#every year i forget the struggle of clothing when the crooks of my elbows are horribly inflamed

[lit-in-thy-heart]

sun's out, guns out, and these guns come with the added extra of eczema :D

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (3)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: A friendship has been destroyed, but in exchange for something more

Content: Smut / Nsfw 18+

Content Warnings: Oral (M and F Receiving), Fingering, Unprotected Sex

Armin wasn’t a virgin. He lost his virginity his senior year of high school, and since then, he’s been with only one other girl. You were a little different though, you had a few more people under your belt… literally. 

But none of those people mattered right now, neither of your amount of experience mattered; because you were with him, and he was with you. And both of you were fucking dizzy with the way you were kissing each other like it was your first kisses all over again.

Armin couldn’t keep his mouth off of you once he latched himself on. He had his hands holding your face against his, sucking on your lips and licking into your mouth as he stumbles forward into your body and backing you up to God knows where. 

And you had your hands fisting his stupid white tee-shirt and pulling him closer and closer, being the cause of his stumbling forward. But you just couldn’t get enough of him, you couldn’t get enough of the feeling of having his soft lips against your own or his hands on your body.

You were whimpering into his mouth, gasping against his lips, kissing him back with so much desire and so much pent-up emotion that little noises of arousal escaped his own lips. 

He was so desperate for you, so desperate for this moment right here. His entire fucking relationship with you he’s wanted to have you as his, wanted to taste you and feel you and make you cry out for him. He was so stupid in his fantasy that he couldn’t even see that you wanted the same.

You tasted so softly of mint toothpaste, mint toothpaste, and the sweetest sugar, and Armin couldn’t get enough. His tongue was sliding over yours so sensually, kissing each other with open mouths and swallowing the other’s pretty moans.

Fucking hell, you were moaning and wet over him kissing you, how pathetic were you?

“Armin, my room — please,” You whimper, dropping his shirt and occupying your hands with sliding under the recently dropped fabric to feel up the taut skin of his abdomen.

“Shit, okay,” He breathes, “C’mere.” 

Armin leans into you a little to be able to get a good grip on the backs of your thighs before lifting you up and wrapping them around his waist. You audibly gasp as he does so, finally realizing the amount of strength he truly has.

You remember him lifting you last night, or did you jump into his arms? You don’t remember. But you do remember being in his arms, in a position quite similar to now, but you were too drunk to notice and admire the way his biceps flex as he holds you up, the way his fingers dig into the plush fat of your ass, and thighs, the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your needy cunt. 

You were too fucking drunk to realize any of it, but now you’re sober… and you do. And you feel him pressing and grinding against you as he continues kissing you so roughly that you’re surprised it’s actually Armin.

You never knew he could get like this. You never knew he could be so unintentionally dominating, or so sensual with his actions. And now you never want him to stop.

He carries you, just like last night, to your room and lays you gently on the bed. He never takes his lips off of yours, he’s too afraid to, he has you now and he never wants to pull himself away. 

He keeps his hips between your thighs as he brings both of you down to the bed and rests your head on your pillow, taking his hands off your thighs and moving them to brace himself upright on either side of your head. And your hands slide up his chest, under his shirt, feeling over his warm and tense skin and sighing at the way his muscles dip under your fingers.

You’ve seen Armin shirtless before, and you’ve lingered your glances over his lean muscles and milky skin, you’ve gotten lost and dizzy in the way his arms and stomach flexed while the two of you played beach volleyball or water polo on family trips. But feeling over his skin, and feeling his stomach ripple under your fingertips was far more intense than watching them.

“I — I always forget how strong you are,” You breathe, keeping your eyes closed and lips parted as Armin rests his forehead against yours.

He laughs softly as he pants equally so, trying to catch his breath in the few seconds you give him away from your lips. He felt like you were trying to empty his lungs from all their air, trying to fucking kill him with the way you were touching him.

“Yeah?” He asks, not trying to tease, but genuinely curious to hear more.

“Mhm. ‘always forget that you… are built like this…” Your voice goes a little quieter as you’ve suddenly gone shy with what you’re saying. But your nimble fingers keep exploring his skin, keep sliding over his abdomen and sides, and getting lost in his skin.

“Take — take this off, please,” You whisper, grabbing ahold of the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to his torso until he aids you, lifting up off of you and back onto his calves as he grabs the back neckline and tugs the white tee off of his body.

And the moment he does so, you only melt further into the sheets. Your eyes scan over the broad expanse of silky smooth skin of his chest, over the curves of his shoulders and biceps, taking in the freckle or two that you recognize on his collarbones and forearms.

He’s so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. You hate yourself for never telling him that you believed so until last night.

“I meant it… last night… when I said that you’re really attractive.” You reach out to him, his distance becoming too far, and he listens to your silent request and brings his body back over you, “I don’t — don't know why I never told you…”

Armin was blushing now, his face turning hot and red and the blush is seeping down into his neck and chest as you continue to stare over his body. And he only heats up more when you look up into his eyes with your own. It’s like you're staring into the depths of his soul and reading into his insecurity.

“Thank you,” Armin would continue and say the same for you, but he knows you already know that. He knows that you know that he thinks you're beautiful, he tells you all the time.

When he’s watching you get ready for a party or a gathering, he always makes sure to tell you that you’re stunning… even before you even ask him in confirmation.

Armin swallows before he brings his head back down to kiss you once more, this time with a little less energy. His lips meet yours softly, sensually, and you allow his tongue to slip in equally as so. It makes your heart swell and stomach turn as he kisses you slowly, almost seductively. And somehow, when it was like this, it made you far more buzzed than before had.

You were already whimpering into his mouth, hips stuttering and circling around nothing as you try and get any kind of friction between the two of you. But Armin was seated just a little too high up off of you to where you were pathetically grinding against air and not him.

As you were struggling for a release of tension, Armin was enjoying your little struggle. He savored the way you were getting so needy and desperate with your movements; the way your hands were sliding over his shoulders so shakily, the way you were already struggling to kiss him back, or how you wrapped your legs around him to try and bring him closer. He felt so wanted, so needed… by you.

His cock was so hard in his sweats, throbbing and aching and only getting any sort of relief when your hips bucked high enough against his. So, eventually, despite his nerves and in your favor, Armin brings himself closer between your hips and allows himself to grind his cock against your barely clothed cunt.

And he’s so glad he chose so because the pretty little noise that leaves your lips and the sweet sexual friction he gets as you reactively grind against his cock is almost too much for him to handle.

You’re moaning in his mouth, getting sloppy with your kisses because the head of his cock is rutting itself up against your needy clit so nicely and his tongue is sliding against yours so smoothly. And His body is such a nice weight above you, even though he won’t let himself drop nearly his full weight. 

He holds himself up by bracketing his elbows by your head, his lips now close enough to yours that he doesn’t need to crane his neck down to kiss you. He can kiss you steadily now that his arms aren’t shaking from holding his cock off of you, and his legs aren't shaking from not receiving any relief. And even though you're having trouble giving anything back due to how overwhelming it is, Armin’s keeping the kiss fluid.

He doesn’t want this to be quick, he doesn’t want it rushed. He doesn’t mind if it's with fervor or with energy, but he wants this to be drawn out and long. He wants to take his time with you, and he wants you to take your time with him; to be able to savor the feeling of your skin and your lips and your touch, to have enough time to memorize it in case he never gets it again. He wants to fuck you good and slow until you're both lightheaded from the lazy tempo and are swallowing down each other's whimpers and whines. 

Armin trails his kisses down your jaw, letting his tongue be guided by his lips and peak out to get little tastes of your skin. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck as he savors your skin, his ear next to your mouth as he’s able to hear every hitch on your breath or little whimper that escapes your throat as he nips and sucks at the fragile flesh.

Your fingers snake their way into his hair as his mouth latches onto your pulse point, and you tug on the pretty blonde strands, nails scratching his scalp and drawing out little groans from him as you do so. Your back is sent into a cute arch as goosebumps freckle over your skin and Armin can feel your entire body shaking beneath him.

Armin keeps going down, down, down, satisfying his need to feel your skin between his teeth, until he reaches the low swooping neckline of your tank top. And when he finally feels his chin hitting fabric, he pulls away, but only to look up to you and take the hem of your top in his right hand.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, keeping eye contact as he shimmies further down your body so his face is comfortably in line with your chest.

“Yeah,” You nod with your voice breathy.

The moment you give him an answer, he’s lifting the thin fabric up to your stomach and pressing kisses against the soft skin as he does so. He continues pulling it upwards until your bare chest is revealed to him and you take your own liberty to slide the shirt off your head. 

Armin almost groans at the sight of your exposed chest and is suddenly very thankful that you hadn’t put on anything more to cover yourself this morning. Your nipples were pebbled by arousal and your chest and stomach had a glowing sheen of perspiration over the top that made the entire situation ten times more alluring.

“Do you remember… that day we were at the beach?” He speaks softly like he’s lost in the way the flesh of your chest gives as his hands come. His eyes are glued to you, and if you weren’t as equally lost in him, you almost could have laughed at his expression.

“And you were wearing that stupid baby blue bikini,” He continues, speaking breathily. 

“Yeah, did you — did you like it?” You ask him, looking up at him through your lashes as he continues to play with your tits.

“Yeah,” He nods, “I… got off to you that night. 'couldn't get you out of my head.”

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he's kissing you again, only your lips a few times before he's trailing back down your neck and to your chest.

He attaches his lips to the underside of your left breast, the other one being taken in his right hand. And he wasn’t rough with bites or sucks, but he was lazy with it like he was trying to ingrain the feeling of the soft supple flesh in his mouth into his brain. He was running his tongue over what he's taken into his mouth, sending shivers and shakes down your entire body while his other hand softly, so very softly, massages your other breast between his nimble fingers.

He was so incredibly gentle with you, but the effect that gentleness had was so great and was hitting you so hard that by the time he had finally ran his tongue over your nipple, you were softly moaning and grinding your hips up against his abdomen with the same amount of desperation that you were before.

Armin could tell that you wanted more from him, you wanted his mouth and hands over your entire body and not just your chest. But he needs to make up for all the time he’s lost by waiting for himself and for you. He has to draw this out and be able to do everything he’s ever dreamed of doing with you, to you, for you.

So, he’s going to play with your pretty tits and slide his tongue over your chest until he’s content and thinks he’s equated it to the time he’s lost. He won't stop unless you tell him to, or you're verbally begging him for more.

“Armin —” You breathe as your fingers take a tighter hold on his hair. 

He looks up to you for a moment, watching your saliva sheened lips part as he releases your nipple from his mouth before tending to the other one the same as before. He leaves your left breast covered in his slick saliva, nipple almost sore from the way he was teasing you, and lets his cute little tongue escape his lips again to slide over and wet the other as he looks up to you with those big blue eyes.

And you were pathetically wet underneath your panties from that stimulation alone.

You knew Armin had at least a little bit of experience, but you didn't know he would be so damn attentive to your body and so skilled with the way he’s doing so. It isn’t a surprise though, it’s Armin for christ's sake, of course, he’s going to go out of his way to drive you crazy and he’s going to do it to the best of his abilities.

His fingers of his left-hand slide up your saliva-slicked breast to take your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between the two quite gently as he continues to flick over the other with his tongue.

“Armin, oh my God. I — fuck,” You whimper, completely in awe that you could feel this way through nipple stimulation.

God, if you weren't careful, you were pretty sure you might be able to cum from this.

Your cunt was dripping and clenching around nothing beneath your panties as he continued, and it was driving you insane. You needed more, you needed to feel his stupid tongue inside you, needed his fingers inside you, needed his cock inside you.

“I — fuck, Armin, more, need — fuck — need you to touch me,” You pant, sitting up on your elbows as he finally takes his mouth off your chest.

“What do you need?” He asks, but he seems to already know the answer, for his hands slide down from your chest and to your hips before sneaking his fingers under your waistband.

You gasp softly at the tugging feeling you get from him pulling on your panties, instinctually lifting your hips slightly to allow him to continue. You look down to him with your lips parted open, nodding slightly to encourage him.

“Is this okay?” He says, a little softer, stopping his movements before he fully exposes you.

“Yeah, please.” 

Armin can feel his stomach lurch and cock twitch in his pants at the little whimpering beg you let out. And it only does it again when he slides himself further down the bed and gets a good look at the cute little darkened patch that’s formed in your grey boy-short panties from the wetness leaking from your cunt. And, once again, Armin’s so glad you hadn’t chosen to put on any more clothes before he returned.

Then, he’s pulling them down, completely stripping you bare to him. But you don’t feel vulnerable like you usually do, well maybe a little, but with Armin it’s different. With Armin, you feel safe and homely, you feel like it’s always supposed to have been like this. Because not only does he look at you like you’re something to ravish, but something to cherish.

Armin can’t stop himself from muttering a soft “Fuck,” at the sight of you so wet and needy for him.

You knew you were going to be aroused, but from his reaction, you didn’t know you were going to be to such an extent.

Armin presses a few soft kisses up your legs, skipping over your center, as he makes his way back up to your face. He takes you by surprise by catching your lips in his again, cupping your face in his left hand, and caressing your jaw as he steals your breath away once more. He comes to your right side, bringing the arm that’s attached to the hand on your face down with him until his elbow braces him up and his hand cups the back of your head. His right-hand slides and skims over your stomach before dipping down your navel and fingers hovering over you.

He can feel your breathing jump as his fingers brush over your clit, can feel your hips jerk against his arm once he makes that sweet contact. And it’s almost pathetic how you choke back a whimper at such soft touches, but it was like everything was oversensitized to the max.

He lets his fingers apply the lightest of pressure, almost waiting for you to lift your hips and meet him halfway as he begins to circle your clit slowly. He’s bordering teasing with his touches, even though it’s unintentional; just using the pads of his fingertips to massage you gently.

Your mouth is dropped open ever so slightly while Armin rests his forehead against your temple as he plays with your clit. You’re sucking in little pants of air as your eyes flutter shut at the waves of pleasure that wash over you. Your right arm comes up to wrap around his and grab ahold of his bicep on the outside, feeling the muscle flex under your fingertips as he continues to please you.

“Shit, more. Want them inside,” You whisper, opening your eyes to only see his as he looks over the way your pretty face twists in pleasure.

Armin looks into your eyes as his fingers slide a little lower, feeling over the slick that’s gathered at your cunt, cursing softly, then keeping eye contact as he slides two fingers inside you. He groans softly as his digits are engulfed by your slick warmth, and you do the same as you feel his long fingers fill you up so nicely.

Your entire body goes weak at the sensation, and your hips helplessly grind against his palm as his fingers reach their hilt. You’re gasping and choking on your breath while he dips his head into your neck and resumes kissing the skin there.

He fingers you nice and slow like he’s once again trying to memorize the way your pussy clenches around him, the feeling of the wet heat of your cunt consuming him and sucking him in, so desperate for more, more, more. He loves the way your thighs clamp around his wrist as he curls the tips of his fingers up against you, realizing he’s found your sweet spot and continuing to curl against it every so often to hear the sweet little mewl that leaves your lips as he does so.

He can feel your little nails pressing into the skin of his bicep as you squeeze tighter. And then you’re grabbing his hair with your other hand, tugging him up from your neck to face you, and taking his lips in yours. You’re moaning into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back again. He can feel your chest pressing up against his whenever you arch your back, silently begging him for more.

Armin pulls away from you, using the elbow he was bracing himself on to lift himself away, “Can — fuck — can I go down on you?”

You look up to him as he waits for an answer.

Of course, Armin would want to go down on you, of course, he would. He’s Armin.

“Yes, please,” You nod.

He wastes no time to continue kissing down your body, keeping his fingers inside you and only pulling them out once he’s laying out on the bed with his face in line with your cunt. He’s conveniently bent at the hips, his legs able to hand off the bed so he can kneel on the floor.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, keeping his eyes on the way your pussy clenches and stretches around his knuckles as he does so. And he has to hold in a groan as he sees the way his fingers are shiny and glistening with your arousal once they’re fully out of you.

“I always knew that… that you would be the kinda guy to go down on girls.” You chuckle softly as you rise to your elbows, able to see him kneel before you.

Armin looks up to you from between your legs. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s a cute pink flush over his nose and cheeks. His pupils are blown wide with lust. He looks absolutely alluring.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He brings his head closer to your center like he’s waiting for your answer before he slides his tongue through you.

“I just — not a lot of guys are willing to actually do it…” You say, now able to feel his breath fanning over your cunt. Armin can see the way your legs twitch with every little breath he takes, he can feel them beginning to squeeze his shoulders.

“Why not?” And he wasn’t teasing you, he seemed genuinely curious.

“I don’t — I don’t know,” You whisper, practically trembling with anticipation

He seems satisfied with your answer and keeps his eyes on you as he grips your thighs and brings his face forward to slide his tongue through your slit. You’re warm against his tongue, and he can taste your slick arousal on it. His tongue feels like silk as he slides over you, dipping the tip of his tongue into your hole before gliding up to flick over your clit.

“Oh god,” Your head falls back on your shoulders, hands clenching into fists as you buck your hips up against his face.

He wasn’t confident with his movements, but he was in no way unsure of them either. He seemed to have at least some experience with what he was doing, but you weren’t anywhere near upset with that. You were his, and he was yours. And you could even say you were glad that he knew what he was doing because it was only making the experience that much better for you.

You could feel your entire body quivering as the pleasure courses through you, stemming from the pit of your stomach. You were getting warmer by the moment, not from physical exertion but from the overwhelming sensations that were flowing through your whole body. Your stomach was contracting and your chest was jerking before you with every little circle of his tongue over your clit.

You let out an audible choked-out moan as you feel his two fingers slide back inside you. You don’t notice how much tighter you’re squeezing them now that his mouth is on you as well. Your little cunt is fluttering around his digits, almost making it hard for him to shirt them around inside you. And every little squeeze he gets translates itself back to his cock, sending it twitching and leaking precum in his sweatpants. And he’s wishing his dick was pushed all the way inside you and it was his length that your little pussy was squeezing so nicely and not his fingers. 

Soon, Armin, soon.

“I’m so close, please don’t stop. Armin please, please,” You whine, your back arching and legs trembling and squeezing his shoulders. 

Before he allows you to cum, he uses his free hand to lift both of your legs so they rest over his shoulders, your heels digging into the muscles in his back. And that little change in angle has his fingers hitting your sweet spot over and over as his mouth suckles around your clit. And you’re cumming and creaming all over his fingers, cunt spasming around them as he fucks them into you and lets you ride out your orgasm.

“Oh God — Armin,” You shift your weight to one elbow and bring up your right hand to reach out and lace your fingers through his hair once more.

He’s lost himself in the way you gush all over his tongue, the way he flickers his pretty blue eyes up to see your eyebrows furrow together as you keep grinding against his mouth and hand.

Armin can only rut his hips into the side of your bed, wishing that he was fucking his cock into you rather than his fingers, but all good things take time. 

Once you’ve come down from your high and Armin’s slipped his fingers out of you, you shift your legs off of his shoulder and let your hand fall from his head and down his arm.

“Want to — wanna suck you off, please.” You say, looking into his eyes as he lifts himself from the floor and hovers back over your body.

“You don’t have to,” He shakes his head softly, leaning over you and cupping your cheek with his left hand… the one that isn’t covered in his spit and your cum.

“Want to — so bad,” You plea, sliding a hand down his chest until you reach the waistband of his sweats. Then, you continue a little further, cupping his length through the fabric, sliding your hand over him gently.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth as you look up at him. His lips are parted as he drops his head slightly to watch your hand palm at his cock. He’s not very convincing when he repeats ‘you don’t have to’ because he’s subtly grinding into your hand and letting out soft moans at the feeling.

“Wanna make you feel good,” You say quietly, looking over his pretty face.

“Fuck, please,” He whimpers… whimpers.

And so you pull your hand away from his cock, push against his chest with both hands until he’s bringing himself up off the edge of the bed, and push him a little farther so you can kneel in front of him. The hardwood hurts your knees, and you know it’ll probably hurt equally as bad later, but you need to feel the weight of him in your mouth.

You hook your fingers around his waistband, tugging both his boxers and his sweatpants down until his cock springs free and slaps against his stomach. And Armin’s just as big as you had expected, nice and long, and his tip a pretty pink; leaking precum down the length of him.

His breath hitches as you take ahold of the base of him in your hand, holding him gently and sizing him up. He’s heavy in your hand, skin warm and slickened with his own arousal that’s dripped down his shaft.

You look into his pretty blue eyes as you jerk him softly, sliding over him and twisting your wrist once you reach his tip. He looks back down to you, burning the image of you knelt in front of him, completely nude, with his cock on your hands into his mind. Your lips swollen and slick with saliva from kissing, your hair askew and so prettily messy. 

He’s cursing quietly, his breathing getting all ragged and choked up as you continue. And he finally lets out an audible groan once you close your lips around the head of his cock.

His precum is slightly salty on your tongue, and you suckle on his tip real gently as you swirl your tongue over him.

“Fuck —” He hisses, the sensation building up far too quickly for his liking, but he doesn’t want you to stop just yet.

You take your mouth off of him, but only to lick up the underside of his cock, making sure to slobber on it real nicely until a string of spit connects from the head of him to your lips. And then you allow yourself to slide the length of him into your mouth, taking as much of him as you can and jerking the rest with your hand. He’s heavy on your tongue, and you have to keep yourself from gagging as his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Oh God, oh God — fuck,” He groans, restraining himself from bucking his hips against you and fucking your throat, “Stop, stop, I’m gonna cum,”

But you don’t stop, you keep your mouth on his cock with your lips wrapped tight and cheeks hollowed. 

Armin grabs ahold of your hair, completely disregarding his gentle nature, and pulls you back and off of him. You cough on your own spit, sending it dripping down your chin as you look up to him through swelling tears.

He’s panting heavily, looking down at you as he breathes, his cock hovering just in front of your face and dripping with your saliva.

“Can — can I fuck you,” He asks, loosening his grip on your hair and sliding his hand down the side of your head to cup your cheek.

You lean into his touch, savoring the warmth, and nodding your head softly as you close your mouth and swallow the accumulated spit, “Yeah,”

Armin’s gentle once more as he leans down, taking your hands in his to help you stand before he guides you back onto the mattress, crawling over your body and kissing you gently once you’re fully on the bed. 

You can feel his cock situated in the crease of your leg, resting right next to your cunt. And you’re clenching around nothing at the sensation of his cock being so close.

“Do you have a condom?” He asks, pulling away from you.

You swallow hard, subconsciously grinding against the length of him as the idea of him filling you raw floods your mind. You look up to him with your bottom lip taken innocently between your teeth as you shake your head.

“I want you raw,” You decide, sliding your hands up his warm chest until they reach the base of his neck. 

You don’t speak as if you’re trying to convince him, more so just telling him exactly what you want. You hadn’t planned for it to end up this way, but now that it’s come across, you don’t want anything else.

“You — you don’t want a condom?” Armin asks, and you can feel him twitch against your thigh at your revelation.

“No,”

He nods, slowly and uncertainly at first, but then confidently as if he realized he wanted it equally as much. And then he leans back, sitting back on his calves as he takes his cock in his hand, his other hand gripping your thigh and holding you open for him. He looks to where the two of you are inches away from meeting as he lazily slides his hand over himself.

He shimmies his hips forward slightly so the head of his cock comes in line with your entrance, but he doesn’t push in just yet. Armin slides his cockhead through your slit, savoring the way your cunt clenches against him as he skims over your hole.

“I need — need to know how bad you’ve wanted this,” He says, almost a whisper.

He speaks for a few reasons. He wants to know that this is okay, and that fucking you is okay; but he also needs to hear you beg for him, even though he doesn’t explicitly state that he wants you to bed. He wants to know if it’s true, that all this time you’ve wanted him.

“You’re all I could think about… ever. Ever since I kissed you all that time ago, you were all I ever wanted — all I needed.” You say, your hips jerking against him every time his cock slides over your clit.

Armin nods shakily, swallowing hard as if he’s taking in what you’re saying word by word and trying to process it.

“And… how bad you’ve wanted this,” He enunciates what he’s insinuating by tapping his tip against your clit so very softly. You whine softly at the sensation and can feel your throat tense up.

“God so, so bad. I’ve dreamed about you — about you filling me up, ‘wished it was you and not my fingers. I need it — need you,” You whimper, grinding against him.

Armin lets out a shaky exhale at your confession, slowing down the rate at which he slides his cock through your slit, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. I wanted you so bad last night but I couldn’t — couldn’t have you.”

He pauses his cock as it’s perfectly in line with your entrance, looking up from where the two of you meet and to you where you’re laid back on the mattress, spread open for him and so needy for more. You’re shaking in anticipation, and for a moment, Armin feels bad for unintentionally teasing you for so long.

And then you feel him pressing himself inside, you feel him breaching you and stretching you out as he fills you so slowly. His hand that was at your leg drops down to your side as he comes to lean over you again, and the hand that was guiding his cock inside does the same once he’s enough of the way in to not have to guide himself anymore.

You’re a gasping and whimpering mess as he fills you up, and he the same. He’s groaning softly at the sensation of you squeezing his tip, massaging his cock with every clench. You’re so wet and warm around him, so soft and slick, and he uses every last bit of his restraint to keep himself from sheathing the entirety of his cock inside you.

“Oh God,” You cry, your legs coming up to wrap themselves around his waist, heels pressing into the base of his spine to encourage him to keep going.

But Armin doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to — even if he tried. You were pulling him in, both your cunt and your legs. He swears you wouldn’t dare to let him stop.

“You’re — you’re so big,” You whisper, unable to give your voice enough power to speak any louder.

He continues pushing into you slowly until his hips meet yours and the base of him is fully engulfed by your pussy. You can feel him twitching against the deepest parts of you, in your stomach, and the way he’s stretching you out is so painfully pleasant.

Armin has to take a moment from continuing, afraid he’ll cum prematurely. So, he hovers over you, bringing himself down to his elbows to where your noses bump together and takes your lips in his. He kisses you tenderly, slowly, trying to stop himself from getting too overwhelmed. But it’s truly no help because he can feel his cock twitch inside you when you moan into his mouth.

“Please, please. Please fuck me,” You whimper against his lips, your hands coming up to his neck and holding it gently to keep him as close to you as you can.

Armin slowly uses the strength in his core to lift his hips off yours, shuddering at the way your cunt keeps trying to suck him in, and pulls his cock out of you. It’s so slow, so fucking slow, but the pleasure is so immense that you’re trembling underneath him and begging for more.

“Shit, you feel so good,” He breathes, pulling himself out until only his tip remains inside, then slowly pushing himself back in and splitting you in two once more, “So, so good,”

Once Armin’s able to get ahold of his restraint, he eases himself out again then sheathes his cock back inside a little harsher. His hips slap against you, not making an audible noise just yet, but hard enough to where your pretty tits are sent bouncing against his chest.

Your moan gets caught in your throat at the feeling of him filling you up so quickly and his cock hitting so deep. 

You’ve never felt like this before… ever. You don’t know it’s from how big he is or how steadily he’s fucking you or if it’s just the fact that it’s Armin, and you’ve wanted and wished and pretended it was him all this time.

“‘wanted you for so long and now I got you,” He rests his forehead against yours, “You’re mine right? Tell me your mine, please.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m yours, Armin, I’m yours,” You whimper, nodding quickly and looking into his eyes.

He refused to look away from you as he pumped his cock inside you over and over, he was lost in your lust-blown eyes and the way your whole face was twisting in pleasure. Your bottom lip quivers as you hiccup out little sobbing moans as he begins to fuck into you harder.

His biceps are flexing as he continues to use them to brace himself up as he brings his hips up before slapping them back down. It was audible now, a wet slapping sound filling the room along with both of your pathetic gasps and cries.

“Fuck — you’re so deep, so deep. ‘m gonna cum,” You choke, sliding your hands into his hair and holding onto it, tugging softly until Armin’s groaning from the pain that spreads over his scalp.

You knew it was quick, and that you weren’t lasting long at all. But you were the farthest thing from embarrassed. And Armin was glad to hear that you were close because he was far too close to his own orgasm as well.

“Need to feel it, please. Cum on my cock, please,” He begs.

And you do what you’re told. Your entire body jerks and spasms beneath him, back arching sharply and legs squeezing his hips so tight it almost hurts. You’re clenching around his cock over and over again, trying to milk him of his cum… but Armin’s not done… not yet.

“Fuck, fuck — Armin!” You cry, your lifting hips only getting slapped back down into the mattress by his.

Your brain is fuzzy with your orgasm and all your senses are on overdrive as he continues to fill you with his cock. It’s a white-hot pleasure that’s surging through your entire being, and you feel like you’re floating.

You’re choking on your moans, stuttering out his name and pulling on his hair; and Armin doesn’t let up on you. 

“Again, please, ‘wanna feel it again,” He pants, kissing you again with an open mouth.

He drinks down your cries and moans as he brings you to another high. And you’re thrashing around beneath him, entire body twitching again and head pushing into the mattress as he fucks you through your orgasm once more.

And then, as you’re coming down, Armin pulls himself off of you so quickly that it takes you a moment to realize what’s happening. He’s back on his calves again with his cock in his hand, jerking himself quickly until he’s groaning and releasing all over your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” He seethes, eyes squeezing shut and his stomach flexing as he lets his head drop back onto his shoulders.

He can feel his whole body tensing and his muscles contracting. You can see his chest rising and falling quickly as he brings himself back down from his high. He keeps jerking his cock, squeezing at the tip, until it’s stopped its twitching and he’s got nothing left. He keeps breathing hard, bringing his head up slowly as he keeps the base of him in his hand like he’s somehow anchoring himself.

“I love you,” You say, so quietly that Armin almost missed it.

You’ve told each other so many times before. You both know that you love each other so dearly, but it was never before said as if you’ve been in love with each other.

Armin looks to you, his breathing still a little shaky, and he smiles softly, “I love you.”

He leans down and hovers over you for a moment, kissing you tenderly, before getting up off the bed. You let your eyes shut and breathe deeply as he goes to do whatever an Armin does after sex.

And you assumed it would be to get a towel of some sort so he can properly clean his release off of your stomach, and you assumed correctly because you’re opening your eyes at the sensation of something warm and wet sliding over your stomach.

He’s put his boxers back on and kneels beside you. One hand wipes at the mess while the other comes to your forearm, holding it carefully while his thumb traces over little circles. Both actions send little shivers over your cooling body, but it’s comforting and makes you feel safe. You give him a soft smile.

He’s gentle and kind as he continues to clean you up, careful with your limbs like he believes they’ll break; even though he was just plowing himself into not a few minutes ago.

You aren’t able to see him, but if you could you’d see the boy’s face turning pink at the sight of you exposed for him. And his lips are turned into a smile as well as he admires you before him.

“What clothes do you want?” He asks, discarding the towel to the floor and cupping your face in his hand.

You open your eyes to see him leaning over you, your bathroom light cascading behind him as his figure blocks it out of your eyes. He looks like a greek god.

“You pick,” You smile, shutting your eyes once more. 

You feel his weight shift around then leave the bed, followed by the sound of opening and closing of your dresser drawers. His weight returns, along with the light feeling of clothes resting atop your stomach. You peek out at him again.

On your torso lays one of his tee-shirts that you had stolen from him a year or two back, along with a pair of maroon panties.

“Scandalous,” You giggle, sitting up and taking the shirt off of your stomach.

“You told me to pick,” He says shyly, another wash of blush smearing across his cheeks as he sits down beside you. You pull the shirt over your head and maneuver the panties onto you as well. 

Armin leaves only momentarily to flick off the bathroom light. And once you’re clothed to the extent that it seems he wants you at, he pushes you down by your shoulders until your head is hitting your pillow. He kisses you softly, only a few pecks to your lips before shifting up to kiss your forehead.

You giggle at his ministrations. You can feel your heart swelling in your chest at the realization that you can now finally be intimate with each other in romantic ways. It didn’t feel odd. It was new, yes, but it felt nothing but right.

It felt so right for him to lay down next to you and pull you under the sheets he had just taken you on. It felt so right to be curdled up next to him, pulled against his warm body, and held in his arms as you rest your head on his bare chest; able to hear his heartbeat.

You slept with him in your bed for two days in a row, but how different those two days were.

[novelconcepts]

FOUND IT!!! Consider this an official ask for 3 and 14 combined! #wheee

smiling into a kiss and play wrestling

Having a best friend again is strange. She’d gone so long imagining the phrase as a sort of neon sign staked firmly in the past: Best Friend, already spoken for. Eddie had always been it; no other volunteers need apply. 

But Eddie’s gone now, out of her life, living out wherever his might go in another country altogether, and Dani finds the position has--slowly, without really planning for it--been filled once more. Not that she planned for it. Not that could ever could have. 

She didn’t come to Bly looking for Jamie, and if you’d told her the gardener who refused to so much as meet her eyes, much less introduce herself, would become the most important person in her life--well. Life is full of surprises.

There is so little of Eddie in Jamie, she sometimes wonders how both could have occupied the same shape in her heart. Sometimes wonders how Eddie--who prized cleanliness, routine work hours, dinners at his mother’s once a week--would look at Jamie, if he could see her. Jamie, all tousled hair, happiest with a cigarette between her teeth and both hands buried in soil. Jamie, who has never kept a nine-to-five, never craved Sunday afternoons with her parents, never looks at Dani like she expects firm posture, bright smile, neat clothes. 

They couldn’t possibly be more different--and yet, somehow, Jamie is her best friend. Unfair to think it, maybe, but she might be the best friend Dani’s ever had. Her sense of humor is dark, her vocabulary wallpapered with curse words and shorn letters; she smells of nicotine and sunscreen, dresses in wrinkled flannels and torn jeans. Where Eddie looped an arm around her shoulders, Jamie nudges her with bony elbows; where Eddie pressed his lips to her temple, Jamie leans carefully away. Different, in every measure. 

And it isn’t that she likes Jamie more. That wouldn’t be fair--not after so many years in Eddie’s company. It’s just that when Jamie looks at her, eyes bright, dirt smudged on one cheek, sometimes, she feels...

“You’re thinking,” Jamie observes. She doesn’t say it the way Eddie would--the way he always pointed out when she was clenching her fist under the table, or picking at her nails, his voice edged with concern bordering on condescension. Her voice is light, her lips curved in a small smile. 

Eddie never quite smiled at her like that. Or, if he did, it didn't pluck the same chord in her stomach. Not that that matters. Not that that affects the sincerity of friendship. 

Not that it’s making her feel weirdly flushed this afternoon. 

“Am I not allowed to think?” she asks. The sun, she thinks, is responsible for the goofy smile on her face. The heat of the day, which stretches on and on the way only early July knows how.

“Not arguing,” Jamie says. “One of us ought to.”

She’s on her knees, pulling weeds, her face shining with sweat. There’s something about days like this--afternoons where the kids are occupied helping Owen bake cookies, leaving Dani to nurse a glass of water and pleasantly-meandering conversation--that feels almost too good to be allowed. Eddie would have wanted to do something with a day like this: hike, or clear up the yard, or go visit family. 

Jamie, on the other hand, pushes to her feet and surveys the bed she’s spent all day working. “Think that’s good enough for a break. Here, budge over.”

Dani obediently scoots to the edge of her seat, amused when Jamie flops down half in her lap. A year of working at the manor, and Jamie’s gone from a woman who couldn’t make eye contact to save her life to this: gangly limbs tossed haphazardly over Dani’s, sweat-slick skin sticking where it lands against Dani’s shoulder. It’s too hot for cozying up like this, but she can’t seem to convince herself to push Jamie away. 

“There,” Jamie sighs, tilting her head back against the plastic of the lawn chair. “Christ, feels good just to breathe.”

“You breathe,” Dani says, “and I’ll think. Together, we make an almost-functional human being.”

“Almost,” Jamie says wryly. Her hand loops around Dani’s, teasing the sweating glass out of her grip long enough to take a sip. Dani nudges her. 

“Could get you one of your own, if you ever learned to ask politely.”

“Don’t like me polite,” Jamie says with a shrug. “My brand is prickly-yet-charming, and we both know I’m your favorite for it.”

“Technically,” Dani corrects, “Flora is my favorite. Mainly because she doesn’t make me remind her to say please.”

“Please,” Jamie says without missing a beat, “keep pretending you aren’t captivated by my winning personality.”

Dani laughs. “Oh, is that what I am?”

“Mm.” Jamie takes another sip, reaches over her to set the glass down on the table, closes her eyes. “S’what you were all pensive about just now, I’m sure. How entranced you are with my witty banter.”

“Entranced,” Dani repeats.

“Beguiled. Mesmerized. Drunk with adoration.” Jamie’s face is pink, a bead of sweat neatly lining her upper lip. Dani only realizes she’s staring a fortunate beat before Jamie rolls her head to the left, peering at her with lazy amusement. “Go on. Tell me how much you love me.”

“Love how ridiculous you can be, maybe.” And how sweet, and how unquestioningly soft, though she doesn’t see a need to put that into words--or a way to do it without sounding entirely out of her head. The heat, she thinks, is absolutely getting to her. 

It’s the heat, making her want suddenly to slide an arm between the plastic back of the chair and the cotton of Jamie’s tank top, pulling her even closer. The heat, making her want to displace the normal back-and-forth ease of friendship with something else entirely. 

She’s had a best friend before. She’s never quite wanted to do with Eddie what she is, more and more, thinking about with Jamie curled up beside her. 

Distract, she thinks, because Jamie is still watching her with that half-lidded expression she gets when the sun is particularly bright, the day’s work has been well-tended, and Dani’s shoulder is a cushion beneath her head. More and more, it’s been feeling like a dangerous sort of moment, Jamie’s face lingering near the crook of her neck. Jamie’s breath coasting down the neckline of her dress. Jamie’s smile sweeter than should be allowed, given the grumpy way she slouches around the grounds. 

“Thinking,” Jamie says, her voice almost soft. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s not illegal.”

“Is,” Jamie says, “if you’re gonna just stare at me all googly-eyed while you do it. C’mon, what gives? Is today some holiday I’ve forgotten?” She sits up a little straighter, her face comic in its sudden concern. “Shit, Poppins, it’s not your birthday.”

She almost wants to say it is, just to watch Jamie turn fascinating new shades of maroon. “No--just--it’s hot.”

Jamie sags back with palpable relief. Her arm is freckled, Dani notices, beyond the norm; the summer is drawing all sorts of secrets from her skin, and it’s suddenly painfully tempting, the urge to trace her nail along these newfound constellations. 

Distract, she thinks again, more urgently this time. Without thinking it through, without considering the consequences, she dips two fingers into the glass of water and flicks the still-cool moisture directly into Jamie’s face. 

Jamie, to her credit, hardly jumps. She’s just blinking at Dani like their conversation has taken an unanticipated left turn into another language, water dripping from the end of her nose. 

“Okay,” she says. “If that’s how we’re playing it.”

Her arm reaches across without hesitation, replicating Dani’s playbook: two fingers dipped, flicked, landing back in her lap as Dani sputters. 

“You got me in the eye.”

“Cooled you off, though?” Jamie asks, almost politely. Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s war. There’s barely enough room on the chair for the both of them to sit like adults, much less to squirm around, hips knocking, legs tangled up as the remainder of the glass finds its way--droplet by droplet--into Jamie’s face, down Dani’s neck, sometimes missing entirely and disappearing into the sizzling summer air. 

Dani is ultimately the victor, an upset decided when she grasps the glass--now containing maybe two inches of water--and upends it directly over Jamie’s head. She’s laughing almost too hard to breathe, particularly when Jamie gives a firm shake of her hair, looking like a rumpled dog after a bath.

“That,” Jamie says in a low, dangerous tone, “cannot stand.”

She’s up before Dani can stop her, sprinting toward the garden hose uncoiled in the grass. Dani twists in her seat, knees drawn up to her chest, arms extended.

“Don’t you dare!”

“All’s fair,” Jamie says, almost apologetically, depressing the trigger. 

They are, Dani notes somewhere in the back of her mind, full-grown adult women. They are thirty years old, gainfully employed, responsible for the upkeep of an entire house and the well-being of two small children. 

They are also now chasing one another across the lawn, Dani sopping wet, Jamie laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own feet taking a corner too fast. The hose is growing more and more tangled by the minute as she dashes in a zig-zag pattern, periodically firing a jet of water over her shoulder, and Dani has no prayer of catching up--not with her shoes squelching, slipping on wet grass, her lungs clenched around a soundless jag of laughter. 

Adults, she thinks, as Jamie makes the insurmountable error of trying to bolt past her like a quarterback dodging a tackle; she makes a successful leap over the tangled hose, but forgets at the last second to factor in the edge of the lawn chair. Dani has her around the middle before she can dart out of reach, the both of them tumbling over in a cackling heap of grass clippings, puddled hose water, freckled limbs. 

They’re rolling, shouting wordlessly around giggles, Dani struggling to pry the hose out of Jamie’s hands. It’s harder than it looks; Jamie is small, but strong in an annoyingly wiry sort of way. Even when Dani manages to get her onto her back, the water is inescapable, dousing in short jets across her chest, down her arms, pooling awkwardly between them. 

“You are,” she laughs, “a child.”

“Could a child do this?” Jamie replies, jerking upward at the hips with unexpected force. Dani rocks up with her, one hand grasping the sodden front of Jamie’s shirt for balance, and drops back down without budging from her seat. Jamie releases an oof as her back makes rough contact with the ground again, giggling too hard to successfully shove Dani over.

“Yes, actually, I think a child would be exactly that effective,” Dani informs her. Her body has never felt quite this alive, her muscles aching with the effort of an unplanned run. Jamie, chest heaving for breath, is practically glowing. 

“Just want to remind you,” Jamie says, “you did start this.”

“Does that mean I win?” If she hasn’t, she can’t imagine it would feel any better than this: straddling Jamie’s hips in the soft grass, cool water seeping down her back, her dress sticking pleasantly to warm skin. Jamie allows the hose to drop from her grip at last, her head tipped back, eyes closed.

“Call it a draw.”

“What if I wanted to win?” She slides a hand up without thinking, pinning Jamie by the wrist before she can decide to take up her watery weapon again. Jamie draws a deep breath, face flushed, grinning. 

“Guess you’d have to work harder for it.”

Children, Dani thinks--but suddenly, it doesn’t feel childish anymore. Suddenly, she’s overly aware of her dress rucked high around her thighs, of how short Jamie’s shorts really are, how her body is considerably less obscured than usual with her shirt plastered to her frame. Suddenly, she’s aware of Jamie’s hand flexing against the grass, pinned beside her head with a loose enough grip to break--though Jamie isn’t breaking it. Isn’t even trying.

Jamie is, instead, gazing up at her with hair mussed, eyes bright. Jamie, whose free hand is sliding up to rest along the curve of Dani’s hip. 

She’s Dani’s best friend, like he was, but this doesn’t feel like it belongs in the same category as late-night stories swapped by the fire, or letting each other steal the vegetables the other doesn’t care for off their plate. This feels like a category all its own: the way Jamie licks her lips as Dani’s head lowers, the way Dani’s fingers graze the freckles painting her wrist on the way up to notching her palm against Jamie’s. 

Her hair is wet, and Jamie’s face is sweaty, and there’s so little romance to the whole picture, it takes her by surprise. She’s always thought there should be talking before a thing like this, at least--a decision made on equal footing. 

“I don’t have to,” she says, even as Jamie is saying, “Do you want to?”

Children would laugh again, go back to wrestling, go back to how it all felt just a few minutes before. They are not, Dani notes as she lowers her head--as Jamie shifts up at the shoulders to meet her--children. 

She’s hyper-aware of all of it now: the sun beating against her shoulders, the hand Jamie is using to grip the back of her dress, the exact angle of Jamie’s mouth parting beneath her own. Her tongue is gentle, brushing Jamie’s, and the sound Jamie makes into her is anything but. 

She’s smiling, she realizes, so hard, it hurts--that deep, wonderful hurt of laughing too hard for too long, of slipping in the grass and landing in a heap with someone who couldn’t help catching her on the way down. She’s grinning into Jamie even as she’s kissing her, even as she’s letting her body stretch out to press Jamie more firmly against the damp ground. 

And Jamie, fingers curled between her own, making soft sounds of appreciation into the kiss, is grinning right back. 

“This was your plan all along,” she accuses, brushing the hair from Dani’s eyes when they break for a breath. “Awful lot of work, for a kiss.”

“All’s fair?” Dani suggests--and she genuinely, honestly cannot decide which she likes more: the way Jamie kisses, or the way Jamie kisses and laughs at the same time. All of it, she feels, goes a country mile beyond best friends. All of it goes a country mile beyond anything she could ever have dreamed up, walking away from him the way she did. 

It couldn’t possibly be more different.

[scullydubois]

memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

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

Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 2)

Summary: Angry and terrified, you were just glad to have Bucky looking out for you- even if you weren’t sure how long that would last

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, implied smut, anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents, smoking, panic attacks, some offence may be caused to people who enjoy economics

Author's Note: Who doesn't love a sequel? Maybe even a cheeky little series... This one is heavily influenced by 'Vienna', but I sprinkled in ‘The Longest Time’ too. This whole Billy Joel thing might’ve gotten on top of me a little...

---

Bucky’s bike shuddered to a stop outside an old, dilapidated apartment building. The cold air was deep in your bones and your arms felt like they were frozen in place around his waist. As soon as the engine died he jumped up and spun round, holding your head in his hands and rapidly scanning his eyes over your face and arms.

‘You alright? They didn’t hurt you did they?’ You gave him a reassuring smile and shook your head, prompting him to drop his hands down to your bare shoulders. ‘Man you’re freezing, c’mon let’s get inside.’ 

You let him wrap his leather jacket around your shoulders and guide you to the door. As you climbed the stairs your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it- even if it wasn’t your parents, you weren’t exactly in the mood for chatting. 

Bucky unlocked a grubby door and you followed him through it. His apartment was sparsely decorated and a little messy, but you’d take anything over shag carpets and crucifixes on every wall. He kicked an old pair of trainers out the way of the door and muttered something about how he would’ve tidied if he knew you were coming. You smiled up at him, just happy to be somewhere safe and peaceful.

Your phone buzzed again, more sporadically. Must’ve been a flurry of texts. Bucky heard the vibrations and stopped frantically tidying, his eyes moving down to your pocket and filling with concern. 

��That them?’

You shrugged feebly and reached for it, feeling your whole body tense up when you started reading the string of messages from your mother.

Answer the phone now

You’ve chosen a criminal over your own family

If you don’t come back now that’s it, no more support

This is your last chance

Your heart started pounding and you struggled to catch your breath. A sudden, sharp pain shot through your chest, making you feel dizzy as you began trying to frantically pull air into your tightening lungs. 

Bucky pulled you over to the sofa, sitting you down and encouraging you to take deep breaths, your eyes still glued to the screen. More and more messages were coming through, only interrupted by the occasional phone call that you sent straight to voicemail. You felt him softly stroking your back, his other hand moving towards the device clamped between your whitening knuckles.

‘Maybe you should just take the phone off the hook, disappear for a while.’ He gently tugged it from your hands, feeling your slight resistance. ‘It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two.’

You nodded, wiping a tear off your cheek. Bucky switched the phone off and pushed it to the far side of the coffee table, keeping his eyes fixed on you. You knew he was right- staring at your phone like that was just another way of letting your parents get to you. How the hell did he always know exactly what to say?

He scooched closer and pulled you into him, leaning the two of you back into the sofa cushions. You were still making an effort to maintain controlled, deep breaths, but the rest of your panic was offset by the overwhelming safety you felt being wrapped in his arms. 

Completely exhausted, it was only a few minutes before you started nodding off. 

You were so grateful that your abiding memory of one of the most terrifying days of your life was soft fingers running through your hair and the faint smell of cigarettes.

---

Loud banging jolted you awake. 

Your eyes flickered open and you looked over to see Bucky standing by the window, one hand braced against the glass, staring intently at something below him. 

‘There’s cops outside.’ 

Banging again. 

You were still trying to figure out whether you were awake or dreaming. He folded his arms and turned to face you, the complete lack of concern on his face making you feel a little better.

‘They’ve been down there for a couple minutes already.’ He chuckled. ‘We should probably go see what they want.’

Bucky opened the front door and you saw three officers waiting outside- one right on the doorstep, one a bit further back and another leaning against a marked car parked on the road.  

‘Are you y/n?’ The closest piped up as soon as you appeared in the doorway.

‘Yes, why?’

‘Your parents have reported you as kidnapped, they gave us his name.’ The officer glanced over to your companion, looking remarkably unimpressed. ‘James.’

‘Hi Terry.’ Bucky grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the opened door. 

You were in complete disbelief, quickly trying to string together some kind of response whilst bracing yourself for being tasered and tackled to the ground. 

‘I’ve not been kidnapped.’ Well that definitely wasn’t high on your list of sentences you expected to say today. ‘I’m sorry, my parents have wasted your time.’ 

Terry’s eyes darted between you and the suspect, looking as though he was trying desperately to find something amiss. After an uncomfortably long silence he eventually drew a blank, nodded and apologised. You heard a gruff chuckle next to you.

‘Stockholm syndrome, officer. Ain’t it a bitch.’ Bucky remarked through a smug smile. 

The cops piled into their car and the two of you traipsed back upstairs. As you properly registered what had happened, you felt anger brewing in your chest. Jesus, did your parents really think everything would just go back to normal if they got him arrested? Even for them that was absolute madness. 

When you got into the apartment you slammed the door behind you, prompting him to spin round.

‘I can’t believe they did that.’ 

‘Really? I sorta can.’ He chuckled.

You looked up at him, clutching your forehead in exasperation and letting a hot tear fall onto your cheek. ‘I’m really sorry Bucky, I didn’t mean to drag you into this shit.’

‘Woah, woah. Please don’t cry.’ He pleaded softly, placing his hands on your shoulders. ‘I hate it when people cry. I never know what to do.’ 

You let out a trembling laugh at the panic in his voice, wiping your face and forcing a feeble smile. He pulled you into a tight hug and pressed a kiss into your forehead. Unable to hold back your tears, you buried your face deep in the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide them.

Any adrenaline you’d built up from your high-stakes escape had long worn off, now you just felt deflated. Admittedly you were a little scared too, after all you’d only known Bucky properly for a week and here you were basically moving in together.

‘We should get out of town for a while, let tempers settle a bit.’ He whispered. ‘I know a place we can stay.’

---

After getting you properly kitted out with a warm jacket and helmet, Bucky packed himself a few days worth of white t-shirts and underwear. Following him to the door, you glanced over at your phone and hesitated, debating whether or not to grab it. 

‘Let them worry.’ He whispered, wrapping his hand around your wrist and leading you out.

You drove for an hour or so, the warmth from Bucky and the steady vibrations of the bike soothing you into a tranquil relaxation. Your eyes surveyed the scenery whizzing past, watching the suburban landscape fall away, replaced by huge expanses of grass dotted with trees and the occasional old farm building.

He pulled off down a gravel side road, eventually reaching a small campsite. A couple tents were pitched, most of them inhabited by parents with miserable-looking children, all of whom expressed great distaste at the volume of the motorbike. When it finally stopped, you lifted your head and surveyed your accommodation for the next few days.

A trailer. If only your dad were here, his face would be an absolute picture.

You really didn’t mind though, it looked pretty cosy and you weren’t exactly in a position to turn anything down. 

‘Sorry it’s not much.’ Bucky smiled as he helped you off the bike and unlocked the door.

‘It’s great, Buck.’

You threw your stuff down in the bedroom before flopping on the sofa. Bucky opened up the fridge and offered you a beer, looking faintly shocked when you accepted and took a sizable gulp. He sat himself down next to you and ran his eyes over your face, frowning at your distant expression.

‘You good?’

‘Just thinking, trying to figure out how the hell I’m gonna solve all this.’ You sighed, taking another swig from your bottle.

‘What's the hurry about?’ He lifted his feet to rest them on the table. ‘You're so ahead of yourself, seems like sometimes you forget what you need.’

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as he casually took a drink and stared out of the window, as if he hadn’t just come up with some of the most insightful shit you’d ever heard.

‘How are you so good at this, Buck? How do you know exactly what to say and do all the time?’

‘Y’know.’ He shrugged. ‘Parents suck, been there myself. Yours are too invested in your life, mine were the opposite I guess.’ 

Thinking on it, you did remember a couple incidents from school- Bucky having to sit out gym class cause he didn’t have a kit or getting picked on for wearing the same clothes for a week straight. You started to feel a little guilty, you always just assumed he was lazy or forgetful. 

There was probably much more to it, but you got the impression he didn’t want to talk about it so you swiftly moved on.

‘Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to do all this for me. I mean we barely even know each other.’

‘We went to school together for like ten years.’ He laughed, nudging you with his elbow.

You gave him a cynical look. ‘Yeah, but we actually spoke maybe three times?’

‘You knew I always had a bit of a crush on you though, right?’ You snapped your head towards him in complete shock. ‘Oh c’mon, I wasn’t exactly subtle about it.’

‘I think you fucking were.’

‘Well you always hung around those weird Christian kids so I never made a move or anything, but I knew there was something different about you. Something in your eyes.’ He grinned. ‘Itching for rebellion.’

You burst out laughing, nodding at his analysis- here you were living in his bloody trailer, he was obviously right. 

‘There’s a grill outside.’ He finished his beer and jumped up. ‘I’m gonna make some hotdogs.’ 

‘The only food we’ve ever eaten together is hotdogs.’ You chuckled, leaning your head to the side.

‘We’re livin’ like trailer trash so we gotta eat like trailer trash, sweetheart.’

---

It was a warm evening. You lay back on the grass outside the trailer, staring up at the starry, cloud-dusted sky, taking the opportunity to decompress your mind after the last few days. You never imagined it was possible to pack so many intense, conflicting emotions into such a short space of time.

You heard Buck move over from where he was cleaning the grill, laying himself down next to you. He was close by, but not quite touching. You got the impression that he was worried about overstepping your boundaries but, while you really appreciated how considerate he was, all you wanted at that moment was to curl up in his arms. 

He turned his head towards you. ‘What is it you do at college?’

‘Economics.’ You felt your eyes glazing over as you replied, Christ you hated it.

‘Was that your choice?’

‘What do you think?’ 

You decided that closing the gap yourself would be the easiest option, saving him some internal conflict. You rolled onto your stomach and moved your shoulders over him, resting your head on his chest. He smiled as you heard the thumping in his chest quicken slightly. 

Once you were settled on him, you added ‘I wanted to study literature, but my dad said that a degree in being able to read wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.’ 

He brushed his hand across your hair, humming gently. ‘And what did your dad want you to do with this thrilling economics degree?’

‘No idea. But if I had to guess I’d say college, job, marry, kids, retire, die. The first four probably within the next few years.’

Bucky let out a surprised laugh. ‘Jesus. You barked that out like a well-trained dog.’ 

You feigned outrage and smacked him on the shoulder, causing him to grab your hand. He squeezed it and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips gently against your fingers. Glancing down, he noticed you looking a little distant again.

‘Trust me, you're doing fine.’ He placed your hand back on his shoulder. ‘You can't be everything you want to be before your time.’

‘It’s not that, it’s just… my dad wanted a secure life for me, sometimes I think it was wrong how much I resented him for it.’

‘That’s the thing about you.’ He put a hand behind his head and craned it up to catch your eyes. ‘You can see when you're wrong, but you can't always see when you're right.’

‘Well they say opposites attract, James.’ You gave him a cheeky grin, raising your eyebrows in response to his outraged expression.

‘C’mere.’ He growled, flipping onto his side and grabbing your waist, pulling you towards him whilst you playfully resisted. 

You eventually relaxed, letting him hold you flush against his chest, one of his arms underneath you circling your waist and the other resting lightly on the side of your face. Both your hands were fiddling with the jersey fabric of his t-shirt in an attempt to soothe your jittering nerves. When you went to adjust yourself, you realised that your leg was hiked up over him, your inner thigh resting on his hip.

‘You shouldn’t go back if you hate it.’ He whispered. 

You raised your eyebrows, suspecting that your wellbeing wasn’t his only motive for suggesting that. 

He continued through a faint smile, ‘and, y’know, maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone.’  

‘Finally we get down to a confession?’

‘Well the way I see it, doll-face, you can get what you want or you can just get old.’ He swiftly flipped you onto your back, causing you to yelp faintly through a surprised laugh. You felt his body pressed on top of yours, his face hovering just a few centimetres away. ‘Besides, I’ve been a fool for lesser things.’

You moved your arms to circle his neck, feeling your stomach tremble as his grin grew wider. His gaze flickered down to your lips, brushing his thumb over them gently before lowering his face and locking you into a passionate kiss.

You adjusted your legs so that your thighs were squeezing his waist. His hand reached down to grab one of them, squeezing it firmly. He caught your faint moan in his mouth and chuckled in response, sliding his other hand underneath your shirt. His skin was cold as hell but it felt incredible, like faint electricity was passing between his skin and yours.

There on the grass, underneath the stars and the bright glow of the moon, you and Bucky slept together for the first time. 

Everything that’d happened, all the confusing emotions of the past few days, completely melted from your mind. For the first time in your life you felt completely free and completely loved. 

Christ, you hoped he’d still feel the same in the morning.

---

Part Three

---

[blackberry-gingham]

This is a bit personal but how about beatle x reader headcannons/imagines of how the boys would react to their reader feeling self conscious about their body

No problem at all! So, I've seen this trope done quite a bit on other headcannon type pages for other fandoms, and since body insecurity is something very serious to me that I myself use to (and still do) deal with, I wanted to try and take this a little deeper then "you're sad, they tell you you're beautiful, the end", so I'm sorry if these get a touch angsty, but I promise everything works out ❤️

Also, I'm so sorry this took so long dear! These are somewhere between headcannons and my usual imagines, so I hope they're alright enough to make up for the wait! And remember, you're amazing and wonderful, just the way you are ❤️❤️❤️

George

Personally, I feel like George is sort of ?? forgotten ??? Of all the boys

By that I mean, like even non Beatle fans know Paul and John, and they might know Ringo just bc that name stands out, but George???

I mean, ik back before I was a fan I could never remember who "the fourth one" was

So anyway, even tho he's kind of in the background compared to the other three, that doesn't mean he's not sensitive to how the others are treated/feeling

At the end of the day I think he'd be his usual self and a good, sympathetic ear to insecurity issues

When he finds out, it's kind of an overtime process

He's use to bringing you snacks and take a little break like that with you, especially after a long day of recording or practice

But lately, you've been... Strange about it

Either straight up turning him down, or picking at the food and not really touching anything

He asks what's wrong, as gently as he can, seeing as he honestly already suspects the answer

You and George have been together for a while now, and he's always been easy to talk to, and understanding if you don't feel like sharing, so you feel that you can be honest

"I'm just... Trying to watch my figure, you know?"

He just kind of looks at you, confused at first

"Why?"

His face is hard to read, and yet still manages to turn to a completely different, very serious, emotion

"Has someone said something to you?"

You now have his full attention as he puts aside his guitar

You assure him that no, it's just a personal thing

"Oh", he nods

"Yeah", you nod

You're not sure how this makes you feel. Perhaps you're glad it's over, but you can't help but feel... Shunned?

But before you can ruminate too much, George brushes off his lap as though he's about to stand

Instead he sits back and looks at you

"Come here"

His voice is serious, but not quite stern

Invitingly, he becons you over and nods towards his lap

You look from his face to his long, thin legs

At first you decline, brushing it off almost as a joke

You look to your own legs

He can't be serious?

He asks you again, "Come on, I want to show you something"

At this point your curiosity is peaked

You get up and approach cautiously, as though he might run away

When the moment of truth arrives, you slowly, s l o w l y, begin to sit

Tired of waiting, George hooks his hands under your knees and pulls you forward

You fall onto his lap with a little thud and you figure this is it, expecting him to shove you off

Instead, when nothing happens, you dare to peak your scrunched up eyes open and see his smile waiting for you

He leans in for a gentle kiss, all the while his hands are resting on your thighs

His legs are like iron, not uncomfortable to sit on, quite the opposite actually, but strong in a way you hadn't expected

When the kiss is broken, he slides his palms up and out until they're resting on your hips

His callused fingers tickle a little, even through the fabric of your clothes

"So um, what were you going t-?"

He shushes and you, and picks up your hand in his

George brings the heel of your palm a mere inch away from his lips

He pauses just for a moment, making direct eye contact with you, before turning back to his work

He presses a trail of kisses along the inside of your arm, to the crook of your elbow, and up your bicep

You shiver, tensing as he goes up

But he doesn't recoil, or hesitate, or do anything of the sort

He gives equal love and attention to every inch of your flesh as he goes, only stopping at your shoulder to make sure you're still alright

As though giving permission, you bite your lip and give a subtle nod, curious to see what happens next

George releases your arm, now dedicating both hands to massaging your hips with all the thumb dexterity of a skilled guitarist

Next he moves along your shoulders, dropping down just a moment to give some attention to the bump of your collar bone

When he's done there, he lingers on your neck, gently kissing and sucking up and down before settling in one spot

After a moment, he starts humming a familiar tune against your skin

"Do you this song?", His voice is just a whisper

"Hm?"

"It's one of the first songs we wrote together"

George pulls back again to look at your face...

"As much as I love you for what's out here"

...Then presses one more kiss to your lips

"I love you even more for what's in here"

He kisses your forehead

Finally he pulls back one more time, and the way he looks at you is as though all the love in the world is inside those eyes

"Never forget that. Promise me"

You seal your promise with a kiss

John

Ok so I think we all know John struggled with an eating disorder(s)

So he knows the whole nine yards of what it's like being "overweight", "underweight", somewhere in between, and still never being good enough for everyone else

I mean John is basically infamous for having been body shamed and criticized out of all the boys, particularly in the early years

So all this to say, he knows how awful it feels

To wake up in the morning, try to get dressed, and take forever to choose an outfit because you hate how everything looks on you

To look in the mirror and be unable to stand your own reflection

To think once, twice, and yes, even thrice before enjoying your favorite little snack, or even just a regular meal

He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy

And when he finds out that you, the most lovely person in the world, feel that way...

Oh, his heart breaks

All the boys would take this quite seriously of course, but John simply has a certain... understanding that the others don't

He finds out one night on a dinner date with you

You've picked at everything all night, hardly a bite

This is starting to form a pattern, and rest assured, he has been noticing

At the end of the meal, he asks if everything was alright in a way that references much more then the food

"Oh yes, fine", you force that same smile you always give when he asks that question

He waits until you're both in the comfort of your flat to breach the topic

You see, John is a man of many faces

The first layer is prickly and aggressive, the second is a mischievous joker, the third a sweet, but anxious individual

And under all those masks, the real John, is the most compassionate and loving man you've ever met

So when he does ask you what's really going on, he's very serious and very gentle

He wants you to know that you're safe to tell him anything and that he wants to help with whatever is so very clearly bothering you

It's tough to get it out, but John is patient and encouraging all the while and you manage it

You're surprised to hear that he suspected as much

John tries to go a little deeper, asking of there's anything particular that makes you feel this way or if it's just a constant thing

Regardless of your answer, he offers you what advice he can, from both personal experience and what he learned from his therapy sessions

John's not too great at comforting speeches, but he'll be damned if he doesn't do everything he can to make sure you know just how much he loves you

He loves you for your heart, and how patient and kind you are with not just him, but everyone

He loves you for your mind, and how you too can have deep conversations about topics that are important to you both

And perhaps most of all, he loves you for your personality and how you can poke a bit of fun, just like he does, and you aren't afraid to put him in his place when he's being an arse

"Is there anything I can do for you love?"

You smile, feeling just a bit better after his speech

"How's about a cuddle?"

John grins cheekily, "Now you're talking!"

He half tackles you from his seat beside you, turning your seated position into a reclining one

You can't help but laugh playfully as he easily picks you up in a bear hug and slips under you so you can rest on top of him

He presses a kiss to your cheek

"How's that?"

You smirk back

"It's a start"

John gasps in mock disbelief at your remark

You just wrap your arms around his shoulders, snuggling against him

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to keep it up"

At that, he nuzzles the side of your face, glad to see you finally feeling relaxed

John give you one more squeeze in his strong arms, holding you close

You two spend the rest of the evening cuddled up and cozy until you fall asleep in each other's arms

Paul

Now it's no secret Paul has always been the "pretty one" of the Beatles

I mean heck, even in the freaking cartoon he has the least goofy and caricature esque face of all the boys

But personally I would imagine that he's felt a certain pressure from time to time to keep up his looks!

It would be quite draining for everyone to have this flawless image of you and then expect you to live up to it 24/7, so in that regard he understands struggling with feeling less then perfect

And certainly with feeling subpar when others just expect far too much!

The night it comes out, the two of you have plans to attend a soiree of sorts

Music, lights, dancing, champaign, the hosts are pulling all the stops and it'll be absolutely a black tie affair

You've got a very fancy dress for the occasion that you got as a gift from Paul some time ago, it's all sparkly, exquisite, and your favorite color to boot

And it... "fits"

As in, you can zip it up and move and breathe comfortably in it, but it just....

Paul finds you standing in front of the full length mirror, mascara beginning to run quietly down your face as you tug and smooth and pull the dress in varying places

He's honestly a bit panicked and confused at first. After all, he does hate to see you upset, let alone cry

"is something wrong love? Do you not like that one? There's plenty of time to change!"

"it's nothing! Just an eyelash"

You try to laugh it off and hope that he'll just leave you alone

You see, Paul has been talking about this shindig for weeks in advance

It's hosted by a good friend, many more of which will be in attendance tonight

Not to mention he hardly ever gets to do something nice away from the press, so you're trying very hard not to ruin things for him

Paul walks over to you, concern written all over his face

"No really, what's wrong?"

You try to wave him off, but he takes you gently by the shoulders and looks you square in the eye

He looks around your beautiful eyes, searching, and it almost feels as though he can read your mind

At last he says "You don't want to go?"

With that, you just can't manage to hold a brave face any longer and the tears come rolling down

Without another word, Paul guides you to a seat on the bed and returns swiftly with some tissues

He dries your eyes as best he can and thumbs a soothing circle on your hand, giving you space to tell him what's on your mind

When you've had the chance to situate yourself, you tell him that you don't mind the party it's just that the way you feel in that dress, in fact, in all your dresses is just...

Paul nods understandingly as you trail off, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment

You're concerned you've upset him and ask as much

"What? No, of course not love!"

"But I know how much you want to g-"

Paul shushes you and brings a hand up to stroke your cheek

"I don't care about some stupid party, nothing matters more to me then you. I mean that"

He tilts his head and smiles at you

"Tell you what? We'll just skip it and have some fun right here!"

For a moment you're afraid he's doesn't mean it, but there's a childlike gleam in his eyes and grin on his face that tells you he not only means it, but is excited at the prospect

You're still a little doubtful that you haven't made him upset, but Paul reassures you until you're able to take him at his word

Absolutely relieved, you agree and wipe away your last few tears

"Good. Now let's get this off you, eh?"

Paul helps you take out your jewelry as well as undoing the far too complicated latches, ribbon, and zipper on the back of the dress

His delicate fingers slide up and down the length of your neck and back reverently as he works, planting gentle kisses to the nape of your neck every so often

With the hardest part over, and ever the gentleman, he gives you space to slip it off and put on something more comfortable

When next you see him, he's putting on a sweet and slow record, something like what you would've probably heard tonight

He's removed his suit jacket, tie, and shoes and when he turns to see you in your adorable PJs he smiles at you like you're the belle of the ball

"Ahem, may I have this dance?"

He bows low and offers you his hand, peaking up at you for just a moment to shoot you a playful grin

You laugh at his silly antics and give in happily to the charade

Paul leads you in a steady waltz around and around the room, the two of you stealing kisses and suppressing laughter all the while

When the record comes to an end, you both collapse on the couch and catch your breath

By now, you're fully confident you've had more fun just now then you would've all night had you gone

After a minutes rest, Paul hops up from his seat

"Just a minute, I forgot something... Wait right here!"

He darts off around the bend and when next you see him, he's carrying two flutes of champagne

Paul takes a seat beside you again and hands you yours

"I was saving this for when we got back, thought we could leave early and enjoy the rest of the evening alone"

You smile, touched by the thoughtfulness and still riding the high of the previous activities

Finally, you propose a toast

"To my amazing, lovely boyfriend"

Paul smiles at you with adoration. You mean so much more to him then a mere toast could describe

"To my love, the most gorgeous dance partner in the world"

Ringo

Idk if this is/was a thing, or if it's just something I've noticed, but Ringo seems to be the butt of the joke, particularly in regards to his appearance, a lot

Like he's the "short" one and he's got that nose

I only ever see him take it like a champ and all in good fun, and laid back as he is, it doesn't seem to hold him back but I'm sure he'd understand feeling insecure about ones body/looks

But for you to be insecure???

He just??????

When Ringo finds out, he's honestly the most bewildered of all

He finds you sat against the wall, hunched up and crying, half clothed, and a mess of clothing strewn around you

Usually whenever something's bothering you, you know you can bring it to him.

He's always there for you, after all

So to see you like this, he's absolutely terrified that something truly awful has happened

In that moment, thanks to his roaring adrenaline, he goes from rock star to olympic sprinter and dashes to your side so quickly it's as though he teleported

"What's wrong love, what's wrong?"

He holds your face up to look at him and quickly checks over you to make sure you're not injured or sick in some way

When he sees the pain in your eyes, he's nearly crying too

He wants so desperately to help you, and take all your troubles and worries away this very moment.

Even if it meant he had to shoulder the suffering for you, he'd do it in a heartbeat, no doubt

You feel rather embarrassed to be caught like this, and even worse still to see your boyfriend so upset on your behalf

This takes you back to square one, crying and nonverbal for a bit longer

Luckily, Ringo catches on that him getting upset is only going to make you more upset, so he settles himself and holds you until you're ready

When you are ready, you manage to choke out your insecurity, trusting him as you always do

And when he hears you're insecure about your body, or even your looks in general, he is just....

Ringo.exe has stopped working

Mind, it not that he doesn't understand your feelings!!

It's just that you are so completely and absolutely beautiful and kind and so much more to him, that he simply cannot fathom the idea of holding the opinion of you as any less

"is it the clothes? Because forget the damn clothes" He takes a handful and throws them up and away, like confetti

"I'll buy you a whole new closet if you like! W-would you like that?"

He smiles hopefully at you, as though you truly would like that, and it'll solve all your problems

You simply shake your head

And, after moment, Ringo starts to understand

He sits with you silently for a moment, the gravity of your feelings is so important to him that he's not sure plain old him has something good enough to say

But he knows he wants to say something

So, he meditates on it for a moment, and decides he can only tell you the truth

"Well... you know that I love you, yeah? Sometimes I wonder how a guy like me got so lucky to be with a right angel like you.... And so do the lads"

He laughs that deep, silly laugh you love so much

"Why, I think you're the loveliest girl in all of England er uh, no, all the world!"

That earns a little smile from you

You're about to respond when you catch a shiver

You're only down to your undergarments after all, and it's a bit drafty

Ringo notices and before any mention can be made, he sets to work at removing his sweater, eager to make sure you're cared for

It seems to be putting up a bit of a fight, but he manages to come out on top

"Er uh, will this be ok? I know you're fed up with clothes right now, but I don't want you to freeze neither"

He's genuinely concerned about your feelings in the subject, even as he holds the garment out to you

Buuuut... It's cozy and oversized on you, plus it smells comfortingly of him, so you take it

"Hey, that looks better on you then it does me!"

He laughs again, the state of him made a bit more comical by his now frizzed up mop top

You point the issue out to him, grinning yourself, and he shakes it out like a dog

Which, of course, only makes it ten times worse

For the first time that day, you laugh, and it's the most beautiful sound Ringo's ever heard

Feeling a bit better now, Ringo helps you stand and offers you some tea downstairs

You take a few steps, and then stop feeling the draft give rise to some goose bumps all up your legs

"Maybe I should get some pants..."

At the mere suggestion, Ringo looks at you like he has a bright idea and immediately goes to undo his belt

You burst out laughing, and stop him

He's confused at first, but when he realizes his own absurdity in his effort to be helpful, he can't help but laugh a little too

In the end, you come to the conclusion that a blanket and a cuddle on the couch will do nicely instead... Which is exactly what you do

Ringo spends the rest of the day keeping you entertained, warm, and covered in kisses

[umbry-fic]

A Palette Full of You (3)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Sheena Fujibayashi, Zelos Wilder Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving & Sheena Fujibayashi & Zelos Wilder Rating: G Chapter: 3 of 6 Word Count: 6896 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 11/06/2021

Chapter Title: Race Into the Night

Chapter Summary: Lloyd, Colette, Zelos and Sheena visit the carnival to have a night of fun after the end of exams. Lloyd and Colette end up riding the Ferris wheel alone, where...

(Colloyd Week Day 3: Confession/First Kiss)

Notes: Chapter 3 of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Featuring much fluff and sap. Zelos is non-binary in this and uses they/them pronouns.

Chapter title from Yoasobi's song.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

18-years-old

"There is no way I'm ever going on that thing. You can't make me."

"Come on, you promised that if I scored better than you at darts you would ride the Riptide with me! Gonna go back on your word now, Sheena?"

"Stop smirking at me, Zelos! You clearly cheated! That game was rigged!"

"All carnival games are rigged. That's common knowledge."

"I don't care. You still cheated!"

"Cheated how? You were watching me the whole time!"

Colette giggled, watching her two friends have a go at each other as they inched closer to each other with each word they spoke. All three of them were leaning against the cold metal railing, though Colette was careful to keep a safe distance from Zelos and Sheena. When they were engrossed in arguing with each other, there was a safe zone, and a not-safe zone where one was liable to get smacked by a wildly gesturing arm or two.

Surrounding them were various stalls staffed by people who were enthusiastically calling out to potential customers, hoping to receive more coupons in the final hour before the carnival closed. There were pop-up game stalls featuring the classics like ring toss and soccer, food stands selling carnival staples like candy floss and popcorn, and even thrill rides like the aforementioned Riptide, a roller coaster that paled in comparison to USS' coasters but certainly had the most twists and turns of anything offered at the carnival. Adorning everything was bright neon lights and colourful decorations, and noise came from every angle, lending to a cheery atmosphere that could get a tad overwhelming at times.

Despite the late hour of 9 pm, there was still quite a crowd - mostly consisting of young adults like them, the majority of families having gone home for the night. She had bumped into quite a few classmates in the past three hours, who had come here with the same idea of having a fun night out with friends after the end of A-levels. A lot of pictures had been taken, until her cheeks hurt a bit from smiling so much, but it had been great fun.

She, Lloyd, Zelos and Sheena had managed to visit almost every booth, using up all of the coupons that they were sharing amongst each other. But even with their combined efforts, they had only managed to win one prize: the adorable Siberian Husky plush she was currently hugging. Though they'd certainly snacked on their share of popcorn, sharing one large carton between the four of them until their fingers were sticky with kernels.

"Colette, back me up!" Sheena begged, turning to face Colette. Despite the biting words that were leaving her mouth, her true emotions were betrayed by the smile playing at the corner of her lips. Sheena's hair was tied up into her trademark high ponytail, the ends of her hair swaying slightly in the weak wind.

"What, me?" Colette exclaimed, rather surprised she was being pulled into the conversation. Zelos and Sheena tended to retreat into their own world whenever they got into this state, forgetting anyone else existed.

"Uh, well..." Colette muttered, sheepishly smiling. "Sorry to disappoint, Sheena, but I have to give this one to Zelos."

"See? Even Colette agrees!" Zelos placed their elbow on the railing, leaning closer to Sheena, smirking.

Sheena didn't even spare Zelos a look, just shoved their face away with a hand, ignoring Zelos' sputters of protest. "How could you, Colette? How could you side with the idiot?" Sheena cried in mock betrayal.

"Well, I and Lloyd were both there, and we both saw Zelos win fair and square. And a deal's a deal," Colette replied, shrugging. Zelos did seem more insistent than usual, but she couldn't discern why.

"Just think of it as a date!" Zelos waved a nonchalant arm in the air, that smirk never fading as they took hold of Sheena's arm.

"Screaming in abject terror is not my idea of a date," Sheena hissed through gritted teeth, though she didn't free herself from Zelos' hold. "Besides, we're supposed to ride the Ferris wheel together once Lloyd comes back!"

"Eh, we won't make it before the carnival closes if we catch the Ferris wheel. Don't worry, I'll treat you to ice cream afterwards! And if that isn't enough to appease you, surely some Ajisen will." Zelos turned to Colette and winked, leaving Colette utterly confused. Was there an underlying meaning to all of this she was supposed to be catching?

"If you drag me on that damn thing, Zelos Wilder, I swear I will never forgive - GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! STOP!" Sheena shrieked as Zelos began to drag her by brute force towards the snaking queue of the Riptide. Colette gaped, watching Sheena struggle wildly, digging her feet into the ground and hurling curses that got steadily fouler at Zelos, who didn't seem to be affected at all.

"I'm back with the drinks!" Lloyd's happy voice came from behind her as he walked up to her, holding two cups with steam venting from their tops, hair adorably ruffled from the day's hectic events, woefully unaware of everything that had occurred in the time he was gone. "Wait, what's... Happening...?" he asked, only now spotting the gradually diminishing silhouettes of Zelos and Sheena.

"I... Uh, Zelos and Sheena are going to ride the Riptide," Colette said, explaining the situation as succinctly as she could. How else could she word it, anyway? There was no explaining the antics of those two.

"Alright." Lloyd shrugged, accepted her explanation and passing one cup over to her. She pushed the plushy into the crook of her elbow, freeing up a hand to accept the cup and still managing to almost drop it. She closed her fingers around the plastic cup, soaking in the warmth it emanated.

"It's hot chocolate," Lloyd explained between gulps as he practically downed the whole cup in half a minute. "They're out of hot milo. Sorry."

"It's alright. Any hot drink would have done." Colette finally took a sip, feeling the sting from the heat and sticking out her tongue.

"Should we wait for them to come back or go queue for the Ferris wheel?"

Colette sighed. "We should just go. The queue for the Riptide is really long... They know to meet up back at the MRT at 10."

The original plan was to take a group photo at the peak of the revolution of the Ferris wheel, but that didn't look like it was going to happen now.

So it would just be her and Lloyd riding the Ferris wheel. An activity that could be seen as romantic. The pamphlet for the carnival had even advertised it as a ride of love. When they'd walked past it just now, she'd seen that the Ferris wheel was decked out with a ton of wire hearts that lit up in multiple colours.

It was just ten minutes. It would be over in the blink of an eye! Totally!

"Then, let's go," Lloyd said, grabbing her hand and giving her a minute heart attack, causing her bravado to crumble into dust.

Nope. There was no way this could end well.

The two of them joined the short queue for the Ferris wheel, having thrown their empty cups into a nearby dustbin. Only eight people were waiting for the next empty carriage to descend to ground level and open its doors. Five of them - three children and two adults - belonged to one family, while the rest were a group of three girls, enthusiastically talking to each other. It wouldn't take long for their turn.

A bout of shivers overcame her as the wind picked up, the warmth of the drink already a memory. She wrapped her free arm around herself, gaze dropping to the floor as she once again regretted forgetting to bring out her favourite dog-ear hoodie. It was always hanging on her clothes rack, and it would have been so easy to just reach out a hand and swipe it on her way out. But no, she just had to wake up late and stumble out of the house still half-asleep.

She'd forgotten how cold the nights could get. Especially for her, someone who couldn't even handle the lecture theatre air-conditioning. Forgoing a long-sleeved T-shirt for her kiwi bird-print tee was not helping matters.

"Here." Something warm and soft was draped around her shoulders, and she looked up to find herself draped in Lloyd's familiar jacket, his face hovering close to hers. "You should have told me you were cold," Lloyd muttered, his breath tickling her neck. "I would have given you my jacket earlier."

His jacket smelt like him, a safe, comforting blanket that reached to her thighs. It held his body heat, too, slowly seeping into her.

Colette flushed, turning her face away so she didn't have to look into those russet eyes. For there was concern there, as well as the ever-present kindness, but there was also more. There was no way to hide her blush, not when he was right here, but she still had to resist the urge to hide her face behind the plushy.

Why was she still trying so hard to hide, anyway? It's not like it was of any use. She was so obvious. As Zelos had told her, it had gone far past the point of being funny.

"Though I guess you're always cold," Lloyd said, tearing his gaze away from her and taking a hurried step back. Perhaps the words were meant to be teasing, but they fell flat with the out-of-place laughter attached to the end.

"I - I mean, it - it was my fault for not bringing a jacket in the first place," she stuttered, the words stumbling over each other in her mouth in her hurry to answer. Now Lloyd would know she was nervous too. She was doing really well, wasn't she? “But thank you.”

"The next carriage is here," the attendant called out, voice flat and expression terribly bored. He was staring at them with a barely veiled expression of disinterest, waving his arms to direct them into the next carriage, doors wide open.

"Come on." Lloyd grabbed her hand, the smile returning to his face. The Ferris wheel was lit up to the nines, throwing soft purple light onto everything around her and illuminating half of Lloyd's face. Beautiful. He was always so beautiful, but it was moments like these where it made her heart hurt, wanting so desperately to reach out and touch his face.

Heart pounding in her chest, she took her seat, Lloyd sitting directly on her left, their legs close enough to brush.

She placed the plushy in her lap, resting her chin on it and trying her best to slow her racing heart, knowing it would be of no use. Here, in this carriage that was slowly rising into the sky and gently rocking, it was just the two of them in this little space, cut off from the rest of the world.

It was hard to tell herself she was imagining the intense way Lloyd was staring at her, like she was the only thing worth looking at, even though the beautiful night scenery was right outside the glass. Nor was it possible to imagine the tension, sharp as a knife, that had arisen between them for the past half a year or so. Almost everything was the same: they were still incredibly close, but there was a hesitance there now - in the way Lloyd’s fingers sometimes curled away from hers, in the way she sometimes stopped before throwing an arm around his shoulder to embrace him.

Neither of them had spoken up about that tension, dancing around each other like fools. Even if he did return her feelings… Love wasn’t enough to bridge the impossible distance between them. She could never fully comprehend all that he felt, just as he could never fully comprehend the absence of what she felt. She could never give him what others could, not with her extreme revulsion towards anything sexual in nature. She’d be willing to try, for him, simply because her love for him knew no bounds, but… she couldn't say where her limits would be. Likely not very far from where she would start.

Even though Lloyd had been nothing but supportive of her, that didn’t mean he was willing to take a chance that could very well end in failure and heartbreak. She might not be enough for him when it came to a relationship. If that was the case, she could understand. Neither of them had done anything wrong. If they were incompatible from the start, then she could keep her silence. She’d be perfectly happy to remain as friends, even if these nebulous feelings would never leave her chest. She didn’t want to lose them.

"Um, do you, uh... like the plushy?" Lloyd asked, his voice cutting through her anxious thoughts. Awkwardness radiated off of him in spades as he shifted in the seat, turning his head away to stare down at the floor. At least she wasn't the only one that was nervous. He was repeating the exact question he’d asked her when he’d given her the plushy.

"I love it. It's soft, and it's cute. Thanks for giving it to me." The same answer she’d given him before.

Lloyd had been the one who won a carnival game - the ball toss, to be specific. He'd managed to down all the cans with a single ball and gotten the choice of any of the first-place prizes. Zelos had raised an eyebrow and asked him how he'd gotten past the unfair odds. Lloyd had sheepishly scratched the back of his head and said it was a lucky accident, one that he couldn’t repeat, which proved to be true in his later attempts.

Lloyd had taken one look at the prize pool, pointed out the Siberian Husky plush to the staff, and then stuffed it into her hands the moment he'd gotten it, proclaiming that it was a gift for her. Zelos had been outright snickering, while even Sheena had looked like she was holding back laughter, shoulders shaking.

Lloyd's hand found hers in the little space between them, his thumb rubbing the skin of her palm just below her fingers. It was a repetitive, soothing motion, helping to calm her down.

She hoped that, no matter what, they would always stay together. Whether as friends or more. Just the two of them.

"I'm glad you like it." Lloyd's voice was getting progressively quieter with each syllable his lips formed, slowly shifting right along the seat towards her.

“Can - can I…” Lloyd asked timidly, turning to face her and leaning closer. Her field of vision narrowed to just his face, barely lit by the scant light that reached them from the carnival grounds and the spokes of the Ferris wheel. Everything else was slowly turning into a blur. “Can I kiss you?”

The carriage had reached the top of its revolution. Through the window, she could see the sparkling lights of the high-rises in the distance. Silence suffused the air as no one spoke, the world itself seeming to hold its breath, neither she nor Lloyd moving a single part of their bodies as they stared at each other. His eyes were wide, filled with such incredible emotion, built up over years and spilling over at this very moment.

Her breath caught in her throat, a current of warmth making itself known in her heart at the fact that he’d actually bothered to ask. She’d expected Lloyd to - the kind, considerate soul that she’d come to know and love, but somewhere in the back of her mind was tucked the irrational fear that there would never be anyone who respected her boundaries, simply because she wasn't worth it.

She took a deep breath, preparing her answer. It wouldn’t be “normal”, that was for sure. It wasn’t a simple yes or no, but rather…

“Is it fine if it’s on the cheek?” were the quiet words that left her mouth, shattering the expectant silence as her grip tightened on the plushy. Maybe one day, she wouldn’t mind a kiss on the lips, but not today. She wasn’t up to it yet.

She doesn’t know what answer she expects. Probably a no. It’s perfectly understandable for Lloyd to just step away.

“Of course,” Lloyd replied instantly, the gentle smile on his face once again shattering all the preconceived notions she’d constructed in her head, absolutely terrified of rejection but huddling herself into a corner in the belief that that was all she could possibly receive. There had been no hesitation behind that statement, no hint of reproach or anger or irritation towards her.

“Yes.” The word slipped out without any thought, for she herself had yearned for so terribly long. The desire she had always held to love, and to be loved, despite everything - to experience it all with the boy that had always been part of her life and that she hoped could continue to be there for the rest of it.

She turned her head to the side, and it didn't take another moment longer before Lloyd pressed his lips against her cheek, one hand still holding hers while his other arm wrapped around her shoulder, the plushy trapped between them. He was nothing if not gentle, bringing up her earliest memories of being kissed on the cheek by her mother, before she had left her life forever. It was through that gentleness that the force of his love was truly impressed on her - for there was passion there, in the very act of holding himself back. Love, gentle like a warm flame, but not any lesser for it, for his love was just as impregnable as a brick wall, unyielding and unbreaking.

She could feel his warm breath against her cheek, his lips softer than she could have thought, his hair close enough to run her hands through as she’d always wanted. So she did, letting the strands fall through her fingers like melted chocolate.

Was he… smiling? It sure felt like it.

It wasn't a magical moment like people always said the first kiss would be like. After all, theirs was nowhere close to conventional, but it was an experience that belonged only to them. No sparks were flying in the air, nor did time stop. It was just the two of them, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces in the way they always had, and she couldn't ask for anything more.

Lloyd moved away, his arm dropping from her shoulder, hand joining the other to clasp her limp one. His eyes were shining with joy, the same joy that filled her heart and made it feel like it might take flight at any time. Everything had finally fallen into place.

Her whole face was now on fire as she turned away, leaning forward over her legs. Her hair fell by the side of her face like a veil, letting only tiny glimpses of Lloyd through.

“You’re sure?” she asked, knowing that she needed to clarify. Even if his actions had been the shining light that burned away most of her doubts, some still remained. Lloyd really, truly needed to understand what he was getting into. She would not let him mindlessly enter into a relationship with her without knowing about all the ups and downs, all the complications that would come with it. That would only end in them hurting each other, and then they might never be able to stand the sight of each other again. It was the dreaded future she never wanted to come to pass. “It’s not going to be easy."

“I know,” he replied, squeezing her hand, his russet eyes focussed on hers. “But all relationships have challenges, don't they? We'll figure it out together, just like always. And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll stay as friends, forever. I just want you to know that I love you.”

There is nothing but burning conviction behind his words, and a determination that reached deep into her soul and lit a flame of hope.

There would be many more difficult conversations that needed to be had, candid discussions that would need to take place. But for now, she didn't say anything more, hoping the unspoken “I love you” from her side could be understood, clear as day. She still couldn’t make herself say it, the final lingering doubt that she suspected would never fully go away holding her back: that romantic love had to go hand in hand with sexual attraction, and that one could not exist without the other.

She simply closed her eyes, leaning against him and enjoying the gentle rocking of the carriage for the remainder of their time on the Ferris wheel.

~~~

25-years-old

"Remember this Ferris wheel?" Lloyd teased Colette, squeezing her hand as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel at the reopened carnival. It wasn't the exact same one they’d ridden at the age of 18, for that one had been deconstructed years ago. But it was a near-perfect replica, down to the purple lights that lit up the spokes, though the hearts were gone. Even the bored attendant who was barely paying attention to her duties was right!

"How could I forget?" Colette laughed, her trademark bright smile on her face. Even after knowing her for twenty years and dating her for seven of those years, the sight of her smile never failed to light a spark in his chest.

At least this time Colette was dressed appropriately for the colder night, in a pencil skirt and a long-sleeved collared blouse with a few frills. She looked a lot more put-together than him, who was just wearing plain old jeans. He had picked her straight up from work before driving them here, after all.

All that was missing was the staff pass that she’d removed from around her neck and left in the car. Her smart-casual image, however, was completely shattered by the pair of grey dog ears poking out of her hair, attached to the headband sitting behind her ears. They even felt furry to the touch, though it wasn’t real dog fur.

A pair of brown ears sat on his own head. Colette hadn’t managed to win a grand prize at the game stalls like he once had out of dumb luck, but she'd managed to do pretty well at the ring toss, scoring almost all of her tosses onto the red-rimmed bottles. That meant she could redeem a few mid-tier prizes, so she'd gotten two headbands with dog ears attached, one for her and one for him that he could wear if he wanted to. He'd put it on immediately. Now they matched! He needed to take a picture of them sometime - Sheena and Zelos would appreciate the cute image.

More like Sheena would strangle him over digital space if he didn't send cute photos.

The carnival had finally returned after four years of absence, and he and Colette had jointly decided to return almost immediately upon hearing the news. It was small and honestly not that impressive compared to other theme parks they’d been to, but it still held precious memories. And it would make for a fun date, which it certainly had so far!

They'd retraced their steps from years ago, though unfortunately, they were lacking Zelos and Sheena. First riding the pirate ship, Colette’s hair going wild in the air as the ship swung from side-to-side, then visiting the game stalls, laughing at each other’s absolutely horrendous attempts, then buying and sharing a stick of cotton candy between them, taking turns biting from the fluffy substance and having their tongues curl from the overload of sweetness, before finally arriving back here at the Ferris wheel.

"I know I've said this already, but thanks for planning this all out," Colette said, linking her arm with his and smiling up at him as they joined the queue. The queue was much longer today, amounting to more than 40 people, by his rough estimate. It was still quite early in the evening, half of the sun still peeking over the horizon, the sky painted in a pink that would soon be darkening to orange. It was just as noisy as in the past, perhaps even noisier, for the families hadn't gone home yet. "There were quite a few kerfuffles with the system at work today, and this really helped."

"That bad?"

"Mm. We had a new intern come in today, and then the old system just decided to crash. Not the intern's fault, she's the sweetest girl. But it was still a headache to deal with."

"Well, I'm glad it helped. Though I'm just happy to spend more time with you."

If everything went according to plan, then he'd be seeing a lot more of her in the future.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, checking that the all-important box was still there. It was the crux of this whole operation, and he could not lose it.

Colette laughed, a sound that inevitably made him smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been free for the past few weeks. It's a busy time for the company."

"It's alright. I'll be starting work soon too, after all. Besides, we still stay two floors apart. There's pretty much no way we don't see each other every week, silly."

"Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't be a downer; you're right. Anyway, since tomorrow’s a public holiday, want to spend it over at my place?”

“Netflix and chill?” Lloyd answered, well aware that he was probably getting some weird looks from people close enough to overhear him. He wasn’t even sure if Colette knew of its double meaning - she was generally completely clueless about the world of euphemisms. Over time, they’d just started co-opting the phrase. After all, their time together at each other’s place was mostly spent… watching shows while curled up together on the couch, creating dishes that were more like unrecognisable disasters in the kitchen while attempting not to set the whole place on fire, or Colette playing video games at the foot of the bed while he tickled her neck with his toes. In terms of risque activities, they so rarely happened - and only after he checked, double-checked and triple-checked that Colette was feeling up to it and not forcing herself for his sake.

“I don’t mind, but we haven’t finished that card game we started last month. The card piles are still sitting untouched on my bay window. Wanna do that instead?”

“Sure!” He replied enthusiastically. Board games or card games always promised a good time, if infuriating when nothing would line up and Lady Luck was decidedly not smiling on him. Colette seemed to get all the luck in these party games. Maybe it was consolation for tripping all the time.

“It’s such a shame that Zelos and Sheena aren’t here,” Colette said, pulling out her phone. “I know they went on the Ferris wheel the year after we did, but we still haven’t gotten that group photo we were supposed to.”

“One’s in Europe and one’s in Australia. There’s no way they could join us on such short notice.” The last he'd heard from them, both were doing well for themselves and very happy in their long-distance relationship.

“True. I guess I can add them to the photo afterwards with the power of Photoshop. Oh, and Zelos sent me this really weird message...” After a few swipes of her finger, Colette shoved the bright phone screen under his nose.

Zelos Wilder: Looking forward to the good news ;)

“Do you have any idea what they mean?” Colette asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “They haven’t been replying to my question!”

Lloyd could feel his fingers twitching. Zelos Wilder wasn’t here, but if they were, Lloyd would have strangled them already. Trying to spoil the surprise, were they?

“It’s probably nothing! You know how they are. Always trying to cause chaos.” Lloyd shrugged, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious, as he tended to be.

“I suppose that’s true… What good news?” Lloyd could hear Colette repeating that question to herself under her breath, not quite soft enough for it to escape his notice. She didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was up with him, thankfully.

“It’s our turn! Come on, let’s get on!” Lloyd declared, just loud enough to startle Colette and cause her to nearly drop her phone. She hurriedly stuffed it back into her pocket, following Lloyd to the open carriage. She hadn't realised the space before them had completely cleared.

The attendant lazily waved them onto the open carriage with barely a glance at them, a mumbled: “Have a nice ride” leaving her mouth.

Lloyd was the first to scramble on, turning around to give Colette a helping hand - only to find her falling straight into him, having tripped over the raised step. With a shocked “Oh!” falling from her lips, Colette crashed into him, nearly knocking him flat onto the carriage seat. With a shocked yelp, Lloyd braced himself against the glass window of the carriage, barely maintaining his balance. Years of practice at stopping Colette’s sometimes fantastical falls over obstacles that weren’t visible to him had honed his reaction times to near perfection, giving him ample preparation for this situation.

The attendant continued to ignore them, gaze fixed not so discreetly on the phone sitting in her lap. The doors of the carriage slid smoothly shut, and with a jolt that nearly knocked them off balance again, the carriage set off on its journey.

"Um, sorry..." Colette apologised from her position pressed flush against Lloyd's chest, arms entangled in his. She slowly extricated herself from the mess, stumbling a few times but managing not to fall again, even with the gentle swaying of the carriage floor. He tried his best to steady her without falling over himself. She sheepishly smiled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Lloyd adjusted her headband, setting the ears that had been knocked crooked back into their rightful place. He’d told her multiple times that she didn’t need to apologise for tripping, but she still did, the habit too ingrained to break. It was endearing, though. “You?”

“I’m fine!” Colette smoothed out her skirt (though there weren’t any noticeable wrinkles in it from the fall,) and sat down to rest her weary feet, giving Lloyd the cue to sit down as well. “Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing heels…”

Lloyd did not want to imagine what would have happened if she was - she might have twisted her ankle, or worse. She rarely wore heels due to her clumsiness, but when she did, all sorts of accidents tended to happen.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket again, fingers feeling the velvet texture again.

It’s still here.

"What's still here?" Colette’s confused voice broke through his relieved thoughts. Her hands were resting in her lap and she was leaning forward, eyes shining with a curious light. The usual white lights of the new condominiums close to the carnival grounds shone, a few glimmers of pink visible as people celebrated Pink Dot. It was at this very moment that the Ferris wheel's lights turned from purple to pink, the spokes emanating soft pink light that washed over Colette, making her hair glisten - almost like an ethereal fairy with imaginary wings that shimmered, having come to visit him on this mortal plane. The dog ears only added to that image, somehow. Even now, the sight of her was enough to make him feel dizzy, both out of love and awe, even if he no longer blushed like an embarrassed schoolboy. Awe that she could get more beautiful every time his gaze landed on her. And awe that such an incredible person had chosen to trust him and stay with him.

He was so enraptured by the angel before him that it took a few seconds for her words to process in his mind, after which he froze in horror.

OH NO, HE’D SAID IT OUT LOUD. A thousand alarm bells were ringing in his head. Some days he was reminded that he was an adult now, and other days he was reminded that he was as much an idiot as he used to be. Some things just never changed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Colette said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she rested her chin on her palm, an amused smile playing on her lips.

He could just play it off - he knew Colette wouldn’t pursue it any further if he gave off the signals to drop the topic. She was just like that: the most considerate person he knew.

But…

The original plan had been to do it on the Ferris wheel. It even had Zelos' approval. This, right now, was the perfect chance to just let the cat out of the bag. And he would grasp the opportunity in hand before it could escape him.

For he could think of no future happier than one spent Colette’s side.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the purple box out of his pocket with a shaking hand, dropping to his knees on the surprisingly clean carriage floor, devoid of the usual spilt drinks and crumpled up tissues.

He could tell the exact moment Colette gleaned the true intent behind his actions, the blank, confused expression on her face morphing into one of shocked disbelief, eyes widening and hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Damn it, he’d completely forgotten the script he’d written with Zelos’ assistance in a back-and-forth over messages, Zelos alternating between giving actually good advice and being extremely annoying, though Lloyd had gotten them to shut up by asking them when they planned to propose. The two of them had both struggled to find the right words, since neither of them had done super well in English. But Lloyd had persevered, wanting to get his feelings across eloquently.

But now that he was staring into Colette’s blue eyes, all the words were sprouting wings and flying mockingly out of his head, leaving only blank space for him to reach uselessly for.

The one piece of advice Zelos had given him that continued to stick in his head was this: speak from the heart, and surely she would understand.

He couldn’t keep her waiting forever.

“I… ” He couldn’t help but start off slow, struggling against the block in his mind but determined to push past it. The words then seemed to just come to him, progressively faster as time went on, stumbling out of some unknown part of his mind - or perhaps it would be more accurate to say his heart. Somehow, throughout it all, he didn't drop the box despite his trembling hands. “Colette, you’re the most amazing person I know. Your compassion, your gentleness, even your clumsiness, they’re all vital parts of my life that I wouldn’t give up for anything. You are my shining star in the sky, the one that gives me hope, that inspires me to be the best version of myself. If I had the choice to relieve my life from the start, I wouldn't change a thing, because meeting you on that playground all those years ago was the best thing that has ever happened to me. All my years spent with you have been incredible, and I would like to spend many more by your side. So, just like years ago, Colette, I have something I need to ask you, right here and right now.”

“Will you… Will you marry me?” He finished, voice drifting off into silence as he flipped open the box to reveal the two plain, thin metal rings he’d bought. Colette wasn’t the type to go for flashy diamonds or colourful gems. She’d appreciate something simple like this.

He waited, the few seconds of deafening silence seeming to stretch out into eternity, broken only by the sound of blood rushing past his ears. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this very question, if in a different and less dramatic form. He’d already received her answer once. But he would respect whatever answer she gave now, and most of all, they would keep the promise they had made at this very place: that they would always remain friends, no matter what.

~~~

Colette still couldn’t quite believe her ears, gaze flitting between Lloyd’s face and the box he was holding up towards her, the two rings housed snugly within reflecting pink light.

Marriage had crossed her mind many times. She had learned over the years that it wasn’t a penultimate goal that had to be reached to prove her relationship successful, and she’d told Lloyd as much when he’d asked her two months ago if she’d be willing to get married.

But still, even if she had managed to break free from most of the notions the fairytales of old had implanted into her head, able to just enjoy them as sweet stories now, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the dream of having a fairytale wedding. One that was perfectly planned, with family and friends present to stand witness to their union.

She’d told him yes. That she would be willing to tie the knot with him, the one she loved. The expectation of a proposal had been simmering in the back of her mind ever since, often going forgotten. She had not expected the time would be now. Lloyd had been more fidgety than normal, constantly checking his pockets while disguising the action as keeping his hands in his pockets. She’d known something was up, but his true intentions had escaped her detection until just moments before, when she’d been taken off guard. All she’d thought when he’d pulled out the box was that it resembled the ring boxes in the dramas Sheena was always recommending to her, the ones that appeared in all the emotional proposal scenes, until the realisation had hit her in the chest like a truck.

Once again, like years ago, they’d reached the top of the revolution. The silence remained unbroken as Lloyd patiently awaited her answer, not pushing her towards one. And so events repeated, mirrored across time.

Colette slowly stretched out her arm, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as a smile graced her face. She nodded, her throat blocked by all the emotions that swirled in her chest, unable to say ‘yes’ out loud even as she screamed it over and over in her mind, the tears finally breaking free of whatever barrier was holding them back to spill down her face.

Lloyd broke out into the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, radiating pure joy as he slid one of the simple, elegant, silver bands onto her ring finger. It fit. Perfectly. When had he even learned her ring size?

She picked up the other ring that was meant for Lloyd, marvelling at how her hand could somehow remain stable as the rest of her body trembled in barely contained emotion. The ring was so tiny, held between her thumb and index finger, and yet it held such significant weight as she slid it onto his ring finger, the skin of his hand rough against hers and the metal cold.

Lloyd jumped to his feet, pulling her into an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of her head (his nose bumping the dog ears), holding her close, his happy laughter rumbling through his chest. Even now, when he must have been bursting with joy, he was still mindful of her boundaries, refusing to do anything that would cross the line. Heart filled with warmth, she pressed herself impossibly closer, intending to just melt into his arms forever -

"Please get off the carriage."

The deadpan voice that belonged to neither her nor Lloyd broke through the peaceful bubble that had been constructed around the two of them. She froze, feeling Lloyd stiffen around her as well. Looking to the left yielded the view of solid ground, and the same uninterested attendant gesturing towards it.

Ah. They'd reached the bottom without even noticing. This was… embarrassing, to say the least.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be in the queue at the moment, allowing the two of them to escape from the Ferris wheel without much attention. It appeared that only the attendant had borne witness, and she couldn’t seem to care less, having returned to the booth.

Their interlocked hands swung in the air, the matching rings glinting under the bright neon lights of the carnival as she wiped away her happy tears, both of them grinning uncontrollably.

"I love you," Lloyd said, the words leaving his lips with ease, as they always had. "Shall we go home?” he asked.

Home was with friends and family and Lloyd, the one who held her heart.

Colette squeezed Lloyd’s hand. She felt light as a feather, like she could somehow fly with wings that she didn't have.

"I love you," she replied, the words coming so easily now. "Let’s.”

~~~

The attendant shook her head, scoffing as she returned to scrolling through Twitter.

“I suppose love does make the world go round.”

~~~

Next chapter

[let-me-write-shit]

Like We Used To: 7

A/N: *WARNING* smut!!!!!! I’ll put *** at the beginning and end of the smut so you can skip it if you’d like!

 Where do you think this story is going? Do you see the story continuing past their weekend celebration, or do you think it should end? Message me & let me know what you think!! Decisions, decisions.

[ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] ---------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER SEVEN

Harry’s face flooded with frustration and the room was uncomfortably silent. Elizabeth sat still, completely dumbfounded. He can’t be serious. He doesn’t honestly believe that they would have gotten married if they dated when they were fifteen. Lewis and Kate just got lucky. Finding your soulmate that young is a one-in-a-million chance! Elizabeth started to worry that this stupid conversation would be the definite end to their roller coaster of a friendship when she noticed Harry’s expression soften and he relaxed his shoulders. 

“No. I know, you’re right. We wouldn’t have gotten married,” he admitted, pushing back his hair and standing up to pace the room. He stopped abruptly, “You wanna know my secret now?”

Elizabeth was caught off guard by the question and was afraid to answer, so she just stared at him until he started talking.

“My secret is that I never stopped thinking about you,” Harry sat down beside her, nervously looking into her eyes, “I know that sounds like a bunch of bullshit, and I’ll be honest, the first few months after everything started happening I did let everything get to my head. That’s when I lost touch. It wasn’t until I got a message from Lewis one night, maybe three months in, that really fucked me up. I had been ignoring everyone's calls and texts when he sent me this book length text about how I was a piece of shit and ‘how could you do this to your friends. We’ve supported you from the beginning’. And then he mentioned how you had taken it really badly. It was just a small mention of you. I remember exactly what he said. ‘I’ve never seen Lizzy so upset. We can’t even bring up your name around her anymore!’.” Harry gulped, “That's when I knew I fucked up. Ever since then, every other week for the past nine years, I’ve kept in touch with Lewis. He’d give me little updates on everyone. Nothing crazy, just that you were doing well. But just to hear him say your name was all I needed.”

Elizabeth listened, stunned, “But Kate?”

“Kate didn’t know because I asked Lewis not to tell her. I convinced myself that if you couldn’t even hear them say my name, there was no point in reaching out to you because you wouldn’t want to hear from me. It sounds so stupid now, but I truly believed that and I knew that if Lewis told her that we still talked, she’d probably tell you and I didn’t want that to upset you even more.”

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief and stammered, “So for nine years you’ve been checking in on me via our friend because….why?”

“Because I-”

“Wait,” she interrupted and it was her turn to pace the room, “Forget it, I don’t want to know why. We just started getting back to a good place and I really don’t want to ruin that.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, trying to digest everything that was happening. If he said what she thought he was going to say, what would that mean for them? There’s no way they could work! Their lifestyles were way too different now.

“Are you mad?” Harry asked after a while.

“I’m a little mad,” Elizabeth admitted, throwing her hands up a bit and looked into his defeated eyes suddenly feeling bad for him, “I don’t really know how to feel right now. I’m every emotion at once.”

“I didn’t mean to get so serious. I just needed to get it off my chest. We can pretend I never said anything.”

Elizabeth whispered, looking into his eyes from across the room, “But I don’t want to pretend you never said anything.”

“Well what do you want?” Harry questioned, staring hopefully back at her.

Elizabeth paused before finally asking, “Can we just lay down for a little?”

Harry nodded in agreement, laying back on the left side of the bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, still unsure how Elizabeth felt. She laid down on her side, trying to read his face. Was he mad? Was he embarrassed? Maybe he just didn’t care anymore. A part of her wanted to see how this would play out, but another part of her knew that the ending would not be in her favor.

Elizabeth decided that she was done overthinking and she shuffled closer to him, resting her head in the crook of his arm and putting a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating as he twisted his body towards hers, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, pulling her tighter to him, and placing his other hand on top hers on his chest.

They laid in a peaceful silence for a while, Harry lightly stroking Elizabeth’s hair as their thumbs circled each other on his chest. She could have fallen asleep like that if her head wasn’t pounding.

Elizabeth finally squeaked, “Harry?” He hummed in response and she continued, “Are we fighting?”

He felt his chest jolt when he chuckled, “Does it look like we’re fighting?”

“So...we’re still friends, then?”

Harry sighed before reluctantly responding, “Yeah. We’re still friends.”

“So maybe the card isn’t cursed, after all,” Elizabeth nodded towards the alarm clock on his nightstand that read 11:42 PM. Fifteen minutes to midnight and their dare would be over. She saw Harry’s smile and hesitantly asked, “Do you want to know my secret now?”

Harry mumbled a soft, “Yeah.”

She breathed, “When you left I made up a nickname for you.”

“The Lost Boy,” Harry nodded, “I know. Lewis told me.”

Elizabeth blushed and continued, “Yeah. Well, the thing is, everyone just assumed it was some kind of symbol or something. Like Peter Pan and how he had lost his way, you know? But that’s not what I meant when I came up with the name. I called you Lost Boy because of me. Because when you left, I lost the boy. Does that make sense?” Elizabeth asked, propping herself up on her elbow to see his face, “You were the one that got away. I lost you.”

Harry sat up to meet her, contemplating for what seemed like an eternity, both of them staring into each other’s eyes. She saw his gaze lower to her lips. Elizabeth could feel the tension of pulling them closer together. They were an inch away, eyes closing and the heat of each other’s breath lingering between them, before Elizabeth whispered, “But the bet.”

“Fuck the bet,” Harry breathed, closing the space between them and colliding his lips onto hers.

*********

Elizabeth felt her body melt into his as he deepened the kiss by tangling his fingers in her mousy brown hair. She was able to lay down on her back during the kiss and Harry’s body twisted so that his upper body hovered over hers, tongues dancing together. His lips were softer than she imagined and his tongue still tasted like his white chocolate ice cream. 

Elizabeth’s hands slowly moved from his cheeks, down his neck, and down towards his chest. She could feel his heart beating through his shirt as his hands roamed down her side, gripping her hips and squeezing. Elizabeth ached for more and she pulled him on top of her, her legs on either side of his hips. Their kiss deepened still as Harry put the weight of his hips into her, feeling him harden. Quickly, she grabbed the end of his shirt, pulling it up and breaking their kiss briefly to lift it over his head before tossing it off the bed. Her hand roamed down to the buldge in his pants, gripping onto him and moving her hand up and down, feeling his length. He kissed harder and moaned, kicking off his pants and briefs so she could get a better grasp.

She was suddenly aware of the fact that she was still swimming in Harry’s hoodie that he had lent her as his hands struggled to climb under all of her clothes that she had on. He pulled away, making her sit up with him and looked into her eyes that were filled with hunger. He slowly lifted both her shirt and hoodie, waiting to see any hint of reluctance from her. There was none. When he had managed to take off her top, she fell back down and let Harry trail heavy kisses from her neck, to her lacy blue bra, down to her navel, and to the waist of her pant line, slowly pulling them off, leaving her underwear on, and tossing them besides Elizabeth’s head. 

He paused, sitting up and gaping at her from head to toe which allowed Elizabeth to see what she was dealing with, before he bit his lips and breathed, “Are you sure?”

Without uttering a word, Elizabeth sat up, her face only reaching up to his chest from this position, and she kissed his chest while unhooking her bra, tossing it to the side and laying back down, waiting for him. 

With only a second of hesitation, Harry yanked her underwear off, tossing it beside her and fell back on top of her. His hand gripped his penis and he guided it towards her, rubbing onto her clit. He circled her for a bit, letting his precum act as a lubricant before slowly forcing himself into her, making Elizabeth gasp.

With every thrust, Elizabeth and Harry panted harder and harder. Harry’s arms started to tremble and Elizabeth was able to push him off and back down on the bed so that she could get on top of him. He propped his head up with some pillows so he was able to take her breast into his mouth as she bounced on top of him, his hands grabbing onto her butt, pushing her down harder on top of him. As he neared climax he quickly flipped her over so he was back on top and in control, gripping onto her hips so tightly as he pushed faster and deeper into her, breathing her name. Elizabeth shivered when he hit her g-spot and shoved her face into the pillow beside her to muffle her moan while gripping harder onto Harry’s biceps.

“Fuck!” Harry grunted, quickly pulling out and finishing onto Elizabeth’s stomach, filling her navel with cum.

After pausing for a minute to catch their breath, Elizabeth felt around the bed for something to clean up the mess. She managed to grab her lounge pants and used that as a towel to wipe the cum off of her stomach before handing it to Harry to clean himself off. He tossed it to the side and collapsed on the bed next to her, panting, both of them still naked. Elizabeth could hear the pounding of his heartbeat start to regulate. 

**************

She was the first to break the silence, “I still think it would have been better with candles and rose petals,” she joked.

Harry laughed, turning towards her and kissing her on the head, “Next time.”

“Mr. Styles,” she teased, “What makes you think there is going to be a next time?”

They laid there with Elizabeth’s head nuzzled into Harry’s neck and legs intertwined. Their fingers twirled together, just listening to the sound of each other breathing until they eventually fell asleep. Elizabeth definitely didn’t intend for that to happen, but she also didn’t regret it. She didn’t know what this meant for them, but she didn’t want to think about it, either. She just wanted to live in the moment. At least for a little while.

Her subconscious suddenly jolted her awake and she looked around the room. It was pitch dark. Harry must have woken up at some point in the night because all the lights were now off and they were both under a blanket. His arm was resting across her stomach and he was breathing heavily, fast asleep. She looked over at the alarm clock beside her that read 4:24 AM.

“Harry,” Elizabeth whispered, shaking him awake.

He stirred, confused, “What?”

“It’s nearly morning. Our dare is over, I should get back to my room.”

Harry groaned, “Why? Just stay here with me.”

Elizabeth smiled and kissed his temple, slipping out of his bed. The cold air hit her naked body, “I can’t. This was fun, but I don’t need the whole house knowing that we fucked.”

Harry sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes, “Are you trying to keep me a secret, Lizzy? Isn’t that my job? I’m the famous one. Am I just some sexual object to you?” He joked.

Elizabeth chucked and tossed his shirt that she found at him, “Come on! Help me find my clothes!”

Harry yawned, pulling on his own clothes before turning the light on and helping her search. They managed to find everything except for her bra, and she wasn’t able to put her pants on because they were covered in cum.

Harry shrugged. “Just put my hoodie back on. It’s big enough to cover you and you just need to make it to your room. I doubt anyone is awake at this hour.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement and Harry led her to the door. Before she could open it, he grabbed her arm and spun her around to him, crashing his lips down onto hers, “About your secret...you never lost me.” He smirked,  “And the card is definitely not cursed.”

Elizabeth smiled up at him before he opened the door for her. Just as Elizabeth stepped out, the door next to them opened and Celeste stepped out of a room with her hair disheveled, wearing only her underwear and bra, holding the rest of her clothes in her arms. They froze, staring at each other in shock. 

Harry finally broke the silence, “Isn’t that...Edward’s room?”

Celeste faltered, looking between Elizabeth and Harry before noticing that Elizabeth wasn’t wearing any pants and whispered, begging, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal,” Elizabeth nodded and Celeste jogged over to her room, closing the door behind her.

Elizabeth turned to Harry, giggling into his chest while he laughed and rubbed her back. He gave her one last kiss on the top of her head before she bound down the steps and made it to her room, collapsing on her bed. 

The card was definitely not cursed.

KEEP READING

[im-bakugous-bitch]

Hitoshi Shinso - Protective (NSFW!)

Prompts 41, 46, and 51 41: "I will kill anyone that looks at you the way I look at you." 46: "Oh my god.  Do that again." 51: "I've never wanted anybody to fuck me this badly."

**A/N: set in 3rd year

You never expected trying to seduce your boyfriend to get you in trouble.  Your intentions had been very simple - finally get Hitoshi to sleep with you.  You hadn't meant to get another student hurt.

You had stopped by class A's dorms after classes.  After he'd transferred out in first year, you'd been spending a lot of time in there.  But you hadn't shown up there without a plan.

You kept your school uniform on when you went, for one very specific reason: the skirt.  The skirt wasn't too short, but it wasn't long either.  It was a safe length for you to slip off your underwear and nobody notice.

When you got to the common room, you saw him leaning against the wall waiting for you.  You smiled at him as he pushed himself away from the wall, and he looked at you curiously.

"You didn't change?" he asked.

You shrugged your shoulders.  "I haven't done my laundry yet so all my day clothes are dirty."  

He nodded, taking your hand and leading you through the dorm.  You looked around as you walked, hardly noticing that you were about to walk into a table.

"y/n!" Hitoshi said, but it was too late.

You went crashing face-first onto the ground.  You let out a wail of pain, but that wasn't enough to cover the groan behind you.  You turned, hand covering your nose, to see another of the students in class A.  The short one, Mineta.  His eyes were wide.

"Oh shit Shinso," he said, drool beginning to slip from his lips.  "Your girlfriend's got no underwear on!"

Your eyes widened in horror.  You'd known Mineta was a pervert, and he'd just seen your...

"What did you just say?" Hotoshi asked, and as you turned to look at your boyfriend you already knew there was fury in his eyes.  You rushed to readjust your skirt, covering your lower region as his glare intensified.

Mineta remained silent, but you could feel his eyes on you.  He spoke after a moment, but it wasn't a response to the question.  "You gotta let me get some of that - please!"

Hitoshi shoved you behind himself.  "What the fuck did you just say?"

Mineta's eyes widened in fear.  "N-nothing!"

That was all it took.  His eyes glossed over as Shinso took control, and you grabbed your boyfriend's arm.  You called his name, but he ignored you.  You watched in horror as Mineta took two purple balls off his head and walked over to the wall.

"Hitoshi!" you yelled as Mineta began to climb up the wall.  You stepped in front of your boyfriend, taking his face in your hands  "Hitoshi Shinso!  Stop!"

His eyes unfocused from Mineta, turning his attention to you.  "That wasn't for him to see," he said angrily.  "Did you see the way he was basically devouring you with his eyes?!  I will kill anyone that looks at you the way I look at you!"

"Shh," you said.  Him being so protective of you was sweet and kind of a turn-on, but you didn't want anybody getting hurt over it.  "Forget about him, okay?  Let's go hide in your room."

He grunted, looking over your shoulder at the other purple man who was climbing back down the wall.  "You got lucky, fucker."  He grabbed your arm and led you the rest of the way to his dorm, and when he shut the door he leaned his forehead against it as he let out a sigh.  "Do I wanna know why you're not wearing underwear?"  he asked.

You looked down at your hands in embarrassment.  You hadn't thought about how this whole plan could backfire.  "I-I-"  You struggled to find words to explain yourself.  When you finally looked back up at Hitoshi, you saw he'd moved from the door.  He was now towering over you, eyes raking over every inch of your body.  "It's stupid."

He knelt down in front of you, as you were sat on the edge of his bed.  "I'm not saying I don't like it," he said, a smirk crossing his lips.  "You trying to tell me you're finally ready?"

You nodded slowly, hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment.  "Yeah, but now I fucked it up and-"  You cut yourself off with a small scream when he pushed you backward into the bed and folded your skirt up to over your stomach.

"You didn't fuck anything up," he said, eyeing your slit as his hands gently caressed your thighs.  "The only thing you're fucking is me."  He then dove his head between your legs and licked at your slit, causing you to let out a loud moan.  

"Oh my god," you said as you threw your head back, "Do that again."

You felt his smirk against you as he began lapping at your slit with his tongue, eventually beginning to suck on your clit.

"Oh shit," you said as you tangled your fingers into his purple hair, pushing him closer against you as your hips thrusted against his face.  "Oh fuck, oh fuck!  Don't stop!"  You threw your head back, gripping his hair tighter as your eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss.  His hands held your thighs against the bed as he sucked even harder on your clit, and you could've sworn you were seeing stars.  "Hitoshi," you moaned, causing him to hum against you.

The vibration against your sensitive area was the final step to push you over the edge, and you laid on the bed panting as the euphoria ran through you.  You finally opened your eyes after a moment, to see Hitoshi licking your juices from his lips and grinning at you.  

"You, my love, are amazing," he said as he stood up.

You sat up on the bed.  "Don't think we're done yet," you said as you began unbuttoning your uniform shirt.  "I'm gonna ride you like a roller-coaster."

His grin turned to a smirk as he began undoing his belt.  "Dirty words from a virgin," he said.  He slipped the belt through the loops and dropped it on the ground, immediately moving to unbutton his pants.  

"Hey, you're a virgin too," you said as you peeled the shirt off your shoulders, unclasping your bra in the process.  Once it was off, you  lifted your ass off the bed to shimmy out of your skirt as Hitoshi pullded his t-shirt over his head.

You crawled backward on the bed as he approached you, blushing and smiling as he hovered over you.  His lips met yours as one of his hands flew to fondle one of your breasts, and you moved your hands up to cup both sides of his face.  You pulled him closer to you, biting his lip gently.

"Someone's eager," Hitoshi said as his lips trailed down to your neck.  You craned your neck to the side, giving him better access as your hands slid down his body.  When they finally reached his crotch, you took his dick on your hand and ran your thumb over the tip.

He groaned quietly against your skin, right before biting down right below your ear.  It had you letting out a loud moan and arching your back towards him.  

"Hitoshi," you moaned as you leaned your head back against his pillows.  "Oh, god," you thrusted your hips up against him before your hand began moving up and down his dick.  "God, Hitoshi, you're so big.  I don't know how you're gonna fit in me."

He smirked yet again against your neck before pulling away from it, trailing his hand down to your crotch.  "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're ready for me."  He stuck his index finger inside of you, causing you to let out a groan of both pain and pleasure.

"Say my name again," he said as he began moving his finger in and out of you.

"Hitoshi," you moaned out as you squeezed your eyes shut.

A second finger was inserted into you.  "Who's making you feel so good, y/n?"

You moaned as his fingers began a scissoring motion inside of you.  "You are, Hitoshi!"

He locked his eyes on you.  "Fuck yeah I am.  I'm the only one who gets to hear these moans, who gets to see you falling apart like this."  He pulled his fingers out of you and instead positioned his dick at your entrance.  "You ready?"

You nodded, leaning up on your elbows.  "I've never wanted anybody to fuck me this badly."

He slowly slid himself into you.  He stopped when only the tip was in, noticing the pained wince on your face.  He leaned down and planted gently kisses on both of your cheeks.  "You're so beautiful," he whispered before catching your lips in a kiss.

You let yourself fall down onto the bed, reaching your arms up to tangle in his hair instead.  As you pulled him closer, he pulled his tip out for a second before pushing it back in, with a little bit more.

"Ah-!"  Your back arched against him, tearing your lips from his.  It hurt so bad, but at the same time it felt so good.  

He repeated the action again, but instead of only adding a little more he shoved his whole dick in you upon reentry.  

"AH-!" you yelled as your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. You pulled him back to your lips, furiously kissing him as you adjusted to his size.

"I'm ready," you whispered after a moment.

He pulled away from the kiss and used one arm to hold himself above you as he almost completely pulled out of you, then shoved himself all the way back in.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you said as your head flew back to hide among the pillows.  When he repeated the action, you pushed your hips up against his to get him going even deeper.

He pushed his head into the crook of your neck as he did it again.  "God, y/n, you're so tight," he groaned as you pushed up against him.  

"Faster," you panted out.  

Instead of him moving inside you again, he instead flipped you over so you were towering above him.  Your eyes flew open to see a smirk on his face as he looked up at you, hands moving to grip your hips.

"You said you wanted to ride me like a roller-coaster," he said, gently applying pressure to your hips.  "Lucky for you, the ride is now open."

Your cheeks flushed red as you lifted yourself off of him.  When you felt him almost completely out of you, you pushed back down onto him.  You both let out harmonious moans, and you continued doing this over and over.

It wasn't long before Hitoshi was thrusting up into you as you came down.  "Jesus, babe, I'm so close," he said.

You picked up the pace, bouncing on him even faster.  You were so close to your release too.  "I'm almost there," you said, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

One of his hands moved from your hip, gently caressing your waist as his thumb ran circles around your clit.

"Holy shit," you breathed out.  "Hitoshi I-I'm gonna-!"

"Me too!" he said, cutting you off.  He gave one last thrust into you and you felt his warm liquid filling you, but you kept going.  You were so close.

He flipped you back over so he was on top, shoving himself in and out of you.  "Come on baby," he grunted as he furiously pulled in and out of you.

Only a couple more thrusts and he had you seeing stars again as your release washed over you.  You both fell down onto the bed as you wiped sweat from your foreheads.

Hitoshi pulled his dick out of you before using his blanket to wipe some sweat from your face.  He smiled at you as he dabbed the sweat from your forehead, then threw the blanket off to the side.  He wrapped his arms around you.

"You're amazing," he whispered in your ear before leaving a gentle kiss on the skin right below it.

You rolled over in his arms, so you were facing him.  A stupid grin crossed your face as you said, "and you, my love, are phenominal."

[my-emotional-self]

The Mission Chapter 14

Pairings: Ari Levinson x Reader

Warnings:  swearing, fluff, smut (unprotected sex)

Summary: Ari Levinson tries to recruit you for Operation Brothers.  While you weren’t ready for any kind of mission, you obliged after much consideration. You didn’t plan on falling in love along the way.  But will Ari return those feelings? Or will his heart only be on the mission?

“I want you to touch me. I want you to make love to me,” you said, throwing Ari off for a mere few seconds.  His hands were still cusped around your cheeks, his cock twitching at your words.  He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to have sex with you, but he didn’t think this was the right time.  

“Y/N,” he said your name so softly, it touched your heart.  “I would feel like I’m taking advantage of you if that were to happen tonight.”

He watched you lean up onto your elbows before moving into a sitting position.  “This is what I want Ari.  It’s what I’ve wanted for a while now.  You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me.”

Ari let out a deep sigh, sitting up with you.  “What you’ve just gone through with Amina and the Hadandawa, you need time to heal baby, time to mourn.”  

Ari watched as your eyes closed, your head bowing down.  It hurt him to see you this way, he wanted nothing more than to take all your pain away. You were such a strong woman, going through a traumatic experience a year ago with your friend in the Peace Corps, and now this.  Nobody deserved to go through such a harrowing time, especially someone like you. He had noticed from the day you arrived at the resort how much this mission meant to you; how important it was to you.  As time went on, getting to know you more, you had the biggest heart of anyone he had ever met.  

He placed a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.  His eyes traveled down to your lips only to see you chewing on your bottom lip.  Since your time spent here, he had noticed you did that a lot, but he never told you how hard his cock got each time he witnessed you doing so.  

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

~~~

Your lips parted as you closed your eyes at his question.  No, there is no way he would be taking advantage of you.  This was not only something you wanted, but what you needed. Of course you would mourn for your friend; you would never forget the bravery she had shown upon you.  But right now, you needed a distraction, even just for a little while.  

“Yes Ari,” you breathed out, opening your eyes to see him carefully looking at you.  

His eyes glanced down at the bed as you could tell he was thinking about what you had asked for. If he didn’t want to sleep with you, you wouldn’t hold it against him.  He had called you ‘baby’, told you he was scared of losing you, but that didn’t mean he felt the same way you felt about him; yet you didn’t mind at this point. Your feelings for him were strong and there was nothing you could do about that if he didn’t reciprocate them. Either way, you considered him a great friend and one hell of an amazing leader to a crew of misfits.  

Taking steadying breaths, you waited for him; to make a move, to answer you, you weren’t sure, but you waited.  Your heart was slamming in your chest as his head rose, eyes meeting yours.  

His eyes roamed down your body and you suddenly realized you were only wearing a bra and panties, but you didn’t feel awkward under his heated stare.  

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up in the shower,” he said as he held out a hand for you.  Your heart sunk, deep into the pit of your stomach, but you took his answer with a grain of salt.  Ari held our hand as you two headed to the bathroom.  

You stripped of your minimal clothing and got under the hot water.  Looking down, you noticed the water begin to turn pink.  “Rachel and I cleaned the blood off you as much as could. But there is still some left,” Ari spoke quietly as he used a cloth to wash your body.  

Watching the water mix with blood made you feel empty inside; numb even.  His hands were gentle as he washed your hair, then your body; his fingers brushing gently against your parted thighs where your body craved his touch most.  

Turning off the shower, Ari wrapped a towel around you, pulling you into his arms as he glanced down at your frame.  “I need you to answer me truthfully Y/N.  Are you sure you want to do this tonight?”

Your heart skipped as he spoke as you were sure with the way he spoke earlier he didn’t want to sleep with you; yet there was a bit of hidden guilt deep within your soul.  But this was what you wanted, what you needed; you just wanted to get out of your head for a little bit, it was all you asked for.  

“Please Ari.  I need this right now.  I need you,” you pleaded.  

He gave a quick nod before picking you up in his arms and bringing you back to his room and placing you on his bed gently.  The towel that was wrapped around your body fell open in the front; a soft groan coming from Ari’s mouth as you clenched your thighs closed.  

Ari was standing at the side of the bed and he slowly began to undress himself.  As his shirt came off his body, you gulped the lump in your throat as you stared at his bare chest.  It wasn’t the first time you had seen him bare, not in the slightest.  Yet each time you saw his chest, it was like you were seeing it for the first time.  

His shorts came off next and before you had time to react, he was laying down on the bed next to you; his lips pressing to yours.  Relaxing back onto the bed, you let him hover over your body as you parted your lips for him. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tangling with yours and you let out a soft moan; his mouth consuming it.  

Your heart raced in your chest as his hand trailed from your neck and to your breasts.  His large hands cupped your breast, a gasp escaping your lips.  Your body felt alive as his lips trailed from your mouth and to your neck.  When you felt his tongue at your pulse, you let out another breathy moan just as his fingers pinched around your nipple.  Your back arched off the bed as your body rolled with pleasure at his touches.  

His hand gave the same amount of love to your other nipple before his fingers danced down your torso; his hand cupping your sex.  

“Please Ari,” you begged breathily.  

“Tell me what you want baby?” he growled seductively into your ear.  You’ve had sex before, numerous times, but no one had ever made you feel this alive, this turned on from their fingers and voice alone; Ari knew just what to do.  

“I need-I need your fingers inside of me,” you finally managed to say, your chest lifting with each breath you took.  

Parting your legs further for easy access, Ari’s fingers slid through your velvety smooth folds of your pussy; he groaned in delight at how wet you were for him.  Your legs began to tremble from his teasing digits, but luckily you didn’t have to wait long.  He slipped a finger into your pussy, a strangled cry escaping your lips.

Ari’s lips met yours, drowning out your cries of pleasure as he added another finger into your dripping center.  “So warm,” he cooed.  He crooked his fingers upwards, hitting a spot so sweet inside of you; it had your toes curling, your entire body shaking.  He pumped his fingers a few more times before removing them, much to your chagrin.  “Not yet,” he husked.  “I want to feel you come around my cock, not my fingers.”  Your body shuddered at his words as you watched him lick your wetness of his fingers; a hum of appreciation slipping from his enclosed mouth.

He moved to hover over you, sliding between your parted legs as you felt his thick hardened cock pressing into your thigh.  “One last time,” he began to say, “is this what you want right now?”

You nodded quickly. “More than anything,” you replied.

His hand slipped between your bodies as you felt him line his cock up with your entrance.  He began to tease your folds, getting himself slick with your wetness.  “I don’t have a condom though.”

A small smile spread across your lips. “I’m on that new birth control.  I take a pill every day.”

Ari gave you a nod, his cock sliding into your pussy; the two of you moaning together in delight.  He was a lot bigger than anyone you had ever been with as you felt a slight pinch of pain; your face wincing.

“Am I hurting you?” Ari asked with concern.

“Just-just go slowly. It’s been awhile and your kinda bigger than what I’m used to.”

Ari look his time pushing slowly into your core.  When he was fully sheathed, he resting his forehead on yours and you blew out a sigh of relief.  The pain was gone and you had never felt so full before; his cock stretching your wells in such a pleasant way.  

You clenched your inner walls around him, letting him know you were ready for him to begin moving; your ministrations causing him to moan; his breath fanning your face.  His eyes were dark, lust filled as he began a slow thrust in and out of you.  Digging your fingers into the blanket, you let out a cry delight as his cock hit your sweet spot with each thrust.

“Fuck you are tight,” he growled, his own hands clamping around the bedsheet next to your head.  

Wild moans began to tumble from your lips as his hips began to pick up speed.  You were already overly sensitive from his fingers earlier on and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long as you felt your walls begin to tighten.  

“Ari,” his name left your lips in a breathy whisper as your right hand snaked around his neck.  Your teeth bit down where his shoulder and neck met; a low howl coming from his lips.  

“Are you going to come for me baby?” he declared.  You nodded, needing a release.  

He leaned up on his knees, angling himself in a position that let his cock swipe over your sweet spot with each thrust as his thumb began to circle your clit.  “Fuck!” you yelled out, not even caring if anyone else heard you at this point.  

You were struggling to hold on, your walls tightening as the coil in your stomach tightened.  With one more thrust of his hips you were sent toppling over the edge; your walls vibrating around his cock.  Your vision turned black, white stars appearing behind your closed eyes as you felt Ari collapse on top of you; his cock twitching inside as his hot seed spurted deep inside of you.  

The two of you lay there, panting in silence as you came down from your highs.  All too soon, Ari pulled out from you and you felt hallow. He lay down next to you in bed, still breathing heavily as you felt his gaze on you.  

Turning your head, you saw him staring at you.  His soft eyes narrowed as a smile played at his lips.  Rolling onto his side, he draped his arm over your torso, planting a kiss to your temple.  Your own smile appeared on your lips as you hummed in appreciation, placing your hand over his bicep.  

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[modestlyabsurd]

Down to Earth (Loki x Reader)

"Let's go somewhere."

You pause from folding laundry on the bed, still warmed from the dryer. Without those gentle sounds of clothes and fingers brushing paper pages, the bedroom became silent.

The dim, cozy room brightens at the sound of Loki's voice. The curtains sway, the candle flames flicker. The trees' limbs seem to dance a bit more in the moonlight outside the window. Which brings your attention to the snowstorm beginning to fall; flecks of white follow the wind as it decides which direction to go. The grassy, rocky landscape outside is becoming blanketed in thin snow.

"Right now?" you ask.

"Why not?"

"Well, I mean," you glance at the snowy window beside you, then to the pair of green eyes looking at you excitedly from the wingback chair next to the door. An open book in his lap. "It's kinda late, don't you think? Not really ideal weather conditions either."

"You're always gushing about how much you want to see things. And the snow's only just begun. It would be the perfect time to go sight seeing," he closes his book and stands, sauntering over to you. A persuasive glint about him.

He snakes his arms around you from the side. Gravity pulls your back against his chest as his arms cross over your belly, and yours lock over them. The sleeves of his burnt orange sweater are rolled up to the elbows, revealing a snowy canvas of skin. The few little line scars that adorn his forearms beg to be traced.

You drag your fingertips over them while relishing in the embrace. Despite the cold outside, with Loki holding you, your heart is a fireplace. Crackling, warming you both. A few teeth begin to chew your lower lip, pondering his suggestion as your hands absentmindedly send Loki into oblivion with your touches. So much that he has the sudden need to kiss you somewhere.

Cool, wet lips sneak their way up your neck and your mind goes blank. Your eyes sink, struggling to look at the piling of snowfall outside, drunken from his kisses.

In your ear, he whispers, "You know you want to."

It's when he speaks that you sense the limpness; he's swaying you.

Your eyebrows crinkle while considering his persuasion. "But it's cold," you whisper to his chest.

"You love the cold."

"Yeah, but it's dark, too."

"I will protect you from the dark," a kiss to your jaw.

Pleasantly frazzled by this affection, you search for another excuse. "What about the laundry?"

"It can wait." Another kiss, and another.

An irresistible smile tugs at you.

"Where would we go?" you ask, eyelashes fluttering.

"I was thinking of that little bakery you pointed out on our trip to the market last week," his voice so low, so deep in your ear sends goosebumps down your scalp, arms, and back. "Or perhaps the winery on that street corner, did you notice it?"

"I did. But you know my tolerance doesn't even compare to yours," you say softly, looking up to his face. Pink lips parted in a tiny mischievous grin. Lidded, loving gaze. Square chin, sharp jaw, but not a bit of stiffness; he's so soft. It's been too long since this relaxed peace has lifted his spirits so high.

"In that case," he kisses your temple, "we could stop by that artisan candle shop you saw. Next to the Internet cafe."

"Mmm, that place smelled so nice from the sidewalk."

The pitch in your voices is nearly absent, as if you're speaking amongst a crowd of nosy people. These rare moments of sweetness, closeness, they're too precious for either of you to let slip away by loud distraction.

"Does this mean it's a date?"

"Sure, if saying that helps you sleep at night."

"Oh, it certainly does," Loki slides his arms from your belly to over your shoulders, down to your biceps, giving them a pinch light enough to make you giggle and squirm.

After a few moments of prying his face from the crook of your neck, you're completely flushed, high on happiness. A sigh falls from your mouth. "This means I have to find something warm to wear."

"I can help with that."

"How are you gonna -- oh," icy fingers graze your belly beneath your sweatshirt. They roll it up from the edges, slowly, lifting it off your body; you feel every soft stitch brushing you. The shirt pops over your head leaving a tousled web of hair behind.

Blushing is a massive understatement.

The chilled air creeps up onto your exposed skin. Ugly goosebumps have replaced the tingly ones from earlier. Your arms wrap around each other, your chin tucked to your chest as you shift your weight. Loki rummages through the half-folded laundry on the bed behind you, but you can't bring yourself to turn around. It's not like he hasn't seen this part of you before, but rather it's never been at this level of gentleness and intimacy.

It feels kinda like the flu. One second you're cold from the loss of clothes, then next you're clammy and embarrassed. There's also a bit of queasiness -- probably from all those butterflies scattering about in your stomach.

Next thing you know a soft cotton longsleeve shirt begins sliding over your head.

"Arms up," says Loki. Once it's on, he sweeps your hair aside, releasing it from the neckline. Shivers course through your blood. "Could you possibly turn around for me?"

"No, you got me all -- flustered," you cover your face with your hands. A melted mess of a puddle in the floor is more like it.

Loki gives a low, breathy chuckle; you feel it on your neck. "I'm terribly sorry, darling."

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not."

"You're the worst," you say, teeth shining in a huge grin as you turn to face him.

"So I've been told," he purrs. He holds your warm cheeks in his cold hands, amplifying the contrasting temperatures for both of you. 

Loki's eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your lips, asking.

Your eyes fall shut, his nose brushes yours. He kisses you, letting himself be vulnerable. Letting you feel exactly what he feels for you. Slowly, thoroughly; taking his time. A weak hum gets hooked in your throat.

You love when he does this. When he kisses you good.

All you feel, all you smell, all you taste is him -- even after he pulls away. Beneath your palms, the rough fabric covering his chest contrasts the soft skin of his neck. Faded scents of soap and icy snow envelope you, and you recognize the faint taste of chocolate. He'd chosen hot cocoa instead of tea this evening.

He rests your foreheads together. You pull your lips between your teeth, running your tongue over them before releasing. A stupid grin creeps up on you.

"I was not ready for that to be over," you mumble.

"Well ... places to go, things to see." After a moment Loki turns and in one hand picks out your red sweater, the thin one with slightly too long sleeves that looks utterly regal on your figure, so he says. In the other hand, he holds one of your favorites; a hand-me-down black sweater with knitted braids in the design, tattered at the edges from years of use.

Without hesitation you point to the black one. He rolls his eyes.

Loki slowly puts the sweater over your goosebump-covered body, peaking at you with lowered eyes. An enticing grin spreads across his lips, a cold finger strokes your cheek. Oh my goodness, you think, toes curling in their fuzzy socks.

Thickness has coated your throat. Likely from forgetting how to breathe or swallow temporarily. You clear it, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"Would you rather wear a button up?"

Dammit, you half-witted mess.

Mr. Sees-Through-Everything laughs. "What? You dislike what I'm wearing now?"

"No no no, I - I love it, I was just wondering. Y-you look really nice, actually. But you're gonna need something on top of that."

As he folds the discarded red sweater with the finesse of a true Prince, you savagely dig in the clothes to find him a coat. A specific coat. The brown one with fleece lining like a trench coat that's long and wide enough that he can wrap you in it with him and somehow retains its smell of him no matter how much you wash it -- there it is!

For good measure you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply.

Loki stares at you a bit puzzled, before dismissing it as one of your adorable quirks. He motions to take the jacket, but the opportunity arises for you to mimic earlier.  You walk around behind him and he realizes, a blush of his own dusting his cheeks. "Hold your sleeves," you say.

The room is getting warmer. As if a fire is lit between you. It could be the thick sweater, or the fuzzy socks. But when you step in front of Loki looking up at his tall frame, straightening the jacket and zipping it all the way up to his neck how he likes it, you realize it's not that kind of warmth or fire. It's physical, but not just on the surface.

It reminds you of the times you've undressed him.

When you let go of the zipper and smooth out the jacket on his chest, you feel his eyes on you. You can't manage more than a glance; he has a funny way of gazing through your soul that lets you know exactly what he's thinking about.

Anything else is easier to look at. The full-capacity cherrywood bookshelf, the black and white artwork against woodgrain walls, and even the gray scarf looped around the bedpost behind him.

In fact, you grab that scarf. It's Loki's, and judging by the view of steady white flakes covering the night, he'll probably want to bring it.

You hold it out for him to take. Loki takes in the shy smile on your face, something that enraptured him from the beginning. The toothy, mid-laugh smiles could bring him to his knees -- reduce him to a lovestruck adolescent -- but the tiny ones. Innocent, pure. He doesn't even know why, but something absolutely primal comes out in him when he sees those.

Instead of taking it, he exerts his amazing quickness used in combat to disarm you of the scarf and a force tugs your neck forward, nose to nose with him before you even know what happened.

Breath fanning your face, he says in nothing more than a sultry whisper, "You still become embarrassed and shy when I touch you?"

It's only when he releases it that you realize it was the scarf being used to hold you in place.

"I hope that never fades away," he trails off.

Me too, you think, a breath flowing out of your chest.

He kisses you again with as much tenderness as the very first time. He then carefully wraps his scarf around you in an elegant tie, but you can't appreciate that fully because your head's stuck in the clouds of that kiss.

"Hey," you manage to say when it finally clicks that you have his scarf on. "Won't you be cold?"

"With you around," he winks, "I'm never cold. But, I ... also happen to be a frost giant."

"Well duh, I kinda figured that out already," the day you discovered it crosses your mind. "I just wanted to make sure."

The two of you lace up your snow boots and stretch gloves over your fingers. A small debacle comes about through Loki's caring insistence that you wear a hat, even though you're sweating inside all your layers. Ultimately, he pockets a slouchy red hat, "just in case". Y'know, fragile human and all.

"Oh!" As you grab the cold doorknob on the way out, something critically important hits you. "Remember?"

He scans his mind, eyes wandering the room blankly. Then off goes a lightbulb. "Ah, yes. Alright then, who shall I be today?"

There's something that's often forgotten in the peaceful bliss you and Loki have retreated to.

You're hiding from something. ... Hiding from everything, really.

This beautiful place you've found yourselves is an undisclosed country in Europe -- aka Poland -- was a compromise; Loki wanted to flee to Vanaheim, while you wished to stay somewhere closer to home. The fall of Asgard would soon bring about chaos for all nine realms, and currently, ignorantly, the Avengers blame Loki for this ever approaching doom. One reason to hide.

He lets you believe that it is not his fault, that his actions were not the root of the circumstances. But he knows. He knows the intimate details; that the mad titan planned his genocide of the universe for quite some time before Loki was ever an ant beneath his boot.

He also feels responsible for what is to come. Night after night he reflects on what he's done, what he's caused. Although Thanos could've and would've likely went through with his plans anyway, Loki can't help but think. If only he hadn't shown them a gateway into Midgard. If only he hadn't put targets on the only ones who had a chance at stopping the madness.

If only he'd been stronger enough to see through the glorious smoke and mirrors.

Then perhaps it wouldn't be necessary to hide you and himself from the universe. To live in disguise, to live in fear. That's the other reason why, and he kicks himself for it.

Yet somehow, your presence and support and affection and encouragement and unconditional care -- what's the word? Love? Is this love? he's asked himself so many times, because even though you make sure to say it to him every night, he still can't believe it. Whatever it is -- maybe just you in general -- it keeps him alive.

Especially in moments like these. Where you don't seem to resent what's happened.

You've always been fascinated with his magic. How he can morph and change and move anything, using only his mind. Such as now; as a glimmering green smoke twists around him, and how it casts shadows on the candlelit wooden walls. How can any smoke cast shadows? It produces its own light, he'd said.

Your awe doesn't distract you from the purpose of the magic, however. When the smoke dissipates, your rustic, royal, long black haired green eyed Loki is replaced with someone else.

He has the same clothes, same stature, and same features and bone structure. Nothing is out of place. Only, to you, everything is out of place.

Gone is the milky body you've made love to so many times; it now has a ruddy, healthy looking human skin tone. His hair is no longer jet black and vainly long, but rather it's gelled in short strawberry blond waves, exposing his neck and ears in a way you're not used to. His face is the same -- same lips, nose, cheeks, chin, jaw -- and same eyes as well, only how can they really be the same when they're blue instead of green?

"Hmph." You pout.

"You don't prefer this?"

"I mean, it's not bad. Not bad at all, it's just ... it's just not you."

When a dark glare flashes over him, you think you've offended him. Your words never come out right. Of course it's not him; that's the point. But not a second later, Loki's eyes sadden as internalizes in your comment.

"It is still me, darling," he argues.

"It is, but ... " you look away, swallowing down whatever gibberish might come out. "I don't know how I feel."

Human-Loki steps forward, leaning down and filling your view. "Would it be better if I tried another?"

"Well, no," you peak up through your gloomy eyelashes, "I actually like this one. It's nice, it's handsome. I mean, I'd definitely still do you."

His laugh didn't change. What a thing of beauty.

"There's nothing wrong with the look, believe me. You wear it nicely. The red hair, the baby blues. I like it. It just feels kinda weird going out with someone who isn't you, if that makes sense?"

He ponders this. Unlike you often think, it makes great sense. "But you see, I am still myself. I'm merely experimenting with my appearance," he lovingly palms your shoulder.

"And your name."

Oh, yes. That's another aspect.

Both of you unanimously decided that his name is too highly recognizable. Even in a place like Poland, neither of you wanted to risk it. So you call him by an alias, sometimes different ones.

Truly you didn't mean to come across so upset and disgruntled. It just ... hadn't fully sunk in yet.

It's so easy to be distracted by the wrong things. In your heart of hearts, you were filled with appreciation, gratefullness, and feeling unworthy for getting to be with Loki. Just you and him. Travelling. Learning something new about each other every day. Growing from your mistakes. Trying your best. Understanding what love is all about.

"The name is always the hardest part," he grins.

"I've been liking Leo."

"Have you?"

"Yes. I think that one compliments this look."

"I like the sound of Alexander, myself."

"Alexander? But that's so long..." you say, much appreciating the change of topic. "I think William's nice too. Or Liam, better yet."

"Why not just Lazarus, like I suggested before?" he stifles his smile to appear serious.

"You keep pushing your luck, you'll end up being Larry."

Loki chokes back a belly laugh. As a diversion he offers his arm to link with yours, one of the sexiest, manliest things he does. It turns you into jelly every time.

"Liam it is, then."

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @drakesfiance

[butterflies-dragons]

Sansa’s Armor

Sansa finally found her words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace," she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her.

"Well spoken, child," said the old man in white. "As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard." He bowed.

Sansa knew the name, and now the courtesies that Septa Mordane had taught her over the years came back to her. "The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," she said, "and councillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him. The honor is mine, good knight. Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold."

The green knight laughed again. "Barristan the Old, you mean. Don't flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already." He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter."

Joffrey stiffened beside her. "Have a care how you address my betrothed."

"I can answer," Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince's anger. She smiled at the green knight. "Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and councillor to the king, and so I name you."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

And Joffrey was the soul of courtesy. He talked to Sansa all night, showering her with compliments, making her laugh, sharing little bits of court gossip, explaining Moon Boy's japes. Sansa was so captivated that she quite forgot all her courtesies and ignored Septa Mordane, seated to her left.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

Suddenly terrified, Sansa pushed at Septa Mordane's shoulder, hoping to wake her, but she only snored the louder. King Robert had stumbled off and half the benches were suddenly empty. The feast was over, and the beautiful dream had ended with it.

The Hound snatched up a torch to light their way. Sansa followed close beside him. The ground was rocky and uneven; the flickering light made it seem to shift and move beneath her. She kept her eyes lowered, watching where she placed her feet. They walked among the pavilions, each with its banner and its armor hung outside, the silence weighing heavier with every step. Sansa could not bear the sight of him, he frightened her so, yet she had been raised in all the ways of courtesy. A true lady would not notice his face, she told herself. "You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor," she made herself say.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

The next morning, the morning of the third day, Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard came to escort her to the queen.

Ser Boros was an ugly man with a broad chest and short, bandy legs. His nose was flat, his cheeks baggy with jowls, his hair grey and brittle. Today he wore white velvet, and his snowy cloak was fastened with a lion brooch. The beast had the soft sheen of gold, and his eyes were tiny rubies. "You look very handsome and splendid this morning, Ser Boros," Sansa told him. A lady remembered her courtesies, and she was resolved to be a lady no matter what. "And you, my lady," Ser Boros said in a flat voice. "Her Grace awaits. Come with me."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Sandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she struggled feebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she had only a thin bedgown to cover her nakedness. "Do as you're bid, child," Clegane said. "Dress." He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.

Sansa backed away from them. "I did as the queen asked, I wrote the letters, I wrote what she told me. You promised you'd be merciful. Please, let me go home. I won't do any treason, I'll be good, I swear it, I don't have traitor's blood, I don't. I only want to go home." Remembering her courtesies, she lowered her head. "As it please you," she finished weakly.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The outer parapet came up to her chin, but along the inner edge of the walk was nothing, nothing but a long plunge to the bailey seventy or eighty feet below. All it would take was a shove, she told herself. He was standing right there, right there, smirking at her with those fat wormlips. You could do it, she told herself. You could. Do it right now. It wouldn't even matter if she went over with him. It wouldn't matter at all.

"Here, girl." Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.

The moment was gone. Sansa lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she said when he was done. She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

"I'm glad you're not dead," said Princess Myrcella.

"We share that view, sweet child." Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn't the gods who'd been cruel, it was Joffrey.

"I am sorry for your loss as well, Joffrey," the dwarf said.

"What loss?"

"Your royal father? A large fierce man with a black beard; you'll recall him if you try. He was king before you."

"Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad, a boar killed him."

"Is that what 'they' say, Your Grace?"

Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

She made herself look at that face now, really look. It was only courteous, and a lady must never forget her courtesies. The scars are not the worst part, nor even the way his mouth twitches. It's his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger. "I . . . I should have come to you after," she said haltingly. "To thank you, for . . . for saving me . . . you were so brave."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

Sansa felt dizzy; one instant her head was full of dreams of Loras, and the next they had all been snatched away. Willas? Willas? "I," she said stupidly. Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. "I do not know Ser Willas. I have never had the pleasure, my lady. Is he . . . is he as great a knight as his brothers?"

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Gods have mercy." The dwarf took another swallow of wine. "Well, talk won't make you older. Shall we get on with this, my lady? If it please you?" "It will please me to please my lord husband." That seemed to anger him. "You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall." "Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that. "I am your husband. You can take off your armor now." "And my clothing?" "That too." He waved his wine cup at her. "My lord father has commanded me to consummate this marriage."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy. Was that what made him speak? Or just the need to distract himself from the fullness in his bladder?

"I had been thinking that when the roads are safe again, we might journey to Casterly Rock." Far from Joffrey and my sister. The more he thought about what Joff had done to Lives of Four Kings, the more it troubled him. There was a message there, oh yes. "It would please me to show you the Golden Gallery and the Lion's Mouth, and the Hall of Heroes where Jaime and I played as boys. You can hear thunder from below where the sea comes in . . ."

She raised her head slowly. He knew what she was seeing; the swollen brutish brow, the raw stump of his nose, his crooked pink scar and mismatched eyes. Her own eyes were big and blue and empty. "I shall go wherever my lord husband wishes."

"I had hoped it might please you, my lady."

"It will please me to please my lord."

His mouth tightened. What a pathetic little man you are. Did you think babbling about the Lion's Mouth would make her smile? When have you ever made a woman smile but with gold? "No, it was a foolish notion. Only a Lannister can love the Rock."

"Yes, my lord. As you wish."

Tyrion could hear the commons shouting out King Joffrey's name. In three years that cruel boy will be a man, ruling in his own right . . . and every dwarf with half his wits will be a long way from King's Landing. Oldtown, perhaps. Or even the Free Cities. He had always had a yen to see the Titan of Braavos. Perhaps that would please Sansa. Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. It made him weary. Then and now.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. "Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger's bastard?"

All three Waynwoods looked at him askance. "You are a guest here, Harry," Lady Anya reminded him, in a frosty voice. "See that you remember that."

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

[jovialyouthmusic]

Two’s Company - Changes

A Royal Romance Polyamorous AU fanfic

Brad struggles to remember. Drake takes care of him and has to question the relationship between himself and the King.

Word Count 3009

A/N Mature content, not suitable for under 18s. Polyamory and M/M action

‘Here we are’ said Drake as they drew up at the Palace gates. ‘Home sweet home.’ Brad’s face lit up

‘It’s good to be back’ he said ‘From what you said, there’s a few gaps in my memory, so maybe being home will help bring some things back.’ Drake had to be selective about what he told Brad, so as not to overwhelm him. He was distressed to find out his father was dead, and that he was King – he couldn’t add to that by telling him he had a wife he couldn’t remember. The doctor said he would probably get his memory back in dribs and drabs, and maybe not in a logical sequence.

The staff had been told not to mention Lucy for now, it was enough for him to come to terms with being King, and a press statement had been issued saying he was convalescing from his accident. Drake and Lucy kept in contact, planning to take on as much of Brad’s work load as they could, along with one or two trusted aides and members of the court.. For the time being she would stay with Savannah and Bertrand. Drake planned to have her come over in a few days in the hope that the sight of her would trigger Brad’s memory.

For now, Brad was glad to be home, and thankfully he remembered every member of staff, even the ones that had been hired since the beginning of the social season. He didn’t seem to remember anything before (and including) his bachelor party in New York.

‘I thought it was tradition for the monarch to have a Queen within a year of being crowned’ he frowned ‘Haven’t I got to go through the social season to pick someone?’

‘Brad, don’t worry about that’ said Drake ‘You’ve enough to get used to right now, and I’m sure you’ll remember some other things very soon. You’re not in a fit state to go picking a Queen anyway.’

‘Okay, thanks Drake’ Brad smiled. The rest of the day was uneventful, Brad settling back in and walking around to find out if it triggered any memories, but nothing cropped up. The evening wore on and he and Drake talked late into the night. Eventually Brad yawned and Drake felt tired too

‘Remember when we had sleepovers with Max and Bertrand?’ Brad asked ‘Why don’t we do that tonight? Stay in my room, the bed’s big enough for both of us’ Drake cleared his throat

‘I – I don’t know Brad, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that’ Brad’s face fell, and there was an awkward silence.

‘Drake, we’ve always been close – that hasn’t changed recently has it?’ the King asked ‘The truth is I’m kind of afraid to be alone – like if I lose sight of you I’ll forget you – does that make sense?’ Drake shrugged

‘Not really, but if it makes you happy…’ Brad smiled in relief and led him through to the bedroom. Drake swallowed, remembering that only a week ago all three of them had shared the bed. Brad stripped to his boxers, folding his clothes as he usually did while Drake just dropped them by the side of the bed. Brad got into the side he usually had and watched Drake get in. He lay down facing him, settling and making himself comfortable

‘That girl that was with you before – do I know her?’ he asked ‘She’s very pretty – is she your girlfriend? Am I keeping you from her?’

‘Kind of, but don’t worry about it, Brad. It’s complicated.’ Drake replied ruefully

‘Oh, I’m sorry’ Brad replied, and turned to lie on his back. Drake was just dropping off to sleep when he felt Brad shifting again.

‘This feels very familiar.’

‘Well yeah, it’s your bed.’

‘I mean lying next to you’ he said ‘I can remember something…’ Drake sucked his breath in. It broke his heart for Brad not to remember Lucy, and wondered when he could bring her back to the Palace. As he broke out of his reverie, he realised that Brad had moved closer, and he reached out to put his hand on Drake’s cheek, gazing into his eyes. He flinched, and Brad looked sad.

‘I remember this’ he said ‘Would you – can you hold me? Please?’ Reluctantly Drake nodded and Brad lay next to him, throwing his arm over his chest. He rested his head in the crook of Drake’s elbow as he snaked his arm around his shoulders. He breathed deeply to calm the hammering of his heart, gritting his teeth as he tried to stop the hardening of his cock. It was the association with Lucy, he told himself.

‘I – Brad, it’s been a while since I – since I was with my girl. Don’t think that…’

‘It’s okay Drake, it happens’ Brad said quietly ‘Thankyou for being here’ He was asleep within minutes as Drake lay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of Lucy sleeping alone with the seed of Brad’s child in her belly.

 Thankfully when they awoke Brad was sleeping with his back to him, curled up slightly. Drake got up carefully and went to shower. Brad was waking as he went back in, towel around his waist.

‘Hey Drake, where’s Lucy?’ he asked, and Drake’s heart leapt, but then Brad looked confused. ‘Why did I say that? Who’s Lucy?’ he said ‘It just – it just popped into my head. Is she your girl? The one you’ve got a ring on for?’ Drake cursed himself for not taking his ring off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He drew a deep breath.

‘Brad, it’s complicated. Really complicated. You’re still recovering from that bang on the head – and the operation. You have to take it slow.’ Brad nodded, looking downcast.

‘Bas tells me I drove when I was tired. Where was I going? Why was I in such a rush?’ I don’t remember a thing’ Drake shook his head again

‘The doc said you have to remember yourself, if I tell you too much it will be overwhelming.’

‘Dammit Drake, I’m not a child’ Brad said, scowling. ‘You’re my oldest friend, surely that counts for something. Give me something, please’

‘I found you wandering – close to the car. You were confused, said you couldn’t find your crown’

‘That kind of rings a bell. But I can’t work out where I was’

‘Brad, have a shower, let’s have breakfast and then we’ll go for a ride. Perhaps something will trigger your memory. Don’t force it’ Brad pressed his palm against his cheek, thumb on his jaw.

‘Okay, I’ll do it your way.’ He looked at Drake’s bare chest with an odd expression ‘It feels like I get to see you with your shirt off way more than I should’ he mused ‘Go get dressed, order breakfast in the study and I’ll join you shortly’

 Briefly Drake updated Lucy on what was going on before Brad reappeared. She was understandably upset, but conceded that Drake needed to be with the King. The two friends ate and went for a ride, and laughed and joked about the things he could remember. He could remember the de Montfort sisters and the things they had gotten up to before Drake went to college. He remembered the assassination attempt when Drake had returned, and that was hard for him. He knew Leo had abdicated and knew he had been crowned King, though he had no direct memory of the Coronation. He remembered fragments of the attack when Constantine pushed him aside from the falling ceiling, but apart from the brief flash in the morning, nothing of Lucy.

Bastien had prepared some paperwork for Brad and had screened it to make sure there was no mention of the Queen, and Brad sat and took care of it, Drake assisting.

‘I remember something’ he said ‘A mountain of paperwork – I went at it to clear it away so I could – so I could be with you’ He looked triumphant ‘That was it, I wanted to get to you, and I packed a bag and got into the SUV – but I have no idea where I was going’ he looked puzzled ‘you couldn’t have been at the Palace – was it your cabin?’ he pressed his fingers to his forehead and frowned, and Drake patted him on the shoulder.

‘That’s great Brad, things are starting to come back to you. Take it easy, it will get easier the more you remember. Let’s have dinner and then you can get some more sleep.’ Secretly he was dreading bedtime. He was going crazy thinking about Lucy on her own, and his libido was swinging wildly – his body telling him it was too long, his mind telling him he shouldn’t. With Lucy out of the picture, recently he’d been going to Brad so they could ‘help each other out’, but that wasn’t appropriate now in his confused state

Brad became tired not long after dinner, and was yawning furiously.

‘I’ll turn in now Drake – I’ll see if I can get to sleep on my own. You’ll be in the next room, right?’ Inwardly Drake sighed with relief.

‘Sure Brad – you go get some sleep, I’ve a call to make’

‘Your girl?’ Brad asked, and Drake just nodded, forcing a smile ‘I’m sorry to keep you from her. You should invite her over’

‘Maybe soon. See you in the morning Brad’

‘Yeah thanks Walker – for being here for me…’

 Drake called Lucy again then went to bed, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.  He sprang awake as he sensed someone entering the room.

‘Drake – Drake it’s me, don’t click into combat mode’ he heard Brad say ‘Remember that time I crept in and you got me in a stranglehold?’ Drake growled.

‘Yeah I do. Okay, it’s safe. What do you want?’

‘I – this feels right’ said Brad, coming in and sitting on the edge of the bed, and Drake snapped on the bedside lamp. ‘It feels like we spend some time together like this, am I right or am I going crazy?’

‘It’s complicated, but yes we do’

‘Drake – I can’t remember courting anyone, but I do remember you. Drake…’ he swallowed

‘What, Brad?’ Drake said gruffly ‘come on, say it - ask me’

‘Am I gay? Are we - together?’ Drake sucked in his breath

‘No Brad, no you’re not gay. But we – we have an understanding. We help each other out from time to time. In bed.’ Brad let his breath out

‘Well that explains it’ he said ‘I think. All I wanted to do was come in here and – well cuddle I suppose, but it’s kind of muddled up, it’s more than that’

‘Yeah. Complicated. Get in and we’ll see what comes up – dammit I didn't mean…’ Drake groaned  and Brad laughed out loud.

‘Come on Drake, that’s funny. Let’s not be too serious, this is creeping me out as it is.’ He got into bed next to Drake and they lay side by side for a while, staring at the ceiling. Drake’s whole body tingled, and again he thought of Lucy, alone and wondering what was going on in Brad’s head, aching to give him the news that he would be a father.

‘Do we usually touch?’ Brad asked ‘Because it kind of feels like we do’

‘Yeah, sometimes. But only if we’re both happy with it’

‘That goes as read.’ Brad was silent for a moment ‘would you mind?’

‘You can try, I’ll stop if we go too far’ Drake wondered inwardly if he could – he was wound up, trying to deny his need for intimacy. He was playing a dangerous game but Brad needed him. In what way he needed him remained to be seen.

Brad moved closer, lying on his side and looking over at Drake. Tentatively he put his arm out over his chest as he had the night before, and shifted closer still, head on Drake’s shoulder, chest pressed to his side – his belly… Drake sucked in his breath and his hand hovered over Brad, unsure of where to land.

‘Far enough, Brad, I don’t want to know what your little soldier is up to right now.’

‘I – someone said – not so little’ he screwed up his face, trying to remember ‘Was it you or…hell it’s so muddled. I hate this’ He curled into a ball, head still on Drake’s shoulder, knees drawn up against the other man’s hip. Drake felt him shudder and heard a sob escape his lips. His heart melted for his friend and he turned toward him, reaching out, embracing him as he sobbed with frustration.

‘Hey hey, it’s okay, I’m here’ He rubbed his back soothingly ‘Look at me Brad, we’ll get through this. Whatever it takes, I’ll help you’ He smoothed Brad’s hair off his forehead and brushed his wet cheeks with his thumb. ‘I’ve got your back, buddy’ Almost absentmindedly he kissed the tears as he would a child, but then something happened as Brad tilted his head up.

In an instant everything changed – he wasn’t sure who moved first, but their lips met, softly at first, and it was a shock, but he couldn’t stop himself. Brad tasted of coffee and brandy but sweet. His lips were soft while the slight stubble on his chin and upper lip scratched and caught at his. He was hungry for him and their mouths crashed together, hot and wet. Brad’s hand went to his shoulder, smoothed across his chest to his hip and stayed there, pulling him closer as he uncurled from the defensive ball he’d been in. Drake’s body rolled toward him like a jigsaw piece seeking its neighbour. His body was on fire, and Brad was blazing hot too, and he moaned softly into his mouth as their tongues danced.  Unlike Lucy’s soft curves he was all angles and hard surfaces, something tangible to hold on to.

Lucy – Lucy, he thought - lying in bed alone, missing both of them. Missing him and a man who couldn’t remember her, whose child was growing inside her. Reluctantly he drew away, and Brad moaned in frustration and puzzlement.

‘Drake, what is it? Did I do something wrong?’ Drake sat up, legs drawn up, elbows resting on his knees, face in his hands.

‘Brad, you’ve no idea – it’s complicated. There’s someone else.’

‘Your girl? But if we’ve done this before – does she know about us?’

‘I’m not sure what ‘us’ is, but she knows. It’s just not that simple’

‘Please Drake, don’t push me away. You’re all I have right now, I need you. Just – I won’t try again, we can just sleep in the same bed, is that too much to ask?’

‘Brad, I’m not all you have, but you don’t remember’ he sighed ‘It will come back to you, you’ll see. I’m not angry with you, I’m not pushing you away. We should just – you know, keep it simple for now. Hugging is fine, kissing – not so much…’ Drakes’ thoughts were running wild. For those few moments he’d wanted Brad – he’d not a thought of Lucy in his head like he usually had.  What was going on in Brad’s mind? Had he felt the same? Had he felt like that before the accident? He wasn’t even sure how he wanted Brad. He settled back into bed and Brad turned his back to him, breath unsteady. His heart broke that he was hurting, so he just lay behind him with his hand on his hip, and Brad sighed and his breath steadied.

Drake lay awake, wondering. He wanted to touch him, he wanted to explore his body, to make him feel good, he wanted to be touched, caressed…what did men do together? He’d watched porn - but like every other heterosexual man he’d watched women together, he’d never liked watching men together - it made him feel uneasy. He’d heard things but not paid much attention. When he and Brad had been together they’d jacked each other off and each had given the other a blowjob, but they’d been talking or thinking about Lucy at the time and had told her all about it as a kind of erotic bedtime story. He’d helped Lucy to use a strap on with Brad, and he’d had that done to him in another relationship. He had a feeling that was only the tip of the iceberg. Of course porn wasn’t representative – what was a loving relationship between two men like? What the hell was a loving relationship between two men and a woman like?

He couldn’t walk away from Brad, and he’d promised Lucy he’d look after her. He couldn’t deny his feelings – he’d have to at least be honest with himself. He’d just assumed Brad would remember Lucy and things would go back to normal – but normal had changed. He had feelings for Brad that he’d pushed down and denied, probably for years. They would have a family soon, and how would that work?

He couldn’t give in to his urges either – Brad wasn’t himself right now and it wasn’t fair to take advantage of him. He lay sleepless wondering what to do next. Perhaps if Brad saw more of Lucy he might begin to remember her – but it was so hard on her to go through that when she was wanting to tell him her news. He resolved to spend another whole day trying to prompt Brad, then he’d send for her.

 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart@goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @livingthroughchoices @mrs-nazario@mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989   @missevabean@mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @tabithacarlisle@furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234@wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater@noey718-blog @katedrakeohd @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography@kennaxval @sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @aworldoffandoms@iplaydrake @drakesensworld @drakewalkerisreal@samcpossum @melodyofgraves @khakie4 @museofbooks @be-still-my-aching-heart@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @hopefulmoonobject @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @cgd03 @simsvetements @mrsdrakewalkerblog @ladyangel70 @crookedslimecreatorpasta @cora-nova @akrenich

[fandomwritingsgalore]

The Christmas Con - FINAL Chapter 6 (Chris Evans x Reader)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Few curse words. Angst

Chapter: 6, Read More Here 

Summary: Chris Evans agrees to be your fake boyfriend when you head to your family’s annual Christmas holiday at a rented cabin in the mountains. You think you’re pulling off the con until you’re both faced with a few obstacles you weren’t expecting, namely meddling relatives. Your family love him and you’re starting to think you might, too. This holiday you’ll learn there’s more to the season of giving, and Chris, than you thought.

Author’s Note: This is it guys! The final chapter! A chapter a day was my Christmas gift to you all and I hope you enjoyed this Hallmark movie fic as much as I loved writing it. If you’ve gotten to this point, thank you for reading and supporting me. 

And now, get ready for one of my favorite chapters of The Christmas Con, even if it is the last one. I’m not going to give much away this time as I want you all to go into this with little foreknowledge so it’ll be even more special. I suggest fixing a nice cup of cocoa and putting on your favorite Christmas tunes to finish this series the way I did. If you’re interested, these were my top songs to listen to for inspiration while writing the final chapter:

White Christmas by Michael Buble

Merry Christmas Baby by Otis Redding

All I Want for Christmas Is You by Michael Buble

The Christmas Song by Jordan Fisher

Please Come Home for Christmas by Aaron Neville

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Judy Garland this is the version referenced (also rotated Jensen Ackles cover, too)

Y/N = Your Name, Y/F/N = Your (female) friend’s name

Word Count: 3.7k

“There. All done,” Chris said proudly, placing a final stone on his completed snowman’s smile.

You stuck a carrot into your own snowman before inspecting his handiwork. “Not bad. Although his coal button eyes are a little off center and his nose is crooked.”

You reached up to straighten them, but he slapped your hands away and spread his arms and legs to block his snowman from you. “Don’t touch my frosty. He is perfect just the way he is and I love him. Soulless uncentered black eyes and all.” He gave his snowman a big hug making you and the kids laugh.

“Listen, Elsa, if I have to freeze my tail off out here, then you could at least do me the courtesy of making his nose straight,” you giggled, reaching under his arms to fix it. He grabbed you around the waist and spun you away, holding your arms down as you struggled in his strong grip.

“No touchy, babe, or there will be consequences,” he warned in a teasing voice as the kids started gathering around, abandoning their own snowmen.

“Oh, yeah? Well you know what this means, don’t you?” You said, relaxing your stance so he unsuspectingly started to loosen his embrace. You winked at the kids who started running in opposite directions, knowing exactly what was about to go down. Breaking his hold and taking off after one group, you scooped up a snowball and nailed him in the chest as he stood in surprise. “Snowball war!” you yelled.

“It’s on!” He shouted back, quickly running behind a tree with a few of the other kids.

You hurried to help your niece prepare a few snowballs as the first line of fire came in from the trees.

“Come out and face us like girls, you jellyfish scaredy cats!” She shrieked, catching you off guard by her fierceness as she stood up and charged the tree line with a warrior cry worthy of Wonder Woman, flinging snowballs as far as her little strength would allow.

“You heard our commander,” you declared, raising a fist full of snow to the rest of your group who were bouncing in anticipation. “Attack!”

Your merry band of children took off with yells and cheers as Chris’ army ran out of the trees whooping and hollering with your best friend in the lead. He shot you in the butt as you bent to collect more ammo and laughed, running away as you chased after him.

“Get back here, Christopher!” You bellowed after him. The snow was to slippy for you to properly run but he wasn’t being as cautious.

“You’ll have to catch me first, babe!” He shouted over his shoulder with a beaming smile. He watched you high step through the snow, throwing snowballs at his retreating figure. Suddenly, his legs flew out from under him with a yelp and he seemed to hang in the air for a few moments, arms flailing, before he thumped on the ground with a loud oof.

“Chris!” You shouted, worried he injured himself. Dropping your remaining snowballs you hurried to where he was lying in the snow. When you reached him, you saw he was holding his chest and groaning. You kneeled down and gingerly touched his arms and legs.  “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Just my pride,” he chuckled. You helped him sit up and he dusted snow off his coat. “I think I won the battle.”

“Possibly,” you mused. You smirked and sneakily grabbed a handful of snow. “But, I’ll win the war.” He gasped, stunned as you smashed the snow onto his chest pushing him back on the ground.

You were laughing at your victory when he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you down on top of him with a surprised squeal.

“You think you’re so cute, huh?” He growled. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins as his arms held you tight to him, allowing every inch of him to be pressed against you. You gulped in excited anticipation, as he gazed up with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Seeing as you like to play dirty, angel, let’s see if you like this,” he muttered huskily, the deep timber of his voice distracting you.

You felt one arm tighten around your waist as his other hand moved up your body. Your breathing was getting ragged and your eyes fluttered closed.

Something freezing slid down the neck of your shirt making your eyes fly back open. He barked a laugh and flipped you over so he was lying on top of you, pressing the now melting ice even more into your skin making you shriek from the bone chilling feeling.

“Chris! GAH! Get off, it’s so cold!” You pushed against his hard chest but he just wrapped around you tighter.

He laughed as you squirmed beneath him. “Admit defeat!”

“No!” Your pride overrode your logical need for a cup of hot chocolate and a roaring fire. His body was shaking in laughter as you wiggled and struggled under his weight. The snow had slightly melted into freezing water and was now soaking through your coat making the snow underneath add to the icy hot feeling in your body. “Ok! Ok, ok, ok I give. You win!”

He raised his head to look at you with a wicked grin, pinning you down with his hips. “What was that?”

“You heard me, you little shit,” you said, laughing at his smug smile. “You win. Now get off me so I can go defrost in front of the fire!”

“No need to get testy, angel” he teased, satisfied with your surrender. He leaned back and pulled you up to stand alongside him.

“You don’t play fair,” you muttered petulantly. He dusted snow off the two of you, as you shivered. You looked around and saw the last of the kids running towards to the backyard still pelting snowballs at each other.

“You’re the one who came for me with the sneak attack,” he chuckled. He noticed you shiver from the cold clothes you had on. “Here, take my scarf,” he said with a guilt ridden expression. Removing the maroon wool scarf and winding it around your neck, he tucked it into your coat. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you said gratefully. Your senses were immediately enveloped by Chris’s familiar cologne. Your mouth watered at the tantalizing scent. You pursed your lips in contemplation as he slung an arm around your waist to help you walk up to the house. “And I guess I'll take some of the blame. It’s the least I can do, seeing as how you hilariously flew through the air like a frisbee. I’ll never forget the little high pitched pterodactyl screech you made.”

“We make quiet a pair.” He gave a booming laugh. You just shook your head with a snicker.

“Everyone’s out back- what happened to you two?” Your aunt asked as you stomped up the stairs to get the snow off your shoes. She sat down in one of the rocking chairs and took a sip from her glass of eggnog.

“Snowball fight,” Chris explained smugly. “I won.”

“Did she try to sneak attack you?” She asked, looking at you with judging eyes.

“Yeah, she did actually.”

“When she was little she used to rally the other kids to scare the adults whenever any of us would come outside. They spent one Christmas confined to their rooms for an entire day.”

You beamed, “And it was completely worth it to see Uncle James hit himself in the face with that Santa spatula.”

“It wasn’t funny,” but she bit her cheek to hold back a laugh. “Although, we didn’t have to see that damn thing for another year so it wasn’t all bad.” She looked up sharply, “but don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

“Well, I had a few moves of my own she wasn’t ready for,” he cockily boasted, making your aunt cackle and almost spill her drink on the porch. You lightly punched his arm in annoyance.

“You better watch yourself, Chris. If she’s anything like the rest of the family, you’ve got a wild one on your hands in all the ways it counts.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, completely mortified. Chris chuckled at your aunt’s teasing. You pulled open the door and spoke over your shoulder, “I am going inside where it’s warm and the conversation isn’t so humiliating.”

“With a body like his you shouldn’t need a fire to stay warm, Y/N,” she mused appreciatively, giving Chris a lingering once over. He grabbed his chest and howled in laughter.

You gasped at her forwardness. Pointing, you grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him towards the door. “Jesus Christ. Just- just get inside, Romeo. I can’t even- honestly, you’re all worse than teenagers.”

He was still laughing after you’d pulled off your coat and scarf and moved to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace. He leaned back on his elbows as he watched you rubbing your hands together for warmth with a frown on your face. He nudged you with his knee and you raised an eyebrow questioningly at his relaxed form.

“You know they’re all just teasing us because we’re supposed to be in our honeymoon phase,” he reasoned.

“I know, but I always thought the incessant questioning about my love life was bad enough when I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t expect it to take this sort of turn when I had a fake one, especially with someone I care about.” You let out a tired sigh. “It’s just exhausting having to pretend all the time.”

“All the time?” He scrunched up his nose in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You froze. When you said pretending you’d not only meant in front of your family, but also with Chris and your very real feelings for him. “Just, you know, always having to be on with my job and stuff,” you lied.

Your shirt was now mostly dried and you were confident you wouldn’t lose any fingers or toes at this point so you grabbed two pillows off the sofa and handed one to Chris who laid down beside you. This wasn’t quite the fireplace fantasy he’d talked about, but it was still nice to just be here with him. The heat from the fire felt amazing on your tired feet and you took a deep soothing breath of the cinnamon wafting in the open grate. Your grandmother had a tradition of burning cinnamon sticks throughout the house on Christmas Day. She said Christmas wasn’t Christmas without its signature scent. It was a smell that always made you feel instantly relaxed and reminded you of home.

“This morning, when I was kidding around with the song, you said-,” he tapped his fingers on his chest nervously. “Well, I thought you said you’d never want to get rid of me. But, you said it like you meant something else. Did you?”

You chewed your lower lip, thinking over what you should say. “The truth is, I don’t want to lose your friendship. It means a lot to me.”

He got quiet again and you wondered if your short response was enough to satiate his curiosity.

“Do you ever wonder why we never dated?” Chris asked softly, abruptly interrupting your relaxed mood.

“Sometimes,” you honestly replied with a sigh. “You?” Your heartbeat quickened and you kept your eyes closed until you couldn’t take the waiting anymore and looked over to Chris. He was staring intently at a spot on the ceiling giving no clue as to what was going through his mind.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot more, recently. I keep puzzling over why I never asked you out and all my reasons seem more like excuses upon reflection.”

With him lost in thought, you observed the sharpness of his jaw and how from this angle his eyelashes really looked to beautiful to be real as they cast long shadows on his cheeks. You knew the moment you were living right now was about to change your life forever but you weren’t sure if it would be for the better or not. But, it didn’t scare you anymore. Hiding how you felt was exhausting and it wasn’t fair to yourself to pretend like they didn’t matter.

“There were a few times it seemed like we toed the line between being friends and becoming more, but I think, the truth is, I didn’t want to see how happy I knew you could make me because I was scared of losing my best friend if we didn’t work out,” you finally admitted with a rushed air. His gaze finally moved back to you. You got lost in his to blue eyes that were seeing every vulnerable piece of you as you continued, “You mean too much to me to risk losing you in my life just because…because…” The words were stuck in your throat as your eyes prickled with tears.

“Because you’d fallen in love with your best friend?” He breathed with a tender smile. “Funny thing now is, I fell a long time ago, angel. It just took coming to the mountains, as your pretend boyfriend, to make me realize the real Christmas Con was the one we’d been pulling on each other all along.”

You let out a choked laugh. Leave it to this amazing man to make you laugh at a moment like this. Once you started you couldn’t stop, and neither could he. You were both so blind for so long not willing to see what was right in front of you because you both didn’t want to hurt the other person. You loved him and now he knew. And the greatest thing was that Chris loved you, too.

“Come on,” he chuckled, standing and holding out a hand to you. You took it without question and he pulled you up next to him. He watched you hungrily as you both stood in the others space, waiting to see who would make the first move. You leaned forward, never wanting something more in your life than to kiss him right now. But, he pressed a finger to your lips.

“Not yet,” he whispered huskily, pulling away and longingly running his hands down your cheek and neck until he was holding your hands and keeping you a foot away. “Not yet, angel. There’s something I want to do first, if you’ll indulge me.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes affectionately, “I guess if I’ve waited this long to kiss you, what’s a few more minutes.”

He smirked and took you by the hand, leading you over to a secluded corner inset of the large living area that you and your family rarely visited. You noticed the sun was starting to go down through the arching windows and knew your family would be preparing for dinner right about now. Where did the day go? Another Christmas was almost gone, and it seemed like all to soon you would leave this magical place to head back home. You gazed down at your fingers intertwined with Chris’, and knew that this year you would be leaving with the best Christmas gift of all. Leaving didn’t seem so bad, when you were returning to something even better.

The sleek grand piano sat within the alcove with its own floor to ceiling window that looked out onto the snow covered lawn. It had always been here in the cabin over the years, but you couldn’t recall a time when you ever heard it played.

Chris sat down on the bench and patted the spot next to him. You slid in and watched him raise the fallboard, running his fingers reverently across the keys. You knew he could play, and you’d spent many long hours on his off weekends in his house, lounging on the floor doing work or on his sofa reading, while he would put on a private concert and play for you. Those quiet nights in, just the two of you, were always both of your favorite ways to destress after a long week.

“When we were wrapping presents last night I saw this in the corner,” he played a few notes and the sound reverberated in the room. “I’ve thought of about a dozen different ways to tell you how I feel, but none of them seemed good enough. How could words show you how much you meant to me? The way you inspire me everyday, and how you stand up for your beliefs. The way you laugh at my jokes no matter how corny they are and how happy I get seeing your name pop up on my phone and so many other little things that make you the most incredible person I’ve ever met.

“I’ve played a lot of love songs for you back home, but they held no meaning at the time.” He cupped your cheek and smiled warmly, “I want this song to always remind you of this moment… and how much I love you.”

“I love you, too, Chris,” you whispered with a soft laugh. “I think I always have.”

“I know, angel, and I’m sorry it took me so long to do this.” 
 His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as your heart started racing until your lips were centimeters apart. You felt the barest touch of his lips as he hovered above you as though wanting to etch every shortness of breath and touch into his memory forever.

When he closed the distance and pressed his lips to yours, you had thought you would feel fireworks or have your stomach flipping in your body like you always heard it was supposed to feel like when you kissed the person you loved.

As the kiss deepened, what you felt, however, was a serene calm spreading from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Making every inch of you feel weightless. Your eyes fluttered closed and you could’ve cried at just how right it felt to kiss him. Like, Chris was the person you were always meant to share your life with because kissing him made all the fear and stress fall away with the touch of his lips. He was that something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing, and now that he was here with you it all became clear. 

Chris was home. He was shared beds and candlelit dinners, museum dates and spontaneous adventures. He was Christmas magic that made you have hope for a future filled with family and laughter and love.

When he pulled away, you followed his lips and tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him back to you, not ready to let go. Now that you’d gotten a taste, you’d always want more. More of his kisses and touches and stupid jokes. More of him, and you knew you’d never get enough of any of it, but you’d spend the rest of your life trying.

He chuckled and rested his forehead against your own. “There’s no need to rush, angel. We have plenty of time, and I still have a song to play.”

You released him with a light chuckle and he placed his fingers on the keys, taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands. You were pleased to see you weren’t the only one affected by that kiss.

His fingers moved gracefully across the black and white instrument, and the opening notes to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas began. His deep voice rang out smoothly as he sang the lyrics to the Christmas classic.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,


Let your heart be light


From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.”

You closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder as he played, soaking in the way the shining black piano enhanced the nostalgic feeling of the song and how Chris’s singing reverberated in your chest after each note was struck.

“Through the years we all will be together


If the fates allow


So hang a shining star upon the highest bough


And have yourself a merry little Christmas now”

As the final notes echoed out, he kissed the top of your head. Applause sounded from somewhere behind you, making you both turn to see your entire family standing in the living area. They must have come in while he was playing.

“That was beautiful, Chris,” your mom said, wiping away a tear. “You have a wonderful voice.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever heard that piano played,” your dad said thickly, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes. He put a loving arm around your mom and pulled her into his side. He took a shuddering breath and nodded at Chris with a hint of sadness in his eyes and an accepting smile.

“Can you play us another song, son?” your grandfather asked, taking your grandmother’s hand and guiding her over to sit on the sofa next to him.

“Actually, he has to kiss her first,” Y/F/N taunted, pointing above your heads. “It’s tradition.” 
Chris and you looked up to see mistletoe hanging from the alcove’s arch.

“Was that there before?” he questioned you, confused. “I don’t remember seeing it.”

You didn’t recall the mistletoe up there either, but it wasn’t like it just appeared by magic. It must’ve been hidden in the shadows until it got dark and the Christmas lights outside became bright enough for it to be seen.

“Well, what are you going to do about it, Evans?” You baited him, smiling as he threw his head back and laughed.

He leaned over and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips that had your heart soaring at the prospect of being able to kiss the man you loved whenever you wanted.

“Oh come on, don’t put on a show just because the parents are here,” Y/F/N teased. “Give her a real kiss!”

You giggled and held onto the front of Chris’ shirt as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer with a knowing smile.

He gave you a sly wink. “I just did.”

A/N: That’s the end dear readers! And now you know the real reason the story was called The Christmas Con. I hope I made the wait for the kiss worth it in the end, and that you enjoyed the ride because I know I did. Thank you all for reading. Happy Holidays everyone!

My Masterlist

Forever Tags: @appreciating-chase-brody @the-wayward-robot

Chris Evans Forever Tags @spider--bae @bookgirlunicorn @coffeebooksandfandom @ajosieface @patzammit @nerdgirljen @the-sunshine-in-the-dark @i-regret-this-already

The Christmas Con Tags: @aboxbesidethesea @capcevans81 @inlovewith3 @memyselfandandrea @steftolbert @hiddlebatchedloki @scarletwwandas @marvelgirlsthings @chmedic @sophiealiice @torntaltos @superwinterbell @queenred23 @jennabenna12 @xceafh @lexaandlincoln @cltex84 @imarypayne @katiedreamy @brutusr @captainrogersunderpants @mister-michael-langdon @siren-queen03 @spazztasticstiles @ezauraemmaline @buckysclub @bella-imperfecta-luna @the-doctors-fallen-angel @mackevanstanfan80 @cocomel0613 @buckywhiitewolf @myles-production @twittytelly @m-a-t-91 @beautyinthewild31

[viva-la-sterek]

Happy New Year!

Howdy all! Long time no see. Here’s a list of some of my favorite fics written in the year 2017! 

Fight Fires In Your Best Clothes by standinginanicedress (2/2 | 67,631 | Explicit)

The key isn’t actually being confident, he repeats in his head in Lydia’s breathy voice. It’s faking the hell out of it and looking as sexy as possible while you do it. For omegas, it’s easy. There’s a natural charm to all of us that only takes seconds to engage, and barely takes practice.

Walk into the room, he chants in his head. Own it, and look people in the eyes. Find the best looking alpha, have them buy you a drink, and the rest is easy.

I know that you love me, even when I lose my head by LunaCanisLupus_22 (13/13 | 135,551 | Explicit)

“We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“

“Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.

“He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.

Or the one where Derek gets attacked by hunters, ends up with amnesia and forgets Stiles is his mate

Gym Rats by i_am_girlfriday / @moonwasours (6/6 | 49,762 | Explicit)  

Stiles spots Derek at the smoothie shop across the street from the gym early on a crisp April morning, it’s not even 7 AM yet. For some reason, and Stiles will deny it has anything to do with Derek in joggers, he decides that maybe this is the perfect chance to introduce himself.

The Wrong Hale by @dexterous-sinistrous (8/8 | 77,577 | Explicit) 

“I apologize,” Stiles started.

“You apologize often,” Derek commented.

“It's expected,” Stiles explained. “But I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I haven't seen … I haven't seen much in life.” His heart was beating fast with excitement.

“And you're here to see much?” Derek softly asked, curious why such a perfect creature would be hiding away when a ball carried on elsewhere.

“I'm here to meet someone,” Stiles replied.

~*~

In which, Stiles and Derek find themselves in a star-crossed predicament.

Every stumble and each misfire by @everchanginginks (1/1 | 14,070 | Mature)

Stiles hasn't seen or heard from Derek in ten years. It's a bit of a surprise to find out about Derek's return to Beacon Hills through Tinder.

The Gentleman And The Fox by @bleep0bleep, Inkforwords (1/1 | 15,707 | Explicit)

Derek doesn't expect much from his arranged marriage. When his inattentive husband, Lord Stiles Stilinski, tells him he's free to look for a lover, he doesn't know where to start, until a dashing bandit named the Red Fox catches his eye.

An Unpredictable Amount of Turtles by skoosiepants / @pantstomatch (1/1 | 5,942 | Teen)

Stiles says, “I have a five year plan. A five year plan to popularity that will tank the minute I meet this guy.”

“I feel like you’re exaggerating,” Scott says, but Scott has a katana-wielding badass waiting for him at the other end of the rainbow, and Stiles has terrariums.

Or—

A soulmate au with turtles and angst.

A Crooked Way to Fly by @andavs (1/1 | 14,978 | Gen.) 

“We can’t just leave him here to die.”

“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane (1/1 | 33,552 | Teen) 

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

36 Questions by Leslie_Knope / @leslieknopeismyshiningstar (1/1 | 8,071 | Teen) 

“So I’m doing my senior psych thesis on friendships,” Erica says, not-so-accidentally elbowing Derek in the ribs as she turns to face Stiles. “How they develop, how intimacy is fostered, stuff like that.”

“That’s cool,” Stiles says agreeably. “What’s our part?”

“Well, I can’t really tell you the point because that would influence the results. But it’s a set of 36 questions that you have to ask each other.”

“Just the two of us?” Derek chimes in, finally, and Stiles sighs.

“Okay, dude,” he says, making a face, “could you try not to look quite so offended? Like, my ego’s pretty strong, but come on, man.”

The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter / @thisdiscontentedwinter (8/8 | 12,292 | Teen)

To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.

Magic Bullet by @matildajones (1/1 | 10,346 | Teen) 

Derek's only comfort over the past few years has been a novel written by his favorite author. When he decides to teach it at an entry level university course he doesn't expect a fiery student to disagree with everything he says...

the nerd party by @bibliosexual (3/3 | 6,827 | Teen) 

Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.

Celestial Navigation by @alocalband (1/1 | 12,492 | Mature) 

A year after the death of his sister, while struggling with social anxiety and writer's block, Derek decides to start over somewhere new.

In Which Laura Is Never Going To Let Derek Live This Down by Omimouse (1/1 | 1,587 | Teen)

Prompt: A soulmate fic where you’ve got “Help! Save me!” on your wrist. So you do the martial arts classes, and ROTC, and get a concealed carry permit, you are READY, you are SO up for this… and then one day you’re at a friend’s house, and someone comes pounding down the stairs laughing and ducks behind you and goes “Help! Save me!” and that’s how you find out your soulmate was escaping a tickle fight.

“Laura, for the love of god, stop laughing and get him off of me.”

Under Development by @drgrlfriend (12/12/ | 24,763 | Teen) 

Environmental lawyer Derek Hale is determined to stop the planned defacement of his beloved Beacon Hills Preserve by the mammoth Starr Development company. To do so, he makes a deal with the devil himself — Stiles Starr, the brash young scion of the Starr family and COO of Starr Development. Derek hates Stiles at first sight. Mieczysław Stilinski, on the other hand, is someone that Derek could grow to like...or even love.

Sundae Mornings by @raisesomehale (1/1 | 5,463 | Teen) 

"Derek had had his doubts when Cora first suggested their family play host to a foreign exchange student from Poland, but it wasn’t until the kid arrived that Derek really began to resent the entire program.

Sure, Stiles Stilinski cleans up after himself – never not a perfect gentleman around the house – and gets straight A’s while still somehow managing to make friends insanely fast. But he's also cocky and sarcastic; quick witted in a way that can tangle Derek into a neat, flustered little bow with only a few choice quips.

The worst part is that English isn’t even Stiles’ native tongue, and he still manages to be better with it than Derek. Bested at his own damn language."

Hale’s Modern Encyclopedia of Playing Cards (and Dating Humans) by @thepsychicclam (1/1 | 49, 698 | Mature) 

Wolves don't date humans. And Derek's okay with that. He's got his Pack, his friends in the Pack network, and lacrosse. Plus, he plays cards with his grandma all the time. Stiles Stilinski definitely doesn't factor into his life - no matter how much of a crush Derek has on him.

But when bird creatures attack Derek, Stiles, and their friends in the Preserve, Stiles finds out about werewolves and things get pretty complicated. For Derek at least. And he thought school was his only problem, but now he's grounded and Stiles is hanging around way too much for Derek to ignore him any longer.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

prompt #966 @novarain01

Imagine Bucky is a war vet, suffering from PTSD. Steve, as his artistic friend, encourages Bucky to join his art group as a therapeutic method of coping and minor re-socializing with people. Bucky reluctantly accepts the invitation and is dumbstruck by the beautiful nude model: Tony.

Seeing the Lines

“You see, class, this model is a living, breathing person. He is not a bowl of fruit, he has goals and dreams and--”

The model in question was lounging, that was really the only word for it, on a pile of cushions. “No, really, I don’t,” he interrupted. “I’m perfectly okay with being a pomegranate. They don’t worry about getting health insurance. Pomegranates are utterly unconcerned with post-grad school panic.”

The art instructor raised one eyebrow. How was it possible for a woman with green hair to look so utterly cold and imposing?

The class laughed anyway, an undertone and serious sort of laugh, like a whisper of good cheer that passed around the room. They’d been doing fruit bowls for the last few weeks, and Bucky had to admit that the model didn’t look anything like a fruit bowl, even if Bucky’s first impulse on seeing the man was for his mouth to water and to desperately want to take a bite.

Ophelia Sarkissian, the art teacher, continued on with her lecture, while the model lolled on the divan. He still wore a robe, and Bucky didn’t feel too self-conscious about sneaking peeks at him between Sarkissian’s instructions.

Steve had talked Bucky into this class weeks ago as a way to deal with his therapist’s instructions that Bucky get out of the damn house on more days than just therapy or PT. Which was great, Bucky’d been okay with that, yeah, art class. Woo. Also, it was something that Steve liked to do, which kept Bucky from feeling too guilty about doing it. (Bucky had so much guilt that he couldn’t freaking cope with it, and cutting every bit of it out that he could manage had become a life’s mission. His therapist suggested he might be taking it to extremes, sometimes.)

Of course, the first day of the new section, anatomy drawing, Steve had to go and get pneumonia. And then insist that Bucky go to class anyway. They’d already paid for it, was Steve’s logic. Also, he was pretty pissed off that Bucky was hovering and plying him with chicken soup.

Sarkissian was droning on about seeing the shapes inside the lines or something. Bucky’d not even managed to master drawing an apple; his fruit bowl had managed, somehow, to resemble a jar of spaghetti, something that not even Steve could find a nice thing to say about.

But it wasn’t about the art, it was about being outside the house, chasing something new, some hint of speaking to other people. Something. Bucky didn’t know. What he did know was that he was having trouble looking away from the man on the platform, his beautiful eyes gazing over the room as if he knew something they didn’t, a go-to-hell smirk on his full lips, and he was…

… jesus, he was taking off his robe, and it’s not like Bucky didn’t know that was going to happen, and really, there was nothing remotely sexy about it. There were thirty other people in the room, all of whom were entirely dressed, who wouldn’t even consider taking their clothes off in public.

The man folded up his bathrobe and posed; a simple lounge on his side, one hand draped over his hip in a not-quite-subtle gesture. Like, go ahead, look at my dick, here it is, it’s okay.

Bucky blinked.

(more below the cut)

The man had a mess of scars over his chest, his skin in the middle of his torso looked like it’d been melted at some point, leaving a mass about the size of a softball, with three surgical scars mapping the territory.

“Get started,” Sarkissian said, clapping her hands. The sound echoed uncomfortably in the huge room.

Bucky picked up one of his pencils. Steve had a whole list of pens and pencils and smudging tools and… not like Bucky knew anything about it. Even after six weeks of class, he could barely tell the difference between the soft and hard leads. Well, he could tell the difference once he drew the line, but he kept forgetting what, exactly, he was supposed to use each one for.

He twiddled the pencil between his fingers; becoming right handed, suddenly, had been traumatic, and he still didn’t really like the way the pencil felt in his hand. It felt… hard and cold and not like a thing that was supposed to be there, between his fingers, at all.

Bucky sighed.

There was something about the blank drawing paper in front of him that he always found intimidating as fuck. Like, he knew he was going to mes it up, there was nothing good about his technique. He didn’t even see, not the way Steve saw, the lines inside the shapes (He still didn’t know what that meant.).

The model wasn’t made of lines, he was made of soft, beautiful circles. There was a line there, Bucky noted, across his collarbone, from shoulder to shoulder, that caught the light, that Bucky wanted to taste.

He put the pencil down and picked up a piece of chalk instead. He hadn’t worked with the chalks at all, but Steve could do some lovely work with chalk.

“You remind me of a young man I knew, oh, way back when,” the woman said, patting Tony’s hand.

It was possible, Tony thought, roughing her age out at maybe ten years older than Howard had been when he died. She’d have been quite a bit younger than his dad, but stranger things had happened. “Well, I hope they’re good memories, at least,” Tony said. It was as neutral as he could get. Strange how most of the class was made up of retirees. Or maybe it wasn’t. The class was three hours long, in the fucking middle of the day.

The problem with that was Tony’s schedule didn’t lend itself out for grabbing lunch before showing up and his stomach was usually growling by the time he was done. He was lucky he could grab coffee.

“Nah, he was a cheating bastard,” the woman said, and Tony was hard pressed not to ask if it was Howard, because that would have just been his luck. Ending up posing naked for one of Howard’s old love-lights.

Tony took a swig of water from the bottle; he supposed he should be grateful that Sarkissian provided that much. Break was almost over.

“Lemme see those elbows, boy,” one of the other students said, grabbing his wrist and turning the arm. He pushed up the sleeve until Tony’s arm was bare, looking close at the veins inside the crook of Tony’s elbow. “Can’t get these right.”

“He’s not a fruit bowl,” another student said, tapping the first man’s hand until he turned Tony loose.

The first student went away, muttering under his breath, and Tony glanced up to say thanks. Lost himself in those stormcloud eyes. Oh. This guy. The one armed artist who wore at least three layers of shirts all the time, the left sleeve neatly pinned up. The one who struggled to hold a pencil, who scowled and frowned by turns at his own incompetence.

The one who stared at Tony, not like an art student, or even like the come-hither expressions Tony sometimes got while bar hopping, but stared at Tony like he was some sort of rare and precious treasure.

“Hey,” the man said. Tony gave him a quick flash of teeth. “I know you only got… like what, five minutes left on your break, but I erm… happen to be sittin’ up front, and last time I noticed…” The man was blushing furiously, and Tony was left thinking about the last session -- he’d actually come close to falling asleep. Had he gotten an erection and not noticed, and this guy was going to call him out on it, or something? “Here.” He held out a paper bag to Tony.

There was an instant of sickening dread. Tony hated being handed things; he’d had pictures and flowers and phone numbers shoved at him since he was a child. “Just, erm… sit it down?” Tony gestured toward the divan.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

The guy didn’t even wait for Tony to look, he retreated in a blushing mess back behind his easel and all Tony could see of him was the bright red tips of his ears.

Tony carefully unfolded the bag. Peered inside. Blinked. There was a bottle of juice -- apple -- and a peeled and segmented orange in a bag. A cheese sandwich. A hardboiled egg, sliced, with a pinch of salt twisted up in an end bit of plastic wrap. A handful of Hershey kisses, their silver foil like a scattering of stars inside the bag.

How thoughtful.

How much… work. Tony eyed the pinned sleeve for a moment, then decided that the man probably fixed his lunch at home with an eye to convenience for when he was out. A one-armed man could probably peel an egg, given enough time, but why make other people watch him -- or worse, end up offering to help -- when he was out of the house.

Tony unwrapped the sandwich and made no pains about eating quickly and noisily. It wasn’t the best lunch he’d ever had, but someone had thought to do it, and that made it better than the nicest sit-down, chef’s tasting menu that Tony’d ever tasted.

He didn’t have time to say thanks, finishing the last gulp of juice just in time to climb back and assume his pose before break was over.

Guy-with-the-pretty-eyes disappeared as soon as class ended, out the door before Tony even belted his robe.

Well, damn.

“No, really, this is good, Bucky,” Steve said, unrolling the paper.

It really wasn’t. Bucky knew good art, and this was nothing like that. He just glared at Steve. The punk was still wrapped up in blankets, sweating when he wasn’t shivering, panting for breath, and falling asleep without warning.

“Not that--” Steve hesitated, then touched the lines. They were clumsy; Bucky’d seen cave paintings that were better than his sketches. “I don’t mean, hang it in the museum, Buck, you know that. I ain’t…” Steve paused to cough, coughed until his face was plummy and his every breath rattled on the inhale. Finally, he finished, spitting a wad into some kleenex and dropped it over the side of the bed. The whole side of the bed was littered with similar twists. Bucky’d sweep them up later when Steve was asleep and wouldn’t fuss about it.

“Don’t try to flatter me, punk, that never works,” Bucky said.

“Jerk,” Steve said. He coughed again, then patted his chest, as if to check that it was still there. “I mean, I c’n see in the lines… you’re looking. Seeing.”

The lines were… well, Bucky knew what he was looking at, when he saw them. Not a human body, his drawings were too crude, even for that, but Tony, model and occasional lunch partner. The smile wasn’t detailed, just a smudge of chalk, but… Bucky could look at it. And see the person there, on the page.

Maybe that’s what Steve meant.

“Yeah, I guess.” Bucky let a smirk cross his lips. “If you’d seen this guy, you’d be seein’ a lot, too.”

Steve chuckled, weak. “You’ve found a passion, Buck,” he said. “That’s good. That’s… that’s real good.”

Bucky scowled. It wasn’t good, he thought. He was gaping at a man doing a job. That was like… flirting with the barista. Someone who had to be nice to you because it was their fucking job, and Bucky wasn’t… he didn’t want to be like that.

Tony was a dream.

He wasn’t someone that Bucky could ask out.

Tony sighed.

Bucky wasn’t going to ask.

He’d spent the entire life model packet of the class giving Tony his best bedroom eyes, flirted a little during Tony’s breaks. Brought him lunch. Helped him with his robe a few times when Tony was so cold that his fingers weren’t working (seriously, Sarkissian’s studio was a fucking meat locker and there were never enough space heaters.)

Tony wasn’t allowed; there were like fifty clauses in Sarkissian’s stupid contract, and at least half of them had to do with models and students were not allowed to date. Sexual harassment, yaddah yaddah, and that was probably a good thing most of the time. With some models and some art students, having something in the contract as a way to bypass the more pushy people. Some of the students had flirted with Tony, and at least one woman had tried to give him her number -- his robe had no pockets, which was a thing that Tony found himself appreciating at odd moments -- so, obviously it was a thing.

But class was ending, and Tony wasn’t ever going to do this again. His academic suspension was up this semester, and he could go back to work on his engineering doctorate. So, theoretically, Tony could ask Bucky if he wanted to… continue doing lunch together, or something.

Tony hadn’t seen any of Bucky’s art -- that was rude, he’d decided early on. If the artist invited Tony behind the easel, he’d go, take a look, but otherwise, no -- but the way Bucky had watched him, it didn’t even matter. Bucky’d been writing poetry with his eyes, sculpting a masterpiece with his expressions, singing an aria with the twist of his mouth. For Tony.

And each class period, Tony had trouble maintaining his pose, because what he wanted to do was stare back, to let Bucky see all the interest there. The best he’d been able to do was a few longing looks during their little lunch break, let his fingers linger on Bucky’s one arm.

Maybe Bucky wasn’t interested. Maybe Tony was just the equivalent of a really great bowl of fruit.

Oh well, Tony decided. He’d catch up at the end of class and ask. What was the worst that could happen?

… the worst that could happen was that Bucky would get away. Tony couldn’t dress fast enough. Had no idea which way the love of his life (maybe, possibly, if he could at least ask…) had gone.

Fuck.

Five months, fourteen days, two hours, and nineteen minutes later

“There, you got everything, mister?” the take-out clerk had been uncharacteristically slow and solicitous to the person in line in front of Tony.

Which was just annoying, because if Tony didn’t get coffee, immediately and right now, he was going to have some sort of genius meltdown and it wasn’t going to be pretty. He’d been working all night, was just on the verge of figuring out the most efficient placement of those ultrasonic sensors for object-avoidance when his brain had decided that sleep was a thing.

It wasn’t.

Sleep was not a thing, and Tony didn’t have time for it.

“I’m fine,” said a dark, rumbly voice. The man in front of him in line was tall, built, and wearing several layers of clothing. Tony knew it was actually the end of October and it was getting cold, but a coat, a hoodie and at least two long-sleeve shirts seemed to be excessive, even for New York.

“I can help you out to a taxi or--”

The man scoffed. “Been carryin’ my own groceries with one hand for quite a while now. I can handle it, thank you.”

Tony looked up at that, blinking.

“Oh, god,” he said, his voice coming out in the faintest whisper. His one-armed artist…

The man kept turning, his eyes doing that seeing-without-noticing thing, and Tony’s brain… still needed coffee… and there was Bucky, walking out of Tony’s life a second time and…

“Welcome to Daily Grind, can I--”

Tony could visualize it like a cartoon; he left a little smoke-cloud behind and a confused cashier. The customer behind him did not hesitate to take Tony’s place in line.

“Bucky?” Tony got to the door, stared in one direction, then the other. Where the fuck… what was the man, a goddamn ghost or something?

Tony took a few steps outside the door. No, no, no, no!

“Tony?”

Oh, thank god. Tony heaved a sigh of relief and looked over. Bucky hadn’t gone far, just to the curb where he hesitated just long enough that an enterprising business woman ducked into his cab and slammed the door behind her.

“Oh, god, it is you,” Tony said, not even sure how to start. “I thought --”

“Tony!” Bucky’s face broke into a helplessly happy smile. “It’s… it’s good to see you. I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” Bucky blushed, furious and pink, and stammererd. “Oh, god, that did not come out right, not at all, I just meant… I…”

“No, that’s okay, I know what you meant,” Tony said. Not that he’d particularly mind refreshing Bucky’s memory, if that was a thing. “Look, I was… you know, you walk really fast, and I tried to catch up with you after that last class but… would you. I mean, not now, because obviously you’re probably busy and going places, and I just cost you your cab, but… dinner? Maybe?”

Bucky smiled. “Coffee? I mean, I was just--” He jerked his chin toward the street. “Can I? Buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, absolutely, you could,” Tony said, suppressing an offer of marriage on the spot because coffee. “I mean, I need a coffee. And… then I was walking back to my lab, I’ve got some stuff going on there, but… if you’re willing to sit around for forty minutes and watch me tinker, I could take us to dinner after?”

“Tony, standing around watching you sit still was entertainment for me, I think I can manage to hang out while you work,” Bucky said. He grinned, then fumbled a bit with his coffee and his phone, “Just let me text my roommate so he doesn’t--”

Bucky’s phone fell to the pavement; he had one of those thick, athletic shock cases around it, so Tony guessed that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a man with one arm. He twisted into a squat and recovered the phone, glancing down to check the screen wasn’t broken and--

“Holy shit, is that me?”

Bucky blushed again, harder, averting his eyes.

Tony stared at the screen-lock picture; a simple black and white charcoal. Tony found himself staring at himself, looking long way up his body, toes to the tip of his chin, sprawled backward like a martyr, or someone who was stretching after some good love. “This is amazing.”

“I’ve been keeping up with the classes,” Bucky said, still not looking at Tony. “That’s like my sixth revision of that piece.”

“But… I haven’t modeled for you for months, surely you have other--”

“I only ever wanted to draw you,” Bucky said with a shrug.

“Oh.” Tony wasn’t sure what to say about that. Surely there were things to say about something like that, but he was too busy being enraptured. He’d seen the works other students had done of him, and several had been much better, in terms of technique, but… there was something flawless about that version of Tony. An unholy temptation, and suddenly Tony wanted nothing more than to be worthy of that particular muse.

“If it’s weird, I… I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “I… we don’t have to--”

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” Tony said. “I’ve been kicking myself for not asking you out earlier. There’s no way you’re getting away from me now.”

That shy smile flickered over Bucky’s mouth again. “I thought you were a pomegranate. How are you gonna chase me?”

Tony flicked his tongue over his lower lip. “If I’m a pomegranate, I just have to tempt you to stay for the winter, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “That sounds good.”