#but i like fucked myself over academically last night trying to make anything better and what do i see this morning but 'i overdosed'

[l-cereta]

for real what are you supposed to do when you have a friend who's determined to get worse no matter what you do

[amethystwrytes]

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum. 

“Can you stop please?” 

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands. 

“...Sorry…” 

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade. 

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber. 

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign. 

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse. 

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you. 

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes. 

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room. 

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again. 

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again. 

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?” 

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.” 

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.” 

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks. 

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation. 

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something. 

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk. 

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.” 

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.” 

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not. 

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.” 

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?” 

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter. 

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump. 

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.” 

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’ 

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing. 

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?” 

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk. 

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?” 

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.” 

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes. 

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic. 

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.” 

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates. 

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff. 

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.” 

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down. 

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.” 

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.” 

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.” 

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers. 

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.” 

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains. 

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?” 

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.” 

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses. 

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer. 

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles. 

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks. 

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him. 

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.” 

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it. 

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh. 

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him. 

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on. 

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile. 

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out. 

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg. 

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?” 

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.” 

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself. 

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable. 

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again. 

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades. 

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee. 

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up. 

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack. 

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing. 

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?” 

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment. 

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle. 

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease. 

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head. 

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit. 

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side. 

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment. 

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?” 

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself. 

“Never something you what?” he presses. 

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.” 

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.” 

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him. 

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares. 

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves. 

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.” 

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.” 

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs. 

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego. 

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins. 

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder. 

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle. 

“Is this your building?” he points. 

“Yes, it is.” 

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers. 

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder. 

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard. 

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today. 

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag. 

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?” 

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished. 

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.” 

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes. 

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.” 

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks. 

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.” 

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.” 

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.” 

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!” 

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door. 

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying. 

“Already?” he looks at you. 

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?” 

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.” 

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him. 

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon. 

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?” 

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly. 

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.” 

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?” 

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone. 

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask. 

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares. 

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.” 

“Good, shall we?” 

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?” 

“No.” 

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back. 

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?” 

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down. 

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles. 

“I’ll get those right out.” 

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.” 

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.” 

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.” 

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?” 

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.” 

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?” 

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly. 

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table. 

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?” 

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon. 

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.” 

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu. 

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.” 

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug. 

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse. 

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door. 

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away. 

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again. 

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues. 

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing. 

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth. 

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?” 

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips. 

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car. 

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.” 

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in. 

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition. 

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up. 

“Uh…mine… mine I think.” 

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him. 

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness. 

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric. 

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?” 

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist. 

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel. 

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans. 

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably. 

“God…” 

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking. 

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily. 

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth. 

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road. 

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours. 

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely. 

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth. 

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?” 

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs. 

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease. 

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.” 

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!” 

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room. 

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer. 

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs. 

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt. 

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.  

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you. 

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…” 

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly. 

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again. 

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs. 

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again. 

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind. 

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it. 

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster. 

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts. 

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest. 

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands. 

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.” 

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?” 

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.” 

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you. 

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.” 

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully. 

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

[winonaparadise]

short story 💯

wrote a very quick story about a class i took in college. if you like my writing in my videos you may like this

Five years ago today I was clawing through state university. I had switched majors in an effort to come away with something more material from my college experience – but I was also trying to earn as many credits with as few courses to keep my schooling short and cheap.

I took a heavy weighted class in “media law.” A subject notoriously as intricate as it is absolutely fucking stupid. Anything you could learn, Disney will change tommorrow. The professor was an adjunct, splitting his time between the humble basement where boys with Pulp Fiction posters in their dorms fiddled with cameras and the actual law school where he was employed some miles down the road. I have never seen Pulp Fiction, but I’ve fiddled with enough cameras and enough of the boys who own them to have reviewed it twice. This is not a problem to me now.

Then I was stupid. Twenty. And basically friendless. I spent all my time trying to make something the same way the universe spent billions of years pouring hot soup into holes and hoping life would bubble out. I studied Japanese during quiet matches of PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds. I never got a win, and I never got an “A” in Japanese.

Weeks of school went by as I skimmed textbooks, got high, and thought about talking to literally anyone. Academic words danced around the edges of my brain like sand. I wrote essays on the same autopilot I write today. Feverish. Flowing. Fantasizing about what it would be like to go out with someone instead of texting a girl who now lived in Japan and making ramen noodles while listening for footsteps in a digital warzone.

I did all my work. I submitted it on something called “canvas” that the muscle memory in my fingers still types in search bars to this day. I never checked my grades. I knew they were bad.

Classes dragged me through the week on a bungee cord. I lived a block away from the bulk of them and found myself drifting in halls of buildings I’d never attended just to keep myself from meandering back home to draw a bad comic about a girl who lived in hell. 

I knew nobody. I went nowhere. I struggled to do classwork alone on outdoor benches dreaming of someone speaking to me. I needed to live in hell instead.

My media law professor was late the weekend after our first term essays were due. I don’t know what mode of transportation he took to get from one school to the other but today the Carolina sun had drenched him sweaty. We were chilly waiting for him to begin.

“Just about every single one of you failed.” He spat and chugged coffee through the entire period. “While I first was grading I thought I was the one who failed.”

He didn’t let the moment of respite last. “But I also did something I’ve never done before.” He paced like my father did when a restaurant was closed early. “I gave out my first perfect score. Which prevents me from grading on a curve.”

He huffed, he assigned a new reading, and he rushed out like he had lit dynamite. “Do better!” “What an asshole.” The girl who sat next to me in every class spoke as if she had been holding her breath. “Fuck him and fuck whoever got that hundred.”

“I know right!” I launched in on her anger, feeling it too. Back and forth we complained. We walked off campus together. She had long blonde hair and towered over me. I had felt ugly and mousey next to her, but today I felt like her equal. It felt good to bitch.

“I got a fucking 50. What about you?”

“It wasn’t pretty.” I recalled how I stayed up the night before the assignment was due. I milked bullshit into a puree. I got a rush of adrenaline from killing someone with a shotgun through a door in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Pochinki. I was probably close to being expelled. “This class is too fucking hard,” she smoked and shook her head by a bus stop on Tate Street. “I’m not about to lose my freetime over it.”

“Right.” I imagined her at parties. Black silhouettes against colored lights and deafening music. Like The Social Network. “We should be partners for the next assignment,” she got out her phone and passed it to me for my number. I typed it in. I waved her off on the bus. We did the assignment together. We texted each other about our studies. We joked about finding the guy who got the perfect score and beating him senseless. I thought about talking to her about my art or what we were making in other classes, but never did.

Towards the end of the semester I had to plan the next. A whirlpool churned in my stomach as I clicked on “grades” on my campus’ online portal. I had an A+ in a single course. 

Media Law.

My friend from class texted me that she was dreading the final. I texted her that if we failed I would kill Mr. Perfect Score. She texted “lol.”

She passed the course. I got my degree so I assume I did too. We stopped texting.

That professor emailed me asking me to take a course at the law school down the road. He said he would let me sit in and see if I wanted to change majors a third time. I never replied.

A law degree would just make Mr. Perfect Score a hundred times more punchable.

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

Chapter III

The sun is up when we stand in formation the next day while Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll. The courtyard is hollowed in almost deadly silence.

We’re all in our assigned uniforms for first years with our patches added and while some of us look like they got a decent amount of sleep last night, I didn`t and I feel like I am ready to be send to Malek. But my mind was running on high speed and I was way too paranoid to sleep, ready for the (mostly im)possible scenario someone might try to pull some shit at night, even though it would be against the Codex. Violet next to me looks like she struggles but is keeping her head high. She is strong which makes me proud.

“We command their souls to Malek.” Oh, we were at the end already.

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you`re not going to get another chance before lunch” Dain says, “and I hope at least one of you first years has the academic schedule remembered.”

“And if we’re not?” someone behind us says. Is he dumb?

“Then I don`t have to be concerned with forgetting your name” Aetos shrugs. Well.

“Sawyer” he looks to the left at a first year. Ah, Sawyer Henrick, the freckled guy that repeats the first year because he didn`t bond during Threshing last year. It takes some balls to do this shit again, he has my full respect.

“I`ll get them there” he answers and turns to the nine of us first years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit and don`t be fucking late” he shouts and heads off to the dormitory.

“This must be shit, doing this again” Rhiannon states.

“Better than being dead” the guy from before claims as he walks on my right side. I think his name is Ridoc but I am not sure. I look around, not saying anything and make my way to the dorms, not noticing that Violet isn't by my side anymore. In her place walks Rhiannon. “Where-“ “Dain” she says before I can ask. Damn Aetos, so much for being subtle.

We`re off to grab our (and Violets) stuff and head over to the academic wing for history, which is going to be boring for both Violet and myself. Violet was trained to be a scribe, so she knows it all, and I had to study everything anyways, order from my father.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief” Professor Devera greets us. This will be the only class we`ll have every day.

She takes her time to scan the rows of first years, looking at every cadet she sees, while the second and third years are scattered behind us.

At first, she makes eye contact with Violet next to me and gives her a small smile and nod but when her eyes find mine, she tenses and stops. For around three second it`s quiet, then she nods and continues. Rolling my eyes, I look to the left at Violet, seeing a concerned frown adorning her face. I send her a reassuring smile and turn back to the front where Professor Markham stands. He looks at Violet with disappointment, not because of her personally but the lost chances with that great brain of hers. She would have been an excellent scribe.

His gaze sways over to my side and just like with Panchek, his face pales instantly and fear strikes his facial features, not because of me but the one I share my last name with. Letting out a frustrated sigh I switch my focus on my quill, distracting myself before I start to scream out of annoyance. For fucks sake, I am NOT my father. Why is everyone acting like he rules the fucking continent?

“First topic of the day,” Devera moves to the map “the Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and their riders.” Oh damn. I sit straighter and focus on the map. Good thing when you have an excellent working memory – you can focus more on the front, less on your notes.

She gives further information and I take it all in. It’s bad enough that dragons aren`t the only animals capable of channeling powers to their riders. But the dragons are the only ones of powering the wards that makes other power impossible within these wards. They make sure we aren`t fucked up by the gryphons and their riders.

“…What questions would you ask? Only answers from first years for the start.”

Okay first of all, why the fuck are the wards faltering and more importantly what caused them to falter in such an unlikely place? They would never answer that question because none of us is authorized in that matter.

The second question would be, why they would choose this place for an attack? The Esben Mountain Range is the highest on the eastern border and the gryphons don`t go really well with altitudes like this. Furrowing my eyebrows, I try to find a pattern in the latest attacks. It doesn`t make any sense. But maybe … maybe they were searching for something.

“Did you want to ask a question?” Devera asks Pryor, a first year in our squad, who doesn`t really knows if he should raise his hand or not.

“Yes” he nods. Then – “No. Never mind.”

“So decisive” Luca, another first year from our squad, mocks him. Aurelie tries to ease the tension but Luca is not done with her teasing.

“No dragon is bonding to a guy who can`t even decide if he wants to ask a question. And have you seen –“ I scoff loudly, rolling my eyes at her demeanor to finally bring an end to this shit, which makes her turn around in her seat a row in front of me. If some of them are already kind of terrified with my face here, why not use it?

Her eyes meet mine and she realizes who interrupted her. She quickly turns back to the map without saying anything anymore.

I hear Violet and Rhiannon whisper to each other but don`t understand anything.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon finally asks. Oh, that`s a good question, matches with mine I had in my head. It`s Professor Markham who answers, surprised by it. “A little less than ten thousand feet, why?”

“It seems a little high for an attack with gryphons.” Good safe, because now I just realized that the question came from Violet. Smartass.

“… to ask your own questions, Cadet Sorrengail.” Shit, I need to start listening and try not to zone out all the time. Seems like the girl next to me has now all the attention on her. Great job, Vi.

Violet goes on about how this altitude is way too high for gryphons and their ability to channel. Looks like a thought crosses her genius brain as her next question is based on Devera’s information that the squad of riders took an hour to arrive.

“Then they were already on their way” she says. And while I can see what she is talking about – the rest of the first years decide to judge instead of thinking, some of them start to laugh.

“Yeah, because that makes sense” a blonde guy turns around in his seat to laugh directly in her face. Jack fucking Barlowe, the asshole that threw a candidate down the Parapet tried to kill Violet and still has it out for her.

“General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn`t know when it will happen, dumbass. Am I right, Melgren Junior?” His eyes find mine when an evil smirk finds its way onto his face. Don`t fucking tempt me, asshole. I am not interested in a conversation with you.

My lack of response seems to annoy him because he tries it again. “I said, am I righ-“

“There is no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”

Stunned silence from Barlowe, startled gasps from other cadets, choked laughter from Ridoc. “Oh shit, that was good, Arya!” he laughs next to me and clasps his hand on my shoulder. Yeah no, I don`t think so Ridoc. I should try to keep my mouth shut with that one before I'll regret it.

Violet ignores my remark and continues with her theory and it seems like she is right, because Devera and Markham both look proud and with a knowing smile on their face. “Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking” she finishes.

“That`s the most-“Jack argues. Does he ever know when to stop?! “She`s right.” HA! I have a proud grin on my face, I love her brain!

“Cadet Melgren” I am called by Devera. Startled I raise my head, brow hitting my hairline.

“What would you ask in aspect of the attack?” she asks me. For a moment I study the map again, trying to sort my thoughts.

“What were they looking for and most importantly, did they find it?”

A slow smile spreads over Deveras face and even Markham looks intrigued by my question. “What makes you think they were out looking for something?”

“Well, it just makes sense they searched for something. Like Cadet Sorrengail said, the attack took action at the most illogical place for a drift of gryphons.” I pause, bringing my thoughts into formation. “The wards failing was not a coincidence and even though it seems like they were just passing by, they weren`t. They somehow knew the wards would falter in that specific moment. But whatever they were looking for, it must have been really important if they risk their drift to attack this high up in the mountains.” I finish.

I can hear Ridoc next to me cheering quietly in his seat. And while the first and some of the second years don’t think that far yet, I am pretty sure some of the third years had a similar question in mind, because I hear approving whispers behind me. Years of learning and studying are finally paying off.

“Just like your father. Always thinking ahead and seeing the important aspects. Good job, Melgren.” Everyone else would see it as a compliment but … 

I hate it, with all my heart, because I desperately want to be everything but like my father. Violet takes my hand, knowing how much I hate to be compared to the General.

[menotthatkindoforc]

ok since @accidentallyadorable has encouraged me:

So I've mentioned that I went through a very poetic, philosophical phase in middle school/early high school. That was because of this girl. She was smart as fuck, very studious, like straight As in all her AP classes. Still smart as fuck, got a degree in biomedical engineering, last I spoke with her a few years ago she told me about research she's doing with brain stuff.

And we were friends, I met her in 7th grade and by 8th grade I had a huge crush on her that would persist until after my senior year of high school when it had no choice but to fizzle out due to not seeing her anymore. So I wanted her to notice me and like me like I liked her, and she would tell me sometimes that I was very smart but I should apply myself more (I wasn't going to academically, I hated school) but I thought, well, if I show her I'm smart in other ways maybe she will hold my hand or something.

So aside from trying to sound Smart sometimes, I also thought I should generally try to sharpen my brain. So I played Tetris (the GameBoy version) every single night for like, a year or something, and I don't know why Tetris instead of another puzzle game, but I thought it would like, make my brain work better. It didn't, but I got pretty good at Tetris. Like, I could get to level 14.

Anyway obviously this didn't do anything and I'm very certain she never felt the same way about me that I did about her even after I tried method #2 of attraction, which was to wear tank tops to school with a jacket over top (to stay in dress code) and I would roll up the sleeves and do fucking push ups on the edge of the desk during AP bio lab. (I wish I made that up)

Anyway yeah that's why I never kissed a girl in high school.

[cascadianights]

I thought if I could clean enough, take care of the house and the mess and any loose ends

I thought if I could get good enough grades, could climb every academic ladder and stay up working through the night, could be the first one to go to college and bring in real money for the family

I thought if I could stay quiet enough in my room, if I could be small enough, if I could disappear into the colors of the wall

I thought I would earn your love

I thought I would finally be safe, feel like I could leave my room without shaking.

I thought the yelling, the screaming, the belts and fists and open handed slaps leaving me seeing stars, would stop.

I thought that if I was good enough, if I got good grades and was good and quiet with my nose in a book and didn't ask for anything, didn't need anything,

I thought it would make me Worth. Enough.

For you.

I thought it would disarm the tension and conflict, I thought it would bring peace, I thought it would take back the stress that my being born brought into your world.

My earliest memories are of you fighting over money - the washing machine was broken and we couldn't afford to fix it - and then screaming at me. Are of you telling me this is your fault, we wouldn't be fighting if it weren't for you. Are of you telling me to pull my pants down and turn over, lay down on your lap and submit myself to the lashes. It'll be easier if you just cooperate, I wouldn't have to hurt you even more. I wouldn't have to hit you or throw things through your wall, wouldn't have to drag you through the house by your arms and legs. I wouldn't have to be this person anymore.

If you would just be a better child, if you just cared about anyone but yourself, I wouldn't have to do this.

It's been 3 decades and I still try to make myself small enough, quiet enough, agreeable and likable enough, to be Worth love.

I thought if I could just be enough, you would love me in a real way.

It's been a few months since the last time you told me to fuck off and lose your number.

I guess I never did learn.

[the1975attheirverybest]

ignore this if you want to but basically last thursday was a bit of an awful morning that ended up with me missing my first lecture of the day, sat in bed crying and then bailing on going out to the pub and ignoring everyone which ended up being quite nice. i cant actually remember what i did over the weekend other than not work and then monday was okay like i went to the library and somewhat organised myself but got distracted as i ended up meeting up with friends and then buying wine from tescos do do a greek lit reading night which was fun but really overwhelming (i also dont actually like wine that much) but then tuesday as much as i got out of my flat i then did actually nothing all day and it made me feel awful and then yesterday i dont think i properly got out of bed until 5pm and ive just felt a bit horrific because i feel like im failing academically, ive not been eating properly at all and i kinda just hate myself and i kinda just want to go home but i dont really have the time and i feel like it would just make everything worse when i come back. i also git into a slight argument with a couple of home friends because i sent some a selfie of me as a reaction to something that was said and got a how are you still in bed (i think it was gone midday at that point) and i said ive been trying to will myself out of existence (which in retrospect does sound fucking stupid but i was being sincere) and got basically omg same in response which pissed me off. i then later send some matty related meme which got some form of light-hearted response along the lines of being insane and i then went on a bit of a tirade about how you dont know how mentally ill i actually am and the response kinda was yeah were worried but dont know how to show it lol which again kinda annoyed be given that i have been a mediator to a lot of their quite serious relationship issues but then got a bit of a more sincere response after but i didnt read it properly and havent really said anything bar sending a tiktok because i dont want to have to address me being a bit of an immature dick so now i feel kinda isolated because im not close enough to any of my uni friends to be like hey im having a bit of a crisis can you make sure i actually eat real meals and maybe even force me to the shops to buy food - 🐸

Hey,

I need you to listen to me and know that I am being 100% serious. I don’t think any of this was immature or dickish. Cuz, like, I don’t know. I’ve been in situations where I’m having a bad depressive episodes and when I can finally muster the courage or energy to tell someone about it, I’ve gotten “mood” or “same” in response. And it’s kind of hard because no not “same” you’re not just having a bad day or feeling sad about something like a bad grade on a test or something. You’re literally struggling with an illness. That, on top of getting a comment about not getting out of bed on time when you’ve already been beating yourself up about it is hurtful. Your feelings are totally valid.

Of course, they don’t know that / didn’t mean to hurt you. They thought they were just making a simple comment. But that doesn’t mean you should trivialize how you feel about it.

Maybe once you’re feeling a bit better and more clear headed you can talk to them about how best to support you in moments like this?

In the meantime, I’m happy to force you to go to the shops. What, is it like….1 pm UK time right now? You have until I’m done teaching for the day. Like, 4 hours from now. I better come back on here and see that you’ve gone to get something for a home cooked meal. Otherwise I won’t post what I wanted to post tonight hahaha. No but for real. Do check in and tell me that you went. Mental illness is gross. You’re doing the best you can. He gentler with your brain.

[mercy-burning]

Myth or Movie

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/N and Spencer's children have worked up a plan to get them to meet... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, someone is misgendered (nothing too bad, it’s very brief, and it’s sincerely apologized for by the person who misgenders) Word Count: 4.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my 2nd entry for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) Enemies To Lover’s Writing Challenge! This one was one of the prompts she provided: You and (Character)'s kids don't get along, so you have to have a talk. Turns out you... really really get along... and I couldn’t wait to tackle it! I believe my exact words were: “I’m gonna Parent Trap these bitches”... So do with that what you will lol

———

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Two heads turn to stare at me as I burst through the doors. I'm out of breath from running through the building, something the staff really didn't seem to appreciate, though their shouts and annoyed glances were the last thing on my mind.

As I try to catch my breath, the two heads stand, and suddenly I feel a lot smaller.

One of them I recognize— Principal Anteros. I'd met with her before over some of Sky's academic achievements, all positive things, which is why today's circumstances make being in this office rather uncomfortable.

It's also why I seem to shrink with embarrassment at my tardiness— and appearance. Waitressing has its benefits, but today's whirlwind of phone calls and a mention at meeting another parent are not any of them.

Speaking of, the other person in the room is one I've never seen before. He's taller than both Anteros and I, extremely well dressed, and probably the most intimidatingly beautiful human being I'd ever met. I can barely meet his eyes, and so I try not to think about what he's doing here—to think about having to talk to him.

I shrink even further.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Principal Anteros greets. Thankfully she doesn't sound too upset given the circumstances. "Please, have a seat."

I do, brushing off my uniform as if that will somehow help my appearance. The soft leather of the chairs, however comfortable they might be, fail to bring me any comfort at all.

"As I'm sure you've guessed already, this is Doctor Reid, Vivian's father."

Great, he's a fucking doctor? This already bodes well for me...

Regardless of my reservations, I turn to him and give a faint smile. He waves in turn, and for the time being I'm extremely glad he doesn't insist on shaking my hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, surely nothing but a formality.

"You, too," I say quickly, then turn back to Principal Anteros. "Your phone call sounded urgent... Is everything alright?"

As soon as I say it, I feel kind of dumb. Because of course everything isn't alright. My child's principal called a meeting with another parent, and that can never mean anything good, not to mention the fucking intimidation and awkwardness in the room right now. I almost apologize, trying to explain that that wasn't exactly what I meant to get across, but then I would have just been talking for way too long, embarrassing myself further.

Once again, I'm thankful for Anteros's ability to move the conversation along. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem so. I only bring this to attention because Sky and Vivian are both stellar students. They've never had any disciplinary issues or difficulties with other students..."

"No one's hurt, right?" Mr. Reid asks. I know he's just concerned for his child, but for some reason it feels like an attack on me, like he assumes my kid had something to do with it.

"No, no one's hurt. Thankfully there weren't any physical altercations. But it seems your girls are quite... loud."

The doctor looks like he wants to say something, but I'm quick to jump in before he can. "Sorry... Sky is non-binary. They use they/them pronouns."

I half expect one or either of them to make a big deal or just roll their eyes at me, as most people seem to do when I correct them on the matter, but Anteros gives a sincere apology and Reid probably couldn't have cared any less.

I still can't tell if I like him or not...

But that doesn't matter right now.

"What do you mean by loud?" I continue.

Anteros sighs. "Well, while there hasn't been any physical violence, your kids seem to have very heated arguments, usually during lunch or in the hallway in passing... We thought maybe we could resolve it here since, like I said, they're both excellent students, but then it started escalating to classroom arguments... It's a lot of screaming..."

I have never known Sky to raise their voice at anyone, not even in a situation where I probably would have. Lord knows I'm thankful they don't have my impatience and tendency to get pissed off easily...

So what happened that was so bad, it made them snap?

"You... You're sure you mean Vivian is acting out like this?" Reid asks slowly, and I can't stop myself from laughing out loud.

"Come on, she's a professional. This has been going on for weeks, in her school, I'm sure she would know if it was your kid having a screaming match with someone else..."

This time Doctor Reid actually looks over at me, an eyebrow raised, and though I very much believe what I've just told him, the way he's looking at me right now drops my heart straight down to my stomach, like he's the principal and I'm the student acting out—No, it's worse than that... I feel like he's a disappointed parent, but not with Vivian, with me.

I avoid his intimidating stare and look down at the ground. "Sorry... I'm just... This isn't like Sky, either, I don't know what to do..."

"Well, usually when we have these sort of disputes, we like to have the students talk it out amongst themselves with a moderator present. But we've tried that, and it seems that they still haven't made any progress. Now, I know your children are good at heart, and it seems like you both are excellent parents— You know your children better than anyone here ever could. So, I'm proposing the two of you take a meeting some time and try to figure out how to settle this."

Seriously? If it hasn't been made clear already, this man is a doctor of some kind, planets away from my league in any capacity, and I can just picture the two of us in a screaming match close to what I imagine our children's looked like...

Maybe we can just e-mail.

"Okay," he agrees evenly, and I'm surprised he seems this calm considering I've just practically yelled at him... "I have free time this afternoon if you want to talk it over."

"I have to get back to work, but I get done at five," I sigh, wanting to get this over with. "Are you free then?"

"Mhm."

"Good," Anteros chirps, standing and leaving Doctor Reid and I to follow suit. "Perhaps over the weekend we can get this settled."

I sure as hell hope so.

———

"Ms. Y/L/N, wait!"

I have no idea what he could possibly want from me now that we've set a time and place to talk tonight, but I'm just praying desperately that he doesn't want to take this time alone in the parking lot to get back at me for accosting him in Anteros's office...

Thankfully, his face when he approaches seems rather kind.

"You can call me Y/N..."

"Right," he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and nodding. "I'm Spencer."

"Spencer... So, um... Did you need something?"

"O—Oh, I just... I know you have to get back to work so I'll make this short, but I wanted to see if you wanted to do, uh... dinner tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I just figured since we probably didn't expect for our weekend to go this way... We should make it worth it?"

"Are you really trying to turn this into a date?"

"W— No, not really, I just... You know, I thought it might be nice to... make this less like a chore, you know? A—And don't feel like you have to say yes, it was just a thought, I'm sorry if I made this weirder..."

The fact that I still can't figure this man out bothers me, but right now he's blushing, and he looks like he's trying to save himself from embarrassment, and it's so fucking adorable that I don't really care that I was just annoyed.

So I tell him, "Sure. Why not?"

"Really?"

"Yeah... Besides, Lord knows I haven't gone out for dinner in a long time."

The doctor is relieved, a smile creeping up on his lips that suddenly tugs at my insides and makes me wish for a second that it really is a date he's offering... "Okay, good. Do you want to meet at Waterstone, seven o'clock?"

The excitement starts to drain from me as he says it, followed by an incoming wave of embarrassment. "Oh, man, that... That place is kind of expensive, I don't—"

"Oh, it's okay, I'll pay for everything. I'll even wait outside for you so we can go in together if you'd like..."

Why he's being so nice to me I have no idea, but it's making my annoyance melt and my heart start to beat faster, and I really don't know how to feel about that. In fact I'm pretty sure it's weird as fuck given the circumstances.

But all I have to do is make it through this weekend, hopefully all will be back to normal, and I won't ever have to think about it ever again.

"Alright... It's a date."

———

Out of all the scenarios I'd pictured for the end of the night, this definitely had not been one of them.

I finished my shift at the diner, imagining on my drive home the look on his face when I inevitably showed up with something on my face or stained on my dress; Instead I showed up to Waterstone and was greeted with wandering eyes and showered with bashful compliments.

I expected to get into some type of argument about how each of our kids were better than the other or something, but we ended up talking through their traits with compassion, interest, and pride, all while agreeing that we just have to sit with them this weekend and explain that there are easier, better ways to sort out disagreements than screaming at each other in public.

I expected not to have much fun at all, but by the time we gathered the check and headed out the door, Spencer and I were laughing, just a little tipsy on Cabernet, our hands gently brushing and sparks shooting up my arm at the feeling.

I expected to go our separate ways and walk to my car and drive home, but instead he ended up telling me he was taking the Subway home, and I offered to give him a ride to the opposite side of town where I lived (Waterstone was right in the middle).

I expected to walk through the door, stumble straight up to bed, and sleep until Sky inevitably woke me up with them saying I've slept in too late and needed to get ready for work, but instead I ended up following Spencer up to his door to say goodnight.

And now we're at a fork in the road, and I can take one of two paths.

I can say goodnight, watch him walk in, and then go home and forget about this whole thing.

Or I can keep letting him stare at me until I find myself leaning in to kiss him. Whether or not he'll actually reciprocate is another story, but the little bit of wine tingling in the surface of my body and the dark, intense look in his eye gives me more courage than I've had since I met him.

Before I can make a move, Spencer talks, his voice small and inviting. "Do you want to come inside?" The beating of my heart quickens immensely as he takes another step forward and brings his fingers out to graze my chin. "Vivian's with her mom tonight."

Yes. Vivian's mom, who divorced Spencer pretty soon in the marriage after she just decided his job was too much to handle. He'd quit and took a teaching job, but even still, she declined his pleading to stay married and eventually admitted that she just wasn't in love with him anymore. At least she had the decency to let him have joint custody once his schedule cleared up, and it seemed like they were decent co-parents. Maybe even friends.

I think about Sky, how much they wish their dad had stayed, and how much I wish he had too. I was devastated when he left without anything more than a note. For years it took a huge toll on us, and I barely had the headspace to even think about dating anyone since then.

But here I am now, standing with this man who has also lost a spouse, who's somewhat of a single parent, and who seems kind and genuine enough that I don't think I'd have to worry about bringing him into the life of my child.

Though, I don't even know it'll go that far. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and so to slow down I look at what's right in front of me. Right now.

Spencer looks at me like he wants to devour me. My whole body is tingling from head to toe. I want to kiss him, and I'm pretty damn sure he wants to kiss me back. He just invited me inside, which means that if I accept, we'll most likely end up sleeping with each other.

Again... Definitely not one of the scenarios I'd had in mind when I left the school today. But it's a damn good one, and he's so hot I want to cry.

My flirty switch turns on so fast, it nearly gives me whiplash. "And what are you gonna do if I say yes?"

"Depends... How badly do you want to walk tomorrow?"

My first instinct is to jokingly tell him to put me in a wheelchair, but I settle for kissing him instead, hoping that gives the same sentiment.

The way he melts into my body tells me I've succeeded. My arms fly up to his neck and pull him closer, and he holds me tightly to him, waiting for my lips to part so he can expertly slip his tongue past them.

I whine out and take a step towards the door. Spencer comes with me and fumbles with the keys in his pocket before reluctantly pulling away to get us inside.

Once we take our jackets and shoes off, he clings to me like static, drawn to me like a magnet, and I let him near without a second thought. Our lips find each other perfectly, like they've always meant to fit together. And as pieces of clothing come off on our way through the house and up to his bedroom, our limbs fit together just as well. Nothing is out of place.

Hell, I don't even remember how inferior to him I felt earlier in the day. Our jobs and lifestyles might seem like polar opposites, but for right now, the two of us are on very equal footing, coming together like it's always been meant to be.

I nearly fall apart when his fingers gather wetness from my cunt, just enough to tease me before pulling away and bringing them to his lips. I watch with a whine waiting on the back of my tongue as he slips his fingers past his mouth and sighs.

"More," is all he manages, and I want so badly to tease him—tell him how I know he can be more eloquent than that—but words are all lost on me too, when he drops to his knees and spreads me apart with ease. I have no choice but to reach behind and grip the foot-end of the bed as he works his tongue expertly against me.

Each of my sighs and whines are met with more avidity from him, taking the form of sharp flicks of the tongue over my clit, and once he adds his fingers to the mix, pumping them expertly inside me, I'm a fucking goner.

I come with a silent shout, clenching my thighs around his face and gripping the foot of the bed so tightly it feels like my hands might go numb.

Once my body loosens, Spencer gets up and kisses me, nearly knocking me over. I'm breathless and dizzy as the tang of my arousal coats my tastebuds. His hands are gentle despite the hunger in his lips, and the medley of sensations of all of these things has me weak in the knees.

"Getting harder to stand already, sweetheart?" he laughs, catching me as I fall into him. His hands clutch at my thighs and he carries me to the edge of the bed, crawling over top of me and kissing down my neck. "That's okay... I'll take good care of you."

I still can't manage to speak as he gently pushes in, the slow burn of him splitting me in two rendering me utterly incapable of even thought. I gladly welcome the pressure, especially once he's inside me all the way and lowering his body to mine. Our chests press firmly together as he pulls back and starts a steady pace with his hips. He traps me with his arms, bringing them to either side of my face. And when his fingers brush the hair from my eyes, he stares into them with intensity as he fucks me.

It's slow and hard. It's heart-pounding. It's earth-shattering. It's everything that makes sex worth having. In that moment we're two equals, so wrapped up in the mere feeling of each other that everything else is just background noise. He breathes me in and I do the same, and with each cant forward of his hips, he brings me deeper into this world we've both ultimately created together.

I want more than anything to wrap my legs around him and keep him close to me, but he's fucking me so good that I don't have the willpower. Instead, they lay spread out, lazy and open as his hips move between them. I'm warm all over, tingling everywhere our skin connects. When he kisses me, swallowing my pathetic attempts at whimpering his name, I'm positive that this is what Heaven must feel like.

Whether it's hours or only minutes later, eventually my body tenses, unable to hold back any further, and two particularly deep thrusts from Spencer send me barreling over the edge.

"There it is, sweetheart..." he praises, caressing my face with long, gentle fingers and leaving little kisses wherever they trail. His voice only seems to help me along, each warm syllable soothing the muscles that pulled taut at his mercy. "That's a good girl..."

I feel tired, calmed, and relaxed, when he pulls out only to jerk off over my lower stomach. Through tired eyes, I watch as he lets go and covers me with his release. Hearing him grunt out my name as he does it nearly wakes me up again, and it even finally brings some words out of me.

"God, you're so fucking hot..."

Well... Not exactly elegant, but the feeling gets across.

Spencer laughs and rolls over so that he isn't nearly crushing me anymore. He kisses down my neck, my arm, and he ever-so-slightly swipes the tip of his tongue over the mess he made before kissing my thigh and getting up to leave— presumably to get me something to clean up with.

Sure enough, he returns shortly with a wet washcloth and tenderly cleans me up. I manage to sit, leaning back on my elbows once he's done and smile at him. He's practically kneeling in front of me again, smiling back as his lips press featherlight kisses to the inside of my leg.

"How're you feeling?" he drawls, letting me pull him up to lay down with me.

"Really good. I haven't done that in so long..."

"Me either... I um... I hadn't really thought much about seeing other people once Lena and I got divorced... I guess I just wanted to put all my focus into being the best father I could, you know?"

"Mhm," I answer, turning to face him and interlocking our fingers. "I know exactly what you mean."

We lay like that for a few moments in comfortable silence, hands and limbs tangled while we breathe the same air and revel in the afterglow we've just created.

Suddenly Spencer laughs, and I squeeze his hand. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking... We probably wouldn't have met if not for Anteros calling us in, right?"

"Yeah..." I piece it together. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

"I just think it's funny, because in Greek mythology, Anteros was an Erote, known as an avenger of unrequited love, and he punished those who scoffed at romantic advances made by others... You and I never even thought about dating after our separations, and yet... Here we are now, because of Anteros."

Hearing him educate me on Greek mythology only serves to remind me how different we are. Still, the little story brings a comforting smile to my lips. "Well... Remind me to send her a basket of muffins or something to thank her."

"And tell her what? That you're grateful she got you laid?"

"Yeah. And what about it?"

The two of us dissolve into laughter that eventually fizzles and leaves us silent again. Our fingers are still tangled, and somehow we've snuggled in even closer.

"In any case, I'm glad I got to meet you, Doctor Reid."

"And I, you, Ms. Y/L/N..."

———

In the past two weeks since that first meeting, I hadn't received any more phone calls from Principal Anteros, which bode as a good sign.

Spencer and I decided to see each other as secretly as we could, which meant only giving vague details to our kids as to what we were doing in our spare time— It seemed weird to spring it on them if they didn't get along, so we figured it was best to wait until the situation was handled.

I tried to talk to Sky about their progress with Vivian, but they only insisted that everything was fine and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. And after relaying this information to Spencer, he informed me that Viv had said the same thing to him.

It wasn't until we both realized that they'd said the same things verbatim each time we asked, that something odd was going on.

And that's how we end up right here, Sky and I sitting on a park bench bathed in the golden October sun while I patiently wait for Spencer to 'coincidentally' show up with Vivian.

Thankfully I don't have to wait too long, because almost five minutes after we sit, I hear the familiar sound of my name falling from his lips, and it's hard to contain the cocky, playful smile that appears upon my own.

"Spencer, hey!" I call back, standing up and going to give him a hug. He pulls me in and he's nice and warm. He smells like burnt wood for some reason, and I want to breathe him in forever. Instead, I settle for a sweet kiss on the lips, both because I simply want to and also because it should baffle the fuck out of our kids.

Sure enough we pull away and look to them, and they look panicked. They have no idea what to do, what to say...

"Oh! Sorry... Viv, this is Y/N, Sky's mom."

The pure amusement in Spencer's voice makes me feel even warmer than being in his embrace. I look to his daughter and give her a wave. "Hi."

"H—Hi..."

It almost seems cruel to laugh at their predicament, but as I turn to Sky and introduce them to Spencer, they have clear annoyance written all over their face.

"Okay, Mom, I think we get it... How did you guys figure it out?"

"What, that you two pretended to hate each other so your principal would have to call us both in to meet?"

The pre-teens look at each other and sigh, truly defeated once and for all. "Yeah," they mutter simultaneously.

"Well, it surely didn't make any sense when you got in trouble for yelling at each other in the first place," Spencer points out. "And then when we asked you how things were working out, you both said the same exact thing..."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out, but we appreciate the effort," I add, reaching out to ruffle Sky's hair. They jerk away playfully, and I can't help but notice their smile as they peek over at Vivian.

"Our plan worked, though, so I call it a win," Vivian says with a shrug.

"As long as you two don't plan on causing any more disruptions at school..." Spencer looks between the both of them, and then at me, his eyes softening as he takes my hand and squeezes it. "Then yes. I'd call it a win, too."

I lean into him and laugh. "Turns out it wasn't Greek mythology that brought us together. It was The Parent Trap."

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't get what I mean, and before I can ask or explain, Vivian does it for me. "He's never seen it."

Spencer looks between the three of us like a lost and confused puppy, and we all laugh.

"Well, then, maybe we'll have to have a movie night sometime soon," I offer, reaching out for Sky.

Hand in hand, the four of us continue down the pathway, walking away from the setting sun while dried leaves rustle under our feet.

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out):

@elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @mcureid @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @goldensonlyangel @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13 @big-galaxy-chaos @mggskneescrew @youabitchhhh @spencersjello @moonlight-2-6 @starrylang @foreveryoungxx3 @spencerreidscoffeecup @morganwilliams @emilyprsntiss @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @gubswh0re @mrsobrien888 @loveeee2134 @umbreonwolfy @ayla-1605 @reidsbabe @not-that-kind-of-dr-spencer-reid 

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[awanderingdeal]

I vote leo meeting the harvard team! 💕

So this fic has been a bit of a mare to write, but we are here!

You can read the first part of this here

Rating: T

CW: Alcohol, academic superiority complex and coming out.

Logan, Finn, Leo, Percy, Will and the general Sweater Weather universe belongs to @lumosinlove. The other team members were made up by me for this fic.

“Okay, tell me their names again,” Leo said, tugging at the rolled neck of his sweater as he shut the car door.

“Nutty,” Finn laughed. “There’s not going to be a pop quiz. We’ll introduce you when we meet people.”

Leo scowled, letting Logan thread their fingers together. It was weird being able to do this in public still and Leo couldn’t help but glance around. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Logan squeezed his hand reassuringly, meeting Leo’s gaze with a soft smile.

“Nobody expects you to know anything. And everybody’s great.” Logan wrinkled his nose like he’d just smelt something bad. “Except Wesley, he’s an ass, but I’ll point him out.”

Like many of the others in Harvard square, the building was all exposed brick and white accents, blending in seamlessly with those around it. Inside was different, more modern. Leo didn’t get to see much of the first floor, the one dedicated to the restaurant Finn, Logan and the rest of the team had dined at previous evening, before he was ushered up a grand staircase, but he’d seen the photographs. The cherry blossom ceilings and walls of glass provided the perfect backdrop for the instagram feeds of the hoards of celebrities and influencers that flocked there. Hence his surprise when, after checking their invitations again, an employee pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a room that more resembled a 1920’s speakeasy than anything 21st century. A loud cheer went up as they crossed the threshold.

“Is this a team thing?” Leo mouthed at Logan.

He got his answer from Percy Marshall. Leo had met him a few times before when they’d played the Rangers. “You’re the last to arrive,” Percy chuckled. “I’d say I was surprised, but that would be a lie.” He slapped a hand playfully against Finn’s bicep. Is this outfit change number 52, Finn? Don’t worry, you didn’t disappoint. You look wonderful.”

“Fuck you, Marshy,” Finn laughed. “Tremz was on a call to his sisters actually.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Percy clasped his hand to his chest. “We wouldn’t dare break up a Tremblay soiree.”

“You’re an ass,” Logan scoffed, plucking at Finn’s slacks. “I was only talking to them because Finn was taking so long. Did you know there are several shades of mustard and only one of them goes with this shirt?”

“Oh look, they argue like an old married couple too,” William Morgan, another of those Leo knew, and Percy’s teammate on the Rangers, teased. “Marshy, these hands are looking too empty. Get these men a drink.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n.” Leo set to follow as Percy led the way to the bar, stumbling slightly as he found Will’s firm grasp on his shoulder stopping his movement. Logan turned as his fingers slipped from his hand.

“Go ahead, Tremzy. I’m going to introduce Leo to some of the team. We want all the gossip without you two around to censor him.”

Logan frowned. “I’m not sure -”

“Relax, Logan. This isn’t a hazing. We’ll be right over there,” Will pointed towards a group perched on stools around two of the tables in the centre of the room, a mix of the old team and what Leo assumed were their partners. “Knut’s a big boy. He can object for himself if he really doesn’t want to come.”

“I’m sure I can hold my own,” Leo cocked his head slightly and smiled. “You better not leave Harzy with Percy for too long. They’ll be three shots down by now.”

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of introductions. Leo had lost count of the number of hands he'd shaken and the new names he'd learned. It reminded him of those first few days in Gryffindor, being shuffled around from place to place and everybody telling him he'd get used to it.

The quiet of the bathroom was a welcome reprieve to the chaos. “Sweetheart,” Leo laughed, listening to Finn sing to himself in the stall. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” A concerningly loud crash preceded the door being pushed open. “I’m here.”

“You’re drunk,” Leo chuckled.

Finn pulled his hands from under the stream of water, shaking droplets everywhere as he squeezed the tips of his thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe just the tiniest bit.”

Leo shook his head fondly. “Let’s go and find Lo.” Glancing back to check Finn was following him proved to be a mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologised, rubbing at his forehead and stepping back from the wall of muscle he’d just crashed into. Of course, the tall man with his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail was the one person Leo hadn’t yet met.

“Leo, this is James. Call him Hunter,” Finn grinned with his hand resting in the small of Leo’s back. "Hunter, this is -"

"Leo Knut. I know. Everybody knows," Hunter said and Leo noted the familiar notes of his own accent in the words. He faltered with his hand thrust halfway in Leo's direction, letting it fall back by his side. "Oh fuck, sorry man. Did you want to introduce him as your boyfriend? Go ahead."

"It's cool, no worries." Finn shrugged, the rounds of his cheeks tinged with the slightest of blushes. "Aww, what the heck!" He squared his shoulders, standing a little taller, the corners of his mouth splitting with pride. "Hunter, this is Leo, my boyfriend."

Hunter extended his hand again for Leo to shake. “Nice to meet you. Please excuse me, I have to use the bathroom now, but we’ll talk later.”

***

"Boys." The call had come from behind them and Logan groaned low in his chest as they turned to acknowledge it.

"Wes! You made it," Finn smiled, the corners of his mouth tight. "We weren't sure you'd be able to. With all those big meetings you have to attend and such. Is your wife, Renee, wasn’t it, here? I'd love to meet her."

Something flickered in Wes' smug expression. "They stayed in California. Nate has a very busy schedule. Harvard is very important to me, as you know, so I came alone."

“Isn’t Nate three?” Logan blinked.

“You have to give them a good start if you want them to get them to get into a good college these days, I’m sure you understand. Where was it you went, Leo?"

Leo pursed his lips, letting the same calm wash over him that he channelled for interviews. “I didn’t go. I got drafted straight out of high school.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” Wes said. “College isn’t for everybody though, is it?”

Logan bristled beside him, and Leo placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Indeed,” he blinked. “I didn’t need my intelligence validated by a degree then, and I still don’t now. And I was hardly about to turn down an offer from The Gryffindor Lions now, was I?”

Wes grumbled something that sounded vaguely like an agreement before turning on his heel and walking off in a manner that Leo could only describe as petulant.

“You’re so hot,” Finn took Leo’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want another?”

“Please,” Leo nodded. Logan raised his still mostly full glass as a rejection of the offer.

“You should have let me punch him,” Logan huffed. “He would have deserved it.”

"And get blood on your shirt? Let’s leave that on the ice, shall we?” Leo tugged at the lapels of Logan’s jacket.

***

"So," Logan started as they claimed one of the low tables in the corner, a little tucked away from the rest of the room. "What do you think?"

"It's always nice seeing where you two started," Leo hummed, threading his fingers through the thin curls on the nape of Logan's neck. "I just don't know how you used to do this everyday. Live amongst all this energy. The guys all seem great, but it's a lot even now and I'm assuming you've all mellowed somewhat with age."

"I am not old," Logan scoffed. "Mais non, I agree. Wasn't always like this though. There's more than one graduating class here and we've been apart a long time. A lot of excitement."

"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up with Biscuit. He has triplets now, isn't that crazy?" Finn said, pressing a glass into Logan’s hand and setting Leo’s in front of him before flopping onto the couch opposite. "One Margarita for the fine sir."

"Thanks, Harzy," Leo laughed lightly.

"I can't believe him and Vanessa are still together," Logan hummed, taking a long sip of his drink. He leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right thigh and snaked his arm across the dark leather, brushing his fingers against Leo's shoulder. "I only introduced them because she was flirting with you at that party, the one just after we got back from winter break my junior year, and I wanted to distract her."

"Oh, so that's why you got all moody," Finn said. "She wasn't flirting, she needed help with an essay, idiot."

"The fact you remember Logan's mood on a night seven years ago says more about you than him," Leo snorted.

"First of all, Tremzy being grumpy? That's just a good guess. Second, some of us were still stupid at 20, Knutty." Finn sighed wistfully. "Hey, at least it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed in the chest these days when I think about it. Progress, right?"

Logan tipped his glass in Finn's direction, nodding his head briefly. "I'll cheers to that."

"To -" Leo started, letting the toast die off as another of Finn and Logan's old team mates approached. He hoped the disappointment he felt wasn't written across his face; whilst he hadn't really expected to be left alone for too long, he had hoped for the brief respite to have lasted longer.

"Hey." The newcomer had his hand shoved into his pockets and his shoulders stooped, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Ken!" Finn patted the empty seat next to him. "Of course not. Come, sit."

Leo extended his arm, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you. Ken was it? I'm Leo."

"Ken's what the team always called me. Don't really hear it much these days." Leo thought he saw something sad in the smile sent his way. "My real name is Obi."

"That's because you went off the radar," Logan gave a pointed look.

"About that -" Obi swiped Finn's drink, ignoring his disgruntled protest. He drained what was left of it, pulling at an non-existent loose thread on his sweater. "I wanted to say thank you, you know. For having the guts to come out. I know Black and Lupin were first, but that was forced wasn’t it. You made a choice. I know that must have been hard. It was one hell of a ballsy move."

Leo looked between Finn and Logan, expecting them to answer, but neither of them spoke. "We didn't have much of a choice, not if we didn't want to be watching our back every second of every day."

"It was still brave," Obi muttered. "I couldn't have done it."

"Ken, what are you saying?" Logan never did have much patience for others taking their time to get to the point, even though he was a fan of the scenic route himself.

"They gave you a whole Harvard degree and you need to ask that question?" Obi huffed a laugh. "I'm gay. I met Marco, my now husband at the end of senior year, and freaked out. I didn't know how to make these two worlds work, so I didn't. I moved to DC with him, and started a new life. I'm an accountant, he works in marketing. We have four rats, and a Vizsla called Poppy. It's all very domestic. I love it, but I was a coward.”

"You're not a coward. You don't owe that information to anybody, Ken. Not the others, not the media, not the NHL and not us. Not now, not then, not ever.” Finn took a breath, holding up his finger to signal he wasn’t finished. “Besides, it's not as if Lo and I planned this. We went into this with every intention of stuffing this deep, deep into the depths of denial, never for anybody to find out. Including ourselves. And then Nutty came along.”

Obi smiled at Leo, turning his attention back to Finn. "When did you become Gay Yoda?"

"I spend way too much time in our psych's office. Just spreading the wisdom. Heather would be proud."

"Do the others know?" Logan asked.

"Not yet, I think I'd like them to though."

Logan shifted, leaning forward in his seat. "There's no rush, Ken. We've got your back, whatever you decide."

"So, do you have photos?" Leo cocked his head. "We got to show off. Now it's your turn. Even if it's only for us."

"Of Marco?"

"I'm sure he's wonderful, but I was actually talking about Poppy. And the rats," Leo teased.

There were moments when Leo wondered whether they had made the right decision. When he was playing in front of hostile crowds, or fending off stupid media questions, or blocking bigots on twitter. And then there were moments when he knew the decision they had made was 100% perfect. Right now, that was one of those moments.

[somedrunkpirate]

learn the dead | Arthur/Eames

Read here on ao3 or continue below Tags: Presumed Dead, First Time, Angst with a happy ending, pining Rating: T Wordcount: 5,4k 

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

Everything checks out. 

The hospital records, the police report, even the fucking local news because, to quote scruffy looking anchor, with a stutter no less, “There has— sn’t been an lethal acc—sident for over ten years on this s—street.” 

The information is bare-bones, but that isn’t remarkable for an open and shut case like this: drunk driver meets tree trunk. Happens a thousand times a year, and will continue to happen whether you make a fuss out of it or not. Write down the licence plate, try (and fail) to inform relatives, do the paperwork and get home on time for dinner for once. Simple as pie. 

Except. Except Arthur wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have driven drunk. His stick reaches too far up his ass to do something so utterly reckless in reality. 

That thought is what had spurred Eames to begin his search— there had to be something, anything, that could explain the whole bullshit situation. Even if that something is a hit, covered up like an accident. Then at least Eames would have some to blame— Someone to kill. 

But everything checks out. 

Even that initial discrepancy. Arthur couldn’t have been drunk, but after many phone calls and bribes, Eames had learned what Arthur could have been. 

He could have been high. 

His last job had been an experimental trial. Not with a chemist Eames knew. An academic who had shit his pants when Eames barged in with a smile as sharp as a knife— and a knife in his hand, of course. Wouldn’t do to be less than intimidating in this case. The chemist had spluttered into a rant Eames had understood half of, so he’d called Yusuf and held the phone up without responding to the cursing at being awoken in the middle of the night. But he’d caught on quickly, started to ask questions Eames wouldn’t have thought to ask. Then more, sharper. With a hiss.  

“What is he saying?” Eames had asked, after the chemist had run out of breath. 

“Eames—“ 

The way Yusuf sounded, a sigh more than an utterance. The tone of his voice as it tried to fold in pity— badly. Yusuf was never quite made for compassion. Though the attempt had been enough to haunt Eames’ nightmares since. 

“Eames. He’s dead.” 

The confirmation had come without fanfare in the end. Eames didn’t even kill the chemist, after. It hadn’t been his fault that the mix Arthur had taken voluntarily turned out to suppress reflexes when tired. Not tired as they would call it— after a rush job, when exhaustion nipped at your heels. Just tired; about to drink a cup of coffee tired. Arthur probably hadn’t even felt any different until it was too late. But it had been raining, and he’d been driving for more than six hours. It was no one’s fault that Arthur had lost control over the vehicle just in front of the only tree in a three mile radius.There had been a rabbit flattened between the car and the bark. He’d probably been trying to save it. 

A fucking rabbit. 

Eames had hung up on Yusuf without a word. It had been the last time he’d spoken to anyone for a long time. 

Except that isn’t quite true. 

“Well, darling, you’ve gotten me in quite a pickle.” 

The grave doesn’t respond. It never does. 

— — — — —

If someone had told him that his reaction to Arthur’s death would be to stand before his grave every day for a month straight, he'd have laughed his lungs out of his chest. 

It would’ve been sad, of course, to see such a talented colleague go. He might even have gone on a bender for a week— drinking away the sorrows that come with a lost acquaintance— maybe a friend. But he’d have better things to do than indulge himself for longer than that. He’d been indulging himself with Arthur for far too long, and death should have been the end to it. 

Because he had been thinking about it, sometimes, when he was feeling fanciful. You would have had to be blind not to see the chemistry. The push and pull that led to delicious flirtation — as much as Arthur wanted to deny it — and even more delicious dreamsharing. They made each other better and that was honestly the only thing Eames ever looked for, when, if ever, he thought about that nebulous concept of ‘settling down’. 

So yes, there would be something more to losing Arthur. Eames had known even then. It was losing that slight hint of potential. Though that is always a treacherous word. 

Because he never truly believed he’d make it that far— not just with Arthur, who would’ve laughed even harder if Eames were ever to confess his vague future plans for them — but with life in general. Why plan for something that would be cut short anyway? Even if Arthur could be persuaded to make something out of the spark between them, it would’ve been cruel to do so. Eames knew himself well. He wouldn’t have stopped taking risks, stop wanting more-- craving freedom like a drug. The idea to set Arthur up for inevitable heartbreak had been enough to avoid thinking about practical steps. A fantasy was fine. Eames got paid to live in them. He didn’t get paid for reality. 

So, Arthur’s death would of course be sad. But it shouldn’t have been more than another scar on his back— the punishment of the trade he chose, along with a whisper of nostalgia at losing a construct of his imagination. Even he wouldn’t have had the heart to keep the fantasy of a dead man alive for his own entertainment. A week, a few drinks, and it should’ve been over. 

It shouldn’t have destroyed him. 

“I just never thought I’d be the one left behind, darling,” Eames says to the wet dirt below him. It feels off to tell the headstone itself— the name is fake. Aaron Fister. Arthur had thrown a knife past his head when Eames had shown him the forged papers. To say he regrets the joke now is an understatement. 

“In all fairness, it should’ve been you here, it would make more sense for you to fall in love with me, once I’m not there to bother you anymore. Absentia makes the heart go fonder, hmm?” 

The dirt seems to be judging him. It’s good that some things never change. 

“I know— I know it's hypocritical. I didn’t even— I didn’t even love you. It was just a game. A fun thing to theorise about when the goings got tough. Would you be as snappish if we lived together? Would you forgive me faster if I sucked you off? Would you kiss me goodbye in the airport?” Eames stops himself, and rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “It’s humiliating, darling. I should’ve just gotten off at the thought of you like half of the dreamshare community was doing. Hand on or in their whatever and imagine you moaning next to them. But I had to be pathetic about it. Though this is reaching new heights, I must say.” 

He leaves, abruptly sick of himself. He comes back the next day, as always. 

Some days, though, Eames doesn’t devolve into confessions that make the little old ladies passing by their lost friend’s grave raise their eyebrows and linger by a random grave to listen anyway. 

Some days, Eames is angry. 

The first time, he breaks his toe in the process. 

“You bloody cunt!” He’s aware that he’s shouting, but he doesn’t stop. “Never experiment alone! Isn’t that what you fucking say to the newbies? You need someone to be a baseline. Someone who can bring you home safe. You fuck. Why didn’t you call me. Why didn’t you fucking—“ 

Kicking the gravestone had not been his best idea, but the pain of it brings a rush of satisfaction. There is— so much, inside of him. Eames is drowning in it, and the throb in his feet cuts right through it. Clarity. He kicks again. 

“You fucking bastard.” 

The old ladies have gone from curious to concerned now. Eames hobbles away, hissing, before he gets a restraining order on a grave. 

The next day he’s back, a bottle of whiskey in hand, and finds himself apologising. 

“I know— I never made it quite clear that you could call me, for stuff like that. That I would pick up. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Or no, I would have, but I might not have bothered for that. The jobs— I knew how to handle you on the job. But outside of that. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage. I wouldn’t think that way then, of course. Convince myself that I’m above errand runs like that. Throw you a bone recommending some up and coming kid I knew or something— intern type, for all that we have those here. But I don’t think I would’ve come. So it isn’t your fault. You made a mistake, not getting back-up, but it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know you had any. And I didn’t dare to believe I could be yours. That you would let me. That it wouldn’t end in disaster.” 

Eames leans against the cold stone and sighs. “’Suppose it has, already. Would’ve been too good to have it end any other way.” 

— — — — —

When Eames isn’t in a graveyard, or in a bar, he’s in the warehouse. 

It had felt too… personal, to get a hotel room for this. To do his research in a living room, as opposed to the dreary, dusty and echoey spaces where most of their professional relationship had flourished. It’s too big for a one-man job, but Eames had managed to fill it up anyway. Boxes upon boxes of information, any trace of Arthur he could find. Every email, record, police report, college paper— printed and archived. Eames can find his way through the documents blind and drunk. Arthur has taken over every nook and cranny of the warehouse— and every nook and cranny of Eames’ mind. Eames has read everything, twice over. 

If Arthur had been alive to know, he would’ve killed him. 

Because Arthur had always been a private person, for all that he pries in the lives of clients and collaborators both. He was the one who asked the questions and rarely answered them. It had always been a luxury— a rare reward, to be thrown a scrap of information. He’d always said something with that slight subtle smile, like he knew the power his breadcrumbs of personal life held over others. Everyone ravenous for more intel on one of the greatest pointmen of their generation. 

How horrible is it then to revel in the mountains of information that Eames had been able to gather after his death. He’d always known he’d had enough pull to find something, and after the inception job he’d had more than enough cash to buy the rest. But he’d never done it; at first because of the wrath that would quickly follow. Then because he’d known it would tarnish Arthur’s trust in him— something he’d wanted to protect at all costs. And then lastly — but maybe from the start — because it was so much more thrilling to learn bit by bit, piece by piece. To earn his knowledge of Arthur, and to ensure that his curiosity would never run out. He’d become slightly addicted to the feeling. 

But now, with no one left to tell, it had only taken the excuse of the suspicious circumstances of his death for Eames to turn into the hoarder he’d always known he could be. It had gotten to a point where new packages arrived every so often— criminals even beyond dreamshare having caught wind of an individual willing to invest heavily on any information. Someone had even hacked the pentagon to get classified documents. From the message on the box, the hacker thought they were helping a spy of some kind. Eames had sent him enough bitcoin to blow wind in the direction of that particular fire hearth of urban legend. He’d rather have people think there is a whole network of people digging into this, than anyone realising it’s in truth only one pathetic man. 

So Eames drinks. Eames talks to a grave. And Eames reads. It only takes him two boxes until Arthur makes him laugh for the first time since the car crash. It was due to a spirited essay on the importance of open source information that was clearly written to spite the professor leading the course, who’d been forced to give it an A+ regardless. Eames had chuckled, imagining the self-righteous satisfaction of this young Arthur as he got his grade back, and then began crying. Not to grieve the loss of a future he hadn’t realised how much he wanted, as is his wont, these days. But from the unfairness of it all. That a person like this, who had so much to say in this world, should’ve been taken so early, and in such a meaningless way. 

Arthur would’ve denied it, but Eames knows he’d only be content with a death from sacrifice . He’d shown that side of him clearly when he jumped into Cobb’s mess headfirst and without hesitation. If Arthur had died from a bullet taken for Cobb, Ariadne, or maybe even Eames, he would’ve been at peace— or as much as you can while bleeding out. 

Eames had known that, but as he learns more and more of Arthur, he realises how true it is. How, despite everything, Arthur cannot stop himself from being a silent hero. There are so many instances where Arthur, behind the screens, helps someone. Whether it was connecting the right people to each other under the mum of a potential project, or taking jobs way below his pay grade because he sympathised with the client, Arthur did not let their line of work destroy the possibility to be kind, every once in a while. 

It’s not like he advertised it. He didn’t do it in a way people would recognize his actions— which was smart, as it could be seen as a weakness in their circles. But whenever the chance came along, even if it was to his own detriment, Arthur chose the rough road home if it would ease someone else’s way. 

And this, Eames realises, is the secret to his competency. All other pointmen are expert researchers through and through, but no one had the reach Arthur had. Arthur knew everything, and if he didn’t know, he knew someone who knew— and most importantly, someone who would tell him. Eames doesn’t even know if Arthur ever realised that it was his kindesses, in and out the community, which led him into such a position of power. His actions are too random and inconsistent to be a strategic scheme to build an empire. Some of his biggest successes are results of a nicety five or ten years ago, something that he might have forgotten doing, but the people receiving it definitely haven’t. 

On the surface Arthur had been known as cool and effective— someone with a distance to the rest of the world that resulted in a highly detailed overview of any situation, even if it brought a side of professionalism to even the most informal of interactions. The people who witnessed a more casual side of him were few and far in between, but even those came away with the impression that to Arthur, doing the job in the best way possible was the only drive to his actions. 

No one had seen every little thing he did that had no other reason at all besides that he could do them for someone.

Eames maps out everything on the walls of the warehouse. And when he stands back to take it all in, he realises that more than anyone, the person Arthur had silently helped was him. 

Everything he’d done for Cobb had been grand and obvious, but more out of loyalty to Mal and her children than kindness without any other motivation. And Ariadne’s training had been as much for the inception job than for herself— maybe introducing her to the life hadn’t been a kindness at all. Continuing after could be seen as one, even if you could argue that her honing her raw talent would directly result in better and more stable dreams in later jobs. 

But Eames— what Arthur had done for Eames—

Eames can’t think of a single reason besides just being plain nice. 

Because it hadn’t been like he needed to. Eames had made him very clear that he’d be down for almost any job Arthur put in front of him. Just him being himself had always been enough, he didn’t need to do him any favours to persuade him like everyone else did.

And maybe Arthur had gotten the memo, because he’d done Eames favours without ever telling him, and those you can’t pay back. Eames had no idea the reason he got out of that trouble in Chicago was because Arthur bailed him out— it was presented to him as a procedure mistake. And then there was the Telula job, with an extractor-architect team Eames had wanted to work with for ages, but the chemist they’d been looking to hire was someone from Eames’ not so smooth first years of dream-share and he’d almost cut out of the job to not be forced to confront that past. That was until the chemist suddenly dropped out with an offer he couldn’t refuse— an offer Arthur had been behind. 

There were so many things like that. Little things, small things— warehouses next to Eames’ favourite restaurants; nuggets of information given anonymously through the channels of dreamshare gossip to hit Eames’ ears right on time before a betrayal; a job a week delayed because of Eames’ mother’s funeral. 

It’s not like Eames had been the only one, but he was by far the most frequent of all of them. More and more so over the years, like Arthur had been finding more reasons to be nice to him, while Eames had still been stuck in his pathetic imaginations, blind to what was already in front of him. 

A friendship. 

He’d been so preoccupied with his own flights of fancy, that he only realises how close they had been all this time until it was too late to experience it. Too late to thank Arthur for everything he’s done. 

The agony of it— the longing. His heart thundering with the sudden need to have Arthur in his arms, alive and real and—

“Oh god. I love him.” 

Eames drinks until he can’t remember. He manages to avoid the grave for a little while, but he doesn’t last long. Inevitably he’s pulled back to the grave yard, whiskey in hand, ready to talk to the love he lost again. 

— — — — —

His cemetery  routine— because he has one of those now — is usually to be at the grave around noon. Late enough to roll out of bed reasonably comfortably after a long night of drinking and/or reading, but early enough for there to be time left to check the new documents coming along and pay the right people before they send thugs to his hideout. 

But this time the afternoon light shines golden over the rows and rows of headstones and Eames shivers in the Autumn breeze. The old ladies are all dressed in fur coats. He recognizes some of them, and wonders if they noticed he was gone. None of them greet him as he passes, so he assumes not. 

Eames takes another sip of his bottle, allowing his feet to lead him over the familiar path up the hill, and then he drops his bottle all together. 

A man is standing before the grave. 

Tall, hunched a little in the wind. Long coat and thick black beanie. Nondescript. Anonymous. 

He does not turn as Eames nears. 

“You’re late.” 

Eames’ hand is on his gun at the first syllable, but before he can put it on his temple a leather gloved hand snatches it from his fingers. The clip ejects with a decisive click. 

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be dramatic. We don’t need a scene.” 

His face— a little gaunt. His eyes— tense, intent, darker than they should be. Eames doesn’t recognize the coat. But he’s there, pressed in close to hide the gun between their bodies. His breath— warm, hits Eames’ cheek. It isn’t— It can’t. He can’t be breathing because he’s—

Eames squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of metal against the palm of his hand, the smell of gunpowder. 

A sigh falls between them. “It won’t work. This isn’t a dream, Eames.” 

The hell it isn’t. “Experimental somacin, three levels.” 

Raised eyebrows shouldn’t be audible only through speech. “Do you remember how you got here?” 

Eames opens his eyes and says, “Deep immersion dream.” 

Arthur huffs at that. “Do you really think they’ve been keeping you under for years? Fine. When have you last lost memories?” 

Oh, that’s easy. “Two days ago.” 

There is a pause, and Eames hates the fact that he can see the exact moment of tension in Arthur’s jaw that signals him suppressing a question. It’s too detailed, too precise, too re—

“Later,” Arthur murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. Like later is a given between them. He seems frustrated. His eyes keep flicking to the side and his hand hovers near Eames’ arm, like he’s trying to keep himself from hurrying Eames along and is annoyed that Eames is stalling them. 

“I’m sorry darling,’” Eames drawls, “but in case it has escaped your notice: we are having this discussion on your fucking grave, so forgive me for being reasonably sceptical about the reality of this situation.” 

Arthur breathes out a deep sigh, clenched teeth. “Eames, think about it, is there any forger you know capable of forging me in a way you can’t see through it? Or for that matter, is there anyone who would dare to try steal from the fucking person who invented the craft?” 

No. The answer is no. It hits Eames with a muffled weight. He wonders what his face is doing, but whatever it is, Arthur responds to it with a curt nod. It suddenly strikes Eames as absurdly hilarious, in the way only the most traumatic experiences can. 

“You know, complimenting me really doesn’t help with the reality argument. Never mind doing it twice. Death changed you, darling.” 

Arthur stills in the middle of putting the clip back in Eames’ gun. There is the slightest flicker of his lips, and he huffs. “Maybe it did— can I trust you not to shoot yourself the moment I hand this back?” 

“Come on now Arthur,” Eames says, “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

And there— there it is. Arthur rolls his eyes as he presses the gun into Eames’ waiting hands, and a part of Eames’ breaks with it. Still muffled, still numb, but something is lumbering closer. He can almost hear its laboured breaths. 

“There you are,” Eames says, smiling. “You don’t know how much I missed that.” 

It is a miracle he doesn’t choke on the words. 

“Glad to be remembered for something,” Arthur is saying, and now he’s pushing Eames— gently but with intent, away from the grave. “And I’d like to keep it that way, so we need to talk before your insatiable curiosity ruins everything I worked for.” 

Eames doesn’t know if it's the words, or the press of Arthur’s hand against his back— barely sensable beneath all the layers but even the slightest hint of pressure sets him alight— but all at once everything falls into place. 

“You faked your death.” 

“Have you always been this slow on the uptake?” 

Eames barely hears him. Reality is roaring and there is space for nothing else. Arthur isn’t dead. Arthur isn’t dead. They’re standing on Arthur’s grave— an empty grave. A lie. A trick. He’s been fooled because Arthur isn’t dead, he’s right here. He’s touching him because he isn’t— 

Arthur isn’t. He isn’t. 

He’s alive. 

Eames doesn’t say anything the rest of the way to wherever. If Arthur speaks, he doesn’t strain to listen. Because Arthur isn’t dead and if he hears anything at all he’s either going to scream or kick the shit out of him just like he did on that stupid fucking grave— just to check that this one isn’t made of stone but flesh and blood and he is alive.

His fists hurt from clenching by the time they enter a hotel room. Something of the turmoil must have reached Arthur because he’s gone quiet. The roar lets off the very moment the door clicks closed and Arthur stands before it, uncertain, almost as if he regrets closing off his only exit. His expression is one Eames knows very well— preparing himself for a fight he saw coming too late. But he isn’t reaching for his gun. He just stands there. 

He’s just waiting to take it. 

Eames kisses him. 

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s—

A heartbeat feels more real when it’s underneath your lips. A pulse against a jaw— up, up to feel breath against breath. To hear the rush of it— a hitch of— of surprise. 

Strength— dead people don’t have strength and Arthur is pushing him so he can’t be dead. 

“Eames—“ 

Alive, alive, alive. 

“Eames! Wait!” 

Eames pushes closer. He places his forehead against Arthur’s, presses them both against the door. Arthur isn’t pushing him away anymore but his hands are still on his chest. Eames wonders if he can feel the beat of his heart. He hopes, quietly insane for a moment, that Arthur will never forget to make his heart beat as long as he is feeling one. As long as he’s given an example on how to live. 

“Eames,” Arthur says. A word, a question, a name. All in one. His eyes are wide. Breathing heavy— breathing, breathing, breathing— and he’s flushed. Sharp cheekbones stained red. Lips wet. 

Eames’ hands move of their own accord and cradle each side of Arthur’s face. 

“Let me, darling. Just let me.” 

Arthur breathes again. 

Eames trembles, trying to hold himself back. Trying to breathe. But one more moment and he will collapse and he can’t— he can’t risk it. He can’t risk losing another chance. He needs this as much as he needs Arthur to be alive. He needs to stop regretting not having done this when he could and now he can again and how can he let this undeserved second chance slip through his fingers. He has to. Please. He has to. 

Arthur’s mouth falls open. “Eames. Eames, it’s okay. You don’t have to— You don’t have to beg. It’s okay.” 

“Let me, Arthur,” Eames repeats, “Let me.” 

Arthur lets him. 

Arthur lets him do everything. 

— — — — —

It’s after when Arthur whispers, “I didn’t know.” 

His head is on Eames chest, moving ever so slightly when he breathes. In and out. Eames has his fingers tangled in his hair. The strands slip away when Arthur turns around to look up at him. 

“I didn’t know,” he says again. There is a rasp in his voice and his eyes are wet. Eames has never been apologised to like this before. Arthur sounds as if he believes sorry would be an insult, the word too small to encompass his regret. There is guilt there, in the flush of his cheeks, and the way he can’t seem to hold eye contact. His pupils flickering, microscopic twitches of shame. 

Sometimes he’d dream of this. Arthur’s return. A fantasy, a different one, yet still addictive like a drug. He’d expected to be angry, to want to spill his pain onto Arthur’s feet and watch him try and walk through it; burn in it. A stimulation of the magmatic life Eames has been living since his death. 

But now, face to face with an Arthur who is alive, Eames doesn’t want any of it. 

So he leans down, and kisses Arthur on the forehead, like a benediction, trying to extract the regret from his face. And he tells him, honest in a way he’s learned to be in the last scant weeks, “I didn’t either, darling.” 

Arthur doesn’t relax, but there is something about his misery that is easily pushed to the side for curiosity. 

Eames smiles at him and continues. “You were— you were a fantasy. A what if. Something amusing to think of when I was bored, or something  life saving to dive into when reality drew a knife and stabbed me with it— literally, sometimes. But it was always a fantasy. An escape. It— it couldn’t have become real, if you’d given it a chance back then.” Eames takes a breath, shakes his head. 

Arthur reaches up with a hand, frowning, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But the trouble is, darling, it is incredibly hard not to fall in love with you the more I learn about you.” Eames smiles under his finger tips. “That is what changed. You never let me learn you. But who is to stop anyone from learning the dead?” 

Something flickers over Arthur’s face— guilt, again, but different. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn about me— I thought you only gave a fuck about what I could be for you.” 

Eames lays his hand over Arthur’s. “You’re right. I was blind— too blinded by the possibilities and too selfish to do anything about it. Maybe I needed to lose you in order to learn how to see .” 

“No— No I should’ve,” Arthur shakes his head sharply. “I should have told you. There would’ve been another way without— How long have you been drinking?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to darling.”

“Eames.” 

Arthur takes his hand off and moves off of Eames’ chest, sitting up straight. Eames follows him, struck by a sudden vision of Arthur slipping out of bed— out of his life, dogged by misplaced guilt and regret. He curls his hands around Arthur’s wrists, as gently as he can. Don’t trap him. Don’t chase him away. 

“No. It’s fine. We’re fine,” Eames hurries to say. “Why would you tell me? I was a colleague at best, bane of your existence at worst. I had— I have no right—“ 

“I should have told you because I did know you,” Arthur interrupts him. “I was supposed to know. You said possibilities? I am supposed to be the one who sees them— all of them. I’m the one who has to prepare for all scenarios, know the players, do the research and put the pieces together. That is what I do, Eames. And I missed something.” Arthur takes a shuddering breath, looking forlorn and tired. “I’m so sorry for missing the most important part.” 

“You can’t apologise for missing something that wasn’t even really there yet.” 

“Yes, I can. I’m sorry for missing our potential. For underestimating us. Underestimating you.” Arthur laughs. “I’m so fucking stupid. I thought you kept searching for me out of— curiosity. Or that I fucked up, left a trail somewhere and you wanted to prove to me that you found it, you figured it out. Fuck. I never thought it was because you missed me.” 

“I did,” Eames says, and it almost chokes him. “Every day.” 

Arthur looks at him then, eyes flicking to the side, his hair covering half of his face, but his smile is visible. “You know, I did too. That’s why I knew you were looking for me. Kept tabs on you, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.” 

Eames swallows at the sight— at the hope it instills in him. Arthur let him, yes. It could have been a kindness. But this smile, shy and bashful, and the words that follow it. Maybe potential comes in twos. “I didn’t keep looking because I missed you,” Eames tells him, because he has no time for secrets anymore, no time for regret, for either of them. “I kept looking because I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bear it. Darling.” Eames slips his hands from Arthur’s wrists and puts them on either side of Arthur’s face instead, bracketing the smile. “You’re my future. You couldn’t be dead.” 

“I’m not,” Arthur tells him, like a confession of his own. “I’m not dead, Eames.” 

“Good.” Eames pulls him in closer, and Arthur lets him. He lets him trace the smile with his thumbs, lets him breathe close against his mouth and whisper, “Next time darling, when decide to you kill yourself. Kill me too.”  

The grin that blooms doesn’t fit between Eames’ fingers, so he kisses Arthur instead. Deep, possessive. Loving. Arthur lets him, and he never stops. 

[nishiisenpai]

punch - tanaka ryūnosuke x reader

 REQUEST: “AHHHH ok so I'm irrationally angry rn and I do this thing where I punch my thighs so I don't accidentally commit a felony. I need some fluff so could you do any one of these boys (Tsukishima, Ushijima, or Tanaka,) seeing a f!reader doing the leg punchy? Any topic I just need some fluff 😅 Thanks - @italkmyselftosleep “

A/N: i chose tanaka cause he seemed to fit this more and relate to this request more too. i apologize that i wrote this so late because again, school was pretty terrible, but I hope this works :))) 

okay this was really cheesy, so i will warn you in advance, but thank you so much for being patient and here’s this request for you!!!

-

WARNING: Fluff!!! 

ADDITIONAL WARNING:  foul language will be added! and mentions of managing anger. (this request was made before my rules page got set up)

WHO:  Tanaka Ryūnosuke x Female Reader

-

Monday mornings are the worst. Let’s be honest. It was the starting of the week of school and it also could never start off right for anyone... Well for you that is. 

Your alarm rang loudly knocking you out of bed. 

“What time is it?” you cringed at the sound and the way your voice cracked. You squint your eyes while looking at your phone that stated 6:00 AM.

“5 more minutes.” as you stopped the alarm before turning to the other side of the bed.

The alarm rung 4 more times although you had slept past them all. The last one really shook you awake since the phone was right next to your ear.

“aH SHIT- I’m late!” as you pulled the covers off yourself but struggled to do so as you tossed and turned. You ran around your room scrambling to get your backpack ready while also dressing in the school uniform.

“Where is my vest?” as you searched through the piled up clothes at the foot of your bed. 

“Y/N! Hurry up! You’re going to be late!”

“I know! I’m sorry! I’m trying to look for my vest!”

“It’s in the wash, sorry hun!” your mom came in and threw in a different vest that was identical but had a small stain.

“It’s fine! Thanks for this one though!” you grabbed your stain remover stick and your backpack before fleeing to the bathroom to quickly rush your daily routine. You ran to the front door to put your shoes on in a hurry.

“Take this with you!” as your mom threw a sandwich at your head and you lurched forward. Turning around to pick up the bagged breakfast, thanked your mom before bolting out the door immediately and ran to school.

-

“Miss Y/N, you’re late to class.” as your teacher skimmed at your messy figure.

“Yes, I apologize for that, I can clean up the classroom after class to make up my tardiness.”

“Very well then, take a seat, we are on page 51 in the textbook.” You went to the back of your class and sat there placing your stuff down.

“Here’s the work sheet for today’s work.” your classmate who sat next to you said handing you the assignment.

“Thank you so much.”

“No worries... Oh, and uh Tanaka was looking for you earlier.”

“Wait- what? Do you know why?”

“Unsure, he didn’t say anything other than ask if you were here.”

“Oh okay, thanks. I’ll go find him later.”

Class continued and you barely managed to stay awake. It was bad that you had stayed up all night to play video games and you kind of beat yourself up for ruining your sleep schedule. But you as well didn’t regret it since you had just leveled up to a higher rank.

You yawned as you walked out of the classroom to go find Tanaka. He must have been with Noya though your assumption had completely disappeared when you heard yelling come your way.

“Y/N!!!!” your best friend Nishinoya came running towards you.

“Huh?” and you felt the sudden weight of Noya on your back. “Shit, when did you get so heavy?”

“Heavy?!?!?!” You laughed and shook your head while caring Noya.

“I was playing, chillllll.” 

“Mhm.” as he clung onto you still. You continued walking swaying your head side to side.

“Do you know where Tanaka is?”

“He was with me just a second ago.”

“So you ran off without him?”

“Yeah.” you smacked your forehead. “What?”

“You idiot, he’s probably trying to find you right now.”

“NISHINOYA!” Tanaka’s voice was heard somewhere on the right side of the building.

“AH SHIIIII” as Noya jumped off of your back and hid behind you. Tanaka came rounding the corner and saw you standing there in question.

“Hey babe, do you know where Nishinoya is?” you felt Noya tug on your shirt.

“Hm? Noya-san? No I haven’t, why?”

“He escaped Daichi’s meeting, and I had to bear with all the trouble he caused.”

“Oh really?” as you raised an eyebrow with an open smirk.

“Why do you look like that?”

“No reason... I will say, he might have went downstairs to the vending machines. He said he was hungry.”

“Alright, thanks babe.”

“You’re welcome.” as you saw Tanaka run down the stairs and you immediately pulled Noya’s arm from behind.

“You skipped Daichi’s meeting?!?!?”

“He was gonna yell at us!”

“Noya, that is irresponsible of you.”

“Well it was also irresponsible of you to lie to your boyfriend like that.”

“Hush- I don’t want to hear anything from you. Now you better go and run or I will drag you to Daichi myself.” Nishinoya shuddered in fear.

“Okay, fine. I will.” as Noya waved bye and you turned around and sighed.

“I forgot to ask Tanaka what he wanted earlier... I’ll just do it later.”

-

School continued and you again tried staying awake for them all. It was difficult knowing you lacked sleep which caused you to be cranky and irritated easily. Sometimes your fits would cause you to be annoying or angry. This lead you to act up more than you should have.

“Y/N, can you pass me those papers?”

“What do you want?”

“Uh, I was just asking if you could pass me those papers.”

“You literally can stand up and get it, I don’t know why you’re asking me.” you retorted back before putting your head back down on the desk.

“What the fuck?”

“I said what I said, so get up and get it. Geez...”

“Do you wanna fight or something?” your classmate raised her voice.

“Alright bet, let’s do it.” you turned to her annoyed.

“You asked for this.” as she stood up from her seat.

“Come at me bitch.” as you got up and stared at her.

“Ladies! Split it up! You both will be standing at the back of the class till the end of this period, and I do not want to hear a single word coming from both of your mouths.” Your teacher had spoken to both you and the girl as you guys headed to the back of the class and stood there.

The period carried on with you and this other classmate standing at the back of the classroom. This caused your irritation level to rise even more since your body was slowly breaking you down and begging you to lay down. 

“Alright, class dismissed. Miss Y/N, I need to have a word with you.” as your teacher insisted for you to come towards her.

“I heard that you are in the volleyball club as the manager.”

“Ah yes I am.”

“Although you are the manager, you must stay here after school for the clean up you had promised me earlier.”

“May I clean up another day? This practice is really important and I must be informed about it.”

“I’m sure the others will inform you about it later. Since it seemed that you were close with Nishinoya.”

“I am, but he’s-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You promised me, therefore you shall keep it and do it.”

“But promises can be broken.”

“Not this one, unless you’d like me to force you on cleaning duty tomorrow too.”

“No thank you.”

“Good, now get to it. The room doesn’t become sparkly clean by itself.” as your teacher grabbed her bag and left the classroom. You bowed to acknowledge her leave before heading to the chalkboard to write profanities all over the wall.

“Why the FUCK did I HAVE to play games past three!?!?!?” as you banged on the wall with your fist. You were angry at yourself. It pissed you off that your day already started bad with being late and the situation you had moments ago with that classmate of yours. It even made you frustrated at yourself that you couldn’t find Tanaka to ask what he needed of you. 

So many thoughts have rushed to your head as you walked to a desk to sit down. You had stopped hitting your fists against the chalkboard though that quickly switched to punching your thighs since you didn’t know where else to contain your anger. It was also a safer option than to accidently commit something dangerous.

After dealing with your anger, you started to clean the classroom. It was better to finish the job quicker and faster so that you would head to practice to see everyone in action. Especially Tanaka since he did mention how he practiced his serves and spikes recently.

-

Cleaning the classroom took less time than you thought. When music was being played through your headphones, you escaped the reality of cleaning and thought of wonders to help the process go by faster. This helped you calm down, though your body was aching.

You put away the cleaning supplies and rushed towards the stairs to head to the changing room in order to switch your sweaty and stained uniform into gym attire instead. You searched through your bag for deodorant and applied twice on each pit in order to securely and safely say your pits didn’t smell.

“Oh hey Y/N-san!” Hinata had shouted and you smiled.

“Hey there!” you waved back and walked to the bench towards Kiyoko.

“Hi Y/N, what took you so long?”

“I got put into cleaning duty.”

“I’m sorry to put this on you again, but you’re on cleaning duty tonight with some of the boys.”

“It’s okay, I can handle it.”

“Are you sure? I can stay back and do it instead since you’ve already done cleaning yesterday.”

“No no, it’s fine. Besides you have to study for your test tomorrow, no?”

“You’re right, but if you’d like I can-”

“Kiyoko-san, you need as much time as possible to study and get good grades. I know you are academically smart, though you like to do well, and staying behind with these rowdy boys is not what you need at the moment.” as you took off your jacket.

“WOOHOO! LOOK AT MY BEST FRIEND!!!” Noya hollered and you laughed while shaking your head.

“See.” you looked at Kiyoko before walking onto the court. ”Alright boys! Let’s start practicing on your serves!”

-

“Thank you for today’s practice!” as the boys bowed down to Coach Ukai.

“You already know what time it is. Go clean up and get home safe. Make sure to eat a well balanced meal and get lots of sleep, you hear me?”

“Yes sir!” as they all scrammed to different areas of the gym. Kiyoko had already left beforehand since there was an emergency she had to attend. Yachi was picking up her things before leaving and you waited behind for all of them to slowly leave one by one.

“Have a good night, Daichi, Sugawara and Asahi san.” as you waved them off and gave them a small smile.

“Make sure Kageyama and Hinata don’t stay back too late.” Daichi instructed.

“Understood. Good night to you three.”

“Good night, Y/N!” Sugawara said patting your head. You nodded listening to Sugawara.

“Good night, and stay safe Y/N.” Asahi said sending you a shy smile and you nodded again.

“I very much will, now move along. You guys need to be home soon.” As you turned your attention back to the boys and went to go toss the balls to them.

-

You had just locked the equipment room after cleaning the gym. Everyone had left, including Hinata and Kageyama who had to get Daichi to yell at the two to head home. The others went to change and you assumed they went home. This left you alone in the gym and no supervision.

Your body shook as the exhaustion and frustration you felt from earlier today started showing. You started getting angry and began punching your thighs. You would have slammed a volleyball but you forgot to have one saved for yourself.

The punching started getting aggressively harder and faster. You didn’t keep track of your surroundings as you only paid attention of releasing your anger through punching yourself.

“Babe! What are you still doing here??? I thought you already left.” Tanaka yawned as he walked closer to you. No response.

“Baby?” Tanaka neared closer to you. He heard the sound of skin smacking.

“Y/N?” As Tanaka stood behind you and took a full look at you, but what caught his eyes was you throwing punches at your reddening thighs.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!” Tanaka jumped and hurried to step in front of you. He put his hands on the side of your arms and you looked up with tears streaming down your cheeks. Your eyes shined under the lights since the tears were welding in your eyes.

“R-ryu?”

“Baby...” as his eyes filled with concern and he held your face in his hands.

“W-what are you still doing here? I thought you went home already.” as you wiped the tears away in a rush and covered your thighs with your arms.

“No, no, I was going to stay behind to walk you home... Why were you punching yourself?” as he gently looked at you up down and rubbed a hand on your pink thighs.

“It was my version of coping with my anger... I’m sorry.”

“Oh my poor princess.” Tanaka sat down on the bench and turned your head towards him. He gave you a kiss on your lips before kissing your forehead. “Do you want to tell me what caused this to happen?”

“It was just a bad morning. I was late and assigned myself stupid cleaning duty to make up for my tardiness. Then I got into a fight with a classmate and got a punishment. After that I was put in another cleaning duty and god I just am so tired.” as you sighed melting to Tanaka’s touch. Tanaka had brought your head to rest on his shoulder as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“It’s okay princess, you did so well today. I am so proud of you for passing the day and finishing it off with me. It’s okay to be angry, though it’s not okay to commit brutal punches to your poor stunning thighs.” As he rubbed a hand over your thigh and gripped it a bit.

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be sorry. It was your way of controlling anger, though let’s try finding a different way to contain your anger. How about we choose a different tactic? Like writing your anger away or watching me do stupid things with Noya.”

“I wanna see you act stupid with Noya. You guys make me so happy. Mainly you though.” as you put on a smile to thank Tanaka. Tanaka clenched his heart with an exaggerated expression.

“God your smile is so pretty. How did I get so lucky?” as Tanaka gave you another kiss on your lips.

“Stop- you’re making me blush.” as you hid your face in your hands and stood up to get ready to leave. Tanaka laughed before bringing your hand to his lips to place a small gentle kiss.

“Let’s get you home, hm? We should take care of those sexy thighs.” he winked giving your bum a little smack and you playfully punched him.

“Gosh, you’re so weird.” as you walked towards the doors with Tanaka clinging onto you.

“Whatever, princess. I guess I’m just crazy in love with you.” Tanaka giggled like a little kid.

“Oh jeez-” As you guys left the gym hand in hand and casually being a cheesy couple at night.

-

[vannahfanfics]

Heavenly River

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

Hey, everyone! It’s my pleasure to share my story for Written in the Stars: A BKDK Tanabata zine!

Izuku held his hand flat over his brows as he stepped outside, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the sun burning in the azure sky. It was a cloudless day, so there was no solace from the bright sun rays spearing down from the heavens. However, there was a pleasant breeze to cool the hot, humid July air; it ruffled Izuku’s tousled pine-green hair and the fabric of his dark seaweed-colored yukata. He adjusted the emerald-hued sash around his waist, more to fidget than to actually fix it, and then pulled out his cell phone to check his notifications. He brightened when he saw a text from Katsuki, who had agreed to come with him to this year’s Tanabata festival. 

Almost there, loser. You’d better be ready, or I’m leaving without you. 

Izuku chuckled under his breath before shooting his friend a quick text to confirm that he was indeed ready and waiting for his friend to arrive, then stowed his phone back in his pocket. He slid his hands in the pockets of his yukata as he stood on the landing of his mother’s apartment complex. She had hung kuzukago on either side of the door; the white basket-like arrangements of paper strips swayed gently in the breeze, beseeching the winds for blessings of tidiness and thriftiness. 

The neighbor to the right had hung kinchaku patterned with pretty floral paper; they’d fallen under hard times since the husband had been laid off from his job. Izuku whispered out a quick prayer on their behalf, wishing them improved fortunes and good luck. Their other neighbor had hung several chains of paper cranes in their windows, as their grandmother had recently fallen ill with pneumonia. Izuku had recently heard she was on the mend, and he hoped that this information was still true. She was a lovely lady who always brought Izuku’s mother homemade cookies when she visited, so Izuku hoped she would recover and be discharged from the hospital soon. Along the underside of the balcony, fukinagashi streamers swayed in the breeze with their colorful tails ruffling along the wind like Orihime’s fabled weavings. 

People need wishes more than ever, Izuku thought as he leaned against the metal railing framing the walkway and looked out to the street below. Though All for One and Tomura Shigaraki had finally been defeated, the scars of their reign of carnage were still evident even months later. Across the street, they were still rebuilding the apartment complex that had been utterly destroyed in a fire; bits and pieces of the charred shell were piled in the brown grass to be collected by the garbage trucks later. Hope was still fragile in the community, so this Tanabata festival could hopefully restore faith and positivity in people. 

“Oiiiii! Nerd! Stop starin’ off into space and get the fuck down here!” 

Izuku glanced down to see Katsuki standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing that scowl Izuku had come to know as an odd symbol of affection, and his hands were buried into the pockets of his maroon yukata. Izuku called down to him in greeting and then took off in a trot, hopping down the steps and rounding the corner to join him on the sidewalk. Katsuki’s vermilion eyes burned in the harsh summer sun, but they were still less fierce than Izuku had known them a little over a year ago. 

“Yer mom ain’t comin’?” Katsuki questioned as they set off in a leisurely walk down the sidewalk, subconsciously matching each other’s strides.

“No,” Izuku confirmed with a shake of his head. “She went the other day, so she’s spending the day making yakitori and takoyaki for dinner! If your family doesn’t have plans, Kacchan, you’re more than welcome to come by after and eat with us!” 

Katsuki tilted his head to the side, an expression of consideration on his face. 

“My folks somehow got roped into workin’ today, so I might take you up on that. Sure as hell beats cookin’ for myself.” 

Izuku couldn’t help the happy smile that appeared on his lips; they hadn’t hung out for summer vacation very much due to their respective training regimens, so Izuku was delighted that he would not only be able to attend the last day of the festival with Katsuki but also have him over for dinner. “Wait, though, they aren’t doing the paper boat ceremony until midnight.” 

“That’s right! I was thinking that we would spend the day enjoying the festival, go home for dinner, and then go back to do the paper boat ceremony. I know that’s a little past your bedtime, though, Kacchan,” he grinned teasingly and elbowed his friend in the ribs. “Will you be able to handle it?” 

“Who the hell do ya think you’re talkin’ to?” Katsuki cried indignantly, jostling Izuku’s shoulder with his own. “O’course I can handle it! Damn nerd, where do ya get off thinkin’ you can insult me like that?” 

Izuku laughed as Katsuki flung his muscular arm around his shoulders and jerked him against his side to grind his fist into the top of Izuku’s head. It was a good thing that his hair had always been unruly anyway, because Katsuki couldn’t muss it up too much. Izuku laughed airily when Katsuki shoved him away. The blond buried his hands back into his pockets with a snort, looking away at the large fukinagashi the city had suspended from the light poles. The large ball of yellow, orange, and white flowers hung from the streetlamps, the sunlight catching on the rustling streamers to cast playful shadows along the ground as the pieces curled and fluttered. 

“Do you know what you’re going to wish for?” Katsuki asked him after several minutes of silent walking. This caught Izuku by surprise, and he turned to blink at him with wide emerald eyes. Katsuki was still staring out at the road, eyes lidded as he watched the cars trundle by. 

“Actually, no,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck while he looked up at the clear blue sky. My goal is to be the number-one hero, but… for some reason, I don’t feel like wishing for that, he thought with a small frown. He’d been wrestling with it leading up to the event, and here it was the first day of the festival— he had to make a decision at some point. “I’ll figure it out when I get there!” He laughed nonchalantly and then looked back at Katsuki. “What about you?” 

“I don’t know either.” Katsuki’s voice was flat, and Izuku could tell that he was thinking hard about it. I guess he wants his wish to be important… After all they had been through, Izuku could understand that. They’d endured so much together and grown up so fast. Smiling wanly, Izuku gently bumped his shoulder with Katsuki’s, prompting the blond to look at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll figure it out!” 

Katsuki blinked at him, then turned away with a small “tch.” However, Izuku could see that the minute tension had left his shoulders and the stoniness had eased out of his expression. 

It was a short walk to the shrine where the festival was held. The street leading up to the shrine was laden with the handcrafted paper ornaments strung from the oak trees that framed the path. On either side of the cobblestone walkway, local vendors had set up their wares; the savory scent of yakisoba floated on the air, making Izuku’s mouth water though he’d just eaten breakfast not too long ago. There were vendors selling handmade ornaments, the pair of them walking past the hairpin maker who came every year, their stall a huge hit with the local girls. Izuku spotted several of them already decorating the ornate updos some of the festival goers chose to wear that night, the hair pins adding just that much more to the look. In the corner, a small troupe of stage actors were recounting the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi for an enthralled crowd. 

“Wow, look at the crowd— and everyone looks so happy, too,” Izuku marveled. It seemed that the fair bit of hope the festival offered had drawn many people out of their homes, and he was relieved to see most of them wearing genuine smiles. 

“Well, it’s been a shitty few months,” Katsuki shrugged. “They’re gonna latch onto anything positive that comes their way.” Izuku supposed that was true, but it still made him happy for the civilians. They’d all endured a lot— they deserved to celebrate a festival, to wish for mundane things instead of seeing tomorrow. 

What did he want to wish for, though?

They walked to the end of the small street, where long fronds of bamboo framed the entrance to the shrine. Paper strips hung from their dainty branches, colored rectangles that swayed among the bright green leaves. The wishes of hundreds were imbued in those simple tanzaku— everything from pleas for academic success to wishes for love to grand hopes for world peace. Beneath the sprawling bamboo were small circular tables, where the colorful bits of paper sat beneath glass paperweights. They waited in a short line to walk up to the table; when Izuku picked up the pen and grabbed a blue strip of paper, he hesitated a moment while he debated what to write on the strip. 

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Katsuki silently debating as well. It was strange, their mental debate. After everything they’d done, everything they’d seen, did they feel invincible? Is that why they had nothing to wish for? Or perhaps there was so much they wanted to see the world become and so much they wanted to do themselves, there were infinite possibilities to wish for now. Izuku smiled wanly and looked down at the blank rectangular strip of paper, the canvas to paint a wish of goodwill. He twirled the pen around in his hand, trying to think of what he wanted to wish for most in the world right now. 

Finally, it dawned on him. He hunched down over the table to neatly scrawl on the tanzaku: A world where people’s wishes can come true. 

Katsuki was still writing as Izuku stepped aside and walked to the bamboo fronds. He stood on his tiptoes to use the small loops of string to tie it on an empty bit of the plant, suspending it among hundreds of other wishes. He stepped back to admire the bit of blue fluttering among the rainbow of colors, while Katsuki passed by him to hang his wish beside his. 

“What did you wish for, Kacchan?” 

“Idiot,” Katsuki huffed as he turned around to walk back. “If you say it out loud, it won’t come true! I’ll tell ya after midnight, maybe.” Izuku blushed sheepishly at that; he’d quite forgotten that bit of superstition. He didn’t know if Katsuki actually believed it or was simply giving him a hard time, but it really didn’t matter. 

They enjoyed the small festival for the rest of the afternoon, starting with the play, since it was starting over as they came out from the depths of the path. They sat with their legs tucked underneath them on comfy cushions (among a bunch of little kids, Katsuki was eager to grouse about) and watched the rendition of the love story. Izuku had always found it kind of sad that Orihime and Hikoboshi were only permitted to meet one day out of every year, but he also marveled that there was a love so strong that not even three hundred and sixty-four days of separation could lessen it. At the end of the play, they joined the actors in singing the traditional song— well, Izuku did. Katsuki would rather drop dead than sing, especially in front of a bunch of elementary-schoolers. 

After the play, they stopped at the yakisoba stand for lunch. Izuku swirled the fried noodles around with his chopsticks to scoop bits of pork and cabbage, then spooned them into his mouth. As he slurped up the noodles, Katsuki glanced at him out of his peripheral vision. 

“It’s almost strange,” he remarked. Izuku raised an eyebrow at him, and Katsuki looked down into his half-eaten yakisoba with pinkening cheeks. “Going back to normal after, you know… everything.” Izuku swallowed his noodles, looking at Katsuki with widening eyes. Though they were better friends now, he’d never grow used to these melancholic moods Katsuki drifted into. Katsuki’s red eyes were lidded while he pushed the noodles around his plate, pulsing with a serious sadness so unlike his usual explosive personality. 

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed quietly. He found his own appetite waning, so he pushed the plate of noodles away and leaned his arms on the counter. “But… You can’t hang onto the past forever. At some point, you have to let the darkness fall behind you and walk toward the sun.” 

“Tch. What are you, a fucking poet?” Katsuki snorted, but as always, his words were in direct contradiction to the small smile curling over his lips. Katsuki gathered up a large chunk of the yakisoba and then continued contemplatively with his mouth full, “Towards the sun, huh?” 

Izuku smiled, then pulled his plate back toward him to finish it. He wouldn’t want to insult the chef that made the delicious meal, after all. 

After finishing lunch, the two of them headed to Izuku’s house. They joined his mother in the kitchen to help her prepare dinner. Katsuki worked on dicing chicken breast into small cubes to skewer, while Izuku prepared the batter for the takoyaki. While they worked, his mother regaled Katsuki with stories of Tanabata festivals past— particularly her favorite tale of Izuku wishing to be like All Might every single year leading up to his acceptance at U.A. Izuku hid his bright red face in the refrigerator while pretending to look for the octopus tentacles, while Katsuki just guffawed about what a groupie he was. 

The scent of frying batter and grilling chicken filled the kitchen as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Izuku’s mother had begun singing the song, and Izuku had taken it up as well, annoying Katsuki with their repeated trills of the tune:

“The bamboo leaves rustle, shaking away in the eaves.

The stars twinkle on the gold and silver grains of sand.

The five-color paper strips I have written.

The stars twinkle, they watch us from heaven.”

Katsuki’s lips couldn’t curl into a deeper scowl as Izuku waltzed around him, poking him in the cheek with a leftover octopus tentacle. Katsuki snatched it away and slapped him lightly across the cheek with it, leaving a slimy mark on Izuku’s skin. 

“Oi! You sing that song one more goddamn time, I’m gonna fry you into a takoyaki ball!” Katsuki threatened while gesturing wildly with the floppy tentacle. Izuku and his mother just laughed, quite used to Katsuki’s angry outbursts. Katsuki nursed his irritation with a melon soda, clenching the can in one hand while flipping the chicken grilling in the skillet with the other. 

It was about seven in the evening by the time the three of them gathered around the kōtatsu table with the spread of food. His mother turned on the television to watch the annual specials— which were just more dramatizations of the traditional story— while the two boys tore into the food with relish. Katsuki had always praised Inko’s cooking skills like the foodie he was, and though he’d probably never admit it aloud, he loved her takoyaki. He plucked ball after ball from the plate to pile them into his mouth until his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s. 

“The hell you laughin’ at?” he grumbled when Izuku burst into laughter. Izuku just shook his head and used his teeth to slide a piece of the sauce-soaked, tender chicken from the skewer in his hand. He would have laughed if someone told him a year ago that he’d be sitting at the kōtatsu with Katsuki enjoying the Tanabata festival, even more so to be told they were exchanging friendly banter. The realization made a joyful smile spread over Izuku’s face, one that didn’t miss Katsuki’s attention. 

“Oi. What are you thinking about?” Katsuki asked, the scowl morphing into a curious look. Izuku’s smile just widened, and he reached out to pluck up one of the takoyaki balls with his chopsticks. 

“I’m just thinking about how nice this is, Kacchan. My mom doesn’t remember this, but,” he said, dropping his voice while his mother cried tearfully at the separation of Orihime and Hikoboshi playing on the screen, “A few years ago, I didn’t wish to be like All Might. I wished for us to be friends.” 

Katsuki’s cheeks flushed a bright pink as he released a choking noise. He covered his blush with a broad hand, and he averted his gaze. Izuku chuckled at his shy reaction and took the opportunity to steal another takoyaki ball. 

“Damn nerd,” Katsuki huffed with undeniable affection that made Izuku’s heart warm. “You can’t just say shit like that, you know. Now stop stealing my fucking takoyaki. Don’t think I didn’t notice. We may be friends, but I’ll still break your arm.” 

They watched the special programs until about eleven, then set off again back to the shrine to participate in the paper boat ceremony. This time, the crowd had gathered at the nearby river, which babbled along another pathway leading to the small shrine. Dew clung to the hem of Izuku’s yukata as he walked on the edge of the cobblestone path where the grass grew. He and Katsuki retrieved their wishes from the bamboo branches, then took one of the prepared paper boats to place the wishes inside. Afterward, they set off to find a nice place to set them adrift.

They sat down on the edge of the bank to wait for the clock to strike midnight. Izuku held the fragile paper boat in his lap while he eased off his sandals so he could dip his toes in the cool water. Katsuki sat next to him, cross-legged and watching the water current swirl in the concrete canal. It was a far cry from the Heavenly River from the story, but Izuku could imagine its beauty with the way the starlight played over the babbling water. 

“You know, we’re kind of like Orihime and Hikoboshi,” Izuku said after a while. Katsuki looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind, which made Izuku flush and hurriedly explain, “I-I just mean that at the beginning it felt like… You were on the other side of the river from me, Kacchan.” This made the blond settle down, so Izuku continued with a wan smile. “It felt like you were miles ahead, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up… But little by little, I did, and now we’re on the same side of the river. I guess. Sorry. That was a weird metaphor,” he laughed nervously, playing with the edges of the paper boat. 

“It was fucking weird,” Katsuki sniffed, then looked out to the water. “I get what you mean, though.” His voice was soft, a rare hint of gentleness that Izuku still couldn’t believe was sometimes directed toward him. “Just make sure you don’t fall back to the other side of the river, dumbass,” Katsuki said after a second, elbowing him gently in the arm. 

“Hehe, I won’t,” Izuku chuckled and elbowed him back. 

Then, fireworks lit up the moonlit sky, indicating that it had turned twelve. Izuku and Katsuki crawled to the bank to gently push the paper boats into the water. They watched them drift along the current, joined by hundreds of other little sailboats. Then, Izuku jumped to his feet while tugging eagerly on Katsuki’s arm. 

“Come on!” 

He ignored Katsuki’s confused sputters of protest as he dragged him up the bank to the walkway overlooking the river, which was lined by red railings. Izuku gripped the railing, searching for their two boats drifting alongside one another, and then pointed them out with a smile. The moon bathed them in a white glow, making them almost luminescent in the brilliant light. The light also played over the water to make it seem like they drifted on rivers of glittering diamond. 

“Hey… What did you wish for?” Katsuki asked him suddenly, and Izuku turned to look at him with a soft smile. 

“A world where people’s wishes could come true.” 

Katsuki raised his eyebrows. Under the pale moonlight, the pink hue that rose to his cheeks was rosy pale. Katsuki bit down on his bottom lip, but that didn’t suppress the little chuckles that bubbled out of his throat. 

“Me too.” 

Izuku’s smile brightened, and then he turned to look out at the water. It was full of paper boats now, all glowing in the white light streaming down from the cloudless sky. He felt Katsuki nudge him, because of course he couldn’t let the moment pass without another jab. 

“What a waste though, ‘cuz it’s my wish that’s gonna come true, nerd,” he teased. Izuku had to laugh and shake his head. Only Katsuki could make even traditional wishes during Tanabata into a competition. He supposed it didn’t matter though, if only one of their wishes were granted or both— either way, it meant happiness and peace for those who needed it most. That’s all Izuku could ever want. He watched those boats drift down the heavenly river, where hopefully the gods would pluck them up on the distant shore. They would read those wishes, and fulfill their hopes.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[haikyuuties-xo]

Ground Zero - Oikawa Tohru

a short story about an overlooked part of Oikawa's life.

i see a lot of myself in Oikawa and maybe that's what compelled me to write this.

this is actually based off of my own experience with different circumstances so i promise this isn't too unrealistic haha

TW: depression, hospitals, seizure, self-harm

oikawa tohru. crowd favorite, ladies man, and, of course, superb athlete.

he was a hard worker, that's what turned raw talents into honed skills.

yet few knew the dangerous way he toed against the line.

-

sirens faintly blare in the background as iwaizumi runs as fast as his legs can carry him. fuck, fuck, fuck. not again.

-

oikawa always overdid it, pushing himself further than anyone should. no matter the coaxing — "even olympic athletes need their breaks", "come on, it's not like your gonna go pro, right?", "dude, you've been at this for hours!" — oikawa never stopped working.

oikawa was the top of his class in academics and popularity. on the outside he appeared so care free and easy-going — like he didn't have a care in the world. iwaizumi knew better. he knew well the calculating, cold and domineering personality that lay beneath the faux exterior. it didn't take long for the rest of the team to realize the same thing.

-

the sirens grew louder as iwaizumi neared the aoba johsai gymnasium. quickly sliding the familiar back door, his shoes squeaked beneath him as he rushed up to his teammate lying unresponsive on the cold gym floor.

"dammit, shittykawa, you already fucked up your knee and now look."

beads of sweat coated oikawa's forehead, his strained expression remained.

paramedics arrived quickly after, supporting oikawa's body along with iwaizumi in order to properly transport him to the Miyagi Prefecture Hospital.

hospitalizations were not unfamiliar to iwaizumi, all thanks to his best friend.

upon their quick arrival, the ever-familiar smell of hand sanitizer, disinfectant, and old people filled iwaizumi's nose.

"god i fucking hate hospitals."

iwaizumi never got used to the smell, just like how he never got used to the anxiety that pitted in his stomach when he'd sit inside the hospital room while Oikawa remained stable, but unconscious.

after what felt like an eternity, oikawa's eyes fluttered open. Oikawa sighed in recognition.

"you've got to stop doing this to yourself, tohru."

"i know. they don't want broken athletes—"

"nOT JUST THAT YOU DUMB FUCK YOU HAVE A LIFE THAT'S WORTH LIVING FOR MORE THAN JUST A FUCKING SPORT."

"you want this as much as me."

"yeah, but not enough to damage myself forever! this is the 17th time you've collapsed and your 5th hospitalization. first the knee, fainting spells — which, by the way, you're so fucking lucky this is all this shit is — anemia attacks, starvation, the list goes on."

Oikawa looked down, his tired eyes staring at the crisp, white, linen sheet. he stood up, being sure to do so slowly, before ringing for an attendant. within seconds, a nurse rushed in asking, "anything i can help you with, sweetheart? could i get you some ginger ale for this medication I'm gonna give you?"

"water's fine, thanks. actually, i was wondering how fast i can leave."

"we're going to have a quick run-by with our neurologist just to make sure there isn't any head trauma from when you fainted and then you should be good to go."

Oikawa nodded, thanking her again before sitting down again in his hospital bed.

"what am I supposed to tell the team, Hajime..."

"tell them the truth — that you overdid it again. they're not blind, ya know."

oikawa didn't reply, thankful that the nurse who quickly placed the meds and bottle of water down served as a proper distraction. downing a bit of water, Oikawa coughed before swallowing the pills. clicking the button again, Oikawa paged the nursing staff.

she popped in once again with a smile, "all set with the meds? great. I'll see about that neurologist." she left once more.

"you sure are an inpatient asshole."

oikawa laughed, "that might be a new one." yet, when he'd laughed, he felt a straight in one of his muscles, like a vein was stretched. suddenly, black spots began to overtake his vision — oikawa's familiar warning that he was set on a path to another fainting spell if he didn't lie down. as inconspicuously as possible, he laid back down.

"I guess I'll try to get some sleep." Oikawa said, though both he and iwaizumi knew of Oikawa's insomniac tendencies.

-

Oikawa awoke from blackness to the bright lights of his hospital room and a twange of pain in his mouth.

"wow, i can't believe i fell asleep."

panic set in as soon as he spoke. he looked down and in his nose was an air tube, on his chest were heart rate monitors, and at the elbow of his veiny arm was an IV jabbed into his vein. the cords were tied to the hospital bed, making him feel like a prisoner. he began to struggle, trying to pull some of the cords that seemed as chains, the beeping of his heart rate monitor furthering his anxiety, bringing back flashbacks of his knee displacement.

iwaizumi quickly stirred from his concentration — he hadn't sleep, but seemed to have been deeply absorbed in thought.

"HEY! hey, shittykawa, stop it! STOP IT!" iwaizumi made a grab for oikawa's arms, steading him as oikawa's labored breathing began to slow.

"haji, what the fuck. what is all this shit on me. i was supposed to go home...", he glanced at the clock, "5 hours ago!"

"Oikawa, stop it. Just stop."

"Why should I? this is all so unnecessary, i just fainted for gods sake!"

"Oikawa."

at last, Oikawa made eye contact with the solemn and tortured eyes of iwaizumi.

"Oikawa, you had a seizure."

Oikawa's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, then into anger, then complete and udder sorrow.

"tohru, hey, it's okay. they think it was just a stress seizure. still, you had me fucking screaming at one point there."

"what....what was i like?"

iwaizumi pondered for a moment, looking away.

"well, first, all your limbs rose up together while you stared all creepy-like, like a robot. then, you lowered them and started shaking all over, foaming at the mouth — but your spit was red."

"i think i bit my tongue, it fucking hurts."

"well, you're not leaving either way."

"yes i am."

"no you're not."

"yes i am."

"no you're not."

"yes i am"

"i override the captain as he is no longer in the proper mental state to be commanding orders."

"you can't do that!" Oikawa immediately tried to stand to defend his honor, but quickly regretted it. pain shot up to his head, right behind his eyes. he couldn't hide the wince in pain.

"Tohru, this is good for you. don't think i didn't notice your cuts. when did you relapse? wait, don't tell me. you don't have to. the point is, you need to reach out for help — there's so many people here who are ready to give it."

"Haji, all i am is a fucking burden. trust me, I've taken much more than I've given."

iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek, beginning to overthink his own choices.

"hey, if it's cuz of what i said about you being shitty—"

"it's not that. iwaizumi, look around. I'm in the fucking hospital, ruining your Saturday night, ruining our chances at the championships, ruining everything. like i always do. i always fuck everything up. i always think if i try a little harder than I'll be good enough. then i always end back up at ground zero."

iwaizumi sighed. "you're the only guy who can look at all what you've accomplished and see it as a fucking zero."

"you mean, the only guy who can see things realistically."

"Oikawa, you deserve more than what your brain tells you you deserve."

oikawa's vision blurred, his resolve crumpling. it still didn't feel right. iwaizumi is wrong. wrong, wrong, WRONG. I don't deserve shit. i haven't earned it. his chin began to wobble as iwaizumi engulfed him in a tight hug.

"Oikawa, it might not feel like it now, but i promise some day it will."

oikawa nodded, not believing it himself, but holding onto the hope that some day he would.

writing this was very therapeutic to me. upon rereading it later, I've realized that i find the interactions between iwa and oikawa are quite similar to some of the conversations I've had with myself. please know that no matter what you're going through, there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

[p1nkwitch]

@lonelyeyesweek

Day 1 - First Meeting

Peter was very reluctant to go to the Magnus institute funding party; uncle Nathaniel informed him that one of his new duties would be to make business with James Wright and he really didn't want to do that. A beholder… What a nightmare.

I would've stayed at home

'Cause I was doin' better alone

Peter was very reluctant to go to the Magnus institute funding party; uncle Nathaniel informed him that one of his new duties would be to make business with James Wright and he really didn't want to do that. A beholder… What a nightmare.

The party was unfortunately the most informal way to meet the man, otherwise he would be forced to enter a small room with the watcher to make sure he didn't dry up his family money for an indefinite amount of time.

So he was really dreading the moment he would be meeting this man, Simon kept telling him that James was an old friend and that it would be fine, that he was actually funny beneath all the politeness, however he wasn't so sure about that.

Due to Simon’s and his uncle’s influence he has a very loose idea of some boring old man, a type of academic with a nondescript look that he will forget as soon as he leaves.

With any luck he would just make his acquaintance today and then he may go from the party, Peter preferred to be at home instead of dilly dallying with the masses. As much as he likes to observe people, he likes it better when it's on his own terms and when he is not forced to be part of an event.

So he goes with very little hope for the night, the only positive is that he may get some free food and some alcohol, albeit champagne will not do much for him.

The moment Simon sees him, he zeroes on him and stays nearby talking about his trips to Europe. He also tells him about a few sacrifices he made that actually seemed rather interesting. Still Peter preferred the ones he committed at the ocean, but he knew the man was always more partial to the sky so its not surprising they are all on that vein.

“What about you Captain? You have a few voyages under your belt now lad, how did those go? Were they to your liking?” And the answer to that is a bit complicated, Peter is still getting used to handling a ship, his crew hasn't been properly trained yet to keep themselves in check so he has to… ugh make a few rules.

The other problem is that most of his crew is formed of older, more experienced sailors. Peter is 26 and unfortunately has a rather… soft looking face, he has been trying to grow a beard to at least make himself look a bit more rugged or older looking, but that will take time and he just has a five o’clock shadow for now. It will take him months to have anything resembling what he wants. The graying hair does work a bit better, that he can count for at least.

He is considering hiring someone to relay his messages to, so that way he can stay away most of the time and he can practice his solitude in peace. He really would love to not be perceived until he looks like he wants.

“Its ok, I still need to figure out a few things to be honest, I would love it if the crew was a bit less…”

“Talkative?”

“Friendly” Simon nods at him and pats his shoulder before going back to another story of a trip he made like 250 years ago. It is quite interesting, albeit Peter gets struck with how old the man is. Most of the time he can forget it, easy to do when Simon is so lively, but when he tells him these stories…. hard to ignore in all honesty.

Picking up an offered champagne glass he listens distractedly wondering when he will meet the man organizing this whole charade.

The older man talks to him but at some point his sentence drifts off and he looks behind him with a grin. A bit lost and now concerned, those grins never end up well for him, Peter turns back to check what exactly was his companion watching.

The answer comes to him like a hit to the face.

An older man talking and entertaining several people at the same time, Peter doesn't realize that he was gripping his glass very tightly until Simon waves and calls for the man over.

He wasn't boring looking like his uncle or very, very old like Simon. He must be in his fifties, he was dressed up impeccably with a black shirt that had his sleeves rolled out to his elbows, a deep green vest with golden details and dark green pants.

The man also has a pencil moustache and a few moles near his jaw, which made him stand out. He was also a bit shorter than him, but most people are so that doesn't surprise him.

The air of surety, of knowing he had made him feel bigger than he was however.

Peter swallows and feels his face warm up for reasons he can't comprehend.

When the man turns around towards Simon, he can see his eyes-

Grey.

Peter never looks anyone to their eyes and yet, and yet-

For a second it feels as if the man also froze looking at him, he had a look of….surprise almost?

But it was only for a second, the next thing Peter knows is that the man starts to approach them while he is struggling to not disappear in a puff of smoke. Oh, Forsaken protect him.

“Hello Simon” His voice is very low and amused, oh fuck.

“Hello James!! It's been a while hasn't it?” Ja-

James?

“You are James Wright?” Peter cuts off the man before he answers back to Simon and he realizes that he is an idiot, shit-

No wonder he was so eye-catching then.

…

For some reason James' lips twitch upwards as if he was trying not to smile at something. Peter has no way to know what is so funny.

“You must be Peter Lukas then? Nathaniel… told me about you, its a pleasure to meet you” Peter smiles his usual vapid smile to keep him from prying, he already feels exposed and kind of confused about the man. Better to make this quick and go.

“Yes, uncle mentioned you too, albeit he did not do you justice” ???? What the fuck is he doing, what is wrong with him??? Why did he say that??

Peter feels his hands sweat and his face warm up, he is praying he is not red in the face.

James looks perplexed and he feels Simon staring at him with the biggest grin ever as if he was having the time of his life which knowing him, he probably did, he loves drama after all.

“Is that so?” The man crosses his arms and Peter has to keep himself from staring at the flex of it he has to.

What the hell is wrong with him?

“Yes! He made you sound like a boring old man to be honest, but you are quite the opposite, you look very-” Peter spends a lot of time alone, meaning he doesn't properly talk with people. His usual mechanism of defense is to talk so much that everyone just lets him be.

That translates into him not having a filter, because of that he just says what is on his mind, even if he knows he shouldn't. In this case it is a shot in the foot and he has no idea why, why is he reacting like this? The man is-

Is just a bit good looking thats all!! No need to be so nervous.

“...Good” His face is burning, Peter knows he must be red all over.

He is an embarrassment to the family name, he has to go, he has to go now. How is he going to face him to do business oh shit-

James for his part seems to look at him with something akin to wonder an a bit of curiosity, while Simon-

Simon for his part is sighing mentally about his nephew’s taste in man. Very on brand for a Lukas, albeit Jonah seems to be quite taken aback.

Peter might look like Mordechai but they are not alike at all.

“Well thank you Mister Lukas”

“Peter is alright” Why won't he shut uppppp, what is wrong with him? This has never happened before, a little bit more and he will spontaneously combust.

James smiles at him and something in his chest squeezes. Is he dying? Is his heart giving out on him so soon?

“Well Peter, it was lovely meeting you. I can't wait to make business with you. I'm sure we will get along… very well”

“I can't wait” !!!!!! He wants to die.

Peter is going out to sea for the next 4 months just to get rid of whatever this is.

James grins at him and is about to leave, making him let out a breath of relief when he turns slightly.

“Say… I was going to ask Simon to drink with me after the party, in my office. Would you like to join us?” No!

“Sure” The man gives him a smug look and goes.

Simon pats his back.

“You need to get better at flirting, albeit i do believe you impressed him quite a bit, he usually ignores all the Lukas that come to make business with him”

“Im going to kill myself” He hates his life so much.

“Ah lad don't be like that, its just a few drinks, it doesn't have to go anywhere else”

Several years and flings with the man later. Peter is left with only grief at James sudden passing. They had something of a thing going on, not really labeled, since neither liked that. But the man suddenly broke things up and Peter in his anger left for months on end.

By the time he came back he found out James died and he had a new replacement.

Elias Bouchard.

He hates him on principle.

Peter is cold with him at every little meeting, speaks just as necessary and goes before the man even attempts to chat him up. At least he has his own loneliness, the only thing that truly lasts for him.

It sings out to him, like a siren song, it's easier to get lost on it, to just… become colder and harsher. What else should he do? It's not like Peter could ever love someone like that again.

Or want to.

“-ter, Peter!!”

“What do you want Mr Bouchard?” The younger man was glaring at him and it feels unfair, he should be the one glaring.

“I was asking you if you intend to stop being difficult and listen to me for once! I swear i get you lonely ones love playing at the grief stricken partner, but its been months already im getting tired of trying to talk to you like pulling teeth. Listen- i know i was kind of an ass, but really i needed to do the switch and i was worried a bit about people talking about some favouritism-” What the hell is he on about now??? Also how dare he!

“What- are you talking about? I'm not faking- what are you-!? Listen, I'm not up for games, let alone your games. I have better things to do than be your little entertainment, give me the papers to sign and I will be on my way, off of your life-” Elias gets up and slams his hands on the desk making him flinch.

“That attitude!! I don't want you out of my way!!! I said what I said as James because I was going to change bodies and people were talking about our relationship too much, it would look odd when I became Elias and we hooked up again!!”

Peter freezes.

“What- what do you mean became Elias?” The man who is not Elias??? Narrows his eyes and then suddenly looks surprised and confused.

“You don't know-”

“What do you-”

“How can you not know I told you- i-” Elias? Drifts off and looks to the empty room with a blank expression.

“I forgot to tell you”

“Um-”

“I thought i told you after- oh, oh fuck we ended up sleeping together after sacrificing that woman at the restaurant, i got distracted and-”

Peter starts to piece together a few things.

“James…?” Elias flops on his chair covering his face and doing a muffled scream into his hands.

“I can believe i forgot i got so excited that you let me tie you up that i completely forgot” Peter’s face burns.

“I-”

“Yes, yes it's me, I thought you were being difficult not that you- oh my god you actually were grieving me weren't you? You sap” His face turns smug, and it's so familiar-

The eyes-!

“Yes, those are really mine”

“You-!” Peter wants to punch him.

“Me?” Elias already closes his eyes expecting a punch. Yet he side steps the desk, comes closer and pulls him up to his feet by his tie.

“If you- you want to choke me-” He shuts him with a kiss. It takes a bit to register on the other’s mind because once he does he grips his hair and pulls them closer practically melting against him. Peter doesn't stop kissing him, cnat.

“You twat-” In between kisses he curses him out, he was making the rounds across his neck, decided that he was going to leave pretty little marks for everyone to see. Elias? James? Doesn't seem to mind much.

“Sorry-”

“You- fucking- bloody- ass!!” A bite close to the jugular has him moan a bit, Peter’s hands go to grip his thighs and the other catches his meaning because he lets him lift him up. He carries him to the small couch and drops him there with an ompf-

“Hey-” That he interrupts when he climbs on top of him and starts to kiss him again with a very clear intention in mind.

“Oh…” Yes, Peter is glad he can use forsaken to soundproof the room, he had no intentions to let the other be quiet.

Now that he is not upset, angry or… turned on, Peter lays his head on top of Elias' chest, while he explains the whole being Jonah Magnus, and thinks that he is very handsome.

Not in the same way as James was, no, but he was still very handsome.

“I was leaning more into pretty but unassuming, but thank you for the vote of confidence for the new body” What a smug prick.

“He is not…?”

“God no, only fragments or echos, the real Elias is very dead, its just me”

“Jonah?” Elias nods at his question.

“Basically”

“Huh” The shorter man’s hands play with his hair making him nuzzle his neck. He thinks about it for a bit, but decides to go for it, after all he has gotten this far anyways “Pleasure to meet you Jonah”

The other stays quiet for a bit.

“Pleasure to meet you Peter”

Their relationship is not conventional or normal by anyone's standards, but…

It works.

Somewhat.

“So… I got you so distracted you forgot to tell me huh?” Elias sighs.

“I can show you exactly how enticing you looked to me to make me forget, do not tempt me” Feeling his face heat up he tries to play it off.

“Maybe when we are in an actual bed and want to experiment a bit” Elias chuckles and then turns into a full blown laugh that makes him feel the rumble of it against his ear.

“I can't believe this, but i missed you” He hears Elias heart speed up while admitting that to him, it makes his face warm up.

Peter knows he missed him too, but he wont admit that, too out of character. So instead...

“Will take that with me, feels delicious”

“Oh hush, you already cannibalized yourself, don't be a prick”

Yes, he definetly missed this bastard and he will have so much fun re-aquitaining to him properly. They are closer in age now, Peter’s body is a bit older than Elias now, just 6 years, but it feels good.

This time people will give Elias looks instead of him, Peter’s gray hair and beard made him look older.

“You are impossible Peter”

“Stop reading my mind then” Elias sighs and kisses the top of his head hesitantly.

“Don't make it so easy then” Peter lets out a breath.

Prick.

"Never"

"Rude, what a rude person you are" Peter nuzzles him and that shuts him up.

Better.

[pepperful-qt]

Hi there! Can I request hcs of kuroo, kita and semi with a big brain s/o? It doesn't just apply to s/o academically, but more so about life in general (like having ~streetsmarts~) thank you!

you said street smarts my mind went to jj bittenbinder. ngl i kinda used the wisdom proficiencies from d&d as reference for this hahaha nerd i hope it’s what you want! also i just want to thank you for requesting my not-so-secret fav semi semi

Kuroo, Kita, & Semi with a big brain s/o

* * * * *

Kuroo Tetsuro

oh this man appreciates it. he’s so entertained

you know that drinking game that Tyrion does with Shae where he guesses something about your past and if he’s right you have to drink, if not he does? that’s what you do minus the drinking part obv,, unless

as a person with high charisma himself, you make it a game to see who can bluff out and/or fool the other (you almost always win)

any time there’s a game night and you’re playing a social deception game you always win. no one can get a lie past you

if it’s a teamwork one, you and Kuroo crush everyone else

you find ways to skimp on your hw but still come out fine. he has no idea how, and it both annoys and impresses him

“i thought you stayed up watching buzzfeed unsolved instead of studying last night??”

“yeah so what?”

“but you got a 96%”

he knows that intelligence isn’t just defined by what you’re able to memorize out of a book, and you’re a perfect example of that. he respects you a lot

you’re the type of person that reads random articles and therefore has the most random bits of trivia that you throw in conversation

he can have an intellectual conversation with you, since you always come up with unique perspectives. he loves asking your opinion on things, bc who tf knows what’ll come out of your mouth

you don’t know what a derivative is to save your life but you know the location of every 7/11 in a ten mile radius, and if they carry a specific type of onigiri or cup noodle flavor

but fr you give the best advice and are always there to lend an ear

you watch murder mystery movies together and try to figure out the culprit, sometimes actually arguing over it

other times you’ll watch a drama and make bets on who’s gonna do what or end up with who

rip Kenma in the corner just trying to live his life

it’s hilarious seeing you interact with someone who is not “big brain” or street smart

let’s just use Lev as an example for no particular reason, just bc

you quickly learned that Lev would believe almost anything you said, he was that fascinated by your apparent wisdom

so you and Kuroo will sometimes join forces and see what you can get him to believe. you once convinced him that if you kill an insect you’d become that insect in your next life and die the same way, and for a solid month he would start crying if he ever stepped on an ant

chaos couple™

you have this whole atmosphere about you that is just “do not fuck with me” bamf if i do say so myself

which tbh is one of the things he finds most attractive about you. you knew exactly what he was up to the first time he started flirting with you, but you weren’t intimidated one bit. you became a challenge~

10/10 best looking couple of the three

* * * 

Kita Shinsuke

the two voices of reason, bless you both. you’re very similar, but also very different

he’s the definition of high intelligence & high wisdom with low charisma cleric kita omg, while you have both high wisdom and high charisma with an intelligence stat you barely use (high or low lol)

he’s the kind of guy who always thinks things through with logic, and he’s always sure of his decisions

you on the other hand, have an intuition based logic

freaks him out when you rely on your gut instinct but somehow it always pays off

“why?” 

“just because” 

“but why??”

you’re adaptable in almost every situation, always know what to say, and have an uncanny ability to read people

which actually comes in handy in your relationship

he’s not the best at expressing himself but you always seem to know his emotional state and thought process, something no one else except his granny has really cracked yet and you do it so easily. sometimes he wonders if you’re a mind reader

you knew he liked you before he did & you asked him out first ~

“Shin-kun, you look happy today!” 

“Ah, I was able to clean all the volleyballs after practice and still had time to fold and organize the scrimmige vests by color.”

meanwhile Atsumu: “hE litERALLY?? looks the sAME??!”

speaking of the twins, you’re great at handling them

Atsumu tried to scare you away the first time you showed up at practice before you and Kita announced your relationship, but you were calm and polite

which tbh put him off more than if you’d clammed up or gotten angry. he almost felt bad for being rude. almost.

imagine how bad he felt when Kita found out

the both of you are both feared and respected by the team 

you’ll help Kita out with his self-assigned chores sometimes, figuring out new ways to be efficient and not lose quality

he also loves how he can trust you to take care of yourself, whether it’s walking home alone or losing you in a crowd or just looking after your health. he still worries and dotes on you but it’s out of love, not because he’s concerned you’ll hurt yourself unintentionally 

he loves a person with common sense @ inarizaki

you’re both really good at getting gifts for each other, since you’re both very perceptive

one time you guessed his favorite flavor of ice cream and it made the butterflies a’flutter

there’s this silent competition between you two of who can give the better gifts

wishes you would study more though ngl. he knows you’re smart you just don’t always dedicate that intelligence to your schoolwork

he finds it charming how you’re always looking at things from different angles rather than the straightforward path. he thinks it’s a very good quality

that “yeah but what if...” kind of mentality

we already know he appreciates that attitude if he doesn’t really take it on himself

you’re both able to appreciate the nuances of life and enjoy the moment together

your relationship is one of the most balanced and strong out there tbh,,

* * *

Semi Eita

you’ve got this charm that makes people respect you. a certain type of confidence, if you will, that made him first notice you

lots of students were intimidated by the members of the volleyball team, for their height and reputation etc, but you never showed any reservation, not even with Ushijima

as well as your conviction, you have take no shit attitude that comes in great handy with certain members of the team it’s also hot af

you can banter with Tendou and you provoke Goshiki all day long but never Shirabu bc you know what’s up

you do however irritate him with mind games, bc you know he’s a little shit who stole your bf’s spot and needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

you: *describing the quantum wave trolley problem”

Shirabu: *screams*

all the while Semi is trying and failing to hide the smug little smirk on his face

with Semi though, you’re able to just talk

he enjoys conversation with you bc he’s never bored. you make him think and you make him laugh, both good things

sometimes you’ll point something out that just makes him go “oh” bc it seems so obvious when you point it out

other times it’s something so outlandish that he can’t help but crack a smile or let out a laugh 

sometimes it’s the connect the dots meme “you didn’t connect shit” lmao

again, solid advice giver with no holds barred. anyone who needs to be straight up told what they need to hear comes to you, bc you're usually right

and Semi himself can get lost in his own head so it's nice to have you to ground him

you’re decent in your classes sure, but where you really impress is your strategy in game. any game

once you were invited to play laser tag with the team and you whipped out a battle plan that annihilated the other team

alternatively, you show no mercy in monopoly or uno, damn your relationships

it’s actually very annoying how quickly you pick up the rules and nuances to games and use them to your advantage

if you’re both very competitive, it’s usually better for everyone if you’re both on the same team

but he likes a challenge heh

okay, we know he’s bad at dressing himself when it comes to casual outfits. no common sense. you notice this too

“Eita, sweetie, if you go out like that you will get mugged,, even in Miyagi.”

you’ll walk down the street hand in hand and you make random guesses or stories about the people you see 

“that guy is totally a scammer” or “bet that lady looking at the papaya is trying to start a diet for the third time, look at her face” and he’ll chuckle

he knows there’s always something going on inside your mind and he wants to know

when you’re lost in thought he’ll tap your forehead

“hey what’s going on in there?”

he enjoys listening to your musings and thoughts and opinions. you either have a crazy gut instinct or have some unique thought you’ve internally debated over for months

gets inspiration from you actually, even if he doesn’t realize it

likewise, you realize he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say, but you have a way of making him say it, even if he is hesitant and abrasive at first

you’ll call him at 3am with a random thought and he’ll grumble a bit but actually will listen to you with the smallest smile on his face

* * * * * 

i hope??? this was good??? also lmk if this is too long without a read more i’m not sure :P

[libsterslobsters]

I'm Gonna Crawl: Post 2

Post 1

Summary: Five years. That's how long the reader and Bucky have been apart (although for him, it was only five minutes) Now with Thanos defeated and both of them taking up the mantle of Avengers, can their relationship return to what it was? Or will they have to discover a new normal?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! super-soldier! Reader (Reader can see pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language, smut (IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN, DON'T READ!!!)

*************************************************

One of the perks of being “enhanced” or in this case, a super soldier, is that you heal quickly. Within seventy-two hours, the bullet wound in his leg (not to mention the cut and black eye he sustained from several sharp blows to the face) and her matching one in the shoulder are almost completely healed, only a vague pink mark to show they were ever injured. The downside is-

“Do you want to punch sandbags until they fly off the hook, or run thirty miles around the compound first? I’ll start with whichever you don’t pick.” -they’re back to training as well.

He almost answers that he really doesn’t want to do either, it’s Sunday morning, for fuck’s sake, but it’s not like this is her first choice for what she could be doing this morning either, so he goes with-

“Punching things first. Think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, so I’d best get it out of my system.” She nods and, squeezing his arm, takes off at a jog.

“See you on the other side.”

His instinct is to tell her to take it easy, she lost a lot of blood the other day and who knows if there’s been some bone or muscular damage that hasn’t quite fixed itself yet, but again, he swallows it down and focuses on the task at hand. Namely, taking out his bad mood on a punching bag.

Usually, when his body is in motion, his mind is at least somewhat at rest, but this time around, the exertion is just adding fuel to the flames. He’s too pissed off to just zone out and concentrate on hitting the target, still too busy trying to process what the hell happened three nights ago.

It was their first mission together. She’s been on a few separate from him, and he and Sam get called out together on the regular. Stupidly, he assumed that, since her specialty is translating or gathering intel, maybe being the little voice in someone’s ear to direct them through a maze of assailants and twisting corridors her visions had allowed her a glimpse of ahead of time, she’d be out of the line of fire. At the very least, most of the attention would be on him and Sam. But no, she was the bogey. She drew fire while he waltzed through a military fortress, recapturing stolen tech. When Rhodey so much as mentioned that possibility, he should’ve told him no, hard no. If anyone’s drawing fire, it’s him. Still, in his arrogance, he assumed it wouldn’t come to that extreme. Sam’s good at his job, and as much as he hates the reason behind it, so is he. They should’ve been able to hold the line without her painting a target on her back.

That, of course leads to yet another issue. He’s also pissed at himself for instinctively seeing her as more fragile, something that needs to be protected. Even before the same chemicals running through his veins infected her, she’d proven that she’s a damn capable person. He knows that she’s smart, both strategically and academically. Add onto that the fact that she’s fast and strong, not to mention she has visions (less than helpful ones most of the time, but they have their moments), and she’s a powerful ally. He certainly wouldn’t want to be on her bad side. And yet, when he saw that she’d been hit, his mind completely emptied. He wouldn’t have been able to remember which end of a gun to use if his life depended on it, because all he could think was, “Oh god. She’s hurt.” It’s old-fashioned, outdated. He should be past this mindset, at least when it comes to work. Out there, she’s his fellow soldier, not the woman he lies awake next to in bed, sometimes for hours, just to listen to her breath and know he’s not alone. Did Steve ever put Peggy in that box, he wonders? No, of course not, because Steve’s a better man than he ever was or will ever be. So yeah, he’s pissed off at himself.

And finally, although he can barely admit it to his own mind, he’s pissed off at her. Logically he knows it’s mostly fear, some primal instinct to protect what’s his, but every time he imagines her being shot, having a bullet pass by her lungs and arteries by a very narrow margin, and then telling Sam not to let him know that she was hit, it irks him. Did she think he’d come unhinged? Screw up? Or is she stuck in the mindset she seems to have adopted as a response to the last five years of “Screw looking after myself. It doesn’t matter.” A small part of him realizes that he didn’t call in either when he took a bullet, but that’s him! And, now he’s circling back to guilt for treating her like she’s weak.

All in all, he’s so damn furious that he doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until she grabs hold of his arm just as he goes to swing again.

“Jesus, Bucky. I know you’re grouchy, but don’t you think destroying five punching bags in thirty minutes is enough? Save some aggression for the run.”

He looks up to tell her something (I’m sorry? Damn right I’m grouchy? Let me take you home and wrap you in blankets so that nothing will ever hurt you again?) and catches sight of her sweat-soaked face. He hates how far she takes things with the running. It’s like she’s trying to see what the limits are, how much she can punish her body before it gives out and she drops. That’s what it was in the very beginning after the snap. She’s told him that. Now he wonders if she’s really as recovered from everything that’s happened as she claims.

“Have you had anything to drink? Water, or-” She groans and reaches to detach the punching bag (there’s a decent sized rip in it where he was hitting it over and over), making her shirt ride up. Her clothes were already so tight that just seeing her out of the corner of his eye was making it hard to think, but now they’re completely adhered to her in a way that’s nearly obscene thanks to all the sweat. Dammit. Think about something else. He needs to think about something else.

“Yes, I’m on my second water bottle, thank you Barnes. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Just self-destructive.” It slips out before he can stuff it down. Her mouth falls open in shock momentarily, but then she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eyes.

“You’re one to talk. Always running straight towards the fire instead of putting it out first.”

“That’s my job.”

“It’s your hangup.” She laughs bitterly. “Bucky Barnes, the big, bad Winter Soldier. You’ve decided you’re so fucked up that the only way you can make amends is to run headlong towards whatever’s trying to kill you, without backup I might add, and keep to your mission no matter what your personal damage is.”

“Says the woman who took a bullet and stopped Sam from announcing that you’re hit.” They’re teetering closer and closer to a fight with every nearly snarled word, but he’s powerless to stop it. In fact, he’s ready to go. Have it out. But not right now, because-

“Hey.” He catches her arm just as she starts to hoist another punching bag onto the hook. “Be careful! You’re still healing.” -she’s hellbent on hurting herself. Again.

She whirls around as if he’s slapped her.

“Oh my god. You have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop treating me like I’m going to break!” Her voice is shrill, rising higher and higher with each syllable. “I love you, but you are driving me insane. I am not your child-”

“No, you’re the person I want to marry!” He takes a deep breath, preparing to follow up with, “-and you keep acting like you have a death wish”, but before he can-

“You won’t even fuck me anymore!” Immediately, her eyes go wide and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

If her declaration surprised her, it absolutely stunned him so, not quite sure what else to do, he takes a few steps back and sits down. A few seconds pass before she approaches and, with a heavy sigh, sinks down next to him.

“Bucky, I am so sorry. I don’t know where any of this is coming from-”

“I think you do, Doll.” Her eyes dart nervously between his face and the floor. On instinct, he reaches over and takes her hand. “And so do I.” He takes a few moments to rearrange his thoughts before pushing ahead. “A lot has changed since-”

“The world ended. We lost. And then we won.” He nods.

“Yeah, and I don’t think either of us have quite wrapped our heads around it. I know I haven’t.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then, voice trembling, she tells him,

“After you went away, I was completely lost. Didn’t know why I had to stay. What kind of cruel trick is it, just when everything was starting to go right-” He finally had the poison of HYDRA sucked out of him, she’d found a safe place where she didn’t have to run and hide because of something she was born with, he’d worked up the nerve to ask her if she’d maybe one day be his wife. “-and then it’s wiped out? You finally went somewhere I couldn’t follow.” He still can’t imagine what those five years must’ve been like, not just for her, but everyone else who survived the snap. “I didn’t want to keep going. But I had to.” She chuckles. “Steve wouldn’t let me throw in the towel.”

A smile forms on his own face. “Yeah, he had a habit of doing that.”

“I guess…” She sighs. “I don’t know. I got harder, rougher around the edges. I thought I could just go back to normal once everyone came back-”

“But old habits die hard.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“Yeah, and as much as I chip away at it, I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to who I was before.”

“You won’t.” She peers up at him, eyes wide in shock, maybe a hint of sadness. “I can tell you that right now from experience. You won’t go back, but-” He’s had a lot of time to consider this, so he can say it and absolutely believe it. “-I love the girl that’s here now. She’s pretty amazing, rough edges and all.”

She’s sitting so close. He could pull her into his lap, just hold her for a minute. So, that’s what he does, and just like the first time, they fit together perfectly, like she was made to fit in his arms, or maybe he was made to hold her. Either way, it leaves no doubt in his mind that they belong together.

“You changed. Everyone does. You got stronger and tougher, because that’s who you had to be. And I wasn’t there to change with you.” He can feel her shoulders shake, and even though she’s facing away from him, he knows she’s fighting back tears. “But I’m gonna catch up. It’s just taking me a while to get it through my thick skull that my girl’s a badass, and I need to ease off the bodyguard routine a little.” There. That’s more like it. A laugh, even if it’s a small one. “I just worry about you, is all. I don’t know how to stop it, and I’m not sure I can, but I’m working on it.”

“I worry about you too, you know.” She sniffs, swiping at her nose with her hand. “I’m fucking terrified because, now that I’m like you, I know what your limits are. I’m scared you’ll forget them, or you’ll ignore them because you’re trying to be a good man.” She cranes her head, meeting his gaze. “But you are a good man, Bucky Barnes. You never stopped being one, no matter what you think.”

“I think your picture of me might be more flattering than who I really am.”

“Shut up.” She presses her palm over his mouth. “I have visions, so seeing is never my problem. And it’s not the way I’m picturing you. We’ve known each other long enough for the shine to wear off.” Never. It’ll never be possible for him to know her so long that she’s not absolutely golden from where he’s standing. “It’s who you’ve shown me you are. And if the rest of the world doesn’t see it, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

He’s not sure if he buys all that, but it’s enough that she does. She sees him as that man, so he’ll try every day of his life to be just that.

“Come on.” Gently pushing her off of him, he stands and offers her his hand. “That’s enough training for today. We’re still wounded.”

She chuckles. “Is that your excuse for calling it early?”

He nods, barely suppressing a grin. “That, and you’ve gotta change into something that doesn’t fit you like a second skin before my brain permanently short-circuits.”

“Showers, then?”

“Showers.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

The compound sustained heavy damage thanks to Thanos crashing a ship into it, but in the past few months (helped along by Pepper’s billions and the entire galaxy’s appreciation towards the Avengers in equal parts), enough repairs have been done to make it partially usable. In this case, the locker room. Just the one, though. Which, of course means co-ed showers.

She won’t admit it, but she’s particularly appreciative of that little detail today. As she circled the compound on her last lap, she saw that the only two cars there are hers and Barnes. They’re the only two people here, and she fully intends to use that to her advantage.

“Join me? I don’t want to overextend my shoulder trying to wash my hair or back.” It’s a blatant lie, and from his expression, she can tell that he knows it too. But, he nods.

“Yeah, doll. I can do that.” Part one of the plan has been executed beautifully. Onward to part two.

She purposely leaves the travel sized bottles of shampoo and body wash on the floor so that, after rinsing off for far longer than is really necessary, she has to bend over to retrieve them. If it weren’t for her enhanced hearing, she’d completely miss the sharp intake of breath in response to her little show, but she catches it and can’t help grinning to herself. Part two: get him as worked up as she is. So far, so good.

The feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, working the shampoo through her hair, is almost enough to make her forget that she’s a woman on a mission. Almost. As soon as she’s rinsed the soap out of her face, she turns to him.

“Your turn. Bend.” It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and as always, she has to fight back a laugh as he inclines his head towards her, the entirety of his hair falling forward to cover his face. “This used to take a lot longer before you decided to chop it all off.” He chuckles, eyes closed against the soap.

“What can I say? Seventy-three years without a haircut is my limit.” She can’t blame him, and although it was a shock at first, she’s come to like this new look. It makes him look…younger, somehow. More boyish. Like his life hasn’t contained as many horrors as they both know full well it has.

“You checking for lice or something?”

“Huh?” That jerks her out of her sentimental daze. “Looks like you’re clear.”

There’s no way to put it politely. She’s straight up ogling him as he rinses off. Five damn years…

“Ready to get your back?” And, she just got caught staring.

“Sure.”

His hands are gentle, putting as little pressure on her injured shoulder as possible, growing firmer as they work down her back. She holds her breath as she feels his palms ghost over the swell of her ass, but then he’s back to safer territory. At least, that’s what she thinks until the metal arm snakes around her chest, just below her breasts, holding her in place. His free hand runs down from her sternum to her middle, stopping just above her hips, then- fuck. Nothing. He’s backing away.

“Do you need help with your legs?” No, what she needs help with is located between them. Suddenly, the shower feels far too hot, and she’s desperate to cool off.

“That’s okay.” Her voice is shaky, and she mentally berates herself as she steps under the spray, rinsing away the soap.

She’s not at all sure that her excuse for leaving the shower and going to towel off made any sense, but with a few feet between them, she’s able to breath again. Alright, scratch the whole “shower seduction” idea. It wasn’t that great to begin with. She gets him as hot and bothered as she is, and then what? Shower sex is a slippery affair, and plus there’s the height difference… in the steamed up mirror, she catches sight of him climbing out of the shower and toweling off. Fuck it. What does she have to lose?

“Come here.” As he turns around, she hops up on the counter top (thank fuck Stark went all out and got the sinks that can easily hold the weight of an adult), allowing her towel to slip further down her chest.

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit down to her cleavage before settling back on her face as he stands in front of her.

“Yeah, Doll?”

“Let me get your hair. You’ll never get it dry yourself.” She’s really running low on excuses, but if she plays her cards right, she won’t have to keep up this ruse for much longer.

“You know-” She murmurs against his ear as she starts working a towel over his tousled locks, “-if you don’t take me right now, I’m gonna be really offended.”

His head snaps up, and she nearly drops the towel.

“Well, I can’t let that happen, can I?”

She has a smart-ass remark all planned out, but then his lips are pressed against hers, hard, insistent, and her brain completely empties of anything other than pure need. She’s not completely sure how, but somehow the towel wrapped around her torso (it’s so short, it didn’t even cover her ass sitting down) disappears, leaving them chest to chest, both still slightly damp from the shower. On instinct, her legs wrap around his back, bringing them so close together she can feel his cock twitch against her thigh.

“The floor, or-” It’s murmured against her ear between nibbles.

“No. Here.” It’s all she can do to hold back a moan as his whole body rumbles with quiet laughter.

“Someone’s eager.”

She leans back far enough to peer into his eyes.

“And you’re not?” The response is a thumb against her clit, and she has to bite down hard on his shoulder to muffle a yelp.

“If I’d known you were ready, you wouldn’t have gotten any sleep for the past two months.” That would’ve been a very small price to pay.

Five years is a long time, and her body tenses up at the intrusion of his finger inside of her, but she immediately forces her muscles to relax, and within seconds, it’s all she can do not to writhe against him.

“That’s it. Relax. I’ll take care of you.” It’s a lost cause. This is going to be noisy. She hazily thinks to herself that it’s all his fault.

He’s always been one for foreplay, making sure she’ll be comfortable once they actually get around to the main event, but finally enough is enough and, reaching between them, she stills his wrist.

“Get inside me.”

“Are you sure? You’re still tight-” Disentangling one of her arms from around his neck, she gives his hair a sharp tug.

“I’m like you now, remember? You’re not going to break me.”

He pulls back from her, hesitating, eyes darting between her face and the door.

“What?”

“I don’t have-” Oh. She quickly runs the calculations in her head. Given which day of the month it is, the likelihood would be-

“It’ll be fine. Just pull out.” To her relief, he doesn’t argue.

Her breath catches as he pushes inside of her, and if the panting against her neck is anything to judge from, she’s not the only one affected.

“It’s been too damn long.” Despite the situation (or perhaps because of it), she laughs breathlessly.

“You think it’s been too long? Try five fucking years!” His laugh tickles her neck.

“You’re never gonna stop using that one, are you?”

“Nope. I think I’ve earned the right.” After all, he constantly reminds her that he had to wait 98 years to meet the love of his life, so fair is fair.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

“Sounds like you just set yourself a challenge.”

“Guess I’d better get to work then.” As he says it, he pulls nearly all the way out only to slam back in again.

It’s primal, the way their bodies move together, desperate for a connection that’s been missing for so long. There’s no room or need for words to be spoken; their gasped breaths and strangled moans say it all. His hand sneaks between them, toying with her nub, and that’s what sends her over the edge. It’s the tipping point for him too because, muffling his cries against her shoulder, he pulls out just in time.

“We shoulda done that before the shower.” She’s still gasping for breath, but it forces a laugh from her. He follows suit, offering her a spare towel to clean herself up.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Barnes.” He shoots her a questioning look as she hops down on shaky legs. “I thought it was good before, but damn.”

He laughs, pulling on his jeans. “I didn’t want to risk breaking the bed. I’m a gentleman like that.” She knows the real concern was her safety, but if she concentrates on that too hard, she’ll start going mushy, and in this instance, crying after sex seems like it would kill the mood.

“You know-” She pulls her t shirt over her head, not bothering with a bra. “-I never really liked the bed I have now anyway.” It’s also really too small for two full-grown adults to share comfortably.

Sliding his duffle bag over his shoulder, he takes her hand. “Then maybe we should go home? Give you an excuse to get a new one?” Before she can answer-

“Go home. Please, I’m begging you, for the love of god, go.” Her eyes dart towards the source of the noise. The door, or more specifically, the other side of it. “Hearing you and the bionic man fucking once was enough. I’m gonna shoot you both and then myself if I have to listen to round two.”

Bucky catches her eye and mouths “Oops!”, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“You know Sam, you could’ve just walked away. You didn’t have to wait outside the door like a creep.” She has to bite her fist to keep from laughing out loud.

“Yeah, trust me. I could hear you from all the way down the hall.”

“Sorry.” She gasps it out between bouts of laughter, and she must be pulling a funny face, because he snickers to.

“No, you’re not.” No, she really isn’t. Just that they got caught.

“We’re heading out. You’ve got the place to yourself.” Giving his hand a tug, she pulls open the door, revealing a flustered Sam.

“I hope you remembered to wipe down the counter, you nasties!”

As they make their way down the corridor, Bucky calls out,

“See you Monday?”

“Yeah. And you’d better be wearing pants!”