#calmness and then intense panic. overall a bad time. and one i know i just have to ride out.

[steampoweredskeleton]

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Ignore

[skzdarlings]

part iii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (word count; 4800)

warning for this chapter: more explicit violence, physical abuse directed at felix.

-

When his dark roots start to show, Felix attempts to bleach his own hair.  You ask why the aesthetic choice is so important. 

“I just don’t like the dark,” he says with a toothy, too-casual smile. 

You watch from the open bathroom door as he accidentally turns himself into a red-head.   He fingers a vibrant red-orange strand, cocks his head, shrugs, and smiles. 

His hair is a shifting mess of yellow-orange-red over the next two years.  The nightmares start halfway through.

The first one frightens you awake as Felix shoots upright in a sweaty panic.  A startled shriek claws up your throat and comes out raspy, your sleepy eyes darting around in the dark for an intruder only to realize the room is empty. 

Felix slumps against the headboard, wiping his forehead.  The fiery strands of his bangs are sticking to his face and his hands are shaking so uncharacteristically.  Felix only occasionally loses his cool and even then, his retorts are curt and sarcastic rather than emotional.   It is the first time you have ever see him like this, so small and so very human, and all you can do is stare until he gets his breathing under control. 

“Are you okay?” you ask each other at the same time. 

“Me?” you croak.  “You were the one who just—” 

“It was just a dream,” he says, in that clipped tone when his patience runs out.  His breathing is still a little shaky.  He goes to the bathroom then makes his rounds to check the security system, even though it is close to four in the morning.  Your own adrenaline is still dwindling so you are awake when he gets back in bed. 

You don’t know how to comfort someone.  No one has ever comforted you in a substantial way.  Even if they tried, you would probably rebuff it in confusion.   You are certain Felix will do the same thing.  He does not like focussing on himself. 

But he is radiating so much stress and tension that you can feel it burning off him like a heat wave.  He lays stiffly on his back and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep.   You know if you say anything about it, he will ignore you. 

You look at him thoughtfully, then you say in the smallest voice you can, “Felix, I’m scared.” 

His eyes pop open, his brow immediately furrowed in concern.  He looks at you and offers a hand. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, like nothing was amiss with him.   

“Bad dreams too,” you say.  Your nightmares have never caused you to wake so violently, but you do occasionally have them.  You are in the habit of burrowing deep in your blankets and staring at Felix until you fall asleep, calmed by his presence. 

Somehow, some way, you have found comfort in that silent company. 

“Can you hold me, please?” you say. 

You say it because his hand is clammy and cold in yours, despite all the heat of his anxiety.  You say it because his forehead is still damp and his breathing is a little laboured.   You say it because if you offer a hug, he will say he doesn’t need it, but he does. 

Maybe he falls for it, knowing you have a good reason to have nightmares too.  Maybe he sees through your ruse and doesn’t care right now.  But he nods and tugs you closer. 

A year of sharing a bed, not to mention every minute of the day, has made you a little thoughtless in regards to easy proximity, but this embrace is much more deliberate.  You feel very aware of the way he fits around you. His arm loops around your shoulders and you hug his waist, your head fitting perfectly in the crook under his chin. 

You realize you have never hugged anyone like this.  You initiated contact for his sake, but the cradle of his arms and the warmth of his body relaxes your own tension.  It feels like a great exhale, both of you releasing a breath you had been holding for a long time. 

A part of you wants to shove him away.  You think it would be very easy to find his embrace addicting and that is a weakness you cannot afford to have.   You know this, he must know this, but you’re tired, so you fall asleep wrapped around him. 

The next time he wakes with a nightmare, you don’t have to say anything.   He pulls you close and you fall asleep with your head on his chest.  By now you are used to him – behind you in class, beside you in the car, across the kitchen counter, standing at the bathroom sink, laying on the other side of your shared bed – so you let yourself drift, caught in the undertow of his comfortable presence, and you fall asleep like that.   

Again and again. 

His nightmares get worse before they get better.  For a few months, Felix wakes every other night with a startled burst.  He never talks about it.  Sometimes he grounds himself and plasters on a bad smile, but it never fools you.  

He always checks the security system after.  One night he doesn’t return and you imagine the worst, plagued by fears that will seem nonsensical in daylight but pose a very real threat in the darkness.  You turn on every light as you stumble down the corridor, a blanket around your shoulders, too frightened to shout his name as you shuffle along.   

You find him in the gym.  Felix is as strict with his daily regimen as every other protocol, from diet to exercise and back, so the sight of him sweating buckets in the house gym is not unusual.   But it being three in the morning, coupled with the nightmares and your anxiety, makes you erupt with feelings you cannot articulate.

You are relieved he is here.  You hate that you are relieved.  You hate that you were afraid at all.  You hate that you wanted him beside you when you should be relieved in his absence.  When did it all get so backwards?  He still reports to your father.  You should still hate his presence.  You shouldn’t be here, shaking, furious that he abandoned you. 

You throw the blanket on the floor and the motion catches his eye.  He turns, pushing his sweaty red hair off his forehead.  His face contorts in funny ways before he forces himself to smile. 

“Come back to bed,” you say before he can voice a stupid platitude.  “Now.” 

His smile disappears.  He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, just looking at you.  Then he nods. 

He showers and gets back in bed.  You are wide awake, but you stubbornly lay with your back to him.  You say and do nothing when he slides up behind you, crossing the vast space of that big bed to curl himself around you. 

“You’re safe in the house,” he says.  “You don’t have to worry.” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” you say before you can stop yourself. 

He is silent for a long moment.  He shifts behind you then exhales, his warm breath fluttering over your neck. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he says.  That’s not your job, is the unspoken addition your brain supplies.  Because Felix shouldn’t care about you either.  This is just a job.  You have no real obligation to each other.   

His arm is around your waist.  He breathes out again. 

“The nightmares,” he finally says.  “It’s not… I think it’s just… Before this, everyday, there was a lot going in my life, yeah?  And not… not good things.  But now things are… calm… compared to that so I think it’s just… catching up to me.  Um.  I was going too fast before but now I’m… I’m just here.” 

You know he won’t tell you what those nightmares entail.  If you ask me, I’ll tell you, I will never lie to you, he once said. 

You are too afraid to ask.  It is scary enough, laying in his arms, at once adrift and secure.  Scarier still to turn around and hide your face in his neck.   You do anyway. 

He strokes your back, a feather-soft touch, up and down.   It becomes a familiar pattern, absent-minded.  One night he touches you with that lazy caress while talking about nothing particular.  Neither of you can sleep, but his low voice and gentle touch lulls you into a hazy in-between world.     

You grab his hand and put it up the back of your shirt, not really thinking.  You do not mean to be suggestive and realize too late it could be misconstrued.  You are too embarrassed to apologize, laying there with a warm face pressed against his chest, his hand on your back.  He stops talking and his hand freezes, fingers splayed on your bare spine. 

You have never spoken aloud about how this kind of hugging is too intimate, even if it is innocent, considering what you are supposed to be to each other. 

After a moment, he continues, his touch still gentle.  You almost forget he is not a gentle boy, that he wouldn’t be here if he was.  You fall asleep soon after.   

-

You see your father less these days, no longer in trouble with the same frequency.  It makes you understand Felix, the way he spoke about nightmares catching up to him.   Over the years, your wounds have seldom had time to heal before they re-opened, both literally and emotionally.  Now you have time to scab.  

Those poorly stitched wounds start to fester. 

One night, you and Felix have an argument.  It is a petty, inconsequential quarrel in the greater scheme of things, and it ends with him rolling his eyes. 

Irritation is an itch under your skin, worsened by your ongoing state of aggravation.  When he goes to the gym for his work-out, trusting you to keep your own routine, you simply walk out the front door.  You know he will track you down but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Your act of petty retribution spirals out of control when your father gets home at the same time you are trying to leave.  One of his men literally snatches you in the driveway.  Your adrenaline was already running high from the argument, so you are a thrashing bundle of limbs as they carry you into the house. 

Your father is frighteningly quiet on the walk to his home office.  All at once you recognize this countenance.  It has nothing to do with you, but his business.  Something went wrong today, however menial or substantial, and his rage is an icy current.  You slipped and tumbled headfirst into the flood. 

You stop fighting.  You try to muster the same icy resolve as he seats himself on the couch in the office. 

In a way, you are almost relieved.  It has been so long since you last stood here, but you knew it would eventually happen.  Now it isn’t hanging over you.  Now your wounds aren’t festering.  Now you can rip the messy scab right off and finally just bleed. 

Your father pats the seat beside him on the couch.  You have only just sat when he says to his own guard, “Find me Felix.” 

Felix is waiting right outside the door like the dutiful little soldier he is.  He is in his work-out clothes, baggy basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running shoes, his hair messy from exertion.  There is a flush to his complexion and it makes him look his age, sixteen and bright-eyed.  He is a stark contrast to your father’s guard, a grown man with a hardened face as stern and full as a pit-bull. 

Felix looks at you, a momentary flicker of eye contact before he half-bows for your father.   Then he straightens, robotic.  He clasps his hands behind his back in the same pose as the adult guard. 

The dramatic pageantry makes you huff.   You know your father will mete out punishment regardless of what Felix has to say.  You do not know what Felix includes his daily reports, only that he has kept you out of trouble, but his cleverness will not save you now.  It never could, you remind yourself.  The hugs, the intimacy, the careful threads of friendship unspooling strand by strand, day by day – it was never going to save you. 

“My daughter is headstrong to a fault, isn’t she?” your father says.

Felix glances at you then averts his gaze entirely.   He nods sharply, just once.   “Sir,” he says, an acknowledgement.

“Mm.”  Your father sits back in his seat, his casual posture denoting apathy.  He is staring into space, rubbing his chin.  You realize he has not spoken to you directly when he says, “You know what happens now, don’t you?”  It seems like it should finally be directed at you, but his gaze is still on Felix.   

Felix says nothing, though his brow is furrowed with some consternation.  You stay quiet.  Felix has seen your father punish you more than once now, and you cannot find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about it.  Maybe Felix needs a reminder too.  Or maybe he has known all along there was no real substance to your connection, that you would always end up here and he would always betray you with his professional stoicism.   

“Sir,” Felix says again, as expected. 

You roll your eyes and look away from them all.  You hear the tell-tale clink of a belt.  A frisson is already scratching down your spine, a phantom laceration of its own.  

You have this script memorized, having played out this scene time and again.  Your father’s guard will hand him a belt, the room will be emptied so you are alone with your father, and he will remove the disobedience and weakness from your body – and the frustration and weakness from his – one stroke at a time.  You will leave, contrite and penitent in the freshness of pain and humiliation.  It will fade with your scars.  You will be back here again. 

Your father grabs your face and jerks it back to him.  As if reading your thoughts, he says, “It never sticks with you, does it?  Not one single lesson.”  He lets go with a sharp snap, your chin smarting.  You refrain from touching it.  “Felix brought this to my attention on his report.  You know, you could learn a lesson on reflection from him.” 

You roll your eyes and cross your arms.  You feel sick in an unusual way, more affected than you want to be.  Your father does not know or care if you have ever sought Felix for comfort, so he does not know or care if it hurts for Felix to betray you.  Felix is doing his job and playing his part.  Your father is playing his.  He will make sure you learn to play yours. 

And then your father says, “I agreed with his assertion.  Punishing you like a child does nothing to teach you true consequences.   Being my daughter puts you in a certain position in this world.   Thanks to the work I have done, your place will always be above subordinate persons.  When you make a mistake, when you step out of line, there will be consequences, and those consequences will not only affect you, but all those other people too.”   He waves a hand and the motion draws your eye.   “Felix,” he says. 

The other guard approaches at your father’s gesture.  The belt is folded over in his hand.  Felix glances at it, his expression inscrutable, as if a shadow has fallen over his brow.   He does not look at you again, even when your attention focusses on him. 

Your stomach turns over then seems to drop right out of you, a sharp plummet in your gut when Felix removes his shirt with a swift tug.  His motions are choppy and automatic, his face set.  He faces the large desk and puts his hands on it, his back to the guard.   

“What is this?” you say, looking at your father and his impassive countenance.  “What are you doing?  What is—”

You flinch at the crack of the belt, a full body shudder as if you were struck.  But the hit was not for you.  You whip around to look at Felix, his mouth pressed tightly shut and his gaze on the wall ahead.  When he is struck again, his instinctive recoil is smaller than yours, merely an eye twitch and hard exhale through his nose. 

You start to stand but your father yanks you down again. 

“Consequences,” your father says. 

The blood freezes in your veins.  Sardonic, you think about how moments ago you were wishing for that icy reserve.   Now it locks you in places like a cold shackle.  You watch with a bemused sort of detachment, like this can’t really be happening, and only when Felix’s arm shakes and his elbow caves, doubling him over the desk, do you snap out of it.  The ice melts and water runs, your eyes filling with tears as your voice claws its way up your throat, fighting, fighting, fighting until you rasp, “Enough.  Stop it.  Stop it!” 

You have yelled at your father many times, but this scream is so loud that it reverberates in the large room.  A painting shakes.  The guard actually stops. 

Felix lifts his head and looks at you.  His expression is pinched with fury, a barrier guarding the escape of any other emotion. 

You know your own face is open with all that emotion.  Felix has told you before that he can read you like a book, but right now anyone could.  Your masks crack and you look at him then your father with terror. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “Lesson learned, I—”  

Your father waves a hand.  A frantic, “No!” has scarcely your left mouth before the guard hits Felix with a ferocity never once directed at you.  You throw a hand over your mouth, horrified as Felix loses composure, face screwed up with pain as he collapses on the desk.  A bit of skin is torn right off his back and you look away, sick, before everything goes quiet. 

The guard steps back.  Felix is breathing loudly.  Your hand is shaking when your father pries it off your mouth. 

“Thank you, Felix,” your father says.  “I’ll send someone to administer first aid.”  Like this is a casual workplace injury.  Like he didn’t just—because of you—and—

You can’t look at Felix.  You stare at the ground, still shaking, your breathing as ragged as his.

“That’s all right,” Felix says in a remarkably steady voice.  He clears his throat.  “I can take care of myself.” 

Whatever happens next is a blur.   The room empties and your father administers a lecture, looking very self-satisfied.  When other things transpire out of his control, it is clearly reassuring to exert power where he can.  He just as clearly believes he has finally got the permanent best of you.   He might not be wrong. 

You walk in a hazy shuffle, out the door, up the stairs.  Near the top step, your pace quickens.   You find yourself crashing through the bedroom doorway, only snapping out of your stunned trance when you see Felix.  He is laying facedown on the bed, his bare and bleeding back a red canvas of pain. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the pillow, “I’ll get up.  Just… give me a sec—”

You shove the door closed and approach the bed, your hands hovering with no where to go.  You stare at his bare backside, the angry red lines and the long stripe where he is bleeding.  You reach, your fingers shaking, then you withdraw.   

“I know, I know, I’m crazy,” he says dryly.  “In my defense, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“That,” you say.  “What was—”

Your voice cracks and disappears.  You cannot find it again.  Felix finally turns his head, somehow looking more composed than you despite the pain he must be in.  Surprise is his most prominent emotion, deepening to confusion as he stares at you in your state.  Then he exhales and closes his eyes, finally scrunching his face in pain. 

“I didn’t think…” he says.  He takes another deep breath.  “I told your father I would… volunteer… for this…  But that’s because I… I thought you didn’t…”

Your eyes meet.  You stare at each other with equal intensity, your stare still rife with terror and his wet with grief. 

“They would have stopped sooner,” Felix says, his voice low, barely above a whisper.  “If they thought you didn’t care, it would have stopped sooner.  I thought it would—I thought you didn’t—”

“Be quiet,” you finally say.  You wipe the tears when they fall, then shake your head like you are scolding yourself.   Your voice is shaky when you say, “Just don’t speak.” 

I thought you didn’t care about me, was undoubtedly what he meant to say.   He thought he could volunteer to take a beating for you and that you would be so stone-faced and indifferent, maybe even happy to see him suffering, that your father would not waste time with a prolonged punishment. 

But you did care.  Your father saw and your father acted accordingly. 

I’m sorry, does not suffice as a reply.  Sorry for running just to win an argument?  Sorry for sitting there and watching them hit you? 

Sorry I care about you. I wish I just hated you.

“I can take care of it,” Felix says when you fetch a first aid kit and sit on the bed.  He says that, but he hisses when he tries to move.  His arms shake with uncharacteristic weakness when he pushes himself up. 

“Lay down, stupid,” you say, laying a clean cloth over the wound to soak up the blood.    

He laughs.  It is a little breathless, but it is that familiar deep rumble of mostly happy sound.  Your face feels hot and your stomach rolls over with a topsy-turvy mess of feelings. 

You quietly clean and apply medicinal ointment to his back.  He lays with his chin on the back of his hands, staring for a while at the headboard, then looking at you.  You can feel him looking, his gaze like a touch as it wanders your face, but you do not look away from your task. 

When you are done, the injury still looks vicious.  You know it will get worse before it gets better, the marked skin already darkening, but it will heal.  You tenderly brush your fingertips over a line, gathering excess salve.  

“I don’t remember what we were fighting about,” he says, “but I think won now, yeah?” 

You suck in a breath to stop yourself from laughing.  He laughs, still deep but more boisterous.  It ends with a hiss of pain as he moves too much.  You shake your head, biting your lip. 

“Serves you right,” you say.  “None of this is funny.”

“Uh-huuuh.”  The weirdo is still chuckling. 

“Well, don’t worry about the future.”  You busy yourself with packing up the first aid kit so you don’t have to meet his eye when you say, “It won’t happen again.  I’ll hate you and I’ll make sure he knows it.” 

“Mm.”  He watches you fold the cloth, over and over, his freckled cheek squished into the pillow.  “I’d say you should offer to do it yourself, but I’ve seen you on a rampage, kicking a vending machine for not giving you your change, sooo… I think I’ll take my chances with them.” 

“Keep up the jokes and I really will hit you,” you say with no animosity. 

“Right,” Felix says, smirking into the bedsheets, “because you hate me.” 

“Yes,” you say, still not meeting his eye.  It convinces no one when you say, “Because I hate you.” 

That night Felix is restless, forced to lay on his front.  He shifts and twitches and groans, tugging a pillow of his head to whine into the sheets.   He can’t get comfortable. 

You open your arms to him.  You think he might reject you.  Though Felix is trusted with his work and they never intrude, there are other people in the house tonight, so it is a little reckless. 

Usually, he would be careful, but you think he might feel a certain resignation.  A dam has been broken, a wall torn down.   The worst has happened and you’re still here. 

He looks at you thoughtfully then slides across the bed.  You realize too late his shirtlessness adds another level of intimacy.  Your face and neck and chest all feel hot, plus there is a sensation like butterfly wings fluttering in your belly, but you swallow it down and stare at the ceiling as Felix carefully lays against you.   He also seems to realize the awkwardness, the tips of his ears red hot with embarrassment when he puts his head on your chest.  

You both lay there, stiff as boards, awkward and young and ridiculous. 

Eventually, your nervousness bubbles out of you in the form of a strangled laugh.  Your emotions are swinging on a rapid-moving pendulum and all that terror and sadness turns to a random euphoric burst of laughter.  Felix lifts his head and looks at you, laughing just because you are.  It goes on for a while, Felix the first to recover. 

“Shh,” he finally says, stifling himself.  He props himself up on an elbow, leaning over you, and puts a hand over your lips to keep you quiet.  

Your heart stutters, stops, starts, and you stare at him through the blue dark of your room.   His mouth opens but he doesn’t say anything.  He slowly slides his hand off your mouth.  Neither of you move, the newfound silence covering you like a fuzzy blanket.  

He flicks his head to toss his shaggy bangs out of his eyes.  The red is vibrant even in the dark.  You are touching his hair before you can think about why you shouldn’t touch him at all. 

He looks his age again, wide-eyed and nervous.  Apparently bracing himself for a beating is not a daunting task, but you touching his hair is petrifying. 

You twist a dyed lock around your finger.  After some consideration, you ask, “Do you like the red?”

“Uhh… I preferred the, uh, the blonde, but, uh, yeah, I guess…”  His voice sounds a little lower.  He clears his throat.  “I just can’t figure it out.  Ha.” 

“Hmm,” you say, letting him go.  “Maybe we can figure it out together.”  That sounds like a heavy promise, implicitly about more than just a hair colour.  It registers with him, his brow furrowing.  You quickly deflect by adding, “Because we’re gonna be seniors soon.  You can’t spend your last year of high school with bad hair.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling. 

“Not like I’m a real student,” he says, “but suuure.  Sounds good.  Thanks.”  

You look down the length of his back.  You think about how he described his life now as calm, compared to whatever came before.   This is the lesser of two evils, this shoving and hitting and dehumanizing.   The pendulum swings back and your throat clogs with a sob.  You manage to swallow it down but you have to look away from him.  Your hand blindly settles in his hair, absently feathering strands between your fingers. 

“You don’t need to say it like that,” you say.  “You’re still a real person.” 

You look at him only because he does not answer.  He is staring at you, lips drawn into a line and brows knit together. 

“Some people might disagree,” he says in a very low, soft voice, almost conspiratorially. 

Your heart skips a beat.  You roll your eyes.  “Like my father?” you ask. “Well.  I never agree with him on anything.  You know that.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips again.  “Uh, yeah, I definitely know that.”  A joking tone returns and he pulls a sarcastic face, like that much should be obvious. 

“Be quiet,” you say, lightly teasing.  “Just go to sleep.” 

Your hand is still in his hair so you yank him down.  You stifle a laugh when he hits your chest with a squeak.  He clears his throat, forcing a stern expression as he turns his face so he is not completely planted in your cleavage. 

“Good night, Felix,” you say. 

“All right,” he says.  “Good night.” 

You fall asleep first.  He is sensible enough to slide back to his side of the bed before properly sleeping.  The motion stirs you and you instinctively reach for him.  Your hand falls open between you.  He takes it and holds it, palm to palm, and you fall asleep once more. 

[tklpilled]

at this point, aether is used to being a test subject. he came to teyvat to find his sister, yet now he’s going to leave an unwilling hero and guinea pig—and, by the looks of it, still sisterless.

he can’t count how many times he’s gone through lisa asking him to try a new spell, or charlotte telling him to stand still so she can work on her photography, or lyney practicing a magic trick he’s just come up with. he doesn’t mind it, really, not that much—it’s better than trying to fix all the archons’ problems for them.

(he’s still hoping for diluc to join the ‘ask-aether-to-try-every-new-thing’ club, but considering everyone thinks he’s a teenager and not thousands of years old, he doesn’t think he’ll be doing a wine tasting any time soon.)

point is, this whole thing isn’t just because of his own stupidity. he made a very understandable assumption, alright?

“come here,” albedo says, writing down some notes. “i want you to try this elixir out for me, if you wouldn’t mind.”

aether nods, although albedo can’t see it with his head bent down. he walks over to the table and sees two bottles, both filled about halfway. on the right is a pale green, glistening substance, and the bottle on the left contains a much more appetising blue-purple liquid. albedo doesn’t look up from his notes, so aether takes a fifty-fifty chance and picks up the left bottle. he downs it in one go.

albedo looks up, then tilts his head. “that wasn’t the right one.”

oh.

if paimon were here, she’d panic and begin asking every question she could think of—but she’s not here, and aether doesn’t know how to panic for himself. so, all he says is, “am i going to die?”

“no,” albedo says, sounding a little amused at how flat his voice is. “but—”

“will i be in pain?”

“no.”

aether shrugs. “alright then. i don’t see a prob—lehem!”

his hands shoot up to cover his mouth, his eyes widening as a sudden sensation washes over him. albedo looks on with a mixture of pity and curiosity as he sinks to his knees. “maybe i should have warned you better…”

aether curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle now instead of his mouth. “m-mahahake it stohohop!” he pleads, scrunching up his shoulders to protect from invisible, non-existent hands.

albedo kneels down beside him, admiring the grin adorning his face. he’s never heard aether laugh quite so freely before, and it’s very endearing. he finds himself staring for longer than he had intended. aether is the one being tickled, yet albedo is the one blushing—that doesn’t make any sense.

“in my experience, it stops after a short while,” albedo finally says, blinking away from aether’s incredibly pretty face, “although i took a much smaller dose than you. i’d estimate ten minutes at most.”

“t-tehehen?” aether squeaks. “i cahan’t—too muhuhuch!”

albedo can’t help but smile. aether’s laugh is far too contagious. “calm down, you’ll get used to it soon enough. it won’t feel nearly as bad in a couple minutes.”

despite his words, aether whines through helpless laughter, although he keeps any more complaints he may have to himself. from what albedo had experienced, the tickling wasn’t intense at all; merely a step beyond tingling, just enough to make one laugh. for someone as ticklish as aether, he supposes it might be a bit worse, but the overall outcome should be mostly the same.

“it was supposed to be a strength enhancer,” albedo says, carrying the conversation while aether is too busy cackling beside him. “it still is, technically. it just has some…very strong side effects. i’m sure if you could manage to stand, you’d find yourself a bit better with that sword of yours.”

“plehehease,” aether begs. “mahahake it stohohohop…!”

“hm.” albedo reaches around him to scratch at his side, sending him scrambling away with a shriek.

“i hahate yohou!” he wails, then returns his arms around his waist protectively and kicks against the floor a little. “yohou’re cruhuhuel!”

“i could leave you here until it's over,” albedo suggests, making aether frantically shake his head. “maybe even make some more for you.”

“y-yohou wohouldn’t!” aether cries, although they both know he absolutely would. 

albedo pokes a spot on his tummy that his arms fail to cover up. “if you say so.”

[sierraraeck]

Control

JJ x John B

Masterlist

Summary: JJ likes losing control, and there is no one safer he can do that with than his boyfriend, John B. But after a particularly awful week, JJ just needs something he can be in control of.

Category: Smut, angst

Warnings: Cussing/slurs, JJ’s home life so abuse and violence, allusion to sexual abuse, rough sex, choking, safe word used. Look, this gets dark, so this is your warning.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I agree with a lot of other people that in their relationship, John B is usually the dominant one because JJ likes losing control, but I’m convinced that after a really fucking bad week, he just loses it and needs something he can control. This is what I imagine that would look like.

•••

It had been a bad week. It felt never ending, getting roughed up by the Kooks, running from the cops, taking the fall for Pope, and now this.

If you keep going down this road, you’re going to end up just like your dad.

Maybe his best friend, and within the last year or so his boyfriend, was right. Maybe he, and everyone else on the island who constantly reminded him of his blood, was right. Maybe he was destined to be a complete fuck up with no future other than three cement walls and a grid of bars. Not like JJ’d ever imagined his life going any differently.

We’re sick of your shit.

Those were the words echoing in his head as his feet made the decision before his mind did.

You are a worthless piece of shit.

He remembered something Pope had told him once, that the brain can’t differentiate between the truth and something that has been repeated to you over and over.

You’ll be back here one day. You good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why your mamma left. Stay down, boy. I don’t care where you’ve been. Really living up to your name, Maybank. You’re just like your daddy. Fucking bastard. Worthless.

Must be true, right? If everyone is saying it, including the only people he’s ever really thought cared about him, it must be true.

As he opened the door to the run down shack, he already knew what he’d see, but a shutter of fear still raced down his spine. His dad was sitting on the couch, all kinds of beer and pill bottles scattered around him.

“What the hell you doing back here, boy?” the gruff voice of JJ’s nightmares asked.

“Dad, I-”

“The least your worthless ass could do is get me a beer.”

JJ complied, because, what else was he going to do? Weak.

As he walked over to his dad, the smell of beer was overwhelming. It always was, but the smell seemed stronger than he remembered. His dad's tolerance must be higher than it was a few weeks ago.

“Open it,” Luke demanded.

JJ tried, he really did, but his hands were shaking too damn much. Come on, don’t be such a pussy.

Apparently he couldn’t do it fast enough, so Luke ripped the bottle out of his hands, causing it to shatter on the floor. JJ flinched at the sound.

“What are you, retarded? Can’t even open one goddamned bottle!”

JJ didn’t even try to duck. He felt Luke’s knuckle make contact with his cheekbone, head whipping to the side. We’re sick of your shit, JJ.

“Dad-”

“Don’t fucking beg you weak, worthless piece of shit!”

Flames enveloped his gut, followed by another fire lit over his ribs. We don’t want you around.

The voice he was hearing sounded an awful lot like John B’s.

“Fucking pathetic! Just like your mother!” JJ was on the floor now, not completely able to remember how he got there. As his body screamed in pain with each new kick, his mind was getting farther and farther away from where he was.

Our lives would be better without you in it. I would be so much happier if I had a boyfriend who wasn’t such a burden, such a fuck up. Someone without so many fucking issues.

He could feel the blood dripping down his face and leg, but refused to make himself consciously aware of it.

This is what you deserve, JJ.

This is what you deserve.

•••

Twenty-eight hours. That’s how long it’d been since John B last saw JJ. The moment he walked out the door John B kicked himself for it.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that to JJ. ‘You’re going to end up just like your dad.’ He couldn’t think of a worse thing to say to JJ.

It’d overall been a shit week, and John B knew that he was sleep deprived and irritable from everything that’d gone on, not like that was any excuse for what he’d done.

As time ticked by, John B just kept going over everything he’d done wrong in the past week.

You’re going to end up just like your dad. We’re sick of your shit.

Not to mention the time he grabbed JJ by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. The way JJ flinched and seemed to shrink into himself, immediately casting his eyes down, was an image John B couldn’t get out of his head. He knew better than to touch JJ without explicitly asking or giving him plenty of forewarning, let alone grab him out of nowhere while he was angry.

God, JJ looked so scared in that moment, and John B couldn’t even believe he’d just made the person he cared about most in the world feel threatened by him. And JJ didn’t even look like he’d fight back. He looked like he was bracing himself, ready to take whatever harm was to come to him.

JJ put so much trust in John B, letting him be in control of their most intimate time together. JJ once told him that he felt the most safe when he was around John B, and he heard all of the words not said in that one sentence. I trust you. I trust you to have power over me, emotionally and physically. I trust you enough to be vulnerable, knowing that I won’t get hurt. Knowing that you won’t hurt me.

And John B felt like within the span of a week, he’d destroyed all of that.

Just come home, just come home, just come home. Please, JJ, just come back to me.

The sun was starting to set, and John B was getting even more antsy. They’d never had a fight that kept JJ away for longer than a day or so, which meant that John B already knew where JJ was, even though he didn’t want to believe it.

Shit, shit, shit…

John B headed toward the door of the chateau, flinging it open on a mission to save JJ when he looked up.

Oh thank god.

JJ was standing on his porch, hand clutching his side and a couple butterfly bandages over his eyebrow and cheek. His shirt was torn, displaying the three developing bruises John B could see, meaning there were probably at least twice as many he couldn’t see.

John B’s mouth was hanging open, stopped dead in his tracks, unable to find the words to tell JJ how sorry he was and how much he wished he could’ve been better and how-

But his train of thought was cut off when JJ took two big strides towards him, smashing their lips together like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands were gripping onto John B’s sides, wadding up the cloth in his fists, and moved the pair of them back into the chateau, kicking the door shut with his foot.

JJ backed John B into the nearest wall, the intensity of the kiss momentarily distracting John B from the bigger situation at hand. JJ tugged John B’s shirt up, helping him out of it.

As they parted to remove the garment, John B tried to get JJ’s attention. “JJ-”

He didn’t let him get any more words out, though, pressing their lips back together the moment he could.

John B knew that JJ had a lot of pent up anger toward his father, toward the kooks, toward the world. He knew that JJ put on a show of being powerful, untouchable, even. JJ wanted others to think he was always in complete control, and while unhinged at times, a force to be reckoned with. JJ wanted others to think he was strong, and John B knew that was because of how frequently he was told he was weak.

John B thought JJ was as tough as they came. He was sure that if anyone else had been dealt the hand JJ had, they’d be doing a hell of a lot worse, and was impressed by his boyfriend on the daily.

But John B always thought JJ was the strongest when he was the most vulnerable, when he was with him, making this new dominant side of JJ concerning. JJ liked losing control and letting his guard down when he was with John B, letting John B take the lead. Right now, though, JJ was putting his walls back up, the tough act coming out. That’s how John B knew shit had really gotten bad, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

John B tried again, “JJ.” He got the same reaction he did the first time, a non answer. John B delicately placed his hands on JJ’s shoulders, creating just a few inches of space between them as he finally got his attention. “JJ, JJ, slow down. I’ve been worried about you. What is going on, what hap-”

“John B,” JJ cut him off with a low, abnormally calm voice. John B stared in silence, growing even more concerned and confused by the look of intensity in his eyes. “Shut up.”

John B knew that at the end of the day, he’d do whatever JJ asked of him, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get more information. “JJ, I just-”

“Please,” JJ almost pleaded, gazing deep into his eyes. “Give me tonight.” John B stared at his boyfriend for a few more seconds before nodding his head. “Tell me if things get too-”

“I know,” John B assured, remembering the safe word they’d established early on in their relationship, South, and the one time JJ had to use it. He’d had a panic attack, mumbling something about a flashback, but John B had never gotten anything more than that.

With the green light, JJ slipped his tongue back into John B’s mouth, cool rings on his hand pressing into his neck, using his body to push John B back against the wall.

JJ was running his hands all over John B’s exposed chest, John B slowly moving his hands up to place on JJ’s waist. The moment he made the slightest contact though, JJ flinched away, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning them to the wall.

His grip was unfaltering, and stronger than usual, and JJ held his wrists there as he started kissing down John B’s body, pausing to suck and graze his teeth over a few spots.

Reaching the waistband of John B’s shorts, JJ moved his grip from John B’s wrists in order to yank his shorts and underwear down. John B’s hands started to tingle, unaware until just then that JJ had been gripping so tight it started cutting off blood flow.

JJ, now on his knees, started pumping his hand slowly up and down John B’s half-hard shaft, the contact sending a shiver down his spine.

At one point, John B couldn’t stop the small jerk of his hips toward JJ, which was the wrong thing to do, as JJ’s crushing grip was back, both hands holding onto his hips and slamming them back into the wall. JJ resorted to using his mouth instead, lips wrapping around the tip and hollowing his cheeks. John B tossed his head back, harder than he intended, making a somewhat painful contact with the wall. JJ started bobbing his head up and down at a faster pace, only breaking contact once to wet two of his fingers which he circled around John B’s hole.

John B could see the contractions of JJ’s biceps, and almost felt his fingers shaking against him. He was confused at first about what it meant, but soon figured out that he was holding back. JJ had always been the dominant one in his flings with girls, but had never been in this position with John B before. He could tell that JJ wasn’t going as far as he wanted to, that he was restraining himself from taking what he wanted.

John B wanted to know everything that JJ had to give, and acknowledged, in almost a challenge-like way, “You’re holding back on me.”

Within a flash, JJ stood up, threading his fingers through John B’s hair to yank his head back, his other hand keeping it’s harsh grip on his hip. John B whimpered at the sensations.

Looking down on him, JJ demanded, “Is that not what you want?”

John B thought it wasn’t, but seeing him now, and knowing how much darkness he has, there was a fraction of a second where he wanted to change his mind. But the second passed and John B still wanted to see all of JJ, every dark and twisted corner, everything he hadn’t seen before. And he could tell that it was taking a lot of effort for JJ to restrain himself, too much effort. John B wanted him to let go.

He shook his head, voice coming out as only a small whisper, “It’s not what you want either.”

It was like flipping a switch. With force, JJ dragged him by his hair to the bedroom, and once inside, threw John B onto the mattress.

It felt a little unfair, John B completely exposed in front of JJ while he still had his shorts and shirt on. It was getting dark now, the sun having completely set over the water, leaving only the light of twilight to illuminate JJ’s face as he climbed over John B.

He quickly coated his fingers with the lube from the bedside table before shoving them into John B. With his other hand, JJ was tugging his own shorts down and reached for a condom. He had to remove his fingers from John B to put it on, causing John B to squirm in his absence.

Without any forewarning, and barely any time to adjust, JJ was pushing into John B, drawing a small whine from his kiss-swollen lips.

JJ set a bruising pace, leaving John B gasping for air. “JJ-” he choked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” JJ hissed, hand snaking up to wrap around John B’s throat. “You wanted to see just how fucked up I am?”

JJ’s grip was getting tighter, his pace faster, as he kept talking. “Well, Maybanks are only good for one thing, so you’re right. I will end up just like him some day. I already am like him. A fucked up monster.”

“J, no, that’s not-” John B started to say, as he reached a hand up to grab JJ’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” JJ yelled. John B removed his hand like he’d been burned. “Don’t you get it? I ruin everything I touch!”

John B’s face was starting to flush, his head getting fuzzy. He could only concentrate on the cool rings digging into his neck and the words JJ was saying, sounding farther and farther away.

“Have you ever experienced death before?” JJ whispered like a threat next to his ear. “Because I have. I can show you.”

“Jayj-” John B pleaded, using his last reserve of breath. “S..so-south.”

And just like that, JJ was off him, backing himself against a wall as far away from John B as possible. John B took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, closing his eyes until the fuzziness in his head subsided.

When he felt like he could think again, he sat up and looked around the room for JJ. He was crouched in a dark corner of the room, head in his hands, knees trying to block his face.

“JJ,” John B said with a scruffy voice, standing up to walk over to his boyfriend. He slid down the wall until he was seated next to JJ, sure to leave enough room for him to move without touching him. JJ curled into himself even more, leaning away from John B. “JJ, please look at me.”

JJ did as he asked, alluring blue eyes shimmering with tears, a dramatic difference from the dark, intense orbs of only a few seconds before.

“I’m okay,” John B assured.

JJ shook his head, eyes roaming over his hands, and hiccupped, “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t, I promise. I’m okay, I’m right here,” John B told him.

JJ’s eyes were panicked as he scanned over John B’s body. John B followed his gaze, evaluating the already forming marks on his hips and wrists. He was sure that JJ’d left a handprint on his neck, too, which was where JJ’s gaze lingered the longest. “No. I hurt you. I need to leave.”

JJ stood up, making a noise of discomfort as he did so, and hurried toward the door. John B was behind him in an instant and put his hand on the door. JJ stopped in his tracks, taking a step back from John B and looked back at the ground.

JJ was shutting down, John B knew that, and he knew that he had to reach him fast before he went completely under. “JJ,” John B whispered, “Can I… Can I touch you?”

JJ didn’t answer, but he didn’t back away or say no. John B slowly raised his arm, hovering his hand before JJ. “Is this going to be okay?”

JJ nodded, and before John B could fully process it, JJ was throwing himself into his arms, clinging to him like he never had before. He started sobbing, forehead pressed against his chest, and John B couldn’t hold back the tears that slipped down his own cheeks.

“How can anyone ever trust me if I can’t even be trusted around you?” JJ choked out. John B wasn’t sure if he’d heard him right, because he was speaking so quietly, but he thought he heard him ask ‘how can I trust myself?’

John B walked the two of them backwards toward the bed, sitting down as gently as possible. He attempted to pull away from JJ, but JJ held onto him. Tilting JJ’s head up, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then promised, “I’ll be right back.”

John B walked over to put on a new pair of boxers before grabbing the first aid kit, and returned to where JJ was on the corner of the mattress. He lifted JJ’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

It hadn’t been this bad in a while. There were four purple, fist-sized bruises littering JJ’s torso, a yellowish one on the back of one of his shoulder blades, and a cut along the top of JJ’s shoulder down his tricep, not to mention the cuts he’d already bandaged himself over his eyebrow and cheek. John B coaxed JJ out of his shorts, which displayed something even worse.

There was a giant stack of gauze covered by a poor wrap job below JJ’s hip, reaching down the side of his thigh. “J… what… what happened?”

“He uh… he um… uh,” JJ trailed off, swiping at his nose. John B stayed silent, giving JJ time to put the words together in his head. “He called me… he said I was a dirty fag and that anyone who wanted to be with me was lying and using me because who would ever actually want to be around me? And then he made me…” JJ shuddered out a sigh and shook his head. “And then he tore his beer can in half and jammed it into my leg.”

“And you tried to bandage this up by yourself?” John B asked, concern dripping from every word. They both heard the real question, ‘You didn’t come to me?’

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought… I thought you might be getting tired of having to deal with this.” Having to deal with me.

“I will never get tired of being around you,” John B guaranteed. To emphasize his point, John B placed a kiss on JJ’s lips, then both his cheeks, his closed eyelids, down his neck. “I love you, JJ. There will never be a moment when that is not true.” Kissing across JJ’s cut shoulder and down his shoulder blade, John B felt him start to relax. He brushed his lips as delicately as he could over the bruises he found there, then traveled down his torso to do the same. “I love every inch of you. Every corner of your mind.”

“That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard,” JJ said with a small laugh.

John B smiled, looking up at JJ through his eyelashes. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

JJ brought John B up to kiss him, a finger under his chin, pulling him as close as he could.

When they parted, JJ whispered, “I love you too.”

They stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at each other with small smiles for a while before John B said, “Let’s get you patched up.”

•••

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought, feedback is appreciated. :)

Find me on AO3 at the same username.

[motherjoel]

from heaven above (spencer reid x fem!reader)

summary: you go into labor while spencer’s on a case, not answering his phone

a/n: i honestly say penelope garcia rights in my fics fdsbkfna i always give her the spotlight. also idk anything about birth, forgive me

wc: 2.2k

warnings/includes: idk just birth dfjhbfjh

-

Your due date wasn’t for two weeks- Spencer was supposed to be home and you were supposed to have this baby with him. In two weeks. You weren’t allowed on planes, so you stayed with Garcia at the office towards the end of your pregnancy, working from there. You had been sitting in a chair next to her when you felt your water break.

“Uh, Pen?” you asked, looking in shock down at your legs.

“Yes, my beautiful glowing goddess of nature and all things holy?” she asked, eyes still glued to the screen. After you didn’t answer for a moment, still in shock, she turned to look at you with concern. She followed your gaze down to see what you were internally freaking out about. Her eyes widened as she gasped. “Okay, Y/N, wow this is happening!” she yelled, frantically running around the batcave, looking for god knows what.

“I have to- I gotta call Spence,” you said, taking out your phone and dialing the number of your husband. After a few rings, you were sent to voicemail.

“They might be on the jet, oh no, oh my gosh,” said Penelope, freaking out even more than you were.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, uh, I guess it’s a girls day!” you shouted, trying to make light of the incredibly stressful situation.

“Oh, you know I love a girls day,” Penelope replied with a nervous laugh, helping you up and guiding you to grab your bags from your desk. “Move everyone! Get out of the way, mother nature is calling!” Penelope shouted at the others in the office. You laughed lightly at the shocked faces, stopping midway as you faced one of your contractions. 

“Garcia it’s happening!” you said, taking a seat in a nearby chair as you squeezed her hand, riding out your first contraction.

“It’s okay honey, I got you,” she said, repeating comforting words until you were finished. Once you were done, she quickly guided you into her car and sped off to the hospital. The entire way there you were grabbing onto the door handle for dear life, repeatedly calling Spencer and praying he’d pick up eventually. They were scheduled to land soon, but this baby was coming and it was coming fast. You both rushed into the hospital and were immediately put into a room, where you were basically told to ride out the contractions until you were dilated enough to push. You had given up calling Spencer, figuring he’d just call you back when you landed. Penelope, however, decided to call the rest of the team a million times over until Morgan actually answered.

“Derek! Is Spencer there, please tell me Spencer’s there,” she said, putting her phone on speaker. You were on high alert now.

“Calm down baby girl, yeah he’s right next to me,” Derek said, defensively.

“Then tell me why the HELL he isn’t answering his phone!” you yelled as you felt a contraction coming on.

“Oh god,” said Morgan over the phone, you could hear shuffling as he handed it to Spencer.

“Y/N? Is everything okay? My phone died,” Spencer said, worry laced in his voice. You responded by screaming- this was a particularly bad contraction. You were also annoyed at his neglect to charge his phone. 

“It’s happening Reid, the baby genius is gonna pop,” said Penelope, looking at you with concern. You heard Spencer tell Morgan to change directions and drive to the hospital.

“We’re on the way! I promise, I’ll be there Y/N,” Spencer said, feeling extremely guilty.

“Hurry!” you cried, taking the phone from Penelope and hanging up. Your contraction had ended, but they were coming more frequently now and you had little patience.

“Damn girl, you tell him,” said Garcia at an attempt to lighten the mood. You could only offer a weak laugh, already exhausted from the day you’d had.

-

“Derek hurry up,” Spencer said from the passenger's seat, urgently shaking his leg.

“I’m going as fast as I can pretty boy, I promise you’ll be there in time,” Derek said, having already turned on the lights and sirens. JJ and Emily were in the back seat, with Hotch and Rossi following them in a separate car- none of them were going to miss this. Spencer couldn’t help but feel extremely guilty for not being with you. He had tried to stay at home but you insisted he go on the case, him being an asset and a genius and all. 

“I should’ve just stayed home, god I’m an idiot. I should have taken into consideration that 26% of births occur at 37 to 38 weeks, I should've known!” Spencer said, scrutinizing himself. JJ reached up from the seat behind him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Spence, there was no way of knowing about this,” JJ said in her best motherly tone.

“Yeah, Y/N told you to go on the case and you saved lives! Now it’s time to bring one of your own into the world,” Emily finished, surprisingly thoughtful. Spencer just nodded, trying to maintain his sanity.

-

“Penelope, I don’t think they’re gonna make it,” you said, near tears at the thought of your husband being absent for the birth of your child. Garcia smoothed your hair back and held your hand, doing her best to comfort you.

“He will be here Y/N. And hell, if he’s not, we’ll just continue this girls day into the delivery room!” she said, successfully lightening the mood.

“You’d do that? You’d come with me?” you asked, looking at your best friend in awe.

“Of course. Anything for you, my dear. I’ll even push for you,” she said as you went into another painful contraction, squeezing her hand even harder than before. Soon after, the doctor came in to check your dilation.

“Well, it looks like you’re just about ready to push!” she said with a smile. Panic spread throughout your entire body.

“No, no! He’s not here, Penny he’s not here,” you said through tears, looking up at Penelope. Her heart broke at the sight. The doctor looked at you for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but if we wait any longer you migh-” she was cut off by a breathless and sweaty Spencer running into the room.

“I’m here! I’m here!” he said, running to your side and placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead. You grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes- you were positive you had never looked worse, but he looked at you like it was your wedding night. Penelope quickly left to find the rest of the team in the waiting room as you were pushed into the delivery room.

 “Are you ready?” asked the doctor. You took one more look into Spencer’s eyes- eyes that were panicked, excited, worried, and elated all at the same time. You were ready. You both were. You breathed out a quick “yes” before you began to push, squeezing onto Spencer’s hand for dear life. You pushed and you pushed until the doctor told you you could stop. You let out a sigh, knowing that it was only the beginning.

“You’re gonna be okay, we’re doing this Y/N,” Spencer said with a smile. You glared at him. “I mean, you’re doing this. It’s all you, baby,” he said and you reached up to kiss him quickly on the lips before pushing again. You screamed so loud you were sure the entire team could hear you from the waiting room.

-

“She was so nervous, I hope they’re okay in there,” Penelope said, pacing around the waiting room.

“She was nervous? You should’ve seen pretty ricky! I thought he was about to hop out of the car and run to the hospital,” Derek said, earning light laughter from the team.

“I remember when Jack was born,” said Hotch. “I was a nervous wreck, the nurses had to get me ice chips,” he joked, which was rare from him, but the nervous energy warranted it. Everyone was silent for a few minutes, all lost in thought. Rossi spoke up first, saying what they were all thinking.

“I can’t believe the kid is having a kid,” he said, earning a chorus of agreement.

“It feels like just yesterday I was asking him if he ever wanted to have baby geniuses,” Emily laughed in reminiscence.

“And little did we know that when Y/N joined the team, she’d be his angel sent from heaven above,” said Garcia dreamily. Everyone nodded at her dramatics, but overall agreed- you really did save Spencer in his time of need, whether you admitted it or not.

-

With one last push and the encouragements from your sweet husband, you were done- your baby girl was finally outside of you. Only, you felt like something was wrong. 

“Spence, why isn’t she crying,” you asked, tears of exhaustion and sweat dripping down your face.

“I don’t kn- hey, why isn’t she crying?” Spencer panicked, trying to get the attention of a nurse who was frantically running around, paying little attention. He tried to push his panic down as he turned back to your worried face.

“Is she okay, is my baby okay?” you yelled, now crying from emotion. Spencer shushed you and stroked your face, promising she was fine (he had no idea if she was fine, but all he wanted to do was comfort you). After a few moments of intense silence, you finally heard it- the wail of your newborn child. You exhaled in relief, Spencer doing the same. You pulled him down into a hug, the exhaustion from exerting your body making you extremely drowsy. The doctor came over and handed her to you. Spencer stood next to you, his fingers lightly brushing her small tuft of hair. He was astonished- to him, she looked exactly like the both of you (maybe he was delusional from his lack of sleep, because he would normally argue that newborns were wrinkly and unidentifiable).

“She’s beautiful,” Spencer cried, kissing you on the cheek.

“She is, she really is,” you said with relief.

-

After you had spent a few moments alone with the baby, Spencer made his way out into the waiting room where the entire team was anxiously sitting- they stood when they saw him.

“It’s a girl!” he yelled, lifting his arms over his head in excitement. The team whooped and hollered, Derek even lifting Spencer off of his feet in a hug. “You guys can come see her, if you’d like,” he said, the team excitedly shuffling into your room behind him.

“Hi guys!” you said weakly, holding your beautiful baby girl. Everyone quietly walked over to your bedside, cooing at the baby. Rossi reached out his finger and she latched on tight. “Looks like she loves grandpa Rossi already,” you laughed.

“Grandpa?!” he almost yelled, jokingly offended at your statement. The team laughed and Hotch patted him on the back.

“Have you guys thought of any names yet?” asked JJ, who was bending down and grabbing her small feet. 

“Well,” you said, sharing a look with your husband. “Her name is Marie, after Marie Curie,” you said, as if it was obvious. “And her middle name is… Penelope,” you said, earning a gasp from Penelope, her hand on her heart. “The woman who was willing to push this baby out for me,” you laughed. Garcia pushed her way through the team and bent down next to you.

“I am going to love this child like it’s my own. I call the first babysitting gig!” she yelled, looking around at the team with daggers in her eyes (as if anyone was going to fight her on it). 

The team had stayed for a while longer before heading home, deciding to leave the two of you alone. Spencer climbed into the hospital bed next to you, his long legs almost hanging over the edge. You held Marie for the longest time, both of you staring lovingly at her and already planning her future.

“Obviously she’s gonna be a genius, I mean look at the way she grabbed Rossi’s finger earlier,” you said, playing with her hands.

“Well if she takes after you too, she’ll be a beautiful genius,” Spencer whispered into your ear and you laughed.

“Spence, we already have one hot genius in the family, what am I gonna do surrounded by a bunch of nobel peace prize winning supermodels?” you asked, looking up at Spencer with heart eyes. He just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your lips, soaking in the first moments of fatherhood. He was making the perfect family for himself- the family he never had, and he couldn’t have done it with anyone but you.

[shhhlikeme]

hello!! i really loved your hq writing and i think they were pretty spot on! do u mind writing abt a reader who’s basically a first year version of kiyoko (like everyone is attracted to her) and all the first years are just into her but come to find out she’s been dating yamaguchi all this time ? jealous yams maybe? sorry if it’s too specific🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Yamaguchi Tadashi x Really Sexy Yoga Instructor S/O

———————————

A/N: Thank you so much anon! You’re speaking my language with this request😍

It sounds a lot like the first ever request I got here, so this can be seen as a part two, or read as a stand alone. I hope you like it!!!

Not NSFW, but please only read if you’re over 18 y/o.

———————————

Yams, your beloved boyfriend of a few months will be the first to admit that he made a mistake volunteering you to help his volleyball team

About a month ago, Coach Ukai felt as though the team was way too pent up and ordered his players to indulge in some calming activities on one of the no-practice days with the goal of making the team less irritable

The coach found that Yoga would be a great solution

Coach Ukai had read that the benefits of Yoga include but are not limited to: increased flexibility, increased muscle strength and tone, improved respiration, more energy and vitality, maintenance of a balanced metabolism, improved athletic performance, protection from injury, overall relaxation and stress relief.

Ukai thought that yoga was a no-brainer because if Karasuno was going to win the National tournament, then they had to adopt unconventional means in order to get an edge on the competition

Unfortunately, Takeda, the volleyball club’s advisor, couldn’t exactly find the budget to get the entire team signed up for weekly yoga sessions at the big studio downtown

Aw man :(

But fear not! smh

Your boyfriend to the team’s rescue! Great 😑

Thank goodness for your sweet baby 👍🏾 not

He’s just too caring for his own good isn’t he? You wish he’d stop

Because he..... well, lucky for Karasuno, your boyfriend Yamaguchi happily suggested that the team goes to the Karasuno High School’s Yoga Club sessions at the local community centre. The community centre hosts great swim, cooking, and even archery lessons! It would be perfect because it would be within budget and the 7am yoga sessions were always empty, because not many people knew about them.

“How do you know they’re legit? I don’t want my players getting hurt because some kids think it’s fun to twist n’ contort their bodies —“ Inquired coach Ukai. The entire team turned to Tadashi, awaiting his response.

Your annoying sweet man explained that all of the Yoga club members are certified by Japanese Health Standards and they are well-versed in their instructing, it was kind of the point of the club. He was sure the club would love the volleyball team’s company

Your boyfriends’ coach’s face lit up. When Ukai’s next question pertained to how tf Tadashi knew all of this, that’s finally when his face fell

Oops.

He’s so cute He wanted to help so badly he forgot that this could be a bad idea

How did he know all this? Well, maybe because his girlfriend of 3 months, you, run the damn club. And he knows everything about you because he’s whipped.

However, Tadashi couldn’t exactly tell them that was the reason because he is very private and didn’t want to introduce his beautiful girlfriend to guys that were sure to drool over her

Plus he wanted to make sure you weren’t in a daze when he confessed to you, testing whether one day you’ll wake up & realize you made a big mistake

Yamaguchi, quick on his feet, just said that you were his friend and you ran the club.

They believed it obviously, and that’s how it all started

Since there were multiple morning Yoga sessions, Coach Ukai divided the team into years for mandatory session attendance. The first years were scheduled for Monday’s at 7am, the second years on Wednesday’s (same time) and the 3rd years were on Fridays (same time).

You were late to your first session with the boys because even though Yams told you the team would start coming (and to keep your relationship a secret) you were used to being the only one here doing Yoga

You were only slightly startled when you opened the door to your beloved studio and saw Karasuno volleyball’s first years: Tsukishima, Kageyama, Hinata and your beautiful man Yams sitting down on Yoga mats patiently.

You cheerily introduced yourself and greet everyone, finding yourself happy to have the company

Yamaguchi was the only one to verbally greet you back, because the other boys were staring at you with what you would deem odd expressions

Yams noticed his solo greeting too and looked over to his teammates. He frowned because he knew the look on their faces and the lack of a voice very well.

How could he not? It was the same reaction he had when he saw you for the first time he was sure you came out of his wet dreams

You are so hot, and now his fellow first years were noticing

Yams pouted inside

Anyway, the same way you didn’t notice when Yamaguchi had that stare when you two met, you just got straight to business, setting down your pink yoga mat and water bottle and explaining all the rules.

It’s a good thing yoga sessions are supposed to be silent with only the sounds of the rain forest playing loud through the rooms speakers because I don’t think the boys could have spoken anyway

You did basic yoga stretches and had the boys follow your every movement

As you showed them the simple beginner poses, Tadashi caught Hinata and Kageyama sneaking glances at your figure with heavy blushes on their faces

If Tsukki thought you were attractive, which omfg did he ever, he didn’t show it in the slightest

Yamaguchi was happy to call him his best friend

The quick-attack boys could not say the same

Like the schoolboys they are, they relished in seeing a gorgeous female’s flexible body easily contort in front of them

Tadashi noted that, for two of the most intensely competitive people he knew, the two were peculiarly a little TOO happy with not doing any of the yoga poses correctly, he could guess why

You, still clueless, walked around the room to help the boys get into correct positioning platonically, the way every Yoga instructor does.

Tadashi on the other hand, was doing so well and you badly wished you could kiss him whenever you moved his body but you were respecting his wishes to keep you two a secret

Kags and Shōyō almost had internal panic attacks when you touched them or got close

They weren’t the greatest with girls but they were especially bad when one of the prettiest and fittest girls they’ve ever encountered was touching them and whispering in their ears to ‘turn like this’ ‘open up a bit more’ because of how quiet yoga should be

The combustion train has left the building! Choo choo 💨

You laughed when volleyball duo boys started shoving each other when Hinata fell out of a pose and landed on Kags

Tadashi’s eyes narrowed because he selfishly didn’t want you laughing at anything those boys did. Nevertheless, he shook it off

Maybe it will get better once the initial shock of your hotness wears off, Yams thought to himself when he left Yoga that morning.

Sure, because that’s how it worked with Kiyoko right?

Yeah, right. The following Monday you were still hot and the boys were still drooling over you.

At real volleyball practices and at lunch time Yamaguchi has to constantly hear the team (minus Tsukishima) gush about how attractive you are and how it wasn’t so bad waking up early in the morning if you were the view they were getting up to see

Now, Tadashi would definitely describe himself as a pretty calm guy......as would anyone who knows him......

But hearing his friends gush about you like you weren’t the smartest, most creative, genuine, conscientious person...... just an ideal body and gorgeous face not that they would know evoked jealous emotions deep within him

On dates with you he would inquire about the other volleyball yoga sessions you taught and you would tell him truthfully that your class of 3rd years were always fine, well behaved and very quiet because they were too busy fantasizing about you in their heads to talk dkm

and then you told your boyfriend that 2 of the second years were pretty flirty take a wild guess who? But that the one boy named Ennoshita got them to simmer down and then stop with the comments completely

Tadashi made a mental note to do a favour for his future captain

He was beginning to get irritated with the way these strong amazing athletes that he looked up to were reduced to goo when his girlfriend came around

He knew it was irrational to be so upset because he was sure they would chill out if they knew she was his girlfriend but

He just wasn’t ready for that yet.

So he endured the comments because even though the team was full of hormonone-crazy males, they never were vulgar or disrespectful in their remarks that was saved for all of their dreams and shower time

Either way,

None of that could stop the locker room talk.

“Did Y/N teach you guys the puppy dog stretch too this week?” Chirped Nishinoya as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The boys nodded. “Man is she s-m-o-k-i-n-g or what?? Don’t you think so, Asahi?”

Yams looked over from his locker to see the quiet and timid Ace of the team unable to help sporting a blush and nodding in agreement to Nishinoya.

Tadashi did NOT like this conversation. He took to chugging his water in order to distract himself from saying something he was sure to regret

“I-I really like Y/N’s yoga pants. They’re really cool!”

Kageyama rolled his eyes at Hinata's comment. “Of course you do, Boke.”

“Keep dreaming short stack!” Hollered Tanaka as he hopped in a super man pose on top of a bench. “For I will one day marry Y/N!”

Uncontrollably, Yamaguchi’s entire liquid contents in his mouth drenched Sugawara’s back in a spit take. Everyone laughed.

Let’s just say Karasuno’s vice captain made Yams do laps until his legs felt like they would fall off

By the third week, poor Yamaguchi had it up to HERE with the team’s pining after his girl.... be it Daichi’s subtle suggestion to the coach to extend AND increase the amount of yoga sessions, to Nishinoya’s memorization of the exact colour of your lip gloss per session

Yams actually growled under his breath when he heard both I swear to God

Yamaguchi felt like he was going to burst if he didn’t wring any necks first .

The entire team was smitten with his secret girlfriend and it made him insanely jealous. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

You were his. And only his. He wished he never volunteered you to help the team in the first place!

On your dates as a couple, you noticed that Yams was much more tense than he used to be before you started instructing the team. You told him over and over that you would quit this very second because he was so much more important than some silly club. You even suggested easily swapping with your second-in-command as instructor but

He wouldn’t have any of that. Apparently the team was already improving significantly in skill from Yoga like the Coach predicted. You are the best instructor your club had, and his team needed the best.

Plus he knows you love doing it and he puts your happiness before his own

The situation just sucked!

On the final yoga session before nationals, you arranged for the entire team to conjoin in one single morning session that would be longer at two hours instead of one, to go through everything they have learned in a mass session. It was also to make sure the numbers were even because today would be strictly focused on Partner Yoga!

The crows filed in to your studio, excited to see you and set up as usual

You walked in and told them about the partner yoga, and before they could volunteer to be your partner and upset your boyfriend, you told everyone you already had a partner and gestured toward the studio entryway:

Kiyoko walked in with a wave at her introduction and she spread her yoga mat next to you facing the class

They said 😳😳😳😳🤯🤯🤯🤯

The entire room was silent. Everyone minus Tsukki and your boyfriend combusted. Like they were done

Remember that combustion train? Yeah it just arrived at its destination: Nosebleed Central.

The boys’ little minds couldn’t fathom two extremely hot girls in compromising, stretchy positions that would look anything but innocent in their male minds

It was kind of a dream come true

You didn’t care that they were acting weird and you started the session, telling the boys to pair up and follow yours and Kiyoko’s lead

Even Yams started to feel hot and bothered at the sight of the multiple positions

he always felt horny watching you instruct yoga but he was able to satiate his lust by reminding himself that you told him you want to sleep with him when he was ready, even though you were taking it slow. he’s always blushing so none of the guys ever thought anything if it

Satiating himself with that thought again, though, flew out the window as an option because you just looked too incredibly hot in partner positions. It got to the point where he wanted to kick Kiyoko out so you could practice these yoga positions with him

He wanted to be the one to put your leg on his shoulder as he pounded into your heat, not Kiyoko no matter how hottttttttt it was to look at

Suga used his fingers to flick Tadashi on the forehead to get his attention away from his secret girlfriend and back to the yoga positions he should be trying with him

“Dude.... trust me, I know, and I agree...” Suga nods in understanding as he glances over at the beautiful girls once more. It takes a good amount of effort for him to peel his eyes back to Yamaguchi. “But we have to do this. Try to pretend they’re not as hot as they are.” He gives your bf a thumbs up for encouragement

Yams didn’t smile back even though he commenced yoga again like his vice captain requested. Yams just wanted all of this to be over so he could somehow sneak you into one of the abandoned rooms in this community centre and take you right there.

Since Kiyoko was only there to demonstrate the positions and not join the class because she had other commitments, she had to leave pretty early

You went around helping everyone like you usually did, and now you definitely noticed how red all the boys’ cheeks were. Yams couldn’t even look at you the entire time he did yoga with Suga and you started to wonder if you did something wrong. Hm.....

Yams couldn’t look at you because he was using every ounce of his restraint to keep from jumping your bones

Before long, Y/N’s final yoga session was nearing completion until you realized that you had forgotten to demonstrate the final pose when Kiyoko was here.

Glancing at your boyfriend who was giving you the cold shoulder, you timidly asked if anyone minded being your partner to demonstrate—

Like zoo animals, all of the boys volunteered!!! You yelped because of how loud they got in the quiet room in a split second.

Does it matter who you choose?

Yamaguchi felt himself boil over in jealousy. These boys were throwing themselves at the woman who means everything to him, and that was enough to drive any man to the brink of insanity.

While the boys bickered about who would be your partner Hinata and Nishi already started the Rock Paper Scissors tournament, including the usually collected captains, Tadashi briskly made his way towards you with purpose. Without even thinking about it he cupped your face with one of his hands and tilted your lips towards his for a deep kiss.

You felt your knees weaken at the intensity of the unexpected kiss from the love of your life.

Yams wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you steady when he felt your knees weaken.

You two barely heard the collective gasp in the room...

...Nor did you hear Tsukki mutter a flat “I knew it.”

When you finally pulled away from your boyfriends perfect lips, you were still drunk off the kiss while he remembered where you two were

With an aura of manly confidence that could only come from the overwhelming satisfaction of giving into the animalistic urge to claim your mate in front of other males, Yamaguchi turned to his team. Shoulders back and confident, he smiled smugly

“Did I forget to tell you all that Y/N is my girlfriend? I’d appreciate if all the endless comments about how beautiful she is would cease to exist, at least around me. She’s very much taken. Oh, and I, ONLY I....will be her partner. Thanks.”

Ok can you imagine how fucking sexy shy Yams would look being strict, intimidating and completely territorial over you? 🤤

Karasuno’s team was stunned into silence before Nishinoya started a slow clap applause like they do in the movies.

Only Tanaka joined in with him. The rest of the team is not that lame

You, on the other hand, got so turned on by your boyfriend display of protection and jealousy that you muttered that class was over and you used your hand to turn Yams attention back to you. You got on the tips of your toes to pull him into another passionate kiss again.

You loved it.

Seeing this side of him stirred up a lot of emotions in you and you couldn’t help but ask your boyfriend if he wanted to skip school today. Your parents weren’t going to be home for 2 days and you had the house to yourself.

With half lidded eyes that only served to turn you on more Yamaguchi agreed.

I hope he knows that he was in for a really long and pleasurable day and night.....you were about to put those years of yoga training to good use, and your boyfriend couldn’t be luckier.

[killian-spey]

Death Would Be Kinder [Ch. 2]

Prev. Ch.

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2276

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. This chapter takes place during [BtVS S2:E15]

TW/CW: violence, kidnapping, chains?

AN: Idea came from @prose-for-hire ‘s submission to the fic title game. Taglist is at the bottom, let me know if you want to be added!

You’d been sitting silently, watching Spike wheel himself back and forth across the factory. If you didn’t know better he looked like he was pacing. In reality, he was probably checking behind the pillars and corners of the factory for any sign of your friends. It seems the vampires were expecting Buffy to come looking for you. As the time dragged on, your suspicions became reality; Buffy had prioritized the threat of the Judge over saving you. You had to admit, it stung a little, but it was only logical.

Spike peeked his head into each doorway adjoining the main factory floor. You could tell he was getting restless. You contemplated your odds carefully before you decided on taking a calculated risk.

“You lose a sock?” you yelled.

“Did I what?” Spike wheeled back into the room, an odd expression on his face.

“I asked if you lost a sock.” You paused, his intense glare caught you off-guard. “You know… Because of all the pacing. And popping your head in and out of every room in the place. Somebody’s going to think you lost a sock.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He chuckled a bit before going quiet again and stalking around the factory in his wheelchair. You nodded to yourself, deciding to quit while you were ahead. After that, the only sounds left in the factory were the spinning of wheels and an occasional bumping of door frames and frustrated curses.

It had only been a couple hours of his pseudo-pacing before Angelus and Drusilla stumbled their way into the factory. Spike took one look at the state Angelus was in and hid a smirk under his hand by scratching his nose.

“Well, you’re home early. Slayer hasn’t even tried swiping the girl yet.”

Spike’s good mood vanished as he watched them come down the steps. Drusilla was beside herself, and for a moment you found yourself feeling bad for her. Then Angelus opened his big fat mouth and you remembered who these people were.

“Yeah, well things didn’t go exactly according to plan, Spikey.” He prowled the room, circling like a big cat before he gravitated towards you. Your nerves peaked and you swear you saw a glint of pride behind Angelus’ eyes as he heard your heart pick up. He stepped within arms’ reach of you and sneered.

“What I can’t figure out is, why would she abandon you like this?”

“Where’s your big blue friend?” You swallowed your anxiety and stared up at him in challenge, you weren’t going to tell him a goddamn thing. Might as well give yourself a fighting chance. If he figured it out, you were dead already. You were going to be careful, of course, but that didn’t mean you were going to let him win.

Angelus roared, grabbing your face by the jaw. He was suddenly wearing his game face front and center. ‘Buffy really rattled him, huh?’ You remained stoic, as statuesque as you could muster. If you had misjudged his mood, this might be one of your last moments alive.

Drusilla had floated her way over, leaning into Angelus and hugging his arm to her side. Your staring contest interrupted, Angelus pulled away from you. You took the free moment away from the spotlight to run your fingers against the grain of the armrests, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of the wood underneath you. Your panic was bubbling to the surface, tension and pressure building in your ribcage. You caught Spike’s knowing glance towards you as your eyes flickered between the vampires. You dropped your eyes to the floor, frozen as Drusilla subtly coaxed Angelus away from you. Before long, Angelus had stormed out of the factory again, mumbling about sending Buffy a message.

You were grateful and more than a little stunned. Drusilla saved your life. In her own, subtle way she’d dismantled Angelus’ rage and directed it somewhere else. She’d spun him out of the factory towards Buffy with little more than a subtle flirtatious gesture. You practically gawked at her as she made her way into Spike’s lap. She had these men wrapped around her finger and they didn’t even know it.

Well, maybe Spike knew, but he certainly didn’t mind. He was running his fingers through Drusilla’s hair, comforting her as he spoke.

“If you like the hostage so much, maybe you should have a little fun, Ducks.” He wrapped an arm around Drusilla’s waist to steady her as he wheeled towards you, continuing. “She was supposed to be the distraction for the Slayer, after all. That is what went wrong with the plan, wasn’t it?”

Drusilla lifted her head, gears turning as she looked between Spike and you. Your mind rushed with your fears of what she was contemplating. You didn’t put it past them for ‘playing’ to mean something rather unpleasant for you. Drusilla hummed under her breath excitedly, springing from Spike’s lap and practically skipping out of the room. Spike nodded at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say “Hey look, I fixed it!” and wheeled himself into a good position to watch from, a smug grin on his face.

Drusilla returned with two fistfuls of chains and your heart dropped. She fussed with them somewhere behind you and left the rest in a pile as she ducked off again to the other room. Spike flicked his eyes between the chains and his girl curiously, but said nothing as she flurried about the factory. When she returned, she was holding a long carrying case and a small over-the-shoulder bookbag. She dropped them beside the chains and left again without a word.

“Ducks, what is all this stuff?”

Spike called out to her and wheeled over to the bags. He unzipped one when she didn’t answer. You couldn’t see into the bag from your position and Spike’s exasperated reaction didn’t help you either.

Drusilla returned one final time, holding a large blank canvas in each hand. The left was maybe a 20”x24” and the right was maybe a 24” square. (50cmx60cm or 60cm square).

“Which one does the artist like best?”

You paused, unsure if there was a right answer. After a couple moments you pointed weakly to the left canvas. Drusilla smiled at you and put the square canvas down. Spike scoffed as Drusilla set up an easel from the carrying case and put the bookbag on a table beside it.

She dragged the chains over to your chair and kneeled, carefully untying the knots around your right leg. You studied her face; she bit her tongue lightly as she worked, pulling at the ropes with deft, perfectly manicured fingers. After she’d untied your legs and shackled them, she let your arms off the armrests.

She took your hands in hers and pulled you up to stand for the first time in almost a day. You scanned her expression and glanced backwards towards the easel, then back to her with trepidation. She glided you in front of the daunting white canvas and left you, sinking backwards and sitting in Spike’s lap.

You stood, dumbfounded at the prospect of Drusilla wanting you to paint, of all things. She seemed unimpressed by your inaction after a few moments, and had begun whispering into Spike's ear. He'd leaned into her, pulling her closer and snickered at what must have been a rather amusing comment. He flicked his eyes at you through his lashes, a predatory glint flashing behind his eyes as his smirk grew. He straightened in his seat with satisfaction, head held high.

“Paint for the lady or get eaten. Your choice.”

Drusilla’s eyes wandered back to you and provided no comfort, but then again, why should it? You turned back to the canvas, feeling both their eyes staring at you. A calming breath later, you assessed the materials on the table.

The canvas bag she'd brought had a full set of oil paints- far nicer than you'd ever been able to afford. You didn't dare think of the poor shopkeeper she'd probably killed for them. A person just like your Uncle. He was just another obstacle in these people’s way, and for that he was murdered. You shoved the paints to one side of the small table and began assessing the tools. A somewhat rudimentary selection of spatulas and brushes. You could make do just fine with these.

You set up a palette with some blue, red, white, and black to start. A color palette often was the first thought you gave to a painting. This painting would be mostly blues, purples, and grays. Without turning your head, your eyes flicked towards the vampires just off your left shoulder in the periphery. You had never really let anyone sit and watch you paint. It was hard enough showing a finished piece to someone other than family.

You mixed a deep lilac and raised a palette knife to the canvas. You paused, unsure where to place the landscape. The creeping feeling of being watched was throwing you. The white snow canvas was taunting you, paralyzing you. But you weren't about to let it win. Any of them. You closed your eyes and just swiped the palette knife confidently in a bold first stroke. Now you had a puzzle. How does this fit into a landscape? There was no going back now, it had to work.

It was a mountain slope. The hue you used was suitable for a distant fixture seen from a twilit glade. You could lean into that, thinking on how to keep the morbid whimsy of the piece consistent as a theme. You blocked out the clearing and plotted out the forest behind and around it. It fell silent in the factory as you worked, only the scraping of palette knives and brush strokes echoing in the room. Pieces fell in place as you added gnarled willows at the tree line, white ghost pipes and fungi crawling on the foliage, and sickly green fireflies in the weeping branches and crooked thorn bushes. You didn't like how the overall feel of the piece was so damp and dreary. It felt too muted, too blue for what you'd envisioned. You added nettles to the glade in a redder purple, almost magenta, to tie the piece back into the mystical tone you wanted. A few more touches, a ray of silver moonlight here or there, and you stepped back. You contemplated the piece, for some reason feeling unfinished. The glade felt completely untouched, too alone by itself.

You almost jumped when you heard Drusilla shift off Spike’s lap behind you. You froze, dropping your gaze to the floor, unsure of her intentions. With three clicks of her heels against the concrete flooring, she stopped just behind you. So close you would have felt her breath on your neck if she were human. She leaned forward and pulled your hair behind your ear. She placed one hand on your shoulder and raised your head with a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes back to your work.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s not bad, actually.” Spike wheeled forward a pace or so to take a closer look at it. Drusilla still seemed to be waiting for your own answer. You studied it again silently.

It did feel telling, in an odd sort of way. It was invisibly and indescribably alive, despite the darkness and isolation. Could be a good metaphor for vampires... Alive and free only after their own deaths. Sure, they may not exactly live up to society’s expectation of a good neighbor, but you couldn’t say they let being dead keep them from living.

Still, the painting felt unsatisfactory, felt incomplete. You shook your head and pondered. You drew up a couple new colors, a ghostly blue and a red-brown clay. You loaded a palette knife with the clay tone and hovered over the painting, indecisive. The central piece as of now was a large, twisting willow on a small inclined mound of earth. The whole painting felt like background to an invisible subject. Nothing tied the eye to the painting, there was nothing to follow. No movement in a living place.

Drusilla took the palette knife from your hand and set it down. She pulled you lightly to step away from the painting, lightly petting your hair.

“Let it rest, you’ll do more later. With a clear mind,”

You let a heavy sigh escape your lungs. She was right. If you kept going now, at the end of your rope, you’d risk doing something that detracted from the painting entirely. You jerked your head up at a loud scraping sound from above you. Angelus had swung the door open on the mezzanine of the factory. He had a vicious grin and a playful look in his eyes, leaning on the guardrail and looking down at the three of you.

“Did you have fun with the Slayer, then?” Spike called up to him.

“Oh, she makes it so easy!” Angelus threw himself at the spiral staircase and rushed down them with glee.

“I barely had to lift a finger to throw a wrench in her little puppy problem.”

Drusilla twitched her head and glided towards him. She was staring at his face, fixated on something you didn’t pick up on. She swiped her thumb across the corner of his mouth and brought it to her own lips.

“Did you bring any home, Angel? I taste a young one on you.”

“Not today, darlin’. Besides, you have that one.” Angelus gestured to you and sauntered off, calling back as he left. “She wasn’t really any use anyway.”

[Next Chapter Soon!]

Tags: @prose-for-hire @soggy-enchilada @misselsbells06

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

you got a fetish for my love, i push you out and you come right back

summary: the softest man in the world is in love

warnings: nick is a warning. how dare he. smut. smoking (but we’re trying to get him to stop). some of that daddy shit bc ugh, that beard.

word count: around 5,320

pairing: nick vaughan x reader

a/n: let me tell you, it is weird writing nick one second, the softest, sweetest man, and then switching over to ransom, aka satan.

“You shouldn’t be smoking.”

The man with his back to you turned around, arching an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

You brought your hands up to your waist, looking as confident as you could possibly make yourself look. You didn’t have a mirror on you, but you would bet it wasn’t very convincing. “Um, second-hand smoke. Third-hand smoke. Not to mention what it could do to you.”

Moving closer, he took another brief drag. “And what’s that?”

You huffed. Really? You were going to reach way back into your 8th-grade health class memories for that. “Lung disease, it can cause cancer, like, everywhere, heart disease—”

“But you’re already taking care of my heart, angel.”

You fell silent at that, frowning.

He continued to close the gap between you. “What else?”

“It’s bad for your skin,” you asserted, tone firm despite how close he was getting. “Causes wrinkles.”

“That so?”

You nodded, refusing to step back as he stopped mere inches before you. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re my father.”

He smirked, dropping his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it with the toe of his boot. Boots that were far too expensive to be stepping on cigarettes with. Hell, he shouldn’t even have been outside with them. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Your gaze moved off to the side and finally, you stepped away to create some distance. ‘You said you were going to stop, Nick.”

“I know, I’m trying.”

“Try harder. I’m being serious, okay? People die—”

He moved back in front of you and took your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze up to his. “I’m working on it.”

“If you really care about me, you’ll stop.”

“I’m gonna stop,” he promised. “Soon. Come on, don’t give me those eyes.”

He loved your eyes. He had to have told you about a hundred times by now, claimed he liked the innocence in them that never seemed to die out. No matter how many times he took you up to his hotel room and fucked you in every filthy way he could think of. Sure, it was pretty sick sometimes, but he always touched you so softly, whispered the sweetest things to you, and held you afterward.

Your eyes could make him do just about anything, he would often declare. Except, apparently, stop smoking.

“Come on, I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms, pulling out of his hold. “You’re only sorry you got caught.”

“No, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“And don’t be sorry to just me, be sorry to yourself. I think you need healthy lungs for your music career, right?”

He lifted his eyebrows, still amused at how serious you were being. No one in New York took smoking seriously.

“Also, you ever stop and think about what would happen to me if you weren’t here?” That was a little on the sneaky side. You knew that there was the overall scenario of you being lonely, but he would soon start to think about how that would mean you would be with other people.

He scoffed, feigning calmness. “No, I don’t. I don’t want you to, either.”

You didn’t need to hear it, you knew he could connect the dots. “You are forcing me to.”

“Angel, what’s all this about?” he wondered. “Why are you being such a brat?”

“I’m not being a brat,” you immediately protested. Even though you knew he didn’t mind, there was just something in you that twisted at the thought of being bratty. You were not trying to be argumentative even, you were just worried.

“You want daddy to spank you?”

You looked around with wide eyes. Not that anyone in New York had the time or interest to listen to anyone else’s conversations, but still, this was private. “Nick.”

He tsked. “Nick?”

You sighed, casting a look around. “There are too many people here.”

He chuckled. “No one’s listening, angel.”

“I’m not being bratty,” you muttered. “I’m just concerned about you. Since when is that a crime?”

He smiled, reaching his hand out for you. You didn’t waste any time nearly wrapping your entire body around his arm. “What do you want?”

You were not getting away this time, he was also in a mood. Evidently, since he usually spoiled you to the point of letting you get away with “misbehaving” if you apologized or feigned discomfort.

“Take me upstairs, daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper, but it thrilled him to no end that he’d managed to get you to call him that outside of the absolute comfort of the bedroom.

Nick liked you feeling safe with him. He’d never met a more trusting soul, someone almost naive. However, it had taken him a long fucking time to get that sincere trust from you. He picked up on the body language, the things you wouldn’t say. That was why he could give the date for the night you finally let him fuck you with the lights on, the night you finally stayed with him until morning, the night you finally gave him your number because he had convinced you to sneak away from your dad to meet him at the hotel and you had to get back home but you still wanted to talk to him. He could give the date for the first morning you woke up and put on one of his shirts, the morning you let him eat you out for the first time, the morning you let him fuck you against the hotel window.

He wrapped his arms around you and started to lead you inside. It had been almost a year now and you were obsessed with Nick. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he was kind and gentle, but also passionate and sometimes a little rough when he knew you wanted him to be. It was never mindless, hard fucking. Even when he made it hurt, he held you so close, so tight, his eyes would remain on yours the whole time. He would wipe away your tears and continue bucking his hips. He would whisper to you, coo at you, and make you fall apart until you were so exhausted you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

You were pretty sure you were in love with him. He would be the first. Sure, there was your first boyfriend who you had wanted to be your first for everything. He’d given you a promise ring and told you that he wanted to wait until you were his wife. That one didn’t end well. Your third boyfriend, you thought that one was real. You’d had sex with him, and then he completely disappeared. To this day, you had no idea where he was. But you knew now, those things you’d felt for them, they were so small, so weak. What you felt for Nick was consuming, you felt like every inch of you belonged to him, like you were made for him.

In the elevator, with an elderly couple, an older man, and a party of four younger women that looked like they were on their way to a club, Nick had his lips to your ear. “Angel, I’m gonna fuck you until you’re crying. You know I love those sounds you make and the look you give me when you just can’t take anymore. When your beautiful, little cunt is used and aching and dripping with my cum. But that’s only after I have you on the bed, wet, squirming, begging daddy to make you feel good.”

You felt like you were on fire. If anyone heard, you would be mortified, you would never be able to leave your house again. Things like this were supposed to be private, between the people who were doing it. Nick had the audacity to make some of it almost public. You would admit that there was the tiniest bit of thrill, but most of it was fear and panic.

He touched the side of your face and you startled a little, one of your hands coming up to settle over his forearm. “Jesus, you’re beautiful and so fucking…innocent.”

You were not innocent. You weren’t even sure what he meant by that. Ever. When he said it, you were confused each time.

“The thought of your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock, trying to take all you can because you’re so good to me, those eyes staring up at me…”

You swallowed thickly, eyes moving to the elevator buttons. How many more god damn floors were there? The elevator stopped again seconds later, and the elderly couple got out. Fewer people but you still didn’t feel any less nervous.

“Afterward, your sweet, tight pussy will be dripping. You know how wet you get after you suck my cock.”

Embarrassingly wet. He was fascinated the first time you’d done it, then he laid you out on the bed and when he made the discovery, he ate you out until you could barely remember what year it was.

“Then I’m gonna have you on top of me, angel. You’re so good at it, I swear you were made just to ride my cock. Remember what you were begging me for last time?”

You remembered and instantly felt your skin burning all over again.

“Maybe I’ll fuck your—”

The elevator stopped on your floor and you rushed out. The group of girls was also getting out, creating some time for you to get away from Nick and breathe. He was always intense, and he never stopped pushing you. You didn’t necessarily hate it. Really, you knew you liked it, but you could never admit that to him, his behavior would just get worse.

He found you with your back pressed against the door, waiting patiently for him. He’d been staying here for several months; he had the same room because he’d wanted to give you a key. For emergencies, he claimed. If you ever needed a place to get away, even if he wasn’t home. It had only happened a few times, he wouldn’t say a word when he would find you bundled up in his bed. He would just join you under the sheets and make you come several times, at least.

He set his hands on your hips and you looked up to him. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

You woke up that morning just knowing. You were in love with Nick and you were terrified. You didn’t want to be in love, not with him. With his music career taking off, he couldn’t want something serious. You figured this was just him wasting time. When he was an established name, he would go out and find himself a proper partner. It wasn’t you, this shy, small thing with no backbone, terrible parents, and no solid plans for your future.

But why ruin a good thing? You wanted to let it last while you could. You smiled at him and shook your head. “Nothing, really. I missed you.”

He smiled back. “I missed you, too.”

You didn’t live in New York with your father, but you had been visiting a lot more frequently. Your father was thrilled about it, thrilled enough not to want to question it. Your mother took it as an insult and didn’t ask a single question about why. It was honestly the perfect crime.

It had only been three weeks since you’d last been with Nick, you were allowing for less time to pass in between the nights you spent with him. You once went a month and a half, how unimaginable that felt—you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. You would go crazy without him being able to touch you for six weeks.

“You could stay,” he pointed out. “Here. With me.”

You scoffed. “No, I can’t.”

“You could apply to NYU, I’m sure you’ll get in. You could start building your life over here. If not with me, why not live with your dad?”

This was getting serious and you were worried this conversation would wreck everything. Nick thought he wanted something, but only because he was scared. You didn’t want to uproot your entire life for something fleeting.

“I don’t want to talk about this tonight,” you said quietly.

“Okay. But we will. Later.”

You nodded—a lie. You wouldn’t even be with him much longer. You had breakfast you’re your dad and then you would be on a flight back to your mother’s. “Yeah.”

Smiling, he asked, “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

You shrugged. “I don’t want to talk.”

He hummed. “No? You don’t have more scolding to do?”

“I can wait,” you teased. Your eyes flit to either side just to make sure no one was around. “But right now, I just want you to touch me.”

He bent down just slightly to pick you up by your thighs. You eagerly wrapped yourself around him and pressed your lips to his, kissing him like it’d been years.

He struggled to open the door, but you didn’t seem to mind that you could get caught at any moment, you seemed completely distracted by him. That was his goal, make your time here so good that eventually, you just wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Finally, he managed to get you inside the room. You had it all memorized, even with your eyes closed you knew exactly where he always was. He was leading you down the hallway, past the kitchen and the living area, to the door at the end of the walkway. Past the bathroom, past the dresser full of sheet music and records.

He laid you out on the bed delicately, pulling away so he could stare at you. You moved to pull your skirt up, but he caught your hands in his. “Not yet.”

He started at your feet. He pulled off your shoes and began kissing your calves, a touch that felt so distant through your tights.

You whined. “Daddy.”

“You’re going to be patient, angel.”

And that was that. You never argued with him, rarely disobeyed. You were perfect, you were good. You were, as he so fondly called you, an angel that did everything she was supposed to do. Not just for him, but for everyone. He knew that about you, knew that you never liked to make trouble for anyone. Even your dad, who had been almost completely absent during your childhood, off chasing his current wife. Even your mother, who was mean, unsupportive, and childish. You were sweet as could be, well-behaved, soft-spoken, bright-eyed, and glowing. He thought you were perfect.

Biting your lip, paying close attention to how much you were moving, you watched in near silence as he continued to press his lips up your legs. As soon as his eyes flickered up to yours, your heart was pounding. There was a lot about Nick that you just didn’t understand.

You could look at yourself in the mirror and understand why people thought you were pretty, but of course, you did not think as highly of yourself as Nick thought of you. Alternatively, he could not do the same. He could not understand why you liked looking at him in the mornings, why you liked to trace his features with your fingers, why you spent so much time just kissing his face whenever you got the chance. You were baffled that he could look like that and not know what he did to people.

He blushed a lot. When you accidentally told him, the first time, that you thought he was beautiful—never again would you drink wine with him—and now, all the deliberate times after that. Because unintentional or not, you meant it and you wanted him to know. When you would take him in your mouth and he had his hands at his sides, leaving you to control everything, and when you took so much of him that you would gag and choke, he was permanently flushed. When he played for you, forget it.

He was at the hemline of your skirt and started pushing it up, kissing at the insides of your thighs. You bit down harder on your lip as he continued up, up, up until he kissed your pussy. Over tights and your panties, it was still good enough that you shuddered. You could feel his beard, some random hairs managing to poke into the open spots of your tights. It was a feeling that reminded you of being home, not with either of your parents now, but when they were still together in your first home. Nick was comfort and security, he was warmth and so much raw emotion.

You brought one hand up to press your fingers to your lips. You were so wet that you could feel the material against you was damp. He always knew how to do that to you, how to get you so wanting. And the neighbors always knew when you were there, they would play music because you were so embarrassingly loud, not that he was ever considerate about that. You just wanted to pretend you had some dignity, at least for a while.

He kissed across your thigh and up the side of your hip, back across until he could kiss down the opposite side. You remembered you used to hate when he would do this, when there wasn’t a part of you that he wouldn’t at least devote a moment of attention to. You didn’t hate it now, you noticed it made you a lot more confident. You didn’t care how tight a skirt was around your hips or that a skirt was so short that everyone could see your thighs touching. It wasn’t even his goal and it wasn’t dependent on his interest in you at all, but you knew he was the cause.

You often wondered if he looked at everyone like this. It really hadn’t been long, but sometimes you swore he might feel the same about you. You’d always wrote it off as your age, but how would someone his age honestly fall in love with you? And if he wasn’t, why the hell did he look at you the way he did?

“How many lives have you ruined?”

His eyebrows rose and he pulled his mouth away from you. “I’m sorry?”

“You look at me like that, you kiss me like that—”

“Like what?”

You rolled your eyes. Honestly, you weren’t sure how to put it into words. The last thing you wanted to do was accuse him of acting or pretending. That was one of the few boundary lines with Nick that was quickly established—he didn’t like analysis of his emotions. They were his own and he didn’t want anyone to presume that they knew them better than him. You truly didn’t mind. You’d come from a toxic environment of men who would sooner die than cry and couldn’t healthily express their anger if the world depended on it. “You know like what.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He leaned back down, kissing either knee once. “But I won’t make you, I want you to want to say it.”

First time he’d ever taken that route. He teased you a lot, like challenging your views. And he liked those rare times you could challenge his. You’d both talked and talked until you managed to get to this place where you were both completely comfortable with what you were. He had to compromise on how casual this could seem at times, and you had to compromise on how obscenely intimate it was to you sometimes. And though you both compromised, it was still hard to see the other’s point of view. What was he so scared of with ‘casual’? You, on the other hand, dreaded falling for someone who couldn’t reciprocate.

He reached for your tights and slowly pulled them down. Again, he moved to where he was exposing skin and scattered kisses all over you. He deliberately got as close to your pussy as he could without ever touching you, several times, and enjoyed that you gasped and shivered each time.

He didn’t pull your underwear out of his way before he finally kissed you there. He went on like this, curious to see just how much you could take. You tried not to ask for more, to feed into his ego, and you succeeded for several minutes. You could feel his tongue and his lips, the texture of your panties was slight stimulation, but as time went on, you craved him more.

When you finally broke, your eyes were filled with tears, your hands were shaking as you reached for him, and you couldn’t form a single coherent word. Instead of pulling your panties down and eating your pussy, he moved up your body and removed your sweater and your bra. Again, he was kissing you all over, but you could hardly focus on anything other than your throbbing pussy.

“Daddy, please,” you whimpered.

He moved his mouth up until he could kiss your lips. He settled down on the bed beside you and pulled away, sitting you up a little. You took his cue and shifted up on the bed until you could rest on the headboard.

You watched as his hand reached for you, holding your breath until he was sliding one finger into you. “Fuck, daddy.” Your hips bucked almost immediately, silently begging for more. He added a second finger and you turned to hide your face against his chest.

He curled his fingers slowly, focusing on the sounds you made, the way your body would tense and shudder, and soon enough, he’d found that blissful spot that he knew made you see stars.

You clumsily reached for his pants, taking far too long to get your hands on his thick cock. You felt yourself get so much wetter, remembering just how big he felt inside you. Not that you were experienced when he’d found you, but taking his cock had been so delightfully painful and you kind of liked that he was the first man really stretching you out like that.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the side of your face. “Watch my fingers, angel, watch me fuck you with them.”

You turned down, paying attention to how they moved, and the wet sounds from your pussy. You slowly moved your hand along his cock, wanting—but too shy to ask for—him to cover your body with his cum. He preferred finishing inside you, he liked letting it drip out of you and then filling you back up all over again.

When your breaths turned shorter and your moans became louder, he knew you were so close. He moved his fingers faster, brought his thumb down to your clit. Your whole body was shaking, and he could feel how desperate you were because your hand around him tightened.

“You wanna come, angel?”

“Please, daddy,” you blurted out. “Please, please make me come.”

He pulled your hand off his cock and kissed you when you made a noise of protest. His opposite hand never even faltered as he explained, “Daddy’s coming inside you. Keep begging.”

“Please, I want to come, daddy. I want to come on your fingers, I want you to get me wet enough so my tight, little pussy can take your huge cock.”

“What a filthy mouth, angel. Where’d you learn to talk like that? Been watching the videos I’ve been sending you?”

“Yes, daddy. I watch every single one and I touch myself, thinking about how much I miss you inside me.”

“You have no idea how much I miss having your pussy wrapped around me when you’re gone.”

You finished with a sharp cry, using your free hand to try to push his touch away, but he was so much stronger than you. Add to the fact that you really didn’t want him to stop, if you could stay there in bed with him, feeling that for the rest of your life, you would.

You almost instantly rolled over on top of him, kissing him as you moved up his body until you were straddling him. He set his hands on your hips, holding you steady as you slid down on him. As you adjusted, he let his hands wander to your breasts. You were still shaking, panting, trying to come down from your high but you were addicted to pleasing Nick.

You rolled your hips, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You needed to see him naked, coming here without seeing all of him would be an absolute waste. He helped you get the shirt off after a moment and your hands roamed all over his torso.

He took your hips again, using his hold on you to pick up the pace just a little. You let your head fall back, he would want to watch your body anyway. You brought your arms back and rested your hands on the mattress around his legs. He had to fuck you just a little harder from this angle to see your breasts move with every thrust, but you were okay with that.

You always knew when he was close because his fingers would dig into your skin and he always did everything he could to get as close to you as he possibly could. This time, he sat up and pulled you up so your chest was flush against his. You continued bouncing up and down on his cock, mewling and whimpering because you knew he loved those sounds.

“Are you close, daddy?”

“Yeah, angel, keep going just like that.”

“Tell me when you’re really close.”

He faltered for just a second, processing your odd request, but did not argue.

You set your hands to his face, dragging him in for a kiss, open-mouthed, tongues, moaning obscenely for one another. As he was distracted, you unwound his arms from your back and held them flat on the mattress by his forearms.

“I’m close,” he informed after turning his head just slightly, breathing heavily on your skin. “I’m so fucking close.”

You started moving quickly, pulling off of him and crawling back down the bed. He was stunned silent until you bent down and took his wet cock, messy from your pussy, in your mouth. You’d only just closed your lips around him when both of his hands settled on the back of your head to hold you down. He only needed to jerk his hips up a few times before he was filling your mouth.

He kept you there until his high had drifted away, and you never once complained. You swallowed the cum that you could, but some of his had slipped out of your mouth, and sucked softly until he let you up.

As soon as you were sitting up, he was wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on top of him. Still trying to catch his breath, it was clear that he wasn’t letting you go for quite some time. Because no one would expect Nick to want to cuddle after sex.

And because his brain was not functioning at its best, he was simultaneously attempting to kick off his pants and pull the sheets over the two of you. But you weren’t there to be unsupportive, you simply laid on his chest and tried not to laugh.

After he’d managed it, which had to have taken about five minutes, he turned off the lamp on the bedside table and stretched over to do the same on the other side. He once again wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. “Fuck, I love you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, so all you did was lay there. He didn’t miss a beat, he just started running one of his hands through your hair and then nothing. Not another word.

Fuck.

You only woke up because Nick was moving around so much. As quiet as he tried to be and as softly as he tried to move out from under you, he always failed at it. When he realized he’d woken you up again, he froze.

You grabbed one of the pillows and yanked it over his face as you climbed out of bed. You didn’t want to have to get up because that meant that you would soon have to leave. You grabbed your phone out of your bag on the way to the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed. Nick loved seeing you walk around the room naked, and that was why you always ignored that nervous nagging feeling that told you to cover up.

“Sorry,” he called out.

You didn’t respond.

After you brushed your teeth, you opened the door. You heard him moving around the bedroom as you were performing your simple morning skincare routine. He always did that, just waited until you were done so he could get in. He liked making you watch in the mirror.

And right on cue, Nick entered the bathroom, stopping just inches behind you. You didn’t turn, you merely watched him in the mirror and waited. He wrapped his arms around you, and you noticed the single red rose he was holding. He started at your lips, letting the flower trail down, then over your nipples, and down just above your navel.

You shivered when he pulled it away, offering it to you. With a smile you were looking down to hide, you took the rose from him.

He kissed the side of your face, arms wrapping loosely around your waist He pressed one hand to your stomach, and you were reminded of how much you loved his stupid hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last night. I know it was…a lot.”

Yeah, it was. You’d built it up in your mind as some terrifying thing that you would never want to hear, especially from him, but when he said it, it just wasn’t like that. When he said it, it made you feel safe. It made you feel loved. “But did you mean it?”

“Only if you’re not going to run away.”

You finally looked up in the mirror, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I won’t.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“And maybe I love you back.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you confirmed. “And maybe I’m even considering staying.”

He perked up at that, turning you around quickly to face him. “Tell me what I need to do or say and I will.”

You brought the rose up and set it to his lips, smirking again.

He narrowed his eyes.

All you did was shrug. “Not sure yet, but you have all day to convince me.”

“I thought you were leaving today.”

You set the rose down on the counter. “Changed my mind.”

He was beaming as he picked you up and sat you on the counter. “That means you’ve already decided to stay.”

“I never said that.”

“I’m not letting you leave. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile. “I have to go home, you know…and pack.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled. “Probably a good idea to let my mom meet my daddy.”

“Please don’t make those jokes in front of your parents.”

You snorted. “Oh, now you want to be a gentleman?”

“Always am, angel. Open your legs and I’ll prove it.” He spread your thighs wider as he got down to his knees. He pulled you to the edge of the counter and with his eyes on yours, he took your pussy with his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “But this means you have to stop smoking.”

He pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you. “Now, seriously?”

You buried both hands in his hair and pulled him back in.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo @kleohoneyao3 @cevans-fics @gotnofucks​

[oftenderweapons]

Illicit Affairs — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 11.2k

Genre: Smut. A tiny little bit of angst and fluff too but. Smut.

Rating: 18+

Hi bumblebees! Thank you for staying with me so far and for being so kind with hey works and my continuously shifting schedule.

Quick plot! Hoseok and Giggles have just met: Giggles was the substitute for Mickey’s vet and she helped the doggo and Hoseok during an emergency, however the hour they spent together was enough for Hoseok to develop a quite intense crush for the young woman. He decides he wants to invite her to a date and picks his apartment as the location, going out of his way to try to impress her. However, the elegant dinner miserably crashes once his poor nerves abandon him. Fortunately, Giggles can take the reins, but is also willing to give them up at the right moment.

Special thanks to beta extraordinaire, @hobiandsprite​ I really love you. Please, don’t be sad and let those giggles out every now and then.

Moving on to The Big Stuff.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, swearing. Basic BDSM training, Sir!Hoseok x sub!reader; safe sex, briefest mentions of masturbation (male and female), grinding, humping, making out, lots of tongue action, food play (and very messy one at it), cum play, cum eating, mild choking kink, one (1) breast slap, mild fetishism (panties, perfume/smells). Hoseok is overall very controlling, especially while he’s giving her basic training. There’s some sort of exhibitionism (if you like,,,, squint). Also Hoseok is a neurotic mess, Giggles is also quite tense and both like each other a lot, which leads to a few moments of weakness here and there. Mentions of vet emergency (don’t worry, Mickey is doing alright, he was just suffering from the hot temperatures).

Here you can check my full masterlist

Enjoy 💜✨

Jung Hoseok was nervous.

He was tense, palms sweating, nape drenched in perspiration.

He was a ball of nerves and he had never felt like this in a long time. Maybe ever since his first performance in the U.S.

Not like the day of their debut, but close.

And all of this for a stupid date.

He just wanted to know you, see if the image he had built of you actually corresponded with your actual personality.

He cracked his neck and shoulders, pacing back and forth, wondering if it were a good idea having you at his place.

After all, you were Mickey’s vet. He could be safe with you, right? You wouldn’t expose him now, would you?

It was the first time he ever brought someone in his home and he was way too nervous to feel comfortable.

He immediately picked up his phone.

“Jung. Hoseok. I don’t even know why I picked up this call. Why aren’t you getting prepped and polished for your date?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet and gravelly from the other side. It was seven pm, he shouldn’t have been sleeping, Hoseok mused, shaking his head once he realised Yoongi was spending the weekend with Kitten and the two had probably been dozing off on the sofa all afternoon.

“I think I fucked up. I like this apartment, I can’t jeopardise my home.” He panicked, finally losing his cool.

Yoongi inhaled and groaned as he stood up, leaving Kitten alone to rest undisturbed. “She seems a kind person. A smart one too. Just talk to her.”

“You know I suck at talking!” Hoseok whined, combing his hair off his forehead. “I don’t know why I want to impress her so bad.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Because you have a crush on her.”

“But I don’t even know her!” Hoseok protested, sitting on the sofa for a second before standing up again.

“That’s the key ingredient of a crush. Once you start getting to know her, you either grow out of it or fall in love.”

Hoseok cocked his head and toyed with his earlobe nervously. “Do you think she’ll like me? I mean, she looks so sweet, and so innocent and I can’t even imagine her being into—”

“Don’t judge. Strange fits sometimes work. Think Jimin and Princess. Seokjin hyung and Angel. They work. Strange, I know, but they do.”

Hoseok exhaled.

“Stop pacing. Don’t be too hard on yourself. First date is always a bumpy road. Maybe you’ll find out she’s not your thing and all these worries will be gone by the end of the night.”

“What if I like her and she doesn’t like me?”

Yoongi softened. “It’s all part of the game, Hobah.”

Hoseok nodded. “I have to go see if the chef needs help.”

Yoongi grinned. His friend was really going out of his way. Once, all he wanted were hotel rooms and quiet, curvy brunettes with so many sins they had officially given up on heaven at least a lifetime ago. “No matter how it goes, I’m sure you’ll find someone right for you.”

Hoseok nodded curtly before realising his friend couldn’t see his reply. “Thank you, Yoongi.”

“Sweep her off her feet, Casanova.”

With a bubbly laugh, Hoseok interrupted the call, headed to the private kitchenette. “Can I help you in any way?” Hoseok asked, still keeping his hands on his stomach, trying not to touch anything that could possibly cause a disaster — which considering the setting and his poor cooking skills meant everything.

“It’s okay. I can take care of everything. Don’t worry. Relax.” The chef almost wanted to take a second to pat the younger man’s back. He was probably six years his senior but the stress of a first date was timeless.

And the poor guy was sweating disastrously.

“Okay, then I’ll go check the table.” Hoseok murmured.

“Already settled. And the cake  is waiting in the fridge. It’s still too hot for it.” The chef replied as he turned off the stove since the sauce for the noodles had reached perfect texture. “Maybe a small glass of soju could help?”

Hoseok shook his hands in panic. “Oh, no. That would make it all worse. Why is it so hot in here!”

He walked away from the kitchen, once more staring at the table near the wide floor to ceiling windows. The view would soon turn stunning, the Han river running like a pitch black road, cutting the city in two, Itaewon lighting up in the distance and emerging like a glowing mirage against the night sky.

What if she’s scared of heights?

He banged his head against the wall, pacing again, texting the group chat.

HS: “What if she suffers from vertigo?”

SJ: “You didn’t place the table by the window, did you?”

Hoseok tugged at his hair, undoing a button on his shirt. Why was everything so fucking hot?!

HS: “Should I move it? I have ten minutes! I can move it.”

TH: “Don’t. You can place her with her back to the window if she feels uncomfortable.”

JK: “You’re such a loser, hyung. Relax, it will work out.”

HS: “DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX YOU UNGRATEFUL RASCAL”

JM: “Okay, let’s calm down. Personally I would feel even worse with my back to the window. You can move to the coffee table. It will feel more informal and you will FINALLY GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS,

JM: “she probably just wants to chat over fried chicken while you’re going to make her uncomfortable with all that finesse.”

NJ: “Gotta agree with Jimin on this one. She’ll simply want to chat. You’ll want to chat and get to know her.”

YG: “I told you it will be alright now stop spamming.”

HS: “AND I SUCK AT CHATTING”

JK: “yeah, you kinda ramble”

JM: “not helping Guk.”

The doorbell rang.

Fuck.

He pocketed his phone and headed to the door. “Yes?”

“Uhm… It’s confusing here, I think you need to pick me up.” You said anxiously over the intercom.

“I’m coming. Wait in the foyer.” He slipped on his shoes and got in the elevator, cracking all the joints of his fingers as it descended, going through the process again once he had cracked them all. He dumbly wished he had more fingers.

The door opened and there you stood with your back to him, your shoulders covered by a messy tumble of hair.

“Hello?” He called, making you turn around immediately.

His stomach turned upside down when you hit him with your sweetest, most radiant smile as you faced him. “Hi!”

He felt dumbstruck. You looked adorable, way too pretty for him. Way too incredible for anyone in the universe. “Hello.” He repeated, feeling a nervous smile constrict his face.

It almost looked like a grimace. For a second you thought you had somehow disappointed him. Maybe your dress was too informal? Were you too underdressed?

Staring at his outfit, you realised you were.

“You look very handsome.” You flattened your dress nervously, aware of every movement you made, feeling ridiculous.

“Oh, thank you.” He emitted the most neurotic laugh. Pull yourself together, Jung Hoseok, he innerly scolded himself before gesturing to the lift. “Shall we?”

You nodded, your glee completely lost. Staring at your dumb flats, you approached the opening doors and entered, Hoseok following suit.

You both stayed silent for a couple floors. “How was your day?” You managed to find the guts to ask.

“Uhm… Okay, I guess? My family came to pick Mickey up the other day so it’s been very quiet and a bit lonely.” He smiled but he looked sad.

You nodded. “Pets really change the whole feeling of home.”

He noticed you pressing your hands together before your lap, tucking your elbows against your sides as you tried to shrink yourself enough to disappear. You knew you should have bought a nice dress for this. You cursed your childish tastes and your sweet saffron dress, too demure and cheap for him. You had maybe spent 30,000 won on it, probably the equivalent of his shoelaces.

Screw that — obviously even his shoelaces cost more than that.

You started sucking at your lips, frowning at yourself for messing up your lipgloss. Out of nerves, you started twisting slightly side to side, your dress moving slightly with the motion, your eyes still focused on your shoes.

He was intimidating. Why in the world did you accept a date with him? He was way out of your league! All it would be was one date you would remember someday in your old years, annoying your grandchildren with that one time you had dinner at one of the most incredibly powerful and famous artists of the world.

Hoseok surreptitiously dried his palms against his trousers. He looked at you. His stomach turned again. He wondered how he would manage to eat all that food. All he could do was look at you and take in the cute freckles, that peppered your nose and cheekbones, and your arms too.

“You have freckles.” He noted absentmindedly, a thought unwillingly turned into speech.

You turned your head to him, batting your lashes confusedly. Was it a good thing or a bad thing?

“Yes.”

“You look like a strawberry.” Jung Hoseok, what the fuck.

You frowned. Again, was that good or bad?

“No one has ever told me that before,” you replied with a tense giggle.

He cocked his head at the sound. That was sweet. He liked that. Could he make you laugh like that again? “And you look very pretty in the dress. That shade of yellow really compliments you.” He confessed, feeling his whole face blush.

This felt like his first crush, when he would hide behind corners not to face the girl he liked, and when he would hide his face because it made him feel strange to be looked in the eye by her. She was way too pretty for him.

Thank the heavens, you thought as the doors finally opened on his floor.

He was drenched in sweat. He could literally feel the back of his shirt stick to his skin. He hoped you wouldn’t notice.

He smiled again, this time more relaxedly as he led the way. The lighting was perfect, the deep night sky splashing its colour over Seoul, the billowing darkness of the Han, the magical glimmering of Itaewon, like a flock of fireflies in the distance.

“Goodness gracious,” you exclaimed, walking toward the window and looking out, completely ignoring the table. “This is… It’s like flying.”

He smiled and let his shoulder sag in relief, his elated exhale cooling his heated chest. “I was panicking because it kind of hit me that you could be scared of heights. Like one of those last minute panic thoughts.”

You turned to him to comfort him. “It’s—”

You noticed the table. You noticed the gargantuan quantity of bowls and dishes and plates and cups spread all over it.

Suddenly it all made sense.

“Was this supposed to be a formal dinner?” You asked, your whole face scrunched in perplexity.

He froze in utter confusion. “Just dinner.”

“Are you okay?” You asked, looking as his left eyelid started pulsating with small flutters.

He hurriedly placed his hand over it, turning his back to you. “Yeah, just… Hot weather, blood pressure...”

You walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was drenched. “Jung Hoseok,” you called calmly.

You could feel his heartbeat get three times faster.

“Hoseok. Turn around,” you told him sweetly, rubbing his shoulder-blade softly, completely ignoring the way the fabric stuck to his skin.

He turned to you, still cupping the left side of his face with both hands.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, feeling the ridge of his shoulder with your fingertips.

He nodded shyly, giving you the smallest pout.

“And you got a full meal for this? Were you trying to kill me by overfeeding me?” You asked with a tiny smile.

“I— I didn’t know what you like and I hired a chef so we could have excellent food here at home and—”

“This wasn’t necessary, you know that right?” You rubbed your thumb against the muscle and bone of his shoulder. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate it, but it seems like you went maybe… slightly out of your way for this.” You noticed more details, like the flowers and the candles and… wait, he hired a chef? There was another person that would take part in your date as a silent, distant viewer?

“Is it too much?” He asked, frowning and grimacing.

You offered him a lopsided grin and tipped your head to one side, then to the other, back and forth in a so-and-so gesture.

He covered his whole face with his hands and collapsed on the sofa. “Shit, I fucked up so bad.”

You crouched down before him, making sure that the dress didn’t expose too much of your thighs. “It’s okay. Would you like to have a formal dinner?”

“I just wanted to make a good impression.” He whined, tugging at his hair once more.

You touched his forearms, trying to ease his tension before realising that you were technically strangers and maybe he didn’t like being touched. You scolded yourself for your over-tactile approach, and your dumb habit of treating everyone like abandoned puppies. Embarrassedly you placed your hands on your lap, his face raising to meet yours as he felt your fingers leave his skin. Had he done something wrong? Had he made a fool of himself one more time, without even knowing?

“You already made a good impression—”

“I wanted to confirm it!” He wailed exasperatedly.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you tried to calm him down. “We can walk this walk or do something more low-key. More... relaxing,” you suggested, smiling easily, calmly.

He could feel himself calm down. “Would it disappoint you if we just… I don’t know... ate some noodles over a glass of soju and beer?”

You giggled. “That would make me ecstatic.”

“Let me go call off the chef then.” He stood to his feet. “Thank you so much.”

You shrugged and beamed at him. “No biggie.”

In two minutes the chef came out of the kitchen, bowing at you while you still sat on the sofa. “Good evening. I wish you a good meal. I hope you’ll enjoy the food.”

“Thank you for your hard work! I’m sure I’ll enjoy it!” You replied politely and warmly, watching the man collect a bag from the entry room and bow to Hoseok as he accompanied him out.

“He had already finished cooking.” Hoseok exhaled. He looked ten years younger and significantly less stressed. “The meat had already been grilled, it just needs to be warmed up in the oven.”

“You mean there’s more food?” You asked, eyes wide in terror.

He started shaking his hands in equal fear. “We don’t have to eat that too. Maybe just a couple short ribs?” He wondered.

You stared at the rice and side dishes on the table. It was probably four times what you normally ate, and that was without considering his half of the table. “You have glass noodles?” You asked, and he nodded excitedly at your interest.

“With aubergines and mushrooms and pork belly?”

You felt your mouth water. “Can we have those though?”

He smiled excitedly. “The chef was stir frying the vegetables so we would have to finish that.”

You shrugged. “I can do that while you go get changed, if you’d like. Wear something fresh and cozy.”

He looked around nervously.

You immediately realised what was wrong. How could he let a stranger wander through his house? And he wasn’t just anyone. He was a celebrity. A famous person. What if he thought you would sneak through his private spaces and sell information about him to the press?

“Uhm—”

“Oh my god. No, it’s okay. Who would let a stranger stay in their home while they’re in the shower. Dumb me. Sorry.”

He blinked a couple times. “It's the first time I have invited someone in my house, except for my close friends.” He looked down and smiled, his cheeks shooting up in a complicated mix of sadness and joy. “I'm nervous because of that too.”

You nodded. “I know it could sound dumb to say but I care about you. And I'm not interested in gossip and press and all of that. I will respect you and your home. It's basic human decency,” you said, sitting next to him. “I only suggested you go get a change of clothes because that cannot be comfortable and I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted out of that.”

He looked up at you with big, soft eyes. “It would really be okay?”

“Yes, it would, Hobi.” You flinched at the nickname. “Hoseok. Sorry.” You wanted to tear your own tongue off.

However, just as much as you felt disappointed at yourself for the small slip, he felt warm about you calling him by a nickname. He wanted you to say it again. And again. And well… again but in other ways.

“I'll be back in five minutes, just to rinse off and get comfy.”

You nodded. “I'll wait here and then we'll get the noodles ready.”

Hoseok felt extremely relieved once he changed his clothes. The loose linen joggers felt like a soft cloud around his legs, air already circulating better against his skin. And the satin shirt made him feel classy and casual at the same time.

He was pleased at the comfort-looks ratio of his outfit and exited the room confidently. He was further reassured once he found you scrolling through your phone, sitting there innocently, smiling at him once you saw him appear.

“Okay, ready to go?” He asked, standing in front of you, all set to accompany you to the kitchen.

You nodded and took his hand as he helped you up. “Let’s go.”

He smelled amazing, like anise and patchouli. Something sweet and manly at the same time. It suited him perfectly.

Standing a bit too close after he tugged you up, you surreptitiously tried to sniff him, your eyes falling shut once the vaguely honeyed fragrance met your nostrils.

He observed you as you stood there, clearly entranced. Heat crept up his cheeks as your breath tickled down his neck: he was slowly becoming aware of your presence, of the warmth that your skin radiated, of the way a strand of your hair skimmed his arm.

“I like your perfume,” you whispered.

He felt his knees grow vaguely wobbly, a swoony, shy smile stretching his lips.

The moment you opened your eyes, you realised his face was just a few inches away from yours, his blush visible in high definition right before your eyes.

He looked so incredibly, adorably embarrassed. “Thank you,” he replied quietly, almost afraid of breaking the spell of the moment.

Your eyes met his, and for a second he hoped you would get on your tiptoes and kiss him, but you casually turned around and started walking away, turning to him only to ask about the kitchen.

Trying to keep his delusions on the low, he led you to the kitchen, where all you could see was the tidy chaos of creation.

A few bowls were piled neatly in the sink, together with lined up utensils. You let him show you the several drawers and cabinets, explaining where to find a frying pan for the vegetables, the noodles already cooked and marinated in the secret sauce the chef had prepared.

All he could do was stare as you easily made your way through the motions, the main dish of your meal ready to be served after a few minutes, the vegetables keeping a crispy texture while the noodles hit a chewier feel once you mixed the two together.

You set both on different bowls and offered them to Hoseok. “I’ll put a couple short ribs in the oven.”

He nodded and reached the dining table, frowning at all the food spread there in cups and plates and dishes and bowls.

His disappointment was short-lived.

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmured gently, completely incapable of keeping yourself from tracing his spine in between his shoulder blades.

You watched his back straighten, the glossy satin glimmering at the shift of muscles and tendons underneath.

You wanted to see that again. No shirt on, next time.

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, trying to awaken yourself from your fantasy.

He set the bowls down and you sat in front of each other, thanking for the food quickly before you started chatting about which food was where.

The meal went on calmly while you talked about your family, your job, and the pets you had visited during the day. At the same time, he explained some of the undercover dynamics of his job, like all the training and briefing and preparations necessary before interviews, photoshoots, or even something as basic as a public appearance where all they had to do was stand and look pretty for the photographers. He teased the theme of the Run episode they had just filmed — which was almost fifteen episodes ahead to the one that had just been aired.

You chit-chatted for a long while, your conversation resembling the sound of chirping birds thanks to Hoseok’s naturally melodic intonation of speech. He was lovely when he stumbled a bit over his words, the ridge of his ears scarlet with embarrassment once a slip of tongue had him making a lewd allusion you caught with a mischievous grin he couldn’t quite catch since your eyes were glued to the table; he had been too busy being ashamed of his freudian lapsus to actually notice that you had enjoyed the reference.

He was saved by the sound of the oven beeping, telling him that the ribs were warm and ready, which made him excuse himself.

He returned just a minute later with more soju and beer, asking if you were okay with the serving or if you were full.

The smell was so inviting you let him convince you.

No matter the large dinner and the several dishes, you managed to eat way more than what you thought, only a quarter of the table remaining untouched.

“Okay, maybe we could pack up the leftovers.” You suggested, standing up once your conversation hit a natural pause, comforted by the feeling that Hoseok no longer felt like a stranger to you.

You helped him, easily getting acquainted with his living room and kitchen. It felt nice to get gradually more independent, enough that you could easily help him up with the containers and that you could assist him with organizing the tupperware in the fridge.

It was all going okay until you were standing in front of the open fridge, ready to close it when his hand landed on yours on the handle, holding the door open. He leaned against your back, grabbing a paper box from the top shelf.

“Sorry,” he spoke quietly, all chirpiness gone.

Shivers propagated from your spine to your limbs, your brain suddenly struck by the feel of perspiration coating your inner thighs. You felt wet and you weren’t sure if it was sweat or actual arousal.

His perfume came in again once he stretched to reach the box.

Hoseok’s attention moved to the mole on your neck as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “Careful, it’s heavy,” he said, giving a quick look at your lashes, at the freckles peppered over your cheekbones, your face turned to the side, ready to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

His hand was hot against yours, his back light and solid at the same time.

He parted from you, feeling disappointed with the fact that he had to move, biting his lip as his arm struggled keeping the box upright.

You caved slightly as cool air replaced the warmth of his chest, still feeling the phantom presence of his touch.

“Let’s go back to the living room.” He bit his lip, grabbing another bottle as you almost ran from him.

You weren’t okay with what was going on. Not one small bit. You were not okay with the idea of getting drenched and making a mess of yourself on the first date. You were even less okay with the idea of going back home and spending all night with your hand between your legs, thinking about the mind-blowing sex Jung Hoseok was most definitely capable of performing. With a body like that and years of pilates lessons, there was no doubt he could rearrange your organs as your legs and arms bent to accommodate him and please him.

You were even less pleased by the way you craved to satisfy him. You wanted to hear him moan and whine with his melodious voice. You wanted to hear the symphony of his pleasure, the sound of his cries, the smashing of skin against skin, and maybe the legs of the bed scraping against the floor, the headboard thudding against the wall.

You wanted his perfume on your neck, against your chest. You wanted your thighs to smell like him, the scent of your sex mingling with his cologne. It was primal and visceral and obscure and thrilling.

And then a sick side of you wanted to wake up all the neighbours, let them know he was living the night of his life. And since you could only hope of getting a second chance, you found yourself ready to use the night you’d been granted, if fate would allow you an in to the sinful heaven you were imagining.

After all, you weren’t even sure he still liked you.

As he sat in front of you, Hoseok observed your side profile while you stared out of the window, completely lost in your thoughts, your cheeks reddened because of the alcohol.

He was so whipped for you.

However, he knew the initial thrill would eventually fade and leave him with an adorable, beautiful young woman who could never own his heart or tend to his vulnerable side. It had happened so many times before that he was just waiting for his interest to die down.

Because right as he stared at your dreamy expression, he realised he would never lay a finger on you.

You were far too precious for him to sully you with his dirty paws and devilish ways.

With a sliver of sadness tainting his smile, he placed the cake in the middle, preparing two forks, one on your side and one on his.

“I’ve heard champagne is great with strawberries,” he commented, opening the bottle and awakening you from your daydream.

You blinked a few times. “Oh, just a little or I’ll end up dizzy,” you replied with a small smile. “This cake looks beautiful.”

“I hope you aren’t allergic to strawberries or dairy products,” he mused, lifting up his glass to clink it with yours. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you repeated before answering his questions. “Luckily I don’t have any allergies. Usually I prefer eating fruit and vegetables, but I’m pretty cool with any kind of food.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hoseok replied before realising he’d better never see you again. You were too tempting, too pretty, too gentle and overall too attractive for someone like him. Chances were you would be a bit disappointed but would find a proper date within the next two weeks. Women like you were far too requested and treasured in a city like Seoul.

You were suitable from head to toe. You had a degree, a job, a place to yourself, you were accomplished. And then your innocent looks, your kind manners, the caring side he had the fortune of catching a glimpse of.

You would be taken in less than three weeks. He could tell.

It was a mystery to him how you were still single after eight months in the city.

He found the courage to look up from the dessert, only to regret it immediately.

Your mouth was wide open in an attempt to chomp on a huge strawberry, your lips rosy, your nose smeared with cream.

I shall not.

I cannot.

I should not.

He paused.

Fuck. I will.

He placed down his fork and stood to his feet, your eyes following him as he came to your side.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, looking at his stone-cold expression.

You put your fork down, staring back at him with concern.

His hand moved tentatively to your cheek, laying gently along your jaw.

Turning to him, you stared some more, your chest inflating and deflating rapidly and deeply — which was not lost on him.

Too afraid to look, you closed your eyes as he leaned down his thumb moving closer to your mouth, parted as you found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Your whole world was dark and hot once his breath fanned over your face.

With overwhelming desire coursing through him, Hoseok stared at every single detail, drinking you in with eyes so hungry, like he could swallow every freckle, every mole, every bit of plump flesh and bony edge.

With his hand trembling slightly at the strange position, he dragged his thumb against the tip of your nose, collecting the cream smeared there.

Your eyes opened in surprise at the unanticipated motion, meeting his lowered eyelids, his lovely lashes making an appearance against the fair skin.

And then his thumb met your lips, covering them in sweetness.

“You had cream on your nose,” he said, his eyes never abandoning the curves of your lips.

Jung Hoseok knew he was a sinner already. But with heartbreaking realisation, he knew the next action would deem his fall.

His tongue slipped out of his mouth, guided by a need so deep he could barely control. With the worst intentions, he focused on touching you as little as possible, trying to scoop up the cream caught on the gentle petals of your lips.

What he didn’t expect was for your own tongue to slide out and brush against his.

From there, it was only ruination.

His tongue slid in your mouth, catching on all the flavours of the dessert. It was strawberries. Strawberries everywhere; your freckles, your hair, your shampoo, your dress, he was possessed by them, drowning in a forest of strawberry bushes growing all over him, climbing into his mouth and underneath his clothes.

“Hobi,” you called weakly as he let you go, your body shooting up on your feet as you tried to chase after his mouth, tried to have his arms around you.

He moaned and caught you, placing his forearm against your lower back and holding your cheek with the other. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. “I promised myself I wouldn’t but you’re too hard to resist.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, kissing his jaw, trying to reach the underside of his ear. “Please.”

You tried to calm your breathing by inhaling deeply through your nose, which in retrospective was an awful move since his scent filled your lungs and all you could do was whine in reply, the sound ridiculous and embarrassing to your own ears.

“I’ll do bad things to you, honey. We should stop now,” he said, trying to be judicious.

“Please,” you begged again, rubbing your face against his neck, already trying to cover yourself in his perfume. “Just a kiss, please.”

Closing his eyes, he gave in, following the line of your neck, the sweet mole at the base, drawing your throat with the inner side of his lips.

“Hobi…” You whined once more before receiving a gentle tug at your hair.

“I’m getting there, don’t be impatient,” he growled, making your neck stretch backwards. Once more his tongue slipped out, drawing a line from the hollow between your collarbones all the way to your chin, stopping at your lower lip. “If you’re patient you get a reward, see? That’s how it works with me, sweetheart.”

He kissed your mouth, first delicately, tentatively, trying to feel you open up and give in.

Once you did, he locked your face against his with the hand of his nape, following your body as you walked backwards, reaching the sofa.

“What do you want to tell me, my pretty strawberry?” He teased once he allowed you to let go of him.

“Thank you.”

It was not what he expected, but it made his stomach churn with longing. He needed to please you more, give you more, just to hear those words again.

“You’re welcome, honey. Now, tell me. What do you want me to do, sweetie?” He watched as you sat on the carpet.

You remembered how soft it had felt earlier under your knees. “I wanna make out?” You asked, lashes batting. You didn’t want to sound eager.

“Just make out?” He asked, sitting down in front of you. There was no way he would allow you to blow him tonight.

You looked at him with sparkly eyes. He wanted to dive into them, to feel the magic they held glow inside his body. “Am I allowed to ask for more?” You questioned with the sweetest pout.

“You can ask me anything, honey.” He skimmed the skin of your jaw with the back of his fingers before feeling the hot curve of your neck under his palm.

“Would you think ill of me if I asked for more?”

He shook his head and smiled softly. He would never think ill of you. Not even if you asked him to fuck you for a whole audience of connoisseurs to stare. “You're my cute, little strawberry. I could never think lowly of you.” He cooed.

“What if I wanted you to… to fuck me?” You asked, biting your lip nervously before looking at him.

He thought about the consequences for maybe half a second. He felt awful because, at the end of all the reasoning he knew he would hoard you and every single ounce of pleasure he could coax out of your body.

“Are you sure you want that?” He asked, letting his hand follow the path between your breasts, down to your waist gripping your side.

You licked your lips and nodded. “I'll be so good to you.”

His grin was outright evil. “I know you will, baby.” He kissed your temple. “I need to go get protection if that's what you want. I'll give you a minute to think about it and if you still think so when I'm back, then we're gonna deal with your needy head, mh?”

You nodded, staring at him as he stood up, incapable of not studying his crotch where his cock was visibly tenting his loose trousers.

He chuckled as he watched you stare. “It'll be yours if you still want it later.”

Your eyebrows raised in disappointment as you watched him leave.

So… it was actually going to happen. Did you want it to happen?

What a stupid question! Yes. Of course.

You wanted him and it scared you and thrilled you at the same time.

His footsteps reached the room once more, disappearing once his feet touched the carpet.

“Okay. Here we go, sweetie. Are you still sure you want to have sex with me?” He asked, kneeling and moving your hair off your face, your head reaching his sternum from your seated position.

“Yes, I'm sure,” You confirmed curtly. “Please.”

Oh, to hear you beg. He could cum from that alone. It was intoxicating. And he wasn't even touching you. He could only imagine what sounds you would make once his cock would fill your cunt.

“You want the bedroom—”

“Here. Please.” You shut your eyes tight. You felt like an animal, willing to fuck wherever, and the immense temptation of feeling the plush carpet underneath your back, the city lights illuminating his skin…

Hoseok inhaled.

You were wilder than what you looked and such information aroused him immensely.

“Lay back, honey.” He murmured, extracting three small squares of foil from his pocket and laying them on the coffee table.

Slowly, you lowered your back to the carpet while he kneeled close to you, your legs rotating so that your feet laid right in front of his knees, your legs bent and pressed together.

“That's nice, ____. Lovely,” he said before placing his hands on your knees. “Would you like to spread your pretty legs for me?” He asked, his fingers sliding down your thighs, reaching the hem of the dress.

You looked adorable once you demurely parted your feet to offer him some space between your knees, the hem of the dress moving closer to your lap.

His legs slotted between your thighs and he bent down, reaching for your face. “Such a good girl,” he praised you, cooing once he noticed your cheeks redden. “So adorable.”

On all fours on top of you, you felt the unique shape of his mouth draw your throat before giving a lick. “I bet you taste like strawberries all over.” He started kissing down your chest, rubbing his cheek against your small breasts. “You make me feel like a man starved,” he continued, kissing your stomach, your abdomen, laying one small peck on the fabric covering your belly button.

“Hoseok,” you whined, feeling his hands around your hips.

He stopped brusquely, his body entirely leaving yours. “Now, now, sweetie. What did you just call me?”

You batted your lashes as you stared at him in confusion. “Hoseok.”

“Okay. If you want to have sex with me, honey, that name will not do.”

You stared at him some more.

“I’m Sir,” he affirmed sternly. “The moment you get wet between your legs, I become Sir to you, understood?”

You nodded quickly, breath and brain completely stolen out of you.

“No nodding, my cute berry. Either ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘no, Sir’. Let’s try again. Is it clear what you must call me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He grinned and kissed your belly again, just a bit lower. “That’s excellent. Well done, ____.”

You smiled and placed your hands on his hair, feeling the soft locks as he looked up at you.

He growled at that, your fingers naturally curling in fists as you brought them to your chest. “A very good girl indeed.”

You propped yourself up to your elbows once he lifted the skirt of your dress.

He could barely believe you. “Goodness.”

“At first I thought my dress was stuck on my underwear when you called me strawberry.”

Under the cutest, loveliest, most girlish dress he had ever seen, he was met by another adorable surprise. You were wearing a playful pair of ruffled panties in gingham print, with a small strawberry embroidered on your mound.

“You’re going to kill me,” he moaned, eyes closing before he dipped his head between your legs, studying the patch of wetness on the gusset of your panties, drawing a line from there to your clit, eliciting a moan. “You’re so sweet. And so evil at the same time.” He bit your inner thigh, making you wince. “Can’t believe that song predicted you on my carpet.”

You giggled and arched your hips against his face, your wetness meeting his cheek lewdly.

He inhaled you, completely intoxicated before he came back up, his arms caging your head. “You really rubbed yourself against my face, honey?” He asked with a stone cold expression.

You were afraid again, but that didn’t keep you pussy from clenching around nothing.

“Yes, Sir.” You replied, the respect in your voice nothing but a taunt.

“If you make a mess you gotta clean it, sweetie. Understood?” He asked, grabbing your face and angling his cheek to your mouth. “Clean it.”

“Please, Sir,” you mewled, trying to push your crotch against him, crying out once you noticed his body was too far away for you to find something to grind against.

“Clean after yourself. Now.”

You did as he told you, feeling the salty, bitter tang of your arousal transfer from his smooth skin to your tongue.

“All of it,” he muttered once you stopped after the first lick.

You completed your task, his pelvis lowering to yours as a reward. “There you go. Now thank me.”

Your arms moved around his torso, trying to get him closer, just to brush your chest against the soft, smooth satin of his shirt.

“I said, thank me.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You felt him cave immediately, giving you his hard and lithe body against your chest, your crotch, right in your arms as your legs wrapped around him. You felt crazy, grinding against him like a teenager, ridiculously reminded of how you used to go off by humping a pillow. “Please, inside,” you wailed, your sigh hitting his chest and disappearing underneath his shirt. Once you inhaled, his cologne felt like a bruising kiss, your hips meeting his harder, faster.

“You like my perfume?”

You nodded furiously.

Not again. He violently separated himself from you. “What did I tell you about replies?” He scolded you.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” You looked down with repentance. “I like your perfume very much, Sir.”

“That’s right. Good girl. Now, after I praise you, thank me.” He pushed your dress up as his hand dragged heavily from your crotch to your throat.

“Thank you, Sir,” you replied obediently, watching as he got on his knees and tugged his trousers down, the white boxers underneath surprising you as they outlined his length perfectly.

“You want it out?” He asked, watching as you sat up straighter and licked your lips.

You were almost ready to nod when you caught yourself, Hoseok smiling proudly once he saw you correct your behaviour. “I want it out, Sir.”

“Excellent.”

He lowered his underwear too, his cock standing erect immediately, it fluttered even straighter once you kept looking, your hands touching your breasts needily.

Hoseok stretched to the coffee table, grabbing a condom and tearing the foil open, sliding the latex on quickly and firmly.

“My cute berry, I need you to be very careful about this. You know what a safeword is?”

You shook your head. “No, Sir.”

He momentarily covered himself, needing to get all your focus on his words. “Safewords are what you use to communicate with your partner in a BDSM scene. A safeword means that you don’t like what is going on and you want to slow down or stop. We will use the traffic lights system. If you say ‘yellow’, I will slow down, if you say ‘red’, I will let go of you entirely and help you recover from whatever it was that hurt you, mentally, emotionally or physically. On the other hand, ‘green’ means that you’re okay and you are ready to get back into the scene after a ‘yellow’. If I ask you your colour, you reply with those. All clear?”

“All clear, Sir.”

He grinned proudly. “Then explain to me how it works.”

“If I want to slow down, I call ‘yellow’. If I want to stop, I call ‘red’. If I’m all good, I call ‘green’ — Sir.” You added for good measure, knowing that one too many wouldn’t hurt for sure.

“That’s my good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled as he looked in your eyes. He knew he would remember you forever, even if he never developed any feelings for you. You were by far the most unique woman he’d ever had under him so far.

For a second he observed your cute, frilly undies, wondering if he wanted them off.

No. 

He took his cock out of his underwear, letting the waistbands of his trousers and boxers rest on his mid-thigh.

“Wanna keep these pretty panties on.” He murmured once he laid on top of you. “Tell me if the elastic band hurts you.” He said, moving the gusset aside and testing your wetness with his fingers, spreading the slickness over your folds. “So fucking soft. Dammit. Can't wait.”

He dipped his head against your neck. “You want it?”

“Yes, Sir.” You placed your hands on the small of his back, his eyes closing as he relished in your touch.

“Beg for it.” He murmured, dragging the tip up and down your slit.

You rolled your eyes. “No, Sir.”

“You won't beg?” He asked, looking at you.

You pouted. “Why do you want me to beg?” You asked with a frown.

“I need to know you want me, my sweet berry,” he pouted back. He touched your face giving you a few kisses to convince you. “I want to hear your sweet voice saying 'please', just one more time,” he whispered, feeling merciful, especially after all the ways he had already pushed you.

Your will bent to his. “Please.”

And just like that, his tip entered your warm, tight cunt, a moan exiting his mouth. “Yes, yes, ____. Yes, baby,” he groaned, at which you responded with a mewl.

“Hobi…” You cried, squeezing around him once he bottomed out.

“Don't make me punish you,” he murmured, exhaling raspily. “You've been such a good girl. Don't get naughty.”

“Sir, please.”

He started snapping his hips out, slowly, then in again, one inch at a time, so deep and slow, over and over. “Yes, baby. Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels too good, Sir, I'm…”

He hummed in pleasure, feeling the skin of your neck under his lips. “Too good. My berry, you're so tiny and tight.” His hips trusted in quickly and unexpectedly.

“Holy… Sir, please, again, please.” You squealed, feeling his thumb slide your panties further aside to reach your clit.

He breathed out with effort against your ear as your mouth reached his earlobe. “Fuck, not there, Berry. Not there,” he said, tugging his ear out of your mouth.

“But Sir—,” you tried objecting before his pace became irresistible. While one hand reached the crown of his hair, holding him against you, the other one met his glute, your nails sinking in his flesh. Your breath started coming in short hiccups, leading you to your climax as he outright hammered into you, his back curved away while his forehead stayed glued to your neck.

“Am I fucking you right, ____? Is it good enough for my golden girl?” He growled once he felt you tightening around him more intensely, with longer squeezes.

“It's perfect, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” you reacted readily, shaking your head as pleasure started overpowering you, trying not to hurt him.

“Cum, my sweet berry. Show me.”

The hiccups of your breathing started turning in tiny whimpers, then squeals.

You were ready to bury your head in the ground and never come back because you knew what would come next.

The squeals turned into an uncontrolled cascade of giggles. Giggles.

Hoseok picked his head up at the curious sound, only to see your palm covering your mouth in an attempt to bottle the stupid reaction.

Hoseok smiled through gritted teeth, going faster, harder, deeper now that he understood that the sweet gurgling laugh was due to your orgasm peaking.

He pinned your hand away from your face, basking in the desperate joy of your bliss before he felt himself ready to blow.

“I'm gonna slide out now,” he warned, making sure that your high had faded and your body laid limp and drained underneath him.

Your body relaxed against the carpet, your eyes closed, your lungs still working hysterically to give you back some oxygen after the ruthless fit of giggles. You whimpered once you felt him pull out.

“Look at me, honey,” he called, making you prop your upper back on your elbows as you looked down, only to be met by the sight of Hoseok slipping off the condom. “Let me cum on your cute panties, mh? Can I? I promise I'm clean, I can show you the—”

“Do it,” you replied, giving him official permission.

“Really?”

“Really— I mean, yes, Sir.”

He smirked and started pumping himself furiously, his expression frantic as his tip pressed to your mound and he came apart, his hot seed drenching the red and white cotton, an animalistic growl making his whole chest shake.

You welcomed him in your arms once he collapsed on top of you, right hand smeared in slickness. “I’m gonna call you Giggles.” He said, kissing your mole, the precise spot where he could feel your blood run underneath the skin, the hollow just under your earlobe. “It was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

You felt your whole body blush. “It’s so stupid but I can’t stop it.”

“Don’t stop it, it’s adorable.” He sniffed at your hair, “you still smell like strawberries.”

“Must be my shampoo.”

“Fuck. So good.” He sniffed some more. “I thought it would kill me earlier, by the fridge.”

“I thought you would kill me.” You said, feeling his neck with your lips. “Your perfume might be aphrodisiac.”

“You’re too tempting.” He chuckled. “I might need another round.”

“I can’t believe you actually fucked me on your living room carpet.” You said, combing his hair as he still regained his energies.

“Aren’t you happy?” He asked, suddenly panicked.

“No, I mean. I’m… I’m really happy. I’m just… incredulous that this is happening to me.” You replied with a surprised laugh.

“Maybe I should give it another go to make sure you actually understand what’s happening.”

“Would you mind helping me understand on the dinner table?” You batted your lashes cutely and paired that with an angelic smile.

“Are you even real?” He touched your face with his clean hand, giving you an inquisitive look. “You appear, all cute and innocent and then you want me to get you all dirty and filthy?”

Your smile widened. “The other ones were a bit scared by this side of me.”

“I won’t be scared of your needs, Giggles.”

You blushed again and hid your face.

“No hiding,” he reprimanded before rolling on his side, leaving you some room to obey the orders he was about to give you. “Keep giving me those sweet giggles,” he said, tracing your belly with his fingertips before trying to tickle you.

The effect was immediate. You clenched your legs and slapped his hands away from you, the torturing sound parting from your lips in a series of childlike gurgles. “Stop! I’m gonna mess up!” You screamed, trying not to stain your dress or the carpet. “No! No! Wait! Yellow!”

At that he took his hands off you immediately, your body laying on your back breathless.

“You good, Giggles?” He asked, voice drenched with worry.

You nodded, still panting.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He questioned, watching you move your head in confirmation.

“Okay.” He looked at your dress, trying to find a zipper. “Should I—”

“Start with my underwear, please?” You asked, your breath laboured due to arousal rather than exhaustion.

He nodded and licked his lips as he slowly tugged your panties down, careful about keeping his release from touching the carpet or your legs. Once the garment unhooked from your ankles, he folded it carefully to keep the wet fabric tucked in.

“Kneel, Giggles.”

You followed his command blindly, watching as your hands slid up under your skirt and tugged your dress up, his palms meeting your ribs and dragging the fabric upwards, past your breasts, then up against your armpits and backwards to your shoulder-blades, slipping the the neckline past your head.

Dress off, he let it fall distractedly to the floor, his eyes going from your face, to your hair, to your nipples — sinfully rosy — following the line leading from your breastbone to your belly button. He kissed the first piece of skin that met his lips, someplace where his heartbeat felt like a drum, like the bass coming from an old boom box. It was so comforting in a way he barely understood.

He needed room to think. “Get on the table.” His voice was once more stern and distant, especially once you watched him grab the opened foil containing the tied up condom, then stand up and leave.

You followed his direction nonetheless, standing awkwardly by the table, watching the cake and stealing a strawberry since the orgasm had awakened a certain sweet tooth in you. You dipped the strawberry in cream and brought it to your lips, relaxing just a little after you heard the water run in the kitchen.

He was probably washing his hands.

You took you time licking up the cream, only to start chomping down on the incredibly large fruit right after. That’s when Hoseok appeared.

He was shirtless now, the garment dangling from his spindly fingers before he laid it neatly against the back of the couch. You stopped mid-bite.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt your snack, go on, honey.” He licked his lips and gave you a steamy look before going to the table and pocketing the condoms left. “Is it good?” He asked, walking to stand right in front of you.

You felt slightly unnerved as he seemed completely indifferent to your naked body.

“Sit on the table,” he ordered

You frowned and hesitated.

At that, he let his hands hover over your hips. “Shall I help you with it?” He asked, giving you the chance to avoid his touch before laying his fingertips delicately on your skin. “Gimme a colour, Giggles.”

“Maybe yellow.” You bit your lip, insecurity getting the best of you.

He moved his hands to your face, suddenly turning comforting. “Quick tip, my pretty berry.” He caressed your face in a way that made you feel way too at ease. “If it’s a ‘maybe yellow’, then it’s a yellow. How can I help you, ____?”

Your real name made you come down to earth. You shook your head and looked away, Hoseok suddenly scared of having gone too far.

“I’m not comfortable with the way I let you control me, maybe.” Which was not entirely true. You were not comfortable with the way you craved his control after spending maybe four hours with him — including the afternoon he entered the vet studio with Mickey in his arms and a hopeless, lost look on his face.

“It’s all up to you, ____. I know it’s a cliché thing to say, but the answer is really within yourself. I can’t make you more comfortable with how you feel,” he said, still not even considering your nakedness in front of him.

In such a moment his indifference was welcome.

You looked down, your hands disappearing into your hair. Maybe this was the only night you were granted. Did you really want it to end already?

He did not touch you as you mulled over every option.

“I’m… I’m not— We’re technically strangers, I shouldn’t be trusting you like this, you shouldn’t be trusting me like this either, I mean this is all so— all so twisted and wicked and fast and—”

Hoseok was ready for reality to slap him across the face. He was ready for your regrets and you walking to your dress on the floor and cursing your messed up panties which you most definitely could not wear to go back home. He was ready for you to call what you did a mistake and say that there was no way for a woman like you to be with a man like him.

“My mind tells me I shouldn’t, but I want it so much.”

He lifted his eyes from the floor, finally finding the courage to meet yours.

“I’m sorry, that’s not true. I’m comfortable with the way you control me.” Slowly you took a step back, your ass meeting the surface of the table. “I’m just questioning what that means to me.”

He nodded. It explained a lot about your innocent, greedy approach to sex. You were exploring and you had found something you didn’t expect to even remotely consider.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and sat on the table. “No, Sir.”

His eyebrows shot up before he regained his composure. “Colour.”

You allowed yourself to stare at his chest. He was so well-built. Harmonious. He looked like a painting. “Green. Very deep, dark green. Sir.”

He took a step closer. “Green?”

“Forest green. As green as a clover.” You felt his hand on your belly, dragging against your skin all the way to your throat, pushing you down as you lowered yourself on your elbows.

“If you feel uncomfortable emotionally or mentally speaking, you call a yellow. Please, promise me you’ll be very careful about it, Giggles. I care about your mindspace. It means everything to me.”

“I promise, Sir.”

He removed his hand from your throat and placed it against your cheek, placing a chaste kiss on your lips once he bent over you. “You’re talking to Hoseok right now, ____. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on how your mind’s doing. Promise it.”

You kissed him back, closing your eyes once his tongue caressed and molded against yours. Breathless, you parted from him. “I promise, Hobi.”

“I don’t want you to regret anything about tonight. It would break my heart, okay?”

Your eyes widened in surprise before you nodded. “I’ll take care. I promise.”

“Good girl. Now stay right there, lovely. Look what I got for you.” He found the cake, placed carefully away from your laying body. Skillfully, he dipped a strawberry in cream and brought it to your lips, dragging the tip of the fruit across them like lipstick.

He bent down and licked a fat stripe following the seam of your mouth, only to repeat the gesture once more; however, this time you let your tongue lash out and tangle up with his, the strawberry held away from you, trying not to catch it in your hair.

“Open up,” he commanded, pushing the treat past your lips, into your eager mouth. “Suck. Now.”

Your gaze became bubbly once more as you followed his lead, your cheeks sucked in at the pressure you were making with your mouth, the strawberry emerging completely clean from your mouth.

He smirked at the sigh, arching an eyebrow at the result. “You make it hard not to push my cock in your mouth.”

“Maybe that’s what I want you to do.” You raised an eyebrow right back at him, getting cocky.

“Not happening. I wanna hear that laugh again, Giggles.” Tentatively, he gave a small slap to your breast, surprising you and making you arch your back, gasping in pleasure. Your legs tightened around him, trying to clench your thighs shut at the feeling of arousal slipping out of your hole and sliding down to your behind. “And don’t you dare be a brat to me. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Your voice was squeaky once you managed to reply.

“Did you like it, Giggles?”

The treacherous sound escaped your mouth once more as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Sir.”

You wondered if you would ever get tired at the reply. You doubted it very highly.

“Let’s see if you like this too,” he mused before pouring more champagne in a glass and dipping the strawberry in the wine. He fixed his stance between your legs. “Remember our safewords?”

You confirmed before he lifted the strawberry and let a droplet fall right in the middle of your chest, splashing heavy and wet on your skin. Cold too.

“I’m going to make you my dessert, my pretty strawberry. Remember? Strawberries go well with champagne, lovely.”

He let one more drop fall to your breast, your breath stopping completely at the coldness, Hoseok’s eyes amused at the sight of your nipple awakening and hardening, lengthening even. It became impossibly rosier as another drop fell.

It felt stupid not to repeat the same treatment to your other nipple, which responded twice as quickly now that arousal was abundantly flowing through every single inch of you.

The strawberry drew a neat line of champagne pearls from your belly, which you sucked in at the cold, all the way up to your neck — a line that Hoseok followed with his mouth, letting his tongue stretch out of the way whenever a droplet rolled out of place.

He let the strawberry fall into the glass, extracting the condoms from his pocket and placing them on the table before taking off the rest of his clothes. He tugged at himself a couple times, getting hard enough to wear a condom.

His hands were going to get dirty, therefore he had no other options than getting ready very quickly.

“Giggles?”

“Yes? I mean, yes, Sir?” You corrected yourself in a millisecond, not wanting to risk another delay in your pleasure.

“I’m going to get really dirty now, lovely. Would you be okay with showering here?”

You let your lashes flutter a few times before nodding.

He gave a curt nod in reply before wearing protection and letting his cock rub against your crotch. His body stretched over yours, his thumb collecting a dollop of cream and dividing it with his other thumb. You observed his movements attentively as his clean fingers laid against the side of your breasts and his thumbs landed on your nipples.

Your mouth opened silently once the sensation flowed in, his digits starting a rolling motion over your peaks, playing them in small circles that innocently reminded you of a joystick.

“Colour.”

“So, so green. Can I have a blue for mind blowing good.” You tried to pick your head up, letting it thud back down once his cock dragged perfectly against your clit, eliciting a purr from your throat and a groan from his, his sex perfectly sandwiched between your and his belly.

“Blue— I— ” He talked in small babbles and hiccups. “I get what you— ah— what you mean.” His forehead met your collarbone.

He found unspeakable strength and managed to rise from your breasts, collecting half a handful of cream spreading it over his entire palms and fingers like lotion before grabbing your breasts and kneading them, his hands dwarfing them entirely.

“Sir, please, I need your cock,” you found yourself ridiculously begging, ready to hump anything that met your core.

“Slip it in for me, Giggles.”

The moment he got inside, you didn’t even try to keep it down, riding him no matter the difficult position or the awkward angle. You let your hands scratch down his chest and grip his arms — and he allowed you.

You were getting more and more unhinged and he wanted to see every little detail, every little second, every single step that brought you to bliss and ruination, giggling like you’d never been half as ecstatic in your life. His hands slipped and groped your gentle curves, his mind growing hazier by the second.

All his control came back once he noticed your legs leaving the ground, as you scooted back just by a few inches, your calves latching behind his back before you shook your head.

“What?” He asked, bending his arms to get closer to you.

“Position. It’s…” The soles of your feet met the edge of the table, your hands securing your legs in position before you felt your hips hurt.

“Bend them to your shoulders,” he suggested, helping you fix your knees with his elbows. “Good. Can you touch yourself for me, Giggles.”

You obeyed without even replying, feeling him groan as the new position allowed him to reach deeper and rub your g-spot in the process.

That’s when the squealing started. And then there it was, pleasure. Right before you.

“Give me all the giggles, my sweet berry,” he cooed, nodding and smiling once the soft laugh started.

He let himself grow wild, his fingers sliding to your neck, gripping it gently before he led them against your chin and into your mouth, bathing your tongue in cream — or rather, what was left of it.

The other hand secured your waist, using it for leverage as he rammed into you, pushing his cock in your cunt, constricting it after the muscles remained tense after the orgasm.

This time he came inside you, still covered in latex, but inside you.

He was too fucked out to think of how you would feel without a condom, too fucked out to care that he was pressing his mouth — fuck, his entire face — against your dirty chest, getting his hair sticky with cream, his cheeks and chin and nose and eyes and forehead… His mouth welcomed the sweetness, sucking at your skin before his tongue came out to lap at the sugary mess. He was too lost to care, sinking deep and staying perfectly still as he enjoyed every second of his high inside your most intimate place.

You came to your senses just in time to watch him process the situation he was in.

“Oh, hell.” He rose from the table, standing up, looking at you, at his hands, running the back of them against his cheeks before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He settled down again, your legs wrapping around him.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, rubbing your palm against his spine.

He hummed in confirmation. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” You mussed up the hair at his nape.

He licked up your nipple, catching it with his lips and suctioning it into his mouth.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the cuddles. From the exhaustion radiating from his body and the overall disaster you both were, you knew your night was over.

“Can I go clean up please? It’s getting chilly.” You asked, using the excuse to get some space to yourself.

He stood slowly, slipping out of you attentively. He took off the condom, completely lost in his silence, knotted it up and kept it carefully between his fingers as he slipped on his underwear. “Let me show you the bathroom.”

Once he showed you the way, you let him understand you didn’t want him to shower with you.

Feeling the scent of his body wash cover your skin was painful now. You tried to indent the name in your mind and hoped it wasn’t too expensive. Once you managed to exit the shower stall, you dabbed your body dry, realising too late that you hadn’t brought your dress with you.

You wrapped the towel around you and opened the door, walking out once you were sure you wouldn’t drip over the floor.

“Hoseok?” You called.

Once you reached the living room, you found your dress, slipping it on and realising a second too late that your panties had disappeared.

“Giggles?” Hoseok appeared from the corridor, still shirtless, with a pair of bermuda on.

“Uhm… I should… Go, I guess?” You said, staring at the floor awkwardly. “I…”

Hoseok felt fear grip him once he thought this could be the last time he would see you.

“Wait. I—” He stretched his hand toward you. “I think— Uhm, underwear. Since I messed up yours.” He rubbed his nape. “I could wash your… panties and return them to you… Next Friday?” He looked up at you with a sheepish smile. “Over fried chicken and a chill dress code?”

Your cheeks shot up as you felt yourself smile. “So this is not a one time thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded, increasingly convinced.

You gingerly wore his boxers, noticing they were relatively comfortable on you, the cotton breezy and light, definitely soft over your abused skin. “Then I’ll return these on Friday. Over fried chicken and chill dress code. And maybe my peach frilly undies?”

“It’s a deal then, Giggles.”

“Deal.”

[silentfcknhill]

FAVORITE SHOWS IN POSTERS

Well, we’re back for another installment of this tagged meme, this time for TV shows! I also stole this from/was indirectly tagged by @jcmorrigan. My taste in shows also differs a bit from my taste in movies, as I tend to like a lot of comedy shows with not as many horror ones. I’m not into shows as much as movies overall, but there are some that I am very passionate about so I picked twenty again. So, here we go for part 2, in order:

1. Avatar: The Last Airbender/The Legend Of Korra (2005-2014)

I'm including these as one show since they take place in the same universe and tell a continuation of the same overall plot. Altogether this is probably the best piece of media to ever exist, including movies. It has so many great characters and villains especially and some of the most epic sequences, charming humor and heartwarming moments ever. I've never met a person who didn't like these shows, even people who normally don't like cartoons. My dad, who is biased against animation? He loved it. My mother? She loved it, watched it with her multiple times. My grandmother? Loved it. My ex-boyfriend? Loved it. My best friend? Loved it. I dare anyone not to, and I'm so glad it's making a resurgence since it's on Netflix for a new generation to enjoy.

2. Black Butler (2008-2014)

I never was big into anime growing up and only really started watching anime when I was like 16 and above, but this is one of the exceptions because holy shit is it ever dark and epic. I'm not sure I'd really recommend it for kids, it's more of a teens and young adults kind of anime and that's probably why it's so good, because it isn't afraid to explore dark and mature topics and do it with all of the intensity and gravitas required to do said topics justice. It has lots of great characters, and the story of demons who make deals with children who have a dark side is fun to watch play out.

3. Seinfeld (1989-1998)

My dad was a huge fan of this show so I watched it growing up since I was a toddler and it became a classic for me. I've watched thw hole show through at least 8 times, and I'll never stop because it never gets old or boring. It's also my only comfort show when I'm having a panic attack because of one time a few years ago when I was having a drug-induced psychosis episode and watching it calmed me down, so now it's like the opposite of a trigger and whenever I'm having an episode or something I watch it to bring me back to reality. For that reason it's more than a show to me, it's a medical treatment and I'm forever grateful to it.

4. The Good Place (2016-2020)

The big four shows made my Michael Schur all made it on this post (The Good Place, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Office and Parks And Recreation), either in the main list of the honorable mentions, but this is my personal favorite of the four. It's so funny, quirky, relatable and basically tailor-made to suit my interests. Not only is it an entertaining and wholesome show, but I think watching it helped me come to terms with a lot of things like mortality, ethics, philosophy, religion and my relationships with other people. It gets  alot of different viewpoints across and if you're a very analytical and philosophical person like me you'll probably enjoy seeing it all play out. Not to mention, every single character is 'favorite character' material. It's rare you find a show with no filler characters in the main cast, but I genuinely can't choose who is best.

5. Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013-?)

Another of Michael Schur's shows, this one is just barely under The Good Place and to be honest it was tough to pick my favorite between the two because they're both equally funny. I know it's kind of controversial right now because of the whole law enforcement thing, but I actually think they do a good job of handling social issues in the show and remaining respectful of real-life systemic problems. As for the characters, this is another one of those shows where every single character is gold and I think that tends to be a trend among Schur's shows in general. He produces damn good comedy, and damn good characters. I can't wait to see what they bring next.

6. Rick And Morty (2013-?)

This is unfortunately one of those cases of 'great show, horrible fandom' and for that reason I don't get involved in the fandom even though I love the show. It's a shame because it really is a great show, so funny and, again, such good characters. I think it's a lot more accessible than the fandom likes to claim, so I'm hoping more people will give it a chance and not get put off by the intellectual elitism of the fandom because it does have some of the most entertaining and batshit crazy episodes ever, poking fun of some of the staples of science fiction in media while also poking fun of itself the whole time. Unlike the fandom, the show doesn't take itself seriously and that's enjoyable nowadays.

7. Orange Is The New Black (2013-2019)

While this show is a comedy, it is also a lot of other things and it's probably made me ugly-cry just as many times as it's made me laugh. Well, maybe not as often, but those few scenes (if you've watched the show then you know the ones I'm talking about) made me hysterically sob hard enough to be worth like fifty minor sads. But I didn't even mind because the show is just that good, and it makes you /feel/ something in a real way. Probably because of just how real it gets in terms of telling stories that happen all the time in the real world, sometimes with inevitably tragic endings. But these things do happen every day, and it's important to shine a light on that. It's not just representation for LGBTQ+ but also for POC, the neurodiverse, the poor, and many more. Give it a watch to broaden your perspective!

8. Big Mouth (2017-?)

This is probably the grossest show I've ever seen but by god is it ever funny. Maybe it's because I have an immature sense of humor or something, but I love this show. It definitely won't be everyone's cup of tea and I don't recommend you watch this show with anyone else around because it will get awkward. I think part of its appeal to me is that everyone I talk to who likes it considers it so relatable to their lives growing up but for someone like me who grew up on the autism and asexual spectrum and who was physically an early-bloomer by years, nothing about this show is relatable to me in any way so it makes it all the more crazy and bizarre watching how the people around me must have experienced things. Did y'all really have these experiences with puberty in middle school???

9. Dexter (2006-2013)

I recently heard that this show is coming back for a reboot soon and I'm so excited because this is my absolute favorite drama/thriller show, as evidenced by the fact that it's the highest one on the list so far that isn't a comedy. I love the idea of having a protagonist who is sort of a villain (or at least morally dubious), and the idea of a serial killer who only kills bad people is particularly satisfying for some reason. Maybe because he's the vigilante we all deserve and want in this unjust and evil world of modern times? Idk but the very premise of this show set it up for big things and aside from the ending I think it delivered consistently.

10. Once Upon A Time (2011-2018)

This show took us on some journeys, and you can't deny that. Sure, maybe it didn't always finish what it started and didn't always end in the most satisfying way, but part of its charm is that you didn't care because the experience was just so much fun. They took characters and stories that have been told to death and somehow managed to put a unique and unexpected twist on them, and that alone is admirable. Good twists, good villains, and pretty much every cliffhanger known to man will keep you hooked on binge-watching every episode.

11. RuPaul's Drag Race (2009-?)

A bit different than the other entries on my list in that it's not fiction but a reality competition show, but I couldn't leave Drag Race out because it's just so fucking iconic and perfect. Even when you disagree with the judges or can't stand a certain contestant you'll still be having a good time. It's got the personalities you love to love, the ones you love to hate, and the comedy that's completely meme-able. I mean just how much has this show contributed to pop culture and the internet? More than most of us, henny. I've watched every single season, even the international ones and all of the spinoffs. This show will probably be on for another thirty years when Ru is throwing shade from a hospital bed and I'll still be watching.

12. House (2004-2012)

Some people hate on this show, and I don't get it. I love House. Yes, he's an ass. That's the point. He's supposed to be unlikeable, and that's why I like him. Maybe because I always love the rude, sarcastic, misanthropic jerkass-genius characters for some reason. And I also love procedural shows, so it's a win-win. I also work in the healthcare field so it appeals to me for that reason too, because obviously the whole premise is outlandish which is what makes it funny. Of course it's not realistic for a hospital, so just enjoy the absurdity and don't get too hung up on the details of medical accuracy and professional ethics and you'll be fine.

13. The Office (2005-2013)

The third of Michael Schur's show and the last one that made the main list (sorry Parks And Rec, I love you too but there was just so many good shows to choose from and I saw you last so the nostalgia isn't as strong!) I don't think I need to hype this show up any, it's already a classic and you can't even turn around online without getting hit in the face by a dozen Office memes. You'll have to pry this show and it's relatable characters (especially Michael Scott) from my cold, dead hands.

14. All Hail King Julien/The Penguins Of Madagascar (2008-2017)

Like Avatar/Korra, I also consider this as one show for the sake of this list because it also takes place in the same universe (Madagascar, specifically) and I just couldn't choose one over the other because they're both so perfect. They're funny and I love all the characters (it cut out the weaker links of the Madagascar film series and just focuses on expanding the standout side-characters like King Julien and the penguins). It also delved into some lore, particularly the first show, and even though I didn't also agree with the directions it took (you may have seen me get salty about the ending because I cared too much), I can't deny how much I love it.

15. Bones (2005-2017)

One of the other scarce non-comedy shows on this list, it still has it's funny moments. It's also, like House, another procedural show that involves some medical stuff, but this time on a more scientific and forensic level which is even more interesting. It's nice to see a lead female with Asperger's, too. There's a lot of cop/law enforcement shows where they try to solve crimes, but this one is the best, and I'm saying that as a fan of CSI as well. Don't fight me on this, I'm right. Oh yes, it's corny, it's campy, it's cheesy, but I love every minute of it. Don't watch if you have a weak stomach though.

16. The Simpsons (1989-?)

We all grew up with this show, don't lie. It's been around longer than most people on tumblr have even been alive. Should it have ended seasons ago? Hell yes. But that doesn't take away what the first like 20 or so seasons gave us (there's a lot of argument about when the show jumped the shark, for me it wasn't until much later than the popular consensus). The characters are amazing, but the secret to the show's longevity is that they always return to status quo and there's comfort and nostalgia in that. Bart will still be in 4th grade when you're out there pushing 90. This show is persistent. This show is eternal. This show will outlive us all.

17. Ash Vs. Evil Dead (2015-2018)

Sorely underrated. This show is hilarious, gruesome and campy as hell and I love it. I don't think you necessarily have to watch the Evil Dead movies beforehand in order to get the plot of the show, although it would probably help. In my opinion this show ended way too soon and I'm hoping someday we'll get a comeback because Ash is the reluctant, self-absorbed hero we all need and it's 2020 so at this point there really might actually be a demon-zombie apocalypse and who's gonna save us then if not for the impulsive womanizer with a chainsaw for a hand?

18. Malcolm In The Middle (2000-2006)

Another show I grew up with, I don't think it gets as much credit as it deserves. It has some damn funny episodes and great characters, and it did a lot of the popular sitcom tropes before they were 'cool'. Some other great sitcoms, The Middle in particular, took a lot of influence from this show and it helped pave the way for the future of sitcoms at a time when they were about to make a comeback. If you want a good show about the real experiences of growing up, this is a much more accurate representation of the highs and lows of being an awkward tween from a dysfunctional home.

19. A Series Of Unfortunate Events (2017-2019)

Unlike most people I actually liked the movie version from the early 2000's, and I read the books growing up so I was excited when I saw there was a live action television adaptation of it on Netflix because I felt like they cancelled the movie franchise too soon. I was interested to see how new actors would handle the roles, and I was not disappointed. I wouldn't say I liked either portrayal of the characters better or worse, they both added their own twist to it and this show is a great and loyal adaptation to the books, probably because the author was so heavily involved. He knew just when to stick to the books and when to improve upon what he had done with the benefit of hindsight. This show is basically the books, but remastered.

20. Winx Club (2004-?)

Sort of an odd one out on this list, but I really love this show even as an adult and it may surprise you to learn it is still going on and the most recent season came out last year. They take big breaks sometimes in between seasons, but it's still going strong and in multiple countries. The only thing I don't like about watching this show is all the different and inconsistent dubs since the original show is Italian and each dub only goes for a couple seasons so by the time you get used to one set of voices/names for the characters oyu have to abruptly switch to another, but it's still worth it for the beautiful animation and cool characters (especially the villains!)

Honorable Mentions: 

13 Reasons Why, America's Next Top Model, American Horror Story, Arrested Development, Bates Motel, Battlestar Galactica, Black Mirror, Care Bears, Chernobyl, Courage The Cowardly Dog, Criminal, CSI, Duck Dodgers, Goosebumps, Kenny Vs. Spenny, Kim Possible, Kingdom Hospital, Lazytown, Lost, Making A Murderer, Mayday, Mindhunter, Modern Family, Monster High, Obsession: Dark Desires, Parks And Recreation, Prison Break, Project Runway, Queer As Folk, Queer Eye, Salem, Schitt's Creek, SCTV, Spongebob Squarepants, The Emperor's New School, The Good Doctor, The Haunting Of Hill House/Bly Manor, The Middle, The Pretender, The Walking Dead, The X-Files, Through The Wormhole, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Unsolved Mysteries, Yugioh

Tagging: @bullet-farmer​ and anyone else who wants to!

[dreamii-yume]

Hey Yume, some of your one shots have the boys being really rough on the poor reader. How would they react if they wound up ALMOST killing reader because of their rough treatment? Would their behavior towards Reader change?

*SINFIC CH. 10 FLASHBACKS a-about that, Honey...ヽ(；▽；)

Riddle and Malleus would feel their own hearts skip multiple beats that it actually hurt. They drop everything that their holding, probably their staff, and every action that could bring further danger to you would be ceased immediately. They’ll quickly check you in every angle to see if you’re injured anywhere else and would try to talk to you just to make sure that you’re still breathing, looking closely you could clearly see the look of fear in their eyes. Riddle would probably panic real bad while Malleus would remain quiet, but the beating of his heart is deafening. They’ll stumble over their own words when given the chance to talk to someone (Trey/Lilia) as they try to explain what happened.

This would probably alert their paranoia in the coming future, fearing that something similar might happen again and would one day take your life in an unfair way. They would be a lot more gentle, and in Riddle’s case, would lower down his resitrictions to make sure you won’t suffocate with them too much. They’ll make sure this won’t happen again, but they’ll become more protective, that’s for sure.

Trey, Ruggie, Jamil, and Silver aren’t usually the types to be rough with their Darlings, but for the sake of this ask, let’s just say that you did something that really ticked them off, causing them to act like so. Since these are the characters that has their emotions kept under control most of the time, they’ll most likely won’t recognize how much strength they have used against you. This would result into their own surprise as they realized that their Darlings barely responded and was at the brink of passing out because of it. They’ll immediately have their guard up, quickly running to your side to inspect whatever injury you’re suffering from. All jokes and silliness would be wiped away from their faces as they tend to you in all seriousness, talking to you so you wouldn’t fall completely unconscious and god forbid, never wake up again.

They may sound calm when they’re tending to you, if your injury is something that they can’t handle alone, they’ll have no problem calling someone who’s a lot more professional than they are. Their words are clear and no trace of nervousness can be heard, but that’s just in your and other people’s perspective. Looking deep into their hearts, it’s racing so fast that it can’t even put into words. They know what they did wrong and for the first time since they got you, they felt actual fear that they might’ve lost you right then and there. They’ll apologize to you right after, smiling at you, saying how everything was their fault.

Of course, this will motivate them to do better next time, to keep their emotions calm no matter how intense the situation may be for the both of you. Because you never know, there might never be a next time around.

Ace, Cater, and Floyd are the types that wouldn’t notice their sudden fit of strength at first. Whether they got too excited, angry, or irritated, they won’t notice how much they have hurt you the first time. If you’re not responding, Cater and Ace would probably dismiss it as you being uncooperative, Cater might even fake a sulking personality saying how “teasing him is so mean”. However, someone like Floyd wouldn’t appreciate getting ignored by his Darling so if say, you lost consciousness during this time around, expect that he’ll try shaking you awake, possibly even rougher than before as he expects you to constantly tend to him in his every needs. But everything would change for these three men when you either start to bleed from an injury, your breathing slows down, or your completely unresponsive no matter how much they try to shake you awake.

They’ll all probably have similar reactions, they’ll call out for you gently at first, trying to wake you up and saying that what you’re doing isn’t “funny”. Eventually, they’d come to understand that this was no prank, you’re really losing every bit of your life right in front of them and that immediately place a heavy weight of panic upon their shoulders. They would curse both yourself and themselves as they try to tend for you, clearly unaware of what to do. Floyd would most likely call Jade or Azul, whining how Little Shrimpy’s “not moving” anymore while Ace and Cater might do the most reasonable act and take you to a nearby hospital. After this crisis had been averted, I think that although they may have the similar reactions, they’re behavior right after would vary from each character.

Floyd and Ace will most likely bring that blame on yourself, Ace especially saying how things happened the way it is because you’re so stubborn and that you’re not following his orders at all. You just won’t expect an apology from Ace at all, but deep down inside he knows that he’s the one who’s guilty but just can’t admit it himself. Floyd, on the other hand, will also put the blame on you but not in the way you think he would. He’ll most likely blame you because of how you made him feel throughout that whole ordeal, that it’s Little Shrimpy’s fault that he’s this worried and anxious now. He doesn’t blame you for what happened to you, in fact, I think he does realize that he’s the one at fault and would even apologize, although he sounds like a child saying sorry to another child he stole a crayon from.

And now, we have Cater, who would definitely recognize his own faults but covers it up with a smile as he apologizes in such a half-assed manner. You, as his Darling, would have a hard time believing him even though the guilt is practically eating Cater on the inside. He’s just not really that honest with himself, plus such a dark atmosphere is not something he’s good at handling, you know? But he made extra sure that you can see how serious he is when he said that he can change his ways, that he’ll control himself from now on so that was at least something. As for Ace and Floyd, they wouldn’t really change all that much after everything is all said and done, except for a few hesitance here and there, not wanting for the same situation to strike again.

At least they’re doing their best, yeah?

Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Sebek are characters that are generally rough when they get too ahead of their emotions, even if they try to control themselves. But sometimes, things happens and they get a bit too far in line and almost immediately, once they hear an unusually loud gasp of pain from you, that’s when they know that they did something very wrong. Just seeing your weakened form would automatically shift their realization to their own strength and how rough they had been, however before they could even apologize, what they did had unfortunately already happened. Deuce especially would try to tend to you with whatever he can, panicking the most out of the four as he tries to remember what he could do at this dire moment. Obviously, he can’t treat your wounds like how he recklessly does his in the past after a brutal fight so he would probably result into calling a senior or a nearby hospital if the injury looks too risky.

Epel would panic, but a little less than Deuce at least as he would remember all the herbalism lessons he received from Vil, and what kind of treatment he should do with such injury. Despite everything, he’s still a Pomefiore student who prides himself with potions along with everyone else, right? He’s determined about which potions to give you, all those hellish training he received must’ve prepared him just for this moment. Of course, when things goes to down south and he isn’t able to act up fast enough, he’ll suck up his pride and go to either his Vice Dorm or Dorm Leader themselves for some help. Jack and Sebek would have similar reactions though, but of course, Sebek would be the one to panic first.

Sebek will check if your situation is something he can handle first, calling out to you with his usual loud voice, slowly getting frightened that his tone was doing nothing or even lifting your consciousness back up. Sebek doesn’t trust any other humans to take care of you so he’ll probably go to Lilia during times of desperation, explaining loud and clear what happened and humbly asks for his help. Meanwhile, Jack is the type to be calm on the outside but that single strand of sweat down his forehead shows how nervous he really is on the inside. He’ll do everything he can to save your situation, trying to ignore the overwhelming guilt in his heart for now as he takes you to a nearby hospital. Yes, he’s calm but he still might end up blowing a fuse and growls aggressively when a staff member asks too many questions since he’s so anxious that they you might not make it if they don’t take care of you right away.

Overall, I think all of them but Sebek would have similar reactions and outcome right after. They’ll apologize and would promise to you that something like this won’t ever happen ever again and that they’ll take care of you better. Sebek however, would be quite stubborn about it, shifting the blame on you for being too “weak” to handle something like that. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty himself, he won’t openly show it but along with all the other three, they’ll become a lot more protective than they used to be, shielding you from anything that’s harmful. They’ll be a little less overbearing and could even give you a bit more freedom despite their own paranoia if you really want to.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you can take advantage of that, okay?

Leona is aware how rough he is with you, that’s just his overall nature as a beast after all. Though, you might not notice this time around, but he actually tries to hold back whenever he can to accomodate to your needs, so that you wouldn’t break so easily within his hands. But today does not seem to be the day, control was not added to his list this time around. Clicking his tongue as soon as he noticed the alarming difference in your breathing and heartbeat, he’ll most likely throw his phone at Ruggie or Jack to call the nearby hospital along with his wallet too, though he doesn’t like the thought of handing you over to someone, even if it were medical professionals. If there’s a healing potion nearby, he’ll quickly snatch it up, read the first label, before shoving it down your throat without even reading the rest of the potion description.

...Now, you might see him as reckless and even more aggressive than before when you were fine, but you have to understand. This was desperation he’s feeling, there was no way in hell he’ll admit it but the moment he felt your heartbeat slow down, his emotions dropped down in an alarming rate too, you know? So, of course he’ll be this aggressive when trying to save you from a life or death situation. There was just no way that he’s going to let you go out like this, death doesn’t even have the right to take you away from him. Of course, despite everything, this doesn’t really change his ways after everything’s all said and done, you know?

An apology just doesn’t seem like something that would come out of Leona’s mouth anytime soon so, I don’t recommend expecting anything. In fact, he might even get angry at you, saying things like how you took way too long to recover and won’t even give you time to protest back. But he’s aware that he’s at fault at least, he accepted it actually, but frankly, he just doesn’t care if you see him as a villain or anything lik that. He’ll still treat you with the same roughness and aggresiveness as before, but somehow you began to notice how his bites doesn’t seem to dig as far beyond your flesh that it bleeds anymore, it was just enough to cause a mark now. You don’t even dare to mention how cuddling time seems to last longer than it should’ve had.

Situations like these might bring Azul and Kalim to tears, realizing that their actions had gone too far for your body to handle. They’re quick to use all the healing elixirs they had and Kalim would immediately call for Jamil’s assistance while Azul calls for the twins. Some potions takes a while to take in effect, it’s a fact that they knew however just can’t tolerate the thought of sitting there and not doing anything, Azul most especially. They’ll call for multiple doctors that they had personal connection with, Kalim would even call for doctors that works for the royal families and doesn’t care how much he’ll have to pay them even if it means saving his Darling. Azul would be the type to yell at each doctor to hurry the hell up before it’s all too late due to panic, so different from his usual calm self.

Their behavior changes quite similarly with each other as they would both apologize to you over and over again, their arms wrapped around you as if you’ll disappear once they loosened their hold. This is probably going to traumatize both of them and will become even more protective than they ever did with you, watching everything you do in anticipation of another dangeous situation. Kalim has a better grasp over his emotions since he listens to you better and promises to never become rough with you ever again, but he’ll stay with you for the majority of the time, granting everything you could wish for and to make sure that you’re being taken good care of. But good luck trying to talk you way out with Azul though, this man is a bit more unhinged when it comes to his emotions. He won’t listen to your suggestions because he only believes in the things that he thinks is right for you.

Although Azul promised you that he won’t be as rough next time, you have a feeling that this uncontrollable paranoid feelings of his would be the exact thing that would ultimately lead him to break his own promise.

Jade, Rook, and Lilia would be surprised but not at all panicked, these are the characters that knows fairly well how nimble human life could be and had already prepared for situations like this. They’ll carefully tend to you and fix what they did wrong, soothing your pained expression in a matter of minutes, since they’re so used to this by now. They’ll apologize right after, feeling genuinely saddened by what happened to you as an outcome of their own selfishness, but I don’t think they’ll change their ways anytime soon. It’s disturbing to think that they might even do it again for all we know, just to observe what will happen and to know how far they can really go. But they’ll have to make sure to be very careful the next time they try though, they won’t like you broken after all. A terrifying thought, isn’t it?

It might capture Vil off-guard at first, the way his Darling suddenly weakened for receiving too much punishments, but it was nothing to worry about when he’s this talented when it comes to elixirs. With just a single drop, he’s confident that he can clear you all off your pain and injuries would go away just like that, if you’re a good girl that is, but of course, he’ll use it when it’s a life or death situation...Unless the potion doesn’t work, then that would be a different story which would lead Vil to immediately contacting the nearest hospital. I think Vil would definitely realize his own faults here and apologize to you right after, but expects you to learn your lesson as well. It doesn’t really change the way he acts towards you but he’ll certainly become a lot more careful in the future.

Idia wouldn’t know what to do and panic with tears prickling around his eyes as the blue flames that is his hair roared in anxiety. His flexible fingers would do a quick search in the net in mere seconds, but none of the solution seems to align with what he did, plus you were running out of time so he needed to actually move for real. He’ll use Ortho to initiate medical mode on you in which the young robot will be more than willing to do while he remains by your side, apologizing constantly, saying how much of a screw-up he is that he wasn’t even able to take care of you properly. This will definitely scare him in the future, especially now that he realized how fragile you really are. He got a good glimpse of what will happen if he ends getting too comfortable with your body, the mere thought of it happening again will traumatize him enough that he might not even touch you for a while.

...He will get lonely though so, little by little, he might try to talk to you, always asking if you’re okay.

This took me way too much time but it’s worth it~ (΄◉◞౪◟◉｀) I love it when these boys suffer because of their own yandere consequences lol

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 1)

Hey guys! Welcome to another angsty fic by yours truly, provider of flower husbands pain.

Some things you should know before you jump into this:

1. This is a companion fic to my fic "i know they're losing". You can understand it without having read the other one, since it's the same story from two different POVs but I think the overall experience is better with both!

2. The overall title of each fic is from the mitski song I bet on losing dogs. Chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films.

3. There is a lot of lord of the rings lore in both fics, and I mean a lot. You may be kinda confused if you've never read tolkien's works. It will all be explained eventually, though!

4. With the fact that it's a companion fic and a lot of people came here from Jimmy's POV in mind- this is a lot heavier of a fic. The content warnings are heavier and the angst is more intense. You have been warned.

(Obligatory disclaimer that this is about characters, not ccs, and do not ship real people, as always!)

Chapter Title: to these memories i will hold

Chapter Wordcount: 4000

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, panic attacks, past death, very frank discussion of death. (In general, if suicide or death are triggering topics for you, this is probably not the fic for you. Stay safe and take care of yourself!)

AO3

Actual fic under the cut:

Scott didn’t expect to survive 3rd life. No one did, he thinks, but especially not him. Clever, clever Scott, who knew his fate too well for his own good. He could have chosen his allies carefully, he knows, could have played on their emotions to make them think he was loyal until the moment he turned on them to win. He knew who the strongest factions and warriors were, the most cunning and intelligent participants in this death game they were forced into. Instead, he chose Jimmy. Sweet, dopey Jimmy, who had the personality of a golden retriever and only a handful of braincells at any given time. Jimmy, who was worth more than all the stars in the sky to him. Who made him feel alive . No, Scott didn’t expect to win. Not when it was Jimmy by his side- when it was Jimmy by his side, winning didn’t matter. All that mattered was Jimmy’s blush when Scott pressed a kiss to his cheek, the way his hair looked like gold in the sunlight and his smile lit up Scott’s whole world.

After Jimmy died, Scott stopped wanting to survive 3rd life. What was the point? The stars can shine on without the sun, but all life on Earth would wither and die. The same happened to Scott’s broken, bitter heart, he found. Jimmy was the first person in years to love him truly, wholly, with no strings attached; it was terrifying how quickly Scott fell for the first person to look at him and not expect him to be anything but what he was. Scott’s world, which used to be mountain peaks and endless blue sky, narrowed to warm brown eyes and a grin like sunshine quicker than he could comprehend. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, it all came back to him. What was Scott without Jimmy? The unwanted twin, the unloved child, the un-elven elf. Because who cared if he was a good shot with a bow or good at organizing teams or building pretty little houses? He would always be second-born, second-best.

It was fitting, really, that when Scott died, he died alone. Some might find it ironic that the man who knew enough people to fill the roster of a championship held by a god every month died without a single person to witness it save his enemies, but in the end, it was always going to be like this, Scott knew. He hadn’t been there to see Jimmy die, he hadn’t been able to hold him in his final moments and soothe the agony of death. Maybe this was his punishment. He wouldn’t be surprised; the gods of this world did not smile on him and never would. Why should they, when he had failed the only person who had ever found him good enough?

When he woke up in Rivendell, he was almost disappointed. Almost. He considered ditching the rest of the elves, up and leaving to somewhere that didn’t make it feel like the noose of immortality was slowly tightening around his neck. If nothing else, Noxite would let him crash at the MCC server for a bit until he found somewhere to go. And yet, in the end, Scott’s stubborn sense of duty won out. The elves needed a ruler. Xornoth had disappeared to god knows where, and though they had been braver, wiser, better in every way, Scott was the one who had stayed. Who was willing to take up the crown that weighed so heavily on its bearers. So Scott, who no one ever expected to rule, took up the burden of leadership.

Now, he tries and fails to get out of bed and wonders what the point of that even was. He’s fading, and worse than that, he’s fading over a human. His ancestors are probably rolling in their graves. Rivendell will be leaderless within a decade, and this time there are no heirs to take control. Not even a ‘spare’ like Scott used to be. What a mess.

There are footsteps on the stairs. They’re unfamiliar, meaning they could be a threat, but he’s too tired to bother sitting up. If he dies, well- it’s inevitable, really, in the same way watching the mortals he loves dies is.

The person comes around the corner, and Scott realizes with no joy that he won’t be dying today after all. Katherine looks both curious and concerned, but her voice tilts towards the latter when she asks “Scott?” and then, more hesitantly  “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her, exhausted. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?” She sounds so thrown off by his state that Scott almost feels bad.

Whatever it is, it must be important if she’s come all the way here, though, so he gestures her to a chair. “No, no, stay. I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Nothing about the question is funny in any way, but Scott laughs regardless. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.” He offers it out, knowing the unnatural cold is unsettling no matter if you’re elven or not. Katherine does as he asks, the concern on her face only growing as she grips his icy hand.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott explains. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, a frank reminder of the slow and painful death that awaits him.

Katherine gasps, and Scott knows he’s alarmed her.

He goes on, though. “It usually happens to old elves, world-weary.” Ironic, it’s ironic that he’s saying that as a young elf explaining his own death. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

Her face is nothing short of horrified. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

He has to laugh. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.” Though he feels so much older than that, both in elven terms and in human.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.” He’s so, so exhausted. So sick of having to claw and scrape and struggle for the barest scraps of happiness.

“Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?” Katherine sounds so hopeful that the question seems almost naive even though she’s far more capable of a ruler than he is. Naive in the affairs of elves, maybe, much as she’s intelligent in so many other ways.

Scott tries not to flinch at the innocent inquiry, thinking about the deaths from fading that he’s watched. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.” And again, and again, until there’s nothing to be done but let them die , he finishes in his head.

Katherine nods, a look of determination overtaking the hope. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No. You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.” She sounds so firm that he doesn’t dare disobey, though his exhaustion makes a fair effort at convincing him to. Will this really fix anything? Unlikely. But it’s worth it to try, if only to humor Katherine. At least this way she’ll have the comfort of having tried to save him when he inevitably fades away into nothing

Scott takes her hand, though it brings him little warmth, cold from her trek here. “Alright.” He swallows the bitter grief in his throat before it can seep into his words. “We can try.”

He leads Katherine around Rivendell, taking some pride in the way she oohs over the decor. If there’s one thing he can do right, it’s building. While some elven rulers might see it as below themselves to help build houses for their citizens, Scott finds building soothing. It’s one of the few skills he picked up during his time away that people really appreciate; no one wants to live in a shitty house.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

If Scott said that the name Xornoth didn’t make him flinch, he would be lying to himself. It’s not your sibling , he tells himself. It’s just a coincidence .

It’s through the virtue of years of lying that his voice comes out steady. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya-” his heart doesn’t ache when he says Jimmy’s name, it doesn’t- “well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?” Katherine asks.

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer. He won’t- can’t talk about Jimmy, not without remembering how he looked with an arrow through his throat, bright smile gone and face frozen in fear. How does he explain how much Jimmy meant to him? How much he’s now giving up, knowing he’ll have to lose it one way or another?

Katherine drops the topic, seemingly sensing that she’s stumbled on something sensitive. When she has to go home, she leaves with a friendly goodbye and a promise to visit, and Scott believes neither. Who would put the effort into visiting him? He’s not a good friend, he’s not a good king, and god knows he’s not a good husband. In fact, he’s actively avoiding his husband. He may have kept the pufferfish Jimmy gave him, but that doesn’t mean anything. He can’t fall in love with Jimmy again. Loving Jimmy will kill him. (Scott ignores the small voice at the back of his head that whispers that he’s still in love with Jimmy and it’s already killing him just as he always knew it would.)

To his surprise, Katherine does come back next week, and the week after that. He’s ashamed to admit it, but there’s some part of him that’s pathetically grateful when she shows up at his doorstep. It’s a chance to not be alone . Much as he dreads the day when she finally gives up on him, it’s nice that someone cares enough to try and save him from himself.

The third week, Katherine doesn’t show up. Instead, the footsteps on the stairs are familiar in a way that makes Scott’s heart twist painfully.

He takes a deep breath. “Hello, Jimmy.”

“How’d you know it was me?” Jimmy asks. Scott can tell he’s startled by the way his voice goes up, almost frightened.

Scott steels himself, taking a deep breath before rolling over to face his ex-husband. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He forces himself to not get distracted staring at Jimmy, instead going on before Jimmy can open his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?” Jimmy’s so curious. So naive, as always.

Scott laughs, bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?”

Scott hears the concern in Jimmy’s words, and he can’t bring himself to break the news. It’s not as if it matters. It’s not as if Jimmy would care; he came here because of Katherine. Maybe he cared at the start of Empires, but Scott’s been nothing but rude to him since. There’s no reason for him to care. (He cares. Scott’s lying, like always. Jimmy cares and Scott knows it.)

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks again, more insistently.

He refuses to say it. He needs Jimmy out, out of his room and out of his life before he does something he’ll regret. “You should go.” To prove his point, he tries to stand, finding himself too dizzy to quite pull it off. Jimmy rushes to catch him, and Scott hates himself just a little for how that still gives him a warm feeling.

“Scott, what is going on?”

He brushes Jimmy off, letting go of his arm and hurrying for the stairs. He can’t let Jimmy work his way into his heart again; Scott won’t be strong enough to let him go this time.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?” Jimmy sounds almost angry, but Scott can hear the distress under it and that’s what breaks him.

“I’m fading, alright?” His voice nearly breaks at the concern on Jimmy’s face when he whirls to face him. “I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy sputters, seemingly caught off guard. “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords-” Scott thinks back to third life- “from arrows through the throat, from grief.” The words come out more raw than he intends, leaving him scrambling to recover his composure. He takes a deep breath in and out, forcing his voice to steady again. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

“You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!” Jimmy calls after him, although Scott can hear his footsteps following as well.

“You did ask, to be fair.” Scott replies. His voice is calm. He’s fine.

“I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Scott starts towards the bridges, intending to show Jimmy the enchanting tower and then the door. He doesn’t care about how fast he’s walking, Jimmy can keep up. He’s taller than Scott and probably has better balance at the moment too. Scott’s struggling not to fall, honestly, but his pride won’t let him go slower.

Jimmy breaks the awkward silence with the question Scott least wants to hear. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?”

“No,” Scott says firmly.

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .” He can’t talk about it.

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

The words strike right at the raw wound of Jimmy’s death, and Scott freezes. Inhales. Exhales. Tries to keep calm.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Scott!” Jimmy cries. He sounds so upset, Scott’s heart aches. “I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott takes a deep breath. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died?” He can’t think straight through the rage clouding his head, the desperate need to prove that Jimmy’s wrong , that Scott loved him so much it’s killing him. “You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy? ” His voice damn near breaks on his husband’s name, and Scott thanks the gods he stopped believing in a long time ago that it doesn’t.

“No,” Jimmy says. His voice is soft, gentle, almost as if Scott is a wounded animal that needs a delicate touch. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

The words punch the air from Scott’s lungs, raw and soft and real. Scott is an excellent liar. Jimmy isn’t. Scott knows that Jimmy is telling the truth. What he doesn’t know is how to handle that level of devotion. He wonders again how Jimmy- sweet, genuine Jimmy who wears his heart on his sleeve and is hopelessly devoted to an elf who can’t be fully his- chose Scott of all people. Scott, who’s as bitter as Jimmy is sweet, who’s sarcastic and snarky and hasn’t been good enough for just about anything in his life. He certainly wasn’t good enough to save Jimmy, Scott thinks bitterly.

He shakes off the thought. “I buried you on the hill above our houses. I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

“Did he?”

Scott almost laughs at the innocent question. “How would I know? Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now?” Jimmy’s tone is uncertain, hesitant and it hurts . “I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott looks away from his earnest gaze, but he can’t stop the truth slipping out. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Jimmy asks, seemingly bewildered. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott doesn’t want to think about this, wants to say it even less. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says wryly, unable to resist a bit of morbid humor at his own expense.

“Scott! That’s not funny!”

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Jimmy sounds genuinely distressed, and Scott drops the wry smile. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.” It’s a simple statement. The truth, as much as he can give.

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy’s outrage is justifiable, but Scott just shrugs.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it?” It really does. “But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

A hand lands on Scott’s arm, and he turns, startled. Jimmy doesn’t give him time to react, throwing his arms around Scott and pulling him close. Scott almost lets out a very undignified squeak at the sudden contact, though he slowly relaxes into Jimmy’s hold.

He should pull away. He shouldn’t give Jimmy false hope like this. But Jimmy is so warm , and Scott is so unbearably cold. Every fiber of his being is screaming that this is what’s right; screw Rivendell and obligations and too-heavy crowns, Jimmy is home to him. He’s warm for the first time in months, and the most heartbreaking part is that it can’t last. He can’t do this again.

He pulls away, ignoring the painful hope on Jimmy’s face. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” For the first time all conversation, his voice well and truly wobbles. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

Scott shakes his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.” The words are like glass in his throat, but he forces them out anyways. They have to be said.

Jimmy’s silent, and it hurts more than if Jimmy had yelled at him.

“Goodbye, Jimmy,” Scott manages, turning away before Jimmy can see the way his face twists in pain. He makes his retreat as quickly as possible, stumbling and nearly taking a tumble just before he reaches the door. Unlike before, there’s no helpful ex-husband there to catch him, to make sure he’s alright and ask a million questions until Scott’s forced to admit that he’s not okay and hasn’t been in a long time.

He fumbles with the latch, hands shaking and vision blurring. Finally, it clicks, and Scott stumbles inside and slams the door shut before sliding to the ground. He won’t cry. He won’t . He doesn’t love Jimmy, he can’t love Jimmy anymore. Jimmy was never meant to be his. They might have carved out a few precious moments, stolen them from the universe and giggled like kids with their hands in the cookie jar as they kissed amongst the flowers, but those brief moments were all they were ever going to be allowed. It was always going to end this way, Scott tells himself. There’s no use crying over a mortal who will be dead in the blink of an eye to an elf. What would his parents say? That this was typical of him, probably. Typical Scott, always wanting what he would never be able to have. Typical, predictable Scott, loving a mortal who shouldn’t be worth anything to him.

He’s crying. There are tears spotting his cyan robes, splashing onto the wood floors he worked so hard on. Scott rubs at his eyes furiously, but that only makes it worse, sobs shuddering through him and leaving him hollow and aching. He’s so cold . The ache in his chest has returned tenfold, stealing away his breath, and he curls further into himself, struggling for air.

He’s going to die. He is going to die , alone on the floor of his house because he fell for someone he couldn’t have. For all that he’s spent every minute since Jimmy’s death in 3rd life wishing for some way out of this cruel world, he’s terrified now that it seems inevitable. He’s scared in a way he hasn’t been in forever, breath coming quick and shallow. He's scared, and he is so, so tired of this ache that haunts him, the chill that he can never get rid of.

“Jimmy,” Scott whispers. There’s no way for the human to hear him, but the name brings him some comfort. “ Jimmy .” He wants his husband. He wants someone to hug him. He doesn’t want to fade away freezing and alone, no one there to hold his hand or reassure him that the pain will be over soon. Internally, he begs for someone, anyone who cares to come looking. To find him, even if they’re too late to save him. Someone. Anyone. Please.

No one comes, and Scott lays on his floor until his breathing steadies out again. His head spins when he forces himself to his feet, and he has to lean against the wall for a few moments. There’s no time for dramatics, he tells himself sternly. He has a kingdom to rule. He cannot afford to break over a mortal he never should have fallen for in the first place. He doesn’t love Jimmy anymore, he can’t .

(He’s lying. But Scott has always been an excellent liar, even when it’s to himself.)

[pink-flame]

Wrap me up

This fic is dedicated to @blush-and-books who wrote fanfic about my fanfic and made my life infinitely better for it. I hope you enjoy this indulgent Juke sickfic. 😊

Sorry that I keep giving you the flu, Julie. It’s in the name of the fluff which we all desperately need right now. And always. Definitely always need the fluff. 

Enjoy! 💜

Julie was absolutely miserable.

She was home sick which on its own shouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. She was never one of those kids who went for the perfect attendance award, her mom always ranting about how some parents were willing to let their precious children infect the entire school in pursuit of a useless paper certificate. There were generally a few days every school year where Julie caught some cold and got to spend the day propped up on the couch watching trashy daytime tv and chugging hot tea. Overall, even with the slight discomfort of a stuffy nose and a headache it usually evened out to be a relatively enjoyable experience.

The problem was that she didn’t have a cold. She had this new strain of flu that was going around that was twice as contagious and notably more intense than the normal one, leaving Julie feeling a lot more than slightly inconvenienced by her illness.

She was exhausted.

She was sore.

She was burning up and freezing at the same time.

She was...absolutely miserable.

She was also more or less on her own.

Her dad had of course wanted to nurse Julie as hands on as possible but Julie had insisted that he try to keep his distance. It was her abuela’s birthday that weekend and it was a big tradition that the whole family would go visit her. She was in her 90s and living in an assisted living facility. She didn’t get many visitors and she looked forward to them coming for weeks ahead of time. That family togetherness meant a lot to her especially after losing Julie’s mom.

So it was sad enough that Julie wouldn’t be able to attend but if her dad or tia caught her flu there would be no birthday visit at all. Carlos wasn’t exactly offering to come in and tend to Julie but she wouldn’t have let him even if he was. So despite her dad and her aunt protesting she had eventually convinced them to check on her from a healthy distance away and leave her meals and tea in the doorway to her room. Julie did her best to act as though she wasn’t feeling too bad when one of them popped in just to keep them feeling comfortable with the arrangement. As soon they left for the hour or so drive to her abuela’s facility, promising to call and check in frequently, Julie had sagged more fully against her pillows letting her true feelings about the situation wash over her fully for the first time.

Her head was pounding, she was shivering, her throat burned and every breath she took rattled in her chest. There was more than that though. She wasn’t with her family going to visit her abuela and she wouldn’t be...she wouldn’t be performing at the music program showcase the next night. It was meant to be her first solo performance, well at least the first officially sanctioned one, since she had lost her mom.

Yes, she had come so far and yes the boys had given her the confidence to perform in places she never would have believed six months ago. But this was different. This was supposed to be her opportunity to prove to everyone at school that she was back to her old self, that she could stand on that stage alone and rock it. This was supposed to be her opportunity to prove it to herself.

Instead here she was sick. Alone.

Miserable.

Julie suddenly felt a familiar burning sensation pricking at her eyes as tears welled up, threatening to fall. She tried to blink them back, frustration rising up at the thought that she would not only be miserably ill but also cry over it. Unfortunately, being incredibly frustrated was just as likely to make her cry as being sad was so she now had no chance of avoiding a full on emotional outburst.

She pressed the side of her face against her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut harshly, as though if she buried her head far enough into its fluffy surface she could convince herself that the tears weren’t falling, and her head wasn’t throbbing and…

“Jules?”

Julie blinked her eyes open sluggishly, waiting until her vision cleared enough to let her see who was standing over her bed. Not that she needed to see him to know that. She would recognize that voice anywhere at this point.

Luke.

He stood beside her bed staring down at her, his forehead creased with worry as he shifted from foot to foot with anxious energy.

“Julie are you ok? I had this weird tugging feeling and then I just thought I should come see how you were doing. Are you...are you crying?”

Julie fully intended to open her mouth and say yes, to say she was fine, that her eyes were just watering because her sinuses were backed up but actually she was feeling much better.

Instead when she opened her mouth all that escaped was a sob.

She raised one hand quickly to slap it over her mouth as though she could somehow take back the sound that had just escaped before Luke registered it. That was of course wishful thinking.

Luke’s expression immediately descended into panic, his hands flapping uselessly around her bundled up form as though searching for the spot he could touch to fix whatever was wrong with her.

“Hey, Julie...Julie...Jules, what’s wrong?”

His face was so worried and sweet and concerned and it only made Julie cry harder.

“Don’t cry,” He begged, before seemingly coming to a decision.

Even though he was only a step away from her bed he poofed out of existence and reappeared lying horizontally next to her, his hands instantly reaching out to stroke down the sides of her face, chasing the tears that tracked down its surface.

“Don’t cry,” He repeated, his voice softer and less alarmed as her breathing calmed under his touch. “Don’t cry, Jules.”

Her tears started to slow and finally dried up entirely as though his words had been a command and not a desperate plea. She thought for not the first time in the last few weeks how grateful she was that the boys were tangible to her now. It would probably never stop feeling like magic to her when Reggie bumped his shoulder against hers conspiratorially or Alex leaned down to rest his chin on the top of her head. But when Luke’s hand brushed against hers when he handed her his lyrics journal or he pulled her into a warm hug, just because?  

That would probably never stop feeling like a miracle.

Her tears were gone but Luke’s hands were still resting gently on her cheeks, his fingers dancing softly up and down her skin soothingly, finding the perfect rhythm, just like he always did.

“Hey.”

He broke her from her thoughts with a single word before continuing quietly as though afraid to startle her back into tears.

“You ok?”

She nodded then thought better of it, exhaled a shaky breath and shook her head.

“I was supposed to perform at the showcase tomorrow and now I can’t and I feel awful but I have to be alone so I don’t get anyone sick.”

One of Luke’s hands slid down to rest on the top of her arm, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin he found there as an affectionate smile tugged at his lips.

“You can’t get me sick,” He reminded her. “And you’re not alone.”

Even through her raging headache and her lingering emotions she couldn’t help but mirror his small smile with one of her own.

“Cause we’ve always got each other?”

His smile grew into a certified grin, the kind that had quickly become something she looked forward to and did her best to bring out of him as often as humanly possible, even if she didn’t want him to know that. It’s power was definitely not diminished from this close.

“Exactly,” He answered, biting his lip as he jerked his head in a quick nod.

She thought his eyes might have dropped to her lips for a moment but it was so quick she thought she also might have imagined it. Given the fact that she knew she looked like an absolute mess at the moment the odds were pretty good that she had. She definitely hadn’t intended to summon him when she was in that state but she didn’t exactly have a handle on how she was doing it in the first place so she hadn’t had much choice. She didn’t regret it though. Not during their show at the Orpheum and not even now, dripping nose and frizzy hair and all.

“Why didn’t you tell me...uh, us...you were feeling this bad?” Luke asked, his face sinking back into a frown.  

It was true the boys had come to visit her as soon as she came home from school feeling feverish and had slunk directly to her room instead of heading out to the studio for band practice. They had hovered around her, expressing concern in their well meaning but chaotic way before she had assured them that it was a cold and she would be back to rehearsing in no time. They had popped in a few times since, Luke especially, to offer a distraction or company. She had always sent them away in the name of rest even though the truth was she just didn’t want them to see her like this.

With Luke’s soft gaze trained on her now though...she was having a hard time remembering why she had spent so much effort keeping him away.

She didn’t say any of that out loud, choosing to simply shrug and lift her eyes up slightly to meet his.

Luckily he seemed ready to let it go, letting her lack of answer pass as he shifted a few inches closer to her until she knew she would be able to feel his breath on her face if he had still needed to breathe at all.

“What can I do?” He asked, the hand still on her cheek rising up to trace a tingling line from her temple to her jaw.

Julie let her eyes drift shut so she could take in the sensation of his calloused fingertips dragging gently against her skin even more intensely.

“This is a good start,” She muttered, smirking a little as she heard his answering chuckle rumble out.

Unfortunately she didn’t have long to enjoy such an amazing moment as a particularly intense throb of pain exploded across her forehead and behind her eyes. She managed not to groan but her discomfort must have shown on her face because Luke withdrew both of his hands from where they touched her.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked, his tone more serious than she was used to hearing it.

Julie forced her eyes open though even the dull light of the lamp next to her bed suddenly seemed a little unbearable.

“Kind of...everywhere,” She admitted, her voice catching with a slight croak. “But mostly my head.”

“Stay here,” Luke instructed firmly as though she had any plans to be anywhere but her bed for the foreseeable future.

Before Julie could point that out though he had already poofed out of the room. When he returned a few minutes later he took the long way, the boys having not managed to master poofing any objects with them other than their instruments and their clothes. Thank God, for that second part. Although...she would be lying if she said those barely shirts Luke had a habit of wearing didn’t make her curious to see the few parts of his upper body they left to her imagination.

Julie realized too late that Luke had said something to her and quickly stammered out a response, hoping it was the right one.

“Nothing!”

He raised an eyebrow as he set a box of crackers and two tylenol down on her bedside table.

“I asked if you wanted a warm washcloth for your head,” He said, the hint of a laugh behind his words.

“Oh,” She could feel herself blushing and thanked whoever was listening that she could at least blame the flush of her cheeks on her fever. “No thank you.”

She sat up sluggishly and Luke handed her the pills and a glass of water and she took them gratefully, swallowing the pills with a little difficulty due to her swollen throat.

“You should try to eat something too,” Luke insisted, nudging the box of crackers towards her. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take pain medicine on an empty stomach.”

Julie forced down a couple of crackers even though she hadn’t been hungry all day. Luke sat down on the edge of her bed.

“You’re pretty good at this,” She told Luke as she slouched down a little further, the energy required to sit up quickly draining out of her.

His eyes darted away for a moment before returning to meet hers again.

“I’m just trying stuff my mom used to do for me.”

Julie knew that just because Luke had finally gotten some closure with his parents didn’t mean that it wasn’t still hard for him to linger on his thoughts of them. Especially his mom. She also knew that if the last few months had taught her anything it was that sometimes doing the hard thing was the right thing in the long run. Thinking of people you had loved and lost was hard at first but it could become a source of happiness if you let it. She had that with the memory of her mom and she wanted the same for him, even if they were dealing with different kinds of ghosts.

Julie reached out and pulled Luke’s hand into her somewhat clammy one, giving it a gentle squeeze and pointedly ignoring the questioning look he sent her in response.

“What else did she do?” She asked.

Luke hesitated for a moment but then a soft smile appeared on his face and Julie felt a surge of warmth that cut straight through the ache in her chest.

“She would wrap me up in a blanket like a burrito,” He told her, an excited tone edging into his voice. “And let me watch all my favorite movies.”

Julie turned Luke’s hand over and traced gentle patterns across his palm with the tips of her fingers.

“That sounds really nice.”

He seemed distracted by her actions but he managed to stutter out a reply.

“Yeah...uh, yeah, it was.”

“Anything else?” She asked, her fingers not ceasing their circular route around his palm.

“Um…” Luke dragged his eyes away from what she was doing as he ducked his head bashfully. “She would tell me stories sometimes.”

Julie finally stopped her motions, folding her hand softly over his.

“That’s so cute.”

“I mean, I was a little kid,” Luke shrugged, but he didn’t seem to entirely hate her using the word cute to describe something even distantly connected to him.

Maybe it was the fever or the exhaustion or the gratitude to not be alone but Julie was having a hard time mustering up any of the awkwardness or self-doubt or nerves that would normally plague her if she was this close to Luke. She wanted to be close to him and she felt too rotten to deny herself.

An involuntary shiver ran through her and as much as she would have liked to blame it on the proximity of a certain dead guitarist, she was pretty sure this one was due to this damn flu.

“Are you cold?” Luke asked, that familiar, concerned frown settling back onto his face.

Julie nodded.

“A little.”

Luke jumped up from his spot on the edge of her bed and rushed over to the chair sitting against the wall, grabbing the fuzzy blanket she always kept folded over the back of it. He was back at her bed in an instant, pulling down her comforter and letting a rush of cool air wash over her.

Julie stared at him in confusion, another shiver travelling through her body.

“What are you doing?”

Luke stretched out his arms, her blanket extending until he was just peeking over it, only his eyes and floppy hair visible.

“Blanket burrito,” He explained excitedly. “Is that ok?”

Julie couldn’t help but smile a little at his enthusiasm and she nodded.

He was instantly leaning forward to wrap the blanket tightly around her, pulling it all the way up to her chin and tucking it under her all along the edges of her body until she felt like a toasty...well, burrito. When he was satisfied with his work, Luke pulled her comforter back up, patting it with satisfaction before sinking back onto the bed next to her.

“Better?”

Julie nodded.

“Better.”

In the end the blanket burrito wasn’t the only sick day tip they borrowed from his mother. Luke fetched her laptop and managed to follow her instructions clunkily to pull up Netflix. They watched Thirteen Going on Thirty because it’s one of her favorites, and because it’s full of 80s references which Luke gets too.

“Isn’t it a little creepy that she’s really 13?” He asked at one point.

“Only if you think about it too hard,” Julie rolled her eyes. “Besides they’re obviously soulmates. They were always meant to end up together somehow.”

“Hmmm…” Luke hummed, seeming to seriously consider her words even as a comedic scene played out on the screen. “You believe in stuff like that?”

“Soulmates?” Julie hesitated for a moment, hoping that her face wasn’t giving away just how much she had invested in this question. “Yeah, I guess I do. What about you?”

Luke’s answer didn’t come right away and when it did it was spoken in an impossibly soft voice.

“Yeah, I guess I do too.”

After that they don’t talk until the movie is finished, but he does make a point to reach out and rub comfortingly at her shoulder whenever a ragged breath or cough escapes her.

When the movie is over Julie started to lose what little energy she had, slumping further and further down involuntarily until she finds herself completely horizontal again. She fought to keep her eyes open but it was a losing battle.

“You should go to sleep,” Luke told her, affection clear in his tone. “I’ll keep you company.”

Julie nodded and he stretched out behind her as she rolled onto her side, the blanket burrito hindering her for a moment before she managed to wriggle free. She hesitated for a few seconds then reached back and pulled one of his arms forward to drape over her waist. She knew she was really pushing the limits now of their friendship, of the tightrope they had been walking ever since “interesting little relationship” and “no regrets” and the heady realization that they could touch each other. She just couldn’t quite bring herself to care about the implications in the moment.

Luke’s hand flexed awkwardly on her side before he seemed to reach a similar conclusion, sliding it around to settle against her stomach, tugging her more firmly against him. She could feel his head nudging at her hair and was filled with a sudden rush of concern.

“My hair’s in your face.”

“It’s fine,” He mumbled, his voice closer to her ear than she was prepared for.

“No really, you’re going to smother yourself,” Julie insisted. “We don’t have to cuddle. You don’t have to stay at all if you don’t want to. You’ve already…”

“Jules,” He cut off her nervous rambling, using his arm to guide her gently onto her other side until she was facing him.

He hadn’t moved back at all and their faces were now so close that their noses were almost brushing. Her first thought was that it was a good thing that she couldn’t get him sick because this position would definitely have done it. Her second thought was that she was this close to Luke and how delightfully overwhelming that experience was.

“Better?” He breathed through a chuckle.

Julie managed a nod.

“Better.”

Luke’s arm remained firmly wrapped around her waist, his fingers starting to trace random shapes along her back.

“Go to sleep, Julie,” He instructed, and once again her body seemed to take his words as an order.

An order she didn’t have the strength to disobey, not that she was trying very hard.

Her eyes slid closed.

This moment was so close to perfect (as perfect as anything could be when she felt this sick) it felt selfish to push her luck for more. But Julie wasn’t the type to settle and Luke wasn’t the type to deny her what she asked (anything, Julie, you know that). So she spoke up, eyes still firmly shut.

“Tell me a story.”

There was a pause before his answer came, his voice embarrassed but something else lingering in his tone that she was too afraid to call love and too smart to call anything else.

“I don’t remember any,” He admitted.

“Make one up,” She suggested, one of her hands finding its way to his arm, running her nails gently from his elbow to his wrist and back again.

This time it was his turn to shiver and if she felt a rush of satisfaction at that she did her best to keep the evidence of it off of her face. She was pretty sure he knew anyway.

“Once upon a time,” He started finally, his voice soft and amused. “There was a princess with a gift for music. She was a wicked beauty but she was lonely. She lived in a tower without anyone to sing with. Then one day the princess found this cd and three princes who also happened to be ghosts showed up…”

Julie let his voice lull her into a sleep more restful than any she had experienced in the past week. She kept up her motions tracing gently along his arm until finally as she drifted off her hand sagged down to wrap around his hip. The last thing she was aware of before losing consciousness completely was his warm fingers stroking her spine, the music in his fingers present even when his guitar was out of reach.

She was exhausted.

She was sore.

She was burning up and freezing at the same time.

But she wasn’t alone.

And she was definitely, definitely not miserable.

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

I’m slowly dying (with or without you) - Supercorp

Read on AO3

*trigger warning for panic attacks*

The first time Lena had a panic attack, she was sixteen years old and she had the application forms from MIT spread in front of her. She was admittedly too young to even have the forms, but she was a Luthor and Luthors have their ways more often than not. Since that was the first time it happened, all the cold sweat, chest pain and trouble breathing scared the living shit out of teenage her, who burst into Lex's room announcing she was having a heart attack. It only made sense, she tried to tell him while all her brother did was stare and stare some more. That's how their father died, after all, they had the genetic predisposition for it. Doesn't matter if Lena took the healthy lifestyle quite seriously, or that she took fencing classes four times a week, practiced tennis every Saturday and ate more vegetables than any other person on the planet. She was definitely having a heart attack.

It wasn't a heart attack, as the family doctor ruled out four hours later after Lex finally drove her to the ER. A panic attack, he explained, aggravated by the fact that Lena didn't know what it was, though it was a heart attack and, as a consequence, thought that she was dying. He gave her a prescription, told her she should search for a specialist and let them go back home. On the way back, Lex told her she shouldn't tell Mother.

"Mother doesn't believe in mental diseases. That's for the weak and she hates the weak."

Lena wanted to point out that Lillian already hated her anyway but her brother did enough for her for one day to get into a discussion with him. So, instead, Lena threw the prescription away and told Lillian she asked Lex to teach her how to drive and they spent the afternoon at a Walmart parking lot. Lillian wasn’t happy with that either, but she was never happy anyway.

Lena had many panic attacks after that first one. It was especially terrifying at first because Lena knew how bad it was, how it made her few like she was about to die, so she would freak out every time her heartbeat would peak for any reason or anytime she felt a tightness in her chest. She assumed that's why the therapy would come in handy, but she hadn't been brave enough to stand up against Lillian for twelve years and she wouldn’t start by demanding to be taken to a psychiatrist.

Instead, she found help in the only place that never failed to help her in times of need. Books.

Lena went to the library and she devoured every book that approached the subject. She took notes, she ate snacks, she made a pause to learn how to drive so Lillian wouldn’t be suspicious, but she learned all she could from those books. Over time, it got easier. She would be able to identify when it was about to happen, she learned breathing exercises, she acquired hobbies that helped calm down her heart rate instead of accelerating it, she started carrying a lavender extract air freshener in her bag, and, overall, she dealt with it by herself.

Lex, before he left home and assumed their father's position at the family's company, would sometimes help. He would engage her in chess matches, entertain her with anecdotes he found funny, explain something about his projects to her. It was almost like he knew what she was going through and he wanted to support her in his own way.

Ironic to think that the same boy who drove her to the hospital in the middle of a panic attack of his own, scared about losing his little sister, would one day become the cause of her panic attacks.

It first happened when she heard about the crimes Lex committed. The atrocities, all the deaths, the pain, the destruction. She knew her brother wasn’t a good person but she never imagined that he was a murderer – a genocidal one, in fact. So, when the first police officer knocked on her door to ask her questions after Lex's first attack, Lena did not react other than panic. Because that was her older brother, the man who taught her how to play chess and who made her life at the Luthor’s residence bearable, and then there was all this proof that the same man was a monster.

It happened again later that night, when she was alone and the words kept repeating in her mind. And it happened over and over again for the months that followed it, sometimes when she heard Lex’s name, sometimes when she saw a news report about it, twice during the trial she had to testify in, sometimes when she was alone and the silence became too loud.

That’s why she picked up her things and left for National City. A change of scenery, one of the articles said, can be the key to progress.

And things shifted and molded once she set foot in the new city. Between running around to build up a company from the ashes and dealing with the mess that was her personal life, Lena didn’t have enough time to think about anything else. She got better at the breathing exercises since she didn’t have enough time to distract herself with other things and, surprisingly, for the first time since she was sixteen, Lena felt like she could handle things just fine on her own.

Then she met Kara and things changed for real. Her first friend in the new city, her best friend in the entire world, made things easier for her. It was easier to breathe, it was easier to go through her day, it was easier to be. Lena never told Kara about her panic attacks – she told no one, actually. She always thought she might have to explain eventually if Kara walked inside her office one day to find her panting behind her desk but that never happened. Lena hadn’t had a panic attack since the day she met Kara and that was as concerning as it was alluring.

How could one person be both the solution and the cause of some of her biggest problems?

It made no sense. Lena would never understand the effect Kara had on her heart – her ability to make her heart beat faster on sight and calmer on demand. As though as she could trigger a panic attack with her smile but the calm feeling she brought with her made it impossible to happen. So, like many things in her life, Lena picked up the problem and, instead of dealing with it, she shoved it inside a box and then pushed it so deep inside her mind that it wasn’t even in the shadows.

(Like her abandonment issues, the frustrated dream of going to Disney only to have Lillian saying she couldn’t go, her fear of heights and the ocean, her trust issues and her undeniable feelings towards her best friend. All the above were securely locked inside her, never to see the light of the day.

For the long two years she had known Kara Danvers, Lena had forgotten how a panic attack could feel so... suffocating. Well, not entirely forgotten. More likely, lost in her memories, replaced by other bad feelings like facing death threats thanks to her own family, falling from buildings, piloting a helicopter, almost dying on a plane and it goes on. She almost had one when she shot Lex – when she found out the truth about the person she had trusted with the biggest parts of her soul, only to find out she had been lying this whole time. She certainly felt very close to having one when Kara confronted her at the Pulitzer. It almost happened when she finally told Kara she knew the truth for quite some time now right before trapping her at the Fortress of Solitude.

All those times the only thing that stopped it from happening was blue orbs staring right back at her. Even if filled with pain, confusion, or hurt, Kara still had the remarkable effect of sending calming waves all over her body. After shooting Lex; while in shock that Kara was admitting to a secret Lena thought she never would; while crying and begging for Lena’s forgiveness behind an impenetrable wall, even to her inhuman strength.

Kara wasn’t there that time though. There was only her, and Lex, and tons of experiments surrounding them, and a broken project on the floor, and a thousand lies.

“I gave you the world!” Lex’s breath was hot and wet from that close to her face. His eyes were so filled with rage, his skin trembling with the sheer force of it, that Lena couldn’t help but writhe under it. “Everything!” Even now, alone inside her apartment, sitting in the dark in complete silence, Lena could still feel the fury directed at her like a hot iron. “I supported you! I sabotaged nothing! Touched nothing! I sacrificed my own goals for you!” And then he lowered his voice, and he resembled his mother much more than their shared father in that second because Lillian Luthor never raised her voice but she always sent the message with the same intensity. “Because you needed to see your little project fail with your own eyes, to know the true depravity of humanity, to know that my way was the only way.”

It was fair to say that Lena couldn’t even remember what exactly she replied to her brother. All she knew was that she needed to get out, to get away from him, to escape. She said a few words, turned on her heels and made her escape without tripping on her own feet although her legs felt wobbly and, her muscles, unsteady. Once inside her house, Lena finally allowed herself to feel.

To feel.

What a weird concept, she thought while sliding down the wall of her bathroom, tears rolling down her cheeks and sobs shaking her body like there was an earthquake shaking her apart. Lena wasn’t good at recognizing and asserting her feelings, and it was even harder when all she felt was sorrow.

Sorrow for having trusted once more, sorrow for having made another mistake, sorrow for having believed, even for a second, that her brother could be different, that she could be different. That a Luthor could help change the world for good. She felt utterly stupid. There wasn’t a part of her cells that didn’t feel the disappointment, the sadness, the grief.

There was so much she needed to do to fix the mess she helped create. And the mix of suffocating feelings with the anxiety of making things right before Lex could destroy humanity eventually led her to an unstoppable panic attack, right there on her bathroom floor, with the shower still running on top of her, the night thick outside and the weight of the world on her shoulders. She knew it was coming from the moment she felt the sadly familiar tightness in her chest but there was nothing she could do to stop it this time.

The floor was cold beneath her, the water was too hot on top of her. Her sobs were shaking her to the core, her tears lost in the spray of the too hot water, her breath was short, shallow and too fast, her heart felt like it was trying to rip its way out of her chest, and her thoughts were running a mile a minute.

She needed to find a way to stop Lex – how could she have trusted him again? She would need help, she couldn’t do it alone. Lex had many friends and she had none – and whose fault was that, really? - Lex had control over every agency around the world now that he altered the timeline – and how did he even do that? - Lena would need to talk with Supergirl. Kara. Kara is Supergirl. Kara is Supergirl and she never told her that. Lex was the one who said it, not Kara, and he said it before Lena shot him.

But he wasn’t dead. Not anymore. He was right there, running the company that once belonged to her, making plans to control humanity like every person meant less than an ant and he was the only one capable of controling every single little thing. Did that analogy even make sense? She wouldn’t know. Her brain was barely functioning. Kara would have liked it either way.

Kara lied to her. For two years, the woman she called her best friend, invented lame excuses to leave her presence when she needed to be Supergirl and, for two years, Lena trusted her with her eyes closed and hands tied behind her back. That’s exactly how she felt in that second as well. Blinded and bound, incapable of moving, breathing even.

Panic attacks can kill, Lena is factually aware of that because she strumbled on stories during her researches. It could cause real heart attacks, veins could burst, lungs could collapse, it could be a real mess albeit very rarely. The ‘very rarely’ part was hard to remember when her chest didn’t seem to expand enough to accommodate air, when her heart was beating so fast she could hear it pounding on her ears, when her arms felt as heavy as two concrete blocks, when her head hurt so bad she felt like it was about to explode.

“I gave you the world!”

He didn’t. Lies. Those were all lies.

“I sacrificed my own goals for you!”

Lies. They were lies.

“I supported you!”

No one had ever supported her before. How foolish of her to think she could do anything right. Lillian was right, she was a waste of space and time. Lex was right, she was a stupid girl who dreamed too much. Her father, who could barely glance at her most days, was most certainly right to avoid her as well. She was a defect, an error, a deficiency on a spinning wheel that she couldn’t control.

Everyone seemed to control her but Lena didn’t have control over anyone.

Was she in the shower or the bathtub? She felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She was drowning. She was going to die. The walls were closing around her. When did her bathtub get such huge walls? And when did it became so deep? Her lungs were filling with water, she was about to regurgitate the quick snack she ate earlier in the day, and she was going to die.

What a terrible way of going down, she thought between gasps for air and dry sobs. Naked and fallen in your bathroom. The paramedics will have a great laugh, at least. If she’s lucky enough, they won’t snap a picture as a memoir or to sell out to the journals. Although, in the new timeline they found themselves in, did anyone even care about who she was when Lex was the hero?

Guess she wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.

So lost in her own mind, trapped and tortured by it, it took Lena some precious seconds to realize the hot water wasn't hitting her shoulders anymore. Ironically, it made the drowning sensation increase to a laughable level. If she could laugh, that is.

In the back of her mind, behind Lex's scream, Lillian's sneers, her father's passive face, her mother's hand disappearing underwater, she heard it. It was faint, shushed by the cacophony of sounds already screaming inside her head, and it honestly felt like someone was talking with her underwater.

"Lena."

Lena wondered if that's how it felt to be pulled into a hurricane. If that would have the same spiral, out of control, out of body experience. She heard it, her name being called out in the void that had become the space around her, but she couldn't identify the voice or the source. Sometimes it was Lex, screaming into her face. Sometimes it was Lillian, calmly calling her out in all of her life’s failures. Sometimes it was Supergirl, melting and mixing with the woman she once called her best friend. Sometimes it was herself, calling out for help. Either way, it did nothing to soothe her.

"Lena."

They were all right. She wasn't worth it. None of it was actually worth it. Not her project, not her research, not her hard work, not even humanity. Nothing.

"Lena, look at me."

Her eyes were open. She knew that because they were burning like fire - either because of the water or because of the tears, she wasn't sure. But she couldn't focus them. It was like there was nothing to look at. Nothing there. She was alone, as usual. No one wished to be around a Luthor. No one. And people seemed to like to prove that theory using her as the character in a study.

"Please, tell me what's wrong."

Hard to know where to start, to be fair. Was there anything right in her life? Her mother was dead, her father was dead, Lillian hated her, Lex was a manipulative little bitch, Kara was a liar, Sam was miles and miles away taking care of her own life, she had no one else, everything she worked so hard for was gone, not even her house was the same. And she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. How could she still be thinking if she couldn't breathe?

"Are you hurt?"

Everywhere hurt. Every centimeter, as though someone had picked up a piece of wood and beat the crap out of her, albeit she had no recollection of that ever happening. Did that happen? Why was her body hurting like that? Why was her head hurting? And what's up with her chest? Was someone pressing it? Did anyone put a weight on it? What a stupid jerk, if so. Lena doesn't do sports, she can't lift it!

"Lena."

It sounded closer to the surface. Was someone pulling her out of the water? And when did she even get in the ocean? Lena doesn't swim.

"Lena?"

Uncertain. She could relate. And that tone made a bell ring inside her head. Her name, said in that intonation, with such uncertainty, by that voice. She heard it before. Where did she hear it before? Why was she hearing it now?

"Let me help you get up."

That pulled her right out of the water. It was like someone hooked a hand on the back of her neck and unceremoniously pulled her up. The difference was shocking, the reaction was visceral and she was left feeling exactly like a fish out of water.

"Don't touch me!"

She hadn't been touched, Lena realized a second later. Not yet, at least, but a pair of hands were reaching out for her and they were just an inch away before her loud yell stopped them. It came from deep inside her chest, her diaphragm expanding and burning before releasing all the fury like an animal - a scared, cornered animal. The hands retreated immediately and Lena was left to her own. Her ears rang with her scream and she was transported once again to her laboratory a few hours prior.

"Don't touch me," she repeated and it was like someone poked a balloon with a needle. All the anger, all the vice was gone. Left was the defeat, something she was used to but hurt just the same. "Please, don't touch me."

Silence. Despite her heart ringing in her ears, there was silence. Loud. Suffocating. Maddening.

"Okay." She breathed out of water for the first time in what felt like ages. "Okay, I won't."

The air was thick with steam and Lena was reminded of the shower she was supposed to be having. The heavy breaths, the racing heart, the pounding head, it was all still there, and it didn't get any better when she remembered she was naked, sitting on the cold tiles of her bathroom floor, not alone anymore and not in the dark. Was she not alone for long? Had she moved at some point? Her legs were firmly pressed against her chest, her knees raising so high that she could rest her chin on them and, thankfully, it meant all her front was covered, and it also felt like her muscles had been stuck in that position for years, so maybe she hadn't moved. But she also didn't know when she got company. How did she get company? All her doors were locked. She lived on the fifth floor and, even so, the windows were closed.

"Can I..." How did she get inside? "Here, just let me..."

There was shuffling around, the sound of fabric scraping together and Lena was once again reminded of how sensitive her ears got while in the middle of her crisis. Suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts, she felt something falling over her shoulders and back. Whatever it was, it was heavy, soft and warm, and it helped to set her mind back in the present, her eyes focused, her head snapped up and her breath hitched.

And then she saw her. Well, rationally, Lena knew she was there all along, but her brain wasn't exactly functioning the right way so it was only fair it took her so much time to see Kara Danvers standing in front of her. Not so much standing, the woman was crouching, in fact, her arms reaching out around Lena and her hands holding the edges of something she assumed was the same thing that was draped over her shoulder.

Her former best friend's face was contorted in worry. The crinkle between her brows was prominent, the bright blue eyes were clouded in concern, her lips were tightly pursed in a thin line, and Lena was hooked by her look almost immediately. It was good to have something else to concentrate on, she tried to argue with herself, as though it would explain why her eyes kept moving around Kara’s face like she was a damn Michelangelo sculpture.

The hands didn’t touch her, successfully avoiding her skin after her explosion, but Lena still thought they were too close for comfort. The ends of whatever was dropped on top of her came to lay on her knees, in front of her arms, and Lena noticed that it skillfully covered all of her body. Curious, she forced her eyes to stop staring at blue ones and look down, albeit the pressure on her throat did no good to her current panicking state.

Red. Red like Supergirl’s cape. Lena panted quite heavily when she recognized that it was, in fact, Supergirl’s cape. Now being used as a blanket to cover her naked body, something she never thought would happen. The material felt harsh against her sensitive, reddened skin, brushing against her in an almost painful way. It was also heavier than it looked, definitely pushing her shoulders down and ruining her posture. But, oh, so warm. So warm.

“Lena, what happened? Can you tell me?”

Her eyes moved back at the blonde force of nature standing in front of her. The rest of the suit was missing, Lena realized, although not sure why her brain decided to jolt back to life to realize that specific detail. Kara was wearing jeans and a black deo sweatshirt that looked so soft that Lena wished she could bury her face in it and never let go. If Kara would still be wearing the sweater while she did that, well, that would just be a bonus.

“Talk to me, please. I’m worried.”

She certainly looked like it, Lena’s mushed thoughts wanted her to say. With a grimace, Kara indeed looked as worried as she could get. Her features reminded Lena of other times – of crashing helicopters, assassination attempts, falling from rooftops - all of which she hadn’t control over but she had Supergirl around to save her and make things easier. It was hard to associate the worried face of her best friend with the unbreakable pose of the superhero, even more so when they were blending together right now in front of her.

"Okay, Lena, you have to take deep breaths." No shit, she wanted to say. Do you think I enjoy breathing those shallow breaths that makes me gasp and leaves me desperate for more air? Not at all. It's not like her body was cooperative either.

"Can you do that?"

Lena didn't particularly feel like she would ever be able to breathe normally again. Rationally, she knew it would all go away in a few moments - leaving behind the dull ache in her chest and the bad feelings to deal with. However, stuck in her own mind, unable to breathe, fully panicking and totally lost, Lena was certain she was either going to live the rest of her life like that or that she was about to die - which, come to think about it, were actually one and the same.

Establishing that did nothing to help her calm down, unfortunately.

"Here, try with me."

She didn't want to. Lena truly didn't want to. She wanted, needed, Kara to move. She felt cornered, her back pressed against the wall and Kara in front of her. Her breath wasn't going to ease anytime soon while she was feeling like that. When Kara could so easily just... scream at her face, yell, grab, hurt. No, she needed space.

"Get out," her voice was hoarse, out of breath, and held none of the commands she intended it to have. Of course, the woman didn't move. "Get out."

To no avail. Her second request also fell on deaf ears. Well, selective ears, more likely. "I know you're mad at me, but you're clearly not okay so I'm not leaving you alone."

Lena didn't want to be alone. She just wanted to see the door. She wanted to see the exit and know there was a way out. Although, considering the inhuman force standing in front of her, was there really a way out? She couldn’t push Kara away, she wasn't strong enough. Supergirl was an unmovable object and Lena was no unstoppable force.

That was clearly the wrong route for her thoughts to take. Her already short breath became more erratic, her vision blurred and her chest tightened so painfully that she couldn’t help but think she was wrong and it was indeed a heart attack.

"Move," she choked. She was drowning again, faster than before. And who gave Kara the right to push her back in the water after taking her out?

For the second time.

Fortunately, Kara seemed to understand what she meant. At least, parts of it. Because she moved, taking a step to the side the best she could on her still crouching position. For a second, she just stopped there, eying Lena with bright blue eyes and furrowed brows, before she ducked her head.

"Please, tell me how I can help you."

Lena needed help. She could do it without it but she would be better sooner if she accepted the help. She didn't deserve - the soft voice, the worried face, the cape getting wet against her damp skin - but Kara was still there and Lena could be selfish for a few more minutes just so she could breathe again.

"The water."

The blonde was up to her feet in less than a second - literally, even. Lena would blame the adrenaline rush for her achievement, but she was able to shoot her hand out and grab Kara's hand before she could go farther away. Confused, the woman looked down. Broken, Lena looked up.

"Don't."

There was a pause, precious seconds being wasted, before Kara's eyes widened slightly and her other hand moved to turn the shower faucet again. The water hit Lena's back like thunder, sending electricity all over her nerves. It was hot, hotter than it was healthy to be, and it burned more painfully than she was comfortable with. But it pulled her out of the ocean again, it put the floor back under her feet, and Lena allowed the small comfort to wash over her.

Kara just stood there, her shoes getting wetter and the legs of her pants getting damp with the water splashing on the tiles, but she didn't move. Lena realized she was wearing comfortable sweatpants and a DEO hoodie that made her wonder what her former best friend was doing before showing up in her bathroom. How could she have her cape and not the rest of her suit? Kara just blinked down at her.

Then Lena let her hand drop back to her knee, releasing Kara from her hold - although, Kara could have freed herself just as easily. That seemed to bring the tall blonde back to life because she instantly moved out of the way again, leaving enough room so Lena could see the shower glass door and the bathroom’s wooden door. Her way out.

"You still need to take deep breaths."

"I-I-I-I ca-can't," Lena shook her head as she spoke, which didn't help with getting the words out.

There was a deep sigh all of sudden and she was almost offended to realize it had come from Kara. But then the other woman was moving again before her eyes could focus on her face and Lena was left to imagine if she was annoyed or not. Probably so. She probably realized Lena didn't deserve her help and that she got her sneakers wet for nothing.

Just as Lena was about to sob again, Kara sank by her side. Quite literally, she was standing one second, and then sliding by her side using the wall to support herself in the next one. Lena could only watch when the blonde sat by her side like the shower wasn't getting her clothes completely wet as well, like her loose hair wasn't clinging onto her skin and messing up her curly strands, like she wasn't sitting beside a naked and panicking woman.

Before Lena could even ask what the hell she was doing - if she could even find her voice - Kara reached her right hand out until she grasped Lena's left one. For a second, it felt like a complete stranger was touching her, like they had never touched before. It took a second, and then Kara's hand was like a rock against her trembling ones and Lena let herself be guided until her palm was resting against the woman's sternum. Kara held her hand there firmly as though she was afraid Lena would try to pull away, though she wasn't sure she could even move at that moment.

"Here, with me. In." Lena tried. "In, Lena. Deep breath in, come on, you can do it. In." Her lungs expanded and Kara nodded, copying her movement almost exaggeratedly. "Now out, slowly." She tried but it came out shaky and unsteady, so she gave up in the middle of it, letting out a huff of breath. "Again." Against Kara's chest, her hand followed the movements of her muscles and she tried to force her lungs to match the same pace.

Tired, Lena closed her eyes and let her head fall back until it hit the wall behind her. The water was now cascading down her face and neck, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had managed to get on the safety boat and Kara was slowly pulling her back to shore.

"Does counting help?" She shook her head no. "Silence?" Another shake, more urgent this time. "Okay, I guess the blasting rock music should have been my tip-off."

Lena chuckled. It held no real humor - because she didn't find any amusement in that - but she still felt the need to let the other woman know the distraction was appreciated. Before a panic attack would start, silence, breathing exercises and calming music would do wonders to her. But after it was already happening, there wasn't much she could do to help herself.

"Maybe it could help?" Kara offered gently. "Not blasting rock on your stereo, but some music, I mean. I could go put it on."

"No," Lena shook her head again. Her breathing had started to even out, albeit it peaked again under the prospect of being alone again.

"Okay." Kara squeezed the hand she was holding. "Tell me what I can do to help."

Lena breathed in and out twenty more times - she counted them as her muscles started to lose some of the tension - before she released a deep sigh. "You already are. Just... Just stay here."

“I’m here,” the blonde stated without an ounce of doubt in her voice, or any indication that she might not be there any time soon, so Lena allowed herself to focus on her breaths.

Kara didn’t let go of her hand and she didn’t try to recover it, and it took her a few seconds to realize that was the first time in almost a year that they were touching each other. Lena wasn’t sure whose fault that was anymore – not when her brain was still foggy. All she knew, all too well, was the pain still lingering in her chest, poking her wounds, breaking her walls at the same time it put two bricks at a time to replace the one that went down. And Lena learned that it was the only thing worth carrying around because it was the only thing that made you wiser – the good feelings make you weaker, Lillian would say.

“This might cheer you up,” the woman beside her commented suddenly and Lena almost jumped out of her skin – for a second, she forgot someone was keeping her company in her very large bathroom. “I beat Alex’s ass today. We were sparring. I won. Don’t believe her if she tries to tell you otherwise.”

Lena was sure she was lying. It was quite obvious when Kara was lying. Her voice got just a note higher and she spoke in broken sentences, as though her mind couldn’t form a complete long-phrase and would just come up with things as she spoke. Lena knew that. She had noticed that little quirk of her friend a few months into their friendship. It still amazed her how long she allowed herself to be blinded by Kara’s secret just because she thought...

What did she think, exactly? That Kara wouldn’t lie to her? That Kara was different from every other person who had ever been a part of her life? Even when she knew when her friend was lying? Even when she knew Kara’s voice enough to know when she was hiding something?

Who was the real idiot there?

Feeling overly exposed to those intrusive thoughts that were doing nothing to help her, Lena hugged the red cape closer around her body and shivered. Although the water falling from the shower was hot, it wasn’t enough to keep the soaked cape warm enough to keep her body temperature high, neither was the cold floor against her naked skin helping in any way. She wasn’t about to move, though.

“I was doing my laundry when I heard your heartbeat spike.”

The admission sounded quieter and almost shy, but Lena didn’t have the strength to look over at the woman who used to know all of her secrets – and offered only lies in exchange – to see it herself. Instead, she kept breathing in a perfect match with Kara. In and out. In and out. Hold in, slowly out.

“I tried to call your phone, but you didn’t answer. I called your name, but I didn’t get a response. I thought you were dying, so I panicked and broke your balcony door. I will fix it, promise.”

Lena almost laughed at that. She tried to picture it, the puppy reporter holding a shovel or mixing cement. The prospect of having Supergirl doing it was even funnier. And, for God’s sake, Kara Danvers is Supergirl and she had to hear it from Lex after she shot him.

“I thought I was dying too,” Lena confessed in a weak whisper that was barely audible.

Kara��s thumb was doing circles on the back of her hand and on the side of her wrist. For how long she had no idea, but that seemed to be the last paddles taking her to shore. “What happened?”

“I gave you the world! Everything!”

She could still feel it. His breath against her face, his saliva hitting her skin, his voice ringing against her ears, resounding on her head, breaking her down. Lex himself had never laid a finger on her. Over the years he had paid numerous men to try and take her life – and how many of those attempts were stopped by Supergirl? – but her own brother never physically assaulted her. Words, on the other hand, were his biggest weapon and Lex was a master at operating his guns.

He learned that from Lillian, as did Lena, ironically. Although the three of them were very different from each other. While Lillian held venom in her words, she never raised her voice. Lena had seen her in many levels of anger throughout her life, but she never saw her scream or yell. Lex dealt with things like her total opposite. He wouldn’t scream at every corner, however, he would get frustrated very easily and his way to lash out was to yell and let it all out. Meanwhile, Lena used sarcasm and some very well-made phrases.

She had only screamed once out of anger and it had been into Supergirl’s face right before she locked her away like an animal. Lena didn’t think she would have been able to scream if she was confronting Kara instead. Sweet, innocent Kara, although now she knew the truth. Now, months later, she wasn’t even sure she could scream at Supergirl again.

“Lena, breath in and out with me.”

Her breathing had accelerated again. It made sense, Lena thought with a generous amount of bitterness. Thinking about Lex and Lillian did that to her. “I think I’m going to puke.” As soon as she said it, her stomach made a sickening churn and she heaved a dry gasp. There was no thinking. She was going to puke.

“Can I help you get to the toilet?”

The other alternative was puking all over Supergirl’s cape. And maybe the idea was a little appealing, she wasn’t going to lie, but she also didn’t wish to puke all over herself. So instead Lena nodded and, in a blink, Kara slid from her sitting position to the same crouching stance she had before. This time, she held Lena's hand still close to her chest before she searched for the other one underneath her own cape. Lena was in no condition to be self-aware of her nudity or the fact that her former best friend was brushing much more skin than she was comfortable with.

“Here, I will pull you up and carry you.”

Lena wanted to protest but the bile was already high on her throat, her legs were still shaking and her head was spinning. Nodding, she let herself be pulled up to a standing position. In that second, many things went through her head – she was going to puke right then and there, the cape was sliding off her shoulders and her front was definitely naked, and Kara was very, very impressively holding her up since Lena had no strength on her muscles. The blonde let go of one of her hands so she could use the other one to adjust the cape around the smaller quivering woman before she easily scooped her into her arms and stepped out of the shower.

They were both wet and water started dripping on the floor immediately. However, Lena was not going to worry about it when her body was rebelling against her. Kara kneeled on the floor, taking the brunette with her like she weighed less than a penny, and Lena was hovering over the toilet a second later. She hadn’t eaten anything after the quick snack earlier that day, Lena remembered too late, because all that rose in her throat was liquid mixed with bile that left a burning trail on the way. She panted a couple of times, emptying her already empty stomach, until all she could do was cough.

“Breathe,” Kara reminded her softly and she came to realize the woman was sitting behind her on the floor, holding her wet hair up and out of the way, drawing soothing circles on her back. “Do you need to go to the hospital? I can take you.”

“N-No.”

“Or maybe the DEO, if you prefer,” the not-so-secret-anymore hero tried again. “Or Alex. I can call Alex or take you to her.”

“Kara,” Lena interrupted her, one of her hands letting go of the sides of the toilet to touch the woman’s thigh behind her – the only place she could reach in their position. Her mind felt much lighter now that her body had made the last rebel act against her. “I will be fine. It’s a panic attack. I’ve had them before, it’s fine.” That came out all shaky and broken as she fought to get enough breath to say the words.

Strong fingers closed around hers on a strong thigh. “I don’t know what to do, please tell me what I can do to help.”

Lena sighed, her entire body losing the rest of strength it had and falling on her knees on the floor. She let her upper body rest against the side of the toilet, trying to ignore the smell coming from it, as her fingers dug into a muscular thigh so hard that she was sure her knuckles were white. She closed her eyes and ran her other hand against her forehead to try to stop the drops of water and sweat from reaching her eyes.

She was allowed to be selfish for just a while longer.

“Alex kicked your ass, didn’t she?”

There was a startled silence behind her before a huff was heard, the warm breath hitting the side of her face. “She wishes. I totally won. Big time.”

The worst liar who ever existed – and Lena was the fool who fell for every single one of them. “Where’s the rest of your suit?”

“Washing.”

“I made the suit myself,” Lena reminded her. “It uses nanotechnology. You don’t have to wash it.”

“No need to brag, geez.”

Lena laughed. She just couldn’t help it. When was the last time she laughed? She couldn’t tell. It happened so long ago that she didn’t even remember that. One thing she was sure of: it was definitely because of Kara. And there she was again.

“Like I said, I was sparring with Alex. She insists I use my cape so I can learn how to escape if anyone grabs it.” Kara sighed. “She also said I should have kept the skirt and removed the cape.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I still have the skirt somewhere if she wants to use it and see how it feels like.”

The younger woman scoffed and opened her eyes again. Her heart wasn’t beating so fast anymore, the worst of it seemed to be over, but her chest still felt tight. “You were wearing the cape with a hoodie?”

Kara looked down at her own outfit like she hadn’t noticed it before. Her clothes were soaked and clinging into her body, but she just shrugged. “I like the hoodie, it’s comfy.”

“Well, it’s better than what I have right now,” Lena avoided looking down because the last thing she needed was to see how very much naked she was in the presence of the woman she was once in love with.

Although it still felt like she was, being completely and utterly honest. Lena could lie to people around her but she wasn’t going to lie to herself. If she didn’t have any type of romantic feelings towards Kara, she would never have been blind enough to miss the huge piece of information that was almost screamed into her face every day. And if she had got over said feelings, she wouldn’t have followed Kara out to offer her condolences over Jeremiah’s death, neither would she spend two hours in a bookstore trying to find the perfect book, neither would she still have Kara’s photo in her phone and a perfect copy on her table.

 “Do you want me to grab you something to wear?” Kara asked softly, as though she was also noticing for the first time that the other woman was naked – though, she did go out of her way to cover her when she got there.

Lena tossed the idea around her head a couple of times before she nodded. “Just... don’t be long.” How pathetic. Lillian would have smirked at her, the same smirk that made her feel like she was worth less than gum on her shoe. Lex would have laughed in her face.

“Two seconds, I promise.”

It took her two seconds, indeed. The gush of wind from her departure was not even gone before Kara was back, holding a change of clothes in her hands. She put it by the sink before stepping back with a shy smile.

“I will let you change, but I will be just outside, okay?”

“Kara, I-“ Lena closed her eyes in shame. “I don’t think I can stand by myself without puking again.”

Or passing out. Or starting another attack. Or wishing to throw herself from the closest window. Either way, Kara seemed to understand because she approached her again, this time with both hands extended in front of her body. Lena took them without a second thought, as though trusting Kara came as second nature to her – something she thought she had forgotten almost a year ago. The blonde helped her to her feet and Lena had to let go of one of her hands to hold the cape in front of her chest to keep it wrapped around herself.

She must be a view, she thought then. Wet, eyes swollen because of the tears, panic still lingering at the corners of her eyes and wrapped around Supergirl’s cape. She must have looked even more ridiculous than she felt.

Once standing, Kara held her hand for a few more seconds. “Are you good?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Your heartrate is spiking again.”

Lena nodded. “I’m still in the middle of it. It will take a while to wear off.”

“What else can I do?” She had no answer for that and Kara clearly had no idea what to do, so she kept talking because that’s what she did. “What if I make you some tea? Would that help?”

“I guess.”

“Okay, good.” Kara nodded and took a step back, ready to get the new task in her hands done.

“Just...” the brunette sighed. “Just don’t close the door.”

Kara didn’t, and even if Lena was a little self-conscious about it, she was also thankful. Still shaking, she found herself a towel in the cabinet and let the hero’s cape fall from her body so she could get dry. Lena tried to do it as fast as she could. She could hear Kara moving around her kitchen and suddenly her bathroom felt too suffocating. She needed to get out.

Once completely dried, she picked the clothes Kara brought her. Yoga pants that she hadn’t worn since the last time she went to spinning classes – which, ironically enough, happened with Kara by her side – and a hoodie that Lena knew all too well. The gray sweater from National City University that belonged to Kara. The woman loaned her that when she found Lena drunkenly slurring her words out, drinking wine in her dark apartment, and turns out Lena never gave it back to her.

It’s not like she stole it. It’s just she wasn’t going to give it back to her friend without washing it first, but then she didn’t want to run any risks of ruining it, so she was going to do that separate from the other clothes. When she finally realized it, a month had gone by and they were having the third movie night where Lena was wearing the sweater and Kara had yet to say a thing. When she tried to give it back, Kara said she should make it her official movie night uniform.

Lena would never admit to wearing that sweater when she missed Kara during their fall-out, but she was also not going to deny it.

Either way, Kara had opened her closet – her ridiculously large closet – and between all the options, she chose her National City University hoodie for Lena to wear. That was, admittedly, the only hoodie Lena had, but she had other sweaters and long sleeve shirts Kara could have picked.

God, Lena was really going to grasp onto thin hopes, wasn’t she?

The bile was still burning in the back of her throat, so she moved to the sink next so she could brush her teeth, half wishing she could also have a mint or something. Even without it, she felt remarkably better already.

Kara was leaning against the counter with her right hip, dipping the tea bag inside her favorite mug - something ridiculously colorful with chemical elements all over that the woman herself gave Lena because it "reminded me of you" - and her face was serious, as though she was truly putting all her attention in not screwing up the task in her hands. She had pulled her hair in a ponytail to lock away the wet, messy curls, and her clothes seemed a bit drier, like she somehow had put it to fast dry while Lena changed. More likely she just used her breath or ran around for a few seconds. Her left hand was stuffed inside the pocket of her sweatpants, her jaw was set and Lena could see, even from the distance, that she was frowning as well.

And there was something in the way she just stood there, looking completely out of place and totally belonging there at the same time that just clicked something deep inside Lena.

Something she had buried away a long time ago, shoved inside a box and pushed it deep, deep, deep in her mind.

She could admit she had made a mistake when she started working with Lex, and she could admit she made a mistake when she locked Kara inside her own fortress, and she could admit she made a mistake when she closed her eyes to the truth screaming right into her face. She could admit she fell in love with Kara, she could admit she tried to fight it, she could admit it only broke her heart more than if she had talked with Kara about it. She could admit many things, but she would never admit how many times she dreamed about the scene in front of her. Dreamed about the domesticity that she always wished for, but never voiced.

“Are you feeling better?” Kara asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. The blonde had straightened her body against the counter, she picked up the mug between her long fingers and tried to smile, although it was constricted and uneasy.

Feeling better? Lena hadn’t felt better in almost a year. She felt angry, and lonely, and empty most of the time, and none of those feelings had washed away. They still hadn't. Those were some long months. It was a long time to spend alone, trying to find your way in a world you thought you knew while it seemed to be burning around you. It was a long time missing your friends, your found family, the days where everything was simpler. It was a long time battling to do good and hold everything together when you had no idea how to hold yourself together.

At least, she could breathe, unlike ten minutes ago when she was heaving desperate breaths on her bathroom floor.

So, she nodded. And Kara smiled a bit softer, and her next breath came a bit easier. At that moment, while her former best friend took a few steps closer to hand her the tea and offered her a smile she hadn’t seen in a long time, Lena realized she was remorseful. After everything that happened in the last hours, after another disappointment and another day missing and aching something that she lost, all she could feel was remorse.

She should apologize. She could try, at least. Ask for forgiveness after doing the things she did. Kara had a big heart – the biggest she ever saw – and maybe, just maybe, she would find it in herself the possibility to forgive her. Something that Lena hadn’t been able to do a year ago when she shot Lex and found out the truth.

But, then again, it was her own fault for closing her eyes to the truth for so long. It was obvious – painfully obvious – and she told herself over and over again that she was crazy for even considering it to be real. Perhaps she had been angrier at herself than at Kara. Perhaps she was just angry in general. After a year, it was hard to remember.

She picked up the mug from Kara’s hand, making sure they wouldn’t touch, before she took two steps back so fast that it was like she had been burned. Kara noticed it, of course she did, and her expression hardened again when she also took a few steps back. The blonde hero leaned back against the counter while Lena fought the urge to run and hide. Instead, she felt the coldness of a wall behind her and let her back rest there as she slowly brought the cup to her lips.

The tea was made the exact way she liked it, she noticed when the hot liquid touched her tongue. With just a splash of milk, no sugar, strong. Lena took a long sip as she avoided looking at Kara again. Her mind chose that moment to remind her that her former best friend had just witnessed a very real mental breakdown she had in her bathroom, that she had seen her crying naked on the floor, that she had begged not to be alone.

If she had trouble facing Kara with all the regrets from before, now she could barely stay in the same room as her.

“Do you want something to eat?”

Lena almost pointed out that she had barely eaten for almost a year. She used to have Kara dropping by at lunch or dinner with a bag of food to remind her to take a break and eat, but there was no one there to do it once Kara was gone.

Not gone, Lena reminded herself. Sent away.

Instead, she shook her head and took another sip of her tea. It was vanilla, which was a weird choice for that hour of the day. She usually likes drinking vanilla tea after lunch, black tea in the morning, and chamomille at night. Those were things Kara didn’t know, she thought. They hadn’t shared enough breakfasts for her to know it, and she was always gone when Lena indulged herself with a tea after lunch.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Again, she shook her head.

“I supported you! I sabotaged nothing! Touched nothing! I sacrificed my own goals for you!”

Lena closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the steam leaving the mug to let the smell wash over her. Lex had bad breath. Always had, if she was going to be honest. She remembers noticing it even when she was a kid and he was reading her books in bed, waiting for her to sleep when in reality she was too entranced in the story to actually do it. After she grew up, she started thinking if his bad breath was caused by his putrid soul. A manifestation of his rotten interior, as funny as it sounded. Either way, she could still feel his breath against her face and it made her stomach churn again.

“I should go.”

She hadn’t realized she had opened her eyes until she was blessed by the sight of a slightly annoyed Kara. The hero was unhappy, probably because of her lack of response, and she had pushed herself from the counter as though she was actually going to start walking away.

Away from Lena. Again.

Away.

“No,” she found herself saying before she could think about it.

No, don’t go.

No, don’t leave.

No, don’t walk away.

No, don’t leave me alone.

She could say any of the above and they would all be the truth. She didn’t. She couldn’t. She still had her pride, although faltered. Instead, Lena looked down to the dark floor of her kitchen and tried not to purse her lips in the same way Lillian hated.

"You can yell at me all you want later," she declared. “I just... I can’t be alone. It could... It could happen again.”

It wasn’t unusual, Lena thought to herself. Her panic attacks always came in pairs, which was a bit ironic considering Lena herself barely had any friends. And, even when she managed to avoid the second one, the feelings eating her inside still wouldn’t leave for days on end. And it wasn’t like she couldn’t be alone. She could, she had been alone for most of her panic attacks since she first started having them, but she didn’t want to. Not when Kara was there again. Not when she was sorry and Kara was there.

"I'm not going to yell at you.” That wasn’t what Lena was waiting to hear. She was expecting some lame excuse or no answer at all as Kara walked away. She wasn’t ready for what she heard.

"Please,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes because, of course, Kara would yell. Lex had yelled, her father had yelled, Lillian had yelled in her own quiet way. And it wasn’t like Kara didn’t deserve to let her frustrations with Lena out. “You can scream, say I'm worthless, call me names, say you hate me. Yell whatever you want later,” Lena shrugged and sighed. “Right now I just..."

Need you to stay and keep my mind busy.

She didn’t have the chance to say it, though. Kara interrupted her before she could, her voice firm and only slightly raised. "I don't hate you.” Their eyes locked from across the room. Kara was frowning, her hands had gripped the counter behind her, and her face was hard. When she spoke next, her words were calmer, although they held the same intention. “I might not agree with everything you did but I don't hate you.” Another pause, this time her voice came out broken and uncertain. “Do you hate me?"

Maybe. Lena wasn’t sure she ever hated Kara, albeit it was easy to think she did.

Kara had always brought most of her feelings from within her. The good was easy to see. Her loyalty to her only friend in a new city, her happiness, her love. Those were easy to feel and, even more, good to feel. After she accepted that Kara was the person that would make her feel more than anyone else in her life, Lena even bathed herself in those new things. But, it turned out, Kara also made her feel the max out of the bad as well. The rejection, the betrayal, the hurt.

And those were hard to feel. Those feelings she didn’t want to feel.

She did, though.

And perhaps it made her hate Kara for a second.

"Hate is the only thing I was taught was okay to feel," Lena admitted lowly, her breath blowing away the fog coming from the mug at the same time her eyes moved to the big glass door across the room. Outside, the night was heavy, the clouds were probably hiding the stars and the moon was only showing its right side. Inside, the tension was just as heavy, the hurt was hiding Lena’s true feelings and the tea was now lukewarm.

It felt like a lifetime ago when Kara first waltzed in her life, bringing the sun and all its shine with her. Certainly felt more than a year.

Inside, there was Kara, standing in front of her after a year of doing everything she could to keep her distance. Inside her apartment, there was Kara, strong and determined. Inside her heart, Kara was being pushed away by a monster called hurt, although she refused to leave. Not for the first time, Lena wondered if she would ever heal. Maybe she was too broken already. She felt hollow. She had felt like that for a long time now.

“Lena, do you hate me?”

The question was made with so much hesitation that Lena felt her heart sink, skip a beat, and start running at the same time. She was sorry, God, she was so damn sorry. But she was so hurt too. It was a lot to feel for someone that hadn’t felt much all her life. Or maybe she had felt too much all her life.

It was hard to say.

“No.” The admission came easier than it should have, Lena thought to herself. She did hate Kara, for only a second and only because hate was something she knew how to feel since she was a child. But it was only for a second. Enough to make her lose her breath and make some terrible decisions. Enough to make her scream and lock Kara away, and then lose herself. Enough to make her hate herself. “God. I tried, I tried so hard to hate you, what you did, your lies, your actions, your betrayal. But I can't. I can’t hate you.”

For whatever reason, she looked back to the other woman. Kara’s eyes were still hard, her brows were still furrowed, her lips were still pushed together in a thin line, but there was a small glint in her eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. She didn’t look angry exactly, but she didn’t look happy either. Lena suddenly remembered the face that had looked at her inside her bathroom – concerned and desperate to help – and she almost wished it back. She remembered the cape draped on her shoulders and the soft hand grasping at hers. She remembered lies next and it all came crashing down.

“Do you want to?” Kara asked eventually.

She didn’t look like she actually wanted the answer for that and Lena didn’t truly want to give her one. She did, however. Because her chest was still too tight and her thoughts were jumbled and her heart was aching for the past year and her sun hadn’t shone ever since.

“Yes.” Kara looked surprised, only for a second, before she started looking angry and Lena could almost hear her voice raising to yell at her next – and she deserved it, didn’t she? She decided to talk faster to avoid it regardless of that. “It would be easier than loving you.” The hero now looked shocked and Lena huffed a humorless laugh at that. “I’m sure it would hurt less.”

That was a lie. She couldn’t be sure it would hurt less. She hoped it would hurt less because, right now, it hurts like a bitch and it was hard to think it could be worse than that. The universe wouldn’t be so cruel. Or maybe it would. It tended to have a great laugh with her.

“Lena...”

Lena shrugged, took another sip of her lukewarm tea and sighed. When she looked up again, Kara had moved. She had taken a couple of steps closer before she stopped, took three steps back, then moved forward again. She came to a halt in the middle of Lena’s ridiculously big kitchen, with her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to say something but had no idea what to say, and Lena almost laughed.

Almost.

She didn’t, though. Because she felt more like crying than laughing for almost a year now.

“I will have your cape washed and return it tomorrow,” she said, took a deep breath, and reached out to put her mug down and crossed her arms. “I hope you don’t mind if I use...” coconut soap. That was what she was going to say and it would be more out of depracative humor than actual concern for Kara’s soap preferences, but the words died at the back of her throat when she noticed that the blonde was moving again.

Closer.

Really close.

Somehow, closer than they had been inside her bathroom because, in there, Kara had touched her hand and nothing else. In the kitchen, her former best friend suddenly raised her hand to touch Lena’s jaw.

“What are you doing?” she asked and she sounded completely out of breath as though she was in the middle of a new panic attack. Which wouldn’t be surprising. There wasn’t a mirror around, but Lena could picture the surprise on her face and the panic behind her eyes as she waited for Kara’s response.

“I just...” Blue eyes flicked from her eyes to her lips, then back to her eyes, and Kara looked so lost that Lena almost asked her if she needed to sit down and take a breath. “I just need to try something.”

Kara’s lips were softer than they looked, which came as a shock. Lena gasped the first time she felt them touching hers and her eyes widened as her arms fell to her side, not sure what was even going on. Kara tasted like a matcha green latte from Starbucks – and Lena hated matcha with all her being – and onion ring chips that she remembered were one of Kara’s favorite snacks. She smelled a bit like sweat and deodorant, and she kind of kissed Lena’s teeth at first before their lips touched.

Lena always imagined their first kiss – and, yes, she had thought about it like an obsessed person since she first met the blonde – would be the sweetest thing ever, with fireworks exploding in the background, racing hearts and shy giggles. Things she saw in the romantic comedies she watched on numerous movie nights because she knew Kara liked them. Things she had never experienced herself, but thought they would happen when she kissed the woman she had fallen in love with so deeply.

That wasn’t the case.

There were no fireworks and it wasn’t sweet either. Her heart was racing, though. One thing checked. The kiss was heavy with hurt and a year of distance. The giggles didn’t come. It was hard, and messy, and out of sync, and Lena felt almost angry at Kara for taking that fantasy away from her. For crushing another thing in her life.

Instead, she tried to take it back by biting the blonde’s bottom lip hard enough to make her gasp, by raising one hand to grab the back of Kara’s neck to pull her close at the same time she pulled her hair harder than was necessary, by raising her other hand to grasp at the front of her hoodie to both tug her closer and push her away. Instead, she swallowed Kara’s gasp and shoved her tongue inside her mouth. Instead, she tried to hate Kara at the same time she loved her.

Instead, she only hated herself.

Kara pushed her back against the wall she was leaning against, kissing her back as hard as she was, but Lena didn’t allow her to take any control away from her. She felt a strong hand holding her hip as the other one cupped her face. Their push and pull lasted about a minute before they both realized there was no point in fighting it. No point in pushing.

Like wildfire in a dry forest, there was no way to stop it.

Kara’s hand was suddenly under her sweater – Kara’s borrowed sweater – touching her still damp skin and raising goosebumps everywhere she touched. Then her own hands were pulling Kara’s hoodie away, then her legs were wrapping around a slim waist, strong arms were picking her up, soft lips were kissing her neck and white teeth were biting her skin, and Lena felt the fire explode.

Inside, outside, everywhere.

She felt underwater again. She couldn’t hear anything other than the thunder her heart was creating inside her chest, and she wasn’t sure she was feeling anything other than the wandering hand beneath her clothes. Was there even anything else to feel? To hear?

“Lena?”

Lena didn’t open her eyes, even when her brain caught up with the distance Kara added between them. She had been barely able to feel Kara’s lips before, but she missed them once they were gone. She missed the warmth, the softness, even the taste. And she missed Kara’s hand once her former best friend removed it from the cold skin of her ribs.

“Lena? Your heartrate is spiking again.”

Kara sounded scared, although Lena had no idea why. She had witnessed a panic attack just a few minutes prior. Surely, she should know Lena wouldn’t die by now.

“Lena?”

She should do something about it. Take her mind away off it before it became a real, full-on panic attack that would consume her again.

“Onion ring chips.”

“Uh?”

Lena almost smiled at the confusion she could hear in Kara’s voice. She tilted her head down to hide the grin that insisted to appear, grabbed the blonde’s hoodie even harder and made sure that Kara knew she wasn’t supposed to pull away any further by tightening her hold at the nape of her neck. No point in pushing.

“You taste like onion ring chips.”

“Oh,” it was just a release of her breath, either in relief or more confusion, but Lena could picture Kara’s face perfectly even with her eyes closed – a crinkle between her brows, big blue eyes, pink lips pushed together. “Yeah, I, uh, I was eating before I came.” Blinking her eyes open, Lena sighed, nodded distractedly and tried to focus on everything she could see. Blue eyes, the crinkle, the tiny scar, pink lips, a black hoodie that was way softer than it looked, a faint blush. “Your heart is quite fascinating,” Kara mumbled under her breath when she raised one hand to fiddle with her glasses.

Lena immediately missed her touch. She wouldn’t, however, voice that. She could have, a year ago, but not anymore. Now, she bit the inside of her cheek and pretended she didn’t care when Kara let her hand drop instead of putting it on her waist again.

“Did you figure it out?” she whispered.

“What?”

“You said you needed to try something,” Lena reminded her with just a hint of bitterness. “Did you figure it out?”

Kara took a step back as though she had burned her. Half of her wanted to follow, to pursue, to touch and be touched. The other half, the one that still held some sanity, crossed her arms and hardened her expression. For the first time that night, the hero looked like she would rather be anywhere else.

“I-” Kara stopped, gulped, shook her head, looked down, placed both hands on her waist, looked up, down again, and then shrugged like she had just been defeated. Like she had just walked away from the hardest battle of her life without a victory. “Yes,” she ended up saying after Lena thought she would just fly away without looking back. “Yes, I did.”

At that, Lena cracked a smile. It was filled with bitterness and every bad feeling swirling inside her chest, and she wasn’t brave enough to look at Kara to see her reaction to the brokenness that was clear on her face. She was broken and she didn’t have the strength to hide it that night.

“Okay.”

Kara took another step back and the uncertainty, the hesitation she was feeling was clear as day in her blue eyes. Lena had forgotten. She had forgotten they were supposed to be enemies now, working on different sides and making accusations instead of sharing lunch while watching crap TV.

What an irony, Lena thought. What an irony that they had to kiss as enemies when they had been friends for much longer. When friends had meant much more.

The blonde took a step closer then, then took another two back, then closer again. She looked like she was trying to figure out something to say, what she should do, where to go from there. She had no idea where to start, but neither had Lena.

Kara was saved from saying anything when Lena yawned, bringing a hand to cover her mouth and letting her eyes fall close for a second. When she opened them again, the hero’s face had softened and she had a tiny smile that made Lena’s heart beat faster for a completely different reason.

“You should go to sleep.”

Lena almost said she wouldn’t be able to sleep – she never could so soon after a panic attack. However, she took one look at Kara’s almost gentle smile and decided to let her have that way out of the clearly uncomfortable conversation. Because it has been a year, and they were different people, and Lena didn’t even know who she was anymore, let alone anyone else around her.

“Okay. Yes, I will.”

So, Lena went on with her nightly routine while trying to ignore the elephant – or the superhero – in the room. She put the used mug inside the dishwasher, walked back to her room to grab her empty glass of water to fill it up and walked back to the kitchen. Kara hadn’t moved much, she had just leaned against the island counter and was staring at the marble with her brows furrowed and so intensely that, for a second, Lena thought she would burn the whole thing down by just staring at it. When Lena walked past her holding the full glass, she didn’t move and Lena didn’t say anything.

She wanted to.

Wanted to ask if she was going to stay there all night, staring at her counter and looking like she had no idea where she was. Wanted to ask if Kara still remembers where the extra blankets were. Wanted to ask her to leave at the same time she wanted to ask her to stay. And, in between her own confusion, Lena chose not to say a thing.

She put her glass down at the nightstand on top of the coaster, put her phone on the charger and walked to her bathroom so she could brush her teeth. While she added the toothpaste to her boring red toothbrush, Lena yawned again. All the emotions from her day were catching up on her. The deception with her project, with herself and humanity. Lex’s explosion. The panic attack. Kara randomly showing up. Kara’s lips touching hers. It felt like she had been awake for more than a day – more like a month – and all she wanted to do was crawl on her bed and rest. She knew sleep wouldn’t come easily, it never did these days, but she would try at the very least.

Lena fell on top of her bed like a dead weight. She didn’t bother changing clothes, closing the door or checking to see if Kara had left. The clothes made her feel comfortable, the bedroom could feel too small with the door closed and she didn’t want to know she was alone. So, she just took a deep breath, stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of ways she could force her body to sleep so she wouldn’t be able to think anymore.

Ironically, she fell asleep in less than a minute.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Lena woke up with the sound of heavy rain. There wasn’t thunder or lightning, but the rain was falling heavily outside from what she could hear. She took a deep breath, groaning a bit when she stretched, and then turned around to reach her phone. Her room was dark, mostly because of the curtains stopping any outside light to get in, and the glow from her phone burned her eyes for the first few seconds. She blinked the discomfort away before trying to focus on what she had to do that day.

She was halfway into remembering everything that had happened the day before when she noticed her blanket wasn’t its usual black color. Lena frowned, deciding she could concentrate on something else for a minute, and her arms fell to her sides so her fingers could investigate the material. It wasn’t as fluffy or soft as her usual blanket with its thousand something threadcount that had made it ridiculously expensive. Lena reached for her phone again so she could light the area around her and almost choked on nothing when she realized what had been used to protect her from the chill air of the night.

It was red and way heavier than it looked, and it certainly didn’t belong to her house. Supergirl’s cape. Every memory came crashing down on top of her leaving her breathless and lost. She remembered leaving that cape on her bathroom floor, wet and cold, and it made no sense to her that it was used as her personal mantle for the night. The only way for the cape to be covering her now instead of wetting her floor would be for Kara to have walked in after she fell asleep and put it on top of her.

That thought, that image, made Lena feel sorry again. She was sorry for many things. She had made a mistake, she was sorry, and she needed to say that before it was too late. Before Lex could move on with his plan, before he could cause even more damage than he already had, before something worse happened. And she needed to say she could never, ever, choose to hate Kara over loving her.

She needed to say that.

Lena almost jumped from her bed as she rushed to get changed and ready to go. It was early, way too early, and it was raining outside, but she would cross town to reach Kara’s apartment and she would apologize, she would tell her she was sorry and she would ask what the hell was the whole ordeal with the kiss from last night.

She hadn’t dreamed about that, had she? Kara kissed her. Kara really kissed her. Their lips had touched in a very non-friendly way. That hadn’t been a dream, had it?

No, Lena decided while putting on her trench coat without thinking too much about what she was doing. It hadn’t been a dream. She had said she loved Kara – loves, still, if she was going with the whole ‘being honest’ thing – and Kara had kissed her. Which could mean nothing, but also could mean everything, and Lena wasn’t about to ignore it for any longer. She would have to apologize, so she could add her own question into it.

She just needed to get to Kara’s place and...

Lena stopped in her tracks, almost slipping on the floor with how sudden she came to a stop, and only avoided screaming thanks to the way she was raised by Lillian. Kara was idly sitting on a stool by the island counter in the middle of her kitchen, drinking something from Lena’s old MIT mug while she read the morning journal. Like it was something common. Like she hadn’t just scared Lena to death. Like she belonged there.

Kara didn’t look up – not that she needed, Lena reasoned, she probably knew Lena was awake since before she had noticed it herself. All the blonde did was take another sip from the mug, turn the page and pursed her lips when she read something she didn’t like. The silence that fell above them was different from the night before. It was less heavy, Lena felt just as breathless, but it only lasted about ten seconds before Kara finally spoke.

“Are you going somewhere?”

She hadn’t look up yet and Lena felt only slightly disappointed. She missed the blue eyes, the small scar and the crinkle. She missed it more than she missed a simpler life without murdering brothers returning from the dead. Instead of replying right away, Lena glanced to her own outfit, to her purple trench coat, the jeans and boots, to the cape she had folded on top of her left forearm, and then, for some reason, she blushed. She felt ridiculous, for some reason.

“I...” Lena cleared her throat, bit her lips for a quick moment and then sighed when she looked back up. Kara was just lowering the mug again, and Lena watched her throat move up and down as she swallowed. Honesty, she tried to remember. “I was going to... try to find you.”

Somehow, saying she was going to try to find Kara sounded better than saying she was going to leave her apartment at 6 am on a Saturday when the sky was falling outside to cross town to beg for forgiveness. It wasn’t a lie, at least. And, apparently, it made Kara lose some of her determination to not look at her. Lena noticed how blue eyes moved to the side just for a second before focusing on the journal again and she found herself blushing again.

“Well... You found me.”

Yes, she did. Sitting in Lena’s kitchen, reading her journal and drinking her... whatever that was. Still there. Still around. Still... existing in Lena’s life as though they hadn’t avoided each other for almost a year. Well, Lena did most of the avoiding, she was going to admit that. She was also going to admit she had missed waking up and feeling hopeful.

And hope was all she could feel when her mouth started to move on its own accord, without her approval and faster than her brain could keep up. Hope that Kara would understand, that she would be able to find it in herself to forgive her when Lena had taken almost a year to be able to show her the same treatment.

“I have made a terrible mistake.” She watched through misty eyes because of the tears as Kara slowly let go of the mug so she could close her hand into a tight fist, and, even though her heart clenched and her mind started to race, Lena couldn’t stop talking. “I was hurt. I was so hurt. And... I thought I could get rid of the hurt.”

Kara put the paper down next and she took a deep breath before finally turning her head to look at her. Lena almost stopped there, she almost gave up, turned around, walked back to her room and allowed darkness to consume her. She didn’t, though. Not when Kara was looking at her like... like she didn’t hate her. Not when Kara was still there. So, instead, Lena tried to remember how warm the sun Kara brought to her life felt, let her fingers fiddle with the cape she was holding tightly and let every word slip from her lips without trying to contain them anymore.

“I thought that I knew better, that I could make the world a better place. But I was wrong,” Lena swallowed a sob back and tried to hold back her tears, although it was already a lost battle. “That hurt took me to a dark, dark path, where I was blind to what I was really doing, to what I had become. You were right. This whole time I became a villain, and then...” A lot of things had almost happened. And then she lost everything. And then she was proved wrong. And then Lex showed his true colors again. And then, and then, and then. And then nothing. “I’m not looking for forgiveness. I’m... I know what I said and I know what I did, but I am...” Sorry, so terribly sorry. “I am really hoping that you will believe me right now. Okay?”

“Lena.” The single word, her name, wasn’t said softly or gently, but it wasn’t a curse either.

Even so, Lena didn’t look up from where she was staring at the red cape and she didn’t try to stop talking either. “Lex is working with Leviathan, and they are going to...”

“Lena.”

“...use Obsidian to do something terrible...”

“Lena.”

“...using the system I made with my project. I didn’t know I was helping them, but I did. And now...”

“Lena.”

“...Now I want to help stop them, so...”

“For Rao’s sake.”

“...please, okay? I want to help stop Lex and Leviathan.”

“Are you done?”

It was the impatience she could hear in Kara’s voice that made her look up. She had expected Kara to be mad at her, but she wasn’t expecting the blonde to sound so... done. When she looked up, though, all tears rolling down her cheeks and sobs being barely contained, she saw that Kara had a tiny smirk on her lips. The blonde had turned her body to better look at her and she had now an arm draped at the back of the stool beside her while she rested her chin on her other hand.

For a second, a terrifying second, Lena thought it was over. Then, Kara sighed, pulled the stool back and gave it a soft pat. “Sit down, will you?”

Lena didn’t know if she should ask what was going on, scream or cry even more. Instead of doing any of those things, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to order her heart to stop beating so goddamn loud. When she opened her eyes again, Kara was filling a second mug with hot water and she could no longer hold a thousand myriad of emotions swirling inside.

She allowed herself to cry, then. Allowed a year of bottled-up emotions to escape and take over. Allowed the pain to be known. Allowed it all to be felt.

She was not expecting to feel Kara’s arms warmly embracing her into a tight hug. It didn’t stop her from resting her cheek on Kara’s shoulder or hugging her back just as hard. It also didn’t stop the tears, but that was okay. She knew she could trust Kara to have her back while she wasn’t strong enough to do it herself.

“We will figure it out,” Kara whispered on top of her head where she was resting her chin and Lena didn’t doubt for a second that she meant it.

“Do you hate me?” she asked lowly, not bothering to raise her voice.

“No,” Kara’s reply came fast and certain. “I don’t think that hating you would be easier than loving you either.”

And when Kara kissed the top of her head, Lena finally felt it. The fireworks she heard about in the romantic cliches Kara made her watch. She felt the fireworks and she felt the heat of the sun. She felt the tingles and the butterflies. She felt safe, maybe for the first time in her life.

“We will figure it out,” Kara whispered again and, this time, Lena knew she was talking more than Lex, and Leviathan and Obsidian, and every other mistake in between.

“We will figure it all out.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 28

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 4.3k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: After a month of no Flower...here’s a chapter. Please reblog and let me know what you thought in comments or an as! I’ve been struggling a lot with writing lately and feedback really does help to motivate me!

; Flower Masterpost

-

Taking in the sight of the tattoo gun and all the necessary accessories that are being prepped in front of you, you can’t help but purse your lips in slight worry. As excited as you were for this, you were also afraid that it was going to hurt. Because getting a tattoo wasn’t a quick process.

Nervously, you glance over at Hoseok. He’s sat on a stool that Jay, the tattoo artist, had brought over for him while you sit on the padded, leather chair. Taking in your uncertain expression, he gives you a bright smile before squeezing your hand to give you a little reassurance. Which you need, because you were a big baby when it came to pain.

“You’ll be okay, I swear. You’ve watched me get tattooed before.” Hoseok says sweetly, white teeth flashing for a moment as he grins once more in another effort to soothe your worries. It doesn’t work though, as you almost immediately begin to frown upon remembering the one time you’d gone with him to watch him get tattooed.

“Yeah...and you ended up crying in pain.” Twisting his lips in a grimace, Hoseok’s expression is suddenly unsure before he sighs deeply in acknowledgement. Lifting your hand, he kissed the back of it gently before running his thumb along the thin, soft skin.

“Hey...I was getting tattooed on my ribs. That’s one of the worst places to get done because you’re tattooing on bone and muscle. Jay can attest that yours isn’t going to be that bad, I swear.” His tone is gentle and you can tell he’s trying to keep you calm. Glancing over at Jay, you watch as the tattoo artist finishes up his preparations before giving you a wry smile.

“He’s right. I won’t lie, it might hurt but if it does, it should get better hopefully. If it gets really bad though, tell me. We can stop if you can’t handle it. You will end up with only a partial tattoo but...” His shoulders shrug casually beneath his Amon Amarth shirt and you want to complain. But then you realise he’s right, and he’s only telling you the truth. 

Grinding your teeth together, you sigh deeply before nodding at him in acceptance.

“Okay. I’m a big girl, I can cope with this.” That line is directed at Hoseok, your tone slightly sarcastic and he snorts in response. Leaning forward, he gives you a quick peck on the lips before settling back and starting up a conversation between the three of you once you approve the positioning.

There’s a brief pause before you feel Jay’s cool, glove covered fingers pressing against your shoulder to make sure he gets the right angle. Your first dip into the tattoo world as going to be a small one; just a watercolour style tattoo after extensive research. Jay had frequently tattooed Hoseok over the years and so had been Hoseok’s number one recommendation, leading to him creating a pretty little cherry blossom flower design.

The first press of the tiny needles makes you flinch slightly as they begin to prick and you wince at the slight sting before breathing out slowly. It’s not as bad as you’d thought it was going to be in reality though you certainly wouldn’t want to have to sit for hours upon hours and have large, intense pieces done as Hoseok does. Still, you felt like this was a little bonding moment between you the two of you.

Even if there was a third person here, but whatever.

You weren’t getting the tattoo because of him exactly, but you wouldn’t deny that he’d been a big part of why you’d finally made the decision. Tattoos have always been something that you thought were pretty but they were also something you’d never considered getting as they were permanent. But Hoseok’s love and pride for his own had led to you gaining a new appreciation for them too.

When you’d told him that you wanted to get one, and what kind of style you wanted as well, Hoseok hadn’t asked if you had a special meaning behind it. One of his philosophies, when it came to tattoos, was that you didn’t always need to have a special reason to get a tattoo. It was more than acceptable to get something just because you thought it looked cool or pretty.

You’d discovered early on in your relationship that Hoseok had a real axe to grind against anyone who wanted to gatekeep tattoos and make it so that you always had to have some sentimental reasoning for it. He’d said something along the lines of ‘this isn’t fucking American Idol or X-Factor and you don’t need to have some dying relative to get it. Just get something cos it looks badass if you want.’.

But you did personally have a reason for getting it. Firstly, you’d made sure that Jay made it look pretty enough that you wanted to go through with the pain and have it on you. The second reason, which was incredibly cheesy and you’d rather die than tell anyone the meaning because you can’t handle emotions well, is because it’s a flower.

Part of it was that you’d met Hoseok on an app called Flower, which had led to the most important relationship you’d ever had. It wasn’t his name or anything, but more symbolic of how you’d met. The other major reason for it was that it was a symbol of how much you’d grown over the past year, becoming more confident in yourself and accepting that while you may have weaknesses, they didn’t make you weak overall.

Your research had shown that the cherry blossom, aside from just looking pretty, was also seen as the symbol of renewal and life. They’re only around for a few days, maybe a few weeks, every year but they’re bright symbols of beauty and happiness. Your own life had been renewed in the last year with all the changes that you’d experienced and you just wanted a little reminder that your while you’d struggled, your life was just as bright.

And that kind of cheesy talk was exactly why you wouldn’t explain the meaning to anyone. Not that Hoseok had pried too hard, though you were certain he’d probably at least figured out the whole Flower app connection. He hadn’t mentioned anything though.

As a result, you’d decided to get the tattoo on your first anniversary together. Which obviously, was today. It truly boggled your mind to realise that you’d been in a relationship for a whole year now. A year of being romantic with someone and them not getting bored or tired of you. Hoseok was still here and he loved you more than ever.

Technically, you didn’t have an actual anniversary. Neither of you had formally asked the other to be in a relationship. It had ended up being one of those weird adult relationships where you just start dating and just never stop. As a result, you’d both agreed that you’d the anniversary of your first date to symbolise the beginning of your relationship.

It was the first time you’d been together after all, and neither of you had even looked at anyone else since then. A whole year later, including many moments of bickering, confusion, anxiety, panic attacks, depression and moving your whole life around, here you both were. Still together, very much in love and tentatively looking forward to the future.

As a result of moving in the last month, the two of you had initially agreed not to get presents for each other today as a lot of money had been spent buying the things you needed to fill and decorate the house. Yet it had become quickly apparent that you both seemed to have secretly agreed to spoil the other with the excuse of ‘it’s our first anniversary, I can’t just get you nothing!’ being thrown around a lot.

You’d been bought the cutest fluffy Pikachu that you’d spotted in a store earlier today and he’d promised to pay for this tattoo given it was your first. And you weren’t any better as you’d bought him the BluRay boxset of the Godfather along with a gift box of flavoured teas that he’d been surprisingly excited over.

After your meltdown in the house the other week, it felt nice to be back to being happy. You still weren’t completely content or settled, but you’d managed to get yourself to relax enough to not snap or get grumpy with Hoseok anymore. The house was mostly finished with only the yard needing to be done, but you’d both agreed to wait until springtime for that.

It didn’t feel like home yet, but you knew it was just a matter of time.

But yeah, your anniversary was going pretty great so far. Even if you were having to put up with being pricked hundreds of times with the tattoo gun. You tried your hardest to ignore it and instead focused on Hoseok. He was busy talking to Jay while occasionally stroking his thumb over your hand, absentmindedly comforting you. 

Looking him over carefully, you took the time to simply admire him. How you’d managed to end up with such a stunningly handsome man as your boyfriend, you’d never know. Or understand, not that you were ever going to complain. What was even more baffling to you was the fact that along with being one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, he had a heart that was perhaps even more beautiful.

You were sure that if you’d ended up dating anyone else, you would have probably had multiple arguments that resulted in someone storming out by now. Or the relationship would have been ended long ago. Yet the most you’d done with Hoseok was bicker over small things with the incident the other week being the most friction you’ve had so far.

That was probably solely down to the fact Hoseok seemed to the unnatural patience of a saint. Something you didn’t take for granted, that was for sure. Just the thought of it has an overwhelming surge of love swelling in your chest.

You wished that you were the kind of person who could easily vocalise your feelings. It frustrated you eternally that you weren’t because there were so many times you wanted to tell him you love him. Instead, you gently poke at his hand with your free hand. Happiness fills you as he smiles at your way of telling him that you love him, poking your calf gently in response while carrying on his conversation.

He’d probably never realise how important he was to you. How much he’d helped you to grow as a person and with your personality. You owed him a lot and you would happily spend as long as he let you repay it. Not that he’d like that idea if you told him of course, but you didn’t care. You loved him, more than he’d ever know.

Tuning back into the conversation, you realise that they’ve been talking about the next tattoo that Hoseok wants. He was planning on getting a watercolour style tattoo similar to yours only he was contemplating having it be space-themed to match his sleeve. Jay is nodding as he discusses options with Hoseok, occasionally checking on you with a gentle touch before carrying on once he realises you’re okay.

And then the conversation moves back round to you and your tattoo. Jay had designed it after Hoseok had made the appointment for you and you’d emailed over what you were thinking. He’d sent over the design and tweaked it to your desire and finally, you were here today, getting it done. 

But apart from that, he didn’t have much knowledge of why you wanted it. Given Hoseok was a long time client of his, he had trusted that your boyfriend had given you enough information to make sure you were knowledgeable at what you were getting into. He’d sent over stuff as well but you’d discussed it in depth with Hoseok to make sure you were comfortable.

“So how come you decided today to get your first tattoo? And I’m honoured to be the artist you chose by the way.” Jay says, his tone sweet and you look to him giving Hoseok a slightly sarcastic smile. He’s given one back by your boyfriend and you snort, rolling your eyes at their interaction. As if Hoseok would let you go to anyone else other than his trusted artist.

“Err well...I’ve been considering it a while but wasn’t sure whether to get it or not. And Hoseok said I should try and go to you if I did want it as you’ve always done good work for him, so...yeah. I just decided I want it.” You mumble out, shy at explaining why you’d finally gotten a tattoo. There’s nothing more to say on that and Hoseok squeezes your hand in reassurance before taking over the conversation for you.

“And it’s today because it’s our anniversary so...why not get your first tattoo on your first anniversary, right?” Hoseok grins broadly, letting his fingers lace with your own and you feel yourself go warm at his pride and the affection laced into his voice. Jay pauses what he’s doing for a moment to look at you both with surprise.

“It’s your anniversary today? Oh man, congrats. Happy anniversary,” You grin at his good wishes for you both before he carries on, the needles pressing into your skin once more. “A whole year, that’s great. How did you both meet then?”

Hoseok glances at you with a small smile, wrinkling his nose slightly until you give him a smile in response. He seems happy with that and kisses your hand once more, playing with your fingers as his gaze turns back to Jay.

“Online dating, believe it or not.” There’s a snort of what sounds like amusement from behind and you frown, wondering what’s so amusing about that. Lots of people get together through online dating. That’s the whole point of it. Or is it that someone like Hoseok was on an online dating service? It still confused you, in fairness.

“Oh yeah? Take one look at the pretty lady and decide she was going to be your girl?” He teases and you see Hoseok’s smile turn devilish.

“More like she saw this handsome specimen and decided she wanted a piece of that.” Now you’re the one pulling a face at him, rolling your eyes at his bravado while being secretly amused the whole time. He wasn’t wrong in reality, only you hadn’t been quite as bold as he made you out to be.

“Would you and your ego like some space? I’m sure I can arrange that for you. Also, we love a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it.” Jay applauds you, smirking at Hoseok’s outraged face in pure glee and you can’t help but laugh softly at them both. It was obvious they’ve known each other awhile with how they interacted and you liked how Jay made you feel at ease.

“It wasn’t as...bold as that.” You murmur shyly, looking down at your hands as you recall the panic and anxiety you’d felt after messaging Hoseok the first time. It was hard to believe you’d come so far since then. Even harder to believe that outrageously attractive man was now not only your boyfriend but living with you.

“Ignore her. She’s weirdly bold in ways you wouldn’t expect. But anyway, yeah. Officially one year together today. Can you believe it?! Me? In a relationship with the prettiest and funniest girl for a whole year?” Hoseok snorts as he makes an incredulous face while Jay laughs as well. 

You’re not sure what to make of that at first before you recall that they’ve known each other years and Hoseok had been pretty notorious before you. Though his compliment does make you squirm in embarrassment, a desperate need to deny his words bubbling inside you.

“I’d say it’s shocking but honestly, you’ve been looking at her with the biggest heart eyes this whole time. So not really. I’m happy for you both though.” He says and you can practically hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t see him. It’s not too long before he’s finished with you, cleaning up and showing what your tattoo looked like to you to make sure you’re happy and then covering it.

You were beyond pleased with the tattoo, excitement flooding through you as you’d looked over it and realised it was even better than you’d hoped for. Grinning at Hoseok as you stood up, you gripped his hands tightly before wiggling with a bright smile.

“It’s so pretty!” He’s smiling at you in agreement as Jay cleans up his workstation before you all move over to the front desk to pay. The sweet receptionist from earlier is there, covered in even more tattoos and piercings than both men with you. At her request, you show off your new tattoo with a happy smile and accept her compliments with joy.

“How much again?” Hoseok asks, pulling out his wallet. You frown at him immediately, lips pursing into a pout as you remember he’d said that he was going to pay for it but he just tuts at you, shaking his head. “Shh, anniversary present, remember?”

Pushing at his stomach lightly, you sigh as you realise you’re not going to win this argument. Not that you were even arguing really, but you knew that Hoseok would refuse point blank to let you pay for this. Plus, you would admit to enjoying being spoiled by him sometimes. It wasn’t something you were used to but you couldn’t help enjoying it when he did it.

“Actually, it’s on the house today,” Jay says with a smirk, looking you both over with what looks suspiciously like fondness in his eyes. “Consider it my present to you both for your anniversary. Maybe you can make this a little tradition and I’ll see you both for many more years.”

Hoseok is silent and you look up to see his jaw dropped. It’s not often you get to see him so surprised and you can’t stop the giggle that leaves you at the sight of it. Smiling at Jay, you thank him profusely and squeeze Hoseok until he’s muttering out thanks as well. 

“It’s nothing. Use that money to spoil your girl today. And I hope you’re okay with being spoiled.” Jay grins, tilting his head at you as he practically gives you both an order. It might not be overly feminist of you right now but you certainly weren’t going to say no to it. You’d never had an anniversary before and damn it, you wanted the full experience!

“I will, I promise. Thanks, man.” Hoseok reaches forward and does that whole man hug thing with Jay, causing you to roll your eyes with the receptionist in amusement. Jay doesn’t try anything with you and you suspect Hoseok had probably told him you weren’t fond of physical contact from others. Instead, he gives you a nod of goodbye as you both leave.

“That was nice of him.” You murmur, brow rising as you take Hoseok’s hand and link your fingers together. He hums in acknowledgement, lips twisting slightly as a light frown touches his forehead.

“It was. So you like your tattoo?”

“I do, it’s so pretty. I didn’t think it’d look this good but...I like it.” Smiling up at him sweetly, you don’t miss the way Hoseok’s eyes soften as he looks down at you. Jay was right, he did go all heart eyes around you. Not that you were going to complain though.

“Good, I’m glad. I’ll make sure we look after it properly. For now, though, I’m hungry so how about we go get something to eat?” He throws his arm around your shoulder, hands still linked together so that you end up with your arm crossing over your chest. Laughing at the movement, you happily push into his side as he pulls you even tighter to him before agreeing.

“Okay, but you pick. We’ve been sat there for over an hour now just for me. Your choice.” Hoseok’s about to complain before sighing and giving in, letting go of your hand to purse his lips as he hums in contemplation. Your lower lip juts out at the loss of contact with him and you momentarily pause in bemusement at how much you’ve come to love physical affection from him when you dislike it from others.

“Let’s recreate our first date and go to the Indian restaurant. Only this time, let’s not talk about girls throwing up on my dick and end the date with us going home and having some hot anniversary sex instead.” Raising a brow at him, your lip quirks in amusement momentarily.

“You never cease to amaze me when horny, you know that? You just literally talked about someone vomiting on your dick and then went straight into having sex. Ew.” Wrinkling your nose, Hoseok snorts in amusement before grinning broadly.

“Look, we’ve established many times by now that when I’m horny, my IQ drops to almost single digits. Anyway, we’re not doing it now. We’re gonna eat and then go do it.” Laughing, you stop to wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tightly, resting your chin on your chest to look up at him as a confusing array of positive emotions bubbles and swirls around your body.

“Okay...that sounds good…” You trail off, brows creasing as you feel so many words and emotions stalling in your throat. Like a lump, you can’t get past. Instead, you squeeze him harder before pushing up onto your tiptoes to kiss him. He lets you, amusement causing him to chuckle slightly as he carefully hugs you back.

“I love you too. Now let’s go eat, I’m so damn hungry you can probably feel my belly rumbling.”

-

Wincing slightly, Hoseok manages to shift until his arm is sliding out from underneath you. Massaging feeling back into it, he clenches and unclenches his hand before settling onto his back more comfortably. As much as he loved to cuddle you at night, he did often end up with a dead arm.

Sighing quietly, he stares up into the darkness of the bedroom. Your breathing is slow and steady, a calming and soothing sound to his ears as you sleep comfortably. Without even realising it, he's smiling gently before glancing over at you.

A whole year. He'd been with you for a whole year. If someone had told him this two years ago, he'd have laughed. Even though he was in a much better place than when he was a teenager, he knew that some part of him had avoided relationships. Like he still hadn't felt worthy of one.

He did now. He had to. You didn't deserve anything less. And if that sounded cheesy then dammit, it was his first anniversary. He was allowed.

Thinking over everything that has happened in the last year, he feels immense pride at how much you've grown. How comfortable you've become in yourself around him. How happy you are. There were bumps along the road of course, but the two of you had gotten through it.

Expanding his cheeks almost childishly, he lets out a slow and deep breath as he contemplates just how mushy he's being. If the guys could hear his thoughts…

And it's then that he realises he hasn't even posted anything today. Nothing to declare to the world that you'd both made it a year. Even when people hadn't expected you both to last a month.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he unlocks it and opens Instagram. Choosing the right pictures takes him a solid 10 minutes. He has so many and he wants to make sure that you'll approve of each picture that he chooses.

Finally, though, he settles on them. A selfie of you both grinning broadly from today, the photo of him kissing your cheek from his birthday, a picture of you sat reading a book in your old apartment, a selfie of the two of you kissing and finally, a picture of you holding Kasumi and smiling so big.

Each one gets edited carefully until he's happy with them, moving forward to the part where he has to write. Glancing at the time on his phone, he sees that he has fifteen minutes left of his anniversary.

So he starts to write.

Jungsevenfold: Today we celebrated our first anniversary!

One whole year of being with the funniest, kindest and on occasion, strangest, girl I've ever met. I've learnt many things being with you, from discovering I like board games to the fact it's a bad idea to destroy the moon.

I'm never quite sure what you're going to say and I love that. I love the way your mind works, what you find funny and so much more. We're often told we're mismatched but I think it's working out. Better than anyone thought.

I think this is long enough and mushy enough, so I'll finish up. Y/N, my princess, my little meeple; I love you ❤🥰. So may we have many more years!

/cheesiness

Posting it, Hoseok watches it upload and feels a momentary pang of embarrassment at what he'd written. But glancing back over to you, he pushes it away. You deserve for him to yell his feelings.

Rolling over, he places his phone back before smiling to himself and wriggling into the covers. You're hard enough on yourself, so if a little embarrassment on his behalf can make you smile.. then it's worth it.

[mydekuacademia]

Isn’t It Lovely?

Moving into the dorms seemed like a dream come true for (y/n). They could finally live free from their bleak home life, or so they thought. A Todoroki x reader fic loosely inspired by Lovely by Billie Eilish

Warnings: inappropriate touching, abuse, sucky parents, overall angst, cussing. Please, please don’t read if any of this could be triggering to you!!!!

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Howdy! Yet another unrequested fic I’m writing instead of emptying out my inbox (don’t worry, i’ll get to those too!!)

Going to UA was the greatest accomplishment of your life. You had spent years honing your skills in your quirk usage and general hand-to-hand combat - you were good. You’d made it into class 1A without issue, comfortably situated among the top in the class, but not so showy as to appear overconfident. It wasn’t long before you caught the eye of the son of the #2 hero - Todoroki Shouto.

It wasn’t until your fellow classmate, Midoriya Izuku, broke through Todoroki’s walls that the stoic boy began opening up to you. Within a few weeks of your friendship, he told you about his home life - the story behind his scar, the loss of his oldest brother, the intense training sessions. As you held his shaking form close, you realized just how important he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you anything, and you wanted to tell him everything too.

But you couldn’t. Not when he already had so much on his plate.

Soon after Todoroki, Midoriya, and Iida battled Hero Killer Stain, you decided you had to tell Todoroki how you felt. Your high school career was obviously going to be much more dangerous than anticipated, so who knew how much longer you’d have to say something? Much to your surprise, after a moment of tense silence, he muttered that he returned your feelings, a light blush coloring his cheeks. Thus started the best relationship of your life.

The events of the year didn’t make your relationship easy. It seemed like one of you was always injured or training, but you did your best to make time for each other. Just when you began to get tired of being pulled fifty different ways, the dorms were implemented.

Your parents were none too happy about you moving out at such a young age, but Aizawa managed to convince them it was for your own safety. You didn’t know how to tell your teacher that your adamant agreement was for reasons other than villain attacks.

You were overjoyed to find out that your dorm was on the same floor as Shouto’s; finally, you could have more time together! You dreamed of study dates in the common room, movie marathons in your dorms, quiet mornings before your classmates woke up and calm evenings after they went to sleep. You could calm him down when he woke up from nightmares, and maybe you could finally tell him everything you hadn’t gathered the courage to before. Maybe you could actually work up the nerve to let yourself be weak in front of him.

Unfortunately, life had other plans for you.

The day you were set to move in, your mother got called in to work unexpectedly, meaning she would be unable to help you bring your belongings to the dorms. That meant your father would have to help you instead. When you found out, your breath caught in your throat - this was exactly what you were trying to avoid. You never wanted him to know which building was yours, let alone which room. There was nothing you could do now though.

You walked into the common room of the 1A Heights Alliance, arms loaded with boxes and head lowered. You almost made it to the staircase when a soothing voice spoke from behind you.

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” Shouto asked. You instantly dropped your boxes and hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his collarbone.

“It’s nothing, Shouto. The move is just stressful, you know?”

He hummed in response, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “Is there anything I can do to help? I can carry some of those boxes.”

You shook your head and pulled away just enough to kiss his cheek. “They’re not heavy. Thank you though.” The moment was broken by a honeyed voice coming from behind you.

“Who’s this, (y/n)? A friend of yours?” 

Your face instantly hardened, and you pulled away from Shouto and stiffly lifted your boxes from the floor. “Do you have my stuff?” you asked with a steely tone.

“Of course! Lead the way.”

You were about to open the door to the stairs when Shouto spoke up again, quieter this time. “Who is this, (y/n)?”

You barely glanced up to meet his eyes. “My father.”

He stood a few inches taller than you, with an athletic build and domineering presence. You had his nose and mouth, but not much else to give away your relation.

“I’ll see you later, Shou.” With that, you entered the stairwell and began the trek up to the fifth floor, your father trailing behind you.

“Was that young man Endeavor’s son?” your father asked innocently. 

“Yes.”

“Todoroki Shouto, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And what is your relationship with him?”

You exited the stairwell and walked to your door. Your father grew irritated.

“(Y/n), I asked you a question.”

You continued ignoring him and opened the door to your new room, which was disconcertingly bare. You hadn’t gotten two steps in when you heard the door slam shut behind you and felt yourself being spun around. Your boxes hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Are you dating him?” your father growled.

Now, this didn’t phase you terribly. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a rare occurrence at home. This was what you never wanted Shouto to know about. Your father was just as bad as his.

“I paid for years of the best training there is, I got you into the prestigious UA, and this is how you repay me? By whoring yourself out to the first pretty boy you see?” His volume was rising with each word.

“Father, please, we’re in public,” you mumbled.

A vein bulged in his temple. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! I’m your father!” With that, he brought a hand up and slapped you with every ounce of his strength. Your head snapped to the side, and you fell to the floor, landing on a small box and badly bruising your side and hip.

With a small whimper, you begged your father to stop. “Please, someone could hear. Please, stop.”

He dropped to his knees next to you and tugged your shirt up just enough to reveal the waistband of your pants, eyes crazed. “Maybe if I tighten your belt, that boy won’t be trying to take your pants off.”

Your eyes widened dramatically, hardly seeing anymore due to your panic and pain. “Dad, stop! Please! What the hell are you doing?”

Before he could make any more to follow up on his statement, your door burst open, revealing one very angry Torodoki Shouto. Frost climbed up his right hand, and sparks danced on the fingers of his left hand. “Get your fucking hands off them, right now.”

“Ah, if it isn’t the pretty boy himself. Come to use my pathetic child?” your father replied, undeterred by the furious glint in Shouto’s eyes. 

Ignoring your father’s words, Shouto swung his right arm in front of him, sending a wave of ice at your father and freezing him to the wall, leaving his head uncovered. He then dropped to his knees next to you and helped you into a sitting position, arm behind your back and other hand on your shoulder. 

“Aizawa is on his way. I told him your father was acting suspicious,” Shouto said quietly. “He’s not going anywhere for the time being. Let’s go, okay?”

You silently nodded and allowed him to help you to your feet. Aizawa made it to your room just as you limped out.

“(Y/n)? Are you limping?” Aizawa asked lowly. You nodded and stared at your feet. “Where is he?” he asked in a growl.

“I froze him to the wall. I walked in on him hurting (y/n),” Shouto explained tightly. “I’m taking them to my room. You can find us there when you’re done.” Aizawa must have nodded, because Shouto placed an arm around your shoulders and led you to his room. When you got situated on his futon, he grabbed your hand and lifted your chin so you were eye to eye.

“How long has this been going on?”

You shrugged. “A while, I guess. Few years.”

Shouto’s eyes widened for a moment, before narrowing a bit. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped get you out.” His pained tone made your heart ache.

“You had enough to deal with as it was. You didn’t need this too,” you whispered.

“I would have done it for you, though. Anything for you.”

You leaned into his side and buried your face in his neck. “I was going to tell you after we got settled into our dorms. I thought this would be my way out, that maybe I could move on. But he- he never goes away. I hoped to actually make it out someday, but I guess I just got my hopes up. I guess I’ll never actually be free, huh?” You chuckled bitterly. 

“You can be free with me,” Shouto whispered. “I’ll keep you safe, always. He’ll never get near you again as long as I’m around.” He lifted your chin and placed a light kiss on your lips. “Stay here with me for a while, okay? I’m sure Aizawa won’t mind. And if he does, screw him.” He wrapped his arms securely around you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Welcome home, (y/n).”