#do I really have room to judge the “people who are self-assured have eyebrows like so-and-so” take?

[anza-redstar]

Thinking today about all the physiognomy in Dracula - around the time van Helsing showed up with a bonus five paragraphs of description of his skull structure, there was a lot of discussion about the wild things people believed in Victorian times; but, uh, we as a fandom sure did come to a strong consensus about some hair colors based on nothing but the characters’ personalities, yeah?

[ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[yoonpobs]

love language | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: FLUFF, that's it

warnings: this is just so cute and self-indulgent lol

words: 5, 123

summary: how min yoongi loves you

“You know there isn’t a point in inviting me out for brunch to only sigh and stab your overpriced meal with a fork right? I already see you enough on a daily basis and I think I’m exceeding my _____ quota for the month.” Jimin says dryly.

Usually, you’d quip back with an equally brute remark of your own but there’s something far heavier lingering at the back of your mind. A territory you weren’t quite sure how to navigate and vocalise. Jimin picks up on your silence and stamps it as odd behaviour because you were far more … hands-on when it came to your retorts but today you’re dead quiet.

Jimin leans forward on his elbows to give you a concerned look when you still silently assault your meal with the fork in your grip.

“… is this even _____?”

You look up and your expression is unimpressed. Jimin raises his arms up in defense before retreating to the comfort of his plush sofa chair—a product of allowing him to choose the venue for your dire brunch that and the cost was your empty wallet and every last bit of your mental health.

“What do you think of Yoongi?”

The question throws Jimin off not because he has no idea who that is—but because you were shy and timid. A soft-spoken person by nature that liked keeping to yourself and that was a huge juxtaposition in terms of your friendship with Jimin because he was everything you were not. He was loud, the biggest person in every room, and the person that everyone knew on campus.

Your friendship was an unlikely occurrence even for your lecturers when they’d glance at you from the hallways or when your peers would eye you oddly when they’d see Jimin partaking in every extra-curricular there was available and while you chose to do your own thing, far away from the action and where you were safely kept in your own bubble.

Jimin is surprised because you were already very private, and as your best friend, he didn’t take any offense to that when you didn’t share matters of your life with him. He already overcompensated for the fact that all he did was talk about his personal life—which you didn’t mind either. It was a healthy balance and a give and take that the two of you found a pattern with.

So for you to bring up the name of your boyfriend—which Jimin only knew because he caught a glimpse of a name with a heart and a text with the word ‘date’ attached to it—was definitely out of character.

“Yeah. This definitely isn’t _____,” Jimin says, “I’d like her back, please. I need someone to have no backbone so I can trample on her without her ever complaining.”

You glare at him even harder and stab the lettuce on your plate harder.

“You know what? Forget it …” You mutter, pushing your plate away from you.

Jimin levels you with a wry look and reaches his hand out to stop you from being overdramatic with your actions. Since you weren’t the best with words, you naturally compensated for being a little excessive with your actions in hopes for other people to be able to pick up on your hints. And as your best friend—Jimin knew that you were bottling something inside and wanted him to pry.

“You know this trick isn’t going to work on me, right?” Jimin points out, “And as much as I call myself the self-proclaimed genius between the two of us I can’t read minds so you’re going to need to elaborate on what you mean by ‘what do I think of Yoongi’.”

You scowl and fiddle with your fingers when Jimin gives you a look that tells you that you should speak up or forget about it. Sometimes you hated the fact that Jimin was confident and assured of himself, never avoiding confrontation while all you did was dodge it. Another reason why your friendship was unlikely but somewhat necessary.

“As my friend … what do you think of Yoongi—” You mumble, “—for me.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at your soft tone.

“For … you?” He parrots your question back.

Your ears burn and you feel stupid enough asking Jimin about his opinion on Yoongi when you already felt flustered even mentioning his name to anyone that wasn’t yourself.

“Jimin …” You whine.

“Don’t Jimin me,” He snaps, “You know my hearing is bad.”

You roll your eyes and cast your eyes downwards to your abandoned plate as you pick at the skin around your nails, a habit you’ve picked up from Yoongi. Though you can’t really say that you picked it up from him since it was also a nervous routine of yours but knowing that Yoongi shared that in a different way made it feel like you got it from him.

Jimin sighs.

He wasn’t being harsh on you—in fact, this was him encouraging you to open up because while he was all hard and edges, and possibly overbearing at times; he respected you and loved you as a friend. You were never mean, rude or disrespectful and even if the two of you were fundamentally different in nature, you co-existed peacefully and were able to share little things in common that made the interactions between the two of you fruitful.

And he knew that speaking of your relationship with Yoongi was hard not because he was treating you horribly (at least he hopes so) but because you had the tendency of solving all your problems yourself. Even ones that were far out of your range of capability, and as someone who has received an abundance of help and advice from someone as soft-spoke as you—he wanted to be able to reciprocate somehow.

“Are the two of you okay?” Jimin asks.

You nod your head.

“We are … I just—well …” You mumble, “I just want your opinion.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow because he didn’t want you to feel like he needed his approval for you to date Yoongi. He trusted you and knew that you were smart enough to let the people you felt the same way about in.

“Babe, you don’t need my opinion. You’re the one in the relationship with him and as long he’s not being manipulative, abusive or an unwarranted jackass then I have no right to interfere in your relationship.” Jimin frowns.

You sigh.

“No, no … it’s not like that,” You shake your head, “I just wanted to know what you think of him … as a person.”

Your request is odd for multiple reasons, but mostly because of the timing because it seemed like a question you’d pose before the two of you made it official but this question came eight months into the relationship.

“I don’t think I can give you an answer _____. My interactions are limited with Yoongi as it is and I can’t give you an objective answer without sounding like a complete asshole if I judge him based on the way he looks.”

“Why would you sound like an asshole?” You furrow your brows.

Jimin shoots you a deadpan.

“Min Yoongi is the poster boy of the average college girl’s wet dream and he checks all the boxes of fitting all the stereotypes of a brooding, mysterious jock with a secret that he hides only for a girl to swing into his life and change his outlook completely. He’s quiet—quieter than you—and downright intimidating. It doesn’t help that you don’t want me hanging out with him just yet—which I totally respect by the way—so that just adds to his aloof aura.”

You blink at Jimin.

The description of Yoongi based on his outward appearance is … apt. But not what you were looking for. You knew that when you first saw Yoongi at band practices was when you first decided that you were scared of good-looking people. Albeit Jimin was also insanely attractive but he had an atmosphere around him that made people feel comfortable. Not that Yoongi actively made people uncomfortable … but he radiated major celebrity vibes that it was intimidating to get close to him.

Until small talks happened to shared giggles and him eventually asking you out informally, a context outside of your band practices that you saw glimpses of Yoongi that no one else did. He was soft, understanding, and though a little bad at expressing how he feels … but he was Yoongi and you liked him.

You might even love him, but there are times where you’re hesitant about your relationship.

“I think I love him.” You squeak.

Jimin’s eyes widen, another surprise for him for the day because you’ve just ignored his very superficial description of your boyfriend, which he half-expected you to be mad at. But for you to say that you thought you were in love with him was just a reaction he was not expecting at all.

“You—okay?” Jimin scrunches his eyebrows, “I’m happy for you, I really am! But … that doesn’t explain why you need my opinion?”

You breathe out and will yourself to look at Jimin’s face, even with the burn of your cheeks.

“You’re my … best friend, Jimin.” You say softly.

Jimin’s eyes ease on your timid features before he reaches out a comforting hand to grab onto your own, nudging you to look into his eyes. Even though Jimin was outgoing as it is, the reason why you stayed friends was that he took the time to understand you and adapt to you even when he didn’t need to. He knew that you were just shy and he never berated you for it, which is why you wanted him to know how you felt—because what he thought was important too.

“_____, love,” Jimin whispers, and you offer a weak smile, “I’m happy for you. Truly. Being in love is a beautiful feeling and I don’t need to be in love with a person to tell you that because love exists everywhere. It exists in the small things that make you smile or giggle when you come across it, and it exists in the way you do the things you adore and achieve your goals. But you don’t need me—or anyone’s—validation to love Yoongi. Love is so personal and so collective at the same time but it’s yours.”

You swallow and hope that you don’t cry in the middle of this posh and overpriced place, and it’s partially because Jimin sounded so earnest when he was talking to you but also because of the ruminating thoughts that plague your mind that made you suggest this brunch in the first place.

“I think I’m in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same.” You sniffle.

Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens momentarily along with his jaw, but he doesn’t want to act irrationally just yet.

“Why do you say that?” He asks tenderly.

You sniff and the tip of your nose turns red and Jimin wants to pat you on the head to comfort you, but the two of you are in public and he knew you hated being vulnerable in general—especially in the public eye.

“It’s just—it’s just—” You stutter, “You know how shy I am and how hard it is for me to … ask for things …”

When he hears your soft tone as your eyes dart away from his face, possibly embarrassed, he rubs a soothing thumb across your knuckles and listens to you intently.

“But I really try with Yoongi … because I want him to know how much I-I like him,” You whisper, “And every time I tell him how much I like him he just … he just smiles and looks away. Like he doesn’t—doesn’t feel the same.”

Jimin absorbs your words before he smiles softly at you. He understood how difficult it must’ve been for you because this was your first official relationship with someone who looked very closed off, to begin with, but based on your very short and rapt descriptions from time to time, Jimin could say that Yoongi wasn’t a bad person.

“Have you considered that he shows his love a different way?” Jimin asks.

You look up at him confused.

“Huh?”

Jimin chuckles before offering you a small tissue, and you meekly accepted it as you dab at your waterline.

“We all have different ways of giving and receiving love, _____.” He tells you, “No person loves the same and no one feels the same type of love. We are all different because that’s in our nature. And like I said—I don’t know Yoongi well enough to say that he has a specific type of love language but if he’s stuck around for this long … it has to mean something, right?”

Your brunch with Jimin leaves you with something else to think about.

Perhaps you were a little shallow—narrow-minded if you will. But you trusted Jimin, and you decided to see what he meant. You knew that you didn’t have the stereotypical love of shows or movies because while it did depict some form of reality, it was heavily sensationalised and exaggerated. But you never considered that Yoongi had a way of his own, one that was personal and unique to him.

Yoongi never made you feel like you weren’t enough. But the lack of the words that sit on your tongue also made you feel like he didn’t feel the same. It was never what he did, but how you felt. It was irrational, but he was objectively a very attractive person. In more ways than how he looked but the way, he treated others.

He’s mellow and gentle. Words never harsh but sharp enough to make people think. He’s efficient and kind when he wants to be and you see the way he treats his friends and staff at restaurants, even if he’s a little quiet too. The two of you were somewhat similar, but you felt so much for him that you somehow overlooked that one part—that maybe he was quiet in the way he loved too.

But you didn’t want to get your hopes up because while you weren’t … horrible. You weren’t anything spectacular either. You did decently in school, had a decent friend group that mainly consisted of you, Jimin and his other best friend, Taehyung—who told you that you were as much of his best friend like you were Jimin’s—and your bandmates that you shared with Yoongi.

Yoongi was quiet but collateral. He excelled in school, topped his classes two terms in a row, and produced impeccable music on the side. He was charismatic when he had to be an extremely introspective that you sometimes felt lacking when you hear him speak about the world and people.

Maybe that’s why he just smiles and looks away because Yoongi is too kind to break your heart, and his eyes tell the truth.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t—

“______?” Yoongi calls your name and snaps you out of your daydream.

“Huh?” You respond dazedly and he just smiles at you, gentle as always before he nudges your shoulder slightly forward to place a—pillow?—in between your back and the chair that you were sitting on in his apartment.

“I’ve read somewhere that this helps with your posture.” He tells you, “You said you were having lower back pains so this may help.”

You blink at him and then at your assignments sprawled on his dining table, before turning your head to spot the pillow that you remember gifting him as a small present months back, behind your back, and in between you and the chair. The tension in your lower back does feel alleviated, and you turn back to Yoongi to offer him a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You say softly.

He smiles at you and the simple gesture makes your stomach flutter with butterflies and your heartbeat a little faster. It’s crazy that the simplest of acts could turn you into mush and that he’s had your heart captive. The word sits on your tongue but fear wins over again.

He brushes stray hands of hair that falls by the side of your face, away, before gathering it with his hand at the back of your neck and tying it with a rubber band that you remember leaving at his place a while back.

“How can you see with your hair in the way?” He scolds, but it’s light.

You scoff, giving him a glare but it’s playful too. It does feel better like you have a clearer vision of the work that you were doing.

“Don’t be mean …” You mumble.

Yoongi laughs and it’s your favourite sound after the bell of your favourite bakery.

You like this look on him, eyes crinkled and mouth open in a gummy grin that you were the cause of. The will to say the word becomes harder, the way he leans in to peck you on the lips makes your mouth move on its own accord.

So before you can justify your actions, you say—

“I love you.”

The words are out and it seems to linger in the air because of the silence. You’re mortified, one because you had just blurted it out in the most unromantic setting ever, but secondly, because Yoongi is just … looking at you again. Like he always does when you tell him how much you like him—a soft smile, but this time his eyes are trained on yours.

The fire on your cheeks feels all the hotter when you know there’s nowhere to hide, or no way to retract your words because you didn’t want to. You loved him—and his silence only solidifies your guesses on the unrequitedness of your love.

“I-I’m sorry!” You yelp, covering your face with your hands, “I-I didn’t—I know that you—I didn’t mean to say that!”

Yoongi continues to look at you and he’s inching closer to you until your locked against your chair, his arms resting around your back as his other elbow leans on the table when he brings his face closer to yours.

“You love me?” He whispers and his breath is on your lips.

Even as you’re overcome with the fact that you do indeed love him, and that he doesn’t feel the same. You can’t bring yourself to deny it, not when your heart has always been for him and your words a reflection of your own heart.

“Y-Yes,” You mumble, eyes looking away, “I’m sorry …”

Yoongi furrows his eyebrows and pulls away from you. The warmth of his body suddenly gone and it reminds you that you may have overstepped. That he realised that you were in too deep and couldn’t just leave you. It scared you, but the silence scares you more.

“Why are you apologising?”

You gulp, looking away but Yoongi nudges your chin to look at him gently. His eyes are still confused, but kind. The look that usually comforts you only makes anxiety settle in the pit of your belly.

“I know you don’t feel the same … it’s okay. I understand. I’m a little … hard to love … I know. B-But it’s okay. You don’t need to say it—at all. I can … I can deal with it. Just please don’t leave me.” You whimper.

Yoongi pulls away completely as if he’s been scathed. You don’t have anything else to say but you’re appalled to find your vision getting blurry and the lump in your throat getting unbearable. But you try not to cry, especially when Yoongi looks torn.

But he doesn’t do what you’re expecting and tells you that it’s over, but instead, he returns into your space, making you forget about your embarrassment and cups your cheeks ever so gently while looking at you with ardent eyes.

“Please don’t cry …” He whispers.

And you hate that you do. You cry because he’s holding you so gently and his hands feel warm against your cheek. You cry because you love him and he doesn’t feel the same. You cry because all your cards are out on the table and he’s seen it all.

“I-I’m sorry.” You choke.

Yoongi’s eyes soften before he leans in, pressing a gentle press onto your lips that has your tears in the way as a barrier. You’re still choking on your sobs but his kiss feels comforting and painful at the same time. You want to push him away but you’re selfish—you love him and the feeling of him holding you close like he may feel the same.

When he pulls away, he looks at you again with a gentle, yet intense gaze.

“You’re not hard to love,” He murmurs, “It was so easy falling in love with you because you’re my person. You’re the person that I look forward to seeing every day and the person that I think about the most. Please don’t ever say that you’re hard to love because falling in love with you was the easiest thing that I’ve done in my entire life.”

Your eyes widen, especially when he looks you directly in your own. Your eyes are a little puffy and you’re sure it’s an unattractive sight.

But Yoongi thinks you’re beautiful. He always does. He thinks you’re beautiful when you see him after your classes. He thinks you’re beautiful when you broke the plate you wanted to give his mother as a gift. He thinks you’re beautiful when you’ve just woken up and he thinks you’re beautiful when you’re laughing with his friends and your bandmates.

“I—I—you … you love … me?” You rasp.

Yoongi still has a soft hold on your cheeks, and he feels the wetness of your tears stain his hands but he’s unbothered. He’s more bothered about what you said. The way his heart clenches makes him feel like he’s not done enough. That he could do better to never be the reason for the sadness along with your tears.

“I love you. I do. So much.” He whispers, “You’ve made me feel the kind love that I never thought existed.”

You sob harder and you feel a little pathetic crying in his arms because … how could you have doubted him? You feel relieved and happy, and a little frustrated because you were insecure on your own terms. Even now that you know he loves you—you’re sceptical because he’s Yoongi and you’re you.

Yoongi tugs you into his arms and caresses you with the warmth of his hold, hand patting your head gently. He feels mellow and close while he allows you to cry a little longer. The silence isn’t suffocating anymore, but your mind runs wild with insecurities that you can’t help but—

“Do you really love me?” You ask softly.

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, but you feel him nod and hum against your head.

“I do.”

You nibble on your lips and clutch his t-shirt.

“Then w-why … why do you just smile and look away when I tell you how much I like you?”

Yoongi stays silent for a while, but you don’t take it as a bad sign. Even with your small arguments with him from time-to-time throughout the eight months you’ve been together, Yoongi has never once raised his voice at you or acted irrationally. In fact, he’s always stayed a little quiet for a while, as if he was thinking of the appropriate way to handle the situation before he spoke.

It only made you love him more.

“I’m sorry.” He apologises, and you feel like shit when you realise you made him apologise to you for no reason but he continues before you can pull away—grip tight around your relaxed figure.

“I’ve been in love with you for months,” His confession makes you gasp, the time that he’s mentioned only makes you a lot more confused, “I … this is the first time I’ve felt this way.”

You stay silent as Yoongi rubs gentle figures on your back, breathing into your hair as you rest your cheek on his chest.

“I’ve always been a little … quiet.” He tells you, “And maybe that’s why I felt so drawn to you because we were so similar. I saw you and thought that you were a beautiful person. That your kindness wasn’t empty promises but actions and your smiles weren’t forced but comforting.”

You feel your eyes water again because of Yoongi’s truthful words. Damn your boyfriend for being able to wax poetic.

“I’ve always found it hard to express things with words, despite writing songs like people eat their meals. My mom always told me that I was a doer rather than a sayer.” He jokes, and you find yourself giggling a little when you think of Yoongi’s mother.

A strong woman, her tongue was as sharp as her sons and you definitely see where he gets his wisdom from. She was louder spoken, confident—and yet she was gentle and kind. A person that drew people in.

“I do things for you because I love you, ______. I love you in a way that can last forever because I want it to. I want to love you in a way that you’ll remember and always think of me when you see the physical pieces left by the footprints of my affection.”

It should’ve been cheesy but Yoongi has a way with words to make you blush and your heart flutter.

His words register in you, and you feel blind to not have seen it the entire time.

Even before this, when he placed the pillow behind you to support your lower back—or when he tied your hair back so you could focus better. Or the time when he drove all the way from his hometown back to campus because you were performing a solo piece for band, then drove back to see his parents.

You remember the song he wrote to you for your birthday, accompanied by a book that you’ve put on your Wishlist for months. The memory of his gentle hands removing the face mask from your face when you’ve fallen asleep and tucking you into his bed pricks your mind.

Looking back—you remember feeling absolutely loved and adored. Even if you didn’t explicitly think of the word ‘love’—but you felt safe, comforted and accepted. And you realise that love isn’t one-dimensional. Love is everything that makes you feel complete.

When you look up at him, he’s still offering you the same gentle smile he does when you told him how much you liked him—to when you said you loved him. He still looks the same, smiles the same, and feels the same. It’s you.

“I’m sorry.” You wail.

His eyes widen but you don’t cry. You feel dumb, blind almost because he’s been nothing but loving towards you but it was you who had your doubts.

“Baby, please don’t apologise.” He runs a thumb across your cheek.

“I just—I can’t believe I accused you of not loving me when all you’ve been doing is—when all you’ve done is treat me amazingly. I feel so … stupid.” You groan.

Yoongi smiles at you and rubs his thumb in between your furrowed brows.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you frown all the time.” He tuts.

You glare at him through puffy eyes but hold on to him tighter.

“I really am sorry.” You mumble.

Yoongi hums.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve been more—explicit.”

You frown, pulling away.

“No Yoongi.” You say, “You loved me in your own way and I felt every bit of it. I just conflated the need of being reassured with words and being reassured in your gestures. I shouldn’t have doubted you and projected my insecurities onto you.”

"And it's not your fault for feeling insecure. I'm your boyfriend and I want to be able to reassure you in every way I possibly can. If you need to hear an I love you I'll shout it on top of the highest roof I can find—if you want to be held then I'll hold you and never let go."

Your heart flutters and you bask in his gentle words.

Yoongi wraps a gentle hand around the nape of your neck before bringing you closer, lips hovering right above your own before he closes the distance. His lips are warm and soft, and he doesn’t rush the kiss as if he was dealing with porcelain glass. But he knew you weren’t fragile and easily broken—but he still knew that you were someone that he wanted to care for, for a long time.

He kisses you and it feels right. It feels like you were returning home after months away.

When he pulls away ever so slightly to look into your eyes, breath still fanning on your lips—you feel welcomed.

“When I think of love I think of you. When I think of happiness your face appears in my mind. And when I think fo you, I think of what I can do to make the environment we have a little better for you. I love you, _____. And I’ll spend as long as I can reminding you.”

“Yoongi …” You blush because you didn’t know how romantic he could be when he wanted to.

“I’m serious, _____.” He looks at you seriously, “You know what my mom said when I brought you over?”

You raise an eyebrow because while you remember the meeting being absolutely pleasant, even if you did fumble and break the gift you brought. His mother only smiled at you, the same one that marks her son's face—and said that it was okay. It only meant that you should come again to compensate. Her tone was light and comfortable, and you immediately felt the tension be alleviated from your shoulders.

He takes the tilt of your head as his cue to continue.

“She said that she’s never seen me as expressive as I was when I was with you,” You snort at his exasperation, but you see the honesty that pours out, “Hyung even said that I’ve gotten soft.”

You roll your eyes when he tugs you closer by your chair until your legs were dangling by the side of his hips. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders and Yoongi still smiles at you like it’s the most natural thing to do.

“But I like you soft …” You smile.

“And I love you with me.” Yoongi returns.

You blush, and you allow him to hold you close.

And in his arms, do you realise that some things didn’t need to be said.

[chockfullofsecrets]

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

[startanewdream]

Dancing lessons

Summary: Lily shares a few dances with her son.

Notes: For @sweeethinny who asked me both for a story with Lily teaching Harry how to waltz and for family moments, and for the Anon who asked for a little of Harry jealous with Krum.

This story ties with 'Emergency Meeting', 'Hope' and 'Shotgun wedding' in this Jily Lives AU. Banner thanks to @the-dream-team!

On AO3 or below:

‘Merlin, this is stupid,’ Harry declares, right before he steps over her foot for the third time. ‘Sorry, Mum!’

Lily smiles, even though her foot hurts now. For someone who seems to have two left feet, he managed to hit her precisely in the same place all three times.

‘That’s fine, Harry,’ she tells him quietly, coming closer to him again. ‘No, hold my hand firmly. Yeah, like that. You are supposed to be leading me in the dance, remember?’

‘Yeah, right,’ he murmurs, not all convincing. Lily has seen him less nervous before he faced the dragon than he is with the prospect of the opening dance at the Yule Ball. At least, he didn’t call her so urgently with concerns about how to deal with a dragon.

‘One, two, three,’ she calls loudly, helping him guide her through that rented room in the Three Broomsticks. ‘One more time… now you spin me.’

He does, albeit with a little difficulty; Lily is still taller than him, though she knows this won’t last long. She remembers how James went through a growth spurt around fifteen; and she remembers what also happened with him during that time, all those teenage hormones.

Harry grew up so fast...

‘Very good,’ she compliments him. ‘Don’t forget she’ll be wearing dress robes, so be careful not to step over.’

‘Not step on the foot, not step on the dress — why did they invent dances?’

‘You might enjoy someday,’ she tells him, a knowing smile on her lips that Harry doesn’t understand yet. ‘So, tell me about this girl you are going with.’

Harry frowns. ‘Parvati? She’s nice. Ron is going with her sister.’

‘Oh, double date, then?’

‘Date?’ Harry blinks, surprised, then scandalized. ‘It’s not a date!’

‘You are going as friends?’

‘Yeah, but —’ he still looks lost. ‘Do you think she thinks it’s a date? Should it be one? What do I do?’

‘Breath, for starters,’ she tells him and, for good measure, Lily waits until Harry takes a deep breath, the panic in his eyes dimming. ‘I think you would know if it were a date. People do know these things, you know?’

Harry doesn’t seem like he knows it at all, but he nods, suddenly much more at ease.

‘Is she the girl you asked your father about weeks ago?’

A blush comes to his cheek. It’s rather adorable, she thinks, but she keeps from showing it. Harry is really shy when it comes to his feelings; one wrong word and he’ll crawl back into his shell and she won’t be able to take any word out of him.

‘No, that was… someone else.’

‘Didn’t work?’

His shoulders slump. ‘Someone else had already asked her out.’

‘Oh, it happens.’

‘Yeah.’ He looks dismayed.

‘You know, it happened to me once. I was going to ask your father out, well, at least that was what I tried to tell myself, but then he already had a date.’

Harry’s eyes widen. Lily remembers James speaking how unfathomable it is to Harry to think of his parents being with anyone else.

‘He rejected you?’

Lily lets out a laugh. ‘Rejection is a strong word, I hadn't even asked him out when I found out he had other plans. It was by the end of our Sixth Year, the last trip to Hogsmeade, and he went with this girl... Let me tell you, it was a miserable summer for me afterwards.’

‘Oh.’ Harry bits the inside of his cheek, thoughtful. ‘Because he was dating someone else?’

‘That was the funny thing, I didn’t know if he was with someone or not, because I was too afraid to ask and make it evident that I was fancying him just as he used to... well, in any case, no, what made me the most miserable was not knowing what he’d say if I had asked him out.’

‘I know,’ he sighs. ‘I mean, at least I know Cho didn’t deny it because she didn’t want to, but because I was too late.’

‘Cho?’, she asks, keeping her voice light. His blush intensifies and Harry spins her again more to gain time than because it was the correct step. It is a nice spin, though. ‘Is she in your year?’

‘No, one above.’ He stops, unsure. ‘Does it make a difference? If she is older?’

‘One year is not much,’ Lily assures him, and then Harry starts moving again as this weight is lifted from his shoulders. ‘And for older — I’m older than your father.’

‘For two months.’

‘Still makes me wiser,’ she promises him, making him laugh. ‘Well, you can ask her out some other time. You can even ask her for a dance at the Yule Ball!’

He sighs heavily, a disbelieving expression coming to his face. ‘Oh, she wouldn’t accept it.’

‘Come on’, she winks at him. ‘Being a Triwizard Champion must come with some benefit.’

He grimaces. ‘Her date is one too.’

‘Cedric?’ she guesses. ‘Oh, bad luck, Harry. He is nice.’

‘He is bloody annoying,’ he mumbles, then his eyes meet hers. ‘Ops, sorry.’

‘Oh, you should have heard what I used to call Cecily,’ she replies easily, shrugging, feeling silly for her young self.

‘Who?’

‘Cecily Jones, the girl who went on that date with your father.’

‘He never mentioned —’

‘I doubt he remembers, Harry,’ she laughs. ‘It was one date — they weren’t going out in the summer, after all — and it didn’t matter afterwards. If you and this girl, Cho, are meant to be, you’ll find your path to each other eventually.’

‘You think so?’

‘Well, you wouldn’t be here if your father and I didn’t,’ reminds Lily. ‘Just remember — always take a leap. And if you ask her to dance, well, I think you’ll do just fine.’ She pauses them. ‘You didn’t step on my foot once in the last five minutes.’

‘Oh!’, amazement shines on his eyes. ‘I can dance!’

‘A waltz at least,’ she agrees, ruffling his hair fondly. ‘Our summer project will be teaching you to loose your hips.’

___________

The ginger boy has a crossed expression on his face when Lily pulls him to the dance floor.

‘Mum,’ he calls, annoyed, as she places his hand around her waist as she did years ago. He grimaces, but takes her hand, moving rather graciously for someone who is wearing the wrong body. He still remembers, she notes gladly.

‘Son,’ she answers back, teasing.'You know, you could have been born like this.'

'What do you mean?'

'Ginger like me, but with your father's eyes.'

The boy doesn’t look like her or James at all, but it’s a nice thought all the same. Lily always wondered how another child of her and James might look like...

'So people you just give me the "you look like your mother but have your father's eyes"?'

'That would be a change.'

'Not really,' he mumbles, distracted. His eyes keep moving away from her, and judging by the way Harry sighed when the bridesmaids first appeared during Bill and Fleur’s wedding, she knows who he is looking at.

And it’s not to the bride’s young sister.

‘You should ask her for a dance.’

‘Who?,’ he asks guiltily, looking back at her. Lily raises one eyebrow, not impressed with his attempt to playing dumb.

‘While you can. Before you leave.’

‘I —’ he stops, conflicted. His face is all wrong, not one single resemblance to her son, and yet his expression is the same in the face of that muggle boy Harry is impersonating for the day. ‘It’s because I’m leaving that I can’t.’

‘The things we don’t do haunt us more than the things we do,’ she warns him, and Harry looks wistfully, his longing evident. Then an annoyed furious expression crosses his face, and he presses her hand as if to stop himself from taking his wand; when Lily follows the direction of his gaze, she sees Viktor Krum going to the table where Ginny and Luna are talking happily.

‘I could hex him,’ Harry murmurs darkly. ‘I wouldn’t regret that.’

She smiles, amused. ‘I thought Ron was the one with problems with Krum?’

‘I’m starting to agree with him,’ he replies. ‘A toss, really… Thinks he is so great because he is an international Quidditch player, big deal…’

Lily doubts this will matter to Ginny and, sure enough, as they watch, Ginny shakes her head at whatever Krum is saying, and Krum leaves, clearly dejected. Harry grins, satisfaction all over his face, and as if she can sense his stare, Ginny turns towards them.

Harry turns away quickly, but Lily knows it was not enough.

‘Harry…’

'She will accept it,' he mumbles, dismayed. 'Maybe not Krum, maybe not today, but her future is so free whereas mine…'

'Is bright too,' she finishes for him, voice stern now. 'Self-doubt will not take you anywhere, Harry. And you may have not noticed while you were brooding in the corner, but she kept throwing glances at you too. She wants to dance with you.'

'Oh. I… I would step on her foot.'

'Of course not, I taught you well,' Lily tells him with a smile, breaking away. 'I am going to find your father.'

There is a whole new trouble on Harry's face now and Lily refrains from sighing.

'I'll see you later. I’ll just stick around here for a while.'

'Mustering the courage?' she guesses wisely. He flushes. 'Remember, if you are meant to be -'

'We'll find our path to each other. Yeah, I know.'

She places a quiet kiss on his cheek, enjoying the fact that for the first time in a couple of years she is taller than him.

'Things will be fine, Harry. Don't lose hope.'

_____________

Harry is beaming, happiness written all over his face, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes more prominent than ever. Lily enjoys the fact those wrinkles come from laughing, not worrying.

Next to them, the bride and the groom's father are making a mess on the dance floor, spinning each other out of control, giggling crazily, and Harry looks at them with fondness.

'I thought Dad knew how to dance,' he says, amused.

'He does, but you know him. He likes to show off.'

Harry laughs. It's a carefree sound, not a single weight on his shoulders today.

'Well, let's show him how it's done, then?' he suggests, offering her his hand and Lily takes it graciously, letting her son conduct her to the dance floor.

He really waltzes well.

'You've been training,' she notes. Harry smiles guiltily.

'I like to dance in front of the mirror. Helps me to relax.'

'We only need to upgrade your dancing moves.'

'Ginny has this project, don't worry. We have a record player at home, she is teaching me all the good old wizarding songs. Sirius will help me with the Muggle ones and next thing I'm hitting a dancing club.'

She smiles at the idea of Harry in a nightclub; he is past twenty now, married and living away, but he is still her child in many ways.

'We should make him or her take dance classes,' he adds as an afterthought, his gaze falling to her belly, though there isn't any bump there yet. 'Make sure they won't get embarrassed in a school dance when they are older.'

'Nah, big brother Harry can teach them how to dance.'

He nods happily, spinning her around. The movement makes them get closer to James and Ginny.

'Switch partners?' James suggests, winking at them.

Harry laughs and spins his mother one last time, just as James does the same with Ginny. Lily finds herself in the arms of her husband, who stops long enough to kiss her tenderly, before drifting her away to the dancing floor.

Her husband waltzes nicely when he wants, Lily thinks joyfully, and with her pregnant, she knows he will be extra careful. James is cautious like that, but she lets him enjoy that protectiveness. It doesn’t come attached with any other worry — no war, no threat on their lives, and that’s something she can learn to live with.

Her gaze moves to the other couple. Harry and Ginny shine under the lights of the tent, today no other couple holding a candle for the happiness that irradiates from them. Her gaze drops and she watches as their feet move in synchrony, Harry always careful to avoid stepping over her long wedding dress.

Yes, she thinks. I really taught him well.

[tsarisfanfiction]

A Little Fall Of Rain

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John

Here is my contribution to @tagminibang!  My artist was the absolutely fantastic @chenria and you can find her accompanying art over here.  Something nice and family friendly from us here (please don’t mind the title, it has nothing to do with a certain musical song), and of course some good old Scott&John because who doesn’t love that?

John’s pulled one of his disappearing acts again, and Scott can’t relax until he knows where he’s gone.

People.  There were people everywhere, all dressed to the nines and peacocking around.  Nothing particularly unusual for an event hosted by Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, where no-one in attendance was worth less than at least ten million dollars apiece and appearing to be the poorest in the room would make you a target for the vampires of the elite.

It was a gauntlet Scott would have gladly accepted, not particularly bothered by how others perceived him and his wealth, except the problem with being a Tracy was that his status of multi-billionaireness was well known, and he was actually richer than most of the aristocracy in attendance, even if there were a few Old Money families that looked down their noses at the Tracys for being New Money.

Still, the buffer of their wealth was, at least, sparing his brother from being preyed upon as the poor, charity case invited to look good.  Scott wasn’t sure who the actual poorest person in the room was, but anything to keep at least some of the pressure of the occasion off of John was always worth it.

It was a well known fact that John despised this sort of event.  Too many people, too much noise and gravity, too many expected conversations and a lot of interest in the elusive Tracy.  Scott still wasn’t sure why Lady Penelope insisted he attend these things, and knew that John was going to hide himself up on Thunderbird Five for at least a month and come down for absolutely nothing or no-one as soon as he escaped the party.  She called it good for him, and a breath of fresh air, and Scott only let it slide because John never actually said no.

Speaking of his brother, he’d once again lost sight of the distinctive ginger hair amongst the vibrant colours of the event.  Hopefully, that meant that John was just in hiding, rather than the chance he’d been dragged into a conversation out of Scott’s current sight.  He glanced around the room again, just to be sure, and when no flash of ginger caught his eye, set his shoulders and beelined for their host.

Resplendent in a stunning light pink ballgown, elegant hands covered with equally elegant white gloves and hair coiffed into something gravity-defying yet somehow not at all outrageous, Lady Penelope was entertaining an elderly woman who Scott had been briefly introduced to earlier in the event, some hours ago, as the Duchess of Royston.  As far as the British aristocrats seemed to go, she seemed quite amicable, so Scott had no qualms about stepping in as their conversation paused.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but have you seen John recently?”

“Have you lost him?” Lady Penelope asked, sounding the faintest bit amused.  If it was anyone else, Scott would have been annoyed at that, but a longstanding friendship with the Lady told him there was no malice or judgement behind it.  It was the amusement of someone who knew how much John hated crowds, and how much Scott could, according to his brothers, hover.  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him recently.”

The answer wasn’t surprising, but it was a little disappointing.

“The redheaded young man?” the Duchess asked, and Scott turned to her.  “I do believe I saw him heading for the doors earlier.”  She gestured to the small side door that led out of the ballroom and, if Scott’s memory served, towards the gardens.

John was likely hiding, then.

Scott smiled at both women.  “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head a little towards the older of the two.  “I’ll leave you to your conversation.  Sorry again for the interruption.”

“What a charming young man,” he heard as he walked away.  “Penelope, I know it’s not my place to say, but you could do far worse than a man like that.”

Scott picked up the pace a little, determined to get out of earshot of whatever reply to that Lady Penelope would make, and making a note to never let Gordon know.

The rich like to talk to the rich, and although Scott was on a mission to find and check on his brother, he was waylaid by at least three other people all wanting to discuss all manner of things from International Rescue to, disconcertingly, his ongoing bachelorship before he was able to slip through the door and head down the corridor.

Soundproofing cut off the hubbub of conversation the moment the door clicked shut behind him, proving an excellent argument for why John would come this way, and Scott followed the hallway until he found a bay window that overlooked one of the many gardens in the Creighton-Ward estate.

John was perched on the window sill, although window seat was probably a more accurate term, looking out at the gentle rain falling from the sky.  Raindrops raced each other down the panes of glass, and Scott silently settled next to him, waiting to be acknowledged.

It didn’t take long.  “I’m fine,” his brother said quietly, still looking out the window rather than turning to face him.  Scott hadn’t expected him to.  “You can go back.”

Scott let out a wry chuckle.  “The hot topic right now seems to be how eligible a bachelor I am,” he said, leaning forwards on his knees and watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d quite like to stay here until they move on to other things.”

His brother let out a hmm, sounding thoroughly amused at that, and Scott rolled his eyes.  He knew full well that John was more than happy for him to be the target of that particular type of conversation, because it meant most of them would forget to ask him the same questions.  Sibling solidarity only went so far, and perhaps even more so than the rest of his brothers, John was all too willing to throw him under the bus to evade the limelight himself.

“If they follow you here, I am leaving,” John threatened mildly.  “And then you will not be welcome to follow me.”  It wasn’t an empty threat, but that didn’t matter because Scott would always use himself as bait if it meant a brother could escape a bad situation.  Besides, John knew Lady Penelope’s manor far better than he did, and Scott knew if John really wanted to hide, even he wouldn’t be able to find him until the ginger was ready to be found.

It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.  John had never been a fan of social situations and had mastered the art of disappearing young.  Scott had many memories of running around frantically, trying in vain to find where his brother had got to after taking his eye off of him for two seconds.  For someone with such vibrant natural colouring, John was unfairly good at the vanishing act.

He sighed and settled back against the window pane more comfortably.  At least John was old enough now to look after himself if he did vanish, and would always come home eventually - even if it was only a necessary stop on his way back to Thunderbird Five and the stars while he recuperated from socialising.  It was a marked improvement from when he’d vanish as a child and leave everyone in a panic until he reappeared hours later.

Scott had never quite shaken the instinct to panic when he vanished, no matter how old and self-sufficient his brother was now.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” John said suddenly, and Scott glanced up at him again.  He was still watching the rain out the window, seemingly disinterested in paying any attention to his older brother - aside from the comment, which made it perfectly clear that John was, in fact, keeping track of him with at least part of that big brain of his.  “I told you I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he assured him, feeling the cool of the glass seep towards his scalp from where he was resting his head against the window.

John gave a considering hum.  “In that case, I’ll assume you’re working yourself into a panic unnecessarily.”

Scott huffed, unwilling to concede the point.  “I am not working myself into a panic,” he retorted, a little defensively.

His brother finally turned his head away from the window slightly, enough for one turquoise eye to come into view.  The accompanying ginger eyebrow rose in challenging disbelief and Scott scowled in response.

“I was just thinking about all the vanishing acts you tend to pull at things like this,” he admitted after a moment.  The visible turquoise eye rolled at him before John turned back to face the window.  He didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t need to; his body language broadcasted perfectly well that he thought Scott was being an idiot.

Scott was used to that attitude - none of his brothers ever seemed to fully appreciate what it was like to be their big brother, after all.  Gordon might proudly claim that his grey hairs were all down to his fish of a brother, but the truth of the matter was that they’d all contributed.

Still, Scott wouldn’t change any of them for the world.

Raindrops raced down the large window, merging and lingering and swallowing smaller ones before darting several inches further down in a blink of an eye.  It was a mesmerising sight; no wonder John was so captivated by the weather.

Then again, he didn’t get rain in space.

Scott was on his feet before his mind caught up.  His movement caught John’s attention, judging by the way the single, turquoise eye reappeared to regard him once more.

“Going back already?” his brother asked.  “I thought you were hiding from the discussions about your eligible bachelorship.”  There was no sympathy at all in John’s voice, just an undercurrent of amusement.  Scott suspected he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for a while.

“No,” he said truthfully, which was apparently unexpected enough for John to look away from the window completely.

“Then where are you going?” his brother asked.  John was normally far too perceptive for Scott’s liking, and he probably shouldn’t be relishing catching him out as much as he was.

“Come on,” Scott invited in answer, tilting his head towards the window.  “Let’s go.”

John glanced back towards the window, raising an eyebrow at the rain still falling.  “You want to go outside?”

“Why not?” Scott shrugged.  “No-one’s going to chase us out there.”

“Because their clothes would get ruined,” John pointed out.  “Like ours will.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  He wasn’t so attached to the suit he was currently wearing that he’d mourn the loss, and he knew John felt similarly about his own formal clothes.

“They’re replaceable,” he pointed out.  “So, are you coming?”

John’s arguments didn’t fool him one bit - one thing his brother truly missed when he was amongst the stars was the cool sensation of rain on his skin, and Scott suspected that the only reason he’d been sat in the bay window instead of somewhere in the Creighton-Ward’s impressive grounds was because he’d known Scott would come looking for him sooner or later, and would have panicked if he couldn’t find him.

Sure enough, with one last sigh that was entirely put-upon, John extended his long legs and made his way to his feet.  “Lead the way.”

Scott wasn’t as familiar with the manor as his brother, but he had a pretty good idea where most of the external doors were.  John stayed at his shoulder as they passed through the hallways, bereft of any of the other guests, who were all no doubt still gossiping in the ballroom, and found a door that led outside.

The rain wasn’t a monsoon, but it was steady, leaving the sky heavy and grey, and misting out the trees on the far edge of the lawn.  Scott lingered in the threshold of the door for a moment, watching the weather, but his brother had no such hesitation.

A little brother he might be, but John had never needed Scott to lead the way.  With the assurance that Scott now knew where he was, and wouldn’t be hunting him down frantically, he strode out past him, the fabric covering his shoulder just brushing Scott’s, and out into the rain.

Scott lingered a moment longer, watching the way John tilted his face up slightly to greet the rain, the ginger curl of his bangs losing some of its volume as it dampened.  John didn’t beam like their brothers when he was happy, but there was a relaxation in his face and a draining of tension in his body that told Scott that he’d got it right.  John really had wanted to go out in the rain.

When his brother’s vibrant eyes slid closed, he took the final step outside himself, feeling the cool raindrops caressing his own skin and seeping into his hair.  His hair gel was going to wash out if he stayed out here for too long, but that was a small price to pay to see John enjoying himself down on Earth.

So was the suit.  The already black fabric of his jacket darkened even further with water almost immediately, and he knew that by the time John was ready to go inside again, it would be completely ruined.  As he’d said to his brother, though, the suits were replaceable.

John’s happiness was not.  Scott would ruin a hundred jackets if it meant seeing John so relaxed and content.

Jacketless, his brother’s shirt was quickly becoming soaked through, the white material clinging to his body - the same way his vibrant hair was starting to plaster to his scalp - gaining hints of translucency, and the thought crossed Scott’s mind that he’d have to make sure John didn’t get sick later.  The astronaut didn’t seem to care about that, though, standing stock still for several minutes with his hands loosely hanging by his side and his face tilted upwards.

Scott hung back, several paces away but still outside in the rain himself.  Cool droplets trickled down the back of his neck, originating somewhere around his hairline, and he could tell even without raising a hand to check that his own hair was plastering itself to his scalp in much the same way as John’s.  One droplet ran down from his forehead and caught the corner of his eye, tangled up in eyelashes, and Scott blinked twice to clear it.  Reluctantly it got the message and carried on down his face, running over his cheek and trailing down towards his chin.

They didn’t get rain like this at home.  English rain was strange, and definitely nothing like the tropical rains Tracy Island witnessed.  Even Kansas weather had been different to this.  The water was cool and refreshing on his skin, and after several moments Scott took another couple of steps forwards, towards his brother.

He didn’t enter his personal space, though.  If John wanted him there, he would make it clear - most likely by moving himself until he was within arm’s reach of Scott.  As they’d come out here to escape the crowds, however, Scott deemed that unlikely.  Instead, he wandered past him, away from the manor and large ballroom windows.  If the wrong person looked out and saw them, their little rainy peace would be broken by someone else who cared less for their clothes than chasing Tracys.

Scott made sure to keep John in view, not prepared to hunt his brother down if the ginger pulled another disappearing act, even as he found a lone tree standing proud in the middle of the manicured lawn and slipped around it, allowing the trunk to conceal him from anyone glancing outside.

Exactly what type of tree it was, he didn’t know, but it was large and broad, boughs extending out above his head and providing a meagre shelter from the rain.  It was the same as the trees that made up the woodland at the far edge of the lawn - also large and proud, but with enough space between some of them to hide a Thunderbird.  His own ‘bird lurked inside, concealed from view and waiting to carry the two of them back home the next morning.

Tonight, Lady Penelope had insisted, they would stay with her, and Scott had no reason to decline.  He did, however, hope that it was an invitation that hadn’t been extended to any of the other guests.  Evading their apparent fixation with his marriage status - or lack thereof - was not something he wanted to have to spend all night and breakfast doing as well.

No matter how amused John might be at the whole affair.

Speaking of John, his brother appeared to have noticed that he’d moved, because he’d opened his eyes and started moving forwards himself.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one hiding from the party,” the ginger commented, his voice dry and at odds with the wet shirt he was wearing.  The white had gone well and truly translucent now, clinging to his body in a way that Scott knew from experience would get John hounded by half the party the next time they saw him.

He made a mental note to sacrifice his jacket in John’s direction before they went back in.  It wouldn’t be a perfect fit, but it would at least keep the attention off of him long enough for John to scrounge up a change of clothes.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, shrugging.  “It wouldn’t matter which of us was hiding if they spotted the other, would it?”

John let out a small chuckle in response, rounding the tree in its entirety and therefore putting himself out of sight as well.  “Are you sure it’s not just because you don’t want them badgering you about being single?”

He huffed in response, crossing his arms and leaning back against the trunk.  The bark rubbed against the back of his jacket, but he ignored it.  The rain had already done enough damage - what was a little more?

“My relationship status is none of their business,” he grumbled, shooting his younger brother a considering look.  “Wait until they start on you.”

The smirk he got in return didn’t make him feel any better.

“They won’t give me a second glance while you’re around, big brother,” John pointed out with the air of someone who knew exactly what was up, and was quietly smug about it.  “No-one’s interested in the spare Tracy.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  “You know, technically you’re my heir,” he reminded him.  It did nothing to douse the smug smirk his brother was sending his way.

“They don’t think like that,” John shrugged confidently.  He was still out from underneath the protection of the boughs, rain falling on his skin and leaving trails of water across it.  Scott watched a raindrop run right to the tip of his nose and hang there; the astronaut didn’t even seem to notice, even though it made Scott’s own nose twitch empathetically.  “The only heirs they’re interested in are the unborn ones you don’t have because you’re still an eligible bachelor.”

Urgh.  Scott pulled a face.  “Did you have to put it like that?”

John’s ongoing smirk confirmed that yes, he did have to phrase it like that.  Little brothers - who wanted them?

Scott refused to give John any satisfaction by saying that out loud, although he suspected that didn’t actually matter.  If there was anyone who had mastered the art of mind-reading, Scott would put John right at the top of the suspect list.

“Well,” John said after a moment, shifting his weight.  “I’m going to go for a walk.  Are you coming, or would you rather hide under the tree?”

“I’m sheltering,” Scott corrected.  John made an uh huh noise in the back of his throat which he purposefully ignored.  Still, if John was offering company, instead of retreating into his own personal space, then Scott wasn’t going to turn that down.  The problem with John living in space was that he just didn’t get to see this particular little brother in person as much as he’d like.

He pushed off from the tree, straightening up and shoving his hands in his pockets as he took the couple of short steps back out into the rain.  John hadn’t bothered to wait for him, and he had to jog a couple more paces before he was at his brother’s side.

It felt like the rain had got heavier, but the droplets were still cool and refreshing on his face, even if he could feel his hair wilting under the weight.  Beside him, John’s hair had all but lost its usual curl, vibrant strands of ginger instead plastered to his forehead.  His brother didn’t seem to care at all.

Despite inviting him along, John didn’t seem particularly inclined towards conversation as he picked his way across the expansive grounds of the Creighton-Ward manor.  It was clear that this was far from his brother’s first time doing so; while Scott started getting a little turned around by all the identically pruned bushes and perfect flowerbeds, John continued unerringly as though it was his ridiculously large garden.

Not that Scott could really comment on the size of the Creighton-Ward estate when his own home consisted of an entire volcano.  Both the ranch and the Kansas farm spanned equally large acreage; the Tracys had never been a stranger to calling huge swathes of land home.

John had easily spent enough time in this manor during his Oxford days to have the entire estate mapped out in that impressive brain of his.  Scott resolved to never play hide and seek with him here.

The silence that hung between them was a comfortable one.  On some levels, it was more touching and heartfelt than if John had wanted to talk - John was a huge fan of personal space, and being invited to share it, trusted to share it, when he had so clearly hit his socialising quota already was akin to an honour.

Rain continued to fall, Scott’s jacket feeling more and more sodden by the minute, but John never headed for anything remotely resembling shelter.  The weather wasn’t particularly warm, either.  By English standards it might have been passable, but being used to the tropics meant that Scott found it decidedly on the cool side.

John seemed unaffected, but then again John spent most of his time in a rigidly controlled environment and hated the heat.  Scott still hoped he’d be able to persuade Parker to get them both a hot drink when they re-entered the manor building.  Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the older man to bundle them straight to their rooms with layers of blankets and disapproving mumbles.  The former crook liked to pretend he was as tough as nails - and in some respects he was - but he was also quick to fuss over the few friends he had.

Being counted amongst that number was almost as high an honour as being invited to share John’s personal bubble.

Sunbeams poked out from behind the grey clouds as they were strolling through one of several rose gardens - or maybe it was the same one and John had led them around in circles a few times.  In answer, the rain faded away into nothing and the world hung, heavy and still.  John stopped walking, and Scott followed suit.

Above them, the clouds were dispersing.  It seemed that the rain was over, at least for now, although the world around them shimmered a little like crystal as sun caught beads of water clinging to the flowers, the grass, the trees.  John glistened as well, his hair transformed into a burning halo as the sun caught the water plastering it to his scalp.

Hands in his pockets and face once again tilted to the sky, Scott’s little brother appeared to be considering something.  What, there was no point asking.  If John wanted him to be part of the decision making process, he’d say so.  Scott suspected he was debating if he wanted to stay outside or duck inside the manor to escape the reappearing sun.

John missed the rain on Thunderbird Five.  He did not miss the sunburn.

Sure enough, after a moment his brother turned to face him.

“I’m heading back inside,” John said.  “Are you done hiding from your eligible bachelorness yet or are you going to stay out here?”

Scott huffed at him, narrowing his eyes in displeasure at the jab.  John really wasn’t going to be letting that go any time soon.

“They’ll have moved topics by now,” he replied, a lot more confidently than he felt.  In all honesty, he had no idea how long it would be the hot topic for, but if he stayed out later than John he’d never live it down.

“That topic won’t be dropped until you’re married with kids,” his brother pointed out.  Scott scowled.  “But if you’re sure you’re ready to go back in…”  He trailed off meaningfully and, without waiting for Scott, started striding back towards the manor.

Not wanting to let his brother out of his sight, and maybe a little unsure of the paths back, Scott lengthened his stride to catch up with him again.  Turquoise eyes glanced sideways at him, and John’s face settled into subtle amusement.

Scott decided it was best for his pride if he didn’t ask what was funny.

He glanced up at the sky as they walked.  The shimmer of moisture in the air was fading as the sun grew stronger and the clouds continued on their merry way to deposit rain on some other part of the English countryside.  It wouldn’t be raining again just yet.

His foot caught something hard and he stumbled.  Instantly a vice-like grip appeared on his arm, yanking him back upright and steadying him.

“And you call me the clumsy one,” John commented lightly.  “Watch where you’re walking.”

Scott glared down at the flowerbed border he’d apparently walked into before switching targets to his brother.  John, as always, seemed completely unperturbed at the look.  Turquoise eyes looked him up and down, clearly making sure he hadn’t somehow hurt himself with his stumble, before the grip on his arm vanished and John continued down the path.

Sending another glare at the border, Scott followed.

Being behind John quickly brought back the reason why he’d been checking the sky.  While the rain had stopped, the white shirt his brother was wearing was still very soaked through, with the consequences of that on full display.  Scott shrugged out of his own, soaking wet, jacket.

“John,” he called, lengthening his strides to catch up.  His brother paused and turned back to look at him quizzically, jumping as Scott draped the waterlogged jacket over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” the astronaut asked, making to shrug the fabric off.  “Carry your own jacket, Scott.”

Scott caught the fabric before it could fall to the ground.  “John, you’re wearing a white shirt.”

A single eyebrow raised.  “Your observational skills are unparalleled.”

Little brothers.  Scott huffed.  “And yours are lacking,” he retorted.  “You wore a white shirt in the rain.”

John looked at him, puzzled, for a moment, before comprehension dawned across his face.  A quick glance down had his pale skin reddening slightly.

“Oh.”

Scott shook his head fondly and draped the jacket around his brother’s shoulders again.  This time it was gratefully accepted.  They weren’t quite the same size, but Scott’s shoulders were the broader of the two, so while the fabric bunched a little oddly when John threaded his arms through the sleeves and fumbled the buttons until it was concealing as much of the wet white shirt as possible, it did at least fit.  Scott was grateful it wasn’t Virgil.

“You might want to go and get changed into something dry,” he suggested.  “Get out of those clothes.”

“I didn’t bring a spare suit,” John reminded him.  “I don’t have anything else with me suitable for Lady P’s party.”

Scott rolled his eyes and started walking again.  “Then just don’t come back to the party,” he said bluntly.  “That’s not exactly a tragedy for you.  You can see Lady Penelope again once it’s over - she won’t care what you’re wearing.”

“She will care,” John corrected, catching up to him.  “She’ll judge my outfit and everything.”  Despite the words being ones of apparent complaint, he didn’t actually seem that bothered about it.  Then again, he had survived going to university with the woman.  Their friendship was on a completely different level compared to the one the rest of the Tracys shared with her.

“Just go and get yourself out of those wet clothes and make yourself comfortable for the rest of the evening,” Scott sighed.  “I’ll make your excuses.”

“If I need to get changed, why don’t you?” John challenged.  Scott grinned at him and tapped his own shirt.

“Not white,” he pointed out.  Well, admittedly, he would call it white, but according to Virgil it was cream, and according to the weather that combined with the covering jacket meant that it hadn’t gone the same way as John’s white shirt.  “Ergo, still appropriate for polite company.”

John scrutinised him for several moments as they walked, as though he was trying to find an excuse why Scott’s outfit wasn’t appropriate any more.

“You’ll get sick if you stay in wet clothes too long,” he said eventually.  “Make sure you come up and get changed soon.”

“I don’t have a spare suit, either,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll be fine.”  It couldn’t be that many more hours before the end of the party, surely…

“If you’re not up in half an hour I’m sending Parker to extract you,” John said firmly.  “Virgil will have both our hides if you go home sick.”

“Half an hour?” Scott repeated.  “I’ll be lucky to talk to Lady Penelope by then.  You’ll have to give me longer than that.”  There was no point telling John not to enlist Parker at all - his brother would hum non-committedly then do it anyway the instant he was out of earshot.

John scoffed.  “You’ll find a way,” he said confidently.  “Just flirt your way through the crowds like you normally do.  Half an hour, then Parker will get involved.”

They’d arrived back at the manor itself, and John sent him one last smug grin before vanishing up what had to be a servant’s staircase before Scott could try another attempt to bargain for more time.  With a quiet groan, Scott adjusted his damp tie and headed back towards the ballroom.

His wet - and likely bedraggled - appearance caused a stir when he re-entered the room.  Conversations stopped, eyes stared, and then the whispering started.  Well, he’d take them talking about him over attempts to restart the conversations about his relationship status.

He scanned the room for the tell-tale flash of pink, locating Lady Penelope just before she came to a stop in front of him.

“I was under the impression you were looking for John, not trying to impersonate a drowned rat,” the Lady commented lightly.  “You also appear to have misplaced your jacket, Scott.”

He shrugged lazily.  “John wanted to go outside.”

“I see.”  From the fond look that flickered in her eyes, she probably did get it.  The British aristocrat was the closest thing John had to a best friend, after all.  “And where is John now?”

“Retiring for the evening,” Scott explained.  “Or at least until the party’s over and the stars are out.”

Lady Penelope laughed a little at that.  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she agreed.  “And what about you?  I notice today’s main topic of discussion isn’t to your liking.”  There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that was entirely too similar to John’s reaction.

Scott decided the best thing to do was ignore it.

“I should get changed,” he admitted.  “I’ll see you after the party’s over?”

“I dare say you should,” Lady Penelope agreed, “before you turn my ballroom into a swimming pool.  Very well, I’ll see you boys later.”  She turned away, and immediately got caught in another conversation with a guest.

Scott took the opportunity to duck back out of the room, evading anyone who might want to corner him for further conversations that he really didn’t care for.

Parker was standing just outside the door.

“Ah, there you h’are,” the butler said as Scott narrowly avoided walking into him.  “h’I h’understand you’re done for the h’evening?”

Scott checked his watch.  “There’s no way it’s been half an hour already,” he said suspiciously.

“‘alf h’an hour since when?” Parker asked innocently.  “Master John said nothing h’about h’a time limit.”  No, of course John didn’t.  Pesky little brother.  “Well, h’as you h’appear to be trying to turn h’into a drowned rat, h’I’d say you need a nice warm drink h’and a change h’of clothes.”

“That’s the plan,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll see you later, Parker.”

“That you will,” the older man agreed, and Scott paused with his foot on the bottom step of the staircase.  “h’I’ll be bringing h’up some ‘ot chocolate for the pair h’of you in a few minutes.  ‘Onestly, what were you thinking, going h’out h’in the rain like that?”

Scott shrugged.  “John wanted to,” he said, before resuming his ascent of the staircase, knowing that Parker would make good on his promise and be up soon with the drinks.

The Creighton-Ward manor was huge, and the guest suites were equally so.  There was no sharing of bedrooms when they stayed overnight, but as Scott entered the room designated as his, he discovered a brother lounging on his bed, tablet in hand.  Ginger hair was ruffled and sticking up all over the place - a clear victim of a towel drying - and the soaked suit had been replaced by a much less formal shirt and jeans.

“Don’t you have your own room?” he asked, not breaking his stride as he headed for his overnight bag and pulled out a change of clothes.

“Parker’s bringing the drinks here,” John replied, not looking up from whatever it was he was reading.  “It makes more sense for me to be here.”  Scott huffed and worked his tie loose from around his neck.

“You just wanted to make sure I didn’t stay in the party,” he accused.

John didn’t deny it, and Scott rolled his eyes before heading into the ensuite to dry off and get changed into his more casual clothes.  No more formal suit and tie for him tonight.

When he re-emerged several minutes later, his own hair rivalling John’s for towel-dried mess and begging for another round of brushing and hair gel, Parker had arrived with the promised steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

“Drink up, the both of you,” the man demanded.  “Going h’out in the rain like that, I h’ask you.”  He shook his head despairingly.  “What will your Gran say h’if you go and get yourself sick?”

“We won’t get sick, Parker,” Scott said confidently, accepting his mug and letting the warmth seep from the ceramic into his fingers.  “We didn’t get that wet.”

“Don’t h’underestimate the English weather,” Parker warned.  “Drink that h’up and wrap h’up warm.”

John appeared silently at his elbow and claimed his own mug before retreating back to the bed.  Scott watched him burrow his bare feet under the covers and huffed.

“That’s my bed, you know,” he complained.  John lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“So?”

“So, leave some room for me.”  Mug in hand, Scott settled himself next to his brother, nudging him over gently.  John obliged, and after a few moments of shifting around, the pair of them were sat shoulder to shoulder with their feet under the covers.

Parker eyed them approvingly, and then tossed a blanket over their laps as well.

“h’I’ll be back once the party’s h’over,” he told them.  “Keep warm.”

“We’ll be fine,” Scott assured him.  “You don’t need to worry about us.”

Blue eyes surveyed him suspiciously.  “h’I know some people that’d disagree with that h’assessment, Mr Scott.  But duty calls, h’I suppose.”

Parker was clearly reluctant to leave them for some reason, but he did begrudgingly go out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two brothers to their drinks.

The hot chocolate was, unsurprisingly, good, and Scott found himself draining the mug in record time.  Beside him, John was almost as fast, and they set the mugs down on the bedside tables almost in unison.

“Parker makes the best hot chocolate,” John commented, and Scott couldn’t help but agree.

“He does,” he agreed.  “I could go for another.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I finished mine before you got it into your head to steal it,” John said dryly.  “You can ask him for another one later.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.  “I might do that.  This might all be overkill-” he gestured at the warm mugs and the blanket, subtly tucking them in the bed “-but even if we’re not going to get sick, that chocolate is worth it.”

The sneeze came out of nowhere.  As did the second, and the third.

The fourth sneeze came from his brother, and Scott glanced over at him with a sinking feeling.  Bright turquoise met his eyes, and John gave a wane smile before sneezing again.

“I think,” his brother said, before being interrupted by another sneeze, “that maybe this wasn’t so overkill after all.”

Scott buried his face in his hands.  It did nothing to stop the next sneeze, and he groaned.

“You might be right,” he admitted.  “Dammit.  Virgil’s going to- achoo -kill us.”

John groaned.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - Glacier Navigation

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 冰川行舟, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S2 Shaw

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s first S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

On this rare break, a phone call from Shaw brings me to the entrance of Loveland University.

At the school gate, a huge “Welcome New Students" banner waves in the wind. The osmanthus petals at my feet exude the unique scent of late summer and early autumn.

I follow Shaw through the bustling crowd and towards the graduate student registration point.

MC: The registration office... this should be it.

Shaw: Are you sure it's here? Just look at these registering students - how do they look like graduate students?

MC: You’re clearly the one who doesn’t look like a graduate student, okay?

Shaw glances at the long line outside the door of the office. Clicking his tongue, he eventually stands at the back properly.

Not having to wait for long, the both of us reach the head of the line.

MC: You don't need me to accompany you for the registration, do you?

Shaw: What are you thinking? Are you treating me like a kid?

MC: Then why did you drag me along to school...

Shaw: I just took you out for a breather after seeing you squatting at home for a few weeks.

He waves his hand at me in self-assurance, turning his head and entering the office.

I lean against the wall, waiting for him. As soon as I take out my phone, the tall figure walks out of the office fiercely.

MC: ...how did you settle it so quickly?

Shaw doesn’t respond. He suddenly leans forward, his eyes almost within reach. His half-squinting eyes contain slight irritation.

MC: W-what do you want... Ah! Don't touch my hair!

I raise my hand to protect my hair, but my cheek ends up getting pinched twice by two of his fingers.

Shaw: This is your punishment for leading me to the wrong place.

MC: No way, we really went to the wrong place?

Shaw: This is the registration point for the Chinese Department. The Archaeology Department is in Zhi Hua Building.

MC: Zhi Hua Building... I remember now. I think we passed by it earlier.

Shaw: Really?

Knowing that I was in the wrong, I quickly lift both my hands up as a guarantee.

MC: Really, I definitely won’t be wrong this time!

Shaw: Fine, I’ll reluctantly believe you this time. The last time.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Since heading to the wrong place led to quite a delay, the door to the registration office of the Department of Archaeology is completely empty.

Shaw knocks on the office door. Inside, there’s only one middle-aged teacher who is currently reading the newspaper.

Teacher: A freshman? Come, fill in this form. Did you bring a copy of your ID card? If you didn’t bring it, give me the original. I'll make a copy for you.

Shaw: I brought it.

Teacher: What about the one-inch photo?

Shaw: Here.

Teacher: Oh, the boy's ID photo is so handsome! Sit for a while, I have to make a record.

Shaw: Mm, thanks for the hard work, teacher.

The teacher sits in front of the computer leisurely, then casts a curious glance at the door.

Teacher: Is that young lady outside your girlfriend?

Shaw: No.

Shaw pauses, then adds on.

Shaw: Just a friend.

Teacher: Oh... I understand~

The middle-aged man reveals a meaningful smile, and can’t help but gesture at the young man in front of him

Teacher: Young people have to be braver. How can a boy be so shy!

Shaw suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, squeezing out words one by one from between his teeth.

Shaw: Teacher, are you done with the registration?

[Note] There are different ways of saying “you” in Chinese, depending on formality! When being polite and respectful, especially to an elder, 您 (“nin”) is used. When talking to friends or someone younger, 你 (“ni”) is used. SHAW USES 您 HERE BECAUSE HE IS A POLITE BOY

Teacher: Yes yes, sign here. There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Because you filled in your identity as an Evolver on the form, I’ll have to trouble you to submit a copy of the Evol inspection report.

Shaw: The notice didn’t mention that I had to bring it.

Teacher: It’s a new requirement. It conveniences the school in terms of management, so I hope you can understand. Last semester, an Evolver lost control of his ability and almost lifted the entire classroom. The STF were called down for a day, and it was very troublesome. 

When he hears the term “STF”, Shaw’s expression stirs slightly. Then, he clicks his tongue impatiently.

Shaw: So troublesome...

Teacher: What did you say?

Shaw: Nothing. Can I hand it in another day?

Teacher: It's fine, just come back within five working days. Here, your notice.

Shaw: Thanks.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

Schoolmate A: Schoolmate, want to check out our e-sports club? We organise competitions every month, and you can receive exquisite merchandise!

Schoolmate B: Schoolmate, come take a look at our basketball club! Handsome guys and beautiful girls gather and keep fit...

Today happens to be the club recruitment day. When Shaw and I pass by the public square, students constantly stop us, asking if we wish to join their clubs.

I look at Shaw curiously, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in any clubs. He walks quickly, not even giving them a glance.

When we’re about to leave the public square, we are once again stopped by a student.

Schoolmate C: Schoolmates, I can tell at a glance that you’re both from the Arts Department, right? Tsk tsk, your outfits have such an artistic quality. I’m from the rock club of our school. Even though the club was only established this year, I believe we have great potential! Usually, the club will organise activities introducing various instruments and music appreciation for hobbyists. Our club president even formed a band himself! They’re performing over there. Do you two want to have a listen?

I initially thought that Shaw would once again ignore him and leave. Unexpectedly, he suddenly stops in his footsteps, then arches his eyebrows with interest.

Shaw: Oh? You guys have a band?

Schoolmate C: Of course! We don't do covers. They’re all original songs!

Shaw: Let’s have a listen then.

MC: Do you actually want to join this rock club?

Shaw: We’ll talk after listening.

After saying this, he walks towards the area surrounded by a cluster of people.

The venue is simple, but there’s a sizeable number of audience members. The band members in the middle are wagging their heads while performing a song.

The vocals are discordant, and the sound quality is inferior. I’m unable to hear the lyrics clearly, but the melody is really catchy.

MC: I didn't expect them to look like an actual band... Shaw?

Shaw: ...tch.

Shaw grabs my arm, leaving the scene without saying a word.

MC: What’s wrong?

Shaw: Hearing plagiarised songs dirties my ears.

MC: That song from before was plagiarised?!

Shaw: They copied an unpopular old song from the 80s. No wonder these people didn’t realise it. You should also improve your musical literacy so you wouldn’t be confused by copied songs.

MC: So what you mean is... I should listen to your band’s songs more?

Shaw: Of course.

I burst out laughing, and Shaw raises his eyebrows in dissatisfaction.

Shaw: What are you laughing at?

MC: No, no, I just think that you’ve always been very serious about your band...

Shaw: You seem pretty concerned about my band?

MC: Mm. I know that you really like this band.

Shaw glances at me, as though verifying the sincerity of my words.

Then, he turns his gaze away, and sunlight touches the corners of his sharp and slightly raised mouth.

Shaw: Even if it’s just for fun, I’ll do even better than everyone else.

He says these words matter-of-factly, as though so long as he’s willing, every difficulty can be stamped out by him.

Shaw takes a final look back at the noisy public square. Retrieving a pair of earphones from his pocket, he hands it to me.

Shaw: Wear it properly. I’ll let you listen to truly good music.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Shaw: Let’s go. Also, we’ll stop by the supermarket along the way. I’m buying some daily necessities.

MC: I really couldn’t tell that you’d be willing to stay in a dormitory.

Shaw: Who said so? I don’t plan to stay in a dormitory.

MC: Huh?

Shaw: I never stay with outsiders. 

Shaw: Anyway, there’s a small room in Live House, and I plan to live there. Rehearsals will be convenient too.

MC: Oh... but your place is really too empty. Aside from a bed, it doesn't look liveable.

Shaw: Hm? How’d you know that my place is empty?

MC: I...

I bite my tongue, hurriedly tossing out a reason to muddle through it.

MC: I don’t even have to think about it to know. Judging by your personality, your house definitely has nothing but bare walls.

Probably because of my self-assured tone, Shaw retracts his scrutinising gaze, pursing his lips. 

Shaw: That’s not how you use “nothing but bare walls”. Did you even pay attention in school... Let’s go.”

[Note] The reason why Shaw says this is because what MC used was 家徒四壁 (“jia tou si bi”), which is an idiom literally translating to “nothing but bare walls”. However, this idiom is supposed to describe someone who is very poor!

Shaw has always been very proactive. When he finishes speaking, he quickly takes me to the nearest supermarket from school.

After a short while, the shopping cart is stuffed to the brim.

Shaw: ...wait. I asked you to get a washbowl for me. Why’d you get me three? Do you need to use three washbasins to wash your face every day?

MC: These three washbasins have their respective uses! This one is for washing your face, this one is for washing your body, this one...”

Shaw: Washes what?

MC: Fruits!

Shaw: So troublesome. I might as well buy fruits that I can eat directly without washing.

MC: This is a refined life, okay? If you think it’s too much, then I'll reduce... Hey, what did you put into the cart?

Shaw: Daily necessities.

Lowering my head to take a look, I see three boxes of animal-shaped clothes hangers. The chubby little animals have their cheeks puffed out, lying in the washbowls I’m buying.

MC: Wow, so cute! You’re quite good at picking things too! ...but why are you buying three boxes?

Shaw: I learnt from you. One box for clipping towels, one box for clipping clothes, and one box...

MC: Huh?

Shaw doesn’t finish the second half of the sentence, and I subconsciously look up at him, meeting his sly eyes.

Shaw: Since you came out to run errands today, I’ll give it to you.

-

Shaw leans against the door of Live House, quietly watching the taxi drown in the neon glow. Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrates slightly.

An unknown number appears on the screen. Shaw frowns, then lifts his hand to tap the answer button.

?: I heard you reported to school today?

Shaw: Looks like you guys are really free. You even have to bother about my enrolment in school?

?: How is it? Is everything going smoothly?

Shaw: It’s fine. Some situations cropped up, but I’m still in a pretty good mood. Also, you guys have to help me with something. The school wants me to submit an Evol inspection report. Forge one for me.

?: No problem. You can collect it from the usual place. Is there anything unusual about Nox from BS recently?

Hearing this alias, Shaw subconsciously glances into the distance. However, all that is visible is the gorgeous night of the city.

Shaw: She's been very busy recently, and seems to keep working overtime. That's it.

?: You know that’s not what we’re asking about.

Shaw: ...what’s the rush? I haven't finished investigating what you guys want to know.

?: Let me remind you not to mix in unnecessary emotions. Don't forget your mission either.

Shaw: I know. I'm hanging up.

The streetlights lining the long street light up in succession, dyeing Shaw’s hair in a warm colour.

He looks at the phone for a long time, and an untamed smile surfaces on the corners of his lips.

Shaw: I have the final say on how to deal with her.

He takes the long skateboard he had set by the side, lifts his ankle slightly, and skates into the night without hesitation.

More from S2: here

[midnightsnyx]

Consequences - Matthew Tkachuk: part 7

summary: you absolutely hate Matthew Tkachuk so it’s just your luck when you wind up pregnant with his child.

a/n: we’re near the end! i hope you guys enjoy this part and thank you for reading <3

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none but FLUFF

Part 7

32 weeks

Ignoring tradition, you and Matt decided to have a single baby shower with everyone invited instead of a separate shower and a pamper party. It was more convenient for everyone and one party was less clean up, so bonus. What you weren’t expecting was for so many people to show up. You knew Matt had a big family but you didn’t think so many of them were invited. But, you did give Chantal and Taryn free reign to plan it so really, you shouldn’t be that surprised.

Most of his family was great and you get along with them wonderfully, especially some of his cousins who are around your age. But then there are the older women who are supposed to be mature, yet are giving you dirty looks and whispering things to each other.

It makes you self conscious because you know exactly the kind of things they are thinking and saying. It’s the exact same thing you’ve seen from some of Matt’s “fans”. Comments about how you got pregnant on purpose, and how it’s a shame now that Matt is stuck with you. You knew the comments were just people who were trying to get under your skin but knowing that some of his family and friends might be thinking the same was hurtful.  

You do your best to ignore it though and focus on the people who are actually nice to you, answering all the questions they have about potential baby names, what brands you’re using for the baby, and other purposeless things. But the feeling is always in the back of your mind so at one point, you slip into Matt’s bedroom so you can just breathe for a moment.

This, of course, just gives you more time to worry about what people are thinking about you and how they’re judging you and before you know it, you feel like you might cry.

Stupid hormones.

A knock on the door breaks you from your thoughts and you look up to see Matt standing there.

“Hey,” he says quietly, shutting the door behind him and walking over to sit next to you. “you disappeared.”

“Just needed a minute.” You tell him, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks but the looks he gives you says you should know better by now.

“What’s going on inside your head?”

You shrug, not knowing how to explain without insulting his family. You don’t want him to think that you don’t like them, but you know he won’t leave you alone until you tell him why you’re upset.

So you try an approach you think he might understand.

“Do you ever feel like you’re being judged?” You ask quietly.

“All the time.” He answers easily. “Comes with the job description.”

“So you understand how it feels.” You say and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Is that what this is about?” He nudges you. “You can’t possibly think they’re judging you, Y/N.”

“But they are! I see the looks some of your family and friends give me. It’s like they think I got knocked up on purpose.”

He shakes his head. “Who cares what they think?”

“You should care about what they think.” You say slowly, raising an eyebrow at his dismissal. “They’re your family.”

He shrugs. “You’re my family too.”

He says it so casually, so effortlessly and it’s like something just clicks in your brain and suddenly you have this overwhelming want, no need, to kiss him.

And that’s exactly what you do.

He doesn’t move at first when you press your lips to his, almost like he’s unsure about what to do and for a moment, you’re worried that you’ve ruined everything but then his hand comes up and cups your cheek and he kisses you back. You feel like you might melt straight through the bed and floor when he smiles against your lips and it’s absolutely perfect until Brady barges in the room.

“Where’d you guys- oh.” Brady freezes, eyes widening before he smirks. “Oh. I see what’s happening here. I’ll give you two a minute.”

“Brady.” Matt whines, dropping his head on your shoulder. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Sorry! People were asking where you went!” He starts backing up and winks. “I’ll come up with a cover story. Have fun kids.”

“Brady.”

“Leaving! I’m going now!” He says, darting out the door and shutting it behind him.

Matt lifts his head, resting his chin on your shoulder instead of moving away. His eyes study your face as if he’s searching for any sign of regret but you smile to ease his worries.

“That was nice.”  

He raises an eyebrow. “Just nice? I think I can do better than that.”

“Okay, it was better than nice.” You giggle, feeling giddy. It’s a bit of a foreign feeling.

“Kind of overdue, huh?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You been wanting to kiss me, Tkachuk?”

“Oh, just since we met. Y’know, not that long.”

“Matthew.”

“What? I’m serious.” He says and then sighs. “I know I kind of fucked up when we first met. I was a bit of an ass-”

“A bit?” You tease and he gives you a dry look but you know he’s not actually mad.

“Hey, I’m trying.”

“Sorry.” You say solemnly. “Go on.”

He presses his lips together to hold back a smile. “You were funny and witty and kind from what Johnny had told me so I asked him to introduce me. Probably wasn’t the best idea to do it when I was drunk but he’s always had bad timing.” He shrugs. “He’d mentioned that you were fresh out of a tough relationship and I just… I don’t know, I just said the first thing that came to my mind and drunk me thought it was funny. Which obviously, it wasn’t.”

“I know we’ve already kissed-” he points to your stomach. “clearly, but I’d like to think of this as our first kiss.”

You grimace. “That works for me because honestly, I don’t remember much of that night.”

“I must have been doing something wrong, then.” He jokes.

“Guess you’ll have to show me again.”

He grins. “Deal. But first, I’m taking you on a date.

. . .

“I knew he’d come around.” Taryn grins, finishing the last of your makeup. When she heard that Matt was taking you on a date, she begged you to let her help you get ready. You were going to ask her anyway because you wanted to spend as much time with her and Chantal as you could before they went home. It was unlikely you would be able to see them again until after the baby is born and that thought freaks you out because you’re nearly 33 weeks and your doctor told you that you can deliver as early as 37 weeks.

So you only have about a month left to prepare yourself for childbirth. Luckily, Chantal has been so helpful, answering any questions you have and you feel so blessed that you have her to help you through this.

“I knew it was coming too.” Chantal says from her spot on the bed. You’re half certain you saw tears in her eyes when you told her that Matt had asked you on a date but you cried too so you can’t make fun.

“You guys have been hoping for this, haven’t you?”

Chantal shrugs and hides a smile. “Maybe.”

Taryn nods. “The way you two look at each other totally gives away your feelings. It’s weird seeing Matt like that.”

“Like what?”

“Nice. Honestly, a little unsettling.”

“Taryn.” Chantal scolds and the youngest Tkachuk raises her hands.

“I’m joking.” She mutters. “Kind of.”

Chantal just sighs but smiles when she looks at you.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

Your face turns pink from her compliment but it does mean a lot knowing that Matt’s mom approves of you despite the unusual circumstances. You know that some parents might have had reservations about the situation you and Matt are in but Chantal and Keith treated you with nothing but respect and kindness since the start of this and you will forever be grateful.

“Well, you’re all done.” Taryn says, stepping back to admire her work. “You’re going to knock his socks off.”

“Even being 8 months pregnant?” You ask hesitantly.

“Especially being 8 months pregnant.” Chantal assures you.

Her assurance makes you feel a little better but when there is a knock on the door, you’re suddenly extremely nervous.

“Come in!” Taryn yells and Matt pokes his head in with a grin on his face. When he looks at you, his eyes go wide and mouth drops a little.

He stutters over his words which makes you feel better.

“Cat got your tongue, Tkachuk?” You ask, trying to hide the pleased look on your face.

He shakes his head and grins, walking over and taking your hands in his. “Just admiring how beautiful my girl is.”

“Your girl? Awfully presumptuous.” You joke but your heart warms at his words. You can hear Chantal literally awe.

Matt just grins and leads you out of the apartment and to his car. He even opens the door for you and you raise an eyebrow but don’t comment.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” You ask when he slides in the drivers seat.

“Nope.” He says, sending you a sly grin.

You know it’s pointless arguing with him so you just smile back and rest your head on the seat, watching out the window until you reach your destination.

. . .

Matt knows you better than you thought because instead of bringing you to a fancy, high end restaurant, he brings you to a small but cute diner the two of you frequently go to. He knows it’s your favourite and it make you happy knowing that he notices small things like this.

“This okay?” He asks once the two of you are seated. He looks a little nervous and you want to get rid of any worries that he has.

“It’s perfect,” you assure him. “I love it.”

And you, you nearly say and you almost fall out of your seat at the realization.

Do you love Matt? You care for him deeply, that’s not a question and you know your feelings for him have been shifting lately. The kiss proved that, but were you confusing love, with infatuation? Or were you starting to actually have those feelings for him?

The better question is whether it’s a good idea to let yourself have these feelings right now because while this is nice, the two of you are about to be parents and any strong feelings like that can make things messy, especially if Matt doesn’t feel the same way.

You know you’ll have to acknowledge and deal with these feelings soon but for now, you let yourself enjoy the night, stealing fries off Matt’s plate while he pretends not to notice and arguing playfully about baby names.

It’s a problem for another night.

......

a/n: i wanna be like OH WE GOT THE FIRST KISS but technically this isn’t the first kiss because, well, you know 

[lowkeyorloki]

Library Card

An AU in which you’re a librarian, and Loki’s fingertips brushing against yours as you take his card makes you blush

(shoutout to @the-emo-asgardian and @is-it-madness for helping me decide to narrate this fic from loki’s point of view! you guys rock!!)

also, as a tom hiddleston fan, “ehehehe” was bound to make an appearance in one of my fics sooner or later. let’s just hope i used it well

~

Loki watched as the crowd of people you just helped filed out the door, shoving receipts printed with due dates into the spine of their books. He thinks about them, men and women going home to their families with a novel they won’t have the time to even begin, let alone finish. Eight years now, Loki had spent living on Midgard and he still couldn’t understand it. Why would they risk the embarrassment of coming back to the library every week, knowing full well they didn’t do anything with what the building provided them?

Well... probably because the only employee would never say something about it. 

You were at the circulation desk now, sighing deeply as you pinch the bridge of your nose. You always did that, Loki had noticed, after you helped large groups. Like any extended period of social interaction made you tired. Loki couldn’t judge you for that. While he was perfectly capable of being charming and outgoing when he needed to be, he didn’t particularly enjoy it.

So he gives you a few minutes, and once you’ve had a sip of water and typed a few words into your computer, he steps towards the desk. 

“Hi.” you say, meeting his eyes. Loki nods.

“Hello.” he greets you back.

That was always the extent of your conversations. You would look at Loki with your wide eyes- they really were beautiful, unlike any others he had seen on Midgard. You looked at Loki with such a kindness about you, like you wouldn’t second guess giving him a hug if he started crying right then and there.

Thor would take offense to this. Loki can almost hear his brother’s voice in his head, telling him that it’s better for someone to only look at one person that way.

But the fact you treated all your patrons with a good disposition didn’t make Loki feel like he wasn’t special, or whatever else Thor meant when he was saying things like that. Loki liked knowing there were people like you, who were nice to everyone because there was no reason not to be. It was a type of person Loki had never been around growing up. It was... comforting, to see now.

And besides, you had a sense of humor as well. Loki never confirmed this himself, but you often sent people away from the counter laughing. And there was a face you’d make, one Loki could never look away from. You’d scrunch your nose, then let out a genuine laugh. In a quiet library, you took up all the space.

Your words tear Loki from his thoughts.

“You know...” you hold up one of his books. Othello. “You can buy this book. Or at least renew it, instead of returning it and then checking it out again every week.” your eyes twinkle. Loki finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

“I could.” he agrees. You lean forward, seemingly eager to hear Loki’s answer. Loki’s eyes scan the small building. You’re alone. He smirks. “But I would hate to bar anyone else from a classic.” he says. You suck in a breath.

“I hate to say it, but no one in this town is going to read Shakespeare. I would know, because I manage the holds list.” you scan the book, the machine next to you making a beeping noise. Loki hums.

“Well.” Loki begins. Your eyebrows raise at the god, an action he often finds himself doing. It’s interesting to see someone else do it. “In that case, I could easily buy the play, yes. But I wouldn’t ever be able to bring myself to. I enjoy the older books. Loose pages, broken spines. They have a certain charm to them.”

You blink, staring at Loki in wonder. 

“Yes.” you say, with emphasis. “Oh my gosh, exactly. And, okay please don’t think I’m weird, but the-”

“Smell?” Loki finishes for you. Your smile is contagious, Loki finds the corners of his mouth drifting up, too.

“Yeah! It doesn’t come with new books.” you exclaim. You shrink back. “Sorry.” you say, self consciously. “I don’t know many people who like books the way I do.” Loki watches you pack your excitement away, and for some reason, it weighs on him deep in his chest.

“Don’t apologize.” he tells you. “And now you do. One person who shares your interest is better than none.”

You look at Loki with a sense of amazement, almost like you can’t believe he’s standing in front of you. “Yeah.” you say, your voice sounding lighter than it was before. “It is.”

You shake your head, like you’re breaking yourself out of a daze. “Um, I’ll need your card. To check you out. To check your books out! Not you, I wouldn’t do that.” you knit your eyebrows together in frustration. “Not that I wouldn’t because you’re unattractive or anything- you’re handsome, it’s just that-”

“Here.” Loki’s biting back a laugh now, handing you his library card to put you out of your misery. You seem thankful when he does.

Loki’s fingertips brush your own when you take the piece of plastic from him, and it sends jolts of electricity through his hand. It takes him by surprise, his body reacting so strongly to such a simple touch.

You feel it too: Your breath hitches, barely. It’s nothing another human would be able to detect, but in Loki’s godlike stature, you may as well have gasped out loud. 

You retract your hand at what must be a record speed, scanning the card and laying it on the counter so there’s no chance of contact again. You push the books towards Loki.

“Thanks for coming in.” you say. “And for that chat. It was fun.”

“Yes.” Loki says tentatively. He takes the books. “It was.”

With that, Loki turns towards the exit, fully prepared to leave and continue his day as planned.

And yet...

Loki looked back at you as he was halfway through the door. Your hands were busy, scanning papers and moving pencils in a way that made Loki think you were trying to look occupied as opposed to actually being so.

“I... Pardon me.” Loki steps back towards the counter. You look up at him with wide eyes, a red tint still flushing your cheeks. Loki does his best not to focus on it.

“Returning Othello already?” you ask. “That was fast, even for you.” Loki scoffs.

“No, not quite yet. Listen, I assure you, I am not usually not this forward, but...” Loki’s grip on his stack of books tightens. “Would you like to grab a drink sometime?” 

“Hmmm.” you’re holding a pen in your hand, click-click-clicking it as you talk. “You do remember I’m a librarian, right?” your words sound like a rejection, but you’re beaming as you bite your lip.

Loki finds himself smiling back- you’re playing a game. Teasing.

“Ehehehe.” he laughs. “You’re right, how silly of me. Coffee, then?”

Your smile lights up the room as you reach forward, taking Loki’s hand and flattening it out. He feels the dull point of your ballpoint pen as you write your number, as well as your warm breath on his arm. Loki suppresses a shudder- a good kind, from anticipation more than anything else. 

“Call me, mister...” your eyes drift to the receipt you had printed just moments before. “Laufeyson.”

“I will.” Loki tells you. He holds up his hand with your writing. “Don’t sweat it.” One of the only Midgardian phrases Loki has picked up on. He hopes it worked, and thinks it does when you roll your eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re jokester. A Trickster, even.” Loki grins. You have no idea. he thinks to himself.

He pushes the glass door open and walks away, his spirits higher than they’d been in, well...

The last eight years. 

[guiltydumpling]

The Guard: Chapter 3

[KUVIRA X READER ROYAL AU]

Summary: “I called you all here to announce that we have a guest arriving sometime later today. Princess Y/N of the Kingdom of Elysian” The people in the throne room looked at one another confusingly. “Their palace was under sieged and the king had to send the princess away to keep her safe from any assassination attempts. Their kingdom has done a lot for us and has proven to be great allies for generations. She’s come a long way and has been traveling for a week, I expect nothing less than for all of you to treat her as you do a member of the royal family and to attend to everything and anything, she might ask for… This poor child has already been through too much.” There was silence in the throne room for a while, as they let the information sink in. “Dismissed.”

A/N: Hi beautiful beings <3 This chapter has mature content (i.e. masturbation and sexual thoughts) so please don’t proceed if that makes you feel uncomfortable !! 

P.S. I hope you are all enjoying the story as much as I am and I can’t wait to post the next chapters cause thing’s are gonna get interesting... and sad. According to my outline there’s about 4 more chapters left for this short story and I am exciteeeeedd

Word Count: 5.2k

A month goes by and each day you start to become more okay. You received a letter from your father two weeks ago and he assured you that things were slowly getting better and that you would be home soon enough. That letter was enough to comfort you for the next days to come while you in were Zaofu.

Meanwhile, since that night in your chambers, you and Kuvira grew to become incredibly close. You finally convinced her to start reading the book you recommended her which she reluctantly did after over a month of you suggesting it. It became a routine of yours to watch her spar every morning with the twins or train the new recruits.  She was a natural leader and everyday you admired her more and more. Occasionally you would bring a paper and a pencil to sketch her. She noticed you drawing her one time and you told her you just wanted to “practice” which she obviously didn’t buy but didn’t bring it up again. You enjoyed watching Kuvira in her element.

Some nights, she would join you for drinks in your chambers with Zhu Li and other nights it was just the two of you. You would be lying if you’d say that you didn’t prefer the latter. You talked about anything and everything. You didn’t have much of an interesting life and you were always excited to hear about Kuvira’s adventure and experiences as the Captain of the Guard. Everyday you fought the urge to do something you might regret with her and your self-control was getting weaker each day. Suck it up. You would say to yourself.

Before Avatar Korra left, Opal was able to convince Suyin to let her train with the Avatar and the rest of the new air benders in the mainland. Tears of joy nearly fell from your eyes when Opal was saying goodbye to you. You rooted for her so much and you were overwhelmed with pride when she chose to follow a different path rather than what was originally laid out for her.

What you would give to be able to forge your own path. But you didn’t have that luxury. Not anymore. Not since your sister’s death and the siege on Elysian. You had a duty to your people and to your father now.

You spent most of your afternoons in the library with Kuvira or in the garden with the Empress. You never knew your mother, so you were always eager to spend time with Suyin and have conversations you wished you had growing up. You really only had Zhu Li to talk to about things on your mind and it was comforting to know that Suyin was there too.

You were surprised to learn that your mother was born and raised in Zaofu. She was one of Suyin’s ladies and that she was originally supposed to marry your father to strengthen your kingdom’s alliance. You never knew this story and you never thought to ask about how your father met your mother. You always assumed it was like any other royal union. Early engagement and marriage. But this was so much more than that.

“Your mother was my best friend. And at the time of my engagement I was in love with somebody else. An architect.” She starts

“Emperor Bataar?” you ask, and she nods in confirmation. You were walking along the garden, collecting flowers to send to Opal along with many gifts from the Empress.

“While your father was here to court me, I would ask your mother to always cover for me so I can sneak out to secretly see Bataar. And along the way, your mother and your father got along really well. Not that I minded, in fact, I was happy for them. Your father talked to me about our marriage and we both agreed that neither of us wanted it. We ended up becoming good friends instead and I gave him permission to court your mother while I proceeded to marry the man I truly loved.” She explains and you nodded fully invested in the tale, urging for her continue. “Your father and I married separately but happily, and we knew that we owed it to each other. We loved one another not romantically but as people who we were thankful to have in our lives. After that, we didn’t need the marriage to strengthen the alliance anymore. Because we knew that no matter what, we would do whatever we can to be of service to each other.” The empress finishes as she picks the last flower for her arrangement. “Thank you for telling me this your majesty.” You say with soft smile.

~ ~ ~

You were playing the piano in the library while Kuvira sat on the couch reading the book you told her to read while humming lazily to the tune you were playing. “Her majesty told me about how my parents met” you say after you stop playing and Kuvira looks up from her book. “Did you know that my father and the empress were supposed to get married?” you continued and Kuvira raises her brows in surprise “No, I did not” she answers. “Neither did I” you say with amusement

“You would have been the princess of Zaofu” Kuvira suggested

“Or I probably would have never existed at all” You retort and Kuvira shakes her head

“Well then thank the spirits above that they did not end up marrying one another” she says as she goes back to reading her book. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Why is that?” You ask Kuvira and she looks up from her book once more. She takes a moment to respond. “A world without you would be bleak. Not really a world worth living in if you ask me.” She says in a serious tone before going back to her book once more.

Heat rushes through your body and you fought the urge to smile. Kuvira did this a lot. She would compliment you or say sweet things to you so passively that you sometimes wondered if she knew how this, how she affected you.

You went back to playing the piano.

~ ~ ~

You just got out of bed when Kuvira walks into your chambers with morning tea for you and Zhu Li and you two thank her. “Are you training anybody today Vee?” you ask Kuvira as you take sip from the delicious tea while Zhu Li brushes your hair. “Nope, not today princess” and you frown slightly.

As inappropriate as it was, seeing Kuvira breathing heavily and sweating was the highlight of your day. If you couldn’t touch her, the least you could do was look at her. And it wasn’t like you were harming her or anything, you just needed to be entertained.

“Why princess? You had something in mind?” Kuvira asks and you thought about it for a while before an idea struck you.

“I was wondering if you could train me” you suggested and Kuvira raises an eyebrow at you. “You want me to train you?” she asks just to make sure she heard you right and you nod your head with a hum

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to fight, just in case a noble decides to piss me off” you say jokingly and Kuvira laughs “Fine. The nobles would most probably deserve it anyway” Kuvira jokes along and Zhu Li joins in on the laughter.

You were now on the training ground and you had on black bottoms that were made of spandex that hugged your legs perfectly along with a tank top similar to Kuvira’s, except yours was a deep red. Kuvira on the other hand, was in her usual training clothes.

“Okay so first thing’s first you’re going to have to learn defense before you can go offense” She explains to you. “Why can’t I do offense?” you ask “Well mainly because defense is more practical for somebody of your status and judging by your eagerness to learn, you’ll most likely start picking fights with random people all over the palace” she says with a playful look and you mischievously smile “just the nobles” you answer and earning a chuckle from Kuvira

The training started and you noticed that Kuvira wasn’t training you like she would train other newcomers. First of all, she was too gentle. She would pretend to do offensive techniques on you so that you can practice the application of the new defense move you learned, and you easily won everytime and it bothered you.

After she complimented you once you tried to do another defensive technique, you had enough. “Stop it” you say seriously, and she looks at you in confusion. “I’m sorry?” she asked “Stop giving me the special treatment. I know how you train people, and this is not it.” You say as you turn to her to meet her deep green eyes and her features harden. “You want me to order you around?” she asks and your stomach flutters. Something about the thought of her “ordering you around” was incredibly intriguing and hot. So, you nod. She looks at you for few more seconds before she speaks “okay then”

Moments later and Kuvira didn’t hold back in “ordering you around”.

“Tighter” she says as you grabbed a hold of her wrist in an attempt to stop it from coming at you. “Harder” as you try to fight against its force. “Stop” she says, and you do. “Horse stance” she demands, and you comply.

You stare straight ahead and Kuvira circles you, closely observing as she tries to look for something to correct. “your form is right, but you can be easily knocked over. The point of this is for you to be able to withstand force.” She explains and you nod. She kneels in front of you just enough for head to be leveled with your hips “look at me” she says, and you do.

Kuvira kneeling in front of you in that top with sweat dripping from her neck to her chest was a sight you might never be able to rid your memory of. She put both of her palms on either side your thighs and squeezes them, causing your heart to raise. “I need you to tense these up for me” and you do. “harder” she says, and you comply. She smiles at you before saying “good”

Kuvira slowly gets up without breaking eye contact and she was directly in front of you now. Her face and her body just inches away and your breath hitched when you felt her place both her hands on your waist. She dragged one hand to your abdomen to press it. “Now I need you to tighten this for me” she says. For me. At this point she can ask you to jump off a cliff for her and you might probably do it.

She is still looking directly at you, “I want you to think of something that gets your body to tense up. Anything at all” She tells you and you furrow your brows in confusion “what do you mean” you ask “What gets you riled up? What gets your body to react and stiffen?” she explains, and your mind flies to images of Kuvira immediately.

“Close your eyes and picture it, something that will get your body to physically react” she suggests, and you do. You close your eyes and picture things that might get you to tense up. Kuvira.

Her hands all over your body. Tracing kisses all over your neck to your collarbones then down your chest. One hand holding you by the waist and the other squeezing your breast. You think about her pushing your dress up to grab your thighs. Fingers inching slowly towards your heat to tease you as you feel her heavy breathing. You think about her pressing her middle and ring finger against your heat over your underwear and moves it agonizingly slow that your knees would buckle from arousal. You think about her wanting you. Pleasing you.

Naturally, your body stiffens. “Very good princess” Kuvira whispers in your ear. The thoughts running through your head along with your proximity with Kuvira was beginning to be too much for you to handle. You feel warmth pooling at your center and your breathing was starting to become heavier. Suck it up. You thought to yourself. “Open your eyes. You can relax now.” She demands and you follow standing up right once more. You see a faint smile playing on her lips. Her lips. “I want this much tension in your body everytime we train. Got it princess?” She tells you and you simply nod unable to form words, still feeling flustered.  

“How does it feel?” She asks you and you had to hum, indicating for her to repeat the question because your mind was still elsewhere. After she repeats the question you think for a moment. All you felt right now was desire and frustration from not being able to do anything about your desire. What do you feel?

“I feel… tired” you manage to say, and she nods her head in agreement. “We can continue another day. You should freshen up now. I’ll take you back to your chambers” she offers, and you shake your head no. “It’s okay I can head back there myself. Why don’t you go freshen up as well and I’ll see you after lunch?” you suggest, and she hesitates for a moment before agreeing. You turn to leave, and you feel your head start to spin. Was it from training or arousal? You will never know.

You reach your chambers and thankfully Zhu Li was already there tidying things up and does a curtsy when she sees you. You smile at her and you plopped yourself down on the couch not wanting to ruin the bed she just fixed. You close your eyes for a moment, and you feel Zhu Li’s eyes on you and as expected, you open your eyes to see her sitting across from you.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say to Zhu Li and she nods. You bite your lip feeling a little bit embarrassed by the question you want to ask but if anyone can help you it would be no other than Zhu LI. “How do you find… other women?” you ask her

“How do I find other women… physically or emotionally?” she asks, and you answer with “both”. “Well your highness, I think they’re really beautiful. All unique in their own way. As for emotionally… I guess I admire them, mostly women who are good in combat. Or outspoken.” She answers and you shake your head.

“That’s it? You don’t think about them… or try to not think about them at all? Or maybe wonder if… they might… think about you too?” you say, your voice trailing off and Zhu Li raises a brow at you. “You mean Kuvira?” she asks, and your eyes widen in surprise “What?! Where for spirits sake did you get that idea?!” you ask trying to not sound defensive but obviously failing.

“I’ve known you since you were a child your highness. I know you’re reserved and most of the time untrusting. But with Kuvira… You’re always glowing around her. I’ve never seen you more comfortable with anybody else since your sister” She explains “Not to mention that your face gets red after every single compliment she gives you” she playfully adds, and you bury your face to your hands in embarrassment. There was no point in hiding it now.

You let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know what to do Zhu Li” you say as you look back up at her. “What do I do?”

“As a friend… I would advise you to follow your heart. Cliché, but that’s the only way to be happy. And you deserve to be happy.” She says and you smile at her. “But as a royal subject, I would advise you to think about it carefully. At the end of the day, you are still an heir. The only heir at that. And although things have been more progressive since the Avatar admitted her love for Ms.Sato, it is still not generally accepted. Especially for people with your title. A title that requires heirs and a title that would require you to marry not for love, but for power and security.” She explains and you nod your head in understanding. You already knew these things. Which is why you never acted on your urges before because it would just be pointless. But it felt a lot more real now that it was somebody else who was saying these things to you. The stakes felt heavier. “Whatever you decide to do, I will support you. But I beg you… think about it” Zhu Li adds, and you nod your head once more. “Thank you for speaking your mind Zhu Li. I can always count on you to tell me the what I need to hear” you say before standing up. “Shall I draw you a bath?” Zhu Li asks, and you say yes.

You touch the water to check the temperature. Deciding it’s warm enough you start to disrobe before soaking in the bath. You exhale loudly as you let the warm water ease your muscles. I’m definitely going to feel this tomorrow. While scrubbing off the sweat and dirt on your body, your mind starts to replay the events this morning. You recall the feeling of Kuvira’s breath tickling your ear and her hands on your waist. The image of her on her knees in front of you, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. You feel the warmth between your legs once more and you press them together to try to alleviate the sharp tingle.

You try to ignore the sensation between your legs as you proceed to rinse the lather off your body before you submerge yourself deeper into the bath. It was still tingling. Letting out an exasperated sigh, “fuck” you whisper to yourself and you close your eyes.

You remember your conversation earlier with Zhu Li about your desire to pursue Kuvira being impractical. You knew it was. But is it so bad that you want her anyway? Nobody will ever know right? How bad you want to feel her lips against your own. How you want to entangle your fingers through her thick hair. How you want her to kiss you all over your body. To feel her fingers there.

You peeked at the door to check if it was locked and with a shameful blush, you slipped a hand between your legs. I might as well get something out of this you thought. Your one hand rubbed against your sex in slow circles and you gasped when you started to increase your pacing. You dragged your free hand across your body to massage your left breast imagining it was Kuvira’s instead and you couldn’t help but let out soft moan escape your lips.

Your legs were starting to shake, and you slipped your middle and ring finger in and you had to bite on your lip to keep yourself from making anymore noise. Your fingers pumped in and out and you bring your other hand from your left breast to press against your clit. As you fingered yourself, along the way you pumped deep enough to find your sweet spot and your eyes widened. “Yes…” you moaned as you continued to pump your fingers making sure that you were hitting the right spot, but your body demanded more.

You increase your pace and you lifted your hips to rock them and match the rhythm of your fingers while your other hand continued to rub your clit. This time you didn’t bother to stop yourself from making noise anymore. “Fuck, Kuvira” you moaned, and you felt yourself clenching around your fingers. You were so close.

You put your hips back down and instead lifted your legs to rest it on either side of the tub, comfortably spreading your legs apart. You continued to pump your fingers and your hand moved to your neck, putting enough pressure to limit your air supply and this turned you on even more. Your mind replaced the hand around your neck with Kuvira’s as she whispered dirty things in your ear. “I want you to come for me princess” You imagine, practically hearing her voice. “Yes… oh fuck yes…” you moaned as you shut your eyes and your body starts to shake as you reach your climax and you had to bite your lip to keep you from screaming Kuvira’s name. You couldn’t help but let a string of moans slip from your mouth and occasionally Kuvira’s name as you continued to slowly pump your fingers, letting yourself ride your orgasm out.

Finally pulling your fingers out, you rinse them in water, and you emerge your body from the bath, your legs still shaking slightly. You patted yourself dry before draining the water from your tub. You turned to see yourself in the mirror and your cheeks and lips were more pigmented than they usually were which you admittedly kind of liked. It made you look very relaxed and problem free which for a moment back there, you were. And you knew in your heart no matter how much it embarrassed you, that whatever you just did, would not be the last time.

~ ~ ~

Two weeks go by and you were practically touching yourself to the thought of Kuvira every chance you got. It was starting to become a problem. Especially since Kuvira was really comfortable around you as well which meant more touches, more jokes, flirty lines, and innuendos. You hated yourself for it. You felt icky.

It wasn’t your first time touching yourself of course, it was just your first time touching yourself with someone in mind. You already knew she had similar feelings for you, but you doubt it was as strong as yours. And who knows, maybe it was just her being intoxicated that one night that led her to almost kiss you.

You had moments with Kuvira where she would intentionally let her touch linger a while longer than necessary and you just know that she knows how much it drives you wild. She would chuckle at you whenever she would catch you staring at her or whenever she’d witness you blush from one of her comments about you. It was as if she wants you to want her, and it was extremely frustrating.

Your combat training continued a few more sessions before you had to stop because she needed to train newcomers and you would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. You tried giving her a lesson in archery once only to have Kuvira realize in that moment that she hated the sport, which you didn’t really quite understand if she really thought it wasn’t for her or if she just didn’t like the way you thought her in that one session. You were hoping for the former.

You were now situated on the couch in your chambers outlining a sketch of Kuvira from the training this morning. Moments later and you were drawing her arms. I wonder how it would feel wrapped around me. You blush and move on to her hands, her fingers. Those long and strong fingers must feel good pressed against me. And you feel the familiar warmth pooling between your legs, and you stop drawing. “Why the fuck am I like this?” You ask yourself quietly before placing the sketchbook down and slowly spread your legs comfortably on the couch.

You let out a deep sigh before undoing your night robe to expose your naked body. You lightly twist your nipples in between you thumb and your index before sliding your hand between your legs. You let out a soft moan when you start rubbing slow circles against your heat and you let your head fall on the couch, relishing the sensation. You close your eyes and your mind replaces your hand with Kuvira’s like you would usually do.

You start to rock your hips against your hand, and you increase your pace. “Spirits… fuck…” you moaned. You felt your hand starting to slip from your clit because of how wet you were, and this turned you on even more. You kept the fast pace and your legs were now starting to shake. You let go of your breast and gripped the side of the couch to release some of the tension you were building up in your body. You were so close to the edge and you were breathing so heavily now.

Knock knock

Your eyes snap open and you immediately get up from the couch to look over at the door. “Who is it?” you yelled with a hint of annoyance hoping they would get the memo and leave.

Knock knock

You huffed in frustration and secured your robe around your body in an attempt to look somewhat presentable. You stood up from the couch and walked over to the door to open it and you were surprised when you see Kuvira standing there with an unreadable expression. She was still in her uniform, but without the metal armor.

“I finished your book” she says, and your eyes widen in surprise

“That’s um… great?” you answered not quite sure why she had to come all this way at this hour to tell you that. “How’d you find it?” you ask

“I think it’s stupid.” She answers and you were taken back, “excuse me?” you ask somewhat offended. “May I come in?” she asks, and you let her.

You close the door behind you and Kuvira start to pace back and forth before she stops to lock eyes with you.

“Why would you make me read this? You told me it was a story of courage!” She says, frustration laced in her tone. “It is!” you answered back starting to feel annoyance amidst the confusion. “No, it isn’t! They both die in the end because of their stupidity and greed, Romeo should have just stayed away from Juliet in the first place!” she explained, and you were still confused as to why this affected her so much.

“Romeo loved Juliet. And for him, it didn’t matter if their families were never going to accept them because he was willing to risk everything just for her and her for him” You try to explain calmly, not wanting to rile Kuvira even more which seemed to work because Kuvira’s features softened. She walks towards you and stops when she was only a foot away from you. She stares into your eyes for a while before letting out a sigh.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks in a low voice. And you understand now. She was referring to the two of you. You nod, unable to form words at the moment.

“It doesn’t make sense Y/N” she says and your heart flutters when you hear your name fall from her mouth. She’s only every called you “your highness” or “princess” despite giving her the permission to call you by your name. Now she’s used it, and all you want to do is to hear her say your name over and over.

“What’s the point in pursuing someone if you both know that it will never work? That no matter how much you love one another; you just aren’t meant for each other. What do you do when all you want is to hold somebody in your arms and tell that person how you truly feel, only to have to let that person go at the end? What happens then?” She explains and your heart is now beating out of your chest. You try to fight the tears that are welling in your eyes and you don’t break eye contact with Kuvira.

“I don’t know… But isn’t better to live a life knowing love than not at all?” you start. You walk towards Kuvira. She doesn’t move so you take this as a sign to continue walking closer. You gather all your courage and you bring your hand up to her face, neither of you daring to break eye contact. Naturally, she leans into your touch and brings a hand up to put on top of yours and her other hand snaking around your waist to pull you closer. “Sometimes you have to stop thinking about the future. Why should it be such a sin to be selfish from time to time? To take what we want?” you continue. “What do you want?” she asks.

Kuvira’s eyes shifted from your lips and back to your eyes. You knew what she wanted to do, and you wanted her to do it. It’s been over a month of self-control, tension and denial and you were exhausted. You worried about what is expected from you all your life that you never really knew what you wanted. Only that you wanted to meet those expectations. But right now, with Kuvira right in front of you, you were never sure about wanting something in your life than you were at this moment. You wanted Kuvira.

She was the only person to ever make you feel so comfortable and secure. You never liked being vulnerable around other people, but everything was just so easy with Kuvira. Everything felt so natural, so right. You were absolutely nothing alike and you complemented each other so perfectly. You loved how she never tried to impress you or never hesitated to call you out unlike most of the people in your life. She was genuine and honest, and spirits was she everything you never knew you needed.

“I want you” you finally admit. And Kuvira gives you a soft smile. “yeah?” she asks “yeah” you confirm returning Kuvira’s smile and no longer able to wait, finally, you put your free hand on other side of her cheek and you pull her in for a kiss, closing the gap between you and she places both her hands around your waist to pull you even closer.

It was everything you ever imagined and more. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and the feeling of her lips against your own was something you never thought you’d experience. Her lips were soft even when pressed hard against yours and you decide to wrap your arm around her neck wanting to feel even closer.

Kuvira pulls away first and you were both breathing so heavily now. She presses her forehead against yours, “you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this with you” she whispers, and you smile at her.

If you only knew what I’ve been up to the past weeks. You thought

She pulls you in for another deep kiss.

[anarchyduck]

Peas in a Pod

Day 20 Alt Prompt: De-Aged 

(posted it on AO3 yesterday, forgot to post it here oops) AO3

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

“So let me get this straight,” - Tony massages his temple in effort to soothe his growing headache - “There was a wizard.”

“Yeah,” Ned nods. “And he was shooting off fireballs, like real fireballs, and it was awesome and kinda scary and-”

“Ned. Ned. Find the shortcut to the point. Because nothing explains” - Tony gestures towards the couch - “that.” 

Ned blushes with embarrassment and nods . “Right! Sorry, sir. So, uhm, Pete was fighting the wizard guy and he was doing really good! Was totally kicking his ass! And then the wizard like, shot him with some kind of purplish black energy ray stuff? Like it shot right out of his hands. Then the wizard was gone and Pete was… like this.” 

Tony eyes the kid on the couch. Same curly brown hair. Same doe brown eyes. It’s everything else that’s wrong. Peter is sixteen, a teenager, and this kid looks like he’s no more than five years old. 

As for Peter, well, he looks content watching videos on Ned’s phone. Some children’s cartoon about dogs or something, Tony didn’t quite catch it. But the kid likes it and he isn’t crying anymore so Tony counts that as a win. Judging from the confused state the kid was in upon arrival, it’s safe to assume Peter’s memories are wiped. Or, rather, memories of his life in the present day which is a problem in and of itself.  

“So,” Ned’s drawl catches his attention. “What are we going to do?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “We?” he shakes his head. “No, no, you are going home.” 

“What about Peter?” 

Yeah Stark, what about Peter? 

“He’ll go with his aunt.” Tony says simply. Easy enough solution. 

“You mean you can’t like, fix him?” Ned asks. “What if he ends up staying like this forever?” 

Tony waves off the teen’s concerns. “He won’t.” he assures. “Whatever the wizard guy hit him with will probably wear off in a couple hours. Easy peasy.” After all, the kid couldn’t stay like this forever, could he? That is just absurd. 

----------

The effects don’t wear off. 

Two hours later and Peter is still a child. Ned is gone, reluctantly dragged out by Happy who also delivered clothes that fit the kid better so he’s no longer swimming in the Doctor Who shirt Tony assumed belonged to one of the boys. During that time, Tony contacts May to fill her in on what’s going on. The woman is stuck at work (“We’re incredibly short staffed today, it’s ridiculous.”) and unable to leave before her shift is over. 

It leaves Tony in charge of the kid which, while normally wouldn’t be an issue, he suddenly finds himself out of his depth. Teenagers, he can handle. No problem. They could be reasoned with. But small children? 

“Mr. Tony?” 

Tony jumps, spinning on hell with his hand pressed firmly against his heart. “Holy shit!” he gasps.

Peter flinches back, eyes wide and looking as startled as Tony feels. Then his bottom lip begins to quiver. 

“No no, don’t cry.” Tony says in a rush. “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid. You snuck up on me. Ought to put a bell on you someday.” 

That earns him a giggle which washes away the rising guilt. “Uncle Ben says that too.” Peter says. “Says I’m really good at sneaking.” 

“You are good at sneaking.” Tony affirms. “What are you doing down here anyway? Thought you were watching TV?” Least that’s where Tony left him. Kid was content with watching the cartoon with the dogs and he figured he could get some work done tracking down the wizard guy. 

“I was, but it’s over now.” Peter says dismissively, his eyes already wandering the workshop. Then he actually begins to wander. Tony watches him, contemplating on whether it’s a good idea to let a four year old wander his workshop. It isn’t exactly kid proof and if he knows anything about kids (which is very limited) it’s they like to touch everything. And put things in their mouths. 

“What’s that?” Peter asks and Tony leans to the side to look past the monitors and equipment to see what the boy is pointing at. 

“Oh that’s DUM-E.” 

The robot chirps in response, clicking it’s claw as it peers curiously at the boy. Tony takes a couple steps towards them, immediately thinking Peter might fear the robot. Much to his relief, the boy’s mouth is agape with wonder and eyes equally wide. 

“Wow!” he gasps. “Hi DUM-E. I’m Peter.” Peter reaches up to pet DUM-E’s extended arm, giggling as the robot chirps at him. “So is he a robot?”

“Yep. I made him.” 

“You made him?” Peter gives him the same look of wonder and amazement. “Wow. Are there other stuff you’ve made?” 

“I’ve made a lot of stuff.”

And so Tony gives the kid a proper tour of the workshop. Like his older self, Peter is sharp minded and incredibly smart. He asks questions Tony doesn’t think a four year old would know to ask and hangs onto every word Tony says. When he introduces Peter to FRIDAY, the kid is so ecstatic he can’t sit still. It warms his heart to know Peter keeps that same excitement as he aged. 

After the tour, Tony brings him into the kitchen to feed him a late lunch. The kid sits on the kitchen counter next to him, watching Tony’s every move. PB&J sandwiches are the easiest thing he can fix and turns out to be the kid’s favorite.

“So you’re a superhero?” Peter asks curiously. 

“Sometimes.” Tony replies as he spreads the peanut butter onto the bread. 

“Like Batman?” 

“Kiddo, I am way cooler and richer than Batman.”

Peter giggles and Tony thinks it might be the cutest goddamn thing he’s heard all day.

“My daddy is like you.” the kid says suddenly.

“Oh yeah? How so?” Tony asks, finding himself equally curious. He knows through his early research into Peter Parker that the boy’s parents are deceased. Father worked for OsCorp, mother worked for some type of law firm. Aside from the atrocious choice of working at OsCorp, both of them seemed relatively normal. 

“Because he makes stuff. B-But not robots like you do. He makes other stuff and-and he white wears a coat and he helps people.” Peter gives a long, wistful sigh then and adds, “I want my daddy and mommy.” 

Tony freezes, butter knife stuck in the jar of jelly. Quite suddenly he remembers something else about Peter’s parents. 

They both died in a plane crash. 

When Peter was four years old.

The man internally panics, mind going blank on what to do, what to say because what can you say? 

“Mr. Tony?” Peter’s little voice draws him from his internal crisis. He tilts his head, looking at him curiously and, dare Tony say it, concern. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Tony sniffs and finishes up the kid’s sandwich. “Yeah, totally fine kiddo. A-OK. So you want this cut up?”

“Yes.” Peter replies, apparently moved on from the incident. Yet, as Tony puts the knife to bread in order to cut, the kid shouts, “No! No no, not like that! You have’ta make the X.” 

“Huh?” Tony looks a little helplessly from the kid to the bread.

“The X!” Peter leans over and traces an X on the sandwich. “Like that!” 

Tony cuts it up according to the kid’s desire and it’s only then that he sees what the kid means. “Yeah, guess it does look like an X when you cut it, huh? Well, here you go kiddo. Eat up.” He slides the plate to the boy’s side. 

Peter takes a large bite and hums with approval as he chews. “‘Ood yob!” he says around his mouthful. It’s the additional thumbs up that makes Tony chuckle. He grabs a juice box from the fridge for the kid, something teenage Peter would have rolled his eyes and grumbled about. Toddler Peter says a polite ‘thank you’ and picks it up with fingers covered in grape jelly. 

He decides to capture the moment for May and pulls out his phone. “Heads up, kiddo.” he says and takes a picture. Peter is caught in a half smile, peanut butter smeared on the corner of his mouth. There’s a glob of jelly on his shirt that’s run down the image of Thor’s hammer. 

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Peter instantly demands. 

Tony moves to stand next to him and flips the phone for the kid to see the picture. Peter grins and immediately reaches for the phone. “Uh uh, sticky fingers.” Tony says, which gets the kid giggling about being called ‘sticky fingers’. He moves the phone out of reach and sends the image off to May. 

“So,” Tony says. “What do you want to do after lunch? TV? Go play with DUM-E? Whatever that wannabe Merlin did to you took away your powers, or maybe just suppressed them. Maybe we ought to run some tests to figure that out.” 

On second thought, maybe not. Teenager Peter detests needles; he imagines little Peter hates them just as much. 

“DUM-E!” Peter says excitedly. 

“You’re going to spoil that bot, kid.” 

---

“Thank you so much, Happy.” May says as she steps into the Tower’s elevator. “You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have drove.”

Happy directs FRIDAY to take them to the penthouse then shakes his head. “It’s no problem.” he says. “Boss wanted to make sure you got here quickly and with that guy who attacked Peter still running around-”

“Right.” May sighs. “Well, guess he could have done worse things than turn Peter younger. At least him and Tony seem to be hitting it off.” She smiles fondly as she recalls the image Tony sent her. She only hopes Peter has been good while they wait for her.

“Yeah, well, the kid’s grown on him.” 

“I feel a little jealous, honestly.” May admits. “Peter was so cute when he was little.” 

The elevator comes to a stop, the doors slide open to the entrance of the penthouse. It’s oddly quiet inside and the lights are dimmed. “Tony?” Happy calls out as he and May walk through the foyer into the living room. 

It looks like a tornado hit it. There are papers thrown about with childish drawings covering them. A sheet covers the kitchen table which has been pulled away from the dining area and there are mini marshmallows covering the floor with some sticking to the large windows that overlook the city. A device that looks like a mini catapult sits on top of the table next to a pile of marshmallows and markers. 

May follows the chaos, finding the TV on with the Incredibles playing on a low volume and both Tony and Peter fast asleep on the couch. Peter is still a toddler in every way May remembers, sleeping with his head on Tony’s chest. There are stickers on their faces and she spots marker smears not only on Peter’s arm but also on the hand that’s resting on Peter’s back. 

“Did you find-” Happy starts, quietened as May shushes him. He comes to her side, expression softening at the sight. “Least they kept each other busy.” he remarks. 

May nods in agreement as she pulls out her phone to take a quick picture of the two. “Like two peas in a pod.” 

[allthingshetalia]

Imagine being Russia’s best friend and hype woman, cheering him up while he goes on a depressive mood swing, believing nobody likes him. Imagine consoling Germany beacuse he thinks that even though he’s trying to change, everyone believes he’s a villain. Can you do head canons for one of these, please? Whichever you prefer.

💕I’m going to do both, because I love this so much!💕

Vanya= Ivan in Russian

Russia

You watched carefully as the large Russian poured a cup of coffee. He movements were slow and tired. He carefully lifted the cup to his lips, his dull eyes watching the snow outside. You stepped out of your hiding spot around the corner and skipped over to the large Russian.

“Hi Vanya.” You smiled, grabbing your own cup from the cupboard. He looked away from the window and his eyes lit up slightly.

“Hello little one.” He smiled, patting the top of your head. “How did you sleep? Was the guest room to cold?” He asked, grabbing your cup from you and pouring you your coffee.

“Thank you.” You took your cup back from him and dumped in some sugar and creamer. “No it’s was perfect! The blankets are really nice and soft!” You grabbed a muffin from the counter and plopped down on the stool.

“I’m glad to hear that. You can always take one of you want. It’s not like I get any guests beside you.” He smiled despite his words and grabbed a muffin of his owns. It was true and it hurt you every time you realized it. You tried to stay at his house as often as you could, usually a week a month and you noticed he always seemed to be sad on your last day.

“Ya well it’s stupid! You should have people coming in and out of here. I always have a great time when I come here.” You assured, with a wide smile. The Russian blinked at you lovingly (in a friend way).

“That’s very kind of you to say, Sunflower. But you and me both know why.” He raised an eyebrow at you knowingly. You sighed and rested your head against your palm.

“So? You are so much more than that. It’s not like they haven’t done bad things in the past. It’s just because your big and intimidating. And you shouldn’t even want to be friends with people who can’t get past the way you look.” You shifted in your seat and gripped his large hand. “You are one on the most caring people on this planet! Yes sometimes you get angry, but everyone does! You are also loyal and protective to a fault! Every time you come around I feel safe! You also makes laugh all the time, even though I’m sure you don’t really mean too, but you make me happy. And anyone is an idiot for not even trying to see that side of you.” You finished. A fat tear rolled down his cheek and you quickly wipped it away.

“What would I do without you, Sunflower?” Ivan smiled, pulling you into a tight hug.

Germany

“Are you okay Ludbug?” You whispered. Your hand crept down and gripped his as the both of you walked. You two were relaxing in a coffee shop, giggling as people knocked over their coffee or fought over their place in line, when his iron cross slipped out of his shirt and someone shouted and declared he was a Nazi. You both knew it was a sign of bravery- but it was turned into a Nazi symbol.

He squeezed your hand gently and entered the code to enter your apartment building. You both made you way up the stairs and you unlocked your door.

“It’s bullshit.” He declared as soon as he closed the door behind the both of you.

“I know, Luddy. They don’t know what they’re talking about.” You sighed, flopping down on the couch. He followed you and placed your legs over his lap.

“I mean I got this for being brave! I didn’t even get it in the Second World War!” He growled.

I have no idea if that’s turn of not- or if it isn’t just pretend for the sake of the story please!

“That’s why you should just ignore them, they don’t have no idea what it even means.” You soothed, sitting up with your legs still over his lap, you raked your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He pressed his head against your hand closing his eyes tightly.

“It’s just not fair.” He groaned. “I try to be a better person- yet I am constantly reminded of all my mistakes and my old self. While everyone else just gets to walk around without having to have a shadow loom over them constantly. Most of them have done things almost as bad as me and yet I’m the only one who has been punished.” He looked at you with desperate eyes. You nodded in agreement, and you cupped his head between your hands pressing his forehead against yours.

“It’s true. But you know what? You have grown more in 75 years than they have 300 years. You are one of the most progressive nations, because you have been punished for your actions and realized that you no longer wanted to be that way. Half of the reasons the other countries haven’t grown is because they just move along and aren’t forced to reflect, but you were.” He started to relax as your words set in and he wrapped his arms around you holding you tightly against him. “And you’re a better person for it. Seriously. So don’t let some stupid people at a coffee shop judge you. They don’t know you. The don’t know everything you’ve gone through and how far you’ve come.” You kissed the side of his head.

“Thank you, Y/N.” You felt him smile against your shoulder.

[amaranthkick]

A Therapy Werewolf, part 10

(ao3) 

“You should have seen it, Pidge! Shiro threw his head back, a noble howl resonating around the area catching the attention of the space wolves. All Shiro had to do was growl, showing off those pearly whites and they were cowering with their tail between their legs. Ah, as a fellow lupine, it brings a tear to my eye.” Lance dramatically wiped a non-existent tear from his eye.

Shiro knocked Lance down, laying on top of him and trapping him underneath. “You know that is not what happened in the slightest.”

“Mmm, yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened.” Pidge said to Lance, voice dripping with sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow. “What really happened?”

Lance hid his flushed face behind his hands while Shiro whined softly and put a paw on top of his muzzle. Hunk tilted his head at their reactions and gasped as an idea popped into his head. “Oh! Is it like on TV where dogs sniff--”

Everyone froze as the alarm blared throughout the castle and in an instant they rushed to the bridge.

“It's as I feared.” Allura informed them as she pulled up the map, showing an enemy marker heading towards their location. “The Galra are sending a warship to our position. Fortunately, it's not a robeast. ...Not this time yet. But this means we don’t have the leisure to wait here for a way to change Shiro back to normal. Never mind, we’ll talk afterwards. Paladins to your Lions!”

Shiro huffed as he waited on the bridge as the others worked together to take down the warship. He could feel the Black Lion purring in apology in the back of his mind but as otherworldly and advanced as these Lions were, the controls proved difficult in his current state.

Though he wasn’t able to fight with his team, he perked up in pride as they managed to take it down. They have really grown from the first time they piloted the Lions to be able to work together even with one Lion missing.

---

Even though they were victorious it was tense when the paladins returned to the bridge. Keith was tense with anger, of course the Galra wouldn’t let them catch their breath. It’s just a matter of time until they keep sending stronger and stronger reinforcements. Pidge was fiercely staring at a screen as if her glare can make a cure form faster. Everyone else was frowning thinking of what they could do.

Lance started when he felt Shiro nudge his hand with a wet nose. “You said you had a plan B, in case things don’t pan out. Well… things aren’t panning out. Can I hear what it is?”

Hearing Shiro bark made everyone turn their heads in their direction. Lance rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, there is something I’d like to try. I think it’ll be able to help Shiro.”

Lance explained that he wanted to turn Shiro, give him the bite and turn him into a werewolf. He got the idea thinking about Coran’s remarks about his body rejecting the space wolf chemical. The turn would also pretty much be instantaneous. The idea surprised them and certainly piqued Coran’s interest in how the turning works but more importantly brought a spark of hope back in their eyes.

“How interesting, is it magic based or perhaps it works like an infection passed through a bite wound?” Coran was holding a magnifying glass too close to Lance’s mouth for his liking.

“I have no idea.” Lance leaned away from Coran’s good-natured prodding. “I’ve never tried it but it does involve a bite, which obviously hurts. Not sure how I feel about biting our leader. Are you sure you want to try it?” He asked Shiro.

“I’m willing to give it a try.” Shiro nodded, appreciating his concern.

“Are you sure this will work?” Keith asked, highly concerned for Shiro’s safety.

“I don’t know how this’ll work on a space wolf but uh… ok, something like this happened before. They say that no one has turned anyone in a while but my dad or his friends might have done it but don’t you guys tell a soul! My family might get in trouble.”

At their agreement, Lance continued. “A long time ago, when my dad and a few of his friends were young and dumb and unafraid, they asked the age old question ‘can you turn a wolf into a werewolf?’ But unlike normal people and just imagining what would happen, they tried it out. Long story short they ended up adopting a very confused and slightly feral human. Ah, Uncle Jim Jam… the life of the party.” Lance ended with a nostalgic tinge in his voice.

“You guys named him Jim Jam?” Hunk asked incredulously.

Lance gasped, a hand on his chest. “Don’t be mean! He’s doing his best! But anyway, they started a wolf and ended with a werewolf that can turn into a human or wolf. Which is what we’ll end up with, hopefully.”

---

It wasn’t night yet but the moon had entered the sky from the eastern horizon. Lance said he needed some time to concentrate and see if the moon was willing to help. Apparently he had to get the moon’s blessing to be able to turn someone. Shiro found Lance in the usual hall, the moon visible in the window. His eyes were closed and he breathed in deeply, soaking up the moonlight. Once Lance noticed his presence he sat down next to him.

“This moon is happy to help, she feels friendly and kinda curious about me and werewolves since this planet doesn’t have any. ...How are you feeling about all this? Like getting drugged and uh, getting experimented again by the galra?” Lance winced as he asked. There wasn’t exactly a subtler way to ask that.

Shiro was surprised then he deflated with a sigh. It was hard to keep the dependable leader front with all this trauma piling up. “It certainly is not helping that it happened again. Feels like everytime they get their dirty hands on me, I’m changed beyond recognition from who I used to be.” He felt like he could breathe a little easier, having admitted that.

Lance started to gently stroke his fur, he felt Shiro relaxing slightly at his touch. “How about this though? If turning you is successful, you won’t exactly be fully human again.”

“Hmm, but this feels different. Maybe because you offered it and I chose to try it rather than another galran experiment being forced on me.” But still… being a werewolf, it’ll definitely be a new experience, Shiro thought.

“Oh! That kinda reminds me of some werewolf legends, want to hear them?” Lance looked eager to tell him a bit of werewolf culture, his culture. Shiro wagged his tail once, happy to listen.

“Well, they say the first turning was actually a curse.” Lance smiled sheepishly as he started. “Humans were afraid of werewolves so they hunted them. The moon was angry at the many innocent lives lost to the hunters. So she cursed the bite a werewolf had inflicted in self defence and caused the hunter to become a werewolf and thus the hunter becomes the hunted by his own people.

“Oh! But then there’s another legend that makes turning look like a blessing! So there was this werewolf woman whose lover was terribly injured. Since werewolves boasted great regenerative abilities she begged the moon to be able to turn her love so she can save them. And once she did they lived happily ever after and all that jazz. They tell these stories to get pups to not judge things at first glance since something was a curse in once case turned out to be a blessing in another. Ah, I remember when grandma told me these stories...”

Shiro's eyes softened fondly as Lance started to reminisce, happily talking about his family. A blessing, huh? Shiro felt lighter as his nuzzling caused Lance to laugh.

“Haha! Alright, alright. Enough of that, I think I’m good to go. Let’s get everyone and see this through.”

---

Pain.

Shiro was ready to accept that. Sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. But that spike of pain only lasted for a moment.

Then it felt like lava coursed through his veins spreading from the bite to every part of his body. He felt something… in the back of his mind, a gentle pull. Was this how the moon felt to Lance?  Lance told him if he felt it, he should go against the pull as it guided them towards their wolf form. He concentrated on doing so. Shiro gritted his teeth as muscles spasmed and bones started to shift. He could vaguely hear yells of concern from the others.

He remembers Lance trying to tell him to not fight against the change before he blacked out.

---

It was a chaotic few minutes full of screaming, cursing, yelling, honestly, just another day out here in space, Lance thought to himself. But everyone calmed down once Shiro had changed back into a human even though he promptly passed out. They quickly dressed him up in the silky, black pajamas stored in the castle. He was still missing his arm but with Pidge, Hunk, and Coran on the case, Lance doubts it would be that much of an issue for long.

Lance suggested a sleepover, getting everyone bringing their blankets and pillows to fill that circle of couches area in the common room. This way with Shiro’s brand new stronger sense of smell, he’d be surrounded by familiar scents when he wakes up.

Allura took Coran with her to chart their next course to their next destination, taking care to mark some safe spots to give the paladins much needed rest. Coran assured Lance that he would make her join the sleepover so she could rest as well.

As they slept in the soft nest waiting for Shiro to wake, Lance settled in and he let his mind wander. It’s been a wild ride out here in space. Becoming paladins, helping Shiro like he helped his uncle, everyone accepting him even if he was a werewolf and him fully accepting them as a pack. Lance knew this war would be tough but he’ll do what he could for his pack.

[astralsweetness]

I can’t be honest (but neither can you) || Changkyun/Reader (m)

➣ I cannot believe this is my first contribution to Monsta X, this is really how I’m entering the writing side of this fandom OTL Also hello idk how to write short summaries?? I proof-read this at 4:30 AM so please tell me if I missed something lol. Fair warning I switch P.O.V.’s often in this and with absolutely no regard to any writing rules

➣ Changkyun/Reader | Angst[?] with a surprisingly happy ending that I didn’t mean to write | Showcases some bad coping mechanisms from both he and the reader | Mentioned Wonho/Reader, but it’s purely platonic in a sexual way | Smut warnings include: mentions of choking, pegging, fingering, mentions of a ruined sexual scene, sort of self-imposed edging if you squint, hair-pulling, facesitting

➣ It’s been almost a year since he called off the relationship and your name still tastes like a mixture between sugar and ash on his tongue when he says it, your picture is still saved in his camera roll, and he’s taken the plunge these last few months to reach out to you to be friends again. His hyungs tell him it’s a bad idea, and he tells them he knows, because he does, really, he swears he does. It’s just that his heart soars when he gets to talk to you and he can’t remember why he was ever scared of letting you in past that last wall he’d put up, and he’s going to your place and he hates himself because instead of “I love you” he says “please fuck me” and even now he can’t be honest to you about his feelings.

“I want you to fuck me.” He’s standing at your door, speaking in English with that deep voice of his, and you just blink blankly at him - he hadn’t called or texted to say he was coming over, and to be completely honest you hadn’t seen him in over a week. The silence is uncomfortable, but his eyes are intense, and he refuses to shift shyly under your blank stare.

“..well, come in I guess.” You invite him in with raised eyebrows - he goes easily, knowing your apartment like his own home. It’s been almost a year since you two broke up, but he hasn’t forgotten anything. That same stupid plant he hated was still on your table. He had no idea how it was still alive.

“So.. we aren’t together anymore, we haven’t hung out in a while, but you decided I’m the person you want to fuck you. Suddenly.” Your tone of voice conveys your lack of belief - this sort of feels like some very strange joke, but you have no idea who’d ever come up with one like this.

“You fuck Wonho-hyung all the time, and you aren’t dating him, so why can’t you fuck me?” His words are said in a rush, the first sign of nervousness, and you cross your arms and cock a hip. It’s your default power-pose, lets you feel like you’re in control when you have no idea what’s going on.

‘Is that really all it is?’ you want to ask, but you stay silent. He doesn’t seem aware that when you’re with Hoseok it’s more for the other man’s emotional well-being than it was just to get laid. Sometimes people needed to be broken apart and pieced back together lovingly just to feel okay. For Hoseok, you were a friend he trusted enough to let break him and then take care of the pieces that remained shattered on the floor.

“If you tell me why then maybe.”

“I’m not doing shit for a maybe.” He fires back instantly, gaze narrowing. His shoulders have tensed and he’s widened his stance, an unconscious reaction to the way your own body language had changed. Whether he actually felt it or not, at a subconscious level he believed he was being threatened.

You step forward and snag him by the forearm - the fight goes out of him instantly, replaced by pure innocent confusion as you lead him to your bed. He notices dully that you’ve redecorated your bedroom - though it makes sense considering he was the one who had helped you liven it up before.

“Sit - and try to relax. All the muscles in your shoulders are tensing up.” Your words have the opposite affect you wanted them to have - he tenses more, seemingly thrown off by your care, your notice of his minute actions.

You watch the way his gaze drifts over your room – it catches and lingers on a group picture of you and the rest of his group, tucked safely into the frame of your vanity mirror.

It’s a nice picture, though you really don’t remember taking it. You’re fairly certain everyone was drunk though, since you’ve got your arm thrown around Minhyuk’s shoulders in it, pressing your cheek against his.

It’s cute, even if looking at it is bittersweet. You can see the question on his face, the ‘why did you keep this?’.

“It’s not like I stopped being friends with them just because we broke up.” You feel defensive over your choice, face heating – you weren’t even near him in the picture, on completely opposite sides in it. He just murmurs a soft “oh” that sounds dejected, and you desperately don’t want to think about it.

“Anyway –“ You’re desperate to move on at this point, and he seems to feel the same because his attention snaps back to you. “You’re not really in a position here to argue and make demands, but fine -“ It was just sex, right? For you, anyway. “I can’t literally right now, I have a class in 30 minutes, but if you tell me why then we can negotiate.” You feel like some sort of fucking dealer.

He seems vaguely surprised you’ve agreed so easily, but he works his jaw and tries to figure out how to explain his reasoning to you - whatever it may be. You let him think and go in search of your computer bag. Online classes were a pain, especially those that required attendance in the form of a webcam. The bag has been thrown into a corner of your room, and you sigh and bend down to begin your annoying search.

“Well, we’re not together anymore, so..” You crane your neck to look at him, even as you continue to rummage through your backpack for your computer cord. Damn thing was in there somewhere, you knew. “I don’t have to worry about what you think of me anymore?”

He finishes his statement with an accidental upwards inflection that turns it into a question, and your hands pause before you turn back around and continue searching, mulling over your word choice carefully. ‘You never had to worry’ sits on your tongue, something that is desperate to be said, but you swallow it back down. He wouldn’t believe you and it’d cool the current mood.

“I see.” You finally settle on, standing and popping your vertebrae back into place as your prize - the fucking charging cord - dangles from your hands. Your two words could convey many meanings, and you can see from your peripheral that his brow has furrowed. It’s not the answer he was expecting, though you think he probably didn’t know what he’d been expecting in the first place. “Then - what is it you want?”

“For you to fuck me.” He answers again, and then swallows as he notices your blank stare has returned.

“I know that, you said that. I meant what specifically are you looking to get out of this?”

“I want it to hurt.” His words make your breath catch in your throat, emotions swinging between vaguely turned on and worried. Sure, he’d had some masochistic tendencies in bed before, but - “I mean - I don’t – not physically -“ He’s switched to Korean in the wake of your silence, a comfort language, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s done it.

“Okay.” You respond simply in Korean back and he stops his rambling, just blinks at you. You see the tension finally start to drain out of his shoulders and switch back to English purely for your own sake, because it was easier, definitely not because you wanted to be able to hear his voice speaking your native language. “So long as you promise to use safewords, I won’t ask. I’m not your therapist and I’m not -“

“My girlfriend.” He finishes your sentence quietly, back to English as well, and your mouth goes dry.

“And I’m not here to judge you.” You remedy - you weren’t going to mention anything about your past relationship, and he looks away quickly at that realization. “You mentioned Hoseok -“ His hand twitches at his side when you call his hyung by his real name, but you mercifully don’t call him on this. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you’ve gone this long purely on the denial that he regrets breaking up with you, and it’s too late to stop that now. “- so I’m going to treat this situation exactly like that.”

“Okay?” Changkyun has no idea what that means, his fingers curling into your bedspread. You check the time - 20 minutes until class.

“I’m your friend, and I want to help you. This doesn’t change anything between us, this doesn’t add some extra dynamic, some extra layer.” Your voice has gone business mode and he’s stiffened his back at it, an ingrained response from being in the music industry for so long. “I’m not doing this just because I want sex - if you are, that’s fine, but I’m just doing this to help you out. Is that clear?” He nods once, eyes wide. You think he’s cute. You’ve always thought he was cute, and it reminds you of how cute turned into smitten and smitten turned into perfection and perfection turned into love and love - well, he ended love. “Changkyun - do you promise this is just about sex or release of some kind and nothing else?”

Your tone had softened, and he’d been let out of whatever thrall your no-nonsense voice had put him into. The question hangs in the air heavily, dripping of a nectar so sweet it’s sickening.

“Yes. I promise.” His voice is hoarse, cracking and quiet - and you think he’s lying.

But you’ve held on to your denial for so long. He had said before that the spark was just gone - and what were you supposed to say to that? It wasn’t his fault; people fell out of love all the time. You could barely believe he’d ever been interested in you from the beginning and you refused to believe you were worth falling in love with for a second time. The fact that you had managed to remain friends is more than you could have ever hoped for.

“Okay.” You repeat his assurance, more for your own benefit than his. The room is quiet, and thunder rolls in the distance. Fuck - a storm meant spotty WiFi for your class.

You check the time again - 15 minutes.

“We can use the stoplight system -“ His gaze has blanked so you take the time to roughly translate it into Korean, explaining until his brow smooths out, and then you’re back to English. “Aside from that, though, I need to know what you’re interested in, what you want to happen or don’t want to happen. You can hang out here if you want during my class, or leave, I don’t care - but take the time to think over what it is you want in this session.” Your words are too clinical, you know this, but you can’t keep yourself from doing it that way. You know most of the things he’s into and not into, but if you don’t take this route then it all feels too intimate. Besides, he’d always kept a very careful hold of how much control he’d let go around you before, never wanting to slip too far into subspace, always wanting to seem in command, even when subbing for you. You wonder if that’s changed. You certainly don’t remember him ever blatantly asking outright to have something done to him before.

Memories flash across your mind eye, his back covered in your scratch marks, the way he moaned brokenly when you pulled on his hair, the way he came when you pressed your fingers to his throat. But he never asked for any of it - you had to ask if it was okay to do to him, and he always brushed off any of your attempts of aftercare.

You swallow again, feeling vaguely sick. Things had been broken in your relationship long before he called it off, but neither one of you wanted to admit it. Your heart hurts for multiple reasons, but when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye you know the biggest one: ‘I hope I didn’t hurt him by not talking about it’.

But he didn’t talk about it either. Did he care about whether it hurt you?

“Is that okay?” He’s been talking to you, and you startle out of your thoughts - a half-formed little smirk dances at the corners of his lips, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. He knows you well enough to know when you’ve been drifting. “I said, I’ll stay here if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine - sorry, was just.. thinking.” It doesn’t really surprise you that he’s decided to stay - he’s confident to a fault, it’s true, but there’s a slash of shyness that strikes through his character, and you know that if he left he might not be able to come back. The thunder rumbles in agreement.

You half-watch him as you set up your computer on the coffee table – he’s looking around your apartment with thinly veiled curiosity, though you don’t really blame him. It didn’t really look anything like when you two had been together, and yet.. you felt it still had his subtle touch all over it. You wondered if he noticed that.

The class is boring, as it usually is – you’re watching the screen but your mind is far away, listening to your admittedly enthusiastic professor talk about the hyoid bone and articulations while your focus is on Changkyun. He lingers around you with a nervous type of energy, clearly not feeling allowed to roam around your apartment (it’d be kind of weird if he had, you admit) but also not feeling comfortable enough to sit on the couch next to you, even if he would have been off camera.

It’s almost like it was before, and you half expect him to sit down next to you anyway and throw his arm around your shoulder, always just off-screen, sitting next to you during your classes while he amused himself with his phone, just so he could be near you.

You’re just about to be able to feel the phantom warmth from the memory of his arm around you before he coughs and you startle, eyes snapping to him – he looks back wide-eyed, not understanding your surprise but murmuring a quiet apology anyway.

God you were so fucked.

.｡..｡.

“So?” The instant your class had ended you’d snapped the computer lid shut – you hadn’t retained a single thing said, what a complete waste. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d skipped and focused on Changkyun in the end after all. “Did you decide on what you wanted?”

You’re so flippant with your question that he feels like he’s being asked about what it is he wants to eat instead of how he wants to have sex – the entire hour of your class he’d been nervous, and those nerves had by now tightened into a very tight ball at the base of his spine that periodically sent white-hot flames licking along his muscles.

“I –“ His mouth is so fucking dry and he hates how small he suddenly feels – he’d never felt like this around you before, but usually it had always been you asking if you could do something to him, hadn’t it? “I said it earlier. I want you to fuck me.”

He watches your reaction with pin-point precision – the small widening of your eyes, the way your gaze darts to the side like it always did when you were thinking something over – it wasn’t like you hadn’t ever fucked him before, but he’d never asked you to do so, and you clearly hadn’t expected him to come out with something like that so easily.

Why the hell could he say something like that and not something as simple as ‘I love you’, or even ‘I miss you’?

“Okay.” You’ve wrested your thoughts back under control – it wasn’t fair of him to say something like that, looking so utterly and effortlessly attractive. “As long as there’s no kissing I’ll fuck you any way you like, Changkyun.” You were over him and he was over you and this was just sex.

If you said it enough you’d start to believe it, right?

Changkyun just nods at your terms, looking a bit despondent – you can’t help the strong surge within you that says to fix it, fix whatever upset him, but you have a feeling you knew already. He’d always been a bit fixated on kissing you, but you knew if you let him this time then it’d all be over.

“I don’t remember you ever falling this far into the ‘submissive’ side of things, Changkyun.” You’re desperate to regain the upper-hand, and he flushes a bright red at your comment, grumbling out a weak “shut up” that has you smiling.

“Have you been experimenting?” You’re still teasing him but he bristles at the insinuation that he would have been with anyone after you – you had no reason to think he hadn’t been but the mere thought of being with anyone other than you makes him ache deep in his chest, in his soul.

“No.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but it wavers still and he digs his fingernails into the soft leather of his belt, pausing. “I haven’t been with anyone since –“

He can’t say it, but you understand regardless – he doesn’t like how surprised you look, ducks his head and lets his hair obscure his view of you as he refocuses on undressing. It’s not that you’d been wrong to be surprised with his decision for today, either – before you, he’d never really definitively considered himself particularly dominant or submissive, happy with having the choice to be either at the drop of a hat. That changed with you though – you had been so uncompromising with your power, beautiful and self-assured, and he knew without a doubt that if you so much as even hinted at it he would be on his knees for you every single time.

Not that he had ever told you that, of course. He’d never told you anything he really wanted to. Even now, with you looking at him softly, trying to see if you’d crossed a line with your little teasing jabs, the words ‘I’m happy being this for you’ get stuck in his throat and all he can do is tug his shirt over his head wordlessly, fingernails clicking nervously at his belt as he undoes it. You pretend not to notice the way your heartrate accelerates as he reveals his body bit by bit to you, slender waist but powerful figure, beautiful skin, beautiful body.

“Well, then – lie down.” You gesture to your bed and he swallows down the stupid fucking butterflies he gets at the gesture – he’d been on your bed before, he’d been in this position before, there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

And still, despite his nerves, a pleasurable chill runs down his spine when he hears the cap of the lube being clicked open, and he forces himself to exhale as he shifts and tries to get comfortable on a comforter he no longer recognized, in a room that had no trace of him in it anymore.

You look at him with a level gaze, always so calm, and he ignores the erratic beating of his heart and nods his assent for you to begin, immediately shifting his gaze to your ceiling.

Why the fuck was he so goddamn nervous?

(He tries to forget the way he instantly whimpers when he feels your finger, slick with lube, probing at his rim, tries to forget the way he gets hard in under a minute from your heavy gaze and one finger alone, and god he aches for more, aches for anything you’re willing to give him.)

“You’re taking this awfully well.” The teasing comes out unbidden, spilling past your lips before you can even think about the words – but it’s true, for someone who had claimed to not have been with anyone since you he was taking your fingers incredibly well.

“My own hands – fuck – exist..” His snarky response turns into a shaky moan halfway through when you decide to carefully – but quickly – add a third finger. There’s something erotic (and interesting) to you about that, thinking over the fact that Changkyun had been finger-fucking himself ever since you two broke up.

“You look good like this.” It’s an attempt to make up for the previous teasing but all it does is cause him to groan and throw a forearm over his eyes, legs spreading wider when you hit that spot deep inside.

“Fuck, jesus – fuck..” It’s a broken sob instead of an actual sentence (though he manages to stick with English), a familiar feeling already building deep in his gut. He’s not sure if it’s because it’s been so long since he’d been fingered by someone else or if it’s because it’s you doing it, complimenting him while doing so, or if it’s a combination of everything, but his back arches against his will and he knows he is seconds away from coming undone already.

“Stop – stop, oh my god –“ At his desperate plea you stop moving completely and he wants to sob as the pleasurable feeling slowly ebbs away, an almost painful drag as it settles back into a dull burn. He’s gasping, tiny whimpering sounds as he sucks breath back into his lungs, chest heaving – his eyes are wide, fingers curling into your comforter. He looks frantic, frightened almost, and even if it wasn’t your responsibility you knew you’d be desperate to fix it.

“Changkyun, ar –“

“I’m fine.” He bites it out angrily, doing his absolute best to look like he had been anything but moments away from an orgasm five minutes into.. whatever this was. He’s shutting you out again, before anything even begins, and it fills you with such an irrational anger that you have to suck in a breath of your own to keep from lashing out, taking gentle care to extract your fingers even as your blood boils.

“Stop fucking lying to me.” You can’t keep the ice from your words, even if you manage to control the volume and pitch – his dark eyes snap from the ceiling to you in surprise. There’s a panicked feeling bubbling up in his chest, because he really doesn’t know if he can handle you calling him on his true feelings for you right now, doesn’t want to have to admit he still loves you while he’s naked and so vulnerable.

“I’m not –“

“Stop it.” His mouth shuts with an audible click of his teeth, so sudden is your cut-in. Your brow has smoothed out, no longer angry, instead immensely sad, and he’s not sure this is any better. “You said you wanted to do this because you didn’t have to worry about my opinion. So why are you still doing it?”

He can’t breathe, and the lube is drying sticky on your fingers, and for a moment neither of you are aware of the position you’re in, the way the thunder has become your constant background music – he’s looking at you unblinkingly and you’re staring back, and it’s too intimate, too much, but neither of you look away.

“Please stop.” He speaks and it’s barely a whisper, the sound of someone’s heart breaking louder than his voice. You don’t know what to say but open your mouth anyway.

Lightning flickers outside your bedroom window and then your apartment is shaking from the resounding thunder, the power flickering and then plunging the two of you into darkness. Suddenly you can breathe again, and you’re quickly trying to slide out from in between his legs because he said ‘stop’ and he was fully coherent even if he hadn’t said ‘red’, because he said ‘stop’ and you have only ever wanted him comfortable.

“Wait –“ He is frantic, grabs your forearm with frigid fingers as he leans half off your bed to catch you from retreating too far. It’s hard to see him but you get flashes from the light outside your window, electricity reflecting off his dark eyes in starbursts.

“You said to stop.” Your voice is broken and you feel so powerless, sick inside because while you rarely manage to ruin a scene it still tears you up inside each time, and Changkyun wouldn’t let you try to fix it with aftercare and you don’t know what to do anymore.

“I meant –“ Stop talking, stop laying me bare and open, just fuck me and make me forget everything, stop being you so I can stop loving you. “I just want to be ruined.” He says instead, and his voice is so low but so weak that you barely recognize it.

“I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” Your clean fingers curl around his and gently pry them from your arm – but then you keep holding them, and you want to let go but you can’t remember how to tell your body to do so. “Will you let me, Changkyun?”

The air is still and silent aside from the rain slashing angrily at your windows – there is no thunder, your own heartbeat loud enough (or maybe it was his, you didn’t know anymore).

“I want to.” He answers instead, voice quiet but a bit stronger than before, and your eyes have adjusted so you can see the features of his face vaguely now, follow the line of his brow to his cheek to his lips, and you’re leaning in and you hate yourself because you had promised this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.

“Let me wreck you then, baby.” And oh that nickname was a mistake but you’d said it anyway, a ghost of a whisper against his lips, a proposition and a plea all in one. He moves forward the last centimeter and connects your lips as an answer, a sound that is almost one of pure relief being ripped from his throat.

It’s like he’s been waiting years for this moment, doesn’t even fight as you grip his jaw lightly and angle him into a better position so you can scope out the inside of his mouth with your tongue, relearning things you had known long ago but had thought were forgotten.

There’s a flighty feeling in his chest, one of nervousness and expectation – he doesn’t want to give you control so easily, he doesn’t want to be opened and laid bare in front of you, he doesn’t want you to see something you dislike in him – but more than anything he wants you to touch him and keep kissing him and god he fucking misses you, has missed this. He’d asked you to ruin him, you’d asked to wreck him, but he knew he was already both ruined and wrecked just from being near you again, from having your lips on his own.

You try to slide your hands back down his body but he stops you, continues to kiss you as his fingers curl around your own, and the act is so intimate it almost feels wrong.

“Just – hurry up, I’m ready enough.” He manages to say scattered between four different kisses, never apart from your lips for more than a few seconds. You hate yourself for not even trying to stop him, leaning into them each time.

“You can stretch yourself some more while I get ready.” You have to pull away from him completely to say this, and he follows you like you’ve got some magnetic pull on him before you’re off of the bed and the connection is broken.

Even with your eyes adjusted it’s hard to properly get the harness on, fingers fumbling with the straps but managing in the end. You can hear him breathing harsh, anticipating – you can tell from the sounds alone that he hadn’t taken your advice, but you’re not surprised. Always your little pain slut, even if he had never wanted to admit it.

When you approach him again his eyes are wide, brow furrowing as he notices you’re still fully clothed – he keeps his mouth shut tight though, gaze darting in the dark. The storm still rages on outside but neither of you even notice it anymore.

Your fingers on the inside of his thigh startle him – he jumps, trying to close his legs, but you force them back open again. Something about that simple action makes a moan trickle into his throat, but he swallows it back down stubbornly.

He can’t conceal the next sound he makes when you press the blunt tip of the strap-on to his opening, though, a rasping whine as you push in slowly, so fucking slowly. Even with all the lube he knew you’d slathered over the toy it still takes a bit of work to get it into him, and every slight stretch makes him grit his teeth in a masochistic type of pleasure, feeling so full by the end that it makes him so painfully hard his head spins. It hadn’t taken long to get him worked back up, but he’s not really thinking about that right now.

All he knows is that he wants to be close to you, wants to feel good, wants to make you happy – he wants so much that he doesn’t think he can even begin to put any of it into words. It always ends up at ‘I love you’ and he already knew that was a phrase that lodged in his throat like knives.

“Please.” This he can say – you don’t know what he’s begging for but he’s begging all the same, the word ‘please’ becoming a chant that slowly shifts back into his native tongue when teeth mark his throat, fingertips pressing insistently into his hips as you fuck him hard and rough. He hopes, distantly, that it bruises. He wants to be able to remember this for as long as possible.

If he was present enough in the moment he might have been embarrassed by the sounds he was making – his naturally deep voice has transformed completely into high breathy whines, all trace of his ‘savage rapper’ persona gone when you bite his lip hard enough it throbs before you’re flipping him, pushing his shoulders down into the bed with one hand.

The feeling of your palm, small but blindingly warm on his back, makes him weak enough that his thoughts stutter, head a chaotic mess of fractured thoughts and sensations. His eyes are open but unfocused – it’s dark in the room anyway, but he’s unaware of it, cognizant only of your presence and his, that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest competing with the white-hot fire you were stoking lower in his pelvis.

You want to cry at how beautiful and perfect he is for you, the way he arches his back instinctively, presents himself as your own personal plaything – but he wasn’t yours, you had to remember that, remind yourself over and over that this was just sex. (If you repeated it enough it started to stop sounding like real words, and that was equally as dangerous as forgetting them in the first place.)

The head of the strap-on teases his entrance and he groans, clenching his fists into your pillow – you’d taken it out when you’d flipped him and he was fighting against every fucking urge and want and need his body was screaming at him to just take the plunge and force himself backwards. (But another part of his brain is telling him to wait, to make you happy, to draw this out as long as fucking possible because he has no idea if he’ll ever get to experience it again.)

“Can you tell me what you want?” Your voice is soft as silk, quiet, and a fluttery feeling rises up in his stomach at the sound, at how you’ve modified an order to be a request. He doesn’t know how he feels at the realization that you were taking it ‘easier’ on him verbally, that you had at some point come to understand he was having trouble letting go completely.

“I –“ He tries, he really fucking does, but like always the words get stuck in his throat. He just can’t seem to bring himself to admit what he really wants out loud and it is destroying him. One of your hands smooths down his side, lingering at his hip, and he feels like you’ve left behind a line of pure fire on his skin, almost burning away the shame and hatred he feels at himself for his fucking inability to be vulnerable, his cowardice.

“Just fuck me.” He says instead, defeat coating his words – and he can feel you hesitating, because it was obvious he’d meant to say something else and hadn’t.

He opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what, at the same instant you decide to slide the strap-on back into him. Whatever he’d been planning to do is gone from his mind instantly, his world reduced to just the dull burn, the frustratingly slow drag against his innermost walls, the way you manage to somehow brush up against the spot that has him trembling and dropping to his forearms. He curses in a strange mixture of Korean and English and you laugh softly at the sound, even as you slide out and thrust back into him hard enough that he jolts forward.

He feels, in a sense, like he is being broken in all the best ways – all he can focus on is you, all he can feel is the way you’re fucking him, grabbing at his hips. His breath is caught in his throat and he just knows he is going to ache later, bone-deep and satisfying.

But it’s not enough, never enough – you’re not asking to do more to him like you had in the past and he can’t manage to tell you what he desires most (though, at this point, he’s not totally sure he could say anything coherent anyway). He reaches back with one hand, groping – your fingers wrap around his and he drags them up to his hair, a wordless plea. He hopes you understand what he’s asking for.

A broken moan is ripped from his throat when you fist your hand in dark strands and pull backward, forcing him into an arch – his mind has blanked into varying shades of white, electricity on his skin and molten lava running through his veins, your heat against his back overwhelming.

You know it’s a bad idea before you do it, but you lean down and press you lips to his shoulder anyway, teeth scraping over feverish skin – the hoarse whine he gives at the feeling makes wetness pool between your legs, uncomfortable and wrong because this was just sex, this was just supposed to be for him.

The urge to mark him up is so strong it’s almost distracting – your hips falter in the bruising pace you’d set as your mind drifts, Changkyun groaning at the sudden shift in speed.

“Let me –“ He’s gasping, feels like he’s been running a fucking marathon or drowning (and oh, he has, drowning in you, in his expansive and terrifying feelings for you) but he knows your hips have to be sore by now and to be completely honest he is just downright greedy, wanting to feel you deep inside, wanting to –

He just wants so much. He reaches back to press at you gently and you let him move you instantly, trying to figure out what had bothered him – as soon as you realize he just wants a change in position you’re grabbing at his hips again, tugging him over your legs. His cock drags against the fabric of your shorts and he nearly sucks in a breath, trying to focus on lining himself up instead of the way it throbbed (or the way you were looking at him, hair splayed out on the pillow and yet so in command still).

He thinks he should feel more in control like this, on top of you, hands braced on your shoulders – but he doesn’t, not at all, and he knows instantly that he isn’t when you snap your hips up to meet his and he falls onto you, moan vibrating against the skin of your neck. He can feel your fingers in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, can feel the infuriatingly teasing way his cock is rubbing up against your fucking shirt you never took off. It’s gone untouched for so long that it’s absolutely aching by now and he thinks he might actually be able to orgasm like this – but he doesn’t want to, not yet, even with how border-line painful its become. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to have to go back to a world without you in it.

His hips stutter on top of yours when you tug on his hair again, grinding hard against the strap-on, and you lift his face high enough you can press your lips to his, all hot breath and panted moans. He tastes of honey and heartbreak and you want nothing more than to make him cum and fall apart, trembling, on top of you.

“Am I ruining you properly, baby?” Your voice is dark red and sinful, and he trembles at the sound and tries to seek out your lips again, a whine lodged in his throat when you tighten your grip on his hair and keep him in place, rolling your hips languidly up to meet his frantic movements. “Tell me.”

“Fuck..” He responds instead, deep and rough in his chest – it cracks into a high moan when you punish him with a harsh upwards thrust, fingers curling into your shoulders. Your soft laugh, amused or delighted he’s not sure, makes a feeling like electric butterflies break out across his skin. If you had let go of his hair he’d have buried his face into your neck again to hide his expression – but you haven’t, and he knows you can see everything, every part of him, every expression he makes.

He thinks he must look stupid, embarrassing – but all you see is pure beauty. His brow has furrowed and sweat drips down to his collarbones, bruised lips parted slightly, glistening from where you’d kissed him earlier. Hazy eyes try to look anywhere but your face failingly, allowing you to see the foggy galaxy residing in their darkness. You’re not sure if what you’re seeing is his pupil or iris, but you find it gorgeous all the same, intoxicating.

“I’m going to make you cum, Kyunnie.” He shakes at your dangerous words, your knife-sharp gaze. You’re aware he never responded to your last question. “You’ll fall apart up there, ruined, just like you asked to be.”

Your words wrap around him, coiling tightly like chains – he feels caught, trapped, and he wants nothing more than for you to make good on your word, even if it sends a sharp trill of fear through his stomach.

The grip on his hair lets go suddenly and he sags forward, as if your pull on him had been all that was keeping him upright. He’s left a mess of pre-cum on your shirt, flushes a dark red when you drag your fingers through it thoughtfully.

“Messy boy..” You muse, heat spreading through you when you see the way his cock jerks at those two simple words, so red and aching, so fucking beautiful and desperate.

Fuck, you wanted so badly for him to be yours.

One of his hands flies to your wrist when you finally wrap your fingers around him – more of his weight is on you now but you can’t find it in yourself to mind, not with the way he’s breathing hot and wet against your neck, the way he doesn’t stop you when you move your hand, just clings to your arm desperately like he’s not totally sure he wants to be touched yet.

A choked sound leaves his mouth, lips bitten bloody, and you turn your head so you can breathe against his ear, let him press his face further into your neck. “Such a little whore..” You murmur, and he sobs open-mouthed against your skin and thrusts weakly into your fingers and then back onto the strap-on, unsure of which feeling he wanted more of. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

A part of him feels like he’s dying, unsure if he was really okay with being so vulnerable with you – but another part of him, the larger part, feels like he is fucking soaring, like this is all he had ever wanted and more. There are flames licking at his body, coiling tighter and tighter in his stomach, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last like this.

“You can fall, Changkyun.” Your voice is in his ear, like the sound of silk sliding over skin, fingernails tracing lightly along the back of his neck. He hates the way he reacts so viscerally to it, climax surging forward at the sound, at the way your fingers slide wetly over the head of his cock pinned in between the two of you. “It’ll be okay, you can fall to pieces. I’ll catch you.”

He orgasms with a wail that makes him flush a dark red, and he would have been mortified at the sound if every nerve ending in his body wasn’t currently sparking, his muscles spasming as he tries to keep thrusting into your fist even as the lightning bolt sensations turn from overwhelming to painful. He doesn’t even realize tears have slipped from his eyes until he feels your lips kissing them away, and he is hit with such a wave of emotion that he can’t breathe all over again (and it is just pure emotion, he couldn’t identify a single one of them if he tried).

After you slowly pulled out and settle him on the blankets he watches, distractedly, as you slide the straps down over your hips, leaving it on the floor to be dealt with later. Impulsively he reaches out to catch the edge of your shorts when you try to head to the bathroom, tongue sliding over chapped lips when you turn that powerful, beautiful gaze of yours on him. One of your eyebrows has raised, appraising him as he slowly tugs you back to the bed until you’re resting on your knees next to his waist. Sweat is drying sticky on his skin and he’s trying not to feel like he’d done something wrong, reacted in some undesirable way that you’d remember and relate to him for the rest of your life - but above all that, he wants to taste you. It’s the only consistent thought running through his mind, more prevalent than the lingering unease at having bared so much of himself to you.

“Please.” Again, it’s all he can say, eyes so dark and wide, pleading – his fingertips rest lightly on your hip, over the waistband of your shorts, lips parted ever so slightly. It’s so obvious what he’s asking for, and you want to say no. You’re pretty sure you need to say no. “Babe –“

You surge forward to cut him off mid-sentence with a brutal kiss and he gasps – you didn’t want to hear that, and you can tell from the way he’s frozen that he hadn’t meant to say it, even as his body returns the kiss on pure muscle memory alone. This entire experience had been a mess, a mistake, and yet –

“Okay.” It’s more a breath against his mouth than a word, but the way he smiles at your soft agreeance makes your heart hurt. You were in so deep, had fallen so far – how foolish of you to think you had been over him. How fucking stupid you’d been.

He wastes no time, pulling your shorts and underwear down like he’d done it hundreds of times before – because he had, you note dully – fingers wrapping around your thighs. When you sink down onto his face a tension drains out of his body that neither of you had even noticed was still lingering.

All he can smell is you, all he can taste is you – you surround him and this is all he’s ever fucking wanted, to be possessed by you, to be as close to you as possible. He’s not even totally sure what he’s doing aside from the fact that he’s putting his absolute all into it – he’s just trying to taste every inch of you he can, tongue delving as deep as possible before switching to suck on your clit. There’s no rhyme or reason to his method and it has you letting out a quiet sigh that borders on a gasp. He tries to memorize the sound instantly – any sound he could get out of you was a treasure in itself, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to hear them again after this.

There is no particular build-up to your orgasm – it’s at first lingering briefly bone-deep and then suddenly it is upon you in streaks of lightning, hips grinding against his face but mouth stubbornly shut. You can’t let this be any more intimate than it already was. (And yet you instinctively reach down and lace your fingers with his, and his thumb smooths across the back of your hand as he continues to mouth at your cunt, drink up your fluids. You are so utterly and completely stupid, your heart in your throat.)

There is a moment you want to carve out afterwards, a small bubble in time where the two of you could just bask in the afterglow and pretend like nothing had changed from a year ago – but you can’t let yourself do that, pushing yourself up off the bed even as every fiber of you begs to remain beside him for a moment longer. His fingers remain holding yours a moment too long before dropping to your bedspread, defeated.

Your heart suddenly felt like it was three sizes too big for your body, filled to the brim with love for a man you knew you’d have no second chance with, and you clench your teeth tightly to keep it from oozing out between your teeth like bittersweet sugar.

He’s still panting when you return with a damp cloth, reaches for it as if he really expects you to make him clean himself off. You scoff and catch his hand with your own, setting it back down on the bed as you begin to clean off his face first. Whether you wanted to avoid intimacy or not there were things you simply refused to throw to the wayside just because you wanted to remain distant, and one of those was taking care of him after sex. (He’s more receptive this time than he used to be, not fighting you and claiming he was fine, letting you dote on him with a sort of hesitant and soft acceptance. It makes your heart hurt all the more, the pure ache and want almost unbearable.)

“You’re always so messy..” It’s meant to be a light comment but the two of you accidentally lock gazes when you say it, your hand stalling in its motions. He looks like he wants to say something, lips parting – your breath catches in your throat, waiting, but he ultimately just shuts his mouth, gaze darting away from you. Your breath leaves you in a small burst. “Just relax, Kyun, I’ve got you.”

It’s the typical words you say to a sub after an intense session (with an accidental affectionate nickname that you bite the inside of your cheek for), but you mean them, and you don’t want to, but you do, irrevocably. You know that if he needed it, if he asked for it, you would let him stay here for as long as he wanted. You knew that tonight you wouldn’t be asking him to leave. And for that you are so, so incredibly fucked. (You wonder if he is too, judging from the way his eyes widen at the nickname and his breath stutters – but you crush that thought instantly, don’t dare to get your hopes up.)

He’s surprised that you take the time to clean him up, bring him water and a change in clothes – they aren’t his but they’re clearly a man’s, and he wonders if they belong to Hoseok considering the size. Something deep in his chest hurts at that thought. He’s even more surprised when you pull on an oversized shirt instead of telling him to leave – he faintly realizes that he recognizes it, a soft violet that hung down to your lower thighs and always felt soft against his chest when he’d hold you – crawling into bed next to him after changing into it, though he’s automatically moving to accommodate you, perfectly content to throw the thick comforter to the floor to be dealt with in the morning.

“Is.. this okay?” Your voice is quiet, so tentative and soft and hesitant, and all he wants to do is tell you yes, this was more than okay, this was everything he had ever wanted.

“Yeah – I mean, it’s your bed, so..” He hates himself for the way he responds, swallowing hard but taking the initiative to slide his arm over your side, nose in your hair. He can feel the way you tense, but you don’t say anything against it or try to pull away. “And.. this? It’s okay too?”

“…it’s okay.” It’s a small response but he inhales deeply in relief, drinking in your scent half by accident. It’s the same smell he had missed for so long, the one he’d dream of and wake up thinking there was a chance it still lingered on his pillow, heart dropping through his ribcage when he realized it wasn’t.

Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach you fall asleep fast, mentally drained and physically exhausted - his fingers trace the line of your shoulder, head pillowed on his own arm as he watches you sleep. There is a purely warm and happy feeling trying to spread through his body, but it doesn’t make it very far before the remembrance that you still weren’t his and he still wasn’t yours freezes it in its tracks. He feels like his heart is melting, dripping through his ribs and oozing into his stomach and making him sick.

He’s shaking your shoulder before he even knows what he’s doing, and you’re half-awake and groggy but so fucking beautiful and every single one of his nerves feels like a live wire underneath his skin, buzzing and loud and painful, and he is so scared, but he is also tired. Tired of hurting, tired of missing you, tired of the way Kihyun will be talking about you but stop awkwardly when he notices Changkyun listening, tired of the way he smiles so big his cheeks hurt when the two of you talk on the phone, tired of how he swallows down the words “love you” every time you hang up – and he’s fucking tired of being scared most of all.

“Changkyun, you better be fucking dying..” You’re angry, always angry when woken suddenly, and he just wants to kiss you.

‘I love you, I’m stupid, I was scared, I always loved you, I never fucking stopped, did you know I would dream of you? Did you know that you were the only thing on my mind? On plane rides, in the vans, backstage, all I could think about was you and my hyungs all told me I was just hurting myself and I knew that but I still hoped that somehow you and I would end up happy together.’

Like always he can’t say any of it. It sits on his tongue and he just utters a quiet ‘fuck’ instead, throat tight. Why couldn’t he fucking do this?

“..Kyun?” He’s sitting up now, and you are too, side by side – your expression is open, sleepy but worried, and he has a sudden urge to take your face in his hands and kiss your eyelids.

The scariest part of telling the truth, of laying yourself bare for someone, of letting them in, was that they could take one look and never come back. And maybe he’s not afraid of loving you – maybe he’s never been afraid of loving you, with your eyes that hold the only stars he ever wants to look at. Maybe he’s been afraid of not being loved back.

He swallows hard, reaches for every bit of confidence and courage performing has ever given him, forces himself to be brave the way the industry has taught him to be. Moonlight filters in through the window and he thinks your eyes might actually house the milky way in them somehow.

“I love you, still – always. I never stopped.”

He can’t breathe because you’re just looking at him, stunned and disbelieving, tears collecting on your lash-line but not falling, never falling, and he feels like the fucking worst for telling you now, this way, this bluntly – but he knows if he didn’t say anything he would have never said anything, and he’s not sure he could have survived that, so the words had fallen from his lips hard and heavy and desperate to be said. (And a part of him is still surprised he even managed to say them at all, rushed and frantic as they were.)

“I –“ Your brow is furrowed and your voice is thick, but when he reaches to brush your tears away you let him and his lungs start to tentatively fill themselves with oxygen again.

When you smile it is watery and weak but it is there, and he feels like sunlight has reappeared in the lining of his skin, bright and blinding and warm.

[bellakitse]

Hey! I love your writing and i was wondering if you would write a prompt for tarlos? I saw it and immediately thought of them. “I’m your lock screen?!” - “You weren’t supposed to see that.” thank you either way!!!

Lock screen, Home screen, and Everything in-between

“TK, am I your lock screen?” Carlos asks, grin still in place, it’s both warm and amused at once.

A picture leads to a confession.

Written for Lone Star Week Day 6 - Romance

TK Strand is in the middle of a boring shift; he knows that boring is good in his line of work; it means no one’s life or property is in danger. Firefighters are always grateful for dull days. Knowing this doesn’t change the fact that he’s bored out of his mind though. He’s been on shift for the last seven hours with another five to go, and they’ve only had one real call today that ended almost as soon as it started.

He and the rest of the crew clean around the station and detail the trucks until they gleam. Marjan, realizing he’s restless, dares him to a plank challenge where she proceeds to kick his ass. He’s fit, but there’s a very good chance Marjan is Wonder Woman. He annoys Judd into another game of foosball, only to be called a cheater again by the Texan, who’s really just a sore loser. Now, still bored, but with nothing to do, he sits on one of the couches in the common room, scrolling through his phone while Judd sits across from him reading a book. Paul fusses around in the kitchen while Marjan and Mateo play some racing game on the PlayStation.

“Take that probie!” Marjan crows triumphantly.

TK looks up just in time to see Marjan cross the finish line in the game. Shaking his head, a smile tugs at his mouth as she gloats in the probie’s face. Mateo looks back at her with reluctant affection.

He goes back to his phone, his thumb swiping up to unlock it when a weight presses behind his left shoulder.

“Hey, sweetheart,” says a familiar voice that makes his insides jump pleasantly.

He tips his head back to find his boyfriend Carlos smiling down at him, his eyes warm the way they always seem to be when they’re on him. It makes his heart skip a beat, and he has to remind himself not to act like a teenager with a crush.

“Hey you,” he greets back with a smile of his own, his reminder not really working if how big his smile feels is any indication. “What brings you by?”

“I was dropping something off for Michelle, saw that all the trucks were here and figured I’d come upstairs and – ” Carlos stops mid-sentence as something else catches his attention.

“And?” TK prompts when Carlos doesn’t continue; he frowns, confused by the broad smile taking over Carlos’ face.

“TK, am I your lock screen?” Carlos asks, grin still in place, it’s both warm and amused at once.

“What – ” TK looks down to find that his thumb is still on his phone, causing the lock screen to light up. The picture on his screen is indeed Carlos, his eyes closed with a beautiful wide smile on his face showing off his perfect pearly whites. He remembers taking the picture when Carlos was mid-laugh.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he blurts out loudly, slapping his hand over his screen.

He cringes as Judd slowly lowers his book, while Marjan and Mateo pause their game. All three look over at them with amused smiles on their faces. He’s sure if he turns around to look in the kitchen, he’ll find that Paul has stopped what he’s doing to watch them too.

“TK – “ Carlos starts softly. He can hear the gentleness in his voice but also the humor, and he feels his face grow hot at his tone, along with the grins on his crew’s faces.

Not really looking at anyone, he shoots up out of the couch. “I gotta go,” he gets out, his face growing hotter when his voice cracks.

“Where? You’re on shift!” Judd calls out to him, but TK isn’t listening, not when his sole focus is to get away from everyone’s amused looks as they watch him leave.

He turns the corner and heads for the dorm rooms. He knows his reaction is downright childish, but now that he’s started, he wants to commit to the behavior, hide under his blanket until his face isn’t so red, and he can erase from his memory the look on his crew’s faces. He finds a half-asleep Buttercup on his bed; the big mutt opens an eye to look at him. Proving how sensitive he is to TK, the second he sits down, Buttercup shifts over to rest his head on his lap, looking up at him with sleepy soulful eyes.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says softly, running his hand over the top of the dog’s head. He hears footsteps, but doesn’t bother to look up from petting the Bernese on his lap; he already knows who it is.

Carlos sits down next to him; he doesn’t say anything; instead, he just waits silently in that supportive way of his until TK is ready to speak.

“I overreacted to you seeing your picture on my phone,” he says quietly, looking up from Buttercup to Carlos. He takes in the gentle, concerned look on his face and feels something shift inside. “I don’t even know why.”

“Maybe because it feels like revealing something you weren’t ready for me to know?” Carlos questions, still tender and understanding like always.

TK thinks about the statement for a moment and finds truth in it. Carlos knowing that his picture is his lock screen, feels oddly intimate. It leaves him acutely aware of how vulnerable he is with him.

He gives Carlos a small nod. “People have always said I wear my heart on my sleeve,” he starts quietly, biting down on his lip before continuing. “And all it’s gotten me is my heart stomped on.”

“And now it makes you gun-shy to be so exposed,” Carlos answers just as softly. TK feels a wave of affection as he hears no judgment in Carlos’ voice, only empathy.

“It’s not that I want to hide my feelings from you,” TK says quickly, needing Carlos to know that. He doesn’t want his past failures to ruin the good thing he has with Carlos today. “I want you to know I care about you. I hope you know that.”

Carlos answers him with a beautiful smile, his arm coming around TK’s shoulder, giving him a soft pull into his space. TK goes willingly, tucking his face into Carlos’ neck as he gives him a sideways hug. He shifts to get closer to Carlos, and Buttercup makes a grumbling noise from where he rests his head on TK’s lap. He smiles when Carlos’ hand joins his, petting the large dog until he closes his eyes again.

“I know you care about me,” Carlos assures him. “Since we made our relationship official, I haven’t once questioned it.”

TK lets out a relieved sigh. “Good, you need to tell me right away if I ever do something that changes that. I can be self-involved sometimes, but I never want to hurt you because I’m being a clueless dick.”

He feels Carlos shake a little as he laughs. “I promise to tell you if you’re being a dick, Ty.”

TK snorts softly at the teasing. He tilts his head back, pressing his lips against the underside of Carlos’ jaw.

They stay quiet for a moment as TK enjoys Carlos’ embrace. “Can I show you something?” Carlos asks quietly after a moment.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, mellowed out from being in his boyfriend’s arms.

He lifts his head from his shoulder when Carlos pulls his phone out, playing with it nervously.

“Okay – so don’t judge me,” Carlos starts, and TK raises an eyebrow at the shy smile he sees on his face. A moment later, he understands why. Carlos’ lock screen is a sleepy TK, and TK remembers the moment Carlos took the picture. It was a few weeks ago when he came over to his place after being on shift for three days, more asleep than awake.

“I’m your lock screen,” he says quietly, going warm to the tip of his toes.

“Not just my lock screen,” Carlos confesses, wrinkling his nose adorably as his cheeks turn pink. He enters his passcode, and TK can see what he means. He’s Carlos’ home screen too; only this time, it’s a picture of them together. One that TK took one afternoon when they were goofing around. Carlos’ face is half-hidden in TK’s shoulder while he smiles at the camera.

“I’m your home screen,” he whispers, letting out a small laugh, he feels so happy he could burst.

“Yes,” Carlos says with a smile of his own, his face is still pink, but his smile is full and pleased. “And if you look at my camera roll, you’ll call me a stalker from the sheer amount of pictures I have of your face.”

TK laughs gleefully, his eyes going a little wet.

Carlos shakes his head at his enjoyment, his lips curved upward. “I just wanted you to know that I feel the same way.”

TK nods, understanding what Carlos is trying to say. He’s grateful for this beautiful man that somehow, despite their less than great start, cares about him – loves him.

Suddenly he’s not as scared anymore, and he takes his phone out, opening his camera.

“What are you doing?” Carlos asks even as he grins, pulling him closer.

“You have a picture of us as your home screen,” TK answers, lifting his phone in front of them. “I need one too.”

Carlos lets out a soft laugh before he smiles as he turns to look at the camera, and TK takes a moment to look at him. He’s so head over heels in love he can’t think straight.

“Carlos?” he murmurs, his lips a breath away from Carlos’ cheek.

“Yeah?” Carlos asks, not looking away from the camera.

TK grins, his heart pounding hard under his chest from how sure he is. “I love you.”

Carlos’ gasp and the sound of the picture taken happen simultaneously. The result is a picture TK will have on his phone for years to come, showing it every time he talks about the love of his life.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Good Girl

Pairing: Chris Evans x black!reader

Summary: The reader acts up at a party and a Chris decides to do something about.

Warnings: Smut of course 😏

A/N: Apparently I have a thing about writing Chris in secret relationships. This fic was inspired by the photo below 👇🏿

Oh shit, you were fucked! He stood there angry in his all white linen suit with his drink in his hand.

You should’ve known better not to piss him off like that, but when the party started you were in a petty mood. Chris and you had some little argument that you couldn’t even remembered what it was about before your party and being your petty little self, you decided to make him jealous.

There was a bunch of celebrities at your pool party and you spent most of your time twerking on Drake. To everyone else that was normal, but to Chris you were crossing a line. No one knew that you two were a couple, because as a renowned club owner you didn’t want to get involve with any celebrity and it’s also fun to sneak around at events.

“Y/N/N, where’s somewhere quiet I can go? My agent won’t stop calling me?” His fake niceness had you scared. There was no way you were gonna fall for that.

“Anywhere upstairs is fine. But fair warning, if you end up in my room, don’t judge me.” You turned back to continue your conversation with your friends, but Chris wasn’t easily deterred.

“How about you be my guide and that won’t happen?” His smile was inviting, but you had to be strong.

As you were trying to say no, Megan was standing behind him, mimicking the cowgirl position, mouthing to you to “Tap that.”

To get Megan to stop and knowing you’d be in even more trouble if you told Chris no, you escorted him upstairs.

Chris had to restrain himself walking up the stairs behind you. All his attention was on the curve of your ass and how it was eating up your bikini bottoms.

“Walking slow won’t stop your punishment. In fact, the longer you make me wait, the harsher it’ll be.” Chris informed you, catching onto your reason for going up the stairs so slow.

Wanting to get it over with, you ran up the rest of the way up to your room. Once you were inside, Chris didn’t say a word. He just stared at you while rolling up his sleeves.

“You can’t spank me this time. The marks would show and I’m not covering up. This bikini is too cute.” You tried to establish some semblance of dominance.

Still Chris didn’t say a word. He just quirked an eyebrow that said, “Oh really?” Chris gently pushed you to your knees, pulling out his hardened length.

You already knew the punishment and assumed the position, hands on your thighs and mouth open. Chris pushed his stiffened dick in your mouth and begun to throat fuck you.

Thanks to all your training, you were able to fit him all the way in your mouth, but he was still brutal with his thrusts and you loved it. “Since you wanna act like a slut, I’m gonna treat you like one.” Chris grunted above you.

His strokes reminded you of how he treats your pussy, rough and methodical. You had to dig your nails into your thighs to stop them from dipping inside your bikini bottoms; you didn’t need to get into anymore trouble with Chris.

Chris’ eyes dipped down to you and he darkly chuckled at your struggle. He pulled out of your mouth with an audible pop and leaned towards your face, gripping the sides tightly. “Awww, look at the little slut. Me fucking your throat made your tight little pussy wet, huh? You want me to fuck that pussy, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whimpered.

He spit in your mouth and shoved his thumb inside for you to suck. “Well, who am I to deny my baby girl? Get on the bed.”

Quickly, you jumped to your feet and laid on the bed. Not too long after, Chris stripped down and joined you on the bed. You didn’t get to admire the work of an art he calls a body, because he flipped you over on your stomach. With his teeth he untied your bikini and pulled it off.

Once you were completely naked, he ordered you to arch your back. Chris wasted no time and slammed into you, almost causing you to cum right at that moment.

Gripping the back of your neck, Chris grunted in your ear, “Don’t you dare fucking cum until I say you can.”

A muffled ‘yes sir’ escaped your lips and Chris resumed his pace. By the way he was fucking you, you could tell this was all about his pleasure, but you were still enjoying it. Subconsciously, Chris always assured you were pleased when you were in trouble with him, that’s why you were always being a brat.

“Can I- cann can I- can I please cum?” You begged through Chris’s masterful strokes.

“Hell no! Only good girls who know who they belong to can cum. Did you really think I let you cum after you shaking your ass on another man in front of me? Oh sweetheart, that’s adorable,” Chris taunted.

Aware that he was running low on time before your party guests would be curious about where you and Chris was at, he began chasing his release. The sound of you begging him over and over again pushed him over the edge, making him paint your walls with his nut.

All he wanted to do is bask in his post-nut afterglow and cuddle with you, but y’all had a party to get and your punishment still wasn’t over. So, regretfully he got up and went to get a towel to clean you up.

After he made sure you were good, he got dressed again and came to sloppily kiss you, taking your breath away. “Get dressed and be downstairs in five minutes. If you’re not, you’ll get a repeat of what just happened all night long.” He threatened with a squeeze of your neck before walking back downstairs.

Hurriedly, you put your bikini back on, which was torture because it rubbed against your sensitive clit. You spent your last minute looking for one more piece of clothing before heading back outside. Luckily, you found it in the nick of time, because you knew Chris would be timing you and if you were even a second late, he would make good on his promise.

Chris’ eyes lit up when he saw you. He had to fight the smirk on his face when he noticed you in a swimsuit sarong. Even without him saying anything, he knew he had an influence on you.

Desperately, you wanted to curl up next to him and hang on his arm, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for the next best thing: randomly popping up in conversations he had. Chris was social so, he talked to various groups of people and you being the hostess gave you the perfect opportunity to suddenly appear in those groups.

It was becoming so frequent that Meg began to notice, but she kept her mouth quiet until you started to pretend to be sick. “Bitch, ain’t nothing wrong with you. You just trying to get rid of everyone so you can have Chris all to yourself.”

“How’d you know?” You whispered.

Meg scrunched up her face and laughed at you, pulling you away from the rest of your guests. “Girl, you’ve been near him since he’d broke your back upstairs. Who knew Captain America was so nasty?”

Your jaw dropped at her revelation. “Your secret is safe with me. I’m just mad you ain’t tell me sooner. How long y’all two been together?”

“A couple of months.”

“Well, I guess I understand why y’all keeping it a secret. Don’t want the media all in your business.”

“Exactly! And the sneaking around makes the sex so much better.” Both you and Megan laughed so loud at your joke that y’all made people look at y’all to see what was so funny.

“Since, you figured us out can you do me a huge favor?” You asked with puppy dog eyes and a pout.

Your friend laughed at you because she already knew what the favor was. “Start telling people you don’t feel well and get them the hell up out your house?” Enthusiastically you shook your head yes. “Girl, I got you. Go lay on a lounge chair and I’ll start clearing out.”

Thankful that you had a great friend in Megan, you laid on the chair, appearing sick.

“Alright y’all, now y’all don’t have to go home but you got to get the hell up out of here! My bestie don’t feel good and y’all gots to go!” You had to hold back your smile after listening to Meg’s announcement.

Everyone understood and started to file out. Some would stop by to tell you to feel better and walk off, but one person decided to sit in the chair next to you, blocking the sun. “You’re something else. You know that right?”

Cracking one eye open you peeked at your boyfriend and smiled at him. “How else am I gonna get you alone? And I really do feel sick.”

Chris laid his hand against your forehead. “Huh, you don’t have a fever. What kind of sickness is this?”

“It’s perpetual horiness and can only be cured by penetration from the patient’s boyfriend.”

The way the two of you were seated had other’s view of what you were doing blocked. Grabbing his hand, you slipped it in your bottoms for him to feel how horny he left you. “See daddy, you got me all wet. You just gonna let your baby girl suffer like this?”

He couldn’t resist you or himself anymore. Chris had to see you cum, and it was going to be because of him. “No, I won’t. Lay back and let daddy take care of you.” Chris ordered, just before he started fingering you.

His fingers were hitting the right spot, making you quiver so hard you leaned into Chris, gripped his forearm and cover your mouth with it to quiet your moans.

Both of you were too caught up in chasing your pleasure that you didn’t notice Sebastian and Anthony approach you.

“Oh wow, you don’t look or sound too hot Y/N,” Anthony commented, mistaking your moan of pleasure for one of pain.

Instead of letting you talk, Chris responded. “Yeah that’s why I’m gotta stay back and make her some of my mom’s famous tomato soup.”

Sebastian winced at the mention of Chris taking care of you. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing. One time I got sick on set and Chris went total mother hen on me. So, don’t be surprised when your ready to kick him out.”

Just to ensure you didn’t let a moan slip out, you offered them a small smile. The boys talked a little bit more with Chris before finally leaving.

Once they were out of earshot you punched Chris in his shoulder. “Did you really have to keep fingering me while you talked to them?”

“C’mon don’t pretend like you didn’t like it,” Chris smirked at you. “I bet that turned you on even more.”

You hid your face in the crook of his arm because you didn’t want him to know that he was right. Something about him fucking you while talking to his friends turned you on.

When you didn’t respond to him, Chris moved his fingers faster and started circling your clit. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train and this time you actually bit into his arm to stop you from screaming out in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you cum. Daddy’s gonna take care if you all night, ok?” Chris pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Alright, the house is cleared out and I’m about to head out. Have fun, you nasties,” Megan announced.

You and Chris both thanked Megan and told her goodbye. As soon as you heard the door closed Chris picked you up and ran up the stairs.

He threw you on the bed and began to strip. “You’re gonna be a good girl from now on? Cause daddy doesn’t like punishing you.”

Licking your lips, you crawled off the bed and help Chris take off his pants. “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Chris cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply. “Good. Now get naked and get that pretty ass in the bed, so daddy can take care of you properly.”

This time you eagerly followed Chris’ instructions, knowing being a good girl would get you exactly what you wanted.

Tags: @chaneajoyyy @chrisevansbabymama @titty-teetee @cocooned-butterfly @twistedcharismaaa @soufcakmistress