant as she checked in with them.

(Scott was one row ahead and across the aisle, close enough that Stiles could lean forward and smack him if he wanted to... but the moment Stiles saw his seat mate, a pretty woman with dark hair and impeccable eyeliner, he knew his best bro would be on a different planet for the entirety of the flight.)

His grin slipped a little bit, though, as he thought back to the conversation surrounding the tickets, and he looked up to Derek as he settled in a bit further.

“So, we never went over what role I should be taking on.”

“Stiles, just be yourself. You’re funny enough, and you generally mean well, they’ll love who you are.”

Yeah… who he was. Well, who he was was someone who was going to be dangerously invested in a fake relationship that would probably end terribly for him, so that was fun. He sighed as he settled into the seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he debated on where to go from here.

No time like a non stop plane ride to have a potentially awkward conversation, right?

“Dude, we’re friends, right?”

“We’re fake boyfriends, don’t call me dude.”

Derek’s tone was teasing as he flipped through his SkyMall, a small smile on his face, and Stiles felt a little bit of the tension ease out of his shoulders as he buckled in.

“First of all, I have called many boyfriends ‘dude’ before,” Stiles started, ignoring Derek’s snort of laughter, “and I’m being serious. We... we are friends, right?”

Be it his words or his awkward energy, Derek looked up, surprise on his face as he closed the magazine and stowed it away as the plane bumped down the taxiway.

“Of course we are, Stiles. You’re like... the only person I talk to at work outside of teaching, that’s light years ahead of most of New York as a whole.”

“I mean, I’m glad to hear, I just...” Stiles chewed on his lip as he turned in his seat, weirdly soothed by the roar of the engines as the takeoff roll started. “You know about my dad, and about my school, and about Scott, and those are basically the three important things in my life,” he started, letting out a sigh as Derek just stared at him blankly.

“It’s fine that you’re a private person, I can respect that... seriously, I may not understand it, but I can respect it,” Stiles said, grinning as Derek shot him a look, lowering his voice again as he leaned over the divider between them. “But I didn’t know that you were from my hometown, too. Or that you had sisters, let alone other family. I should have asked, I guess, but... you know you can talk to me about things, yeah? Even after all this is over, you’ll always be Derek to me. Not just another Hale.”

Stiles’ was smiling as he gently bumped Derek’s shoulder with his own, watching the way different emotions warred over his face, biting back on the urge to babble on so he could give Derek the time he needed to respond.

“We’re... we are friends, Stiles. We are.” Derek insisted, looking down to his linked hands as the plane continued to rise. “Sometimes, I just... I’m not great about talking about myself.”

For a while, Stiles thought that was all he was going to get, and honestly, he was fine with it—it wasn’t until the fasten seatbelt sign chimed off and the flight attendants passed out little bottles of water that Derek spoke again, his voice low as he cleared his throat.

“My family is huge. Like, big enough that we need spreadsheets and flowcharts to organize family events like this. I know they love me, and I love them too, of course I do, but I made some really, really stupid decisions when I was younger… I know they forgave me for it, but...”

Derek sighed, taking a deep breath as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be around them and still be okay with myself, you know?”

No, Stiles didn’t know. He only had his dad and Scott growing up, but he nodded his head encouragingly as he took a sip of his water.

“I actually have four siblings. Mark is the oldest, and then Taylor, and I’m right between Laura and Cora. They’re betas, like my dad; my mom and I are both alphas, her mom, too…” Derek continued, and Stiles smiled as he settled into his seat.

By the time the flight landed, Stiles’ head was full to the brim with Hale family trivia, names, faces, teasing stories, and the warmth that had danced across Stiles’ chest for the past year or so had bloomed into a full-on fire.

Would it lead to his downfall? Probably.

But when he saw how Derek smiled when he remembered Mark’s graduating medical school, or heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Laura’s charity work, and the genuine joy he got to see when he heard another story about Derek’s childhood… well, that was all more than worth it.

—————

“I think you should kiss me.”

Stiles had to stop himself from laughing at the look that Derek shot him, doing his best to keep his body language casual as he leaned against the gas pump at a tiny station outside of Beacon Hills, though he knew his heart was going at about a million miles a minute.

“I—you—what?”

“Derek, I’m an affectionate dude, in case you couldn’t tell from all the hand holding. And if you’re going to freak out if I kiss your cheek, then you should freak out now, not when we’re in front of your family.”

Stiles knew full well his heart betrayed his confidence, but seeing Derek’s ears go pink as he dumped the armful of snacks Stiles had asked for into the back seat was a welcome sight—it was always nice to know that Derek’s cool and controlled exterior could be ruffled up once in a while.

Somewhere between the rental kiosk and the gas station, Stiles had decided that he was going to go all in on this. His little crush was already stuck right in the back of his throat and would be unlikely to dislodge any time soon, so he figured that indulging himself in the fake relationship Derek had set up for him… well, it wouldn’t do any good, but it was unlikely to make things worse for him than it already was.

It was a little weird being alone with Derek—Stiles didn’t realize it until now, but between meeting Derek’s sisters and meeting the rest of their family, this was the first time they had been alone together. They had other staff members at school, or strangers around the city, or Scott (who had politely declined a ride back to Beacon Hills with Derek and Stiles, choosing instead to split an Uber with his pretty new friend, Kira).

“You know, as far as first kisses go, usually they’re a little more romantic than just a demand. You’re supposed to woo me, Stiles,” Derek said, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his shy little smile as he pulled the nozzle out of his tank, closing the gas cap as Stiles gasped in mock offense.

“Hey, I said you should kiss me, not the other way around. Why should I have to be the one to woo?” Stiles started, sliding into the passenger’s seat as Derek followed suit. “After all, this relationship wouldn’t have even happened without your instigation, so why should I… uh… Der?”

Stiles’ voice trailed off as Derek’s hand sunk into the soft crook at the juncture of his neck, effectively cutting off his entire train of thought as Derek’s thumb pressed against the hollow of his jaw.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“O-Okay.”

For a minute, all Stiles could think of were those cheesy old rom-coms, where fireworks would go off, or bells would chime, but kissing Derek was nothing like that. It was the comfort of wrapping yourself in an electric blanket, instead of the shock of jumping into a frozen pond; the familiar buzz of goosebumps over his skin over a bolt of lightning. He felt a surprised little noise leave his chest as Derek’s tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking out instinctively to drag along Derek’s bottom lip, hands coming up to rest against the wolves chest.

Stiles could feel his heart beating through every inch of his skin as the kiss broke, struggling to remind himself how to breathe as he opened his eyes again, his nose brushing against Derek’s as he let out a little huff of a laugh.

“Was that enough woo for you?” Derek asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Stiles smiled as he nodded his head, savoring the way that neither of them moved back. Derek’s hand was warm against the crook of his jaw, his own palm flat against Derek's chest, and it was natural, it was so nice, it was—

Fake. It was all fake.

Stiles sighed, closing his eyes as he gently leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, that mantra playing through his head as he pulled himself back. He buckled himself in easily as he took in a deep breath, his goofy grin still in place as he looked back up to Derek.

“See? Now you can honestly tell your mom we had our first kiss at a gas station and that it was magical and I totally rocked your world.”

“Is that what happened, though? I mean, if you wanted me to kiss you so badly, you should have just asked,” Derek said, the sarcasm thick in his voice as he started the car, and Stiles laughed as they pulled out of the lot, his hand finding Derek’s easily once again.

Their silence remained comfortable as they left the city skyline behind and basically blew through Beacon Hills, the trees inching closer to the road as they wound through the preserve.

Finishing off a bag of M&M’s, Stiles cleared his throat as he crumpled up the wrapper and chucked it in the back seat, sucking a little bit of melted chocolate off of his thumb. “So. Is this regular introducing-the-boyfriend-to-the-family nerves I’m looking at here, or is this introducing-the-fake-boyfriend-to-the-family nerves? You don’t have any weirdos in your family, do you? An ex-felon auntie? A cousin who doesn’t quite get personal space?”

Stiles grinned as Derek laughed, oddly comforted by the sound as Derek shook his head. “Nothing exciting. A weird uncle, I guess. Lots of cousins, you should basically abandon any idea of personal space as soon as we walk in, and plenty of human family, too—so you won’t be alone in that. As far as felons go, well… none of us have been caught?”

“Hey, game recognizes game, it doesn’t count if you don’t get caught. And I can work with a weird uncle.” Stiles laughed at the sheepish look that Derek shot his way, his fingers still happily wrapped up in Derek’s warm hands. He could almost feel it when they crossed over onto the Hale land, the huge, white house as much of a giveaway as the shrieks of joy that even Stiles could hear from the property.

“They’re gonna love you, you know?” Derek’s voice was soft as he pulled the rental into a long row of cars, nearly lining the road leading up to the house, and Stiles felt the snarky remark die on his tongue as Derek caught his eye, his expression somewhere between grateful and wistful as he turned the car off.

“Maybe, but…” Stiles sighed as he popped his door open, chewing over his next words carefully. “But if they do, it’s because they already love you.”

He took it as a personal victory when Derek turned away, his ears pink again, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin as he followed the werewolf up the path to his family home.

The Hale House was probably as huge and impressive as the Hale family itself from the outside, and Stiles did his best not to gape like a fool as Derek opened the door for him, his hand finding the small of Stiles’ back as they stepped into the house. Polished floors, huge, high windows, a grand staircase that was the definition of grand, and—

“Derek!”

—and another unfairly attractive Hale moving forward to greet them. Tall, broad, dark hair with just a splash of salt around the temples and the goatee, shining a million watt smile on Derek and Stiles as he wiped his hands on his probably-uncomfortably-tight jeans.

Jesus, was everyone in this family gorgeous? Stiles was going to get a complex.

He looked up as the stranger and Derek briefly hugged, watching the halfway-subtle way they scented one another, Mark’s head buried in Derek’s neck for a half moment before they pulled away. If Stiles strained his ear, he could have heard something along the lines of ‘be nice’ as Derek pulled back; if the situation weren’t so funny, Stiles probably would have blushed.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m always nice. I’m Mark, and you…” Mark started, his million watt smile back in place as his eyes dragged over Stiles’ body, “... you must be Stiles.” Stiles snorted as Mark pulled him into an easy hug, catching Stiles just a little off-guard as he was wrapped in another pair of arms.

Apparently Derek’s family was an affectionate bunch. Stiles didn’t know if it was a wolf thing or a Hale thing, but either way, it was good to know.

“Mark, uh, Seattle, right? You’re the surgeon?” Stiles asked, clearing his throat as the hug carried on just a bit too long, regaining some footing in the introduction as he pulled back. “Derek’s told me a lot about you.”

That was… mostly true, Derek had told him enough about Mark to thoroughly embarrass the older male, and Mark looked like he expected nothing less as he laughed, holding Stiles’ shoulders as he stood at arms length. “Yeah, I’m sure he did, but it’s probably all garbage. After all, how can you really describe a wonder like me in words, huh?”

He actually winked, and Stiles honestly couldn’t believe that this dude was for real.

“Der, nice job with this one. He’s cute. Kid, is my brother treating you well? Cause, you know, if Hale is your taste, you can do much better than—”

”Mark—“

“Oh, lighten up Der-bear, there isn’t enough Botox in the world to get rid of those scowl lines. It was a joke. Now come on, everyone’s out back.”

Stiles laughed again as Mark put Derek in an easy headlock, ruffling up his hair as he led them outside, immediately filing ‘Der-bear’ away for future use as they stepped out into the backyard.

The backyard, which was absolutely filled with Hales.

He felt his heart do a funny little lurch as he was hit with the sheer family of it all—all dark haired, all gorgeous, and for just a moment, he wanted to smack Derek upside the head. There were probably generations of Hales here; Derek had all this family, this built in support group, and he was just going to spend the summer holed up in New York?

“Alright, Siles, we’re gonna keep you in with the main family and keep you away from the cousins,” Mark started, artfully ignoring the way Derek was swatting at him. “Uncle Peter all but insisted that Mom come pick him up, so you’ll get to avoid them until later tonight, but who you really want to watch out for is—“

“Is that my grandbaby?!”

Mark stiffened as Derek perked up, and Stiles couldn’t help but snicker as a bony hand shot up, grabbing Mark by the scruff of his neck, pulling him off of Derek with a flourish that would probably seem overly dramatic if Stiles didn’t know just how much werewolf strength was packed behind it.

“Derek!”

“Hi, Nana.”

Stiles couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as Derek leaned in to wrap his arms around the older woman—she was a good foot shorter than he was, her movements loud, with light skinned with the same tell-tale black hair that the rest of the family had. What caught Stiles’ eye, though, was the way Derek scented her—it was the same way Mark scented him, a familial nudge that Stiles read easily as a sign of deference.

Whoever this Nana was, she was clearly the woman in charge here.

“You know, we’re all technically her grandbabies,” Mark started as he reappeared at Stiles’ shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck, his childish pout painfully obvious as he pointed his words. “But you wouldn’t know it with the blatant favoritism she shows for Derek!”

“Mark, don’t be such a baby,” Nana Hale said as she pulled back from Derek’s hug, patting his cheek affectionately. She raised a brow in a spectacularly unimpressed fashion as she turned to look at her eldest grandson, sighing in mock disappointment. “Not that I thought a career based off of liposuction and face lifts would have brought you some maturity.”

“That’s—I don’t just do—Nana!”

“Now, who do we have here? Derek, are you going to introduce me to your special friend?”

Ignoring Mark’s protests easily as she turned her attention, Stiles felt his heart pick up again, his eyes flicking to Derek as he beamed; Stiles wasn’t sure if he was happy to see Mark get smacked down, or if he was happy to introduce Stiles, but Stiles would have literally killed a man to see Derek smile that brightly on a regular basis.

“Nana, this is my boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski. Stiles, this is my grandmother, Ger—“

“Nana Hale will do just fine, thank you very much,” she interrupted, pulling a face that made Stiles grin—he could absolutely relate to someone who would rather set their birth name on fire than own up to it. “Now, come here, let me get a look at you.”

Stiles stepped forward and hesitated a half moment, not sure if he should try one last time for a handshake or wait for her to initiate a hug, but before he could make up his mind she had her hands clasped on his elbows, a grip like iron stopping him in his tracks.

“Scrawny little thing, aren’t you? We’ll take care of that, don’t you worry. It’s good to meet you, sweetheart, let’s get you some food.”

“It’s good to meet you too—and some food sounds great,” Stiles said with a laugh, ignoring the fact that he was still full of junk food as Nana Hale all but preened beside him. Her grip was gentle but unyielding as she dragged him to a table that was piled with food, giving a half wave to Laura and Cora, who were stationed beside a punch bowl the size of a fish tank as he kept himself a half step behind Nana.

Stiles wasn’t dumb, okay? He knew how to make nice with wolves, and more importantly, he knew how to be subtle.

(He didn’t like it, but he knew how to do it.)

“Uncle Derek! Get Uncle Derek!!”

Thankfully, the moment was over in a flash as Stiles heard a familiar name called out in a high pitched squeal, looking back out to the yard where a hoard of kids had just caught sight (or scent?) of Derek, immediately abandoning the rough-and-tumble games they seemed to be wrapped up in to run toward Derek as fast as their little legs could carry them.

Derek immediately tensed, a manic grin on his face as he prepared to run, body twitching as he caught himself before taking off. He sent a look Stiles’ way that was somehow both apologetic and asking remission, and Stiles sighed as he smiled.

“You better run, Uncle Derek. They’re gonna get you,” Stiles said mock-seriously, only barely keeping a straight face as Derek instead ran straight to the kids, making all sorts of comedic noises as they mobbed his legs.

Fuck, he was cute.

Stiles’ attention was pulled off of Derek as he felt eyes on him, subtly scanning the yard before he made eye contact with another adult in the family, who was very shirtless, and very sweaty, and very much walking toward them with a bright smile on his face.

Okay, Stiles was definitely getting a complex.

“You must be Stiles!” he exclaimed once he was closer to their little group, and Stiles had never been as thankful for a child as he was for the tiny body perched on top of the other males shoulders, because he was just about at his ‘hugging gorgeous people’ limit. He was still sweating, for fucks sake, but Stiles supposed that even a wolf got tired out when they had eight kids hanging from their body until Uncle Derek stepped in.

“I am, and…” Stiles was about to assume this was the firefighter sibling, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the kid on top of his shoulders smiled, and Stiles was absolutely smitten. “And who is this little guy?”

The distraction was apparently a welcome one, because shirtless dude’s smile grew even wider, reaching up to pat the kid on a mop of curly hair before he lifted him up and over, holding him at chest level. “This is Isaac. Isaac, can you say hi to Stiles? He’s your uncle Derek’s special friend.”

Stiles literally felt his heart melt as Isaac gave a shy little wave, looking up at him with big blue eyes. He couldn’t have been older than three or four, and Stiles smiled and waved back as Isaac was set down on the ground.

“You wanna go play with Uncle D?” Any hint of shyness was forgotten the moment the question was asked, taking off toward Derek as fast as his little legs could carry him, which… wasn’t very fast, but was very, very cute.

“They all yours?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over to Derek, who now had at least six kids hanging off of him. He smiled as the other male shivered, shaking his head quickly.

“God no, just the three. Erica and Boyd, and Isaac too, now that the adoption has been finalized. Those kids basically run the joint, Derek included—as long as you don’t mind the occasional toddler mobbing, you’ll fit in just fine.”

“Thanks, random shirtless man, I really hope so.”

Stiles grinned as Laura choked on a mouthful of punch, the weirdness of the situation apparently just now visible to her as she sputtered, punching her brother in the arm. “Oh god, Taylor, what is wrong with you! Go put on a shirt, you can’t just—you didn’t even introduce yourself, I swear—Stiles is a guest, you weirdo!”

They kept bickering back and forth as Taylor pulled an undershirt on over his head, the whining turning into background noise as he poured himself a glass of punch. He knew perfectly well what Laura was trying to say—Stiles is a human—and he was pretty sure he was mostly flattered by everyone trying so hard, but any coherent thought left his head as he took a bite of the ribs, watching Nana Hale grin out of the corner of his eyes as he groaned in delight.

“God, they really do have Derek wrapped around their pudgy fingers,” Cora mused, and Stiles nodded his head, swallowing. It was honestly hilarious to watch Derek try to manage all those kids by himself; they seemed determined to pile themselves onto his head and shoulders, and he could almost see Derek sweat, trying to make sure he didn’t drop anyone as Isaac managed to wriggle his way into Derek’s grip.

He tilted his head in consideration, taking a sip of his drink before he spoke up.

“Yeah, he always did strike me as that kind of Alpha.”

He couldn’t help but savor the way the conversation ground to a halt around him, Laura and Taylor both sucking in a deep breath as Mark shattered the glass he was holding. There probably was a better way to acknowledge that he was in on the secret, but as funny as it was watching Derek’s siblings tiptoe around the fact, he figured it was best to rip the bandaid off in one go.

Even if it meant he had the attention of the Hales closest to him in one second, flat, Nana’s burning red from where she stood with a plate piled high with food.

He probably should have been nervous, but as he looked back at Derek, he could tell it was the right choice—Derek was all smiles, waiting only a beat before he popped his fangs and playfully snapped at one of his little nieces, the air soon full of squealing laughter once again.

Keeping his gaze even, Stiles smiled in thanks as he took the plate of food Nana offered to him, watching as her eyes melted back into their darker, human color. She was staring at him like he was a particularly complex puzzle, and she wasn’t alone—Cora looked hilariously outraged that she didn’t realize sooner, and even Mark was looking over him with renewed interest as his hand healed.

“I knew you were a smart boy. He told you?”

Nana’s question was accusing, but not unkind, and Stiles shrugged it off easily as he popped a chip into his mouth.

“He didn’t have to. My best friend was bitten when we were both fifteen. He didn’t have… anything, no alpha, no pack, just me and my mad Googling skills, and we’ve had plenty of supernatural run-ins over the years. Derek didn’t tell me because he didn’t have to tell me—I’m not anything special, but I’d like to think I can spot a non-human from at least fifty feet. Maybe more on a good day.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Stiles jumped as he heard Derek’s voice from behind him, and it truly was a credit to his poise and sophistication that he only blushed a little as Derek’s arm snaked around his waist. His body was warm, far warmer than it had been ten minutes ago, and Derek’s breath came a little heavy as he kissed the back of Stiles’ head.

“You are definitely something special.”

“You—you absolute cheeseball, what is wrong with you—” Stiles managed to get out as he shoved at Derek’s shoulder, his entire face burning red as Laura and Cora both gagged. Any residual awkwardness melted away as Nana’s sharp laugh cut through the air, the sound putting him back at ease as he leaned back into Derek’s warmth.

Somewhere between the fortieth round of storytelling and the gathering moving back into the house, Stiles needed a breather. Derek’s family was huge, and loud, and honestly, Stiles loved it—but it wasn’t long before he felt an itch beneath his skin, his fingers buzzing against his thigh, the muscles in his jaw a little too tight.

Stiles had expected Derek to be pretty popular in the family—what he didn’t expect, though, was that he would be anything more than an introduction and the same polite questions that everyone gave the new boyfriend.

“Wait, no fucking way did the two of you take down a Kanima, Stiles, I’m calling bullshit right now—“

Derek’s siblings were great, but they were also the worst; the minute they found out that Stiles had his own supernatural background, they were pestering him for stories, demanding his opinion of things, getting more and more exasperated with his entire life the more he shared.

Stiles knew that his life was crazy, okay? He didn’t need the constant reminders or the slack-jawed shocked expressions to reinforce that fact.

“Jesus, we didn’t even know that there were any wendigos in the state, and you knew an entire family of them?”

The only stories he flat out refused to talk about were the… issues he had had with hunters through high school—this was a party, after all, and he didn’t want to be the one to bring the vibe down by talking about the one time an assassin held a gun to his head to try and draw Scott out.

Fun times.

“What do you mean, you just know a banshee? And set her up with a hellhound? Dude, who are you?!”

Kissing Derek had, oddly enough, only exasperated the situation. In less than a day, they had gotten better at trading little affections back and forth; but instead of helping Stiles calm down, they only increased that thrumming nerves that bounced around at the base of his skull.

Which sucked, honestly, because kissing Derek was… really, really nice.

Stiles waited until another cousin who’s name he would never remember caught Derek up in a conversation about another tradition he couldn’t follow before he squeezed Derek’s hand, taking the opportunity to stand up from his spot on the couch and slip away.

The Hale House was huge, and outside was no exception; Stiles soon found himself on the porch, a huge wraparound wooden structure with built-in benches that let you enjoy the kind of view that made Stiles remember why he loved home so much. He treated himself to a few pictures of the sunset over Beacon Canyon before he flopped himself down on a bench, rubbing at his neck.

“Stiles? Everything alright?”

He had half expected Derek to follow him out after a few moments—but to his surprise, it was Nana Hale that sat beside him, her cheeks still pink with laughter as she tucked a jet black flyaway behind an ear.

“Is—oh, no, it’s great! Just wanted to, uh, snap a few pictures of the view.”

Another half truth—he was full to bursting with those lately.

“I know that our family can be… a little overwhelming,” she said, her tone even as she rose a brow, keeping her gaze forward as her fingers drummed a pattern into her knee.

Stiles hummed in agreement, his own smile a touch more genuine as he looked over to her. “Maybe, but that’s not a bad thing. When I was growing up, I spent so much time wondering what it would be like, to have siblings, and cousins, and… well, it might be a lot, but it’s a lot of love, too. I’m really glad Derek has that kind of support.”

Nana’s fingers stilled against her knee as she turned to face Stiles, and for the first time, Stiles was really able to get a good look at her properly. He could understand why she was the matriarch of the family, and how she had kept that title so long; even if he hadn’t witnessed her taking Mark down less than four hours ago, there was a whole other kind of strength that she was showing here, radiating off of her in waves.

“He does. But he doesn’t just have us for love and support... or was I reading the way you look at him wrong?” Her tone was teasing as she rose her brow, and Stiles felt his cheeks pink up spectacularly as he coughed, his eyes flashing back to the window for only a moment before Nana patted his knee.

“Don’t worry, the house is completely soundproof. Those nosy little pups can’t hear a word we say. Now tell me, how long have you been in love with my grandson?”

Now fully, beautifully red, Stiles groaned as he hid his face in his hands, Nana’s laughter ringing strong and clear as she stood up and walked toward the railing. “Oh don’t be so dramatic, I have no intention of spoiling that surprise until you’re ready to really woo him with it. And you’d better woo him! You know as well as I do that he deserves the romancing.”

Her tone softened as she chuckled, trailing off with a sigh and a sort of wistful smile as she shook her head. “New York has been good to him. You have, too, I think. California was… a rough part in his life.”

Something in the way she phrased it got the investigative side of his brain thrumming, his curiosity piqued as he remembered what Derek said on the plane.

‘I know they forgave me, but… sometimes it’s hard to be around them and still be okay with myself, you know?’

The nosy part of him wanted to pry, to dig a little more, but his eyes flicked back to the window again, where Derek and all four of his siblings were doing a terrible job at acting like they weren't trying to stare him down.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

Apparently, that was the right answer—Nana’s face softened again as she smiled, nodding her head, beckoning Stiles into standing up. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow easily, steering them back toward the house in a way that allowed no room for compromise.

“You are going to be good for my Der-bear, I know it.”

“Oh, I mean, I hope so. Derek deserves that, and I definitely—“

“Just let him be good for you, too.”

She reached up and patted Stiles cheek as he stared at her, dumbfounded, automatically opening the door for her as she walked back into the house. His expression was mirrored in the matching expressions of slack-jawed shock from all five Hale siblings, all staring at Stiles as Nana started in on another family story that would be sure to embarrass Mark, or Laura, or anyone who wasn’t Derek.

He meant what he said, of course. Derek deserved someone who would be good for him.

Somehow, that was the problem here.

—————

“Stiles, you reek of nerves. All I can smell is nerves and bell peppers. It’s not a good smell. Are you going to tell me what you’re freaking out about, or what?”

Stiles jolted as Derek called him out so effortlessly, pulled out of the trance he had fallen into as he watched Derek work, pushing around some of the barbecue from the night prior with some fresh chopped veggies into a delightful spur of the moment stir fry.

Derek was also as dressed down as Stiles had ever seen him, in a light grey henley and a dark pair of jeans, and that was even more delightful than the stir fry.

“Wait, you—that’s just something you can do? Oh god, your entire family must have known how nervous I was yesterday, did they—“

“Stiles. Breathe.”

Right. Breathing. He could do that.

…. maybe.

The truth was, Stiles could honestly say that he was having a great time back in Beacon Hills.

Derek and his family were great, no lie, and fake relationship aside, the researcher in him was absolutely thriving seeing how a huge, well-established pack worked with one another. They were literally a well oiled machine, the personification of the old ‘it takes a village’ metaphor, and the only thing that amazed Stiles more than how well they worked together was how well they adapted to Stiles being there.

Of course, he thought a big part of that came from having the Alphas on his side—not just Derek, but Nana too.

(“I can’t believe she hugged you,” Laura had hissed after yet another glass of infused punch. “When she met my last boyfriend, she threw him off the porch.”

“Well, Stiles is a fragile little human,” Taylor had snorted, ignoring the way Stiles smacked his arm, “and Hank was a major, prolapsed asshole.”

“Well yeah, but that’s not the point!”)

As great as Derek and his family was though, getting to come home and surprise his dad early… well, there was no place on the planet he would rather be than wrapped in a signature Stilinski hug, the kind of hug where you held on just a little longer than you needed to so you can pretend you definitely weren’t crying.

He got to watch a game with his dad, he got to sleep in his old, lumpy-ass childhood bed, he got to make breakfast in his mom’s kitchen.

So yeah. Great time.

Or at least, it had been, until a text rolled through after he kissed his dad goodbye that morning.

der-bear: Do you want to come over for lunch? Nana has everyone out of the house, Mom and Uncle Peter showed up this morning and he’s already driving everyone crazy.

sent: sure man. want me to bring anything? :)

der-bear: Don’t worry about it. Besides, I figure we should talk before the bonfire anyway.

And just like that, something brought around a cloud to rain on Stiles’ parade.

“Is it about tonight?” Derek asked, and if Stiles’ hadn’t been so laser focused on his cooking technique (his arms, okay, he was staring at Derek’s arms) he probably would have missed the way Derek hesitated when he asked, like he was afraid of the answer.

He picked himself up off of the barstool at the island in their gigantic kitchen, leaning against the counter closer to Derek, reaching in to pluck a chunk of onion out of the pan, skillfully avoiding the swat from Derek’s wooden spoon. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you… You know we’re looking forward to having you with us, right?” Derek asked, spooning some of the food onto two separate plates, using his claws to rip two fresh chunks of bread off of a loaf. “But if you don’t… I mean, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be there if you don’t want to.”

Stiles frowned as he accepted one of the plates, pulling the smaller chunk of bread off of one of Derek’s claws, mulling his next words over. “As long as you want me there I’ll be there,” Stiles said slowly, because there really was no way to politely say that Stiles would rather throw himself into the sun before his mythical lore studying ass missed out on observing pack activity on a blue moon.

“Why would you think I didn’t want you there?” Derek asked, looking like he was offended at the very notion, sliding a fork to Stiles as he sat down at the countertop, that offended look only growing as Stiles snorted.

“I dunno, I thought you might have changed your mind about it. Dude, you sent me a ‘we should talk’ text. I’m no expert, but I know that nothing good follows a ‘we should talk’ text,” Stiles said around a mouth full of bread, but any degree of playful levity he had gone for was sapped out of his voice the moment he saw Derek look back down at his plate.

“That, uh. I do think we should talk, but not about that. Stiles, I...”

Ah, fuck. Derek’s ears were pink again, and for once, Stiles thought that was a bad thing.

Stiles did his best not to panic as he thought through things, wondering what he had fucked up, because he just knew he had fucked up a little something. Maybe he had come on a little too strong last night, maybe he had gotten too comfortable with his crush, maybe—

“I was thinking that maybe… we shouldn’t be faking this anymore.”

—or maybe, he had fucked up a whole lot of everything.

Stiles felt his heart sink through his shoes as he swallowed his bread, his appetite suddenly gone. He brushed his hands on his jeans, giving a few short nods, swallowing again as he pushed back from the table a little bit. He thought for a moment that he should argue against it, but Derek had a sad puppy expression splashed across his face, and Stiles wasn’t strong against that on a good day.

“Oh.”

He could feel Derek’s eyes tracking him as he started to move, standing up and starting an easy track around the kitchen, flexing his fingers before he rubbed his palm with his thumbs, an old habit he had thought he had kicked back when he graduated from Berkeley.

“I think, uh, maybe you should wait until you’re back in New York to tell your family?” Stiles started, missing the tiny smile on Derek’s face before it melted into a look of confusion. “You should tell them I broke up with you, not the other way around, I don’t mind being the bad guy,” he added, staring down at his hands.

“Wait, Stiles—“

“No, seriously, it’s fine,” Stiles interrupted, putting a smile back on his face, because he knew this was going to be coming at some point. Derek had made up their entire relationship, and Stiles had worked hard to remember that the reality of it was… that it wasn’t reality. He was the one with the inconvenient crush, he was the one who had gotten stupid. This was all on him, and taking the high road to bow out gracefully would be too.

Or, at least, it should have been. But Derek had abandoned his seat as well, halfway following Stiles in his trail around the kitchen, putting his arm out against a countertop to stop Stiles at a turn.

“I said I wanted to stop faking, Stiles.”

Hell, when had Derek gotten so close to him? Stiles blinked as he backed up against the counter, Derek’s arms closing him in, and suddenly he was getting an up close and personal look at Derek’s lips, and his eyes, and the way the blush was going back up his ears, and—

...why was Derek blushing?

“I never said anything about wanting you to leave.”

But why would Stiles be staying if… oh. Oh.

Realization dawned on Stiles’ face as Derek blushed and looked down, moving his hands a little bit closer against the counter, and Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he felt Derek’s thumb settle right along his hip. He had to clear his throat before he could speak, swallowing down the hope that was threatening to bubble over, chewing on his lip as he put one hand on Derek’s chest, the other gently tipping his head back to look him in the eye.

“Dude, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you gotta spell it out, I’ve had a crush on you for like forever and if I’m mis-reading this—”

“I told you. I’m your boyfriend, don’t call me dude.”

Stiles laughed again, elation making him feel light and giddy, finally breaking eye contact with Derek as he felt his own blush burn through the back of his neck.

“Stay, Stiles. You belong here. With me.”

Rather than even try to form a coherent response, Stiles dropped one of his hands, cheeks still a ruddy color as he looped a finger into one of the belt loops on Derek’s designer jeans, pulling him just that much closer.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Oh, thank God—"

—————

Yeah, Stiles thought hours later, still feeling the warmth of Derek’s smile against his lips as howls sounded off around the Hale House, moonlight swirling around him from the vantage point he had on the porch.

This was exactly where he belonged.

[rubysunnday]

Tree

A/N: my Christmas tree is up already so, here you go

It was only the first week of December and already Small Heath was coated in a thin layer of icing sugar like snow. It’d been fallen slowly the past few hours and the tracks made by the passing cars were quickly covered up with a fresh layer.

The Cut hadn’t yet frozen over but if it kept getting colder, it just might. The water butts outside the stables had been frozen over the past few mornings and it’d become routine to smash the thing layer of ice open before filling the buckets up.

The front door to Watery Lane had been frozen stuck and it’d taken a few good kicks to get it open and shut. The door mat had quickly become soaked with snow walked in from the outside and had become home to numerous pairs of wet, snow covered shoes.

It was tradition within the Shelby family – and those who’d been married into it – to go and find a decent fir tree to be erected in their respective homes as well as choosing another one for Tommy’s front room at Arrow House.

As she’d gotten older, Y/N had become the unofficial head of Christmas. Whenever the other members of the family tried to put the trees up – or even chose a tree – it ended in a lot of yelling and someone storming off to the Garrison to get drunk.

But since Y/N had taken over, things had gone rather well. Everyone got the tree they wanted, the decorations they wanted and they all, somehow, managed to decide on a tree for Tommy’s front room. She had the entire thing down to a fine art and was almost military like in the way she organised it.

“It won’t fit in the car.”

“It will.”

“It’ll stick out the back of it and get chopped off when you take a corner to fast!”

“Oi,” Y/N called, coming to stand in-between Esme and John before an argument could break out. “It’ll fit in the trailer of Uncle Charlie’s car, alright. We can do multiple trips, now, put the tag on it before someone else steals it.”

John took the tag from his sister. “How do you do it?”

Y/N frowned, burying her hands in the pockets of her coat. Well, the coat she’d borrowed from Arthur three years ago and never given back. “What you on about?”

“This,” John said, waving a hand around. “How do you manage to stop all of us killing one another and make this enjoyable?”

“Easy, I watched Aunt Pol for years,” Y/N replied, smiling. She turned and caught Finn and Isaiah trying to lift a tree by themselves. “Finnegan, halt, you’re gonna knock over the rest of the trees!”

Y/N jogged over to her brother and best friend, grabbing the stump of the tree and lifting it up. Finn had the top of the tree and was staggering backwards in the vague direction of where his car was. Isaiah was holding the middle of the tree, his entire body had been swallowed by the pine needles, and he was struggling not to laugh as Finn tripped down the curb.  

“Do you need a hand, Finn boy?” Arthur called, chuckling.

Finn turned to glare at his brother, but Y/N snapped at him and he quickly turned back to the tree. Somehow the tree managed to make its way into the back of Finn’s car – even if the action was accompanied by a significant amount of swearing and death threats.

Once content that the tree was, relatively, secured in Finn’s car and that it wasn’t going to magically roll out on his way home, Y/N turned her attention back to the issue of choosing Tommy’s tree.

Tommy, naturally, had declined to join them Christmas tree hunting, insisting that he had numerous pieces of important paperwork to fill in.

Eventually they chose a tree for Tommy’s house and Y/N managed to squeeze herself amongst the pine needles and into the car. They were all meant to reconvene at Tommy’s that night for roast dinner and decoration of the tree – which was significantly taller than her – with Tommy’s children.

Arrow House was completely dead when Y/N pulled up. She sighed as she clambered out the car, knowing Tommy had probably sent the maid away and forgotten to turn any of the lights on.

She left the tree in her car – mainly because it was bigger than her and when she tried to carry it last time, she almost got crush, John had leapt in to save the day – and headed to the front door. There were no lights on in the front porch and Y/N reached over, clicking on the light next to the door.

“Tom?!” Y/N called, untying her scarf and throwing it on the back of a nearby chair. “Tommy?!”

She left her coat on as she walked towards Tommy’s office, her heels clicking on the wooden floorboards loudly. As she passed she paused to switch on the lights and lit a few candles with the lighter in her pocket.

“Tommy?” Y/N asked, poking her head in his office door. Tommy looked up at her, eyes furrowed behind his glass. “Ah, afternoon.”

“Afternoon?” Tommy frowned, glancing at his watch. “Oh, so it is. Where’s everyone else?”

“Christmas tree hunting,” Y/N replied, shrugging her coat off and sitting down in the chair opposite Tommy’s desk. She crossed her legs and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, pouring herself a glass. “The one for your front room is in my car – don’t ask how it got in.”

“You want to ease up on that?” Tommy asked, nodding at the almost full class of whiskey.

“Nope. Finn nearly killed me with a tree, and I got threatened with a pinecone by John,” Y/N replied. She took a big swig of the alcohol and winced, coughing slightly. “That is strong.”

“It’s new,” Tommy replied, leaning over and taking the bottle away from his sister. “And expensive so don’t drink it all at once.”

Y/N pressed her lips together and leant back in her chair, bopping her foot about in the air. “So… whatcha doing?”

“Didn’t realise we were being sociable,” Tommy muttered, eyes back down on his work, brow furrowed. “Thought it was going to be comfortable silence.”

“Awkward silence? Uncomfortable silence?” Y/N chuckled, throwing back the remainder of her drink. “You finishing soon?”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a tree in my car. And it’s dark. Spiders, Tom, spiders,” Y/N reminded, setting her glass on his desk and pushing it forward. “You can finish this later, come on.”

Tommy sighed, throwing his pen down onto his desk. “Fine, fine, fine,” he said, standing up and groaning as his limbs popped. “Come on.”

Y/N giggled, grabbing her coat and throwing it back on as she bounded from the room and out onto the driveway, a begrudging Tommy following after. Between the two of them they managed to drag the tree out the car and into the house. Tommy propped it up against a wall as Y/N went off to go find the stand for the tree.

By the time she’d returned from her adventure into the cupboard of doom – it was a room at the back of the house were everything unneeded or unwanted was abandoned – the rest of the family had arrived at Tommy’s house.

Y/N handed the tree stand to Tommy and was immediately whipped away by Charlie and Rose to go look at the very interesting bauble they’d found in a box. She sat down on the ground and held out her hands, letting them hand her numerous decorations and other odd bits and bobs.

Once the trees were in the houses, Y/N stepped back from being in command and let the chaos unfold. There was lots of yelling as the boys tried to get the tree into the stand and get it up straight and John and Tommy nearly got into a fight over if the tree was in the centre of the room.

Y/N’s final traditional job was putting the star on the top of the tree. The only issue with this, however, was that Y/N was one of the shortest members of the family. And standing on the stairs above the tree did nothing.

“If you drop me, John, I swear to god,” Y/N warned as she stood on the bannister, John holding on to her waist.

“I’m not going to, calm down,” John muttered. He tightened his grip, slightly, though.

Y/N stretched out over the bannister and, somehow, managed to get the star – one Polly had bought many years ago, it was silver and sparkly and very, very glittery – on the top of the tree. There was a moment where she thought she was going to knock the entire tree over, but John managed to save her.

“Is it on?” Y/N called, letting John lift her off the bannister and back onto the floor.

Charlie and Rose let out a screech of happiness and Y/N assumed that was a yes.

John put an arm on her shoulders and smiled down at her. “Nicely done, one again, Y/N/N.”

Y/N shrugged but snuggled closer to her brother, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Practice makes perfect, Johnny boy.”

John chuckled and pressed a kiss to her head. “Merry Christmas.”

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

The Vision, The Witch, and the Baby Wizard (Captions)

Masterlist

A/N: Okay, well, two anons had very similar "Subtitles WandaVision taking care of recovering Reader" requests but for some reason when I made this post, those asks disappeared from my drafts, so... Thanks for the requests, anons, and sorry Tumblr wouldn't let me respond to your asks. >:T Also, thank you for being patient with meeee...

Word count: 4,188

Warnings: Reader suffering from a concussion, broken nose, and other mild injuries after eating concrete at the end of Episode 3. Crying babies and baby babble. Fluff.

Taglist: @madamevirgo @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend @maceidelic @alexpress @angelvinella

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

Under any other circumstances, you would have loved to be spending the day at the Maximoff home, relaxing and spending time with Wanda until Vision got home from a night watch meeting. The two of you could cuddle and chat, you could help Wanda cook; you imagined that there would be lots of kissing and teasing either way. You could play with the babies while Wanda took a break and maybe a nap or, more likely, you could at least watch over them while Wanda busied herself with errands and other chores.

But no. Instead, you were laying on the couch in the living room with an ice pack covering your entire face—which you’d just accidentally dropped on your head after falling asleep—and bandages wrapped around scraped-up limbs. You were nursing a broken nose and mild concussion, the dull throb pulsing from your aching head and bruises lulling you in and out of restless sleep, and Wanda was, unfortunately, taking care of three babies for the time being.

Speaking of babies, while you groaned and checked your nose to make sure you hadn’t made it bleed, the oh-so melodic sounds of the crying twins grew louder as Wanda made her way down the hall with them.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” the woman said as she finally appeared in your field of vision. She held a crying Tommy in the crook of one arm and a sobbing Billy in the other, and exhaustion was written across her face and in the frizz of her hair. Instead of the comfortable dresses she often opted for, Wanda was wearing a pair of shiny, dark green palazzo pants with flared legs and a simple white peasant blouse, perhaps to prevent any dresses from getting snotted or spit up on. Her hair, once cheerfully curled but now flat, was held out of her face and babies’ pulling reach by a scarf of a lighter shade of green and she wore a pair of what were clearly Vision’s house slippers. 

You stopped gently pressing at your nose after confirming that it hadn’t been injured further from you dropping an ice pack on it. You readjusted the ice pack that was slumping over one eye back to its spot on your nose and attempted to squirm into a sitting position before dizziness had you slumped back down again. You groaned again at the weird, nauseating feeling of every organ in your body writhing around inside your torso like a bag filled with angry snakes.

Once your insides settled and the only thing keeping you from opening your eyes was the same baby cries that have been present for the past three days, you answered Wanda with a whine, “Please don’t pair me with them, I already feel awful having you take care of me too.”

You thought you heard Wanda snort, then you felt a light tap on one of your feet. Moving very slowly, you shifted to curl up on one side of the couch so she could sit as well. 

Wanda said, “You know that’s not what I meant. It was an endearment. Besides, it’s not your fault that you fell in the driveway a few days ago.”

You sent a close-eyed scowl in what you hoped in her general direction. You opened your mouth to respond to what sounded like a quip to your ears only to feel something soft press against your lips. Your brows furrowed and you opened your eyes, then flailed away sputtering; Wanda had stuck out a leg to cover your mouth with the sole of a slippered foot to keep you from talking. 

Over your distraught mouth sounds, scrubbing your lips with a hand, and another wave of nausea caused by sudden movement, you heard Wanda struggling to keep her snickers to herself. After a few more moments of you making sure fuzz wasn’t stuck to your mouth and that your lips didn’t taste like dirty shoe—whatever that tasted like—you received a light kick to your hip.

“Wow, Wand, way to kick me when I’m down—literally,” you grumbled. You grabbed the ice pack, which had once again slid out of place and fell into your lap instead, and looked over at Wanda again while pressing it to the side of your face that felt the most out of shape.

Wanda was stuck in a wacky position and staring at you with wide eyes. One leg was still outstretched from lovingly muzzling and then kicking you, and the other was bent into a half cross-legged position with a peacefully swaddled Tommy nestled in the crook it made. The arm that used to be holding Tommy now had a hand clasped over Wanda’s mouth while the other still held a cozy Billy.

You said, “You look insane.” When your partner didn’t respond or even move aside from her eyes glancing wildly from baby to baby, you gave her an incredulous look and followed her gaze as it bounced around. “What? What? I’m missing something—” Your sentence broke off into a silent gasp. After a third glance at the twins—the quiet and peaceful and not crying twins—you finally figured out why Wanda was refusing to move a muscle. 

You mouthed at her, They’re sleeping!

Wanda gave you the slightest of nods. After a long moment of all four of you frozen in place and silent, she very slowly dropped her hand from her mouth to mouth back, The first time in almost forty-eight hours.

Thirty-six, you corrected. You grinned at Billy and Tommy in turn and then moved in a sloth-like fashion to give them both a couple of silent claps. Tommy seemed to be dozing finally but Billy, who had been staring at you since you’d opened your eyes, responded with a baby grin and a kick of his little blanketed feet. Since he hadn’t seemed to mind you talking a minute ago you decided to risk a whisper, “Unreal job, you groovy little badasses!”

“[Y/N]!” Wanda whisper-yelled and gave you another gentle kick.

You returned her glare with a cheeky grin before looking back at Billy who managed to free an arm from his blanket cocoon. “It was a compliment, and he doesn’t seem to mind! Do you, Bill? Little Billy-Boy. The Billiest. Magical, partially synthezoid little boy. You know you’re a little troublemaker, huh? Or maybe you just got tired like the rest of us.”

You leaned over, careful of your swimming skull and the awkward entanglement of your and Wanda’s legs, and took Billy’s tiny hand to give it a gentle squeeze. The tiny hand squeezed back in response, which paired with a big-eyed, wondering baby stare was enough to make you break into another aching grin. You kept your personal discomfort at bay long enough to give Billy’s hand a peck before tucking his arm back into his swaddle, then turned your attention to Tommy who received a light head pat.

It was then that you felt Wanda’s gaze following you. You tried to focus on Tommy for a bit longer but your cheeks grew warm when you felt your partner still intently watching you as you finally relaxed back onto your side of the couch. Once you sunk back into the pillows underneath you, you heaved out an exhausted breath as dull aches began resurfacing from your various minor wounds. Just moving around slightly and mumbling to the babies had been enough to drain you of almost all of your energy.

“They haven’t been this quiet since the day they were born,” Wand murmured, and you lolled your head to rest on the beck of the couch so you could still look at her without using any more muscles than you had to. “Now they’re as exhausted as you are.”

“Well, what can I say,” you tiredly mumbled back, “I’m quite the trendsetter.”

Wanda snorted and looked down at the twins, her unkempt hair falling out of its loose scarf and over all three of them like a curtain. Now that the excitement of your sons no longer crying had slipped away, you could see, like before, that Wanda was just as exhausted as the rest of you. Her whole body seemed to sag with the weight of her head and shoulders and her clothes were rumpled. When she sighed, it was heavy, and when she looked back up at you, you saw the tired lines of her face and dark circles under her eyes.

Still, the smile she gave you, albeit strained at the corners, was radiant enough to light up the entire room, to the point where you almost felt like you had to squint, although maybe that was just the concussion-induced migraine. The brightness of it paired with the delighted sparkle of an excited new mother that danced in her eyes were enough to tell you that regardless of what she had to suffer through, screaming babies or whatever else, living in Westview with her husband and babies and—hopefully—you was worth it. 

You didn’t realize you were stuck in a lovestruck daze until Wanda saying your name snapped you out of it.

“[Y/N]?” Wanda said suddenly; her cheeks were tinted pink. “Did you hear me?”

You blinked and heat rushed to your own face. “Hm? Sorry, what?”

“I said they look up to you in some capacity,” Wanda repeated. “The twins. Vis and I can’t get them to stop crying for the life of us. I sit down next to you? Not a tear.”

You stared at her.

Wanda snorted and broke into a half-laugh before quickly quieting herself again. “What?”

Trying to hold back a grin, you whispered, “They look up to me because they’re tiny. They have no choice.”

Wanda gave you a shove with her foot and rolled her eyes so hard that, if you hadn’t broken into a giggle fit at your own joke, you would have been worried that they’d roll right out of her head.

“Shh!” Wanda whisper-yelled, only to snicker a bit herself, “And if that’s the case, would you tell them that we’re both taller than you are?”

“Hah! And lose the only power I have? Never. Now c’mere.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow.

You gave her a beckoning nod of your head, then groaned because you moved your head, then weakly reached your arms out towards her. “Gimme babies. Come lay with me for a bit.”

Wanda pursed her lips in thought but ultimately shook her head. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got some cleaning to do, cooking before Vis gets home. I should put them down and get some housework done while I can.”

She picked up Tommy and moved to swing her legs off the couch but you hooked one of yours around hers before you could. When she scowled at you, you arched your eyebrows and made grabby hands at the babies. 

“What if they start crying as soon as you get up?” you questioned, “We’ll all be miserable all over again. Don’t forget, I’m the baby wizard. You’ve got magic, Vis is… well Vision. And I’m the wizard of babysitting.”

“Is it babysitting if they’re your babies?”

“Don’t change the subject! I may not be of much use right now but the least I can do is take care of them while you rest and then go back to your Super-Mom duties.”

Wanda chuckled and watched you continue your grabby hands and soft chant of “Ba-by wiz-ard, ba-by wiz-ard.” The chuckle turned into another brief laugh and she finally caved, scooting closer to pass off the babies to you. You happily took them and nestled one each in the crooks of your arms, then snuggled farther down into the couch as Wanda disentangled your legs and crawled over you.

“One hour,” Wanda said. She jabbed a finger at you then settled between your legs, wrapping her arms around your torso and resting her head on your chest.

“One hour,” you grumbled back. You gave each twin a light kiss on your forehead, then nuzzled your face into Wanda’s citrus-scented hair. Now all cozy and warm and snuggled up, sleep had an easy time persuading you. Still keeping a solid hold on your babies, your eyes fluttered shut as you slowly sank into a doze.

You weren’t sure how long it was until Wanda’s sleepy voice caught your barely conscious attention again.

“What do you see when you stare at me like that, [Y/N]?” she asked. You felt her readjust her position a bit so that her head was nuzzled under your chin.

You hummed until you could get your mouth back in order enough to properly talk. Hopefully, the little words you managed to get out before falling asleep managed to get your point across. “You. Happy.”

===

===

===

You were awoken by the savory smell of food that had your mouth watering before you were fully conscious. It took you a second to remember where you were or what decade it was but two little bundles in your arms and the lack of weight on your torso quickly brought you back. You blinked your eyes a few times to get the sleep out of them, then took a quick look around. Tommy and Billy were still safe and sound in your arms, breathing softly with not a tear in sight, and as you expected, Wanda was no longer laying on the couch with you.

“How long did you end up sleeping?” you asked through a yawn. You gingerly shifted into a more comfortable sitting position and looked around again; this time you noticed that the living area’s coffee table had been dressed up like the dinner table, with a makeshift tablecloth and a few sets of dinnerware. You quirked a curious eyebrow and looked towards the kitchen, where Wanda was busy preparing food.

“Like I said,” she replied, “one hour. You were still knocked out, so I let you and the twins sleep.”

“One hour exactly?”

Wanda looked over at you and gave you a pleased nod. “Yup.”

You hummed, then gingerly tilted your head towards the coffee table. “What’s with the coffee-slash-dinner table?”

Wanda set a couple of small dishes on a table tray and made her way over to you with it in hand. Setting the tray on the table—you caught a glimpse of several small portions of what she had been cooking and your stomach growled—Wanda squatted down next to it and picked up a spoon. “You haven’t been able to move much, so I figured we’d eat out here tonight.”

“What, are you and Vis gonna sit on the floor?”

“When he gets home, he’ll help you take the babies to bed to prevent any outbursts,” Wanda said, then grinned as she pulled a couple of large cushions out from under the coffee table, “and I snagged a couple of Agnes’s meditation cushions earlier today. Apparently, they’re also good for your posture!”

“Great,” you said, “I’m useless and I get to take up all the sitting space.”

Wanda scoffed and lightly swatted your arm with the spoon she was holding, then used the spoon to scoop up a spoonful of what appeared to be a thicker, more seasoned chicken soup. “You can’t help being injured, [Y/N]. You’re just as bad as me when it comes to taking care of yourself sometimes, I swear.”

“That’s why we look so good together,” you grumbled, “Everyone in this household is a mess in one way or another.”

Wanda ignored you and raised the spoon to your mouth. “All you have to do is let us take care of you for a while. Now, try. Chicken stew. One of my mother’s recipes.”

The smell of the stew made you want to drool. It was your turn to give in this time, so you let Wanda feed you the spoonful. “Holy fu— I mean holy heck. Sorry, babies. Wherever you are, Mama Maximoff, thank you.” 

There was a tinge of sadness in Wanda’s next smile but then she perked up as she reached for a spoonful of another dish. “It wasn’t something we had often but it was always something magical. Get-well food.”

“Dear, food,” you prayed aloud, “please send help, I want to die.”

Wanda snickered and held up a spoon of the second taster dish, this one having a spicy aroma that stung your eyes and made your stomach growl again. “Good then? Let me know if I should change anything.”

“Perfection and also I want so much food.” You paused, then added, “Actually, I don’t know if I’ve eaten today.”

“You tried breakfast this morning and almost got sick. The fact that you can eat this time must be a good sign.”

You ate the second spoonful, then said, “Yay, good sign. Healing food help.”

You and Wanda chatted a bit longer as she had you taste-test the last of her dishes, then she carried the tray back to the kitchen to finish up cooking. You asked what time it was and found out you had slept significantly longer than one hour and that Vision would be getting some quite soon. Eventually, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence and you listened to Wanda casually hum as you gently bounced the babies in your arms and, when you were feeling somewhat emboldened, tested how much you could move without getting winded or nauseous. Then, at some point, Tommy decided to wake up have a very important discussion about taxes in baby babble.

“I do agree,” you replied as Tommy wriggled in your arm and cooed at you, “tax fraud is a reasonable crime.”

“[Y/N],” Wanda said, “stop teaching the children about breaking the law.”

“He started it,” you said, only to get angrily goo’d at. “Well, you did! I wanted to talk about why paisley is the worst fabric pattern.”

Wanda’s laugh was drowned out by the front door unlocking and Vision making his way inside.

“Hello, family!” Vision from behind you. You heard the door close and some light thuds as the man kicked off his shoes. “Oh, where my house shoes?”

“Sorry dear,” Wanda said and briefly stuck one leg out from behind the counter, “Borrowed ‘em.”

You gasped at Tommy and bounced him in your arm. “Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home. Look who it is, even though neither of us can see him because we’re facing the opposite direction. It’s Mr. Dad!”

Tommy cooed.

You scoffed back. “Always taxes with you.”

“Who’s talking about taxes?” Vision sounded much closer now and luckily, you didn’t have to twist your head around to see him. Instead, he moved around the side of the side and into your field of vision, then knelt next to you and gave Tommy a grin and a little wave.

You nodded your head at the talkative twin. “This one. He wants to be an accountant.”

“Oh?” Vision reached over and took one of Tommy’s waving hands to hold. “Is that so?”

Tommy kicked his tiny legs in protest.

“My mistake,” you said, “he wants to fight an accountant.”

Vision laughed softly at your nonsense. He gave Tommy’s hand a shake before releasing it, then used the same hand to ruffle what little hair Billy had. Finally, he smiled at you, which you returned, and leaned over to give you a gentle kiss. When he pulled back, he carefully ran his fingers through your hair and lightly massaged your skull and neck. “How’s the head and nose and everything else, my love?”

You groaned happily and leaned into his hand, especially when he found a particularly tight spot in your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut as you responded, “I can manage three positions thus far. Slumpy because I can’t lay down all the away, partially sitting, and almost completely upright sitting.”

“Almost completely upright sitting,” Vision exclaimed, “That’s almost sitting. Congrats!”

“Oh, I so do miss the days where I could sit completely upright without feeling like my head was going to pop off my body and fly around the room like a deflating balloon,” you said, opening your eyes again and gazing wistfully into space.

“Very visual,” Vision commented. His eyes drifted towards Billy and you followed his gaze to find that the second twin had now also woken up and was staring at his dad with bewildered eyes.

“Who’s that?” you crooned at the baby, “Hm? Who is that, little man? It’s your dad! Oh, by the way—” You turned back to Vision and switched back to your normal voice “—you’re supposed to help me maneuver them to the bedroom so we can have floor-dinner.”

“Floor-dinner,” Wanda reprimanded from the kitchen and you could easily visualize the roll of her eyes happening. “[Y/N]!”

“Sorry, dinner on the floor,” you corrected and directed the confused Vision’s attention towards the dressed-up coffee table. “You know, because of the whole not sitting completely upright thing. Wanda made healing food.”

“I’m going to assume that’s also an exaggeration on your part,” Vision said as he got back to his feet.

“It’s stew,” Wanda explained. “Mom’s old recipe.”

“Magic stew,” you agreed.

“Just stew.” 

“Well it’s nice to see you feeling better again,” Vision said as you cackled. He offered his arms and you handed Billy and Tommy off to him, then attempted to move into a better position to put your feet on the ground.

“Why can’t I just put the babies away?” Vision questioned as he watched you carefully move to your feet.

“Because,” you started, then paused to steady yourself as your stomach suddenly started to churn. You flinched and held onto Vision’s arm and took a few more moments to collect yourself before trying again. “Because if they get even a couple of feet out of my presence, we suspect that they will cry and then, naturally, unleash the apocalypse.”

“Ah.” Vision nodded. “Completely understandable. Shall we shuffle at a slow and steady pace to the nursery then?”

“I think we shall.”

As you and Vision did just that, half-clinging to each other as you slowly shimmied your way across the floor and towards the hallway, you felt Wanda’s gaze trail after you. Not long after you and Vision turned the corner down the hall, you heard Wanda burst into giggles. You grinned and glanced at Vision, who was smiling as well. 

“We must look like quite the pair, eh?” your sythezoid partner asked. “Two people, two babies—”

“And a whole lot of pain and nausea,” you finished with a somewhat strained laugh.

You saw Vision’s expression soften a bit as the two of you entered the twins’ bedroom. Vision helped you settle into the nearby rocking chair while he placed Tommy and Billy in their crib. After placing them down, Vision froze in place to see whether or not they would react to being without a parent holding them. When he didn’t he very carefully backed away from the crib and backtracked to where you sat.

Both of you stayed silent for a bit longer, then Vision asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Do you think we’re safe?”

You didn’t respond right away and instead eyed the crib. You made a few random movements, like tapping your feet and waving an arm in the air, and when no babies burst into tears. You gave him a nod. “Think we’re alright.”

“Fantastic, let’s beat feet then.” Vision moved to help you stand but you suddenly stopped him. Thinking you saw the babies beginning to stir, he froze again, and you took the opportunity to sling your arms around his neck.

“Carry me,” you said with the sweetest smile that you could muster.

“Why, you…” He broke off into a chuckle and easily hauled you into his arms, careful to not jostle you too much in the process. Then he carefully made his way out of the nursery, tugging the bedroom door closed with his foot.

“My hero,” you sang at normal volume when the two of were free and batted your eyelashes at him.

“I think I would make quite a good hero,” Vision responded. “Quite a dashing one, don’t you think? In fact, I think I was one in a past life.”

He gave you a cheeky smirk and little eyebrow wriggle, which you responded to by grabbing his face and squishing it in your hands. You slowly leaned up and kissed his forehead, quickly replied with “The most dashing,” and then gave him another full kiss on the lips. 

He paused his walk to the living room to briefly kiss you back, then gave you your own kiss on the forehead, and walked over to where Wanda was finishing up serving dinner at the coffee table.

“We’ve returned!” Vision chirped. He helped you sit back on the couch and get comfortable again, then moved to one end on the table.

“The boys?” Wanda asked as she gestured for Vision to sit on the nearest meditation cushion.

“Safe,” Vision answered, sitting.

“And sound,” you added.

Wanda lightly clapped and sat as well. “Great! Mealtime then. Here we have the chicken stew and…”