#could’ve even had a bit where he keeps correcting people only to lean into the name and correct someone to blackheart later

[joaniejustwokeup]

They gave Ballister Blackheart soooo much poor little meow meow energy it’s fantastic:

Edit/correction: Ballister “Boldheart”

[storiesforallfandoms]

you’re my best friend ~ pete davidson

word count: 2002

request?: yes!

“pete friends to lovers”

description: in which two best friends get super sappy while drunk

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol and weed usage

masterlist (one, two)

You were already two glasses of wine deep when Pete showed up, two cases of beer in his hands. He had a look of excitement on his face, which slowly fell when he realized there was no one else in your apartment.

“Everyone else cancelled,” you answered his unasked question.

“Everyone?” Pete asked.

You nodded. “Prior commitments or just not wanting to come or some shit.”

Pete came over and plopped himself down on the couch next to you. The case of beer was at his feet and he popped it open, taking out a bottle and immediately chugging it. You looked at him in amusement as he did so. Once he was finished, you asked, “Aren’t they warm?”

“Room temperature,” he corrected.

“Isn’t that gross?”

“A little, but obviously I have to catch up with you so we can be on even playing fields all night.”

You smiled and poured yourself another glass of wine as Pete opened another beer and started to drink again.

Between the heavy amounts of alcohol and the joint that Pete had brought, the two of you had gotten fucked up in no time. At some point you couldn’t even get up off the couch for more drinks, or for water that you both knew you should be drinking. The hangover you were going to have the next day was going to be killer, but in the moment neither one of you really cared.

You were both laid back on the couch, legs intertwined as you laughed at something Pete had said. It probably wasn’t even that funny, but in your inebriated state, everything was hilarious.

“You’re, like, my bestest friend, Pete,” you slurred. “No one else even bothered the show up, but you did!”

“I’m sure everyone else had like...stuff happening,” Pete said. “Adult things like...I don’t know...kids and taxes.”

You retched at the thought. “Yeah, no, I’m good with not having those adult things to do. Having kids, while extremely cute, is also extremely exhausting. But I don’t think anyone would’ve shown. No one else really...hangs out with me anymore.”

You laid your head back so you were looking at the ceiling. You could feel a lump growing in your throat and didn’t want Pete to see if you started crying. You knew this sudden emotion was most likely caused by the alcohol and the weed, but you also knew it was something genuine, a concern you had deep down that you had never voiced to anyone before.

You could hear Pete move to sit up and immediately turned your head away so he couldn’t see your face, even though you knew that looked more suspicious than anything.

“Everyone is busy, (Y/N),” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sure they’ll be able to hang out soon enough.”

“They’re not too busy to miss out on work get togethers, or going out with one another.” You sighed. “I know people grow apart and that’s just what happens when you grow up, I just didn’t think it was going to be all of my friends growing up and drifting apart all at the one time.”

“What am I, chopped liver?”

You giggled and sat up. The room spun around you as you did so and it felt like your stomach lurched. You had to take a moment to steady yourself before focusing your attention on Pete.

“I told you, you’re my bestest friend,” you said.

Pete’s smile slowly faded as he looked at you. “(Y/N), don’t cry please.”

You had forgotten about your emotional moment entirely. You wiped your cheek to find a wet streak running from your eye to your chin. You looked away from Pete again, suddenly feeling ashamed by your needless emotions. You were glad that the two of you were so drunk in that moment and would likely forget all of this the next day.

Pete’s hand lightly touched your chin, lifting it so that you were looking at him again. You looked into his eyes as he used his thumb to wipe the tears from your other cheek. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized how closely the two of you were sat together.

“I’ll always be here,” he assured you. “No matter how much we grow up or grow apart, I’ll always be one phone call away.”

You nodded, unable to get the words to unstick from your throat. You believed him, you knew he’d always be here.

The smell of beer and weed was strong as Pete leaned forward more, and normally you’d hate the smell combination. But you were too distracted by Pete’s eyes to notice, and a moment later you were too distracted by his lips on yours.

You had never viewed Pete as anything more than a friend before. You had grown up together. You were partners in crime since the first day you met in middle school. Your friends, and even your family, often made jokes that the two of you would end up together, but you both laughed it off. You were best friends, two peas in a pod, nothing more.

But now, with his lips moving against yours and his arms pulling you as close to him as you could get, you weren’t so sure. It could’ve been the drunken state the two of you were in, mixed with the emotions you were feeling just moments before. When the two of you sobered up the next day you may have not even remembered what happened, but in the moment you wanted all of him. You wanted his lips, his hands, his body, his heart, and you wanted to give him all of you in return.

His tongue brushed against your lips and you gladly let it in. It was wet and tasted like beer, so not the most romantic thing in the world, but it felt good in the moment. You felt like nothing could ruin what was happening, until your stomach lurched again.

You quickly pulled away from Pete and rushed to the bathroom. You didn’t even have time to kick the door closed behind you before you collapsed next to the toilet and threw up everything you had eaten and drank the past few hours. Pete followed closely behind you, pulling your hair back and gently rubbing your back. When you stopped throwing up for long enough, he got up to get you some water and made you drink it all before he did anything else.

“I didn’t think I was that bad of a kisser,” he joked. You glared at him over your shoulder before throwing up again.

Once you felt steady enough, Pete helped you to your feet. You brushed your teeth and took a mouthful of mouthwash in order to get rid of the taste of vomit. Pete helped you to your bedroom, where he had another glass of water and an Aspirin waiting for you.

“You’ll need that in the morning,” he said. “I’ll let you get changed.”

“You’ll stay with me though, right?” you asked. Suddenly you hated the thought of Pete having to leave.

He smiled. “Of course I will. I just want to give you some privacy while you change. You’re not supposed to see a girl naked till, like, the third date.”

You smiled back at him, a fuzzy feeling building inside of you at the thought of actually going on a date with Pete.

You changed into a pair of comfy pajamas and downed the glass of water Pete had left for you. You ventured out of your room to the kitchen to pour up another glass. You found Pete putting the bottles of beer in the recycling container and putting your glass in the sink.

“Why aren’t you as fucked up as I am right now?” you questioned.

“I could always handle my booze better than you,” he teased. You scowled and stuck your tongue out at him. He chuckled and put an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

After some convincing, Pete agreed to join you in bed. At first he laid a respectable distance away from you, but you moved close to him and placed your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, running his hands through your hair as your eyes became too heavy to stay open.

“You’ll regret this in the morning,” he murmured. “Or forget it completely.”

“Maybe,” you said, “but let’s wait for the morning to decide that.”

~~~~~~

When you woke up the next morning you groaned in pain. Your head felt heavy and like it had been stabbed by multiple little needles. You opened your eyes but had to shut them again immediately, hissing at the pain that small action caused.

Why the fuck did I drink so much last night? you questioned as you braced yourself and opened your eyes again.

You found yourself alone in bed, which didn’t seem too unusual until you remembered that you hadn’t been alone when you fell asleep. Pete had been there, more specifically he had been cuddling you.

You’ll regret this in the morning, you recalled him saying before you drifted off to sleep. You wondered if he had left before you had the chance to decide how you felt about the events of the night before.

You popped two Aspirin pills into your mouth and swallows them with a mouthful of water. You pulled yourself out of bed and slowly walked out of your room, the only speed you could manage in this state. You were halfway to your kitchen when you realized you were smelling something; bacon. You wondered where the smell was coming from, and didn’t have to look far to get the answer.

Pete was stood by your stove, two plates full of eggs and toast already sat next to him. When he heard you enter, he turned and greeted you with a smile.

“Good morning sleeping beauty!” he said. His loud voice pierced your ears and you quickly covered them and groaned. He chuckled. “You poor thing, you’re gonna hate today.”

“I already do,” you said. “Is that for me?”

He looked down at the plate of breakfast. “One of them is, yeah. Do you think you can keep it down?”

“I can try.”

The two of you sat at your dining room table and began to eat. Although your stomach still didn’t feel right, the food was definitely soaking up whatever alcohol was left in your system and thus was making the splitting headache you had subside just a little bit.

There was an awkward silence looming over the two of you. Despite what you thought the night before, you could still remember every detail; the emotional conversation, the kiss, the cuddling, how you felt when the latter two things were happening. You knew Pete remembered because he certainly wasn’t as fucked up as you were.

“Do you regret it?” you found yourself suddenly asking.

Pete looked up from his breakfast, fake confusion on his face. “What do you mean?”

You gave him a look. “Pete, I remember last night. I remember what we did, and what you said before I fell asleep.”

He sighed, turning his attention back to his food. “I don’t know...do you regret it?”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “If anything, I...I feel whatever the opposite of regret is. The only thing I regret is getting so drunk I threw up after we kissed.”

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s not exactly great timing.”

You looked at him, still waiting for his answer. Finally, he looked up at you again and said, “I don’t regret it either.”

“So what do we do now?” you asked.

Pete thought for a moment before saying, “I take you out on a date, one where we’re both completely sober, and we decide if we really want to do this. How does that sound?”

You smiled brightly at him. “I think that sounds like a great plan.”

[solemnly-mischievous]

rivalry (d.m. x reader)

You and Draco Malfoy have a rocky relationship, at best. It'd be better to describe it as a rivalry. But all it takes is a bit of fire from your end to finally make him snap.

(AKA: I just really wanted to write an enemies-to-lovers trope for my first fic.)

A/N: Hi! First fic. Hope you like it. :)

Contains: Degradation, slight edging, d/s elements, slight dub-con (but not really; full consent is clearly given), light humiliation

Word count: 3.9K

-----

Normally, Defense Against the Dark Arts would be your favorite class. The spells you learn are fun and useful; Professor Lupin is always a plus, and most importantly, you’re good at the subject—so bloody good, you’ve bested even Hermione and Harry multiple times.

But lately, you’ve been finding yourself dreading the lessons. So much, in fact, that you were half-considering asking Hermione to hex you just to get out of your afternoon class.

Why? It’s a pretty easy answer when you got down to it.

Draco Malfoy.

You’d had an ongoing rivalry with the git since third grade. He’s been terrorizing you and your friends, mostly because of Harry, but along the way the two of you had begun building a personal vendetta.

(He probably hasn’t quite yet forgiven you for hexing him so badly he’d had to stay in the Infirmary for weeks, and you certainly haven’t forgiven him for causing your friends so much grief over the years.)

This year, you’d thought you could try your best to avoid him, with your upcoming N.E.W.T.s and all. But DADA had other plans.

Professor Lupin had begun experimenting with mixing up partners for class—it was, after all, a very hands-on class—and had apparently decided that cross-house interaction would build bonds and skill. His exact words were, “If they’re your friend, you’re gonna go easier on them. In the real world, you never know who you’re fighting with—or against.”

So he’d randomized the name list. You, being Gryffindor, knew immediately you wouldn’t be with any of your closest friends—but you hoped that perhaps you’d be paired with Cedric, or Luna, or anyone but—

“Your partner is Draco Malfoy,” Professor Lupin informed you when he got to your name, and you immediately make to protest.

“Her?” a voice came just as you complained “Not him”, and the students parted to reveal Draco himself, glaring daggers at you and Lupin.

“Yes, her,” Lupin replied, unruffled. “Now, pair up, everyone. We’re practicing Stunning today.”

That day, you’d fucking limped out of the classroom. Not to say Draco had gotten it easier—he could barely stand after you Disarmed, Stunned, and hit him with a nasty stinger hex just for the sake of it. (You’d gotten detention, but it was worth it.)

Today’s your second class with Malfoy, and you’ve never wanted more to be able to commit violent actions in your life.

“Please,” you whisper to Hermione as your group enter the DADA classroom. “Just one hex. I won’t even go to Pomfrey. No witnesses. You could just Petrify me, if that’s more to your liking.”

She sighs. “I’m not going to Petrify you.”

“’Mione,” you say, scandalized. “I thought we were friends.”

“Pair up, everyone,” Lupin calls out. Your friends shuffle away and you close your eyes, already getting a headache from the thought of—

“Well, well.” That fucking smarmy voice. “If it isn’t Potter’s little friend.”

“If it isn’t Daddy’s boy,” you snap, opening your eyes and glaring at Malfoy, who already has his wand out. “Bugger off, Malfoy.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Draco’s eyes narrow. Clearly, he’s as displeased with the situation as you are. “What are we doing today, then? Can’t wait to knock you down a few notches. Star of the class, my—”

“Patronuses!” Professor Lupin announces from across the room, and your heart soars—Patronuses, you could do that. Harry, months earlier, had taught you how to perfect a corporeal form in exchange for tips on his Astronomy essay. He isn’t here today—maybe you could be the only one in the class to do it.

Lupin continues, “Yes, the Patronus—an essential in the world of Defense magic. We’ll be starting with just the simple basics of it. A strong flick of the wand, and the words ‘Expecto Patronum!’. Say it with me, everyone.”

You chorus the words obediently along with the class, Malfoy’s snort of derision not going unnoticed.

“Good. Good, good, now—the key to the Patronus is to think of a happy memory. It has to be strong. Remember, Dementors feed on misery—it’s the only way to keep them away. Now, go practice. I’ll be walking around to see if there’s any problems.”

“Expecto Patronom,” Malfoy repeats in a mocking voice once the classroom starts filling with the chants of fellow students. “Doesn’t Potter know how to do that one? Heard he can do a deer. Pretty weak animal if you ask me—”

“A stag,” you correct. “And it’s Patronum, not Patronom.”

He glares at you again. “Think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“Certainly smarter than you are.” You glance at him. “Though that’s not saying much, is it?”

You give Fred Weasley, who’d circled around to hear the conversation, a not-discreet fist-bump.

“Alright then.” Malfoy spits out your last name, trying to provoke you. “Let’s see you do it.”

“You try,” you suggest, hiding your smirk. “Unless you’re too scared.”

Draco grits his teeth. Unwilling to back down from a challenge, he brandishes his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

A thin, wispy light appears at the end of his wand—weak, but clearly visible. Classmates around you murmur as they notice it, and Professor Lupin beams as he sees Draco’s doing. “Very good, Draco! A fantastic start.”

Draco flicks his wand smugly and the Patronus charm dissipates. He smirks, shooting you an expectant look.

You take out your wand, feeling its familiar grip, and you close your eyes. You recall the memory of a weekend in Hogsmeade with your friends, drinking Butterbeer as you stroll through the snowy village, pointing out the shops and people. Unconsciously, you smile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Light blazes so bright you can see it under closed eyes, and you open them to find a glowing golden retriever prancing out the end of your wand. It bounds around in the air joyfully, leaving a trail of light where it leaps, and circles the classroom, eventually coming back to you and wagging its tail.

Professor Lupin is grinning, utterly delighted as he takes in your Patronus. Calling your name, he exclaims, “That is phenomenal—you’ve learned fast. Very impressive job!”

You smile back, and your Patronus glows lighter in response. You quickly call it off, the light being a bit too much, and the rest of the class passes by in a haze of awed murmurs and classmates asking your advice on their spellwork. You become so preoccupied, you don’t even notice Draco’s unrelenting stare on your back.

The class ends fast, the bell tolling to signify the start of what would be a study period for you. As students trail out of the classroom, chattering happily, Professor Lupin calls you over.

“Listen, I want you to know that what you did today was truly impressive,” he says, seriously. “I assume Harry laid out the groundwork, yes?”

You nod. He smiles. “You and Harry both are very accomplished students, then. But truly—I doubt many Aurors could’ve managed what you did today.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Your words are sincere.

“My pleasure.” Professor Lupin shoots you an apologetic look. “Now, I’m terribly sorry, but I have off-grounds business to attend to—would you mind setting the classroom to rights? I’m afraid I had to push the desks and chairs back for our class, but I don’t have time to put them back. I’ll write you a note, if you—”

“Oh, no, Professor, don’t worry, it’s a study period. I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved, already heading out the door. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’ll bring chocolate to compensate!”

“Goodbye, Professor!” you call, and he echoes it, and then he’s gone. You look around the classroom, seeing all the desks in the back, and you crack your knuckles. Time to get to work.

“Well. Quite the teacher’s pet, aren’t we?”

Merlin’s fucking beard.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” you mutter, turning around to find him leaning against the classroom doorframe. His blond hair glints silver in the sunlight, and his entire outline—his uniform, his stance, his dark gaze—is just… honestly, unfairly attractive.

So maybe your first impression of Draco Malfoy, years ago, wasn’t that he was a self-entitled git. Maybe, just maybe, you’d thought he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

And maybe that feeling never went away.

Not that you’d let him know that.

“What are you doing here?”

“Study period.” He starts walking towards you, shutting the door behind him. “Couldn’t help but be curious as to what Lupin wanted with you.”

“What’s it to you?” you snap. Malfoy doesn’t reply.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?” he asks instead, and you blink.

“Me?” you splutter. “Difficult? Fat lot of sense that makes, with you fucking insulting me at every move I make—”

“As I recall, our first interaction was you hexing me in third-year.” Malfoy sounds amused.

“You pushed Harry into the lake,” you snap at him. “You bloody well deserved it.”

Draco laughs. “Good times.”

“Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth.”

“My mouth is also capable of jinxing you three ways to Friday, so I suggest you leave me alone, yeah?” Your fingers twitch towards your wand in preparation, and he only looks on with derision.

“I’m just frightened,” Malfoy sneers. You barely notice him slipping off his rings, pocketing them. “Potter taught you that Patronus charm, didn’t he?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’. Just wondering what else he taught you.” A vengeful mood seems to have taken Draco. “You seem to hang out with him an awful lot.”

“It’s called having friends,” you snap right back. He looks as though he’s about to retort, but you push on. “Unfamiliar with the concept? Wouldn’t be surprised. Crabbe and Goyle don’t seem like the best conversationalists, are they? Just a couple of goons. Wonder why you don’t have better friends. Friends you can actually talk to who operate with more than one braincell.”

“Shut—”

“Maybe it’s because no one wants to be near you,” you continue, years of pent up frustration spilling out in a vitriolic spiel. “Because you’re a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to be happy, aren’t you? You drive everyone away and then you go after more because you’re lonely and sad and fucking pathetic—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy repeats with a vehemence.

“—and it’s too fucking late to repair the damage you’ve done—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy snarls, and you stare into his narrowed eyes.

“Fucking make me,” you snap back, and he lunges.

You’re pinned against the wall of the classroom, Malfoy’s wand to your throat and a hand fisting your robes to render you immobile. Draco flicks his wand, ever-so-slightly, and you hear the classroom door lock with a wordless spell.

“Malfoy,” you whisper, but he cuts you off.

“Shut the fuck up or I swear you’ll bloody regret it,” he hisses.

“Draco,” you begin, and he curses.

“Fuck it.”

Gripping your robes, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s rough and demanding and you think he’s trying to hurt you, with how much his teeth scrape against your bottom lip and bite down gently, but you’re not pulling away, he’s not pulling away, and you find yourself leaning into the kiss, arching up to meet him—

He breaks away and looks at you, smirking.

“If I’d known that’s what it would take for you to shut your bloody mouth, I’d have done it years ago.”

“Let me go, Malfoy,” you say shakily, but even as he loosens his grip slightly, you show no sign of moving.

“If you’d wanted to leave you’d have Stunned me long ago,” he states, truthfully. Your wand is fully in reach. You know how to do wordless spells. And yet you let him kiss you.

“Shut up,” you grumble, still not moving.

“I think, perhaps,” Draco murmurs, glancing down at your body, “you’re enjoying this.”

“No,” you argue, and his wand digs into your neck—not enough to hurt but enough to register.

“Shh,” Draco hushes, almost condescendingly. “Be quiet, now. That’s a good girl.”

Involuntarily, you shudder at his words. They made your legs weak, and you fight off the urge to audibly whimper—what the hell’s gotten into you?

Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he hasn’t noticed.

Of fucking course he notices.

“Oh?” The shit-eating smirk on his face is enough to make you glare absolute daggers at him. “Don’t give me that. You shivered. You liked it.”

“Shut up,” you say again, with no real strength.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl, sweetheart?” he teases cruelly, and you have to close your eyes to fight off the blush. It doesn’t work, and your face grows hot with embarrassment and arousal.

“Dear me,” Draco says mockingly. “What happened to the spitfire from minutes ago, hm? Still feeling like saying those words to me? Still feeling like being bad?”

Inadvertently, you shake your head.

“Who’s pathetic now?” he mocks, grinning, letting his wand trail a cold path down your neck, over your collarbone, until it rests on the top button of your uniform. “May I?”

The question sounds mocking, but he meets your gaze and you know he’s honestly asking for permission. And you give it to him, nodding, even as your blush deepens. Draco undoes your buttons, one by one, with tiny flicks of his wand, until your shirt is fully unbuttoned and you’re exposed to his gaze.

Draco shoves his wand into his belt and pushes your bra out of the way with an almost laughable urgency, getting a full, appreciative look at your breasts. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “Shame they belong to such a fucking headache, hm?”

You grumble some sort of an insult, and Draco pinches a nipple, which shuts you up effectively. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands trail down to your skirt, and instead of undoing the button he leans down and scoops the fabric up. “Here, be good and useful and hold this for me.”

The indifferent praise and the degradation combined has you obeying immediately, hoisting your skirt up and baring yourself to him, which only adds to an eddying swirl of shame and arousal pooling in your gut. Draco looks at you, stares, really, and it’s with a predatory grin that he reaches over to caress you through your panties.

“Soaked,” he observes, sounding both amused and satisfied. “You always get off this much to being treated like a right slut, then?”

“Draco,” you whine, bucking your hips up into his almost phantom touch. “Come on.”

“Is that how we ask nicely?” Oh, this bloody git. You’ll never be able to look at him again—he’s going to be so fucking smug around you.

When you don’t answer, he withdraws his touch completely, and you make a sound of protest. “No, no, please.”

“Go on.”

“Please touch me,” you try, but it’s hard to focus when you’re so goddamn wet you’re soaking through your panties.

“Not quite,” Draco muses. He’s palming himself through his trousers, and the sight turns you on impossibly more. “Come on, then—convince me.”

“Draco, please touch me,” you beg. One of your hands drift down to your panties but he slaps it away immediately, shooting you a warning look. “Please!”

“Touch you where?” He wants you to say it.

“Touch my cunt, please, Draco, fuck, I’m so wet it hurts,” you beg, and it’s true—you’re aching with arousal, and if he doesn’t touch you within the next few seconds you think you really just might combust. “Please, please touch me, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just touch me.”

“If only the school could see you now,” he sneers, but even he seems to break his self-control and he tugs your panties down harshly, all but ripping them off. “Baring yourself to me and begging to be touched like a whore.”

“I’m not—oh,” you gasp, his fingers pressing into your cunt immediately and his thumb working on your clit, sending waves of pleasure so potent you almost double over. His fingers are long and thin, which is why he can press two in without preamble, and the stretch is barely noticeable.

“You’re not what? A whore?” Draco laughs. “Please. Look at yourself.”

“’m not,” you insist, but you clench around his fingers at his words and he raises an eyebrow.

“I think you’re lying.” He presses a third finger in and you whine, little sounds of pleasure escaping your lips as he works you open. “Quieter, now, or I’ll have to gag you.”

You bite your lip, and Draco thumbs your clit as a reward and incentive. “Now, tell me what you are. Be truthful, or I won’t fuck you. I’ll leave, leave you here with your shirt hanging open and your skirt up, the doors wide open. Maybe the next bloke who stumbles in might help you.”

Your eyes widen—he wouldn’t. But his gaze is dead serious. “Say it.”

“I’m a whore,” you breathe, and he thrusts his fingers into you, hitting that right spot. “Draco!”

“Say it louder,” he orders, angling his fingers and curling them.

“I’m a whore,” you moan out, bucking your hips upwards—you’re close, you’re so close. “Draco, I—”

He stops moving, and his other hand pinches your clit harshly. “No.”

You let out a gasp of shock and hurt, reeling from the denial and pleasure. “But—”

“You’re not fucking coming until I say so,” Draco hisses, undoing his belt and pushing his trousers down. “And I’m not saying so until I properly fuck you into a bloody wreck.”

His cock is already hard, and he positions himself right at your entrance. You can feel him, his tip pressed against your wetness, but not pushing in. “Draco—”

“I think,” he muses, and you want to scream, “one day I’ll drag you into a broom closet. Fuck your throat so hard you won’t be able to talk for the day. You’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

“Please—”

“Or I’ll bring you back to my dorm, so I can fuck you until you’re screaming yourself hoarse,” Draco says thoughtfully. “Your dorm works. So long as I can ruin you.”

“Malfoy—”

“Because it’s just so—” and he pushes into you in one swift movement, fucking into you immediately with a fast and rough rhythm, “—fucking nice to see you being a slut for me.”

“Fuck!” You grind your hips along with his rhythm, feeling the tightness of your cunt around his cock, and you clench as he hits your sweet spot with the right angle, almost shaking with the pleasure that it gives you.

Draco groans your name, fucking you brutally as he chases his own release, already pent-up from the teasing and the sight of your wrecked state. “’m gonna come on your tits, would you like that? Get it all fucking messy, maybe get some into your mouth, get you fucking ruined?”

“Please, please, fuck, please let me come,” you plead him, feeling your impending orgasm barrel towards you—you couldn’t last, you can’t fucking last—

“Fucking hold it,” Draco snaps. “Hold it like a good fucking girl, you understand?”

You let out a mournful sound, but you nod—yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please—

“Salazar, I’m fucking close,” Malfoy breathes into your ear, his voice rough and strained. “You feel so good, love, so bloody tight.”

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. Draco exhales shakily and curses, pulling out and pushing you to your knees with such a force that you drop down, your skirt being the only padding.

“Wh��?” you try to ask, but Draco is already pumping his cock and then he’s coming all over your face, some of it dripping down to paint your breasts as he’d promised. Draco leans down to gather some release on a finger and pushes it into your mouth, eyes darkening as you suck and swallow around it.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you almost come right there.

“Draco, please,” you beg, still on your knees and still absolutely fucking desperate for release that he’s been denying you for the past half hour. “Please let me—”

“Alright, spread your legs, c’mon,” Draco guides, and you obey and then he’s there, thumb rubbing steady circles around your clit and two fingers pushing inside you once more. You whine and grind into his fingers, his touch, hips following his movement as he pushes you closer—closer—

“Fuck!” you sob as he senses your impending orgasm and stills his hand. “No—no, why?”

You sound like a petulant child and Draco laughs at you, and it’s an unfair move and a mean sound but it somehow turns you on even more. “I’m just messing, sweetheart.”

Fuck you, you badly want to say, but somehow you feel like that won’t get you what you want.

Draco starts moving again, his fingers gaining speed, and the sound of them pumping in and out of your soaked cunt sounds delightfully dirty. You’re quickly pushed to the edge again, and amidst your pleasure you eye Draco distrustfully.

“Please,” you whisper, and he smirks at you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

And he thumbs your clit and you’re coming, gasping with the pleasure and shaking as he eases you through it. His fingers don’t stop moving, even after your orgasm has faded, and you squirm in discomfort as he overstimulates you.

“Stop—please—”

“Promise me you won’t be a bloody pain again,” Draco levels at you, and you want to glare back but his fingers curl inside of you and you yelp with pleasure and pain. “Promise me, or I’ll keep going.”

“I—I won’t be a pain,” you mumble, trying to squeeze your thighs together to get rid of his touch, but he perseveres, flicking your clit mercilessly.

“Say you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good,” you manage, so close to sobbing from the frustration. “Please, Draco, I’ll be good, be good for you, please stop.”

He relents and you feel him draw his hand back. You close your eyes and you hear him tug his trousers back on, buckling his belt. You feel strangely empty without him—without his fingers, his cock, his touch.

Draco produces a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the sweat, drool, and cum off your face, helping you button your shirt back up as well. “You alright?”

“Never better,” you reply, opening your eyes to see him staring at you in concern, all traces of the cruel tease earlier gone. Outside, the sun is setting, casting orange hues into the classroom, and you suddenly remember. “I—oh, bloody hell, I have to arrange the desks for Lupin—”

“I’ll do it. Stay here.”

Draco stands up and takes out his wand, flicking it twice in quick succession. A wordless spell. As you watch, the desks and chairs slide back to where they used to be, neatly arranging themselves in rows.

You’re impressed as he comes back. “What spell is—hey!”

He’s flicked his wand once more and torn your panties clean off your legs.

“Draco—what in Merlin—”

“A souvenir.” Malfoy smirks, stuffing your soaked panties into the pocket of his trousers. “And payment for the desks.”

“You’re a bloody prick,” you say, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Careful now, love. Remember what you promised.” Draco’s tone is playful, but warning. “I’m a man of my word, so you should choose yours carefully. Next time I won’t be as gentle.”

Caught off-guard, you can only nod obediently, which seems to please him. But you can’t promise you won’t slip back into old habits the very next day. Whatever the case, one thing was clear—there would almost certainly be a next time.

------

Requests & asks are open! Here is the guide on requests, if you'd like to check that out first. Hope you enjoyed!

[sundaysundaes]

Whispers

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 5k | Idol AU

Summary: Donghyuck has been busy promoting his new album and no matter how much he misses you, he can’t see you in person due to his schedules. Desperate for your touch, he begins to call you late at night.

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation (male and female), dirty talk (but is it still called ‘dirty talk’ if Donghyuck is just being honest and saying whatever that comes to his mind?), no plot with a lot of dialogues

The vibration of your iPhone wakes you up from your dream. Being thrown back so suddenly to reality makes you feel slightly lightheaded but it’s all worth it the second you see his name written on your screen. Rubbing your eyes away from sleep, you answer his call, “Hyuck?”

“Hey, Noona.” The airiness of his honeyed voice sounds familiar and pleasant in your ears that it instantly paints a smile on your face. “Did I wake you?”

You refrain yourself from yawning. “Yeah, I fell asleep reading.” Narrowing your eyes irritatedly at the brightness of the fluorescent light hanging on your ceiling, you decide to switch it off and uses the dim glow of the bedside lamp instead.

“What time is it?” He gasps when he notices the time on his screen. “Three AM?! Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I still have to work on my papers, so it’s actually good that you woke me up.” You nuzzle close to the pillow, holding your phone to your ear with one hand, blinking sleepily. “Did you just get back from schedule?”

“Yeah.” He sighs wearily. “I’m dead tired right now. I wish I could just take a day off, you know? I mean, performing is fun, but promoting a new album can be so hectic. I’ve only been sleeping for, like, two hours per day since last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You bring the teddy bear he’d given you on your birthday close to your chest, pretending like you were embracing him. “I wish you could take some days off, too.”

“Yeah?” Somehow, he sounds like he’s smiling. “Then do what?”

“I don’t know, play games, I guess? Or just lie around in bed, doing nothing.”

“I’d rather be doing something, actually.” He chuckles softly, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Or someone.” 

“Gross,” you retort but you can feel your lips curving upwards. “It’s okay if you want to rest, Hyuck. You don’t have to force yourself to call me every day. Your health should be your number one priority.”

“What, you don’t want me to call you?”

You freeze. “Of course I want you to call me. I just—”

“I thought you’d be excited to hear my voice.”

The sudden bitterness in his tone makes you sit up from the bed, eyebrows adjoined in confusion. “What—Hyuck—”

“You know what?” He exhales loudly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have called. It’s late anyway.“

“Can you please just listen—”

“I’m tired. Let’s just talk tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Hyuck—” But you’re only answered by silence when the line gets disconnected. You stare at your phone, eyes wide in disbelief. 

What the hell just happened?

Upset and vexed, you dial his number. You wait with your jaw clenched until he picks up on the fourth ring. “Can’t you listen to me for one second?!” Not sure if it’s because of the drowsiness or exhaustion, but you find yourself shouting even before he says anything. “Of course, I want you to call me, you idiot! It’s the only thing I’ve been waiting all day. Every day, Hyuck, I wait for your call every day. I keep catching myself checking on my phone every ten minutes, waiting for your texts, wanting to call you. I miss you, of course, I miss you—you’re—” You turn stiff when you hear him cackling from the other side of the phone. “Are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry.” His laughter is contagious but you put up your best effort not to get infected. “You’re so cute when you get all riled up. Isn’t it obvious that I was just joking?”

“Right. I’m hanging up.” 

“Wait, Noona—” You listen to him with your eyes throwing ice daggers to the wall. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.” There’s a small pause where you’re too irritated to talk and he’s too unsure to start but he tries. “So, like… you miss me?”

“Not right now.”

“Aaw, come on, I was just messing around.” You can imagine him puckering his lips, batting his eyelashes for forgiveness. “Please, tell me. Tell me how much you miss me.”

You throw yourself back to the bed, huffing. “I don’t think I want to.”

“You get cuter when you’re angry, you know that?” He sighs to the air. “Aaah… I miss you. I miss you so much, Noona, you don’t even know. Probably more than you miss me.”

I don’t think that’s possible. “Of course,” you reply, holding back a smile from breaking on your face. “Since I only miss you a little bit.”

“A little bit?”

“A tiny, tiny bit. On second thought, maybe I don’t miss you at all.”

“Is that so?” You can tell he’s exhausted by the way he lets out his chuckle, but it doesn’t mean it’s less sincere. “It really has been a while since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?”

You nod to yourself. “Four months.”

“You keep count, huh?” His teasing tone makes you flushed. “Love me that much, do you?”

“Around four months,” you correct him, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible when the truth is, you can practically hear your heart hammering against your ribcages. “Or maybe three? Five? I don’t know.”

“Why are you so cute? Seriously, how can you be this cute?” Donghyuck sits on the edge of his bed, lips forming so widely that it nearly splits his face in half. When his chuckles have receded, his eyes begin to soften. “I love you, Noona. You know that, right?”

People might be thinking about how lucky you are to have a member of one of the most prestigious boybands in the world confessing his love for you at 3 AM, but honestly? You’re just so grateful for the fact that Lee Donghyuck, a boy who stole your heart nearly a decade ago when you were too young to even understand the word love, finally realized that your entire relationship with him was deeper than a mere friendship. It took years for both of you to finally gain enough bravery to act out your feelings, especially when he managed to shine brighter than you could ever imagine being. You were afraid of it—afraid that you would be burnt by his fame, afraid that he would discard you for he had everything and you only had him. But Donghyuck didn’t want anything. He only wanted you.

You love him. You’ve been loving him for as long as you can remember so hearing him say the words, no matter how often he has mentioned it already, still sparks fire through your veins. You’ll never admit that out loud, though.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot these days,” he sheepishly adds. 

“More than you think about yourself?” You snort. “I’m shocked.”

“Eeyyy, I’m serious.” The sound of your giggle makes him sigh, longing to hear it in person. “I wish I could be with you right now. I thought about you a lot during today’s photoshoot too.” He lies down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought about our last date. About that red dress you wore. Man, you looked so cute in that dress.”

You half-buried your face in the pillow, heat blossoming on your cheeks. “Now this is the topic I like to talk about.”

Donghyuck scrunches up his nose. “Aren’t you gonna say I looked nice too that day?”

Even the slightest thought of him—any version of him, whether it was him dressing handsomely on a date or him waking up in the morning with a bird’s nest on his head—never fails to send butterflies swirling in your stomach, but again, you’ll never admit that out loud. “Meh,” you jeer, even adding a shrug when you know he won’t be able to see. “Could’ve dressed better. I mean, ripped jeans? Really?”

“Yah, yah, yah. You said I looked good wearing those jeans!”

“We were going to a fancy restaurant and I wore a semi-formal dress, Hyuck. They just didn’t match my outfit. They didn’t match anyone’s outfit there, really.”

“Really? You’re gonna say that? Even after you spent the whole night stealing glances at me with drool on your face?”

You wish you could say he was lying, but you indeed spent the entire night drooling at him over the sight of his black leather jacket and the way his jeans just wrapped his thighs so perfectly. “I have lost interest in this topic.” It’s for the best before you combust into flames. “Where are you right now?”

“Back at the dorm.” He softly yawns. “In my room.”

“Alone?”

“Yep, since Johnny-hyung is filming out of town.” When you stay quiet, unsure of what to say, Donghyuck grins mischievously. “Why, do you wanna sneak in? I think I can afford to lose some sleep tonight, if you know what I mean.”

Flustered, you retort, “After Johnny caught us cuddling last time? No way.”

“Yeah, about that,” Donghyuck says a little awkwardly, “After you went home he said to me that he heard the whole thing—”

“What do you mean the whole thing?” The horror in your face and your voice is clear.

“I meant, the whole thing. Us having sex and stuff.”

You could practically feel the exact moment when your soul is leaving your body, but Donghyuck continues as if he’s simply talking about getting caught cheating during a test. “But it’s okay, he’s cool. He’s got my back.”

“Oh my God.” You nearly faint. “I will never show my face in front of your roommate, ever again.”

“Yeah, about that—“

“Are you fucking kidding me, Hyuck—”

“Jaehyun-hyung heard us too.”

“What?!”

“And he told Mark-hyung about it later on, and that’s the reason why I had this bump on my head for three days.” Donghyuck pouts, rubbing the back of his head, lean fingers carding through soft brown locks. “He hit me with a book, lecturing me about bringing you to the dorm as if he never did that himself.”

Not trying to overreact about it, but you’re suffocating by this point. “Why are you so chill about this?!”

“They heard us having sex, not murdering the innocents.” He rolls his eyes but seems amused at your reaction. “To be honest, I hear a lot of stuff happening in our dorm that I’m sure you don’t wanna know. Like, a lot a lot. Way worse than what I did with you.”

“And does Taeyong know about this?”

“Taeyong-hyung needs his beauty sleep so we agreed not to tell him stuff.”

“I feel sorry for him.”

“I just feel sorry he’s not part of our antics.” Donghyuck shrugs, kicking off his shoes and socks before he leans against the headboard. “How about you? Are you alone?”

“Yeah.” You heavily sigh, still feeling quite dizzy after hearing the truth he just blurted out. “My roommate’s gone for the weekend.”

“Oh…” He taps his fingers against his stomach, a weird feeling swirling inside his chest as a thought begins to form. “That’s… great…”

Donghyuck’s tongue lays heavy in his mouth, suddenly loses the ability to form a simple conversation as his mind begins to focus entirely on something else. It all started that one night when he pretended to be asleep, when in fact, he was listening to his roommate, Johnny, speaking to his girlfriend in hushed whispers. The way the older man was chuckling to his phone was suspicious, and the more he tried to listen intently, the more he realized that Johnny wasn’t conversing. He was giving orders with a voice thick with seduction. The sensual words Johnny used made Donghyuck’s ears turn scarlet, and he buried his face deeper behind his blanket. Since then, the curiosity within him has been rising more and more, nearly suffocating him sometimes when he desperately yearned for your touch but his schedule never let him take a goddamn break.

Not knowing the dirty thoughts that flit across his mind, you carry on your conversation like usual. “I guess, but it does get lonely sometimes when she’s not around. I actually like having a roommate.” The sandalwood aroma from your diffuser, combined with his velvety voice, comforts you and you’re finally able to relax. “Have you been eating well? I’ve been craving for strawberry—” 

“What are you wearing?”

“—pancakes—what?”

“I…” Donghyuck heaves out a heavy breath, biting the corner of his lip, unsure yet not ready to give up on his desire. “I just… I was wondering—Are you wearing pajamas?”

“Umm…” The way he asks about it sends heat rising to your cheeks. He doesn’t sound as innocent as the words he uses. You look down, fingers curling at the hemline of your clothes. “I’m wearing one of your shirts, actually.”

Donghyuck throws his head back, eyes tightly shut as he curses silently into the air, his phone pressed against his chest. The sight of you wearing his oversized shirt has been one of his most recurring fantasies and not being able to see you, but knowing that you are wearing his shirt, kills him. 

“Hyuck?”

Donghyuck brings his phone back to his ear. “Sorry, there was a… Mark.” He mentally slaps himself on the head. 

“There was a Mark?”

“I mean, Mark-hyung was here—but he just left so—" 

“Are you drunk again?”

“No!” Donghyuck rubs his temple. This is not going well, he shouts in his mind. “Why—” He winces when he hears his voice crack. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

Because it smells like you and it helps me sleep better. “Just because,” you quietly mumble, eyes locked to the ceiling. “Why are you asking me this exactly?”

“Just because,” he mimics. His breathing sounds more prominent as if he’s in the same room, only a few inches away from your ear. It’s the reason why you enjoy talking to him this way instead of taking video calls. You can focus solely on his honeyed voice, almost like a lullaby to your ears. “Can you tell me…” he continues, laced with both hesitation and anticipation, “What else you're wearing?”

“Umm…” You take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself composed. “I don’t think I want to say.”

“Please, Noona.” The sudden desperation in his plead startles you as if he’s losing control of himself, little by little. He seems to notice that too because when he speaks again, it’s steadier, almost formal. “I just… I want to know. If that’s okay.”

“Well…” You curl your toes. “Aside from your shirt, I’m…” Just say it, for God’s sake. He’s your boyfriend. He’s seen you naked. “I’m only wearing my panties.”

There’s a pause that makes your heart thump. “Not, uhh…” Donghyuck wets his lip. “Not even a bra?”

You fiddle with your fingers. “N-no.”

“Fuck.”

You nearly drop your phone. The guttural groan he just emitted from the back of his throat catches you off guard. “Hyuck..?”

“Noona, there’s—” Donghyuck sits up straight, nails nearly sinking to his jean-clad thigh. “There’s something I want to try.” There’s a sense of urgency mixed with minimum self-control. “I-if you don’t mind…”

You know where this is going. “What is it?”

“Just—Just follow my lead, okay?”

You shakily nod your head. When he calls out your name again, you remember that you have to say it in words. “Okay.”

“Can you…” Donghyuck’s heart is beating out of control.  His mind desperately tries to answer how the fuck do I start this?! “Can you, umm, lie down on the bed for me?”

You can tell he’s nervous and it’s both reassuring and endearing to know that he’s never done this with anyone else before and probably not mentally ready to do it with you, but tries to go all the way because he knows both of you need to find a way to release all of these pent-up emotions. 

You follow his order. “I’m…” You take a deep breath so your voice won’t tremble too much. “I’m lying on my bed.”

Donghyuck always takes a few seconds before answering, as if he’s battling inside his head as he tries to sort out his thoughts. “Is your light turned on?”

“Yes.”

“Turn it off.”

You switch off the button on your bedside lamp. “Okay, it’s off.”

“Okay, mine too.” Then all you can hear is his slightly ragged breathing. “It’s… a bit awkward, isn’t it?” He chuckles nervously, followed by an inaudible, “Fuck, why am I so nervous,” as he’s straying away from the phone. 

A smile paints your lips. “You’re adorable.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

When silence strikes, Donghyuck scratches his cheek. “Do you… want to know what I’m wearing?”

You gulp. “S-sure.”

“Well…” Donghyuck takes a look at himself. “I’m wearing a denim jacket, a white shirt, a pair of jeans—I just got back from a photoshoot so—”

So he must look good. “Take them off.”

He’s probably as startled as you are when you hear the words tumbling down your mouth. But even if he is as embarrassed as you are, he doesn’t make it as obvious. “Sure.” A rustling sound can be heard, and you let your imagination wander. You can tell he’s taking off his jacket and soon, his shirt will follow. Donghyuck would always take his shirt off by grabbing the fabric from the back and yank it over his head, instead of crossing his arms at his waist. There’s something masculine about it, but you tend to get more distracted at the way his muscles would contract in his lean stomach. His silver necklace would dangle around his neck, and he’d smirk whenever he caught you staring at him for a second too long. 

“My shirt’s off,” he quietly states, snapping you out of your reverie. “Now take yours off—wait! Wait. Leave it on. I want to imagine you wearing my shirt. Just take off your panties.”

“I’m—” It’s so damn hard to focus when you feel so ashamed just by hearing his instructions. “Okay…” Your fingers are quivering when they slide down your stomach, thumb hooking around the hem before you pull your lingerie down to the middle of your thighs.

“Lie down,” he whispers, “Prop a pillow behind your back. Are you comfortable?”

“Y-yeah, just…” You sigh, head going dizzy. “Embarrassed.”

The airy laughter that flows from his mouth is too innocent to be heard in this kind of situation. “So cute. Me too, actually. I’ve never done this before.” When his chuckles have receded, the nervousness grows vivid in his voice once again. “Do you, umm... Do you want to stop?”

You’re supposed to say yes, or at least a bit conflicted about it, so it shocks you when you immediately answer, “No,” without hesitation.

“Thank God.” Donghyuck sighs, smiling softly against the phone. “‘Cause I wouldn’t know what to do if you said yes.” He unbuckles his belt with one hand, taking it off as his heartbeat soars through the roof. “Then, umm… can you spread your legs? As wide as you can.”

You feel so exposed even when no one is looking. Following his guidance, you question, “What about you? What are you doing?”

“I’m…” Donghyuck swallows hard, looking down at the way his hand is pressing against his semi-hardness. “I’m rubbing myself over my pants.”

Fuck, you mentally groan. “Why aren’t you touching yourself directly?”

“Cause I want to wait for you.” He has his eyes closed, hand slipping under the hemline of his jeans, stroking himself over his boxer. “I want to picture you rubbing your fingers on your clit. I want to hear you moan my name when you do.”

Oh my God. “Then guide me,” you plead. There’s something so irresistibly sexy about him touching himself while picturing you pleasuring yourself with your fingers. “Tell me what to do, Hyuck.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. The excitement of being able to act as a puppeteer, tugging on your strings, sends all blood rushing south. “Can you push your shirt up? Don’t take it off, just—” He exhales, taking a moment to collect himself after a certain obscene thought of you touching yourself entered his mind. “Just make sure it’s not in the way.”

“Okay.” You grip the hemline of your shirt, pulling it up until it pools above your chest. “Now, what?” 

“I want you to touch your breasts.” You’re more aroused by his breathy voice and lustful tone than embarrassed at this point. “Imagine me, Noona,” Donghyuck whispers, and he sounds so close, as if he’s lying down next to you. “Imagine me with my hands on you, caressing your breasts. Can you do that?”

You squeeze your breast, mumbling out a weak, “Yes…” The memory of Donghyuck, embracing you from behind, his naked chest pressed against your spine, hot mouth lazily pressing wet kisses against your nape suddenly comes alive in your mind. You still remember how sexy he sounded moaning out your name as he rocked his hips forward, his fingers exploring around your chest, rubbing and pinching at a certain spot to make you press closer to him in desperation for more of his touch. 

“Suck on your fingers, make them wet, then bring them back down.” Donghyuck’s hips are bucking against his hand, his fingers tugging his zipper down. “Imagine my mouth latching on your nipple, sucking it the way I always do. The way you like me to do.” 

You bring your fingers to your mouth, coating two of them with saliva before you bring them back down to pinch your sensitive bud. With your eyes closed and his heavy breathing in your ear, the wet sensation of your fingers gives you a clear image of his tongue flicking against your nub. 

“Tell me how you feel.”

“It’s not enough,” you croak out, “I want to feel you directly on my skin.”

Donghyuck takes a sharp breath. “You don’t even know how much I want to be there and touch you.” The way his voice suddenly becomes deep sends shivers down your spine. “I want to suck bruises on your skin. I want to mark you everywhere, again and again, so the bruises will last for days. I want you to remember me every time you see yourself in the mirror.”

You sheepishly smile, though your heart is still racing. “I always remember you even without that, Haechannie.”

The sudden change of his name warms his heart. “I wish you’re the only one who calls me that. You make my stage name sounds better, special. I could have thousands of people screaming my name but none of them makes me feel the way you do.” As he slides his hand under his boxer, finally making direct contact with his skin, Donghyuck becomes desperate once again. “Bring your other hand down. I want you to touch yourself, Noona, please.”

You slide your hand between your legs, tentatively rubbing yourself between your folds. “Hyuck…”

“Does it feel good?”

You nod, eyes shut, and your mind wanders. “Yes…”

“Rub your clit for me. And imagine I’m doing that with my tongue.”

You can picture him with his head between your legs so perfectly behind your closed eyelids. He has done it several times and you remember how he would always start slow, placing open-mouthed kisses on the inner part of your thigh before dipping his head down and swipe his tongue along your folds—all the while never breaking eye-contact. He would press a kiss against your clit, and lick you slowly because he’d want you to beg for it. He never directly told you but you could tell he liked being in control because the second you whispered “Please, Hyuck,” he would immediately indulge you with everything you wanted and more. 

Donghyuck would suck hard on your clit, doing it so suddenly that you’d nearly crush him by wrapping your legs too tightly around his head. Amazed and delighted by your reaction, he would break into a smile with his tongue still darting out to taste you, mouth pressing harder against your skin until he plunged his tongue inside your heat.

You moan out his name at the memory, directly to the phone.

“Fuck, baby, you sound so perfect…” Donghyuck nearly whimpers and the word baby stirs something within you as he never called you that before.

“Call me like that again…” You rub yourself harder on the spot you like the most. “Please, Hyuck…”

“Baby…” Donghyuck’s fingers are curling harder around his length, pumping himself in accordance to every gasp and moan you’re emitting. “I wish I could see you—I wish I could lock my eyes with yours as I eat you up. I want to see your face, every single expression you make—I bet you look so cute, so goddamn... erotic.”

Your hold around your phone loosens but fortunately for you, the pillow pressing against it keeps it close to your ear. “Touch yourself,” you breathily murmurs, “I want you to touch yourself too.”

“I am, baby,” Donghyuck softly moans, his fingers tightening around his length. “What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stroke yourself harder and run your thumb over your slit.” Donghyuck zealously follows, cursing under his breath at the pleasure. “And I want you to keep doing it until my name escapes your lips.”

“God, I want you.” He repeats your name over and over again, as ordered, with him stroking himself faster each time. “Noona, I want your mouth on me. I want to see you hollow your cheeks around me—like how you did to me when we were backstage, that time after the concert. You looked so pretty that night, so eager—so desperate for me—”

“Me too. I want to make you feel good too. I—” You nip at your bottom lip, feeling goosebumps creeping up your skin when he moans out your name. You’ve always loved his voice, loved it more than anything else in the world, and the sounds he makes when he’s in bed with you is the sexiest thing that even your poor mind can’t even begin to imagine. And now, focusing solely on his voice, listening to his filthy, sinful words, he’s driving you to the edge of your sanity.

“I’ve touched myself before at the thought of you,” he confesses breathlessly, “Several times, even way before we started dating.”

You’re trembling at the thought. “Haechannie—”

“You don’t know just how much—” The sound of him trying to stifle down a moan only makes you crave for him more. “—how much I wanted you back then. How much I want you now. Even during high school, I just—I wanted you—wanted to touch you—wanted—ah fuck,” a whine slipped out his lips, “Wanted to hold you so bad, to make love to you until—”

At the rustling sounds, him whimpering at his touches, and you rubbing yourself on the perfect spot, you know you won’t last long. “H-Hyuck, are you close?”

“Just a little bit more, Noona, ah—” He thrashes his head against the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard. “Fuck, I need to be inside you. I need to feel you clenching your walls around me.” At the memory of you gazing at him with anticipation building inside your seductive, half-lidded eyes, as you parted your legs to give him permission to ravish you the way he wanted, Donghyuck quickens the pace, thrusting vigorously into his hand. “Fuck yourself with your fingers, baby, please.”

You’re more than keen to follow, inserting one digit inside your heat with another one following soon after. You can visualize him bringing your legs in the air until they dangle over his shoulders, his hips slamming hard against yours with each thrust. “Hyuck—”

“If you were here right now,” he nearly growls, “I would fuck you so hard until you’re mewling my name against the sheets. And I won’t stop, I won’t stop even if you beg me to. I won’t stop until I’m done with you.”

Donghyuck doesn’t sound like he’s trying to dirty talk which only makes it even more arousing to your ear. It’s as if he’s losing control of his mouth, just saying anything that comes to mind. The honesty, the urgency, his breathy, desperate calls of your name between lewd words—

You choke out a sob. “Hyuck—I’m close—”

“Me too—N-noona—Kiss me—”

It’s one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever felt and it’s funny because you never really enjoyed touching yourself before. Donghyuck follows a few seconds after, moaning your name so erotically that will probably give you a hard time falling asleep for days at the thought of it. You’re left dazed, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Your phone lays forgotten on the pillow next to you. Mustering all the strength you have left, you reach out for it. “Hyuck…?”

You can hear him breathing heavily. “I’m here,” he says. “Are you okay? Did you get to come?”

“Y-yes.” Now that it’s over, you begin to feel self-conscious again and the heat that blooms on your cheeks nearly wash every bit of your orgasm away in an instant. “Did you?”

“I made a huge mess.” He chuckles, sounding just as embarrassed as you are. “Fuck, didn’t realize it was going to be this good when we started. What would’ve happened if we had Face-Timed each other instead?”

Your head nearly explodes at the thought. “One step at a time, Hyuck. I’m practically dying from shame right now.”

He laughs a little at that. “So, you don’t really oppose the idea? Man, I have something to look forward to then.”

“Shut up, you’re gross. Is this the reason you called me?”

“No,” he hastily says, “I swear, I called because I missed hearing your voice.” Then he thinks about it again. “Well, I mean, I have been thinking about doing, uhh, these kinds of things with you but trust me, it wasn’t the reason why I called.”

“Sure,” you flatly reply, teasing him.

“Yah, yah, yah, it’s your fault for saying that you were wearing nothing but my shirt!”

“It’s your fault for asking me what I was wearing!”

It’s always like this with him. You’re bickering at one point, having sex at another time, then goes back to bickering once again. But it’s endearing, you suppose, because after this, you’ll be murmuring loving words, and just when you begin to think about it, Donghyuck whispers into the phone.

“I love you, Noona. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And you smile. “I love you too, Haechannie. You’re the second best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“What the hell is the first one?”

“Chicken nuggets.”

“You’re so dead.”

***

[ryouverua]

Saimota is a fantastic ship that only improves with age and their respective maturity. Right from the get-go we see this in canon, too! They have a tumultuous first clash at the end of chapter 1 which is immediately turned on its head, and the subsequent growth and development of their in-game relationship really stands out that much more because of it.

This is a long one, so strap in!

Kaito realizes his mistake in his approach after punching him the night before and rectifies it immediately the next morning when he notices Shuichi hasn’t come to breakfast, rightly guessing that he’s stewing in his own grief and misery. And then, being the emotionally intelligent guy he is, he follows up that night and drags him out to exercise (which, y’know, releases endorphins and is scientifically proven to help with mood boosts and even depression) - a move which Shuichi says in chapter 5 saved his life.

A couple days pass and a body drops. Kaito supports him through the investigation knowing that Kaede had been with him last time and that there’s a danger of him relapsing. In the trial, too, Kaito makes every effort to let Shuichi know that he isn’t alone and someone does have his back if he fumbles. This is the real moment that Shuichi chooses to depend on Kaito and is rewarded for it, and while Kaito does get plenty of ego-feed out of it, he believes in Shuichi and his talent wholeheartedly (enough so that it’ll come back to bite him later). But despite it being framed as a ‘hero and sidekick’ relationship, it’s not just for Kaito’s self-worth - it’s to take some of the mental load off of Shuichi, who really, really doesn’t want the pressure of everyone’s lives solely on his shoulders, and is now dealing with the guilt of two cases where uncovering the guilty party hurt him.

(quick chapter 2 interlude! while this is where a lot of the big hero-worship begins for Shuichi and happens to be where I also did his first FTE and got to witness this:

this is also the chapter when these moments happen, post-breakfast and post-casino scene respectively:

and this happens in the very next FTE:

mmm yes, the duality of man. Suffice it to say, while Shuichi has definite rose-coloured glasses on for a lot of the game, Kaito is definitely not an invincible, untouchable hero in his eyes)

Interestingly enough, despite Shuichi still very much leaning into their friendship (and vice versa), they don’t spend a lot of time together in Chapter 3 after he brings Maki out to training that first night! While Chapter 4 is their real ‘break’, Kaito spends a lot of time in his room in the second half while Shuichi gets to know Maki better. And while Maki is a much, uh, meaner investigation partner (love you girl, but that tongue is sharp), they make a great team. Shuichi also starts poking at Kaito’s reason for holing up in his room, incorrectly guess that it’s just related to the occult being brought up. Most importantly, Shuichi is able to do an investigation on his own independent of Kaito just a week after the end of Chapter 1.

Chapter 4 and its immediate aftermath in 5 is great because it showcases Kaito’s flaws and insecurity, and what conflict between the two of them look like. It’s because Kaito respects Shuichi so much that cracks in his own confidence start appearing - and while Shuichi can be obtuse and awkward at times, he shows signs of wanting to broach some more sensitive topics with Kaito; if you do FTEs with Kaito in Ch 4, he even has an inner narrative in which he notes that Kaito had said his stomach hurt before.

He’s not so self-absorbed as to not worry about his friend (but narratively we gotta save that juicy plot point and subsequent reveal for the end of the trial) but hey, Kaito wants to chill and just shoot the shit - so why not have some downtime with his friend in the murder school. Btw, their FTE availability ends here - so if Shuichi has completed them with Kaito, he’s already had his canon-saimota thoughts at this point. While I have given Shuichi the side-eye for his ‘I can rely on Kaito for anything’ spiel, he is fully able and willing to stand up to Kaito in the Chapter 4 trial despite his canon feelings for him at that point. By the way, it’s been a week and a half since the end of Chapter 1 at this point. Shuichi and Kaito have had an arc together where they become fast friends in a pressure-cooker situation and bonding over shared grief for Kaede (even if Kaito’s is less obvious), Shuichi starts as dependent on Kaito’s emotional support but learns to stand on his own two feet, and Kaito is forced to confront his own weakness and hero persona, all while classmates are dropping (including Kaito’s own ex-hero figure, a stark reminder that ‘heroes’ do have flaws).

So the beginning of Chapter 5 is wild to me because of how it’s so often misinterpreted as Kaito immaturely giving Shuichi the silent treatment despite the entirety of the game preceding it explicitly showing that Kaito will tell you, loudly, when he’s angry at you, and that’s purely because we’re in Shuichi’s perspective and he thinks that’s what’s going on - but that’s a bit of a tangent. What I like about it is how we get to see what happens when Kaito (as sick as he is at that point) feels badly and embarrassed with someone he is close to; he withdraws as opposed to lashing out. And while Shuichi is really, really bad at reaching out too without an inciting incident (tunnel escape), he does try and broach the topic when push comes to shove. He’s not lost in hero worship, not even close - he is rightfully upset that the person he’s closest to at the school is upset while still maintaining to himself and the others that his actions were correct. He doesn’t waver on this, despite his attempt to offer an olive branch at the window of the hangar’s bathroom. He truly stands by his own choices in the last class trial and know he won't back down on that if push comes to shove, and that's important - he won't yield the point just to appease Kaito. Shuichi then manages the investigation on his own, leads the trial on his own, faces off with Maki (and who he thinks is Kokichi) on his own, because he has *reached* a point where he can be independent. And to bring it back to how we get a look at ‘saimota in conflict’, Shuichi and Kaito both make amends with each other by the end of the chapter. Even if it’s spurred by it being their final goodbye, Shuichi gets to say his piece, Kaito lays out one of his own vulnerabilities so he can make peace with Shuichi - and even if I’d love to have had them delve into all of Kaito's various issues, there is a very murderous robobear overseeing this which makes time a factor - and I firmly believe that if they had more time, they could’ve resolved even more of the issues that would come up for Saimota. The groundwork wasn’t just there; there was already half the structure in place. And that’s what makes saimota even more appealing to me, tbh. We get to see them build a relationship, run into a big issue, struggle through it and resolve it by the end of the game - and it means that there’s precedent for them to do it again as more interpersonal challenges come up! It’s a goldmine of ship exploration, and they care about each other enough to work through it.

… By the way, at this point they are 2 weeks past the end of Chapter 1.

Imagine if they had more time. Imagine if Shuichi, who is absolutely dogged in pursuing an issue once he catches wind of it (despite how he can get wrapped up in his own head), who cares a lot for other people, who doesn’t just find runaways as part of his detective talent, but follows up with them after because he cares about more than just finishing the job, had the chance to spend years with Kaito and realize he uses his hero persona to protect a much more fragile sense of self. Imagine Shuichi forming that initial friendship with Kaito without the albatross of Kaede’s death hanging around his neck; about how he’ll still look up to Kaito and his fantastic positivity, passion and excellence in his chosen field, and that would only be matched by Kaito’s own admiration of Shuichi’s skills as a detective. Imagine if Kaito, who repeatedly shows the ability to reflect and change his mind when presented with evidence against his viewpoint and was able to express his own insecurity and jealousy to Shuichi in the end, was given the breathing room and space to get more comfortable with doing so. Imagine how difficult and emotionally mature they were to navigate as well as they did in a life-or-death situation that took place over a couple of weeks tops, and how much more they could grow if given the time and space for it.

... And this was nearly going to be where I ended the post, until Ira reminded me of TDP and sent me this wonderful Saimota event (which takes place before the final graduation/training trio event):

Oh hey, Shuichi picked up his catchphrase! It's quite cute how he's finishing Kaito's sentence here - he's spent a couple of years being friends with Kaito at this point, and has even taken up exercising on his own for stress relief. I wonder whose influence that was?

Anyway -

Shuichi has figured out at this point that he does need to firmly extend that helping hand to Kaito rather than worry and keep it to himself. On the other side, Kaito has learned that it is okay to accept that outstretched hand, even if he doesn't need it right now - that he can admit that some day, he might. He's being blase, sure, but it is a far cry from his in-game 'I don't/won't need help'. Good for you, Kaito - you've grown a lot! And that's the most important thing their TDPs show - their capacity for growth not just as individuals, but in a relationship. Of course there will be bumps along the way - it’s very rare that any relationship won’t have them! - but they've proven that they can work these problems in the worst of circumstances. This is by far one of the strongest ships with canon foundation in the entire series, and my goodness do I still love it years later.

[may-fanfic]

Falling Hard 

Summary: Natasha took you in when you were very young and raised you as her own. You and Wanda become friends when she was recruited, after an argument you have with nat, Wanda is there to comfort you. 

Warning: mentions of drug addict parents, small argument, thats about it, correct me if i’m wrong tho 

Rating: idk its fluff 

word count: 2,311

((feel free to send in any request))

pt 2

masterlist

------ 

Wanda hadn't expected to find someone she could rely on or relate to anyone when she joined the Avengers. she assumed they were all gonna be older people who had no idea what they would talk to them about, she figured it would be awkward but at least, she had people on her side.

you strolled into the living room to greet the newcomers when Natasha called you. Wanda was quiet and closed off as Natasha made an awkward introduction to the twins as you kinda just stood there, the book that you had been reading tucked to your side as the group simply stared at their feet. "this is useless, mom can I go?" you asked gesturing to the stairs, the woman tucked hair behind your ear before nodding, smiling lightly at you. you often came off as harsh as Natasha even if you had been the sweetest person, at least that's what the redhead spy thought. you were a lot like her, strong, smug with a slight attitude.

"she's not good with new people." Tony explained causing Natasha to glare at the man. "don't you dare talk about my daughter." she pointed a finger before huffing and going away to make some coffee.

"that's where she gets it." Steve chuckled.

----

you had managed not to run into the new pair until one day you had been seated in the kitchen, perched upon the countertop as you swung your legs, all your attention glued to the book at hand until a gush of wind smacked you, blowing your pages causing you to gasp lightly and when you looked up, Pietro had been standing there and he swallowed hard at your cold glare and only seconds later Wanda jogged in, breathing hard as she whined about him cheating, quickly going quiet when her eyes landed on you. "no powers in the tower especially you, buddy!" you pointed a finger at the boy with whitish hair causing him to nod.

maybe you had been a little mean but Wanda didn't understand why she had been attracted to your mean girl attitude but she couldn't help the flutter in her chest whenever you were around her. you were a short, hot-headed girl and she couldn't help but be intrigued by you.

after some time the two of you finally had actual conversations that had been past your snarky remarks. she had been more than relieved to have a friend in you and Natasha were glad that you had been coming out of your shell. it wasn't that you were an introvert, you simply didn't get along with a lot of people.

---

"show me!" you giggled, rolling onto your stomach as the girl rested against your headboard, rolling her eyes playfully before twirling her fingers around, a red glowing light appeared between her fingers causing you to gasp. "whoa!" you admired, a soft giggle slipping from her lips as you stared at the red that moved in between her fingers.

"what else can you do?" you smiled, leaning your head in Wanda's lap, she tried her hardest to focus on anything else but the way her heart fluttered. she cleared her throat, moving one of your books from across the room into her hands quickly causing you to look at her, mouth agaped and she wore a smug smile before pulling a blanket over you with her powers and sweetly smiling.

"let me read to you." she offered, the main light to your room going off and instead the lamp beside your bed turned on and it was all too much for you to process so instead you just nodded and settled completely into her lap, your eyes fluttering shut, warmth and comfort washing over you as her heavy accent filled your ears.

---

Wanda watched as you mindlessly hit the punching bag even Steve struggled to keep the bag at bay as you punched it and you hadn't even used all your strength but you were strong... really strong. "good." your mother spoke uncrossing her arms and nodding at Steve to let go of the beaten bag.

"you're getting better at controlling your strength." Natasha pointed out, handing you a bottle of water and a small towel for your sweat. "you think?" you asked softly wiping at your forehead before grabbing a hold of your discarded t-shirt watching as she nodded with a smile. "when do you think I can start with missions?" you watched your mom's face turn sour and she ran a hand through her redhead. "let's not talk about that right now." she sighed, reaching out for you only for you to step back, a frown taking over your lips.

"you're too young, kid." Steve spoke up causing you to snap your hard glare at him. you were Wanda's age, there was no way that was the reason. "call me kid once more time." you stomped over to him until Natasha caught your wrist.

"that is exactly what I mean.. come on babes... I know what's best for you. after all, I am your mo-"

"you're not my mom." you spoke sharply, her lips parted and eyes watering up. "and you never will be." you turned away from her so quickly before stumbling over to the exit, the witch shooting up and following you.

"I'm not your mother?!" the woman followed closely behind you, anger filling her face. "I wasn't there when your drug-addicted parents were murdered?! I wasn't the one who took you to school every day?! I wasn't the one who was there for you every time you had a nightmare?! you had no idea what a mother was until you met me! so don't you dare ever talk to me that way again! you hear me?!" you bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let any emotion show.

"I didn't ask for your help. you took me to fill the void of not being able to have children! you were just sad and lone-" you were abruptly cut off but the woman's voice.

"fine, you know what? you're right. I'm not your mom and I don't want to be. not anymore... I give up y/n. I do. I'm done trying to be there for you. I give up on you." she shrugged before turning and stumbling back into the training room, her soft but firm words cutting you like knives and if Wanda hadn't been there and softly grabbed a hold of your hand, you would've crumbled because it wasn't the first time those words were uttered to you.

"come on, возлюбленная (sweetheart)" she cooed, tugging you in the direction of your room, feeling your anger being washed away by sadness. as soon as you were in your room, you couldn't help the sob that slipped from your lips. your back crashed against the wall and slid down it before Wanda met you on the floor, her arms quickly wiping around you and whispering soothing words in your ear.

"Everyone gives up on me! everyone! I'll never have anyone!" you sobbed into the girl's chest causing her to bite her lip, shushing you lightly. "you have me. believe me, when I tell you, I'll never give up on you. I promise.. b-because i-" she paused for a moment, pulling your face from her chest, cupping your cheeks softly and wiping away the tears that poured from your eyes. "because I love you.." she confirmed causing your tearful eyes to go wide. "nothing with ever change that.." she added before a gasp slipped from her when your lips crashed against hers with a hard pressure before it quickly softened when you notice how hard it was and you had been too afraid to hurt her.

"that was a bit harsh, Romanoff." tony mumbled, glancing up at her when she reentered the training room, a hard look on her face. "what do you know?!" she snapped, slightly becoming choked up when she thought about the way your face fell when she uttered out her words coldly. she didn't mean it, she didn't mean any of it but you had hurt her. as a mothe- a caregiver she should've been able to handle it better. she loved you unconditionally and she hated herself for hurting you.

"I know what it feels like for a parent to give up on you, and it doesn't feel good," he spoke sincerely causing her to let out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the pain in her head. she should've been the bigger person and threw away her pride when it came to you. her eyes started to water at the memory of you telling her you loved her for the first time when you were much younger or when you first called her mom for the first time and now she had been punching the punching bag hard to avoid her feelings, but then she couldn't shake the feeling that you had been upset and she felt so much hatred for herself at that moment.

Natasha knew you loved her and viewed her as a mother but your vision had been so clouded by anger that you simply couldn't control what you were saying but she could've. with one final punch, Natasha decided that it was her who should apologize. when she stumbled to your room and gently pushed open your door, you had been neatly tucked away in Wanda's embrace, your face nuzzled into her neck.

the both of you had been sound asleep and she didn't have the heart to wake you up from your seemingly comfortable state but then it dawned on her that you were never a cuddly type unless it was someone you really, really liked, and then she couldn't help the small smile and her teary eyes because she realized that her little girl had grown up and had been in love.

you had been incredibly exhausted in the morning. you couldn't believe how emotionally worn out you had become and it hadn't help that Wanda wasn’t with you in the morning instead you met her in the kitchen, a small grin on her face when she spotted you. "I wanted to make you breakfast," she explained shyly, her arm wrapping itself around your lower back and pulled you in for a hug.

"you're too sweet, Wanda." you sighed out conflicted on whether you should be happy because the girl you liked for a bit of time is finally yours or if you should feel upset that you no longer had that mother figure that Natasha provided you with. you planted a soft kiss on Wanda's lips before turning to make some coffee. you and Wanda had been up quite early, leaving the both of you in a comfortable quiet kitchen as you worked alongside each other to get breakfast ready.

you had gone most of your day without seeing Natasha until you and Wanda stumbled into the training room, Wanda bragging about how she could whoop your ass without even using her hands and you protested claiming you could rip her in half using your bare hands. the conversation was lighthearted and playful, you were both laughing and giggling about it until Natasha had come into your sight.

"We need to talk y/n." the older woman declared with a stern look on her face but in all reality, she had been happy that Wanda was making you smile despite the heavy argument you had with Natasha. you didn't have it in you to protest so instead you nodded and Wanda sent you a comforting smile before stumbling out the training room giving the both of you privacy. you let out a sigh, your gaze dropping before you glanced back up at the woman who raised you. "l-listen, mo- Natasha-" the woman stood her head, taking steps towards you and opening up her arms for a hug. "no, stop come here." you stepped into her embrace, sighing softly in relief.

"I would never and I mean, never give up on you. you know why?" you shook your head nuzzling into the woman. "because you're my daughter and you'll always be. I love you very much and I'm sorry that I ever allowed my anger to cloud my judgment. I'm your mom and I should've reacted to the situation better. it'll never happen again. okay?" you let out a half sob, half laugh causing her arms to tighten around you.

"I'm sorry too." she chuckled lightly, pressing a soft and comforting kiss to your temple. "it's just upset when no one trusts you when it comes to something that you've been working hard on, you know?" you explained causing Natasha to push you back slightly, cupping your cheeks and frowned. "you think I don't trust you when it comes to your strength? I do trust you, honey. it's just I want you to be emotionally prepared for what the mission entails, do you understand? plus you getting hurt because of something I allowed you to do would kill me." she uttered out causing you to nod understandably.

once all the heavy stuff had been out the way and apologizes had been accepted, Natasha couldn't help the smug smile that formed on her lips, she moved to hold the punching back for you as you punched at it, focusing on how hard you had been hitting it until Natasha uttered out. "I saw you and Wanda cuddling last night when I came to apologize. I've gotta admit you two are cute together. how long has that been going on?" she smirked when your cheeks flushed over and your eyes widened. the woman had been playfully wiggled her eyebrows at you as your punches stopped abruptly, your cheeks heating up even more.

"oh my god, please stop!"

[ptergwen]

on the dot

warnings: swearing, suggestive jokes, and the boys being a lil goofy

summary: the boys keep you entertained when tom is running late

a/n: this nasty stinky year ends today! finally y’all!! it sucked sm and a lot of stuff went wrong but i’ve enjoyed spending time with you lovely people, seriously you’ve all been such a light and i hope we bring it into 2021 :,) i love all of you tons, stay safe tonight and have fun <3

-

ten.

“he’s still not here?” you storm back into the room, looking between all the boys. “where the hell could he be?” harry only sips his drink. harrison stares up at the ceiling. sam offers a sad smile.

you thought by the time you finished your private freak out in the bathroom, tom would be home. home and ready for you to kiss and hug and welcome the new year with. he has ten more minutes to make it happen.

of course, you were disappointed he couldn’t be here for christmas. you still understood because it wasn’t his fault. there was scheduling and a whole bunch of other things keeping him in the states. you’d at least have new year’s eve together, and that was enough for you.

the universe had other plans. tom’s flight got delayed to the latest possible second, and it’s beyond either of your control now.

nine.

harrison puts a hand on your arm. “maybe he’s in the taxi. traffic and all that,” he leads you over to the couch, giving you a nudge to sit down. you do with crossed arms and pouted lips. “cheer up.” harry beams and sticks a party hat on your head. you’re not even bothering to strap it on. sam scoots closer to you in his spot.

“you have us,” he reminds you, smiling to get the message across. it’s nice of them to try and comfort you, but all you really want is tom. he’s the holland you’d rather be touching knees with. “thanks, guys. i just...” you let out a sigh. “tom was supposed to be my new year’s kiss.”

“well, we can’t help you with that,” harrison snickers and takes a seat on the arm of the couch. harry puts down his beer with a cheeky look. “tessa might be available.” groaning, you drop your head onto his shoulder. “shut up, i know it’s cheesy. we talked about it, though.”

tom better get here soon and back that up.

eight.

“what if you did it over, um, facetime?” sam suggests, stifling a laugh right after. these boys just can’t be serious. “i’m not making out with my phone in front of you guys,” you scoff and adjust your party hat that’s falling. “you’d do it if we left the room, then?” harry questions, harrison raising his eyebrows at you.

you lift your head off of harry so you can shoot him a glare. “no, you know what i mean. leave me alone.” your voice shakes on the last part. you’re starting to feel emotional about all of this. you wanted one night with your boyfriend who hasn’t been home in months, that was all. why couldn’t you get it?

the boys all coo at you in unison. it’s sort of sarcastically, mostly sympathetically. harrison reaches over and puts an arm around your shoulders. “he’ll be here, y/n/n. there’s still about...” he checks his watch on his other hand. his eyes go wide.

“seven minutes until midnight.” “jesus,” harry mutters to himself, picking his beer back up.

seven.

you’re debating whether or not you should text tom. maybe call? you haven’t heard from him in hours, which isn’t very promising. the boys are making too much noise to talk to him, actually. they’ve taken to blowing into their noisemakers to distract you.

the loud humming that comes from harrison’s is ear piercing. that’s partially because he’s holding it directly up to your ear. sam is using a handheld one, and harry is raising his fist in the air while he finishes off his drink. you love their spirit. you’ve run out of your own.

“come on, year’s almost over,” harrison says in an overly happy way. “let’s at least celebrate that.” “i’ll toast,” harry salutes him with his empty bottle. “you’re pissed, harry,” sam laughs and grabs it from him. you throw your head back on the cushion. “can time move any slower?”

six.

“i give up. i’m spending new year’s alone,” you throw your hands up in defeat. harry rolls his eyes in mock offense. “hey, you’ve had great company.” “she doesn’t want to hear it, div,” sam reaches behind you and flicks his brother’s head. it earns a quiet “ouch.” you’d normally laugh at their antics, only you don’t have it in you.

you might be acting a little dramatic, but you have the right to. tom’s kisses are everything. that, and you miss the hell out of him. he misses you ten times more. you know it because he’s made sure to tell you every day.

“tom’s coming, y/n. does it really matter if it’s a few minutes late?” harrison asks with a pat on your shoulder. “hours,” you correct him bitterly. he removes his hand before you break it. you turn to sam, who clenches his teeth. “your brother has terrible timing.” “you’ve only just figured that out?”

five.

harrison and sam have you playing some three way game of patty cake when the doorknob starts to move. you immediately snap your head up. is that...

“santa?” harry murmurs in his drunken state. “wrong holiday,” sam tells him. “that’s passed.” harrison chuckles at the conversation. “we should cut him off before-“

the door quickly swings open, a breathless but grinning tom behind it. “guess who?” he drops his bags and opens up his arms. your face lights up the most it has in too long. you run straight over to him. the boys watch on, waiting to say hi until after you two get time together.

“oh my god, you made it!” you giggle out, tom lifting you up by your waist. he secures his arms tightly around you and squeezes. “how’d you actually get here on time?” your voice is muffled by your face pressed into his shoulder. “i’ll always be here for you, angel,” tom assures you, shutting the door with his foot.

he kisses the top of your head. you can feel his lips curve into another smile. “in every way.” you put your arms around his neck, clasping your hands together. “you don’t understand how much i missed you.” you’re returning the smile. “i swear.”

“i promise, i missed you so much more.” he carefully sets you down and keeps his arms around your waist. the two of you exchange a look that says all the i love you’s you don’t currently have the time or privacy to.

“oi, where’s our big hello?” harry calls from the couch.

four.

you’re all squished onto the couch now. tom is sitting in your spot with you in his lap. the others strongly protested it, whining about how you’d go at it or worse. you ignored their complaints and happily took your place on tom’s thigh. your back is to him, so he has his chin on your shoulder to sneak glances at you.

“does anyone have a resolution?” harrison asks the group of you, eyes landing on his best friend. “me?” tom checks, tracing a finger up and down your side. “to take more breaks.” you like that one. you let him know by leaning into him more. “mine’s to move out,” harry remarks. his oldest brother gives him a warning look.

“all jokes. you two are adorable,” he gives you a thumbs up, shaking around his noisemaker again. “this is what i’ve left you with?” tom mumbles to you, fully aware the others can hear. you shake your head. “they terrorized me, tom.” sam is the one to interject.

“that’s rubbish. i cooked every meal you wanted, we-“ “they terrorized me,” you repeat, playfully this time. tom taps under your chin with two fingers. “mhm, sounds like it.”

three.

“do you think tessa would still do a kiss?” harrison asks harry, who cackles when he sees tom’s face. he has to blink a few times to process what was said. you smooth your thumb over the crease in his forehead.

“what did i tell you? they’re weird.” “they’re deranged,” tom leans into your touch. “i won’t let them near her.”

“i feel so... single,” harrison explains with a fake sniffle. he eyes the two of you. that makes tom pull you closer. “stay away from my girls.”

two.

“the moment we’ve been waiting for,” you move so you’re facing tom. “is about to happen.” you also happen to be straddling him so it’s possible. if the boys have anything to say, you won’t be listening. “our new year’s kiss,” he grins, his hands dropping down to your hips. “very big moment.”

one.

tom tilts his head up to you, running his tongue over his lower lip. your party hat is strapped on now. you move in closer until your noses are touching.

“missed this face,” he rasps and nudges your nose with his. “well, here it is,” you bring a hand up to the side of his neck. the boys are huddled in a circle with their party gear, so you have the couch to yourselves. harrison is getting ready to pop a bottle of champagne.

your not so perfect night ended up being better than any of you could’ve expected.

harrison checks his watch and waves a hand at everyone. “twelve, eleven,” he counts you in. “ten, nine, eight,” you all join, you turning your head to look at the others. tom peeks his head out from behind you. “seven, six,” harry eagerly holds out glasses for drinks. “five, four, three,” sam raises up his noisemaker.

“two, one! happy new year!” the champagne sprays everywhere while you turn back to tom.

you erupt in a big smile before he’s pulling you in. he finally presses his lips to yours, your arms going around his neck. it’s easy and soft and you fall right into your usual rhythm. his lips part for you, letting you deepen the kiss.

tom’s eyes are squeezed shut in focus, on you and how you taste like the same lip balm from all those months ago. one of his hands rests on your back to support you. you break away for all of two seconds to take a breath. you’re giggling, and so is tom. you connect your lips again without warning, tom still laughing into it.

“i love you so much,” you pull away to tell him quietly. tom tugs on the top of your party hat with a playful smirk. “i love you, y/n/n. happy new year, babe.” he gives you one more peck on the lips. you’re feeling generous and decide to return it, your kiss lingering a bit.

harry summons you two before it turns into another make out.

“drinks! we have drinks,” he holds his up for emphasis. harrison already poured yours, sam taking a sip of his own while they chat. you climb off of tom and offer him a hand. he gladly takes it, interlocking your fingers and getting up. the two of you walk over to the table hand in hand.

“thanks, bro. happy new year,” tom gives harrison a quick one armed hug and takes his drink. harrison hands you yours after. “thank you,” you take it and flash him a small smile. “for everything.” “anytime,” he pulls you in for a proper hug, tom hugging the twins.

you do the same, then the five of you sit at the table to drink and talk. when they get into a conversation about golf, tom eventually breaks off. he squeezes your knee to get your attention, which you raise a curious eyebrow at. he nods toward the couch.

“we’ll finish that later.”

[literaila]

tricks and tips.

loki x gn!reader. title says it all. be warned. 

*

the first time you met loki,

he was sitting in a cage. it was cold where they were keeping him, somewhere far too excluded from everything else, someplace that you barely recognized yourself. it was cold, and it was dark everywhere except the glass composure he was trapped in.

this wasn’t really a prison, you knew. it couldn’t have been a prison for him when he was just sitting there, watching you, no movement, no sound.

but still, something about the cage made you want to crawl out of your skin.

or maybe it was him.

maybe it was his eyes, the cruel words he had spoken to everyone else. he wasn’t just a man, he would remind you, he was something other.

you’d first been called in to interrogate him (having a doctorate in psychology was very useful apparently) and try to determine what his next move was. 

though within five seconds of entering the room, you wondered why anyone would think there was any move he could make in the first place. he was completely enclosed, trapped in something that looked like it could hold even the scariest of monsters. 

and well, you werent quite sure if that was him. 

though, you couldnt deny the chill that ran down your spine as his eyes watched you as you walked closer and closer, not letting any fear you might have deter you from the job you were supposed to be doing. figure out what his next move was. simple. 

“hello,” you started, a professional smile on your face. you could’ve sworn he’d flinched. “i’m y/n.” 

the only thing you got in return was a roll of his eyes, clearly fed up with you, probably with the cage, and definitely with the wall he was leaning against. 

your neck ached in sympathy. 

“you must be loki, yes?” trying again, you drew a chair that was sitting next to the cage, probably leftover from the last person that had tried to talk to him, and leaned back, waiting for whatever answer he would give. 

turns out, that didnt take long. 

“prince” he, not quite hissed but announced. his face was not any more pleasant, and it was clear he wasnt joking. 

even still, you had to put in some effort not to giggle. it wasnt as if you’d ever gotten corrected by a ‘prince’ before. or that you’d even been in the vicinity of one. 

allowing only a small twitch at the corner of your lips, you nodded seriously, opening the notebook you’d been holding. “ah yes, prince loki. i’m sorry” 

“why are you here?” he asked, leaning his head against the wall again, and closing his eyes. “another person sent to discover all my secrets? figure out what to do with someone like me?” 

it was silent for a moment, the two of you were completely alone. it was still cold, it was still dark, but this close to the prince, you could observe the slow movements he was making. you could see his face clearly, the dread unhidden from his features. 

you supposed it must be draining, to have people asking you the same things, hoping to find out something new. 

you wonder how long he’d been left alone since he’d arrived in the small prison. how long he’d been watched. 

someone more cheerful, less conceded, might be a relief. 

“well yes, i guess so.” there was no point in lying, especially considering it didnt seem like he was going to cooperate anyway. “but i’m willing to bet that it wouldnt matter even if i tried,” 

he opened his eyes at that, something new on his face. something other than the distaste he already had for you. 

“its usually not safe to make bets with me, as i’m sure my brother already told you.” he spit out the word brother. it didnt surprise you, but you still scribbled something down in the notebook you were holding. you didnt fail to notice the change in topic. 

“i actually havent spoken to him yet, just the agent who called me in. i cant seem to remember their name...” 

loki stood up then, walking around the cage, stretching out. he looked different now, less angry, maybe a bit more tired than when you’d walked in. there was nothing else in the cage. no water, no food, no bed. it would be a struggle to stay sitting for long. 

“you dont work for shield?” the prince asked, now standing in front of you. 

“god, no.” you giggled at the thought, imaging yourself in the all-black uniforms you’d seen on almost every person that had welcomed you in. “i’m just here to... interrogate you.” you made an effort to keep the cheer in your voice, not wanting him to return to the other side of the cage and ignore you for the rest of the time you were locked in here with him. 

it wouldnt make for a very good report. 

“no i suppose not...” he drawled, smirking at you with crueler eyes than before. you recognized the insult but paid no mind to it. he was locked in a glass cage, multiple levels below the ground. he had a right to be a little bitter. “now about that bet,” 

huh. maybe a game would work then. you were almost sure that he’d been purposefully trying to move past that. 

“i think, knowing that you are the god of mischief, that even if i asked questions-- and you answered --that it wouldnt be too far-fetched to say that it would be all lies.” you watched his face change, the tiny twitch of his lips. “a safe bet, i’m assuming.” 

loki sat back down, this time in the middle of the floor with his long legs crossed over each other. he was looking at you completely now, blank face. it wasnt as scary now, and you werent sure if this was the right prison for someone as calm as he seemed. 

“i’ve been told its not good to assume,” he replied, looking down to his lap. 

you nodded along, silent then. 

it was another minute after, both of you thinking completely different things, before anyone spoke. you, of course, were trying to figure out your best course of action. what you could ask to get him to say something that you could report back to the people waiting for you, what he would need to hear to actually reveal something that wasnt already known. 

it was only when you looked up and saw loki scowling once again that you decided it was best to just keep the conversation going. 

“how long have you been here, then?” 

“here, physically? only around a day or two. i cant tell what time it is.” he looked around, nodding to the black walls, the light that was only coming from the floor beneath him. “on earth? ...well, far longer than i intended to be.”

“hmm” 

loki raised a brow. “hmm?” 

you looked down at your lap, undeterred by the demand in his voice. he didnt like to not know. 

“Its just that,” you looked back up at him, offering a smile and using your hands to gesture in the air. “based on what i’ve heard of you... on the news, it seems more like you came to ‘annihilate’ us all. and, well i just figured that would take a bit longer than a couple of days?” 

you kept eye-contact with him. he was far less intimidating when he was sitting like a child. far less intimidating when his eyes werent full of murder. 

he nodded, leaning his chin on his hand, staring. “that sounds like a question.” he muttered, uninterested. he looked a bit bored, mostly tired, but still. 

“oh right,” you leaned back, distancing yourself from him and returning your eyes to the notebook. “sorry”  

loki sighed, kept silent for a moment before he saw that you werent going to say anything else. he had to know. 

“if i tell you something, will you tell me what you’re writing in that thing?” 

your eyes perked up. that was a good offer. 

“i thought it wasnt smart to make deals with the ‘god of mischief’?” you emphasised the title with a wave of your hands, hoping to get him to smile. 

just something to report, you reminded yourself. just stay long enough to get him comfortable. 

“its not,” he smirked, watching you decide. this suddenly felt a bit too much like a dare. 

and, well, you werent something who backed away from a dare. 

“okay, deal.” 

loki didnt reply, only waved a hand as if to say get on with it before yawning. he was definitely paying attention, but his show of boredom was greatly appreciated even still. 

you werent used to being told what to do with gestures, but it was clear that loki was very used to telling other people what to do with just a gesture. it was the prince in him, you supposed. didnt mean you were going to listen. 

“why am i going first?” you asked, arms crossed in front of you now. 

loki laughed, full out. he gestured around him with wide eyes, energy sudenly coming back to him. he looked much more like a prince now, than he did before. “it would seem that i’m at a bit of a disadvantage.” 

you glared at him, unmoving. “how do i know you’ll tell me anything real?” 

lies, you thought. you were very familiar with them, familiar to listening to them and familiar to dealing with them. 

“you have my word,” he promised, sincerely with a hand over his heart. 

it was definitely too much. but still, you grabbed the notebook and flipped it around so that he could see. the look on his face might’ve been just enough to make this entire day worth it. 

it was just scribbles, after all. little doodles to help keep you focused. 

but of course, the god of mischief, prince of asgard, didnt know that. 

he only stared at you, an astounding look in his eyes. and you, only smirked. copying his gesture from earlier. 

get on with it. 

“fine,” he quipped. crossing his arms over his chest. copying you now. it only made you smile wider. “i wasnt born on asgard. i also murdered my biological father.” no remorse on his face with those words, just another yawn. 

well. that wasnt expected. 

“that wasnt the deal,” you said, instead of offering any sympathy you might have. pity you knew he wouldnt want. any disgust that came with the words. he didnt want emotions, and you still needed something to report. 

you suddenly felt angry with him, and you couldnt tell why. 

“darling, i said i would tell you something. not that i would tell you anything useful.” he laid down then, right in the middle of the floor. it was ridiculous. but then you could see him closing his eyes, putting his hand over his face to block out the light. “its not like you gave me anything useful either.” he teased the words out, yawning again. 

maybe you’d misread his mischief, his distaste. 

“when was the last time you got any sleep?” you asked, instead of acknowledging anything he said. 

his face snapped up at that, the pressure in the room rising to the highest level. it seemed that you’d struck a nerve. he had been there far too long. 

“another question,” he hissed, distaste back plain and clear in his eyes, tinting his mouth. he was mad now, angry. it probably wasnt at you, you thought. it was probably at the situation, at his brother, at himself. 

you might’ve known a bit more than you’d led on. 

“when i was a kid,” you started, pleasant smile back on your face. you were in the company of a prince after all. “my mom used to tell me to think ‘happy thoughts’ to fall asleep.” you saw him wince slightly, but you werent finished. “it helped lure me to sleep, and also keep away nightmares.” 

“why are you telling me this?” he demanded, quietly. whatever he didnt like about what you were saying, it was too late to take back. 

“just in case you needed some help. or a reminder to take a nap.” 

and then someone was calling your name, leading you out of the dark room. you looked back at loki once more, another smile. 

you were sure you’d be back soon. 

and loki, well he was watching you walk away. listening to the silence you’d left behind. 

compared to any other person that had attempted to talk to him, to get something out of him. you were the most entertaining. and also slightly annoying. 

but still, he couldnt get those words out of his head. and he couldnt get the weight off his eyes. 

five minutes later, your voice in his ear, he was sound asleep against the glass wall. 

[tippedbykreider]

something just like this | c. parayko

Word count: 14.6k Warnings: Mention of infertility Author’s Note: Colt and Cass are back! There’s been about 1.3k of stuff added to this but everything has remained pretty much the same :) Song title is from ‘Something Just Like This’ by The Chainsmokers Summary: Colton Parayko is no stranger to living life on the road and being away from home, but when a new neighbour moves in to the property next door, Colton comes to learn that perhaps home isn’t a place after all.

Colton Parayko would consider himself to be a lucky man. He had a dream job, he was living in a city that felt like home despite being thousands of miles away from his actual home. He drove a nice car, had a nice house in a good area and his neighbours were some of the kindest people he’d ever had the pleasure of encountering. Sure, there were days where he could kill a man for a Tim Horton’s but had to settle for a Starbucks instead, and those days made a pang of homesickness rear its head in his chest, but they were few and far between and if his biggest gripe was a lack of Tim Horton’s coffee in St Louis, then Colton thought he was doing pretty damn well if he was to say so himself.

He’d been in the city for the better part of five years now and had really found a place where he felt like he could put down roots, or at least for as long as his career would allow. When he’d first moved to the city he’d found himself an apartment right in the heart of Downtown, and while it was exciting and there was never a dull moment, it never really felt like somewhere Colton could see himself long term. He liked to party just like anyone else, but he was happiest when relaxing in his own space with a puzzle or a good book. To some this might seem boring or like he was old before his time but with a life as full on as Colton’s could be, it was a nice change of pace to kick back, relax and unwind. That’s what led him to the house he’d called home for the last couple of years. It was modestly sized but bright and airy and a perfect base for him during the season. The neighbourhood was quiet and filled with a lot of young families and it had that real sense of community that reminded Colton of his hometown back in Canada. He didn’t have to think twice about leaving his number with Laura and Joe or Tom and Martina on either side of him in case of an emergency and he knew that his bins would be taken care of if garbage day fell during one of his stretches on the road.

Things had been the same since he’d moved in and in some ways it seemed like time had stood still in that little corner of St Louis but rather than feeling humdrum and dull, Colton felt like it gave him a safe harbour to come back to during the crazy storm of the hockey season. No matter whatever else was happening in his life, Colton could always rely on the community spirit of his neighbourhood to make him feel like he was at home. But sooner or later, the tides of change sweep in and life as we know it is rearranged, sometimes in small ways, other times beyond all recognition. It started on a Tuesday morning in late-February; it was a rare day off and Colton was locking the front door to his house before heading out on his morning run when he noticed the for-sale sign in the front yard of the house to the right of his. He had no reason for the odd feeling that had sprouted in his stomach and had begun to settle heavily there, but there it was all the same.

He set off down the street at a leisurely jog, casting his mind back to the last conversation he’d had with Tom or Martina to try and remember if they’d mentioned anything to him about them potentially moving elsewhere but he was certain that they hadn’t. He would have remembered something like that, he would. He wasn’t exactly sure why seeing the sign had jarred him so much in the first place because while he was friendly with Tom and Martina and while he had always made sure to buy their son a small gift every Christmas and birthday since moving there, it wasn’t like he would consider himself to be their best friend or anything like that. But even so, Colton always enjoyed hearing Sam play outside on warmer days and he knew that he would miss his raucous laughter, it had reminded him so often of his own niece’s back in St Albert. Perhaps that’s what all this was about, Colton thought, the nostalgia and the sense of normalcy and that feeling of home, but even he understood that all things succumb to the rolling tides of change and that people move on to pastures new. All he could hope was that the new owners were just as nice and friendly as the soon-to-be old ones were.

 It was early April when Colton spotted the removals van parked out on the street and within 48 hours he found himself waving off the Parkers along with the rest of the cul-de-sac. He wondered then who the new owners were, what they were like, whether they had children and hoped beyond hope that they would be willing to help keep an eye on his place while he was either away on the road or back in Alberta. He didn’t give it much more thought after that; the Blues were about to start their playoff campaign and Colton’s mind was firmly fixed on hockey. It was only when he returned home from a two day trip to Minnesota that he noticed a silver Mercedes coupe on the driveway next-door. The neighbourly instinct in him told him to go and introduce himself, but it was getting late and all Colton could think about was getting inside, taking a hot shower and dragging his tired body into bed.

An early practice meant that any semblance of a lie-in was out of the question. He’d decided to forgo breakfast at home in favour of an extra fifteen minutes wrapped up in the warmth of his duvet, figuring that he’d find some time to eat at the rink instead. By 8am he was slipping on his sneakers and heading out the door, a small duffel slung over one shoulder with a travel mug of coffee in his hand and his keys in the other. He was so focused on getting the front door closed and locked without having his bag slip from its precarious perch and spilling his coffee that he didn’t notice his new neighbour going through a similar routine of their own. She had a tan leather satchel balanced on her shoulder and her tote handbag was hooked over the same arm and dangling obnoxiously enough that it was severely impeding her ability to get the front door closed. Colton had just turned to get into his car when he saw her and his eyes immediately went to the comically large travel mug that was being held at an almost dangerous angle while she tried to move the bags out of the path between the door and the frame.

It was a no-brainer for Colton to set his own travel mug down on the roof of his car and cross the distance between the two houses, pocketing his car keys as he went. He couldn’t help the small smile that sparked across his face as her voice came into focus with every step he took.

“Με δουλεύεις? Δεν έχω χρόνο για αυτό! Σκατά στον τάφο σου…”

His brows knitted together in confusion despite the gentle smirk on his lips, stifling a laugh as he approached the porch steps while his new neighbour sighed in pure exasperation, completely unaware of his presence behind her.

“Σάλτα και γαμήσου.”

Colton leaned forward and took the mug, which was now tilted almost horizontally from her efforts, from her hand. She turned her head quickly, a look of surprise on her features that Colton returned with a friendly grin.

“You looked like you were having a bit of trouble there.”

She closed her eyes and offered a small laugh on the exhale of a single breath, the corners of her lips quirking ever so slightly into a hint of a smile.

“Sorry about that,” she said apologetically. “The plan wasn’t to cause a ruckus in the street this morning.”

Colton laughed and offered his hand to take the bags from her which she accepted gratefully, turning and shutting the front door before turning the key in the lock with a sense of finality.

“Sounded like you were really sticking it to that door.” He handed back her bags and waited until she’d pressed the button on her car keys to unlock it before giving her back the mug of coffee, taking in the navy blue pencil skirt suit and the powder blue silk blouse she wore. “You gonna be okay from here?”

“Yeah,” she nodded as she tossed her bags onto the passenger seat and surveyed him with a thankful expression. “Sorry for the theatrics, I just get a little flustered when I think I’m running late, especially on my first day at a new job.”

“Completely understandable,” Colton agreed while nodding sagely. “I’m Colton, by the way.”

“Cassandra,” she replied, offering her hand which he shook. “I’m guessing you live around here?”

“Yep,” Colton pointed to his house, not a stone’s throw away from hers. “Literally just there.”

Cassandra smiled at him, bright and dazzling and a million miles away from the frustrated little grimace she’d had on her face only a few minutes before, as if the incident with the door was already a distant memory.

“Well, it was lucky you came along when you did. Two bags, one of them heavy and a mug full of coffee? Could’ve been messy,” she smirked behind her travel mug as she took a sip, surveying him with chocolate eyes that were keen and warm all at once. “That’ll teach me, huh?”

“Glad to help. Although maybe leave the octopus impression to actual octopuses. Or is octopi? I never know which,” Colton mused, adjusting the strap of his duffel on his shoulder.

“I believe octopuses is the correct plural, grammatically speaking, although I’m not sure they mind either way,” Cassandra contemplated with a bemused smile on her lips before a brief silence fell between them as they surveyed each other with easiness and a gentle intrigue.

She was beautiful, Colton thought, and nothing like any woman he’d ever seen before with her olive skin and hair as dark as her eyes and there was a kind of fire in her belly, of that Colton was sure because in his twenty seven years of life he’d never seen anybody berate an inanimate object with the kind of gusto that she just had, even if he didn’t understand a word of it. He thought it was an odd contrast to the perfect, pristine suit that she was wearing and he found himself wondering just what it was that she did for a living. That thought quickly brought his mind back to the present, remembering that the real world was calling and that they both indeed had to get to their respective jobs, and he made a mental note to ask her about it when they both had a little more time on their hands.

“Well, I uh, I actually gotta shoot for work too but it was really nice meeting you,” Colton announced with what Cassandra interpreted as slight reluctance which she found both intriguing and endearing in equal measure. “And good luck for your first day at work, I hope it goes well for ya.”

“Yeah, you too and uh, thanks again.”

Colton flashed her a toothy grin, one that gave him a boyish kind of charm despite his imposing size, as he replied, warm and genuine, “Anytime.”

Cassandra watched with intrigue as Colton retreated back to his driveway and got into his SUV, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t sure what exactly the rest of her day would have in store for her, but as she saw the little wave Colton gave her through the window as he pulled away, she could feel a lightness start to spread in her chest and knew without a shadow of a doubt that the small act of kindness from her new neighbour had salvaged her morning.

 It was four days later when Cassandra saw her neighbour again, an unusually warm Friday afternoon to be exact. It was his car in the driveway that she noticed first on account that it had been missing for the last two days and while she knew nothing of the man that had rescued her Monday other than the fact that his name was Colton, she couldn’t help the involuntary smile that had settled on her lips as she turned into the quiet cul-de-sac and saw the dark grey SUV she’d recognised from the other morning. She wondered just exactly when he’d come home, remembering her earlier observation that it was still missing as she reversed off her own driveway a shade past 8am that morning. It was 2:30pm now and all Cassandra could think about was getting out of her tailored dress and court shoes and into something much more comfortable.

She shut the engine off and climbed out of her car, grabbing her purse as she went; she’d come back for her satchel later. She immediately slipped off her shoes, not caring that she hadn’t even made the short distance up the driveway to the house, and tucked them carefully under her arm while she fished in her purse for her keys. She didn’t notice the tall blonde from next door emerge from his house, nor did she notice the bemused smile he wore while he watched her root around her too-large purse for her house keys and she definitely didn’t notice him set down the bucket of water and sponge he had in his hands before starting to cross the short distance between their houses.

“You need some help there?” he called out with a grin, causing her to jump and drop the shoes under her arm and the purse in her hand with a clatter.

“Ιησούς Χριστός!” She turned then, the slightly startled expression on her face melting into a warm smile and a soft laugh as she took in the large man in front of her, playfully prodding his solid chest as payback for the little fright he’d given her before moving to bend down and pick her belongings up off the floor. Colton was quicker though and before she had a chance to really register what was going on, Colton was handing her back the oversized purse, the black court shoes still in his other hand.

“Now, I’m gonna hazard a guess here and say that those aren’t your size,” she added with a devious little smirk, nodding towards his hand and laughing. Colton took a couple of beats to catch up to what she was saying as his eyes drifted from the easy grin she had on her face to the shoes before his face turned an interesting shade of pink and his free hand moved to rub the back of his neck.

“I just, um, I figured I’d keep a hold of them while you looked for your keys,” he offered.

“Very thoughtful of you. I swear I’m not usually this disorganised,” she said while she resumed her search inside of her purse. “It’s the Friday brain.”

“Rough week?”

“I’ve questioned my life choices exactly seven times this week and considered becoming a stripper but then I remembered that I couldn’t dance and my parents would be extremely disappoin- Aha!” She pulled the keys from out of her purse and put them into the lock. Colton was instantly hit with the sweet smell of summer flowers mixed with a scent that he couldn’t quite place the second her front door swung open but it somehow seemed to fit her, despite him still not really knowing her all that well. He wanted to though, because while she was intriguing and piqued Colton’s interest in all manner of ways, she was also incredibly warm, the kind of warmth that would draw even the most adventurous wayfarer to hearth and home. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was about her that gave her this gentle presence, maybe it was her eyes and how they seemed to hold a kind of sincerity that he couldn’t help but be enchanted by. Perhaps that was the reason why he was still standing holding her shoes in his hand even after she’d crossed the threshold into her home, despite him every intention of using the rare sliver of free time he had to do something productive like wash his car.

She’d finished hanging up her purse and was now back in front of him, surveying him with an easy smile while her hands reached out to gently take the shoes from his hand.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink or something? I bought a new espresso machine the other day and it’s the perfect weather to make iced coffee, although other beverages are also available if you’d prefer something else.”

“Oh I don’t wanna interrupt-“

“You’re not,” Cassandra assured. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to, believe me.”

There was a lightness in her tone that matched her smile and Colton found himself nodding in agreement, the bucket and sponge sat on his porch steps forgotten as he followed her inside and closed the door behind him. Her home had a warmness to it, much like the one Cassandra radiated herself, and Colton couldn’t help but be impressed at just how put together and lived in the space looked, despite it not even being two weeks since he was sure she’d moved in.

“Wow,” he said as he followed her deeper into the house. “You wouldn’t think you’d just moved in here, it took me weeks to unpack.”

Cassandra smiled as she grabbed two glasses from the cupboard while Colton settled himself against the kitchen island.

“I don’t have a lot of stuff really. This place is easily two or three times the size of my old apartment back in New York so once the furniture was in there wasn’t really an awful lot left to unpack. I did go to Pottery Barn on like, my second day here, which I’m not sure I’ll ever financially recover from but those chunky merino wool blankets are like crack to me.”

Colton laughed as he allowed his eyes to go to the blankets in question that were arranged over the back of a cosy looking cream fabric corner sofa. There were scatter cushions that somehow managed to look both homey and perfectly placed and while the whole room screamed French farmhouse vibes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Pinterest, it never lost the inviting and hospitable charm that hit him as soon as he stepped foot inside. He took in the rest of the décor while Cassandra busied herself with their iced coffee, pushing away from the island to get a closer look at the many photographs arranged on the side tables and walls.

His attention was caught by a particularly large framed picture on the wall above a console table, eyes immediately drawn to the large group of smiling faces staring back at him. There must have been at least forty people in this photograph, he noted, all standing in front of a white villa with shutters that were the colour of the bright sky above them. He found Cassandra easily, her smile even more dazzling than the sun was that day. She was stood between a man and a woman whom Colton could only assume to be her parents. She had the same golden olive skin as her father, he thought, and her eyes bore a remarkable similarity to his in the way they crinkled slightly at the corners when she smiled but her smile itself and the rest of her features? They were all her mother’s and Colton caught himself smiling softly as he traced his gaze over each happy face in the photograph.

“Is this your family?”

Cassandra poked her head around the wall to see what Colton was referring to, laughing softly at the sight of him looking at the picture with a mild sense of wonder resting on his face before going back to finish making their drinks.

“Yeah,” she called from the kitchen.

“That’s a, that’s a real big family you got there.”

“Well,” she started, the amusement and teasing clear in her voice. “I am Greek and if you’ve ever seen that movie with John Corbett and Nia Vardalos you’ll understand exactly what it’s like.”

Colton fired a grin at her as he shook his head gently, “can’t say that I have.”

“I wish I could say that they exaggerated what it’s really like for the purposes of the movie but they really, really didn’t,” she laughed over the sound of the espresso machine. “Although I am glad that the swearing the other morning didn’t tip you off, I was trying to stay incognito so I didn’t have to spend my life listening to people talk to me about how good the gyros are here. The ones you guys sell here? Not traditional Greek gyros and frankly I’m insulted.”

She reappeared with two glasses in her hand, sidling up next to Colton with a brush of her shoulder against his bicep as she nudged into him with a playfulness that he couldn’t help but chuckle at, thanking her as he took one of the glasses from her hands.

“I mean, I thought you looked Mediterranean but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure on what language you were yelling at your door in.”

“Sometimes when I’m frustrated I open my mouth and my baba comes out,” Cassandra shrugged casually from behind her glass as she took a sip. “Those genes run pretty strong. They’re a passionate people, the Greeks.”

“So were you born in Greece and then moved here when you were young, or?” Colton asked, following Cassandra as she moved to the patio door and out onto the deck before settling down in the chair next to her.

“Oh no, I’m a born and raised New Yorker,” Cassandra clarified as she set her glass down on the side table between them.

“Really? I’ve been to New York a few times with work and you don’t have much of an accent, if you don’t mind me saying. I uh I don’t mean it rudely it’s just, there’s usually a distinctive accent there.”

“Ah, they beat accents out of you in Law school,” she grinned as she surveyed him. “It’s not professional sounding apparently. Although it’s probably for the best, if I sounded anything like my mother I’d never be taken seriously in my field.”

Colton nodded, becoming more intrigued by the woman sitting beside him by the second. “So your parents came here from Greece,” he hadn’t meant for it to sound so much like a question but he was eager to hear more.

“My dad did, my mom was actually born in New York but my grandparents emigrated here from Italy so you can just imagine my mom’s accent,” she punctuated her answer with a laugh before continuing. “My Nonna is from Naples and my Nonno was born in Bologna. They met and got married in Italy and then emigrated here when they were in their early twenties, it was all very romantic. Nonno passed away a couple of years ago and Nonna took it pretty hard but she has my mom and aunts and uncles around to take care of her.”

“So your mom’s family-“

“Also massive,” Cassandra laughed. “I say that I came to St Louis for work but really it was for the peace and quiet.”

Colton chuckled with her at that, unable to even imagine the size of her combined family. He wondered if they’d ever all been together in the same room during Cassandra’s lifetime and whether it was as chaotic as he thought it might have been based on Cassandra’s words.

“So family gatherings must be pretty wild, huh?”

“Thankfully most of my dad’s family are all in Greece. My paternal grandparents are really old now so they don’t venture very far, let alone this far but my dad’s siblings have been to visit a couple of times and it’s always, um, interesting when mom’s family visit my parents while dad’s relatives are staying there and when I say ‘interesting’ I mean ‘loud’,” she grinned. “Everyone forgets regular social conventions like waiting for the other person to finish speaking before starting to speak themselves and the concept of an indoor voice.”

Colton let out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a cough as he stopped the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken from reappearing out of his nose, Cassandra laughing along with him before she offered him an apology and a smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you inhale your drink there.”

“No,no, it’s okay,” he assured. “It was a good mental image, almost curious to see what that’s like.”

“Well, if you ever feel like subjecting yourself to a headache and my family is in town I’ll let you know,” Cassandra winked as a gentle laugh floated past her lips.

“I appreciate it,” Colton grinned in reply, although he couldn’t help the heat rising in his cheeks at the thought, which was an unusual response in itself, he thought, given that the woman sitting beside him was still really an acquaintance. He paused briefly as the light moment they’d shared settled between them, filling the space with a quietness that was by no means uncomfortable despite it being light-years away from their laughter not moments prior. There was a distinct curiosity there, a desire to know her in the way that friends know each other and it was a curiosity that Colton couldn’t trace the source of. She was his neighbour, yes and neighbours often knew a surface level of information about each other and their lives in a kind of shallow and superficial kind of way, and she’d been kind enough to invite him in for coffee, which was probably about as neighbourly as you could get but there was something else about their interactions that felt like more than being just neighbourly. There was a lightness to them, a playfulness that he couldn’t recall experiencing with any of his other neighbours and that curiosity, that need to keep talking to her and listen to her life story, her likes, her dislikes and everything in between, but he also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and so he opted to ask her about something safe, something she’d already offered to him in passing.

“You said you went to Law school? I know you probably get this all the time but you must be pretty smart.”

“Yeah, uh, NYU. Graduated a few years back, took the bar examination and then got a job at a decent firm in Manhattan. It’s just so competitive there, y’know? It felt like I couldn’t ever really get ahead no matter how hard I busted my ass because of just how cutthroat that whole scene is and I was sick to death of feeling like I had to prove myself in an old boy’s club just because I was a female in my mid-twenties with a foreign sounding surname so I thought I’d broaden my horizons a little bit. I looked up some reputable firms across the country, sent a few speculative letters and here I am.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like, having to jump over hurdles like that just because you’re a woman with a mixed heritage, like I guess I’ve always been aware of how my privilege has meant I’ve never really had to deal with stuff like that but I just can’t even… You’re one tough cookie, you know that?” Colton turned in his seat so that he was facing her better, his glass cradled within his hands.

“I guess you kind of have to be when you work in law, especially as a woman. I spend most of my days around guys who look for opportunities to turn any situation into a dick measuring competition and who look at you like you’re some incompetent newbie who’s only in that position to fulfil some sort of equality and diversity quota bullshit,” Cassandra sighed heavily, meeting Colton’s eyes as she continued. “Real talk? It feels like I lead a double life every single day. I go to work and it feels like I have to put on a persona just to prove that I belong at the table and that shit is fucking exhausting. That person I am when I’m at work? That’s not the real me but people will see that person and make judgments about her, y’know? They’ll say that I’m ‘difficult’ or that I’m ‘cold’ or ‘standoffish’ when in reality they create an environment that is so toxic for women that they force them to be someone they’re not just to get by.”

Cassandra inhaled deeply, filling her lungs back up with air after her mini-tirade had come out on a whoosh of a breath. She was wearing an almost sheepish look as she surveyed Colton, an apologetic smile gracing her lips before she spoke again.

“Sorry for the rant that you literally didn’t ask for or need.”

“Hey,” Colton replied sincerely. “You don’t need to apologise. Honestly? I’m just in awe that you’ve not let the bullshit stop you, most people would have thrown in the towel and peaced out.”

“It’s definitely better now that I’m not working in New York, like, I know it’s still very early days but all my colleagues are really nice and the few attorneys from other firms I’ve dealt with have all been really respectful. I don’t know, it just feels different here. Don’t get me wrong, I love my city, I love New York but I don’t miss the toxicity of working in practice there.”

“Was it hard? Leaving your family and stuff? I mean, it sounds like you’re all pretty close,” Colton asked.

“So hard,” Cassandra nodded solemnly. “Mom and dad were devastated. Their only daughter moving nearly a thousand miles away? God, I remember their faces when I told them. Mom cried, fuck, I didn’t think she was ever gonna stop.” She paused briefly and Colton felt her sigh settle all through his body as her dark eyes found his. “I don’t know how much you know about Greek and Italian culture but family is everything.”

“I don’t but I kind of know what it’s like,” he spoke softly, hoping that she would pick up on the reassurance he was trying to offer her. “Picking up and starting all over again? Leaving your family behind? I know what that’s like and sometimes, when the summer rolls around and my work is done for the year, I almost don’t wanna go back home because it’s hard. It’s hard to see all the things you’ve missed and it’s hard to leave it all behind again but I wouldn’t ever change that feeling because it’s good to know that you have something you miss that much.”

Cassandra took a few moments to let Colton’s words settle in her chest before asking quietly, “where is home?”

“Canada.”

“Wow, so you’re even further away from home than I am. God, I’m sorry. I invite you in for coffee and pleasant conversation and I turn this into a ‘woe is me’ pity party for myself.”

Cassandra looked down into her glass and Colton felt an unfamiliar pull in his chest. It was as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun and the light had dimmed and everything suddenly felt that little bit colder. He wasn’t sure why he all at once felt compelled to open himself up to her, usually being one for his own company and never extending the hand of close friendship to any of his neighbours before, but there was something about Cassandra and the way that she already felt like a ray of sunshine in his life. If there was a way for him to chase the clouds away, even for just a little while, Colton was going to make sure of it.

“Hey, Cassie?” he started, quickly correcting himself. “Um, can I call you Cassie?”

Cassie looked up from her glass to find him looking at her with a newfound softness and she was struck by how much he reminded her of her ancestral home with the rich, warm sand of his hair and the ocean harboured within his eyes. She smiled then and much like a passing cloud, the sun seemed to come back out with that small quirk of her lips.

“You can.”

Colton set his glass down on the table then and folded his hands together, looking at her with a gentleness that was reflected in his voice as he spoke. “I know I’m not always around. My job it- it takes me away quite a bit but I want you to know that you don’t have to feel like you’re alone here. I know how rough it can be starting over in a new city and if I can help or if you ever wanna just talk or hang out, I’m here for you. You can even have my number, if you want, y’know in case you wanna talk or anything while I’m out of town and I just, I want you to remember that it’s okay to feel homesick sometimes.”

Cassie nodded at that because more than his words and the candour with which he spoke, it was the sincerity in his eyes as he looked at her that made her believe him wholeheartedly.

 Colton’s offer of friendship was one that Cassie had taken him up on and it was a state of being that came naturally to the pair. Cassie had learned about Colton’s job as the number one defenceman for the St Louis Blues during their conversation on her patio and while hockey wasn’t a sport that she professed to be well versed in, she still enjoyed hearing about his training, the games and everything that came with it, and she’d been around the Rangers fans in her family long enough to know that he was pretty big deal given that he was a Stanley Cup Champion. Colton, on the other hand, found himself completely in awe of Cassie’s role as a complex litigation lawyer for one of St Louis’ most prestigious firms, especially knowing a little bit more about her struggles to be seen and work her way up the ladder and while he couldn’t profess to be au fait with how it all worked and what was involved in her line of work and the litigation process, he loved to hear about the cases she was working on and how her work helped others. But above those things, their jobs were ones that kept them both busy and it was during the quieter times, the times that would have had them both seeking the solace of their own company once upon a time, that they would seek out each other.

It had started as cups of coffee and quick catch-ups in the brief respites of their hectic schedules, but had soon evolved into making time for lunches and even dinners shared over bottles of wine, continuing long after Colton’s season had ended before finally pausing around mid-July when he would be heading back North to spend the rest of the summer with his family. It had worked out fortuitously though as Cassie’s caseload had multiplied seemingly overnight and she would find herself working longer days and spending more time at the office than her own home. Colton was concerned of course, as any friend would be, and he would check in often when he knew she was working late. It’s not that Colton thought that she shouldn’t be working more hours, understanding enough about her job and role to know that the final push before a big court date often meant extended working hours to get everything ready, but he wanted to make sure that she was taking care of herself and wasn’t putting herself at risk of burnout.

It was a late-August evening when Colton called at around 7:30, just as he had been doing for the last couple of weeks, knowing that Cass would usually be home from the office by that point with her being an hour ahead in Missouri, even with her later working hours recently. The line rang for a few seconds, longer than it usually took for Cassie to answer him and Colt wondered if he’d maybe caught her taking a shower or making dinner. She answered eventually though, a little breathless sounding and an almost forced calmness in her voice.

“Cassandra Constantinou.”

“Cassie? Hey, it’s Colton. Is uh- is everything okay? Is this a bad time?”

“Colt,” she breathed, voice softening immediately. “Hey. God is that the time already?”

She ran a hand through her dark hair as a tired exhale passed her lips which had Colton furrowing his brow at the other end of the line and while Cass couldn’t see the slight worry that rested on his features, she could hear it in his voice as he spoke.

“Are you alright? You never answer your phone with your full name.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, slumping back into her desk chair. “Still in work mode.”

“Wait, are you still at the office?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced as she took a sip of her long-cold cup of coffee. “The court date for that big case I’ve been working on is in two days and I just need to make sure I’ve got all my ducks in a row. Time got away from me a little bit tonight and I was already behind from putting metaphorical fires out earlier in the day.”

Colton sat up from where he had been laid on his bed, unable to keep the concern out of his voice despite the fact that he didn’t want to come across like he was being overbearing.

“Have you eaten?”

“Lately?” Cassandra replied.

“Cassie-“

“I had lunch around 12:15.”

“Cass, that was 8 hours ago,” Colton chided gently. “You gotta eat, πουλάκι μου.”

Cassandra paused her action of moving papers aimlessly around her desk, a grin sparking at her lips for the first time that day and catching like kindling until it had spread the full width of her face and all the way up to her eyes.

“Did you just- have you been googling Greek pet names, Colton Parayko?”

Her tone was light and bright and Colton could feel her smile through the phone, feel the way it crawled through his skin and settled in his bones like a welcome ray of sunshine on a cold day.

“I-I,” Colton was flushing beet red and he was thankful that Cassie couldn’t see him in this moment because the redness in his face was quickly spreading to the tops of his ears. “I’ve been trying to learn Greek.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassie grinned with equal parts mischief and glee, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk. “Look, if you wanna learn how to swear at guys on the other team, you might not wanna call them ‘my little bird’, you totally could’ve just asked me if you were wanting to learn some Greek phrases. I can teach you all the good insults.”

“That’s not,” Colton sighed in mild exasperation, although inwardly pleased that this had provided Cassie with a much needed distraction from the stress of her work. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

Cassie’s grin softened immediately and she didn’t miss the way her heart constricted ever so slightly either. Her tone shifted to something much gentler and a world away from her playful teasing not a moment ago.

“Well, consider me surprised.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Colton asked after a pregnant pause.

“Not at all. I think it’s actually really sweet and thoughtful.”

A silence descended between the pair but it wasn’t one that was uncomfortable, instead it allowed the seed that had been buried deep in Cassie’s chest since the day Colton had gone back to Canada to sprout and it was in that moment that she found herself really missing him. She missed him for a lot of reasons, some she could rattle off like how he looked out for her and made sure that she was taking care of herself, and others she wouldn’t understand fully until later. It was as if Colton could hear that quiet call of her heart in that moment where she found herself wishing that he was back in St Louis because he broke the silence with the words Cass had been longing to hear for weeks.

“So I’m coming back at the end of next week and I was hoping you would be free to hang out.”

“That would be amazing,” Cassie’s voice was rich through the phone with her smile and Colton couldn’t help the slight flutter in his chest when he thought about how pretty she looked when she smiled in the way he was imagining her to be.

“Yeah? I figured I’d come back a couple of weeks early before training camp because… well because I’ve really missed hanging out with you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Colt.”

Colton didn’t miss Cassie’s choice of words and had to fight to resist the urge to analyse them for anything other than what they were. She said it though, not just that she missed hanging out with him, but that she missed him and she had meant it too. She had missed him, more than she thought she ever would and maybe more than friends should miss friends, and despite it being the height of summer, Cass felt like she’d been living under a grey cloud since Colton had left for Canada. It should have rattled her with how easy it had been for Colton to become a part of her life, especially when she had been so used to her own company. It had been the same since she graduated law school – she would work, often long hours as was expected of new associates trying to find their footing in a firm, she would come home tired, she would eat, shower and sleep before getting up and doing it all over again. Any free time was spent either catching up on all the things she didn’t have time to do during her working week or with her family, knowing her parents and grandmother well enough to know that if she didn’t surface frequently there would be a freak-out of epic proportions. Since moving to St Louis though? Cass’s life had changed completely and in ways she never thought possible.

Work was still stressful, yes, but for the first time in a long time she felt valued and appreciated and she was on course for partnership if things kept going the way they were; but more than that, she felt a sense of fulfilment that extended beyond her career. Being friends with Colt was easy and it was as if the two of them had an unspoken mutual understanding of what they needed from each other and their friendship. Cassie understood the pressures of Colton’s job, just as he understood the stresses of hers and it was that awareness of each other and their lives that had allowed their friendship to blossom so easily. That time spent with each other, whether on Cassie’s back patio or curled up on Colton’s couch, was what they both needed to re-center and reset. Sure, they would talk about work but it was always kept brief because neither felt the need to discuss it in great detail, they both knew what it was like for them and they both knew that their time together was an escape from all of that. Some nights they’d sit in companionable silence with nothing more than soft music in the background, others they would talk and talk about everything and anything. But as the weeks had progressed, they found themselves saying goodnight to each other later and later and that hint of reluctance would creep in in the form of a too-long hug or a lingering look. It felt natural though, and good and right, and so it was incredibly easy to make firm plans for when Colton came back to the city.

The end of the work week brought about a successful conclusion to the case that had consumed so much of Cassie’s time and with the resolution that she’d worked so hard for came vast amounts of praise from her bosses and a lighter work load the following week. They’d even gone so far as giving Cassie the Friday off for her efforts but there were a couple of loose ends that needed tying up and so, despite their gentle protests and their best efforts to get her to stay home, Cassie found herself at her desk that Friday morning. As lunchtime approached and all loose ends were sufficiently tied, Cass turned her computer off for the final time that week and said her goodbyes as she headed out of the office. She’d use the afternoon to spruce her house ready for Colton coming over once he was back from the airport and she’d resolved to give her parents a quick Skype after receiving a string of text messages from her mother, with the last one being a threat to fly down to St Louis if she didn’t hear from her soon.

The baking late-August heat had Cass tearing off her pencil skirt and blouse no sooner had she stepped into her house. She cursed as she hopped down the hallway in her heeled pumps, the grey fabric of her skirt bunched around her knees while her clammy hands fumbled with the tiny buttons on the crepe silk blouse.

“Γαμώτο!” she exclaimed as she came dangerously close to slipping on the rug in her hallway and face-planting the floor. “ηλίθιο χαλί.”

She kicked off the shoes that had almost been successful in making her the proud owner of a broken neck and pulled her skirt down her calves, stepping out of it before pulling her half unbuttoned blouse over her head and tossing the discarded clothing into the hamper in the laundry room. She rooted through the shamefully full basket of clean clothing that sat upon the counter top until she found the loose cotton maxi-dress she was looking for.

After indulging in a cool glass of ice-tea, Cass set about tidying the house - not that there was much to do, but growing up in a family full of house-proud women meant that not a single cushion could be out of place if company was coming over, especially if that company was of the male variety (not that she’d ever share that bit of information with her mother). After all, as her Nonna Gioia would say: “a ogni uccello il suo nido è bello,” and even Cassie could appreciate that a beautiful nest was indeed a tidy nest.

It was close to 3pm by the time Cassie settled down on her couch with her laptop, the temperature inside the house much more comfortable with the whisper of a breeze coming through the wide-open patio door. She balanced her computer on the arm of the sofa as she started the Skype call to her parents, her mother’s voice the first thing she heard, even before the video had loaded and before Cass had the chance to say ‘hello’.

“Mamma mia, Cassandra! We thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth!”

“Hi, mom,” Cass smirked. “How’re you?”

“Not funny, il mio passerotta.”

Cassie watched as her mother inched closer to the screen with narrowed eyes, already expecting the next words that came out of her mouth.

“You’re looking thin in the face. Are you eating? Are you sick?”

“No, mama, I’m not sick and yes, I’m eating,” Cassandra replied with as much conviction as she could muster in order to appease her mother, her effort falling short with her mother’s next line of questioning.

“What are you eating?”

“Giovanna,“ Cassie’s father interrupted.

“Look at her, Hector! She’s all skin and bone! Don’t you want to know what she’s been eating? She could be living off celery for all we know! When was the last time you had a proper meal? You’re not doing one of those ridiculous diets are you? They’re no good for you, Cassandra, there’s nothing wrong with a woman having a bit of meat on her bones.”

“I’m fine, mama,” Cassie sighed, keen to steer the conversation away from herself. “How is everyone? Nonna okay?”

“Yes, yes, we’re all fine here. You should call your Nonna though, she misses that pretty face of yours.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow and arrange to Skype next weekend, give her chance to get someone to set things up for her.”

Conversation quickly turned to the family happenings back in New York, much to Cass’s relief. Her father had been incredibly busy with work, she’d learned and he’d finally got around to buying himself a new record player after Cass had spent the better part of four months trying to convince him that there was no salvaging the old one. After half an hour or so of catching up, Cass felt a mild sense of relief wash over her at the sudden realisation that she’d managed to get through any amount of time talking to her parents without the subject of her love-life being brought up.

“Oh, your cousin Antonio had a date with a very lovely girl last week. She’s a hairdresser, such a good girl.”

Ah, fuck.

“Really, mama?” Cass said indifferently, praying to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t follow that up with anything. “Good for him.”

“You know,” her father began, looking over his glasses at her. “If you didn’t work so much then maybe you’d have time to find yourself a man.”

“Baba,” Cass warned gently.

“Your father’s right, Cassandra,” Giovanna gently scolded. “You’re a beautiful girl, why haven’t you found a nice boy yet? You’re too young to be a spinster.”

“Exactly, mama,” Cassandra replied calmly. “I’m too young to be a spinster. I’m working hard to get where I want to be in my career. There’s plenty of time for all the other stuff. Didn’t you tell me to work hard at my job and do well for myself?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t want to be an old Nonna. I want to be able to run after my grandbabies and I’m not getting any younger.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of her front door opening and then closing with a soft click.

“Cass?”

Cassandra’s face flashed with a gentle confusion as she checked the watch on her wrist before contorting into mild horror at the sound of Colton calling her name again, louder this time – loud enough that it carried through the microphone and out through the speakers of her parents’ computer judging by the gleeful expression on their faces.

“Is that a man?” her mother said excitedly. “I heard a man’s voice. Who is he? Why is he letting himself into your house? Is he your boyfriend?! Why didn’t you tell us you had a boyfriend?!”

Colton appeared in the living room, a sheepish look on his face as he spoke.

“Sorry, is this a bad time? I caught an earlier flight and wanted to surprise you.”

“Cassandra Giulia Constantinou, you’d better answer me this second!”

Cass winced at her mother’s voice and threw Colton a glance that she hoped would tell him to run far, far away before her parents started making demands that would make Colton want the ground to swallow him up, demands that she was sure would make their friendship incredibly awkward.

“Bring him in,” her father asserted. “Let me get a good look at him, make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“Baba,” that warning tone was back in Cassandra’s tone and there was a look in her eyes that Colton found adorable but knew better than to make a comment describing it as such.

Whether or not his next move was against his better judgment would remain to be seen but Colton found himself coming deeper into the living room and sitting down on the couch next to Cass, Giovanna audibly gasping as he did so while Hector removed his glasses and surveyed the large man sitting next to his daughter.

“He’s very pale, does he not go outside? Is he sick?” Hector remarked. “It doesn’t snow in St Louis, does it? You’d lose him in a blizzard.”

“Ooooh, Cassandra. Isn’t he tall? And so broad!”

Cassie gave Colton, who had turned an interesting shade of crimson she’d never before seen, an apologetic smile before turning her attention back to her parents.

“Okay, could we try maybe not weirding my friend out? ‘kay, thanks and Jesus Christ, dad, you can’t just say stuff like that to people, I don’t even know where to start with how inappropriate that is.”

“I thought my tan was pretty good this year,” Colton muttered loudly enough that only Cassandra heard him and she had to fight with every bit of self-restraint she had to keep a straight face.

“So, young man,” Hector was speaking again; those eyes that were so remarkably like Cassandra’s were keen on Colton and Cass knew that she wasn’t going to like what was about to come out of her father’s mouth. “What is it that you do? Cassandra is a very bright girl and she shouldn’t be settling for just anybody. She deserves only the very best. Tell me why you think you’re good enough to date my daughter-“

“Okay, that’s it,” Cassandra interrupted, her tone sharper than Colton had ever heard it before. “αυτό είναι απαράδεκτο. δεν τον ανακρίνεις έτσι! είναι φίλος μου και είσαι πολύ αγενής!”

“Cassandra,” her father tried but he was immediately cut off by her once more.

“είμαστε φίλοι και τίποτα άλλο. σταμάτα να με πιέζεις να παντρευτώ” Cassandra paused for a second, as if to catch her breath from whatever tirade she’d given her parents that Colton could only begin to imagine before she spoke again, in English this time. “Now, if you don’t mind, Colton here has just got home from travelling and we have plans. I’ll call you again on Sunday.”

Whatever Cass had said to them must have worked, Colton thought, because their responses were much more subdued and they said their goodbyes rather quickly, Cassie closing her laptop with more force than was necessary and with a long exhale of breath that flared her nostrils.

“I am so sorry,” she started, her eyes apologetic as she surveyed him with a slight crease in her brow that made Colton’s heart tug in his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. I shoulda-“ he rubbed his large hand over the back of his neck as he spoke softly. “I shoulda called ahead or something. Or knocked. Literally could’ve done a thousand things differently. Sorry for putting you in a spot there.”

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s just them. They mean well but fuck.”

Colton reached across and squeezed her hand gently, the touch managing to warm Cassie’s skin even on a day as hot as that one.

“Y’know,” he began, his tone light with a hint of teasing. “You’re terrifying when you’re pissed and start talking in Greek.”

He grinned as Cassie barked out a laugh, her head thrown back in that carefree way that made his stomach do backflips and her dark eyes sparkled behind her long lashes as she looked at him with a beaming smile, the annoyance that had rested on her features melting away into nothingness.

“Yeah? You’d do well to remember that, Parayko.”

“I wouldn’t dream of fighting you,” he quipped. “You’d kick my ass.”

There was a pregnant pause before Colton spoke again, unsure whether or not to say the words that sat heavily on the tip of his tongue. It was the gentle look in Cassie’s eyes, the smile that still graced her lips as she surveyed him easily and the way her thumb had taken to absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand that spurred him on, sure as he was that he could always be candid with her.

“What um, what did you say to them? I’ve never seen two grown adults look so timid after a telling off.”

Cassie chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, chewing over the words in her mind before she spoke them quietly, her eyes resting on Colton’s hand in hers.

“They just have this thing about me settling down and I get it, I’m their only child, I’m approaching thirty and they want grandkids. Remember how I said that family was really important to Greeks and Italians?”

Colton nodded, his eyes soft on her while he waited for her to continue.

“And every time we talk it’s ‘your cousin is seeing this girl’ or ‘the oldest Maloney girl is pregnant, isn’t that nice?’ and it is nice, it is, like, good for them, y’know? And I know my parents wanted a big family and I can’t even imagine how that must have felt, being told after the birth of your first child that she’d be your only child when they had all these plans to have lots of babies and have a big family. I want to make them happy and give them the grandkids they’d always dreamed they’d have, I do, but I’m not there yet, maybe sometime in the future but it has to be right. It has to be.”

She paused then, the rich earth of her eyes finding the summer skies of his and felt a flicker of a flame stir within her chest at how easy it was to just be like this with him, to be open and honest without fear of him somehow using that vulnerability against her. It was liberating and terrifying and everything Cassandra ever dreamed it would be when she eventually found someone she was comfortable sharing this part of her life with, that vulnerability and intimacy that was often so hard to show because of her line of work. But Colton was good and sweet with a pure heart and purer intentions and so she didn’t need to think twice about sharing this part of herself and what she’d said to her parents with him.

“I told them that they were out of line, that they can’t interrogate you like that and that their behaviour was incredibly rude. I told them that we were just friends and that they needed to stop pushing me to get married.”

Cassandra could’ve sworn that Colton’s expression had deflated slightly at the mention of their relationship status but before she’d even had the chance to process it, Colton had fixed his features back to the easy and gentle expression he usually wore around her.

“They just really care about you, y’know?” Colton said quietly after a brief moment of silence. “They want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Cassandra assured and Colton couldn’t help but wonder if the conviction in her voice was for his or her own benefit. “I am. Moving here has been the best thing. Work is awesome, I have a house that I could only have ever dreamed of being able to afford in New York.” She paused again, making sure that she had Colton’s eyes on her before she dropped the volume of her voice to just above a whisper, “and I met you. How could I not be happy?”

Colton smiled, not big and bright, but soft and warm and filled with a tenderness that teetered on the edge of crossing the line of friendship. Here in front of him was someone he would have never imagined would become a good friend in the relatively short time they’d known each other, his best friend in fact and now that she was here, in his life and in his heart, he wondered how he’d ever lived a life without her because with Cassandra, nothing was ever forced and she gave him a strange feeling of freedom that he’d never had before. It was that kind of ease that makes the stresses of life fall away and whenever he was with her it felt like they could be the only two people on earth. She knew when he was struggling with the stresses of his job without him ever needing to say it out loud, just like he would know when she was under pressure with her own work but more than any words of encouragement they could give to each other to alleviate the stresses and burdens of life, it was that peaceful, secure feeling between them, that came so effortlessly, that pulled them towards each other like planets to a sun. It was then, in that moment, that Colton began to understand that maybe home wasn’t a place at all, it was a feeling. It was something that you miss when you’re without it and Colton could say with completely certainty that he’d missed Cassie.

Cassie and Colton would see each other almost every day over the course of weeks that followed. Even with the start of training camp, Colton found himself home every evening and Cassie’s work schedule had eased somewhat, meaning that she was often escaping the office at 5:30 on the dot. They would spend those precious few hours before sleep called them to their respective beds together, talking over dinner with a bottle of wine open between them before eventually retiring to the couch. Sometimes they’d find themselves talking all night, with the TV in the background forgotten about, others they’d watch something easy together (which led to Colton discovering that he really enjoyed Bake Off, much to Cassie’s delight) but their favourite nights together, or at least for Colton anyway, were the nights where they would share their favourite music with each other. Colton had admittedly not been much of a music enthusiast. Sure, he enjoyed listening to it just as much as the next person, but he would be the first person to confess that his listening never really extended beyond the radio. The same couldn’t be said for Cassie.

Much like her father, Cassie was the proud owner of an old record player that had been lovingly refurbished. If asked about it, she’d preface her love of the item by saying that it was probably the most extravagant purchase she’d ever made, but she would also make no hesitation in saying that there was just something about listening to Etta James or Billie Holliday on vinyl that digital versions just couldn’t hold a candle to. Colton loved that Cassie’s music preferences had been influenced by her family, he loved hearing about how her father had fallen in love with Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin when he first came to America at the tender age of 21, he loved hearing about how Cass’s father would purchase a new vinyl with every pay-check, something that had started when he first started earning money as a carpenter and handyman and still continued to this day. He loved how Cass could recall, with complete clarity, the way she would sit on the rug in front of the record player as a child while she watched her father unwrap the vinyl, filled with both excitement and anticipation at what wonderful music was held on the black disc in his hands. Colton learned that music had been such a prominent and important part of her childhood, whether it was listening to her father’s music collection with him and telling him about new artists to try or weekends spent at her Nonna and Nonno’s house filled with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. All of those songs had touched her life in some way and with each story Colton couldn’t help but feel thankful and grateful to see inside the heart that brought him such peace and happiness without even realising.

All too soon though, the season had started once more and once again Colton found himself on the road. This time it felt different though. Instead of the usual indifference he would feel about being away from the comforts of home, he felt an ache that had started in his chest and settled all through his bones. It wasn’t homesickness, at least not in the traditional sense of the word, because it wasn’t his house that Colton missed, it was the person that made him feel like he was home. It was the person who had taken the time to make him a Spotify playlist to listen to while he was travelling, that playlist that he couldn’t help but have on repeat because during those moments that the music filled his ears and filled his soul like sand in an hourglass, he was back in St Louis on her patio with her, drinking wine and laughing together with that same music filtering through the sliding doors. It was easy, in those moments where he would be on the plane with his headphones and that playlist on, to close his eyes and imagine the way her rich laughter crawls all the way through his skin and warms his heart like a shot of whisky on a winter’s day.

Cassie hadn’t really noticed just how much a part of her life Colton was until his schedule was pulling him out of the city and she found herself alone again during the evenings. She also found herself, in those moments, picking up the television remote and tuning in to Blues games, even going so far as reaching out to her cousins back in New York to pick their brains about the finer details of hockey, citing her sudden interest in the sport as a new hobby on account of her not wanting to throw Colton into the lion’s den. She’d made sure to test her newfound knowledge on Colton during their phone calls while he was away (which impressed him to no end) and had made a promise to come and watch him play his next game at Enterprise Center. It was that promise that had Colton wrapping up a blue jersey, with his name and number on, in pretty floral paper, going so far as adding a length of ribbon tied in a little bow on top, even if it did look a little droopy by virtue of his large hands and less than nimble fingers.

Colton was tired. A tough stretch of road-games had his body aching in ways that would ordinarily have him crawling into bed and not resurfacing until practice obligations demanded it, but it’d been almost a week since he’d seen Cassie and the promise of her company, a home-cooked meal and all the wine he could manage was something he wouldn’t dream of resisting. He had taken a quick shower once getting home before changing into a pair of jeans and a soft-knit sweater, making sure to grab the wrapped jersey and the small bouquet of flowers he’d picked up on his way back from the airport. He was a little early but he’d learned from experience that Cassie wouldn’t mind. He would simply make sure that she had a full wine glass and offer to help in the kitchen.

He let himself in as normal, the beautiful smell of rich tomatoes and herbs hitting him immediately and sparking a wide smile on his face. He didn’t speak immediately, the volume of the music she had on loud enough for him to know she wouldn’t hear him, but instead slipped off his sneakers and moved further into the house.

“Hai usato capperi?”

The voice that came from the kitchen belonged to an older woman and Colton found himself wondering if he’d missed something during his earlier conversation with Cass. He was sure she hadn’t mentioned having extra company but he had been picking up flowers for her at the time and it was entirely possible that he could have missed that small detail in the process.

“Non è una vera puttanesca se non usi i capperi. Me lo hai insegnato tu.”

Colton paused in the archway, his eyes falling to Cassie in the kitchen while his heart swelled to ten times its normal size at the sight in front of him. There was no one else there with her, only her iPad on a stand resting on top of the counter. It took a moment for Colton to realise that the voice was in fact coming from the device when he heard the older woman begin to speak again.

“Dimmi di più su questo ragazzo che ti piace”

Cassie laughed at whatever the older woman had said before replying, “Ti ho già parlato di lui, nonna.”

‘Ah,’ Colton thought. ‘This is the word famous Nonna.”

“Bene, dimmelo di nuovo!’ her grandmother chuckled. ‘Sono una vecchia signora e la mia memoria è terribile”.

If you asked him about this particular night at a later date, Colton wasn’t entirely sure how long he had stood there listening to Cassandra talk with her grandmother while her hands worked the pasta dough she had been making, but he would tell you that it was long enough for him realise what had been in his heart for a while. Because somewhere in between Cassie talking and laughing with her grandmother and their spirited rendition of the number he recognised as being Dean Martin that was playing loud enough through Cassie’s record player for her Nonna to hear, Colton understood what that recent feeling of homesickness had been. It wasn’t homesickness at all, it was love.

He wasn’t sure why the sight of Cass kneading pasta dough while Facetiming her grandma had made the penny suddenly drop for him. Perhaps it was the fact he could feel every bit of the love that this girl had for her Nonna, much like the love she had for every member of her family. Perhaps it was the fact that she had taken time out of her day to spend time listening to old jazz records with her grandmother just like she had when she was a child. Perhaps it was the fact that the woman in front of him was beautiful and intelligent and so unbelievably kind. But the truth and reality of it was that it was all of those things and above everything else, it was the peace and sense of belonging he felt whenever he was with her. It was having someone to be proud of and be proud of him in return and it was having someone to miss, having someone in his life who makes saying goodbye so hard. Cassie was all of those things and deep down Colton knew that he was those things for her too.

His feet must have heard the call from his heart that his head had not because before he could catch himself he was right behind her with his hand on her lower back, gentle and soft. She jumped slightly at the contact, not expecting him to be in her house for another twenty minutes.

“Sorry,” he laughed quietly before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “I figured I’d come over early and help but this all looks a little out of my ability range.”

“Guests don’t help the cook. Guests sit at the island, drink alcohol and mock those who are doing the cooking. Those are the rules” she grinned in reply.

“Mamma mia, Cassandra, cioè un bel giovanotto!”

Colton wasn’t entirely sure what Cassandra’s grandmother had said but whatever it was had Cassie groaning slightly and, unbeknownst to him, her face burning white hot.

“OK, ora riattacco il telefono,” Cassie groaned causing her Nonna to cackle wildly.

“Dagli un bacio per me!”

“Sei una cattiva signora,” Cassandra grinned before the pair said their goodbyes and she was closing the case on her iPad.

Cassie’s attention then turned to Colton who was leaning casually against the counter with an easy grin playing on his lips.

“So that was Nonna?” he asked.

“Yeah, that was Nonna,” Cassied laughed softly. “She was just checking in to make sure I wasn’t desecrating her spaghetti alla puttanesca recipe.”

“And were you?”

“Are you nuts? Do you know how angry Italians get when you don’t make their recipes properly? You might as well set fire to the flag.”

Colton barked a laugh at that, an impish little smirk on his face as he asked, “So cream in a carbonara would be a ‘no’?”

Cassie’s hands, which were rolling the dough ready for the pasta machine, stopped dead in their tracks, a look of abject horror on her face as she looked at Colton.

“Don’t even joke.”

“That’s one for the book then,” Colton grinned, referring to the little notebook sitting on his kitchen countertop that held all of his little tips and reminders he’d learned when it came to cooking, which Cassie found to be both hilarious and endearing in equal measure. “So your Nonna is okay?”

“Yeah,” Cass replied as she fed the pasta dough through the machine. “She said you were very handsome which is high praise indeed because unless it’s Dean Martin, Nonna doesn’t wanna know.”

Colton chuckled as he pushed away from the counter to fix them both a glass of wine.

“Your Nonna has good taste,” he smirked as he set Cassie’s full glass down beside her. “And what about you? Do you think I’m handsome?”

Cassie’s only reply was to suck air in through her teeth before giggling mischievously at the mock hurt on Colton’s face while his hand clutched at his chest.

“You’re wicked, you know that?”

“I get that from my Nonna too,” she laughed.

With Colton’s help, dinner was promptly served and Cassie asked Colton all about his recent trip while they ate. The first bottle of Barbera was soon empty and the pair were well on their way with the second one by the time their plates were clean of their food. Colton insisted on clearing the dishes away and loading them into the dishwasher, despite Cassie’s protests and soon enough they were both curled up on her couch with the glass pyrex dish Cass had used to make her tiramisu in and two spoons. The rest of the evening was spent in easy conversation, Cassie pressed into Colton’s side while his arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her against him. He couldn’t help the way his nose found the soft chocolate strands of her hair where her head rested heavily on his shoulder. They had been sitting in companionable silence for a while, with nothing but the smooth voice of Norah Jones filling the space between them but neither felt the need to speak, not because they didn’t have anything to say, but because there were no words that needed to be spoken, both content to just be there in that moment together.

That’s how it had been all along though, Cassandra thought as she listened to the steady beat of Colton’s heart beneath his strong chest. They had always been comfortable with just basking in the presence of each other, where nothing was forced or artificial. Every part of their relationship, from the moment Colton came to her rescue on the morning of her first day at work, to being in this moment with him now, felt natural and organic. It was easy to let him in and easier to open her heart and her life up to him and it was a trust that Colton gave back to her in spades. Cassie wasn’t sure if she really knew what love was, not having much of a positive experience of it herself and only having her parents’ and grandparents’ relationships to go off, but she believed that it had to be something just like this.

She wasn’t sure at what point she’d fallen asleep and she certainly wasn’t sure at what point she’d laid down with her head in his lap, but it was Colton’s gentle voice and the feeling of his fingers lightly carding through her hair that pulled her from the dream she was having, the memory of it slipping quickly away from her as she passed into the waking world.

“Cass? It’s almost midnight, πουλάκι μου… I gotta head home.”

He smiled softly as Cassie groaned while her eyes fluttered open slowly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, the last little remnants of sleep still clinging to her voice.

“It’s okay, babe. I wish I didn’t have to go but I have some stuff that I need to do in the morning before practice.”

“Yeah,” Cass croaked as she sat up and moved so that Colton could stand. “Yeah, of course.”

She followed him out of the living area and down the hall to the front door, her eyes drifting immediately to the small bouquet of flowers and gift-wrapped package that sat on her console table.

“Colt?”

Colton followed her gaze to the gifts he’d brought with him.

“Ah shit, I completely forgot I’d even brought these. I heard voices when I let myself in and I guess I just got distracted.”

“You bought me flowers?” she asked as she picked the blooms up, smiling softly at the spray of freesias, peonies and baby’s breath before picking up the wrapped gift. “And what’s this?”

“Just a little something for when you come to the game,” Colton grinned as he slipped on his shoes before turning to face Cassie.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Colton said softly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “But I wanted to.”

There was a brief pause before Colton leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to Cassie’s cheek, his smile warm and gentle as he pulled back and with a tone to match while he spoke.

“If you’re home tomorrow afternoon I’ll come over with coffee and pastries after practice.”

With Cassie’s agreement plans were made for the following day and Colton said his goodnight before heading back home, already missing her despite only being next door. As Colton got himself ready for bed he let himself think about Cass and the way he felt whenever he was with her. She gave him the safe space to just be and that was something Colton wasn’t sure he would ever have the words to thank her for. He’d dated enough since going professional to know that not all women were genuine and that in itself made it hard for him to find a meaningful connection, but things were different with Cassie. She had her own life, was successful in her own right and didn’t care about who he was or what he did for a living. Instead, she was supportive and listened to what he was telling her, really telling her, and she always seemed to know what to say and, most importantly, when to say it because for all Colton was always open to hear someone else’s perspective, there were times where he just needed to he heard.

Cassie not only gave him that but so many other things too. She was bright and witty, thoughtful and patient, kind and generous but above all of her wonderful qualities, she’d been an incredible friend to Colton. That friendship was one that he cherished and he knew it was something she cherished too, but rather than be rattled by the idea of that friendship potentially becoming something else, Colton embraced it because it was only what he knew to already be true between them. Their friendship had laid the foundations for them to build something truly wonderful and Colton knew that he was ready to take that leap, but more importantly, he knew that he’d be taking that leap with an amazing woman by his side, and so, as he climbed into bed and settled his head against the pillow, he resolved to tell her his truth when he saw her the following afternoon.

It was a little after 2pm when Cassie opened the door to Colton, the promised coffee and pastries clutched in his hands which she gratefully took from him as she invited him inside. She arranged the baked goods on a plate while Colton poured their coffees into mugs and shortly after they were settled on Cassie’s couch with her sat cross legged facing him and her back against the arm.

“How was practice this morning?” she asked after swallowing her first sip of coffee, a gentle look on her face as she surveyed Colton.

“Yeah, it was good. Coach worked us hard but it wasn’t too bad.”

“Good,” Cassie hummed from behind her mug, eyes narrowing slightly at the way Colton was cradling his mug with his brow slightly furrowed. “Is everything okay with you? You seem a little distracted.”

“I um, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Colton replied as he set his mug down on the coffee table and turned his body to face her better. “About last night.”

Cassie set her own mug down, giving Colton her complete and undivided attention. She didn’t say anything else, instead giving him the time and space to get his thoughts in order and say what he needed to say.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really told you just how thankful I am to have you in my life.”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice, yeah,” Cassie grinned, causing Colton to laugh softly and some of that tension he was carrying in his shoulders to melt away.

“Well I am,” he replied, tone filled with sincerity. “But I’ve been feeling like something has changed between us and I think it started not long after I’d gone home to Canada.”

Cassie exhaled and chewed on her lower lip slowly, not entirely sure where he was going with this but unable to stop the little pit of dread from opening up in her stomach. She didn’t speak though and so Colton continued.

“I missed you, more than words can say really and while I loved going home and seeing my family, there was a big part of me that couldn’t wait to get back to St Louis and for no other reason than because you were in St Louis and I realised then, that home is wherever it is that you are. Then last night, coming in here and seeing you talking and laughing with your Nonna, God, you’ve never been more perfect to me because all I could see was that love and passion that you have for your family and fuck, Cass, I wanna be a part of that. I want to be a part of your world. We’ve not been just friends for a while and I know that it’s because I’ve loved you for a while, last night just kind of confirmed to me what I already knew deep down.”

“Are you done?” Cassie asked with a straight face and Colton looked at her a little stunned before nodding apprehensively.

It took precisely 1.7 seconds for Cassie to close the distance between her and Colton and crash her lips against his, and another .5 of a second for Colton to catch up and move his hand to cup the back of her head while he kissed her back. They stayed that way for a few moments, their lips moving slowly together in perfect harmony as Cassie manoeuvred herself into Colton’s lap while her fingers busied themselves in his hair, long-overdue for a haircut but Cass found to be a look that suited him along with the short beard he’d grown.

She pulled away only once her lungs had begun their gentle protest for breath before pressing another, quicker kiss to his lips, Colton’s brow quirking as she devolved into giggles.

“What’s tickled you?”

“Nothing,” she grinned. “Just that second one was from Nonna. She told me to give you one from her.”

Colton couldn’t help but laugh at that and found himself wearing a grin to match Cassie’s, still smiling even as their lips met once more.

“God, I can’t wait to meet her, all of your family, actually.”

“You, Colton Parayko, are either incredibly brave or certifiably insane,” Cassie teased as she carded her fingers through his hair, the smile still bright on her face. “It’s a lot, you think you can handle it?”

“I know I can,” he replied, all cocky and confident with a sparkle in his eyes that reminded Cassie of the way the sun kisses the Mediterranean on a summer’s day.

“Good,” she grinned with that bright and beautiful smile that Colton loved so much. “Because one of the perks of loving me is that you inherit a weird, obnoxious family who will drive you completely crazy but who are the most generous and wonderful people you will ever meet.”

“I do love you,” Colton said, his tone soft and a million miles away from what it was not a moment ago. “And I want this, I want you and everything that comes with that because this? Us? It’s perfect and it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Cassie kissed him, slow and sure and soft while her hands moved from their home in his hair to cup his face while her thumbs swept along the scruff at his jaw. It was a featherlight, her touch, but Colton felt it spread all through his skin until it had filled every single corner of his body and had him feeling both grounded and weightless all at once. He pulled back a shade to look into her eyes, those brown eyes of hers that held all the warmth of an everlasting hearth, as if they were the wood that could burn with golden flames and yet be forever perfectly entire. In those earthly hues was his soul, those eyes that were filled to the brim with the kind of beauty that expands a moment into a personal eternity, a heaven he wished to always be a part of. So lost in that astral plain as he was, he almost missed her words, but they were the kind of words that go beyond hearing. They were words that he felt, in the way that she looked at him, in the way that she touched him and in the way that she spoke his name and hearing them said out loud only confirmed what they both felt in their hearts and in their souls.

“I love you too, Colt.”

Colton couldn’t help the smile on his face as he connected his lips with hers once more, sighing into their kiss. That feeling was there again, that feeling that had been there all along, that peaceful, easy feeling of being at home and while neither of them knew for certain what the future would bring, they knew that they would be okay while they always had each other. Neither Cassie nor Colton had ever really experienced what it was like to be in complete and irrevocable love, but somewhere deep inside of them, despite not really knowing what it was that they should have been looking for, they knew that it was something just like this.

[fiveisnumber1]

Timeless - Five Hargreeves x Reader

Main story parts:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

_________________________

Pt 30 - Countdown to Chaos

After Five had vanished to go make a deal with the devil, you stood in the emptiness of the night staring at the spot where he had been. You weren't sure how you thought the night was supposed to go but it definitely didn't go the way it should've. It was a mess, an absolute clusterfuck, and yet, you weren't surprised. Of course, the Hargreeves were going to have a hard time confronting their father. They hadn't seen the man in years, especially Five, who had seen him last when he ran away from home and got stuck. You knew their trauma was long-lasting but they could've worked together rather than working against each other. And now here you all were, separated again and having to go down even more risky channels to get out of this god-forsaken timeline. You shook your head and let out a sigh as there was nothing left to do tonight but go home. Slowly you turned away from the building and walked the block slowly to where Charlie said he'd be parked. As you approached you made your way over to the passenger side and opened the door. Charlie looks over towards you and immediately notices the look on your face.

"Oh it was BAD bad, wasn't it?" He asks

As you got in the passenger seat you slumped down in it and replied,

"Immensely so."

"I called it. I knew having them get together with their dad was going to be worse than yesterday." Charlie comments as he starts to drive away

You knew he was right and he did call it but this was not the place to be doing so. The world was on a collision course and you were right in the path of destruction. You turn your head to look at him as you state,

"This is no time for bragging Charlie, things got really messed up."

"Well, it's not like you revealed your powers," Charlie says nonchalantly

You place your face in your hands as you slump further into your seat. Charlie takes a glance over to you as he drives and questions,

"You didn't reveal your powers, right?"

Taking your face out of your hands you look towards him with an awkward grimaced expression but don't say any words. Charlie glances back over and you and when he realizes you're not saying anything he slams on the breaks stopping the car. His eyes go wide as he quickly states,

"(Y/N), this is bad."

"I know!" you exclaim

"(Y/N) this is really bad. How did this happen?" He replies, a hint of panic in his voice

"I didn't really plan on doing it but then Reggie was going on a tirade at Diego and Diego was getting so sad and so I got mad and I threw a knife at Reggie and became visible and then I had to explain myself and then I got angrier and started showing off my powers and now he knows I have powers and I really fucked up." You rant frantically

"Oh no, this is bad...this is bad."

"That's not even the worst part." You complain

"What could be worse than showing your powers to Reginald?!"

"HE SAID HE WAS MY FATHER!" You yell

"Oh god, that IS worse!" Charlie exclaims back "Oh this is so bad. This is really really bad (Y/N)."

"I know and like...I love all the Hargreeves dearly, even Luther who is being a dick to me right now, but holy shit when everyone gets together everything falls apart and so fast. Like surprisingly fast."

"What do we do? Do you have a plan? You have a plan right?" Charlie asks distressed

"Well, I don't think I can get Allison to rumor him into forgetting I have powers because that would require getting her to see him in person again and having the two of them talk long enough that she can rumor him which seems unlikely. So in terms of a plan...we have no plan."

"No there has to be a plan." Charlie remarks "Okay okay. What if we all go to Europe? You, me, your boyfriend, and all of his family just up and leave for Europe right now. We'll change our names and start new lives."

"No that wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Those people can not effectively gather together even if their life depended on it and I'm pretty sure only you and I have passports at this time so we would be the only ones allowed outside of the country."

"Damn, you're right. "

"Also, on a lesser note, the world is ending in a few days so even if we did all manage to go to Europe it probably would be all for naught."

Charlie sucks in his breath before letting it out defeated. Plopping back into his seat, he looks at the roof of the car before asking,

"So what do we do now then?"

"We go home." You reply quietly

Charlie continues to look up at the ceiling for a bit before letting out a huff. Tilting his head back down to look at the road, he places his hands back on the wheels and slowly starts to drive back to your house. You shook your head disappointment across your face as you thought about the predicament you were in. The predicament you all were in. As you continued to lean back in your seat as you looked at the passing flashes of street lights above. Everything was moving so fast. You knew you would get home at some point no matter how slow Charlie drove or how long the path he drove took and you were worried about what lied at the end of that drive.

Five was not happy with what lied at the end of his journey either. His siblings couldn't keep it together for one evening. Not even an hour. It was ridiculous how unreliable they were. And yet, here he was making his way to the second to last person on earth he'd ask for help to try and get them all back to 2019 where they belonged. He needed to get all of his siblings out of this time but he especially wanted to get you out of here. If he could get everyone back to 2019 then things would be okay and the two of you could have the life together that you deserved.

Five's mind was filled with the thoughts of you. He needed to get you out of this timeline, especially now that this version of his father knew you had powers. He didn't think that his father would hurt you, especially since he had called himself your father, but Reginald was still Reginald and Five was worried about what would come next. You were probably on your way back to the house you shared with that man and any number of things could happen between now and the time he saw you next. He needed to get this contingency plan over with and fast. Arriving at the hotel the handler was staying at he made his way up to the second floor to room 217. As he approached the double-doored room he felt a sense of deja vu. It was only five days for him since he had last met up with her at a different semi-formal hotel room. Five paused in front of the door and took a breath. Raising his hand up he knocked on the door and within seconds the double doors opened to reveal the handler standing behind them. it was as if she knew he was coming. The handler had her signature smile on her face, one that looked happy but hid a sinister nature behind it.

"Ah! Just in time for a nightcap." She commented before heading into the room

Five hesitated for a second before cautiously stepping into the room. He took a look around and the place and once he felt he had scoped it out enough turned around and shut the doors behind him. A critical look was on his face as he approached where the handler stood. With two drinks in her hand and a cigarette between her teeth, the handler turned to look at Five.

"To be clear, I take out the board you get me and my family home. No more doomsday, no more apocalypse. Is that correct?" Five questioned

With a drink in hand, the handler walked over to a nightstand by the bed and picks up a piece of paper before proceeding to slowly lay on her side across the bed. She looks up at Five and replies,

"That's the deal."

Five bites the inside of his cheek as he looks around the room. He really didn't want to do this. He knew that working with her was never going to end well and yet the desire to save you and his family was worth the risk that might come with this deal. Looking back at the handler, Five states,

"Then I'm in."

The handler twiddles a piece of paper in between her fingers before extending it out for Five to take. Five doesn't move from his spot trying not to get any closer to her but leans in slightly so he can grab the paper. Once he takes it from her he unfolds it and reads what it says.

The Lonely Lodger Inn.

Oshkosh, Wisconsin, 1982.

"So how do I get there and back?" Five questioned

"I have a briefcase for you. Specifically, programmed for two trips. One to take you to the exact time and place listed on that note where the board is and one to take you right back to Dallas, on the morning of November 22nd, 1963."

Clever. Of course, she wouldn't just hand him a regular briefcase, then he would be able to bring everyone back without having to go kill the board. Five hated how she was one step ahead of him.

"Where is it?" Five asked

"Oh, the briefcase is in the corner over there." The handler replied taking another puff of her cigarette

Five looked towards his right to the corner of the room she had gestured to and saw a briefcase sitting there. Carefully, he made his way over and grabbed it. As he did so he could feel the handler's laser-like gaze on him, boring into his back. It sent an odd feeling down his spine that he didn't appreciate. Picking up the briefcase, he pocketed the note she gave him before turning around and heading towards the door. As Five reaches out for the door handle, the handler comments,

"Y'know Five, I'm getting pretty tired of not getting to meet your sweet little girlfriend in person. I'm sure you're doing this for her, aren't you?"

Five turns on his heel and with vile in his voice retorts,

"My reasons for doing this are none of your business and you will never meet her."

"Aw, don't be so harsh. I just want to see her up close and take a look at that pretty face you happen to love so much." The handler teases

"If you so much as lay a hand on her I will personally make sure that when you are killed you stay dead this time." Five rebukes

He was done with the handler's games. He hated the way that she talked about you, it made his blood boil, and if the handler wasn't the person he needed to help get everyone out of Dallas he probably would've killed her on the spot. He just hoped that you'd never have to see her in person. Turning back around Five opens the door and starts to walk out. From behind her Five can hear the handler call out,

"We'll see Five. I have my ways."

Not looking back Five stated,

"And I have mine."

And just like that, he was gone and on his way to get back to you as soon as possible.

Soon was not soon enough though because with each minute you got closer and closer to arriving back home at the mansion in Dallas. You and Charlie drove down the road towards the house quietly, nervous tension in the air. Both of you worried about what might occur next. As you passed the estate in which Klaus lived with his cult you knew the drive was almost over. Mentally you tried to prepare yourself as the car rolled up into the driveway of the house. Slowly the car came to a stop in front of the main door. You and Charlie both looked towards the door but didn't move from the car. You weren't nervous per se but this was uncharted territory having someone other than Charlie know about your powers, especially since it was Reggie. After a moment the two of you carefully opened the doors to the car and step out. Closing the car door you stare up at the house that only a few days ago you'd comfortably enter and exit with ease. Charlie makes his way around the car and stands next to you. The two of you continue to look up at the towering building as Charlie states,

"We can dip if you want."

A small smile came to your face and you felt a bit better hearing your friend correctly use one of your future words.

"Good usage." you complimented

"Thank you, but I'm serious. We can go. I'll speed us back to town we can find your boyfriend and just...I don't know do something."

You paused for a second. You could run but it wouldn't be like you. You had been in worse situations in life. You had jumped through time and started over when you were 13, you had fought criminals on multiple occasions, you had almost died, and then jumped through time and started over again. A fire built within you as you remembered the fact that you had lived with since you first met Reginald. You were stronger than this man, he had no hold over you.

"No, Charlie. I've been in worse situations. Whatever lies for me on the other side of that door I can deal with it."

Charlie looked towards and saw the determined look in your eyes as you stared at the building. A smirk came to his face as he could see the fire of courage radiating off of you, but Charlie's smirk faltered though. From the start, your strength had always impressed him, and yet even with your evident bravery he couldn't help but worry for you, his only friend. Charlie let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in before saying,

"Okay, let's go."

You gave him a small nod and the two of you walked into the house. As you arrived in the foyer Marie approached you with a smile on her face. With her hands clasped together in front of her, she greeted,

"Welcome home, (Y/N) and hello, Charlie. Sir Hargreeves has requested to speak with you in his office at your earliest convenience."

"Oh, thank you. We'll head there straight away." You formally replied

You and Charlie started to walk in the direction of his office but Marie stepped in front of the two of you blocking the path. A smile still on her face as she added,

"Alone, miss (Y/N)."

You turned to look at Charlie and you could see the concern in his eyes even if the rest of his face looked blank. Turning to your friend you looked up at him and calmly say,

"Go to my room, Charlie."

Charlie looks at you and his mouth opens a little bit as if he was about to say something but you place a hand on his shoulder squeezing it tightly as you look him in the eyes. In a steady tone you direct,

"Go to my room, Charlie."

Charlie lets out a sigh before giving you a small nod and turning away. You watch as he walks up the foyer stairs to head to your room before turning away and walking towards the office. When you arrive at where the office was you see the door is already open and Reginald is sitting behind his desk vigorously writing in his notebook. Stepping into the doorway you speak in a flat tone,

"You requested my presence?"

"Yes. Take a seat." Reginald replies not looking up from his writing "And get the door will you."

You let out a small huff before walking into the room and closing the door behind you. Approaching him you sit in a chair on the opposite side of the desk, displeasure on your face. You watch as he continues to write not saying anything or even looking up at you. Rolling your eyes you start the conversation,

"Why am I here Reggie?"

Placing his pen down, he stops writing in his notebook and looks up to focus on you. Clasping his hands together he places them on his desk as he responds formally,

"I have questions."

"About what?" you question unenthused

"You, for one" He states, "But also my apparently seven adopted children, and this awful future you all seem to mention."

Your head tilts to the side curiously as a wry smile appears on your face. Crossing your arms you lean back into your chair and look at him. A Latin phrase you had heard many times came to your mind.

"Saepe ne utile quidem est scire quid futuram sit," You spoke

The phrase meaning, often it is not advantageous to know what will be. There was an irony to the words as the person who had said them to you so many times was the man sitting before you. Granted, he had said this to you during the years you lived with him in the future, but it was ironic nonetheless. Reginald's eyebrows raised at your words, looking almost impressed with your response. Leaning forward slightly Reginald replies,

"Sapiens autem semper ad futurum parari."

Knowing Reginald, he would figure out the answers to his questions by whatever means he had to. You were not a fan of the idea of talking about the future with him but if you answered his questions you could at least shape the narrative. Letting out a small breath you uncrossed your arms and sat upright. Reluctantly you nodded towards him, agreeing to whatever line of questioning he had in mind, but added,

"I'll answer questions but I get to decide on how much information is given."

"Fair enough." He responds, reopening his notebook "You were born on the same day as my alleged children?"

"They are your children." You state "and yes, I was on October 1st, 1989 at 12 p.m. sharp like all the others that day."

"But you mentioned you had a father back at dinner." Reginald comments

You paused for a moment. It had been so long since you fully stopped and thought about your dad. It was so long since you last saw him, almost a decade at this point, but you did have a father, and he was the best one you could've asked for. Speaking up again you said,

"I did. He was not biologically related to me but he raised me as if I was. All the children born that day were spontaneous. The women were not pregnant when the day started but by noon all of them had given birth."

"Curious." Reginald remarks

He takes down some notes before looking up at you again and inquiring,

"So if you had your own family, how did you come about mine?"

"Accidentally." You answer curtly

"Elaborate." Reginald requests

You paused again to think about how to word the information he was asking for. You and the Hargreeves had already left an impact on this timeline which made you concerned about the impacts on the future. Although there was a chance everything would be normal upon your return to 2019, you still wondered what could happen given your involvement in the 1960s. You had to be careful with how much you spoke because if the timeline was changed you suspected he might try to find and adopt you. It's not like your mother would even consider giving you up, nor did she ever report the details of your spontaneous birth to anyone other than your father, so you were not one of the 43 he would know about but still...it was risky. You needed to express enough information to quell his curiosity but not enough to implicate yourself and your family.

"My family was around the mansion up north, close enough that the rumors of an eccentric billionaire adopting seven mysterious children, born the same day and time as me, who never left the house, made their way to my parents' ears. They outright told me not to go near the house but curiosity got the best of me and I went anyway." You explain "I used my powers to get through the gates and became invisible to sneak into the courtyard. I just went to have a look around but instead, I was accidentally pushed over a bench and that's when I first came in contact with your family. Specifically, your son Five."

"The one you're partnered with." Reginald certifies

"Correct." You affirm

Reginald turns back down to look at his notebook and writes more in it. You couldn't really see what he was writing but the number of lines of words appearing down on the paper made you both curious and concerned.

"A peculiar first meeting, but I've probably heard worse," Reginald utters as he continues to write

"Oh, thanks." You remarked sarcastically, rolling your eyes

No matter the situation or person he always seemed to find a way to criticize things.

"And the rest of them?"

"I had been using my powers to spend time with Five without being noticed but at some point, we were found out. We came clean and soon after I was introduced to the rest of the children." You say, recalling that first meeting with his siblings

Oh, how simple times were when you were all small and young and the biggest problem you faced was getting enough time to hang out between you going to school and them fighting crime. Things were better back then. Easier. And once again you wondered what life would've been like if Five hadn't jumped all those years ago. You were pulled out of your nostalgic thoughts when you heard Reginald go,

"Interesting."

Placing his pen down Reginald turns back to you.

"I'm assuming the children were under my instruction with their powers, so why are you more powerful and less problematic than them?"

It took a second to register his words but when you did you tilted your head and furrowed your eyebrows at him. Did he really just ask that? How dare he speak about them like that. You knew that he had only met them in passing so it was infuriating to you that he'd to even be making such statements. Now, was he technically correct? Yes. But it didn't give him the right to do so because he didn't know them so he had no basis to talk about such matters. You let out a huff as you started to explain,

"Why am I more powerful? Well, for one I kind of won the power lottery. The power to manipulate molecules, the things that make up our existence, generally can cast a wider net of potential abilities than super strength or rumoring people to do things. Their powers are valid and useful but it's hard to diversify those assets."

As you thought about how you needed to explain this to Reginald you could feel a fire build within you. You sat upright in your chair, with your shoulder back and your arms firmly seated on the armrests, hands forming into fists. You stared him down as he waited for more of a response and when you had formed your thoughts you chastised,

"On top of that, I chose to develop my powers naturally. My parents helped build a foundation so I wouldn't blow the house up or get stuck in a wall but after that, I dictated if I wanted to learn or not. There was no forcing, coercion, or expectations. I learned because I wanted to and my parents supported my efforts with love. It might sound cliche but love truly is the most powerful force in this world, and I'm less 'problematic' as you put it because you didn't raise me. I was raised with that love."

Reginald looked at you quietly, readjusting himself in his seat before saying,

"Are you insinuating that the reason that group was an uncouth disgrace to my legacy was due to my parentage?"

"Insinuating? No. Stating? Yes." you retorted

"Oh really now?" He questioned

"Your children have their issues, but it was of no fault of their own. It was you who instilled these deep-rooted traumas and conflicts in them and provided them with no parental guidance on how to deal with these issues. They had no support system. They were child soldiers rather than children. You gave them numbers one through seven and reduced them to a ranking scale." You berated

You stared at Reginald intensely and he could see the fire in your eyes. Literal fire in your eyes that were red and flickered like glowing embers. Your emotions boiling over to the point where you were starting to physically express them with your power. Reginald's eyes widened as he saw the power you held. Picking up his pen he began to take more notes, but you felt as if you were going to explode if you continued to sit in the chair across from him. Getting up quickly you walked away from the seat and across the room to look out the window. Facing away from him you continued to say,

"And when they were all gone you gave me the number zero because you thought I was better than them. I rejected that number because I am a person and I am not better than them. But the reason you like me so much, the reason you've always liked me better, placed me higher, whether you explicitly showed it or not, is because I'm everything you wanted them to be that they never became. And why is that? Because I was raised as a human not an object of violence."

"So I'm the problem," Reginald replied

"Yes, and the problems only got worse after the incident." You stated

"Where Five ran away into the future and brought you with him?" Reginald suggested

Your eyes went wide as you whipped around to face him, the angry fire within you building as you demanded,

"How do you know about that?"

Reginald looked at you calmly and said,

"He told me when I pulled him away to chat."

You stopped for a second as you processed his words. You didn't expect Five to tell him about that but perhaps he felt open enough to do so. You thought about that day, the one where everything changed, and everyone was put into a more difficult situation than before. Your anger started to fade as you thought about your darker days post jump and the horrors Five had dealt with. Letting out a breath you started to calm down and looking towards the ground you quietly explained,

"Well, yes that was the incident. He got stuck in a wasteland, I was dropped into 2013 where everything that I knew was gone, and the rest of your children had to deal with the fallout of Five's rash decision."

"Unfortunate." Reginald curtly commented

You looked up towards him and looked back towards you. You could see some type of shift in his demeanor before he continued,

"He also mentioned that he spent 45 years in said apocalypse and is most likely older than I am now. Was that in jest? Because it didn't come off that way. And if so I don't know how comfortable I am with you dating someone almost 3 times your age even if he is both my son and the most competent boy I've met so far."

Oh god, not this again. He was acting as a parent. As your father. Disgusting. Your anger and sadness completely faded away and your witty and sarcastic demeanor returned in full swing.

"That's too bad buckaroo." You responded "He looks my age and that's what people are going to notice. Also, he's my best friend, you don't get a say in my dating life, I do what I want."

"Ugh, insolent child. Whatever will I do with you?" Reginald asked rhetorically as he shook his head in disappointment

"Not sure, but something is comforting about you sounding just like the Reggie from the future Umbrella Academy. But let me be honest here, Umbrella Academy is kind of a stupid name. I mean it's on-point branding given your business but it doesn't inspire anything." You explained in a joking yet critical tone

Reginald sat back in his chair as he listened to you rant and criticize the academy he had created. Picking up his pen he began to jot down notes about the criticisms you were giving.

"And don't get me started on that dumb motto. Ut Malum Pluvia." you rant "When evil reigns? I mean I appreciate a good play on words and I can commend you for that but it's so...depressing. You expected your children to save the world with such a hope-crushing motto sewn on their uniform?"

"Well then what would you do?" Reginald asked looking up from his writing

"If I was the parent of seven super-powered children and created an academy with the purpose of saving the world I'd probably take some influence from my mom because she was so bright and hopeful for me before the incident happened and that hope she instilled in me kept me going after."

"So what would you call your academy then?"

You thought for a moment about your mother. The one who unexpectedly gave birth to you and yet called you her own the minute you were born. The one who gave everything to make sure you had the best life. The one who raised you to be the best you could be. The same one who loved and protected you, and whose memory helped to keep you going after you had both disappeared in your own ways. You faded into your thoughts as you recalled the many experiences you shared with her and settled on the one that stood out most.

"The Sparrow Academy." you answered genuinely "My mother used to take me out on summer nights and early mornings before the sun came up to hear the sparrows sing. They were her favorite bird and she always told me that a sparrow's song in the dark leads to a brighter future."

"Canticum in Tenebris." Reginald spoke

"Yes, a song in the dark. Every little bit would all be influenced by her. I have loved many people in my life but if I had to be a part of some academy of children, I'd do it if it was in memory of her."

Reginald finished penning down all that you had said to him and looked up towards you once more. Looking back you broke the silence and asked,

"Do you have any more questions?"

"No."

"Well if we're done here I will be heading to my room because, in all honesty, you terrify Charlie and the longer I stay here the more he'll probably assume I'm dead."

Walking towards the door of the office you hear Reginald's voice from behind you,

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."

"Goodbye, Reginald."

As you walk out and close the door to the office you make your way back to the foyer so that you could head upstairs to your room. As you do so you see Grace standing in the foyer looking at some piece of paper. When she looks up and sees you she folds the paper up and places it in the pocket of her cardigan.

"Hey, sweetie," She greets

"Oh hey, mom," you respond

"I saw you came from the direction of Reggie's office. Is everything alright?" She asks

"Oh yeah, we were just discussing my new car." You lied

Your mom didn't seem to pick up on your lie though. Instead, she looked around the foyer before taking a step closer to you.

"Well, that's nice." She said "You know what I was thinking? How about you and I pack up all our stuff and take a long trip?"

You were confused as to why she was speaking in a lower tone of voice. It was as if she was trying to hide something or keep others from listening. You lowered your voice a bit as well but tried to act as if everything was normal.

"That sounds fun. Is Reggie coming?" You inquired

"I have to talk with him about his work and then we'll see if he comes along." She answers

"Oh. Alright." You said

Your mom took another step towards you and leaned in closer, cupping your face in her hands. There was a smile on her face as she held you but the emotion in her eyes was less so of happiness and more so of concern. Looking you directly in the eyes your mom quietly states,

"Great, now you go pack everything. Okay?"

Her tone of voice was less like a suggestion and more like a command. And the way she emphasized the word everything took you back a little bit and sent a small chill down your spine. You looked at your mom for answers but she said nothing more.

"Uh." you paused before hesitantly continuing "Okay mom."

Your mom let go of your face and pulled you into a tight hug. Without another word, she walked off towards the living room and you headed up to your room. Opening the door you see Charlie sitting on your bed vigorously bouncing his leg, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were turning extremely white. When he heard the door open his head shot up to look at you and he sprang off the bed. You entered the room and closed the door behind you before turning back to your friend.

"Are you okay?" He questioned concerned

"I'm fine. Although I did just have a very odd conversation with my mom."

"What happened?"

"I'm honestly not sure. She seemed slightly paranoid and told me to pack up all my stuff. It's not like her." You explained as you paced about your room

"Is she trying to make a run for it with you?" Charlie asked

"Maybe? I don't know." you answered "Although I don't even know what would have her so worried that she wants us to run away, especially since she was completely fine this morning."

"That's very odd." Charlie comments "So what happened with Sir Reginald?"

"Quite a bit. Why don't you take a seat." You suggested

Charlie sat down on the foot of your bed as you paced in front of him recounting as best as you could what had happened in your meeting with Reginald. As you started to detail the events, Five had finally finished his journey to get to you. It took a bit given the fact that where you were and where the handler was were practically on the opposite side of town. The hotel the handler was staying in was nice enough but it still was on the lesser side of Dallas, while you were living in the more affluent area. Five had to navigate his way across town but at least he knew exactly where you were. When he had found the invitation to the Mexican Consulate the address listed on the envelope was not that of 82 Olive Street where the D.S. Umbrella Manufacturing Company was located so he assumed it was sent to the house in which you lived. Carefully, he made his way up the driveway making sure to not be seen by anyone. As he did so he saw Charlie's convertible parked out front confirming that you were here. Making his way around the back he stood in the cover of the trees as he looked through the windows to see if he could find you. On the backside of the house, he could see you in what he assumed to be your room pacing about the place. He needed to get your attention but didn't want to accidentally startle you and alert his presence to the whole mansion and he didn't even know if you were alone in the room as well. Looking around for something he saw some pebbles on the ground. Picking one up he threw it at your balcony door.

From inside, you and Charlie stopped talking and both turned your heads toward the balcony as you heard a small sound of something outside.

"What was that?" You asked

"I don't know." He responded

The two of you stayed quiet as you waited for anything else to happen. After a few moments, the sound of a small ping on the glass of your balcony door could be heard. Charlie stood up from the bed and two of you looked at each other for a second. Slowly, you both approach the balcony doors and as you did another ding could be heard. Looking down onto the balcony you saw a few small rocks scattered.

"Someone is throwing rocks at your window," Charlie said

"Well, as long as it's not Hoyt's son Halvor outside I think it'll be okay." You commented

"I now hope it's Halvor." Charlie replies "I want a Romeo and Juliet scenario but you outright insult him instead."

You rolled your eyes at Charlie as you carefully opened the doors to the balcony and stepped onto it to look down at the ground below. Fortunately, it was not Halvor and instead was your beloved Five. Turning to look back at Charlie you stated,

"It's Five, Charlie."

"Aw man," Charlie says disappointed "It's just regular Romeo and Juliet for me I guess..."

"You're a dork." You replied

"Hey!" He exclaimed

You ignored him though and turned to look back at Five who looked up at you with a smile on his face.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a hushed tone

"I have a plan to get us out of here." He replies mimicking your tone as he holds up a briefcase

You take a look around outside to check that no one is around before waving your boyfriend up to you and whispering,

"Come up here."

Five nods his head and spatial jumps up to the balcony and steps into your room. You close the door to the balcony behind him and close the drapes so no one can see into your room from the outside anymore. Looking at Charlie you command,

"Lock the door."

Charlie gives a quick nod and heads over to the door as you turn your attention back to Five.

"You got a briefcase to bring us back to 2019?" You question

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that..." Five replies "Like I said I went and made a plan with the devil and I got this briefcase but it's programmed to bring me to a certain time and place and then back to Dallas."

"Why is it programmed like that?" Charlie questions as he approaches the two of you

"I have to go and kill the board of directors for the commission and she said she'll give me a briefcase to take us back to 2019 with everything as it should be and no apocalypses in any timeline." Five explains

"I have no clue what any of that means," Charlie replies

"It's alright, Charlie." You comfort before turning back to Five "Are you sure you can trust her on this?"

"I'm not sure but it's the only option we have to get out of here."

"Alright. I'm coming with you then."

"What do you mean?" Five questions

"I don't trust this woman one bit so there's no way I'm letting you do this alone." You explain before turning to Charlie "Charlie, I never knew when this would happen but it's time."

"Oh shit," Charlie exclaims

"Time for what?" Five questions

"THE plan." You say as you head over to your closet

Crouching down you push some boxes to the side before using one of your knives to unscrew the vent in the back. Reaching in you pull out a box before resetting everything to look normal. Grabbing the box you stand up and bring it over to your vanity table. Five and Charlie both make their way over to you and you start to explain the plan.

"Charlie and I came up with this plan a while ago in case I ever needed to sneak out unexpectedly. I knew you would come back so we set this all up in advance if I ever needed to leave to do something like this with you." You detail as you start to take stuff out of the box "I have a note that I'm going to put on the door that says I went to bed early and not to disturb me. The door will stay locked so no one can come in and if someone tries Charlie has time to prepare a story."

As you unpack some more items you quiz Charlie a bit about the plan. It had been about a year and a half since you came up with this thing so you wanted to make sure he still knew what to do.

"Typically the latest I get out of bed is 11 am so if I'm not back by then what should you do?"

"Take the note out of the box that says you left early to on a walk down the road and take my car saying I'm heading to find you. Then I'll drive off to town for the day and wait near a central location for you to come back." Charlie replies

"Correct." you state before adding "If anything else happens you have all the contingency plan materials in the box."

You take the note about going to bed early along with a piece of tape and unlock your door, hanging it up on the outside. Closing the door again you lock it and turn back to the boys. Five looks on with pride at you. You were so smart and always so prepared, but more so you were so sure of yourself that he would return for you that you had put plans in place to be able to leave on a moment's notice. You amazed him more each and every day and reminded him why he had done all the things he did and all the things he was doing now. Finished up with the box you turn to Charlie and state,

"Charlie I believe in you."

Charlie nods his head before wrapping you in a hug and replying,

"Come back soon."

"I will."

Stepping out of the hug, you turn to Five and extend your hand out towards him.

"Ready to follow me?" Five questions

"Always," you answer

With that Five takes your hand and in a flash of blue energy, the two of you travel away out of your room and through time to where you needed to go. When the energy flashed again you were in a completely different place. Steadying yourself you took a few deep breaths. Compared to the last time you time traveled the molecular disturbance didn't hurt as much. Maybe you were getting better at redistributing them. Even though you felt alright Five looked at you with concern. He held your hand a bit tighter and you could see the worried look in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He questioned

"I'm alright darling. I'm getting better at managing molecular disturbances...I think." you explain

"That response does not fully fill me with confidence."

"That's too bad, we have a job to do." you remind

Five rolled his eyes at you. He didn't understand how could you just wave off the disturbance you felt like it was nothing, but you made a good point. You had a job to do and the quicker it was over with the better. Five pulled the note out of his pocket that had the place of where the board meeting was happening listed. Looking up at the building in front of the two of you, he confirmed that it was the place. Putting the note back in his pocket he took the briefcase and stashed it behind a large shrub on the backside of the building. With all of that done the two of you made your way to the front of the building. You looked around and saw many people in traditional clothing and the sound of polka music echoed from the building. Five grabbed the door and held it open for you to walk in with him following after. The two of you looked around the place checking to see if anyone out of the ordinary, commission-looking types, were around. You didn't see anything odd, except for the overwhelming amount of polka dancers inside the lodge. You follow Five as he walks over to a woman and says,

"Excuse me."

The woman turns to look at him and replies,

"Uff da. You snuck up on me there. If you're looking for the cookies, we don't put 'em out till 3:00."

"Ooh cookies," you exclaim

No. Wait. You had to focus on the task at hand. No cookies.

"We can hardly wait." Five comments "Uh, do you happen to know where the Midwest Soybean Society is meeting?

"Sure do. Muskellunge Banquet Room. You looking for your parents? They in for the convention?" The woman responds politely

Instead of answering her questions, Five looks off in the distance. You couldn't quite tell what he was looking at but the woman looked at the two of you for a response.

"Yes, our parents are prominent members of the society." you confidently lied

Five looked back towards the woman and held out a dollar before asking curiously,

"Hey, could I get some change?"

"Oh, sure, I'll just look in my purse." She says as she opens a fanny pack "Only a nickel and a couple of dimes. Oh! You... are...in... luck, mister."

The woman hands a few quarters to Five and he takes them in his hand. He looks off to the side as if he was deep in thought and says,

"You know some say the best luck is to die at the right time."

Five then walks off towards where the banquet room was as you and the woman both look on confused. The woman looks back to you and you shoot an apologetic look.

"Um...my boyfriend recently started taking a philosophy course at school. I'm trying to work with him on when it's appropriate to bring up philosophical statements."

The woman silently looks back at you confused and you walk away from her and follow your boyfriend. You can tell there's a shift in his body language as he walks towards the vending machine. He stood up straighter and his movements were stiff. He looked around before starting to place to coins he received in the vending machine. As he did so you approached him and stood by his side. You could see an angry and frustrated look on his face. You watched as he typed in the letter and number combo necessary to get a fudge Nutter Bar.

He loved those immensely. You were the one who introduced those to him when you got a bunch trick-or-treating on Halloween years ago. You knew he and his siblings wouldn't be able to go so you stole a bunch of candy to give to them and jumped over to their house later at night to distribute the sweets. You had given Five a Fudge Nutter bar to try first from the bag of candy and he became obsessed. He took the rest of them before his siblings even got a chance to try but you thought it was cute.

Coming out of your thoughts you notice your boyfriend getting frustrated at the machine. His eyebrows start to furrow and he tenses up more as he aggressively presses the buttons. He then tries to reach his hand through the vending machine door to try and get the bar he paid for out.

"Five what if I-" You start to say

You wanted to suggest using your powers but before you could fully get your words out your Five started to vigorously shake the machine.

"Come on!" He angrily exclaimed

"Uh- Five?" You try again

It is to no avail though as he steps back and starts to bang into the machine with his shoulder in his attempt to free his bar before shaking the machine again but harder. You knew your boyfriend was under an immense amount of stress given back-to-back apocalypses in about a two-week time frame and this stubborn Fudge Nutter was probably his breaking point. Now you knew you could step in and probably ease his tension with some love and compassion but you also had a weird curiosity to see what would happen. As he continued to shake the vending machine Five yelled,

"Stupid mother Fudge Nutter! Fuckin' Fudge Nutter!"

And taking a step back he kicked in the glass on the machine. Realizing what he did Five stopped and scratched the back of his neck. Taking a deep breath he turned towards the doorway which led to the banquet hall the board of directors was meeting in. Walking that way he dragged a finger across the side of a cake resting on a nearby table picking up some icing. You followed behind pulling out a knife and holding it in your hand preparing to fight. Five licked the icing off his finger before looking around and seeing an ax on the wall he grabs it and readjusts it in his hands. You could tell from the everything that he was displaying a high amount of frustration and although given the context it was an understandable expression of his feelings you knew it could lead to are more arduous killing process. You noticed as he started to prep himself to walk in the doorway that lead towards the hall but before he could step through you teleported yourself in front of him. Before he could react you grabbed his face tightly with your free hand pulled him into a forceful kiss. Pulling back and letting go of his face you watched as he blinked a few times in surprise.

"Oh- wow." He commented, "I was not against that in the slightest but um is there a reason?"

You twiddle with your knife as you reply,

"I thought that would be the best way to steady you. From my own experience kills are quicker and more effective if you have a steady balance between your erraticism and logic."

Although he kept a calm exterior, Five was screaming on the inside. His heart racing as if he had just run a marathon. Everything in his logic screamed that this was not the time to be feeling like this. The board that needed to be killed was just around the corner and the time was counting down to another apocalypse. And yet, every other part of said this was the time and screamed for more. Five collected himself and removed one of his hands from the ax to readjust his tie and jacket. Although alarm bells were still going off in his head a smirk appeared on his face as he suggested,

"Well, then I'll have to come to you for steadiness more often then."

Catching his drift, you take a step closer to him and use your free hand to grab him by his tie and pull him closer to you. A playful smirk resembling his own appears on your face as you whisper to him,

"Well how about this, the sooner we get this done and return to 2019 the sooner I'll provide you with some more...steadiness."

Everything screamed louder as a fire built within him. He was going to kill this board as if his life depended on it.

"I like that plan."

You let go of his tie and take a step out of the way of him. He raises his ax back up and prepares himself as you state,

"After you then mon chéri."

A wide smile appears on Five's face and there's a determination in his eyes as he walks through the doors and marches down towards the room that held the board of directors. You turned yourself invisible and followed after him. As Five steps through the door to the room, he can see AJ turn to look at him. There was something about seeing the people whom he both had worked with as a murderous pawn but also was left alone in the apocalypse for decades by that sent him into a rage.

"You!" AJ exclaims "Call security!"

A woman pushes her chair away from the table and towards a phone on a nearby desk. Five quickly takes a swing at her cutting her arm off. While still invisible you decided to turn her brain matter into liquid better her die quickly than slowly bleed out with a chance of survival. From the opposite side of the table, you see a man start to stand up to head towards Five but before he does so you throw your knives at him and land one through his eye socket into his brain and the other in his heart. Transporting yourself over to him you twist both knives in a circular motion ensuring lasting damage and no chance of survival. Revealing yourself you pull both knives out causing blood to splatter on your face and clothing. The board looks at you in shock and you turn to Five with a sadistic smile on your face and ask,

"What? You thought you could have all the fun without me?"

"Never, darling." Five replies, a twisted smile appearing on his own face

The two of you turn to look at the living members of the board for a moment but within seconds start jumping around the room taking board members out. Blood and carnage covered yourselves and the room as corpses were littered around the place. With the rest of the members taken out, you went to stand behind AJ while Five stood on the table in front of him. As you looked up at Five, ax in hand, and covered in blood, with a chaotic fire in his eyes you could not help how attracted you were to him at this moment. As Five towered over him, AJ questioned,

"She sent you, didn't she?"

"Does it really matter now?" Five replied

"Whatever she offered you, I will double it, triple it," AJ begged

"I'm not doing this for money." Five exclaimed as he lifted the ax to swing at AJ

Before the ax could connect with the fish tank of a head AJ had the lady from earlier tackled Five to the ground.

"Get off me!" Five yelled

"You're gonna pay for that vending machine, little mister." The lady said as she grappled with him

With the sudden action, you were pulled out of your thoughts and say AJ start to run away but also Five on the ground. As much as you wanted to help your boyfriend you knew getting AJ was better and ran after him. Having him in your sights you used your powers to make his legs denser, slowing him down followed by throwing knives into his thigh and shoulder.

Back on the board room Five continued to grapple with the lady.

"I don't wanna hurt you, all right?" Five tried to explain

The lady punches him in the face before angrily replying,

"Hurt me? Oh, I ain't afraid of you, you little pus ball."

Five was tired of dealing with the woman though and punched her back knocking her out cold. Getting up he takes a look around the room and sees that neither you nor AJ was in the room.

"Shit." He says aloud

Grabbing a rugby-looking paddle off the wall he flashed out of the room and flashes in front of AJ. As he does, he notices how slowly AJ is moving, as if his legs were made of concrete. Looking up he sees you leaning against a nearby wall nonchalantly eating a piece of cake. Looking over to him you say,

"Oh, hey babe. I saved him for ya."

You had never called him babe before and it was not helping him deal with the intense feeling of screaming going on within him and yet it also did. With that one word, he could feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He felt...powerful. Cocking his head to the side he looked at AJ maniacally as he held the paddle in his hand.

"Surely we can come to some form of agreement that benefits both parties. Quid pro quo? What do you say?" AJ suggested

"Why not? Here's your quid." Five says hitting him in the side

"Here's your pro." Five adds catching him with the paddle in the knee

"No! No! Please don't!" 

"Here's your quo." Five stated firmly

Swinging hard he smashes the glass head that contained AJ in it leaving water and glass everywhere. Five takes a few deep breaths as he stares at the flopping fish on the floor. As he does so you see two girls in polka dresses walk out and see the scene before turning back into the dance hall. Placing your slice of cake down you summon all your knives back before heading over to Five and placing a hand on his arm grabbing his attention.

"We need to get out of here."

Five looks around at the scene and grabs a nearby plastic bag before picking AJ up off the ground and placing him in it. Five looks back to you and states,

"We need water."

You look at the air within the bag Five was holding and in a matter of seconds, you converted a portion of it into water. Five knew that was something you could do and it was something you had been able to do for a long time nevertheless, it still amazed him. Holding the bag with AJ in one hand he took yours in the other and held it tightly. Five spatial jumped the two of you out of the building and towards the shrub he had stashed the pre-programmed briefcase in. Handing AJ to you, he grabbed the briefcase and set it up so that you could get back to 1963 Dallas. Taking your hand once more you could feel the briefcase start to disturb the energy around you and with one more flash the two of you were back in the alleyway in Dallas covered in blood. The two of you looked around and everything seemed to be the right time and place. As you stood there in the alleyway the briefcase started to make noise and you could feel its molecules moving faster signifying that it was heating up. Grabbing it out of Five's hand you threw it on the other side of the alley and watch as seconds later it blew up. 

"What the fuck." You exclaimed

"Programmed to self-destruct after its purpose was done...clever." Five commented

You turn towards your boyfriend who seemed to be utterly unphased by the whole thing and say,

"I hate your former employer. I hope I never have to interact with them."

"Well, I don't want you to and because of that, I need you to go inside. She could be here any minute and I don't know what she could pull nor do I want you around her." Five explains "Also, it would make me feel better if you were inside. Okay?"

You nod your head at him and quickly make your way inside the back door to the building but don't head up the stairs to Elliott's apartment. Instead, you stay close to the door to be able to get to Five quickly incase he needed you.  Five crossed his arms as he turned away from the door and soon enough he heard the recognizable sound of heels clicking towards him.

"Well?" The voice asked

Five held to bag for her to take from him without looking back at her.

"AJ!" The handler exclaimed taking the bag

Five turned around and looked at her with an emotionless expression. 

"You know, you're really starting to fill out those tight little shorts of yours." The handler commented, "I'm sure your girlfriend is happy."

Five was always so disgusted when she talked about you. He could deal with comments made towards him, they meant nothing to him, but comments about you filled him with repulsion and rage. He kept quiet as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Why so quiet? Thought you'd be buzzing after this morning's slaughter." She questions

Five looked off for a second. This killing, he didn't do it just because, he did it because he wanted to protect his family, you, and the world you all existed in.

"All this killing..." Five pauses "I'm done with it."

"What?" The handler questions "Am I supposed to take that seriously?"

"What I did today, I did for the people I love. I did it to save the world." Five elaborates emotionally

"Please. Spare me your little assassin with the heart of gold routine, will you?" The handler replies before picking up a briefcase from the ground "Here. Per our agreement, this will get you and your siblings back to 2019."

Five takes the briefcase from her and as he does she adds,

"You have 90 minutes."

Panic rushes through Five and as the handler starts to walk away he yells,

"You said nothing about a time limit."

"Actually, you have 89 minutes and 30 seconds. Better hurry."

"This is impossible, okay? My siblings are scattered across the city." Five exclaims as he approaches her

"Nothing's impossible. You proved that this morning when you killed the board."

"I need more time."

"Any more time, and people will start asking questions. The sooner you get home and out of this time period, the better off we'll both be, so, ticktock, ticktock." The handler finishes

Angrily, Five spatial jumps away from the handler and into the back staircase where you were. You look at him and see something is wrong but before you can say anything he grabs your wrist and spatial jumps the two of you up to the apartment. As the two of you arrive you see from the balcony three words written on the floor in blood. Öga För Öga. Eye for an eye? Before you can process that whole mess you hear Diego threaten from the kitchen,

"You killed one of ours, Olga, now we're coming after you. You will be dead by nightfall."

Five and you head towards the kitchen and see Diego on the phone with Luther nearby. As Five takes off his jacket and vest he explains,

"Hey. It's Öga För Öga, idiots. Swedish for an eye for an eye. It means the Swedes killed Elliott."

"Wrong number. Have a lovely day." Diego says in a chipper tone before hanging up the phone

Your eyes go wide as the situation before you triggers a strong feeling of deja vu within you, almost instantaneously followed by a strong visceral memory of your friends comes to mind. Quietly you whispered to yourself,

"Du sang pour du sang."

Five turns to look at you and asks,

"Why did you say blood for blood in french?"

"I'd love to explain but we do NOT have the time for it right now," you state

"Uh, you guys have some blood on you. A lot of blood, actually. What did you do?" Luther questions

Instead of looking to Five for answers, Diego comes over to you and starts looking you over for injuries.

"Are you okay? This is a lot of blood." He asks concerned

"I've said this many times before in my life but it's not my blood and that's all that matters." You respond to him

He looks at you confused as you walk away towards Five in the bathroom. Using your powers you specifically remove the molecules of blood on both of your clothes and skin before placing them all in the sink and washing them down. As both of you fix yourself up in the bathroom Five starts to explain, 

"So I found a way home."

"What? How?" Luther questions

"All the details are irrelevant, but...I made a deal to get back to our timeline."

"What about doomsday?" Diego asks

"Won't happen."

"And the 2019 apocalypse?" Luther inquires

Five was getting frustrated with his siblings. Their questions pestered him, especially because he killed a bunch of people for the opportunity to get everyone home safely and their time was running out fast.

"Everything will be back to normal. All right? Now, no more questions. We gotta go. We have to find the others, alright?"

Five walks out of the bathroom with you following behind him. 

"Yeah," Luther says

"Luther, you get Allison. Diego, Klaus. (Y/N) and I will get Vanya. Now, we meet back in the arrival alley in 77 minutes." Five details before heading over to a table and saying "Here. I've synchronized these watches."

Picking the watches up from the table he pockets one before handing the other two to each of his brothers.

"Okay, let's do this." Luther states

With Luther's confirmation, Five turns away from them and grabs your hand about to flash the two of you away but is halted when Diego questions,

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. You show up with my sister completely drenched in blood and expect us to believe everything's gonna go back to normal if we go home now?"

You nodded your head a little bit at Diego's statement. If the handler had already tricked Five with a briefcase that has a 20-minute timer how could you know that this wasn't a trick again.

"Elliott just got killed because of us." Five exclaims gesturing to the body hidden underneath a sheet

You nodded your head once more because that was also a good point but you still did agree with what Diego had said.

"What about Dad? What about JFK?" Diego questions

Nevermind.

"Diego, we have a chance to go home and make things right. We are taking it." Five demands

This was wasting time, precious time that could be used to get back to their lives but also save the world.

"I have to say goodbye to Lila." Diego states

"Lila doesn't give a shit about you, Diego! She never did. She's one of them. She's a member of the Commission!" Five yells

"No way. Not possible."

Now you were starting to get frustrated with Diego. How could Diego be so stupid, so blinded by her? If she worked for the commission then she did not matter. She was bad from the start and deserved no sympathy for using your brother in the way she did. 

"She was just using you to get to me. You're the Oswald of this story, my friend. The goddamned patsy." Five frustratedly explains

"You don't know what you're talk-"  Diego to starts to retort

Five spatial jumps over to right in front of Diego and firmly states to him,

"If you don't do this, I'll kill you myself. Got it?"

"No. I don't take orders from you." Diego states back

That was it. You were done with the back and forth of bullshit as it was taking away time from the opportunity to get home. Pulling one of your knives out you quickly approached Diego and held it at him accusingly.

"Diego Hargreeves, this might be our only chance to get out of this god damn timeline and back home. And as your little sister if you care for my well-being as much as you say you do then you will not seek out this walking bag of lies and will go and get Klaus so we can all go home." You demand before exclaiming angrily "If you don't...I swear on our mother that I will take every one of your knives and will use them to dissect you limb by limb and organ by organ before using my powers to blow EACH ONE UP INDIVIDUALLY!"

The three boys looked on at you in horror. 

"Holy shit..." Luther quietly commented

"Do I make myself clear?" You ask

Diego quickly nodded his head and you pulled the knife away from them and back in its holding place on you. Turning around you walk away from him and extend your hand out to Five. Five takes it and the two of you flash away to outside the building. Looking around you and Five find a car that had the keys just placed on the driver's seat. Sharing a knowing look the two of you use your powers to get into the car before putting the keys in and speeding off to get Vanya. As you travel on the dirt roads leading to the farm Vanya was living on you started to head around a curve. As you did so you and Five looked over and saw Vanya in the car passing by. Vanya stopped her car as Five stopped yours. You both quickly rush out of the car and over towards Vanya who had gotten out of hers.

"What are you doing here?" Vanya questioned confused

"Looking for you. We're going back to 2019." Five states quickly

"What are you talking about?" Vanya asks 

Five pulls the watch out of his pocket and looks at the seconds counting down before replying,

"Look, I don't really have time to explain right now, but I found a way home. All right? We have 30 minutes to leave."

Five starts to walk away thinking Vanya would follow but instead she exclaims,

"What about my friends? I can't just leave them here."

"Vanya, you don't have a choice in this, all right? Doomsday will happen if you don't come with me." Five explains turning around to face her again

"Okay, then I'm bringing them with me." Vanya states

"They belong in this timeline." Five replies

"Says who? Sissy deserves a life where she doesn't have to pretend to be someone she's not. And Harlan There's a name for what he has. We can get him the help he needs." Vanya yells angrily

"Vanya." You called softly, trying to ease the tension

For a second, your calmness seems to work as Vanya adds,

"Look, a mom and her eight-year-old son are not gonna screw up the timeline, Five. They're insignificant."

Five looks on at Vanya and you can see behind the frustration and panic there was sadness in his eyes. He doesn't want to argue with his sibling and he never would purposely try to hurt his sibling in the way Vanya might be feeling, but they were running out of time to get home and if they didn't the whole world could end. Even in his panic, Five attempted to speak more calmly,

"No one is insignificant. I'm sorry, all right? But we can't take that risk. They have to stay. Come on."

"Why do you get to decide? You're the reason we're stuck here in the first place." Vanya rebukes, her anger returning

"If I did nothing, we would all be dead right now, thanks to you!" Five yells back

"They're coming with me." Vanya demands

Five could not deal with this stubbornness anymore. It was the same stubbornness that caused the last apocalypse because Vanya refused to see other people's perspectives and played the victim card time and time again. He loved his sister, that much was true, but he was not going to deal with another apocalypse just because Vanya wanted to bring some people she had known for a month along. Taking a step forward towards her Five stands his ground and firmly commands,

"Vanya, do not test me right now."

Vanya takes a step towards him in the same manner and in a low voice replies back,

"That's funny. 'Cause I was just about to say the same thing."

You can see the anger build between them but you can feel their power build as well. The disturbance they created crashed over you like a powerful wave during a storm. You tried to do what you always did to help ease the disturbance by breathing it in and then pushing it out. But this was different. Some time travel or explosions didn't do as much harm as they used to but Vanya's powers were like Kryptonite. And with the addition of Five revving up his powers, it was a bit more than you had been exposed to in a while. For a second you were able to manage pretty well but as they grew stronger it got harder to breathe. It was as if your throat was closing up on you and without being able to breathe the feeling of the disturbance got worse. You dropped to your knees as you gasped for air and when Five heard you struggling he immediately stopped his battle with Vanya to rush over to you. Helping you to stand, you took in deep breaths of air, and as Vanya powered down you started to feel better.

"I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Five apologized as he pulled you into a hug

"I'm fine," you reply between breaths and you hold him back

From behind the two of you, you can hear Vanya say,

"Fine."

"Fine, what?" Five asks

Five pulls out of the hug to look at Vanya but keeps one of his arms tightly around you worried that if he lets go you'll collapse again.

"I'll be there, but I need to say goodbye first." Vanya answers

"Oh, Vanya, we don't have the time." Five explains

"Well, it's either that, or I'm not coming." Vanya states

Five looks towards you. There was no use fighting with Vanya on this and honestly, if he was in her place he'd want to say goodbye too. He never got the chance to say goodbye when he left. Looking back towards Vanya he nods his head and commands,

"The alley. 27 minutes. Don't be late."

With that Vanya goes and gets in her car while you and Five get in yours. Not letting go of you, Five walks you. to the car and helps you in it even as you protested saying you were feeling better. Turning the car back on Five whips it around and heads back towards the alley. When the two of you arrive you park the car and immediately jump out rushing towards the alley. As you arrive Five quickly opens up a dumpster and pulls out the briefcase he stashed there. Running from out of the apartment you see Luther approach you two and questions upset,

"Hey. Where is everyone?"

"You're the first." Five replies to him

"What?" Luther exclaims

"Yeah." You reply

As the three of you stare down the alleyway you can see Klaus approaching, which was surprising in and of itself but what was more surprising to you was that Ben was standing within him. As Klaus' body approached it exclaims,

"Hey! Hey! We made it!"

"What do you mean, we?" Five asks

The three of you then watch as Klaus contorts his body in odd ways and while Five and Luther were generally confined you were trying to process all that you were seeing. What looked like odd contortions to the other two was really Klaus trying to push Ben out of his body. Was Klaus possessed? You then watched as Klaus projectile vomited an extreme amount on the ground and along with it was Ben, who was now also covered in vomit. How did that work being a ghost? You didn't know and it wasn't important enough to ask at this moment. Klaus collapses to the ground and you look directly at Ben to say,

"I don't know what you did to cause that to happen, but it was gross as hell."

Luther, unknowing of Ben being there looks at Klaus. How is it that out of all his siblings Klaus was the one to arrive on time. An anger wells in him as he shouts,

"I can't believe it. I mean, you're here."

"We've got eight minutes left." Five states panicked as he looks at the watch

"I just had the strangest dream," Klaus mumbles from the ground 

"Where are the others!" Five exclaims as he continues to look down the alley

You continue to wait there and minute after minute the time ticks down until there were only sixty seconds left.

"We've got a minute left!" Luther yells angrily as he slams his hand down on the dumpster denting it

"What's going on, guys? Are we going somewhere?" Klaus asks from the ground

You watch as your boyfriend paces back and forth angrily ranting,

"It was a simple task. It was a simple task! All we had to do was be here. Didn't have to fight a giant sea monster, no. An army of mutants? Nein."

"I can't believe this." Luther comments

"It was handed to us on a silver platter." Five continues

This was bad. Allison, Diego, and Vanya had yet to show up and you couldn't leave with only five of you here. You shook your head as disappointment and anger flooded over you. This family would be the death of you.

"Could you just moan a little softer? My head is killing me." Klaus complains as he starts to sit up

"Listen to me, you useless puke bag, we just blew our chance to save the world!" Five yells

As he finishes saying that you can hear a sound coming from the briefcase but can also feel it as well. Five's head whips over to it and sees that the briefcase was about to go. 

"God damn it." Five states

"Shit," Luther adds

Five had no choice but to get rid of the briefcase. Picking it up off the ground he throws it into the air and far from any of you. You all watch as it disappears in a flash of blue and your chance of getting home had been lost to time. Five shakes his head and turns away from the group heading back towards Elliott's apartment.

"We were that close. That close." He states

You stared up at the spot where the briefcase had flashed and as the residual feeling of the disturbance, it caused disappeared faded you wondered if your chances of ever getting home had too.

 ________________________________

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[kashimos-hajime]

sawdust and plastic | g.t.

summary: you learn two things from your first real fight with goro. 1) he apologizes through cooking. 2) he hates it when they argue.

WARNINGS: spoilers for the gimme danger main job, swearing, slight angst, theye just communicating pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.2k

a/n: written with a fem!street-kid v who used to be a corpo kid. also dont yell at me but i rearranged v's apartment so the couch goes on all 3 sides bc comfortable :^) crossposted on ao3! enjoy :) 

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

Sitting down on the couch, you kick up your feet for the first time in what you feel like has been ages. From Jackson Plains to reconnaissance on the Arasaka warehouse, you haven’t eaten shit besides the yakitori Takemura had ordered at that booth which already felt like ages ago. It’d been good—better than the trash you’ve eaten as a kid so you don’t really get picky—but you can’t help but recall the disgust on Takemura’s face when he had taken a single bite.

“Sawdust and plastic.”

You snort, running hands over your face and tilting your head back. Stupid fucking Japanese man with an endearing sense of dry-humour and… zero tolerance for your cheeky smiles. 

Then he had to go ahead and bring up Jack.

His words, cold, callous, echo in your skull like a goddamn radio and you squeeze your eyes tight, raking your hands down your face and melting into the couch. No matter how much you wanna stop it, you can’t help hearing it over and over and over.

Grabbing the remote, you’re about to switch on a channel in hopes you catch something that cna take your mind off everything when there’s a knock on your door.

For a moment, you truly debate telling them to fuck off but then, there is a pause.

“V.”

Eyes widening, your body goes rigid at the sound of his voice.

“V, let me in before I look anymore foolish.”

In the back of your head, you tempt the idea of just leaving him out there, pretending like you’ve fallen asleep, but then you get up anyway against your better judgement. You drag your feet over the floor, picking up old takeout boxes you haven’t had time to clean up and tossing clothes into a hamper to make your apartment look more like an organized mess than the dumpster fire you know Takemura will scold you for.

When you reach the door, you let him in without a word and you note the bags he holds on, hoisting them over to your living room counter.

“What’s this?” you question wearily. “Goro, I’m not hungry.”

“I realized I must apologize for my harsh words.” Beginning to pull out the groceries, you walk over and peer inside the bag, frowning. All the stuff inside is cheap synth shit, nothing you haven’t eaten before, but you’re still confused as to what’s going on since you don’t exactly have a kitchen in your place, but then out of one of the thicker bags, Takemura pulls out a big box.

“For saying them?”

“Yes." He sets the box down before continuing with groceries. “Earlier, I told you if I had time and resources, I would cook onigiri.”

“With cod, or grilled salmon. Or umeboshi plums, because they were Saburo’s favourite,” you finish and he sends you a look that could’ve been a smile if his lips had curved more and his eyes meant it. “I remember.” Helping him with the big box, you cut it open and find a rice cooker within. Eyeing the contraption with an arched eyebrow, you can’t help but ask: “Where’d you find this stuff?”

“It was difficult. I had to lower my standards.” 

“Lowering standards,” you echo dryly, unable to help your empty smile. “Yeah. We do that a lot in grand ole NC.” He doesn’t seem amused by you even trying to help as you sit down on the couch, twist to watch him work. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“I am cooking to apologize. It would not be honourable for you to help me,” he replies shortly and you nod to yourself, turning back around to watch the news. Nothing about a break-in with the floats, nothing at all indicating… anything.

For some reason, it makes you uneasy. The last time you snuck into an Arasaka building, everything went to shit and it made its mark. The lack of visible ripples makes you feel like nothing’s happened at all. Like it’s all been a fever dream, and you and Takemura didn’t sit on that roof for hours, watching the cat, just… talking.

Jesus, you need to get laid.

“Still don’t know why you bother cooking,” you say. Takemura noticeably stiffens and even though you don’t see it, you can almost feel the way he manipulates the air he stands in. He has that power—pure corpo power—and you clench your jaw. “Why waste time on someone so lazy as me?”

“V—"

“Nah, my bad. Arrogant. Hell, you probably see all the takeout around here and think I’m taking some easy route to food.” The bitterness is enough to puncture holes in steel as you stare blankly at the screen. “After all, I dirty my hands for money,” you quote. Your chest tightens as you hear his voice echo in yours, the way he had said it so coldly. Stomach turning, you shake your head. “Not in the name of some fucking principles.”

There’s a silence on his end and you close your eyes, swallowing through the bruising in your throat, a telltale sign you’re holding back tears. Just the mention of Jackie makes you want to spiral and you take a deep breath, trying not to react.

For the first time, you think Johnny might be right.

“Damn right, I am,” a voice says and you open your eyes, gaze fluttering to the side to see Johnny lounging against your couch. You turn around to see Takemura’s moved to the bathroom, probably to clean rice… however the fuck you make onigiri. You don’t know. You’re too tired to care about food, or feelings, or anything. “Never can trust a corpo. They all want one thing.”

“I don’t need to remind you that I was a corpo kid, do I?”

“Not anymore. It’s about principles.” Johnny’s tone is wry and you scowl at him. “What? If there’s one thing you might be able to relate to is that you both have ‘em. His might be wrong as shit, but…”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna forgive him. This guy’s got you wrong, V. You don’t waste time on people like that.”

“I don’t have time to stay angry with him,” you argue. “The fact is, I’m dying and he’s gonna be the only one who can save me.” Johnny sits up straight, leaning on his knees and you sigh, shaking your head. Resting your arm along the back of the couch, you fit your hand to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fuck.”

“Stop. Don’t do it, V. It’s not worth it,” Johnny warns, standing up and you wrench your gaze up as you shift your feet on the floor and lean forward, burying your face in your hands. “I can feel everything you are feeling, and if I have to deal with your indecisive debates on whether or not it’s worth it to become attached to this corp piece of shit, I’ll kill myself.”

“You’re already dead, Johnny.”

“Let me live a little.” He stands and edges around you as if he were real and you rest your chin in your palms, watching as his holographic imagine crosses you before glitching back into view again across the table. He sits down. “The truth is, you’re gonna have a hell of a problem.”

“I know.”

“So, stop.” Johnny says it like it’s so easy and you chew on your cheek as the faucet turns off and you turn around to see Takemura begin to leave your bathroom. His pale eyes catch yours and you turn around only to see your brain tumour’s gone and left you alone. It’s eerily quiet in your head and you stand, clearing your throat.

Takemura slips the clean rice into the rice cooker before closing it and you cross your arms below your breasts, squeezing yourself tightly. You feel bare in your clothes despite wearing your scuffed jacket. He regards you warily, and then he sighs, gesturing to the couch—a silent ask.

 You nod, stepping back and letting him take where you were sitting earlier. You retreat across from him, where Johnny was sitting and he glances around your apartment. You wonder if he’s judging even more of you, but then he looks into his hands, swallowing visibly. 

“V—"

“You’re not the only one with principles. Just because I kill for money don't mean I'd do anything for it,” you begin coldly, leaning back and studying him. “And nothing about my life has been easy. When I said you did what you had to do to keep food on the table, that wasn’t me judging you. That was me getting it, alright, Goro?” His eyes meet yours and you arch an eyebrow, scoffing. “Not my problem if you don’t believe me. Yeah, I oppose corps, because they ruined my life, and so many other people’s lives no one can count 'em, but that doesn't mean you're any better than me. You don’t get to make assumptions about me. You never get to make assumptions about Jackie.That is all I have to say.”

He nods, accepting your harsh tone and you bite your tongue, trying not to burn down the bridge anymore than you need to as you prop a foot up against the table. Takemura doesn't say anything for a hot moment and you think you've wasted your time. Your knee jiggles. He doesn't even look at you.

Then: “I must again say that we are both still grieving. We ache to lash out. That is why I said what I said, and why, I presume, you say what you say.” He steeples his fingers and regards you with those eyes, gorgeous in their own right. “I understand what I said was callous. You have been nothing but understanding to my own loss.”

“No shit.”

“And I understand Mr. Welles was your friend.”

“He was like my brother,” you correct icily. “He’s been there for me since the beginning, I—I can’t forgive you saying something like that about him so easily, Goro.”

He dips his head. “I understand. It is why I cook for you. It is how I best express myself." The corner of his mouth tugs up faintly in a mirthless facsimile of a smile before he exhales sharply through his nose, looking at you again. "I confess I have not had time recently to cook, but I will do my best.” Johnny’s link comes to life at the mention and your own stomach squirms silently. “We are in this together, V. I do not wish for you to be angry at me.”

“Don’t do it, V. Don’t take it.”

“Fuck off, Johnny. I’m starving.” Aloud, you say: “I’ll be angry for a while. Just… let me sleep on it and we'll see from there.” He nods and you let your arms fall to your sides as you sit up. “It’s been a long few days, so I just… I just want to not think about anything for a while, you know?”

“I understand.”

He says that a lot, you notice. 

“Thank you for apologizing, at least,” you continue grudgingly. “Thanks.” You stand and gesture vaguely around the place. “Make yourself at home. I’m… I’m going to shower and scrub this grime off.” Dried blood, sweat, dirt, et cetera. He nods and stands as well, returning to the tiny cooking station he’s made for himself. You head to your closet, managing to pick out a clean shirt that’s a bit big and a jacket you ripped off a 6th Street goon a few weeks back. You just picked it up from the cleaners.

Heading for the bathroom, you set your crap on the toilet cover before poking your head out. Spotting Takemura sitting in front of the table, carefully sharpening a knife, you wait until he’s noticed you staring and he prompts you silently to ask.

“How’d you even know where I live, anyway?” 

He turns his gaze back on the blade.

“Ms. Olszewski marked it in my map, should the need arise.”

“This was a need?” you ask, curiously sardonic. Takemura doesn’t smile back and again, you get that impression he either doesn’t know how or he doesn’t do it often enough to remember. For some reason, that makes you sad. "Could've left it well enough alone. You know that."

“Oh, come on, V,” Johnny murmurs in your ear. “Don’t wax poetics on this guy.”

You ignore him.

“I do not enjoy the thought of a rift between you and I,” admits Takemura. He sets down the knife and sighs, eyes flitting to you briefly. Your hand wraps around the doorframe and you press your lips into a faint frown. "I... I have grown used to you."

You nod despite the words punching into your chest. “I don’t like it when we fight either.” At least, that you don’t have to fight twice to figure out. Your expression eases and your shoulders drop. “I’ll just hop in. Help yourself to whatever you can find. Really.” He accepts your offer with another nod and you close the door. It locks and you press your back against the metal, tipping your head back.

“For the love of—“

“Shut it, Johnny. Just… just give me a second.”

And on one of the rare occassions that he listens to you, Silverhand says nothing about how your heart doesn’t feel like wrought iron anymore.

[ttuesday]

Time

Summary: After spending the night on guard duty, you make a bet with Micah to find out who can stay awake the longest.

Word Count: 2,772 

~unfortunately there’s no smut in this, it’s mainly fluff and maybe a bit of angst ? idk lmao~

8am You spent the entire night on guard duty. Bill was supposed to take over a couple of hours ago but he never did. It didn’t take long for you to realize he was after sleeping in, preferring to stay wrapped up in his warm bedroll instead of coming out to relieve you from duty. 

Finally about two goddamn hours after sunrise, John came out and offered to go on guard, mentioning to you that Bill had woken up about twenty minutes ago but decided that avoiding you was better than owning up to his mistake. 

You walked into camp and scanned the area, trying to find Bill so you could confront him. Dutch sat outside his tent, reading a book. A frustrated Arthur was playing dominoes with Tilly. And Micah sat at one of the tables, cleaning his revolvers. It seemed as though everyone was around except for Bill.

“Mic, have you seen Bill this morning?” you asked as you walked up to Micah. The man scoffed “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”. “But it’s your name” you replied. “That ain’t my name” he snapped back, glaring at you. “But your name’s Mic-ah” you sounded it out as if you were teaching Jack a new word.

Micah rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath but he stopped when he noticed you yawn. “Awh, you all tired out from being out on watch?” he mocked. “I’m not tired” you answered bluntly.

“Sure you ain’t” Micah replied sarcastically.

The truth was you did feel a bit drained. You had just spent the whole night on guard duty, of course you were kinda tired but you weren’t going to admit that to him.

You and Micah always had a strange friendship. Half the time you were both arguing with one another, hurling insults at each other and bickering over anything and everything. But then a few hours later you would both be sitting at one of the tables, laughing together as if you were the best of friends. It was strange but it worked.

“Seriously, I’m not tired” you reinforced, knowing he didn't believe you the first time you said it “you’d be surprised how long I can stay awake”. “Is that so?” he questioned, focusing his attention on cleaning his revolvers again. A small smirk tugged at your lips “Yeah, I mean I could definitely stay awake longer than you. That wouldn’t even be a challenge”.

Why were you saying this? Well, you had only one reason. You wanted to annoy him.

Micah chuckled “Now you’re just lying to yourself”. “Or you’re underestimating me” you corrected him. You knew there was no way Micah could go longer without sleep than you. Sure, you spent the night awake but from the dark circles under Micah’s eyes, it was obvious he had a couple of restless nights recently. 

“I’d even make a bet that I could stay awake longer than you” you smirked. Micah let out a loud, arrogant laugh as he looked at you again “That’s real funny”. 

“What? You scared I’ll win?” you continued to annoy him. 

“There ain’t no way in hell you’d win” he furrowed his brow.

“You wanna bet on that?” you asked. Micah considered it for a couple of seconds, his gaze momentarily flicking down to his guns before looking at you “Fine, but don’t expect me to let you win”.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Bill cautiously step into camp. “There he is” you muttered to yourself. Bill hesitantly glanced around, presumably trying to see where you were so he could avoid you. “Williamson!” you called, getting his attention. Bill looked at you with wide eyes before turning on his heels and walking in the opposite direction.

You started to walk after him, not about to let him get away that easily. “Hey, get back here!” you yelled. Micah chuckled as you jogged after Bill. He was confident that you would fall asleep first, especially since you just got off guard duty. There was no way you’d win this bet, Micah was sure of it.

12:30pm You sat under a tree, listening to the gentle midday breeze make its way through the branches overhead. You had been reading a book Mary-Beth recommended to you but put it down on your lap, the warm summer’s day starting to make you feel drowsy. 

“You asleep yet?” Micah suddenly appeared. You quickly opened your eyes and blinked a few times to try and quickly wake yourself up. “You know I’m not sleeping until you do” you reminded him. “You weren’t being serious about that, were you?” he questioned.

“Of course I was”.

“Huh, well you’re gonna be waiting a while,” he replied, only now starting to realize you were being deadly serious about this bet “I don’t plan on losing an easy bet”.

He leaned against the tree, taking out a pack of cigarettes and putting one between his lips. “How was your talk with Williamson?” he asked, putting the packet back into his pocket and taking out a match. “It was fine, he said he’ll do my next shift on guard duty to make it up to me. Actually, when was the last time you went on duty?” you gazed up at him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Micah out there on guard. In fact, you couldn’t remember a time he was ever on guard duty.

“Why would I waste my time doing that?” Micah sneered, lifting his boot and striking the match off of it. You sighed, picking up your book again and flicking through to the page you stopped at “You can be so grumpy when you’re tired”.

“I ain’t tired” he grunted. You laughed softly, making Micah huff. “Sleep’s overrated” he said with a new found determination “and I will win this bet, make no mistake about that”. Micah stormed off, mumbling what you presumed where insults under his breath.

You admired how seriously he was starting to take the bet but you knew he wouldn’t last. Sure, you had been awake for many, many hours at this point and you were tired but Micah could’ve been awake for days by now. He never was keen on sleep and that’s what made you think this was going to be an easy bet to win. Even if you didn’t win, maybe this would encourage Micah to sleep and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, that would be a good thing too.

4pm You were helping Pearson with dinner. Normally you didn’t but he had a fight with Sadie earlier in the day so you decided to step in and give her a break. You chopped the vegetables, humming a tune to yourself.

“Well, well, well, what’re you doing?” a voice asked from behind you. You didn’t bother turning around. Micah always had a distinct voice you could recognize immediately. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you replied with a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

You expected him to move around the table and into your line of sight but instead Micah peered over your shoulder, slyly placing his hand on your hip as he did. “Hmmm” was all he said as he looked down at the vegetables. You expected him to move but he stayed where he was, his chest pressing against your back and his hand subconsciously kneading your hip.

A strong scent suddenly hit your nostrils and you couldn’t help but scrunch up your nose. “Have you been drinking?” you turned your head towards him. Micah also turned his head to look at you properly, his lips curving upwards and into a smirk. “Maybe” he grinned.

You could smell the whiskey every time his hot breath hit your face. You hadn’t realized how close his face was to yours until his eyes momentarily flicked down to your lips.

It caught you by surprise, your nose nearly bumping against his. Micah didn't expect your faces to be so close either, his mouth staying slightly open though he stayed quiet. You’ve heard the phrase ‘getting lost in someone’s eyes’ but you didn’t think it was actually real. Yet there you were, unable to stop gazing into his blue eyes, as if there was a magnetic pull to him.

You had to remind yourself that you were in the middle of camp with other people nearby. You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from his. Micah snapped back to reality too, taking his hand off your hip and stepping away from you. 

He moved over to the other side of the table, resting his weight against it. “You, uh... you wanna have a drink with me?” he asked, glancing around to see if anyone else was nearby. You focused your attention on chopping the vegetables “I can’t, Pearson has about ten other things he needs me to do”.

Micah rolled his eyes “You know, if you keep helping ‘em all the damn time then they’ll start treating you like a workhorse”.

You laughed “As if you know anything about working and pulling your weight around camp”.

“Just tryna look out for ya,” he mumbled “you’ll thank me one day”.

“I’m sure I will,” you replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in your voice ”now shoo, you’re distracting me”. You scooped up the vegetables in your hands and turned your back to Micah, walking over to dump them into the pot of stew.

Micah let out a forced chuckle before he picked up a bottle of beer and made his way over to the campfire. A smirk spread across your face as you watched Micah gulp down his beer. Maybe this would be a good thing. If Micah was drinking alcohol then surely it'd make him tired fast. In a way, he was unknowingly sabotaging his chances of winning. You nodded to yourself as you got back to work, confident that you’d win.

10:35pm Your mind was in a cycle. Within an hour you’d go from feeling completely fine to absolutely exhausted. You had spent the last ten minutes in a daze, staring at the campfire with drooped eyelids. Out of all the days to make a bet with Micah to see who could stay awake longer, why did it have to be the day after your night shift? Micah sat at one of the tables, sipping on yet another beer. He looked normal… well, whatever normal is for Micah. Basically, he didn’t look tired.

“And that’s why you should never trust people that swim in the same water they fish in” announced Sean. You snapped out of your daze, raising your eyebrows as you looked at him. “What?” you asked, completely baffled by his statement. 

Sean tilted his head “Wha- have you been listening to me? I’m trying to teach you some very valuable life lessons here”.

“Yes, yes, thank you” you nodded your head, still confused but deciding to act as though you knew what the hell he was on about “that was, uh… quite something”. 

A proud smile spread across Sean’s face as he stood “See, I knew you���d find that helpful”. He lifted his arms up as he stretched. “That’s me done for the night,” he let out a big yawn “I’m robbing a stage tomorrow so I need my wits about me”. You tried not to yawn too, clenching your jaw. “Good luck with that” you replied, a small yawn managing to escape. 

With Sean heading off to bed, you realized that there weren’t a lot of people still awake. Micah got up and walked over to the beer crate, picking up another full bottle. You got up and followed him over.

“I told you, this is bet is going to go on for a while” he said, knowing it was you who was approaching. “I know,” you replied “but I don’t plan on giving up anytime soon”.

“You want a beer now?” he offered, lifting up another bottle. You thought about it for a few seconds “Nah, it’ll only make me sleepy”. “You sure?” he waved the bottle slightly “just one drink?”.

You knew Micah was already after having a plentiful amount of drink so no matter how sleepy the alcohol made you feel, it would have the same effects on him but sooner. “Ok,” you took the beer “but just one”.

2:23am You told yourself you were only going to have one beer and you meant that, you really did. But you were having a good time, so one beer turned to two beers, and then three, and then four. 

You weren’t sure what number you were on now but the good news is that you weren’t feeling tired. You were definitely drunk but not tired.

At some point, you both decided to go for a walk along the outskirts of camp. You knew Micah must’ve felt sleepy since he was the one who suggested it, presumably to try and keep himself awake. The two of you strolled through the woods, chatting and laughing until eventually you decided to sit down by a tree. Micah sat down next to you, putting his arm around your shoulders without a second thought to the action.

He was warm and surprisingly comfortable as you shuffled closer to him. You could stay there forever. You’re breathing started to slow as each blink seemed to last longer. 

“So what do you want if you win this bet?” Micah asked, a relaxed smile on his face. You blinked again, this time keeping your eyes closed “Haven’t decided yet. Why, how much do you want if you win?”. You presumed Micah wanted cash if he won.

“I, um… I wasn’t going to ask for money” he revealed, his breathing getting heavier.

“What were you going to ask for?" you asked.

He hesitated, debating whether to say it or not. “I dunno…” he stalled “maybe, uh…”.

You waited patiently, too relaxed to care about how long it would take him to say it. “Maybe something like a… a kiss” he said shyly before he immediately began to backtrack “but money sound’s good".

“You… you wanted a kiss?” you opened your eyes and sat up straight to look at him. For once, Micah actually looked nervous. The flirtatious, confident front he usually portrays had completely vanished. He wasn’t sure what to say. Slowly, a smile spread across your face. “Yeah, that could be arranged” you giggled.

Micah nodded, a goofy smile on his face. You settled against Micah again, resting your head by his chest. You could hear his heart rapidly beating. “but you gotta win to get your reward” you reminded him. He chuckled, holding you close to him “And I intend to”.

“I have to admit, I thought I would’ve won this by now” you sighed, closing your eyes again. “That's not gonna happen” Micah muttered, resting his head on top of yours.

You hated how your mind wandered into thinking that this is what life would be like if you were dating Micah. You liked being this close to him, feeling his warmth and finding his breathing relaxing. Micah was an awful man yet for some reason, you found comfort in him.

You could feel yourself drifting off to sleep, finding it harder and harder to open your eyes. Just as you were about to give in to the exhaustion, you heard a noise.

It sounded like a snort and it came from the man next to you.

You opened your eyes and blinked a few times, trying to get your brain to work. Trying your best not to disturb Micah, you moved your head up to look at him. A massive smile spread across your face as you realized Micah had drifted off to sleep.

You couldn’t believe it, he was actually sleeping. He let out another snort as he nuzzled his head closer to yours. You wanted to get up and celebrate but you also didn’t want to wake him up.

You knew in the morning he was going to argue that he didn’t fall asleep. There was no way he was going to admit that you won the bet. You wondered what you’d get for winning. A part of you wanted to ask him to buy you a drink at the saloon in town, or pay for dinner for the both of you. Either way, you had won and there was no way you were going to let him forget about this for a long, long time.

[shotorozu]

“you didn’t think getting a classmate thrown at you would cause you to choke in silence— and by some miracle, todoroki is the first one to catch on.”

legend : [Y/N = your name] f!reader with they/them pronouns, all might’s daughter reader, reader has a telekinesis quirk

warnings : swearing because of bakugou, choking, if you ever hit your windpipe and you start choking, get help right away!

notes : i’m trying a new format for fics! (and drabbles) idk why i’m going on a todoroki dump lately, it’s his birthday after all. ALSO I WAS ALMOST DONE BUT GRRR TUMBLR RELOADED. i was so mad lol. so i don’t really like this but DONT WORRY!! i’m making another fic.

»»————-　♡　————-«

It’s been almost 4 months since your first year at UA had started, and you’d think by now— you would’ve gotten used to all the hectic things that had to come.

Nope, not in the slightest bit.

Though you do love the class, and you enjoy being around them since they all seem like nice people, (minus one person) the class itself goes haywire with their frenzied energies.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re able to keep up with them, since they all have such excentric and unique personalities. They somehow manage to keep the room’s atmosphere lifted up with their voices, that are accompanied by lighthearted jokes.

But today, it seemed to be out of your favor.

You’re in your seat, recalling what your father— All Might, had said about your progression, and how he planned on helping you work with your quirk more.

Needless to say, you’re quite delighted to hear that your father wants to pay more attention to you, since he was mostly just focusing on Midoriya.

But your train of thought is cut short when you see Mineta fly towards your way, practically knocking into your entire front, and jamming into your windpipe— as it bounces from you and towards the wall.

“Damn grape fruit, learn some fucking decency for once,” You can hear Bakugou call out to him, and you can assume it was him that decided to throw your classmate at you

“Sorry, Y/N!” Kirishima calls out to you, noticing how his hot headed friend chucked the short, and purple haired classmate towards your direction.

You try to play it off cool, since you can’t even be mad. Even though Bakugou’s quite a spiteful person, he probably didn’t mean to throw Mineta at you.

Your seatmate, Todoroki looks at you as if like he was analysizing you. His mismatched gaze locked onto you with concern, I mean.. how could he not? Mineta has been thrown on you.

The air escapes you for a moment, and you try to breathe in to counter it. But it doesn’t work, as it became futile.

You blink, and you try again— trying your best to just breathe damnit, you’re questioning what’s all of this for? And it feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s all very sudden too, and without any warning. You can practically the way your heart hammers against your chest violently, and you try your best to not make too many movements. Okay, just breathe Y/N, am I having an attack right now? It really can’t be, can it?

You grasp your chair as you need something to grip on— facing yourself away to prevent any attention to be drawn towards you, since that’s the last thing you want. Every second that passes, it gets even more difficult to take in the air, and it feels like your life actually slipping away from your grasps.

Was it even possible to choke from getting your windpipe hit by Mineta? You never thought it would happen to you, since your quirk allows you to protect yourself— curses. What would your dad think of this? It’s not like you expected this to happen in a classroom.

A calm voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and suddenly you feel a cool hand press against your nape— “Did you hurt your windpipe, L/N?”

Todoroki’s eyes scan over your facial features calmly, noting about every single red flag that’s shown on your face, that’s practically screaming for something

You feel shame course out your entire body due to the situation, but you nod— still unable to accumulate proper words due to the current situation

The dual quirk user says nothing. However, his actions are quick, moving infront of you to shield you from any attention. His other hand resting against your back— proping you up right, so your position on the chair isn’t hunched uncomfortably.

His hand caresses your back up and down, giving out instructions for your labored breathing— “Breathe in,” he commands calmly, activating his quirk in hopes of aiding you “Breathe out,”

You finally manage to get in some air, inhaling through your mouth, and sharply exhaling the air back out. It feels so good to be able to breathe again, and you’re confident that after this— you won’t take it for granted again.

Unfortunately, the situation hadn’t been discreet enough— as it managed to grasp the attention of Midoriya and Yaoyorozu, they crowd at your desk. Asking Todoroki if there’s an issue, concern lacing their tones.

But you’re overwhelmed, eyes threatening to close. Your body slumping against your desk, and you fall unconscious.

—

It was interesting describing the situation to Recovery Girl, and also to your father.

All Might being concerned was an understatement. He was concerned about how it happened, and how he could’ve prevented the situation if he was there. (But he’s not to blame, at all.)

Briefly after you fell unconscious, attention was gravitated towards you— as everyone was clearly concerned. Then, you were dragged to Recovery Girl by two of your classmates; Kirishima and Midoriya, since Midoriya couldn’t stop rambling about his concern towards you.

“Your windpipe got hit, and the impact blocked it.” Recovery Girl explains, briefly after using her quirk on you “And it appeared to be that you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you. Good grief, who throws people in classrooms? I could give them a scolding right now.” Recovery Girl rants.

You wince at the problem, “Ah.. there’s no need for that. I’d suppose it’s partially my fault for having my guard down.” You grin, but she doesn’t look amused.

Recovery Girl can only sigh, placing a hand on your shoulder. It’s her way of comfort, you’d guess. “Either way, it was still careless of them. I’d go on and on, but for now, you just need to rest right here— you were overwhelmed back there so it’s important to get some rest.”

Recovery Girl’s partially right. So after resting for a little bit longer, you finally leave the infirmary. But you flinch in surprise; a little startled when you meet Todoroki— who’s leaning right behind the door.

“Ah, Todoroki,” You wave at him, and.. you honestly don’t know where to start. Especially after the classroom situation. “I want to apologize about what happened back there. You didn’t need to do that.”

He shakes his head, “It’s alright, L/N. It’s.. what I had to do anyway.” His brows furrow, remembering what happened back in the classroom.

“Besides that.. are you okay? You didn’t damage your throat, did you?”

You laugh, and it may or may not have been in attempt to make the situation light hearted. “My windpipe got blocked, and apparently, I got the wind knocked right out of me! I didn’t know there was an actual name for that! I should really be cautious next time.”

His lips turn up, and he releases a short chuckle— “I suppose it’s a learning lesson for both parties.”

The walk back is.. rather shameful. How were you supposed to go back there, almost as if you didn’t nearly die? choked? The lack of conversation is painful on your ears, and partially on your ego since the silence is almost awkward.

You don’t know what he’s thinking.

“So!” You decide to break the silence, heterochromatic eyes laid on you as he awaited your response. “What do you mean by.. both parties?”

“Well.. you did say you wanted to be cautious more. Which I get, even though you shouldn’t be that cautious in the first place— since it’s not your fault,” Todoroki stares at his feet momentarily, finding his words.

“And both parties because.. I should’ve asked you if you were okay when I saw Mineta get thrown at you,” His expression crumples up, grimacing when he suddenly remembers that exact moment, he should’ve helped them. “I noticed you were choking a little too late.” He mutters.

Like.. how can he stare at you all the time, and just suddenly not notice you choke?

Your feet stop in it’s place, and you shake your head— “You’re so hard on yourself,” you comment, looking up at the ceilings. “Again, it’s not your fault. I was trying to be discrete— y’know!”

“I don’t want you to feel like you should hide anything from me.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes boring into your own.

Blinking, you think over his words— “I’ll keep that in mind.” You’re taken a back by the bluntness in his tone,

“Anyways, thank you, Todoroki. I.. wish I could pay you back somehow.” You pat him on the back, his heart hammering against his chest when you lean in to do so. It’s doing that again.

You turn your back against him, as you start walking even closer to the classroom— and before you can have your hand on the door, he calls out.

“Shouto.”

“..What?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“You can start by calling me that,” He offers you one of his one of a kind smiles, something that feels so genuine— full of authentic gratification.

An uncontrollable smile breaks through your face, and you immediately turn away to hide away the flustered expression that is your current state “If you say so.”

Choking in class because someone was thrown at you is definitely not your proudest moment as Y/N Yagi, but.. you’ve definitely gotten something out of it.

Shouto speaks once again. “Oh and.. why wouldn’t I help you? That’s just watching someone die.”

You wince, realizing that Shouto’s correct. Why wouldn’t he help you?

bonus : mineta got flamed by everyone afterwards— including a serious talk from recovery girl, and all might. even though it wasn’t inheritantly his fault that you almost died in class lol

»»————-　♡　————-«

tldr : Y/N gets folded by mineta bc bakugou threw him at you by accident,

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing.

do not plagiarize my work :))

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks.  I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess.  This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary:  A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result.  At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes.  You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it?  Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do.  Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.  

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond?  I mean c'mon Claudia.  That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway.  Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus.  As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit?  You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong.  It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it.  Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see.  And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension.  Whiskey doesn't scare you.  His lines don't scare you.  The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you.  But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.  

Maybe it's better to leave it.  To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first.  Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box.  "Look, hon.  I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure.  "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

                                                           ⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it.  Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times.  But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair.  At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.  

You take the time to change when you make it to your room.  Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress.  Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat.   Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise.  He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before.  Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement.  Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head.  Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off.  He stood you up.  You cannot fucking believe it.  What's worse is you feel like you should believe it.  Should've expected it.  As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed.  At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now.  Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head.  The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat.  It's satisfying in an awful sort of way.  Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood.  Too late to take it back now, though.  You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly.  "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down.  Forward.  Anywhere but on him.  It's hard, too many reflections.  Even the distorted shape of his  silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard.  "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?" 

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince.  You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself.  I like that bar.  The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor.  I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right.  I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration.  But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click.  "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat.  "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late.  I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that.  Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive.  "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter.  If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right?  Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes.  "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day.  Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.  But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me.  If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone.  But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe.  It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that.  Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me.  I don't mind a bit.  I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left.  Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from.  And the bastard just keeps talking.  

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now.  I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me.  I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give.  So I need you to tell me, honeybee.  Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists.  Fuck, you want that.  All of that.  And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up.  There's sweat on your palms.  It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing.  He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you.  Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it.  Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek.  Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh.  "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am."  His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering.  He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator.  "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning.  "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.  

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles.  The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that.  And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls.  He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs.  You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit.  "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge.  He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder.  "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet.  A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch.  Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall.  The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better.  From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off.  And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.  

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate.  He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus.  You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening.  "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed.  "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he?  Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move.  The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs.  Someone's watching this.  The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue.  You roll your hips, swearing roundly.  It's not enough.  It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough.  You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp.  "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised.  "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor.  Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands.  His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that.  Well?  Cat got your tongue?  Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you.  "You can do it, honeybee.  I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth.  "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl."  He grins down at you, wide and wolfish.  "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad.  And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned.  "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me.  Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you.  "With this?  Hm?"

"Fuck, yes."  You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.  

"Come for me first, honeybee.  Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up.  The rail digs into your back.  You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.  

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.  

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out.  Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!"  You moan and laugh all in the same breath.  

"You like it," he says simply.  

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity.  "Don't stop.  Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee.  Watch yourself."

You try.  Everything's a blur; inside and out.  Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle.  As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek.  "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans.  "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs.  Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding.  Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin.  The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.  

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite.  You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights.  The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble.  Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you.  The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse.  The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe.  The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him.  "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt.  "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine.  "Yeah you do.  A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor.  "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me."  It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes.  Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine.  "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt.  Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly.  If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you.  He just doesn't stop.  And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world.  You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming.  Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want.  This.  This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod.  Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?"  You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him.  "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back."  The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin.  "Fair is fair.  Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady.  "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee.  All right.  I only got one rule.  If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his.  "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.'  Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse.  And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts.  When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples.  The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands.  "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward.  His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon.  You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more.  And maybe that's what does it.  A little mental-short circuit.  Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this.  But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."  

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling.  For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.  

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11.  "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me?  I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were."  His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are.  Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek.  When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound.  But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you.  "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again.  Harder this time.  For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him.  You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth.  He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back.  A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow.  The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space.  One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee.  You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts.  "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."  

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades.  For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand.  The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.  

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek.  A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down.  You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded.  You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for.  The last thing you wanted was to be sensible.  And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.  

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand.  "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk.  They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet.  This is just a tease of the real thing.  A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek.  Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that.  Open that up, baby.  Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring.  The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him.  A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time.  You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?"  Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands.  His hand descends again.  Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?"  CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg.  One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter.  "Goddamn it yes.  I've been thinking about fucking you all day.  All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me.  Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it.  You want him.  Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it."  His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me.  Please.  I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.  

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before.  All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer.  Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful.  Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that."  He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up.  Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow.  And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.  

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.  

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.  

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.  

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more.  D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby.  Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear.  "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you.  Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck.  You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?"  Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck!  Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night?  Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax.  His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders.  "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin.  Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth.  "Careful," you warn.  "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching.  Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it.  Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in.  Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't.  His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper.  The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you.  "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air.  "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.  

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out.  The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him.  You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.  

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come.  It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point.  To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body.  It doesn't seem to faze him, though.  Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here.  Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much.  Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven.  Sev-seven.  F-f-fuck, Jack.  No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try.  All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses.  Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes.  "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter.  His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.  

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again.  Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually.  'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists.  You're not sure if that's better or worse.  It's a little ridiculous.  Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck.  For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles.  It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either.  So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character."  His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once.  After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter.  “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer.  "Well.  That sorta depends on you, honeybee.  My work's all wrapped up.  But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it.  "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first.  Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow.  "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting.  "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder.  "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb.  "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself.  But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand.  But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath.  "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do?  What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch.  "Shit, is that all?  Well.  Officially, I'm a businessman.  I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully.  You don't think he's lying.  And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs.  "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin.  "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh.  His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket.  From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.  

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little.  "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less.  Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar.  For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades.  "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name.  He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says.  "Literally."

"Jackass."

[extremelyblackandwhite]

willow

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, harassing

a/n: part two of cardigan, hope you enjoy xx

CARDIGAN - INVISIBLE STRING

     - I’m not going to work wearing this. - Y/N stepped out of her bedroom in the dress Pietro had brought her. When he told her he had a black dress laying around she thought he meant maybe the sort of dress you’d wear for a first date, not what she had on at this moment. The dress was short, very short, barely hitting her mid thigh in a fashion that made her have to push her dress down every time she walked in fear she would be flashing someone yet that wasn’t the worse part, no, the worse par was the décolletage. It was plunging, hitting the end of her sternum leaving little to no imagination about the shape and size of her breasts. 

     - Well hello Y/N’s breasts. - he joked, receiving a slap in the back of his head from his twin sister. - I’m sorry, Y/N. They’re staring at me, I had to say something. 

    -  What kind of dates are you having? - Wanda asked dumbfounded as she started to search for a safety pin to help mend the situation and make it look a bit more work appropriate. Walking up to her, she pinned two sections of the fabric, successfully diminishing the size of the décolletage.  - It looks ... nice.

    - Is he going to kill me if I show up like this to work? - she pointed at the whole ensemble which was very foreign to her. She was cold and uncomfortable and although the bar tended itself to be very warm once the lights were on, she was already plenty uncomfortable working there. The two twins shared a look that she could only described as “I have no idea” which did little to no good in aiding her nerves. With nothing else to do, she grabbed her worn out bag from the hanger and waved her goodbyes to the twins. Surely it couldn’t be that bad. 

It’s just a dress, Y/N. She told herself as she padded the cobblestone grounds that led into the town centre, the dreaded town centre where she was needed to work. At least you have some cute shoes, she reassured herself, looking at her plain black Mary Janes with a buckle which made the shoe extra snug. Adding to the nerves of her dress, she kept convincing herself today she would get some information for her father, even if it was Bucky’s shoe size. It didn’t matter, she was going to get some information and make her father proud.

As she stepped into the bar, she noted the absence of Bobby. Probably it was her due turn to open shop which she wouldn’t mind would it not be for the fact she could barely move in that dress. Nevertheless, she quickly got to work, wiping the surfaces clean and placing the plastic menus on them followed by a few bowls of peanuts which Bobby always told her to keep her eyes on and not let go empty. The whole thing took less than five minutes and as she finished, she leaned against the counter watching the inside of the building. Everything was so meticulously placed, arranged in shades that matched. It was perfectly linear, symmetrical even and probably the work of a perfectionist architecture. It was peaceful when no one was around but that emptiness was soon interrupted by the door being open and in stepped the notorious Mr. Barnes.

Y/N pushed her dress straight, trying not to look professional and somewhat invisible so that he wouldn’t stare her in the eye. That tactic immediately failed as once the door shut behind him and his pristine suit, his head turned to the bar. 

    - What are you doing behind the bar? - his hands stood against his hips, touching the holster where a very shiny revolver laid, a warning sign not to mess with him.

   - I’m opening. 

   - You’re waitressing today. 

   - I’m not a waitress. - he slightly widened his eyes, taking a step forward, grin on his face. He leaned against the counter, finger under his chin. 

   - You are today. 

   - I don’t know how to wait on people. 

   - You don’t know how to bartend them either now step behind that bar and go grab a tray. - he barked the orders at her but Y/N remained still. No, absolutely not, she was not going to wait around in the tightest, shortest dress created by man.

   - I would rather ... I would rather not, sir. - she pulled at the front of her dress, eyes moving from his inspecting and scaring gaze. 

   - I didn’t ask you what you would rather. You have five seconds.

Y/N didn’t like being scolded by anyone, specially by a man like him but the shiny revolver on his hip made her act more sensibly and as such she shyly stepped behind the bar, stopping a few meters away from him. His gaze followed her legs, from her hips to her toes and he himself took a step back. 

   - You could’ve told me you didn’t have a dress. 

   - I have a dress. - she put her hands on her waist, defensively. - What do you think I am wearing?

   - I was hoping you would tell me. 

   - Can I just bartend today, Mr. Barnes? Please.

   - Absolutely not. 

She wanted to argue with him, she really did, she thought she could change his mind but yet again she wasn’t stupid enough to argue with him and as such, she walked slowly to the back of the bar to grab one of the sticky metal trays. Fantastic, she went from having a counter separating her from everyone to suddenly being in the middle of them. The lights were on, the music was loud and suddenly every table was putting their hands up for her to come take their orders. 

Now Y/N had done several things she wasn’t a fan of and seen even more than stomach churning evidence from her time at university but walking back and forward in the damned was officially the worse thing to have come out of her early 20s and as she leaned against the bar to cool off and take a break, someone was yelling her name for more drinks. She had officially become “Hey you” rather than Y/N. Mid shift she had decided to start hiding away from most tables, getting lost in the middle of the crowd dancing which was proving to be effective until the table she could not ignore raised their hands. James Barnes’ table. Why he was in a table surrounded by other men when he usually stood safely in his back office she didn’t know but what she did know was that whatever they were talking about was surely something her father would like to know. So, with a smile in her very tired face, she made her way towards the table. 

James Barnes sat with two other men who were equally as intimidating than he was yet there was no question as to who held the most power. Holding the tray on her left hand she waited to be shouted the orders through the music. 

   - Hey, you’re new! - the blonde man sat to James’ left pointed at her, smile on his face which immediately dissolved whatever sort of intimidating nature used to decorate his features. - I didn’t know we had a new waitress. 

   - We don’t. - James corrected, not even turning to look at her. - Y/N is on the floor tonight to cover for someone. She’s usually a lousy bartender. 

   - Can I get a beer? The coldest one you can find, please. - the other man sat next to James asked, charming smile on. - Steve will have the same. James ...

   - Glenlivet, I know. - Y/N interjected, forgetting for a second of who she was dealing with. As she remembered, she immediately walked away from the table to go grab the orders before they took her hostage. 

   - Two cold beers and a Glenlivet on the rocks please Bobby. 

   - The floor’s giving you a rough time, kid? - he placed two beers on her tray and turned around to grab the precious 1862 Glenlivet only Mr. Barnes was allowed to drink for. In Y/N’s opinion, it was a weird drink older than both her and him together yet she guessed owning old scotch made him somehow powerful. 

   - Dress’ giving me a rough time. - she gave him an exasperated smile before taking her tray back to the table, placing it into the centre. James still didn’t meet her eye, instead grabbing the coloured liquid and downing it as if it was water in a manner which even surprised the two men accompanying him. - Can I get you anything else? 

  - No, thank you. - Steve, or at least she guessed was his name, replied handing her a folded black leathered cover. Y/N took it, not ready to make any questions before returning to the bar. Once there, she opened the cover to reveal at least 300 pounds. Did they want more drinks? Did she mishear the song again as a drink order?

  - Nice tip, kid. - Bobby peaked at the money she was holding. - Rogers and Wilson always tip well.

  - This is a tip? I get to keep this? - she looked dumfounded at the money on her hand which was enough to pay her half the rent and she had just made in less than a minute.

  - All waitresses get to keep their tips. Did you not know?

  - No, I thought people wanted more drinks.

  - You’re adorable, kid. If you don’t tip your waitress here, you get kicked out. Barnes doesn’t like cheapskates in his club, ruins the image. 

  - Oh ... I ... can you keep it while I finish my job?

  - Just put it with your things.

She placed the money safely with her bag and returned to the dance floor. Surely they were gonna ask her for something, no one just gave 300 pounds as if it were nothing and didn’t expect something. Nothing is free in life, her father had told her and she whole heartily believed him yet there were 300 pounds more to her name in less than one minute so she wondered if maybe some things were for free. Nevertheless, Y/N continued with her shift plan by hiding in the middle on the dance floor and every so often peaking out to serve some tables. As she exited the dance floor, someone pulled her in and she hit what she thought was someone’s chest, hands holding her hip in place.

   - Get off me. - she tried to walk forward, but she was pulled back once more. Turning around she grabbed her tray with both hands and hit whoever was holding her and trying to grind on her over the head. The man blinked slowly, hand resting on his head and she repeated her motions. - I said take your hand off me, RIGHT NOW!

  - Hey, what’s wrong here? - of course. The man must have hidden mics arounds the dance floor so he can sense when someone isn’t adhering to their strict patterns of conduct. 

  - He was grinding on me. - Y/N kicked her way fully of the man’s embrace. She thought it’d be best to put her defence forward first before she got to be the second person to have their head smashed against the counter. 

   - I don’t have the time for this. Steve, get him off here. - he motioned to the blonde who came up from behind. She hanged onto her tray as if it were her life source, expecting whatever punishment was coming her way. - And you go back to the bar and stay there. 

Y/N wanted to feel sorry for the poor soul who was being pulled out of the club for Steve yet all she could feel was grateful for the fact she no longer had to stay on the floor. The rest of the night was uneventful, all she could hear them talk about was some exchange yet nothing else of importance to her, or something which would create a breakthrough in the case. Soon the monotonous voice came through the speakers, warning people of the imminent end of the night. 

Everyday was the same thing. She would go into the club, collect whatever breadcrumb information she could get from her father and return them to the police. Everyday she would come in, prepare the same drinks, ignore the same comments and for a month all she could get was nothing but the fact that Barnes, Wilson and Rogers constantly spoke about a trade taking place later on the year which as good as nothing but it was something strong enough to keep her undercover. Today was no different, she had come in a few hours early, it was only a mid shift and she wanted to set things the way she liked when Mr. Barnes came stumbling into the bar, holding his hand against his forehead, red liquid running down his pale hand. 

  - Where the fuck is Bobby? - he barked, pulling a chair with his foot to sit down. 

  - He’s on holiday. - she spoke calmly but her heart was beating against her ribcage like a drum as her shaking hands grabbed the first aid kit from under the bar and rushed over to him. Whoever had the guts to cause a wound to the mob boss would surely be okay with following him in and that was all she could think about. Nevertheless, she was a nurse in training, she should be calm. She wasn’t calm. - Can I see?

  - Don’t you have something to do?

  - Let me help, please. - her touch was soft, softer than any touch he’d ever felt as her hand laid upon his, slightly yet effortlessly pushing his hand away from the gash close to his hairline. Her lips tightened as her finger pushed some of the hair away from the wound, it wasn’t bad. It was deep but not deep enough it would require any immediate stitching, some cleaning and maybe butterfly band-aids and he’d be able to go back to intimidating people. - I’m going to clean it and then I’ll bandage the wound. It might sting, please don’t shoot me if it does.

  - Is that what you think I do? - he furrowed his eyebrow, forgetting about the wound just above it as she rummaged through their first aid kit for something that would suffice in disinfecting his wound as she was sure health, safety and cleaning procedures weren’t something a mobster would consider when picking their weapon of choice. - You think I shot people just because they hurt me?

  - That’s what I’ve heard. - she shrugged it off as if they were having a casual conversation, as if he had asked her if she enjoyed the weather. She heard rumours, several of them coming from Wanda, Pietro and other people she surrounded herself with and while she would’ve discredited them in any other situation, she had her father’s confirmation that one does not mess with James Barnes and comes back whole. - Big bad mob boss … it’s what they show in mobster books and movies.

  - Trust me petal, if I hurt someone they’ve had it coming. - he leaned upon his own shoulder inspecting her. - Besides, I don’t do the dirty work.

  - Enlighten me, then. - she loosened up. Make the patient comfortable was always rule number one as her lecturers and superiors would tell her and although the man in front of her was the furthest thing from someone who’d become comfortable with someone, what she was doing would eventually sting and she’d rather have him happy than upset. James grabbed the salt and pepper sets laying on top of the table, pulling the salt to lay in front of every other container.

  - In your regular mob you have an hierarchy. - he moved the salt and pepper around in almost chess-like manner. - You have your boss, your underboss, capo, consigliere and soldiers. Soldiers do the dirty work, they do the shooting.

  - What do you do then? - she cocked an eyebrow at him, drenching the cotton round in the alcohol filled liquid which always made her feel slightly sick.

  - I’m the boss, petal. Your question should be what the other’s do.

  - Okay, I bite. - she got closer to him, hand resting on the side of his face as she started to dab the dried and wet blood away from his wound.  - What do the others do?

  - The underboss is … I guess what you could call a vice-president. They make decisions but ultimately answer to me, not that Steve listens to me anyway. Your consigliere is impartial, he comes in whenever you need an impartial decision either between capos or families. Your capos are the heads of their own families and have their sort of hierarchy, they are the lieutenants and can be or not be related to the boss and finally you got your soldiers, they do the dirty work. Although, I must say that sometimes I do enjoy applying the punishment.

  - So Steve’s your underboss… - she continued to clean the wound, waiting for the moment he would hiss and throw her away but he remained still, comfortable even. - Is Sam one of your soldiers?

  - Sam’s a consigliere and a damned good one although he is a pain. - she went back to her sit, putting the cotton round in the bin and grabbing some bandaids. - But I know about it, why don’t you tell me about you?

  - Bobby said you run a background check on everyone. I don’t think I would be much surprising. - much of her profile was real yes, but most important details have been altered so he wouldn’t suspect her or wonder why the Capitan’s daughter was applying for a position in his bar.

  - What do you fear most in life?

  - Why would you ask me that?

  - If you know people’s fears, you’re normally in control of them. Fear controls everyone, if you control their fears, you control them.

  - Do you wanna control me, Mr. Barnes? Is that it? - she had a little smile gracing her features as she bandaged both sides of the wound together.

James wondered what she was smiling about. People like to believe they’re uncontrollable or if they’re controllable that only themselves hold that people yet Y/N just seemed to mindlessly agree with that control, something which her actions forcibly went against. Nevertheless, she still had this peaceful smile on as she finished patching him up. 

   - You’re all ready. 

   - Thanks. - his voice rumbled in a tone low enough it could be considered both menacing and thankful at the same time. Nevertheless, this was probably the first time she had heard him say thanks to anyone. - What are you doing here anyway? Phoenix covers over Bobby’s shifts when he’s on holiday and you don’t start in five hours at least.

    - Oh ... my flatmate is going on a date with this guy and she wants to bring him home so I have to finish early to check into the motel near campus. They said they only check in people until midnight. I asked Phoenix and he said it was okay.

   - What motel near campus? The Love Locket?

   - Yes, it’s close to university and I have class at 8AM so I can’t go anywhere further. 

   - That’s where you take your prostitute or mistress not where you spend a night.

    - Thank you for the warning, I guess? - she shrugged. Of course she knew that, she would even hear some of the younger students bolster about how they brought their one night stands there but if it made Wanda happy, Y/N would sleep on the street if necessary.

   - You’re not staying at the Love Locket, Y/N. You’ll get robbed or kidnapped.

   - I don’t have anything precious or valuable enough to get stolen and if someone kidnapped me they would soon get bored of me. I’ve been called the human equivalent of vanilla ice cream before. 

   - You’re not staying there, that’s final. I’m not in the mood to hire another lousy bartender if you go missing.

   - Where do you suggest I stay then? - she packed the supplies onto the small blue box, walking up to behind bar to put it back. 

  - Don’t you have any other friends?

  - Her twin brother is keen on having company every night too and I wouldn’t want to be asked to join it or even listen to it.

  - You can stay with me tonight. Next time have arrangements done.

  - I’m not staying with you.

She didn’t mean for it to sound ungrateful, she would never want to be ungrateful but she also knew not to go into the house of strangers although her father would probably tell her too. How funny, normally a father would do the opposite but being in the mob boss’ house had their own perks. Surely he would keep some sort of valuables, information maybe contact numbers of bottom feeders who’d be willing to collaborate for a chance to put their boss behind bars and gain his spot. Anything. Yet Y/N’s most forceful and convincing side was telling her no. It wasn’t she was particular untrusting of him, after all he had been nothing but civil with her for the past days and would always drive her home. She guessed if he wanted to kill her, he would’ve done it already but every single day her heart weighed heavy with the thought of him discovering her lie and putting an end to her life.

  - I might not know what you fear the most, but I do know what you fear. 

He strolled from the table to the counter, hands buried in the pockets of his tailored trousers. Y/N looked at him through her eyelashes, hands behind her own back as he took the revolver off his holster and placed it on the counter.

  - You are really afraid I’m going to kill you. Aren’t you, petal?

  - It’s not an absurd fear, Mr. Barnes. 

  - Have you ever seen me kill someone?

  - No.

  - Have I ever threatened you?

  - No.

  - Have I put you in danger?

  - No.

  - Then it is an absurd fear, petal. - he slide his gun off the counter, returning it to its usual place near his hip. - Come find me after you’re done with your shift. Don’t cause any trouble.

  - Yes, Mr. Barnes. - she had soon learned there was no use in saying no to him. He got his way all the time, he was used to getting his way so she wondered why she even contested him. 

The shift was the same as per usual yet all she could think about what spending the night at a mob boss’ house. She had messaged her father during her break and he was ecstatic, telling her to take photos and videos and collect whatever she could find of use. In all honesty, Y/N had expected him to tell her to be safe but instead it was just a lead. She was scared, she was so scared that all of this was a veil of comfort he was casting over her to make sure she was a dumb little sheep walking into his trap. She begged for the clock to turn back as it hit 11PM and Phoenix told her it was okay to go. 

She held her purse against her chest, pulling onto the leather strap as she moved through the dance floor and into the VIP area where Mr. Barnes was chatting with Steve who smiled once he saw her.

  - Hey Y/N. Waiting on us tonight?

  - No ... I’m just here for Mr. Barnes. - she played with the hem of her bag, cheeks hot as she thought of the implications her word might have.

  - Is your shift over already? - he placed his half empty glass on the table and got up, hand holding his jacket. She nodded hesitantly, she was going to be fine, she was going to be fine. - Alright, then.

  - Well, it was nice to see you, Y/N. We’ll speak about this later, Buck. 

  - Let’s go. - he put his hand on her back, driving her through the sea of people kissing, dancing and drinking. He wondered if that what she liked to do on her free time, if she was like the girls who came up here on the weekends and Fridays looking for a good time yet she seemed to shut everything out. 

As they got deeper into the back of the club, she felt him drape something soft and warm over her. Looking to her left she recognised the fabric of her old cardigan, the one she had left in the same car she was now entering. The driver was mostly silent, Y/N mostly looking for the comfort given to her by the old garment while he kept his wild eyes on the road. 

The drive was a short one, stopping at a high building of thirteen floors if the elevator was to be believed. Despite being surrounded by luxury, her eyes were gazing the gun to his hip. She knew he had other weapons, she knew he kept a knife hidden and other guns with him but this one seemed to taunt her, as if she knew she was walking into her own trap.

    - Stop. - he hooked his finger under her chin, pushing her face upwards. - I don’t stain my home with blood. 

    - I’m sorry.

    - Stop that too. 

    - Stop what?

    - Apologising. You walk as if you’re apologising to the world for your existence. No one’s gonna take you seriously if you don’t take yourself seriously. 

    - It’s funny a man is asking me to stop apologising when it’s your own institution who taught me and my gender to apologise for merely existing. 

    - You have an edge to you. You should use more often. 

    - I don’t have an edge, I’m definitely not the type of person you think I am.

    - You’re definitely the type of person I think you are, petal. - he strutted into his home as the lift door’s open.

It was wide, spacious, modern, in shades of white and grey. Nothing like the stuffy, old rooms she saw in movies or the drug den picture he father painted when speaking about the mob’s place of living. No, this was a modern design, with glass hardware and marbled surfaces which belonged in a cover of a design magazine. It was pristinely clean; after all, a man of his calibre could possibly hire a maid for whenever he needed to get rid of blood but blood stains and his white carpets and blankets were spotless. She wondered if she should trust his words but that thought escaped her mind as she noticed the glass set of chess laying perfectly arranged on the coffee table in the middle of two black couches. 

   - You play? - he asked, noticing her gaze on the board. 

   - My dad only had a chess board while I was growing up. I’d like to think it was my first friend. 

   - None of my associates play. Probably the reason why they’re associates and not the boss. - he sat in one of the couches, pointing at the other one for her to sit in. 

   - Do you chose a boss by their ability at playing chess?

   - Play with me. - he placed both elbows on the table, hands folded under his chin. 

James Barnes was a brilliant player, she had to admit and he too knew it himself. The previous boss had taught him the game, sitting him down and making him win a match against him for the chance to eventually win his spot whenever his demise came.

   - You see petal, everyone thinks chess is about planning ahead. - he took another one of her white pieces, putting it on his side. - I don’t discount that, but it’s really about intimidation. You can be the best player in the world, at the end of the day if you can’t intimidate someone, you’re not gonna win.

   - Do you think I’m intimidating?

   - Why do you ask?

   - Because ... - she moved her king placing it to the right and down of her white queen, successfully trapping the black king. - Checkmate

I'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans ...

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell​ 

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 54

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,305

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Allies and Foes

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the cooled sheets and pillow telling you that Negan had been gone for a while. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost 9am, and you lazily stretched underneath the red satin, enjoying the ability to sleep in. 

You vaguely remembered Negan waking you up with a kiss to the neck earlier, when it was still mostly dark in the room. He had murmured something about a meeting with his Saviors, and you had responded by turning over and grumbling for him to let you go back to sleep. The last thing you remembered was his low chuckle, and then you were out again. 

Reluctantly rolling out of the ridiculously luxuriant bed (seriously, where did he find such a soft mattress during the apocalypse?!), you started getting dressed. Unfortunately, you only had the outfit from yesterday, which wasn’t the cleanest after being out in the woods, but it would have to do until you returned to your own room. 

The intrusive thought hit that maybe you could leave a few items of clothing here, so that you had more morning-after options for next time. You quickly dashed the thought, not wanting to get ahead of yourself. Sure, you had now spent the past three nights in a row with Negan, and two of those nights had been in his bed, but that didn’t seem like long enough to start moving in items. Just the thought of Negan doing something so domestic as allowing you to start taking over his armoire and bathroom drawers made you chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. 

Though, doing so would mean more events like last night could easily occur, since you wouldn’t have to keep running back to your room for more clothes or other belongings. Your mind flashed to the shower, and what the two of you had done in it the previous evening. How you had gone to your knees and proceeded to blow both his cock and his mind. He had been particularly vocal, his sharp grunts and loud moans echoing off the tiles as he ran shaky fingers through your hair and made you feel like the most seductive woman on the planet.  

Still smiling at the memory, you finished zipping up the boots, grabbed Ricardo, and headed out of the bedroom and across his office to the door. Creaking it open a few inches, you peeked down the hall. Seeing that it was clear, you quietly exited the room, shut the door behind you, and speed-walked down the halls and to the stairwell needed to get back to your room. Letting out a little puff of relief when you made it to your own floor, you slowed down the pace a bit, no longer needing to scurry like a roach caught in the kitchen when the lights turned on. Honestly, the fact that you had yet to run into a Savior or wife while making the morning-after trek to and from Negan’s room was really damn lucky and-

“Hey!”

The sound of a voice just as your hand was reaching out for the door knob to your room caused you to jump about a foot in the air. Whirling around, you saw none other than Maria at the opposite end of the hall, waving her hand in greeting as she came towards you. 

Crap. Couldn’t the universe have at least let you put on clean underwear first? 

Much as you didn’t want to interact with someone at the moment, you couldn’t help but recall the last time Maria had tried to speak with you, in this very hall. It had been after Negan confronted you about the pregnancy test, and you had completely ignored her and rushed past without a word. At the time you had been too emotional to care, but now you knew that she was owed an apology, not to mention the fact that you hadn’t really chatted or hung out with her since the night out at the picnic table. Doing the mental math, you realized that late night conversation had to have been a little over two weeks ago. Yea, you had been a shit friend to Maria lately, and it was totally deserved karma to have her pop up when you weren’t really prepared for social interaction. Well, you would just have to get over it. She didn’t deserve to keep being pushed aside, and you wouldn’t do so to her again. 

Pasting on a grin, you opened the door and gestured for her to come inside. She preceded you into the room and settled on the rickety little bed. You tried to nonchalantly lean Ricardo against the wall, in hopes she wouldn’t ask why you were walking around with a weapon so early in the morning. Thankfully, she seemed too busy scanning the meager surroundings to notice. It had been a while since she was in your space, and you tried to take in the tiny room from her perspective, wondering if she found it lacking. You weren’t sure what the wives’ rooms looked like, since apparently Negan wasn’t keen on them having visitors up there, but if it was anything like the fancy clothes they wore then it was sure to be much nicer than your own room. 

Just thinking about them made a lump of discomfort form in your stomach. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten about the fact that the man you were developing feelings for had a harem of women he called his wives, but it had been a lot easier to push them to the back of your mind when one wasn’t sitting in front of you. 

Not wanting to waste time with small talk, especially when you both were smart enough to know it was a shallow distraction, you dove right in.

“I want to apologize for the other day, when I ignored you. That was shitty of me, and I’m sorry.”

She gave a tiny smile, and you immediately knew that she wasn’t mad. Of course she wasn’t. This was Maria, and she was one of the most forgiving and patient people you had known since the apocalypse began. The fact that she was still willing to even deal with your fickle ass, especially after your last couple of interactions, was proof enough of that. 

“It’s alright,” she replied. “You looked pretty frazzled anyways. Everything okay?”

“I don’t know about everything, but things are alright,” you mumbled, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear the words.

You started picking at a stray thread on the grey cotton sheets, unable to help but compare them to the luxury of Negan’s satiny red ones. Ugh, why didn’t you just stay in his bed all morning, instead. You could’ve enjoyed physical comfort and social isolation there. 

Able to feel the weight of Maria’s gaze, you lifted your head to look at her. As expected, she was watching you closely, the slightest ghost of a smile tipping one corner of her mouth. “What?” you asked, not rudely, but perhaps a bit impatiently. She looked like she knew a secret that you didn’t, and you wanted her to just spit it out already.

“You spent the night with him,” she stated in a gentle tone, and when you jerked in surprise and opened your mouth to say....well, you had no clue what you were going to say, but thankfully she cut you off. “Which means,” she continued with a raised palm, a silent gesture for you to not get defensive just yet, “that considering how negatively you viewed his multiple wives situation, you must also know he stopped sleeping with them.”

Mouth still hanging open, you stared her down for a few seconds before snapping it shut. Making a “go on” gesture with your hand, you waited for her to continue with wherever it was she wanted this conversation to lead. 

She then told you how she had suspected for a while now that the reason why Negan stopped coming to see the wives was due to his interactions with you. Her theory had been confirmed after your late night chat out at the picnic table when you admitted to being in his bedroom, somewhere none of the wives had been allowed to enter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, clutching the bedsheet so tightly your fingers were about to go numb. 

“Honestly? Because you weren’t ready to hear the truth, and I knew you’d have completely shut down at the very thought of it. You still wanted to see him as a monster, so I figured I’d just wait and see how things played out. See if he’d keep allowing you to get close to him, or if one of you would get spooked and run, so to speak.”

You mulled this over. Was she right? If she had told you a couple weeks ago that he had suddenly stopped sleeping with all of the wives, would you have believed it? Doubtful. And even if you had, never in a million years would you have listened to her theory that his drastic change in behavior was because of the few interactions he’d had with you up until that point. 

Much as you hated to admit, Maria had been right to keep quiet about it. Though you did wonder how she thought you had found out. Did she assume Negan had told you? Or maybe she was aware of how Amber had been using Trixie, and had come to the correct conclusion on her own. Maria was intelligent, so there was a good chance she knew more about the goings on around here than people gave her credit for. You wanted to ask how much she knew, but also didn’t want to risk outing Trixie, since she had told you that information in strict confidence.

Instead, you asked, “So now that you think I am ready to hear the truth, is there anything else I should know? Are the others coming up with a plan of how to quietly dispose of me, so that Negan will pay attention to them again?” 

You said it jokingly, but were honestly curious to know how they felt about these recent changes. Amber obviously wasn’t your biggest fan, but what about the others? Did they see you as a threat to the luxuries they enjoyed here? Honestly, if the roles were switched, and they were the ones threatening whatever you had going on with Negan, you’d be tempted to sharpen mini-Ricardo shanks and take them out one by one. Your subconscious whole-heartedly agreed, giving a battle cry and stabbing at the air, as if taking out imaginary opponents, while your brain sighed and rolled its eyes.

“Well actually, we did recently have a group conversation about you.” 

She said this calmly, but it still made your eyes go wide as you exclaimed, “You what?”

“It was a few days ago. Amber had been throwing a real tantrum after she tried to take Negan a dinner tray, and found him already in his office eating with you.”

Oh yea, you remembered that event, vividly. It had been about a week ago, before his last supply run. It was the evening he had confessed to you about his dead wife, and then Amber interrupted by knocking on the door with a tray. It had been apparent she wasn’t happy to see you there, nor to be sent away by Negan, so you weren’t surprised to hear she hadn’t handled it well afterwards. 

Nodding for her to go on, Maria continued. “We let her vent about it for a couple days, since I think we were all hoping she’d eventually let it go the way she does most things that get under her skin. But she was like a dog with a bone this time, and kept running her mouth to all of us about how you were stealing Negan from us, and that if we continued to just sit back and let this happen, we were putting our status here in jeopardy.”

Sweat broke out on the back of your neck at the possibilities of where this story could be going. Just the thought of the wives sitting around talking about you as a potential threat or enemy made your stomach flop, but you stayed quiet and let Maria finish.

“She was really trying to get the rest of us riled up, and then one evening she started telling us all that we better be prepared to start scrubbing toilets for points, since we were willing to just let him toss us to the curb. That was when Sherry finally stepped in and put her foot down.”

“Wait, Sherry?!” you blurted, absolutely shook at this turn of events. 

Maria nodded. “Yep. She told Amber that all she was doing was starting unnecessary drama, and that Negan had never given any indication that we would lose our privileges or have to start working for points just because he isn’t fucking us every night. Amber tried to argue at first, but Sherry held her ground. Told her that she’d gladly go get Negan, so Amber could tell him her concerns face-to-face, rather than continuing to make assumptions behind his back. That shut her up real quick, and she stormed into her bedroom and stayed there the rest of the night. I haven’t heard her say anything else about it since. She’s still sulking around a bit, but at least she’s been quiet.”

Your brain was struggling to take all this in, especially the part where Sherry had not only stood up for you, but done so against another wife. Crap, now you really felt like an asshole for being jealous and internally snarky towards her that day in the kitchen, when she took you to the medic after you cut your finger. 

“Do you actually think she’ll let it go now?” You had a feeling that you already knew the answer, but couldn’t help asking.

Maria sighed. “I can’t say for sure, but Amber doesn’t seem like the kind of person who is okay with not being doted on. I don’t think she has any particularly strong feelings towards Negan, but she enjoys the status of being a wife. It can be a bit of a power trip, to catch the attention of a man like him, even if for shallow reasons.”

“Yea, don’t I know it,” you mumbled under your breath. 

Maria raised an eyebrow, having obviously heard. “I don’t think I’d classify his attention towards you as shallow.” 

Giving a huffed laugh and shrug, you tried to play it off. “Yea, well, is anything about Negan easy enough to classify?”

“Probably not,” she said with a shrug. “But that’s part of what makes him so intriguing, right?”

“If by intriguing you mean confounding as hell, then sure.” 

Despite your annoyed tone, you were genuinely smiling at this point. Part of you wondered if this should feel more weird than it did, talking to a woman who was Negan’s “wife”, and had most likely slept with him, about whatever it was he had going on with you. 

As if reading your thoughts, Maria’s face became more serious. “I hope this doesn’t make you feel like you can’t still talk to me, or see me as a friend.”

If you were being totally honest with yourself, the whole situation didn’t make you feel 100% comfortable, but you were pretty sure that was because of the possessive part of you that wanted him all to yourself. But was that a realistic emotion to even have, with a man like him? Could you be okay with him continuing to publicly have “wives”, even if he wasn’t sleeping with them? And what if he later decided to go back to them? It’s not as if he knew that you were aware he wasn’t sleeping with them at the moment. 

Mentally shoving those questions into the padlocked box with the other unanswered questions, you honestly replied, “I’m not totally sure how I feel about all of this yet, but I definitely still see you as a friend, so no worries on that front.” 

“I’m glad,” Maria said with a nod. “And in case I didn’t make it obvious, no part of me will be upset if Negan decides he doesn’t want to give us the same privileges anymore. Well, so long as you promise to give me a spot in the kitchen, so I’m not stuck scrubbing toilets beside Amber.” 

“Deal,” you said with a laugh, glad that the air had been cleared between the two of you, and that she wasn’t harboring ill feelings towards you for taking Negan’s attention away from her and the other wives. Part of you even wondered if she had spent much alone time with him, since she hadn’t been his wife for very long when he stopped sleeping with them, but some things were just better left unknown. Besides, it’s not like he slept cuddled against any of them all night afterwards, or let them in his bed...or his shower.

Your subconscious was feeling awfully smug at that thought, nose in the air as it strutted around with a superiority complex. Meanwhile, your brain was pointing at the padlocked box of questions in annoyance, a motion which the subconscious purposely ignored. 

You chatted with Maria for a bit longer, the conversation much lighter and more frivolous than before. It felt good to just hang out and discuss random topics, the way you had when the two of you were surviving for weeks out in the woods together. You might’ve each taken very different paths when it came to Sanctuary life, but it was a relief to know that the connection you had formed prior to coming here surpassed those differences. You also appreciated that she didn’t push for more information about you and Negan, and didn't even mention his name again. 

When she left a little while later, a glance at your watch showed that dinner prep was in about two hours. Grateful for the chunk of alone time, you finally changed into fresh clothes and propped yourself up in bed with the copy of Harry Potter. You smiled when removing the little piece of paper you had torn from your notebook as a bookmark. While this one was blank, there was a second little piece of paper that was bookmarking a place closer to the beginning of the book. This piece of paper you had marked in pencil with the letter N, and it held the spot where Negan had stopped reading yesterday morning. You had stuck it in there after he left your room, the book having been face down on your side table where he placed it when you woke up and distracted him. Hoping that he’d return to reading it, especially if you kept his place, you couldn’t help but mark his spot. 

Just the thought of his possible reactions to some of the plot twists had you smiling, at the same time as a devious thought crept into your head. If you made sure to get him hooked on the first book, he’d definitely have to find copies of the other ones in the series to share with you, right? There’s no way someone can read the first book and not need to also read the rest.

Both subconscious and brain nodded in agreement at this theory before cuddling up on either side of you, so that they could also see the opened book. Diving back into the story with a contented sigh, you immersed yourself in the magical world, not planning a return to reality and all the awaiting unanswered questions until it was time to head downstairs for dinner prep.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~