#hanger talking about making amends

[luvrodite]

keep me here (with your skin on mine again) [17.6k]

summary: it's been a long time coming. he's the bane of your existence, but there's no denying it. your roommate is hot.

cw: gn!reader, afab!reader, smut, jealousy, friends with benefits arrangement, original characters, stephanie brown cameo, intoxication, blowjobs, spit, fingering, handjobs, piv sex, minor voyeurism, references to past voyeurism, masturbation, slight dubcon re multiple orgasms as there isn't a discussion but it's consensual, references to reader's clothing – they wear clothes described as 'short' and 'tight', and 'slutty' at one point (not degradingly), mention of reader wearing a hair towel, presumably after a shower, use of 'cunt', arguments, miscommunication + reader and jason are both petty and imperfect !! minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked

Jason just about falls over himself laughing when you open the door and immediately you scowl. He doesn’t say a word, teal eyes taking in your outfit before his beautiful face screws up, a loud guffaw punching out of him. The force of his amusement is strong enough that he sinks to his knees, clutching the door-frame to steady himself.

“Oh–” you scoff, and he has to yank his fingers away before the door slams on them. “You’re so insufferable!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You hear a pause before he dissolves into laughter again, and you resist the urge to stamp your foot.

“No you aren’t. What the fuck do you want?”

“I can’t talk to you through the door, can you open up?”

You pout. “No.”

“Please? I swear I won’t laugh.”

You make a face at that, disbelieving. “You’re full of shit.”

Another muffled snort through the door. “Okay, I swear I’ll try not to laugh,” Jason amends.

You open the door and he struggles to keep a straight face. You know what you must look like, the hair towel, the pair of pink, heart patterned, fluffy pyjama pants and your bed socks.

“I’ll close this door again,” you remind him when you catch him eyeing the print on your socks, crossing your arms impatiently and he nods, biting his lip to compose himself.

“I thought you were going out.” Jason voices this out loud and you cut an unimpressed look his way when his voice wobbles with the weight of keeping his amusement at bay.

“I am.”

“Oh. Is that the look for tonight?”

You sneer at him. “Is this what you came to ask me?”

“It’s all I wanna talk about now,” he admits, shrugging. He points at your pants and you bat his hand away, hissing. “Where on earth did you get these from?”

“They’re comfortable–”

“I’ll say.”

“–and I got them from my parents, ass hat,” you finish pointedly, hands on your hips.

“Do they hate you?” he drops his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, eyes widening into faux sympathy and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever, man. What do you want? You’re interrupting my getting ready time.”

He lets out a breath obnoxiously, leaning into the door frame.

“Yeah, for bed, it seems.” You stare at him blankly, fighting the urge to strangle him with your bare hands. “Anyway, do you have my charger? Think I left it in here last night.”

Briefly, you consider telling him that you haven’t actually, despite knowing exactly where it is, having been plugged into the outlet between your bed and the wall during your marathon of Gilmore Girls last night. You end up opening the door, waving a hand dismissively at him to check for himself before you move further into your room, returning to your walk-in to contemplate your outfit for the night.

Jason enters the room and you see him move around in your periphery as you push the hangers around. He lingers in your room after he finds the charger, twisting the cable around his fingers absentmindedly.

“You should stick with that outfit,” he remarks, taking a seat on your bed. You look over your shoulder and he elaborates, helpfully, “I think it’ll be a real hit at the club.”

“I’m sure,” you say dryly. “The men’ll be falling all over me.”

He cracks a delighted smirk, nodding. “Exactly.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” you inform him, emerging from the wardrobe and tilting your head to the door. “C’mon, you found your charger. I need to get ready.”

He boos you but stands up anyway and you push him out, palms pressing into his shoulder blades. Jason, ever resistant to making anything easy for you, ever, leans his weight into you, slowing down to a crawl. “So mean. You don’t wanna hang out? You’re breaking my heart, here. I thought we were best friends forever.”

“We’ll be best friends forever if you get out,” you retort, shoving him over the threshold and he cackles.

He’s still laughing long after the door slams behind him.

Jason becomes your roommate on a Wednesday morning. You remember this because you have a full day of classes on Wednesdays, and you’d spent the night before anxiously cleaning in preparation for his arrival. He moves in while you’re in class, and sends you a text as you’re getting out at 5 that he’s getting takeout and did you want anything from the Korean restaurant a few blocks away?

You get home to the smell of tteokbokki, fried chicken and japchae on the counter. Your return home, usually greeted by the sound of silence, is met with quite possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever met in your life in your kitchen, looking up from his phone and nodding a casual ‘hey’.

It isn’t as though you aren’t expecting this. You’d met him several times before, at gatherings and mutual friends’ birthday parties. Still, Jason’s beauty manages to leave you reeling every single time. You stare for a moment, startled, before rushing out a jerky, “Hi!”

He’s silent for a moment before he parts his lips. You track the motion, feeling your throat dry at the awkward, lopsided grin he shoots you.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat together, or...”

Your eyes widen and you take a few steps forward. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you to start without me, I didn’t think I’d take this long, there was construction on the road and we had to go a different way–”

“You took the bus?” he questions, eyebrows creasing and you nod.

“It’s easier, there’s a stop a block away and it drops me off five minutes from campus,” you tell him, and he nods slowly. “Anyway, I’m sorry, you’re probably hungry, you didn’t have to wait for me.”

He shakes his head, disappointed. “You know, our relationship’s already off to a terrible start, Roomie. I really don’t know how you’ll come back from this.”

You stare for a moment before it hits you: he’s making a joke. You let out a laugh, moving further into the apartment. “You’ll survive a few more minutes, I’m sure.”

“I’m withering away as we speak,” he calls out after you.

You break in your newfound coexistence over rice cakes and stir fried noodles, sweet and sour sauce staining your fingers, sitting at the coffee table while Jason goes through the things he needs to get done, reruns of an old show playing on the TV that neither of you pay much attention to.

“We can go together,” you suggest, when he mumbles something about picking up his groceries, typing out a list on his phone. He looks up in surprise, as though he hadn’t expected the offer.

“You sure?”

You shrug, spearing a rice cake onto your fork. “If you want. I need to get a few things anyway.”

He considers it a moment longer, before nodding. “Okay.”

It takes some getting used to, having this man in your apartment. A week in, you nearly scream when you walk into the kitchen half asleep to find him at the stove – the lack of a shirt is no help in calming your racing heart. But the weeks pass by, and Jason becomes less of the attractive man you share a living space with, morphing into something else entirely as he gets comfortable. By the time you hit the three month mark, his looks are the least of your concern – he’s the bane of your fucking existence.

Kind of.

The two of you settle into your routine and you find out that Jason has a mouth on him. He delights in riling you up, tourmaline eyes flashing with barely constrained glee when you react in kind – bitching at him for coming into the kitchen when it’s your turn to make dinner and offering unbidden suggestions, or squabbling over who got it wrong when you forget to tell him to take a turn on your way to go grocery shopping. You maintain the last one is his fault. How can you forget the route to the store when we’ve gone nearly a hundred times by now?

He somehow manages to draw it out of you, the bitchiness you’ve been carrying with you since middle school and have tried to bury down–nobody likes a smart mouth, after all. But he doesn’t flinch from it.

If you didn’t know any better, you might even say he liked it.

– You do know better, though.

(That one night spent with your hands under the blankets and thoughts of ultramarine eyes is nobody’s business but yours.)

You meet his family. He meets your friends – the ones he doesn’t already know. You somehow end up watching a show together. His sweater lays at the foot of your bed. You’ve slept in his bed and vice versa. You’re sure he’s one of the closest friends you have. He irritates you to no end.

Bit by bit, Jason worms his way into your life and settles comfortably there.

It’s probably why your girlfriends feel so comfortable calling him on your night out and how the ensuing mess occurs.

Jason gets the call around 2 in the morning, the ringtone blaring through his skull just as he’s about to fall asleep. He jerks up, glaring groggily at his phone. He contemplates leaving it to ring, but he spies your friend’s name on the screen and he sighs, wiping a hand down his face.

They’re playing loud rap music when he gets inside, descending the stairs into the dark club. He passes girls supporting their drunken friends on their way out and gently shoulders his way through a group lingering by the double doors leading to the actual club. More than once, he feels an appreciative stare on the back of his neck but he’s preoccupied.

It takes him a moment to spot you over the crowd, squinting his eyes to make out your form through the dim lights. When he does, his throat dries.

He hadn’t seen you after he’d been shepherded out of your room, pulled into a phone call with his younger brother who’d decided that nearing midnight was the perfect time to complain at length about their father. Damian hadn’t let him go until long after you’d left the house, your voice echoing through the walls with a “I’m going! Bye!” that he’d distractedly replied to in between making the appropriate listening noises to his increasingly agitated brother.

You’re holding your friend’s hand at the bar, smiling dreamily and swaying in place when the song abruptly switches to something slower. The clothes you wear leave little to the imagination, short, tight, sinful. He bites his cheek hard, swallowing roughly as he makes his way over. Something green curls in his vision when someone gravitates closer to you, yelling something in your ear. The guy is all leery smiles and appreciative eyes, gaze lingering on the dip of your neckline.

Much to Jason’s displeasure, you don’t back away in disgust, only frowning in confusion and tapping your ear – I didn’t hear you. He repeats himself and Jason watches you process whatever it is that he’s said before a smile breaks out and you laugh, shaking your head. Your eyes glitter, and jealousy burns low in his gut. You don’t seem to realise you’ve ensnared the other man in your orbit, staring up at him over the rim of your drink.

Jason breaks through the crowd and calls your name. Miraculously, it isn’t lost to the crowd and you look away. He finds smug pleasure in the way you startle in surprise, the shape of his name on your lips. He ignores the other guy, leaning an arm against the bar and between the both of you, effectively blocking you off. God, if Dick could see him now. Just the other week, his brother had been giving him shit for the apparent territoriality over you, and he’d gone blue in the face denying it, despite the knowing look on Dick’s face.

“What are you doing here?” you reach up on your tiptoes to ask him.

“Here to take you guys home,” he shouts, leaning in to get his words across. And he doesn’t need to, but he rests his hand on your waist as he does, and you press closer, tilting your face up to pout at him.

“What?” you protest. “Nooo, it’s still early!”

He grins at you unsympathetically. “It’s nearly 3 am, baby, c’mon. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

He only realises he’s made a slip up when your eyebrows crease but you say nothing, only staring up at him with moony eyes before smiling and placing your drink down to put a hand in his, mouthing an ‘okay’. He signals to your friend behind you, who’d called him earlier and watches the exchange with interest. She turns and shouts something over her shoulder, waiting for the third of your party to finish her drink before tugging her along. The three of you hold hands and follow him through the club in single file, a sight that he’s robbed of finding any amusement because he’s trying much harder not to pop a blood vessel at having to stop every few moments. The cause is, of course, you: each time he looks over his shoulder, another man has stopped you to flirt with you. He sends up a prayer for patience, hopes anyone is listening, and continues to pull you along.

The third time, he whirls around to tug you firmly into his side, barking out a harsh, “Fuck off.” at the guy and cutting a scolding look your way for answering his advances. It’s a waste of time, because you’re just grinning up at him in amusement, giggling. He sighs, steering you in front of him and nodding for your friend to take the lead. By the time he ascends the stairs to the exit, he’s sure his blood pressure is through the roof.

“Get in the car,” he sighs and you unlatch yourself from his side – a consequence of simultaneously risking twisting your ankle a block back and falling into oncoming traffic. He’d near grabbed you by the scruff of your neck in pulling you away from the kerbside and further onto the pavement, keeping an arm around your shoulder tightly.

“Okay.” You draw out the word playfully but sink into the passenger seat obediently, your friends following suit.

He shuts your car door, and sighs once more.

The door to your apartment opens quietly closer to 5 in the morning than he’d like, and he’s glad he’s not working the next day as he trudges through the threshold with you in tow, cradling a bag of takeout carefully as you toe off your shoes.

He throws his keys carelessly onto the counter, where he knows you’ll find them when you wake up and move them to the bowl in the entryway – where your keys are meant to go, a fact you’ve reminded him of unhelpfully when he’s running late and his keys aren’t where he left them. Between now and then, he’ll forget this fact, he always somehow does.

Now, you place the paper bag next to his keys and wander away – he looks over his shoulder and finds you shoving your feet into his house slippers, a shaking hand pressed against the wall to steady yourself as you put them on. The sight sends a bolt of affection through him and he turns away, focusing on washing his hands. He calls your name once he’s done, jerks his head to the tap. You don’t protest, only leaning into his side and sticking your hands under the stream of water.

He doesn’t know why he’s not moving away. Your vantage point makes it a little awkward to wash your hands, and it’d be easier if you switched places. Still, he stays, privately, guiltily admitting that the weight of you is nice against his side. Your bare arm is soft against his, and he can smell the perfume you’d used tonight, faint but sweet. If he looks out of the corner of his eye, he can see the glitter of your necklace, thin chains resting against your collarbones and décolletage.

You bump your head against his shoulder, and he blinks, drawn suddenly from his thoughts. Your stare is unnerving, and he almost wonders for a moment whether you can read the shameful attraction in his eyes.

“Come eat.”

He hopes you don’t notice the relief in his sigh as he follows you to the table. The two of you eat in silence for the most part, Jason picking at the edges of the burger he no longer wants and you stealing his fries in between bites of your wrap.

He gets up to go pour you some water – he isn’t sure how much you drank tonight, but he’ll sleep better once you’ve finished a few glasses – when you suddenly break the silence.

“I kissed a guy tonight.” Jason pauses his rummaging through the cupboard for a glass, and hears you muse to yourself, “It wasn’t very good, but I kissed him anyway.”

“Did you.” He keeps his back to you, fingers closing around the glass gently before he takes a breath and turns around. Mechanically, he pours you a glass of water, watching the liquid fill the cup as you stand from the table to pad over to him. He can feel you at his back and when he turns to face you, he thrusts the glass at you.

“Drink.” You take the glass, and he watches you down it. When you’ve finished, he pours you another and nods at you in instruction.

“You okay?” you ask, once he’s satisfied. His gaze catches on the sheen of water on your bottom lip.

“’M fine,” he bites out, forcing himself to relax when you reach out to touch his shoulder, but he only ends up curling his fingers into fists, pressing them into the laminate counter behind him. Your hand flattens against his shoulder, palm resting just above his heart. He can hear it beat in his ears, picking up further when you move into his space. Your chest brushes against his, and he remains still, backed against the counter.

He could move you right now, he knows he could. You’re off-kilter, and he’s much larger than you. He’s picked you up before, for a laugh. It’d be easy to move out from under you. But there he remains, with you drawing closer.

“You’re drunk,” he breathes out against your lips when you’re a hair’s breadth away, moving to press forward. Your lips are parted slightly, and he tracks your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips, flicks his gaze back up your pupils, dark and blown out.

“Not really,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Not as much. I’m just tipsy.”

A breathless sound punches out of him, and Jason feels his lips twitch. Somehow, his hands have migrated to settle against your waist. He runs his finger over the edge of your top, feeling your warmth sear through it. It’s a flimsy thing, thin and slutty – meant for darkened corners and wandering hands. No wonder you’d garnered the amount of stares you had tonight. He flicks his gaze down, and his fingertips have skimmed underneath its hemming, pressing lightly into your sides.

Had the guy you’d kissed tonight held you like this? Jason, envious, swipes his thumbs over your skin and delights in the shiver that rolls down your spine. Your eyelids flutter, and in the dark your eyes are covered in a sheen of liquid moonlight, the universe bottled and staring back at him. He bites back a swear, feeling his jeans tighten.

“You should get to bed.” It takes an effort to force the words out, and they come out hoarse. You stare at him for a few moments longer, unknowing that with each passing second, the thread of his restraint is steadily fraying. Alcohol and drunken desire weigh your eyelids down, and he grits his teeth at your lingering touch before you step away, turning on your heel in the direction of your room.

A single, solitary light in the hallway remains to keep him company in the kitchen, rooted to spot as he hears a muffled sigh of frustration through the walls. Then, the sounds of a zipper, and the rustle of your bed sheets. He curses his keen sense of hearing then, blood turning molten when, a few moments later, you whimper.

He knows the sound. It’s burned into his memory, the day he’d come home early and inadvertently overheard you touching yourself. Hearing it again has him dizzy and unable to move, clutching the counter tops as you try, pitifully, to muffle your moans.

Several minutes pass by. You fall silent after that. Jason thinks he must’ve done something awful in another life, and that this must be his penance, to have you so close yet be unable to do anything about it. He remains in the living room until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep. Only when all movement in the next room ceases does he move.

You wake up a little past ten in the morning, to your surprise. The light pours in through the open blinds and you squint, rolling over to bury your face in your pillow. Your entire body cracks and you groan at the sensation, stretching across the expanse of your mattress. There’s grit in your eyes from the mascara you’d put on last night, you can feel the coarse flecks of it clumping your lashes together, and your face feels gross.

When you get up, you don’t bother to pull on a pair of pants – you’d discarded your bottoms last night before falling into bed – but switch the top for something looser, a t-shirt of Jason’s you think must’ve gotten mixed up in the laundry.

Your mind stutters over this name when you step into your shared bathroom, and you pause, hovering over the sink with your facial cleanser in hand.

Jason.

The memory of last night makes your face warm, recalling the sharp look he’d pinned you with, marbled features burning from the inside out as he’d let you draw closer and closer, eyes blazing. The ghost of his touch on your skin throbs, something like a live-wire threading itself alongside your every nerve.

You wash your face with careful movements, watching the makeup from last night swirl down the drain. Little else exists in your mind, save for the lingering desire of last night – and all the nights before that had led to it.

Where do you go from here?

You step into the shower, wondering if the two of you will pretend it never happened and continue as normal. You resolve to do as Jason does, nodding to yourself as you smooth your moisturiser into your skin. Judging by the sounds in the kitchen as you step out, you figure he has no intention of avoiding you. That, at least, reassures you and you walk out half an hour later with less hesitance.

“Morning,” you yawn and he looks over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing, bemused.

“How the fuck are you awake?”

“What do you mean?” You take a seat at the counter, propping yourself up on an elbow. There’s a slice of toast on a plate, covered in melting butter and unabashedly, you reach for it.

“Just that you knocked out at like, 6 – that’s mine, you thief,” Jason explains, looking over his shoulder before sputtering when he catches sight of his toast in your mouth. You mumble an apology around the bread and he grumbles, turning back to the stove. “Yeah, you sound real sorry. You couldn’t wait a few more minutes to make your own?”

You grin to yourself, dusting your hands off and leaning forward on the counter. “Aren’t you making me breakfast? I thought that’s what this was. You know, feeding your poor, hungover roommate who you love so much?”

He shoots a flat stare at you and you know you’re right – there’s twice the amount of hash-browns in the pan that he would make for himself, and there’s a carton of juice on the counter waiting to be poured, a plate waiting by the toaster near him.

“You keep that up and I’m giving your share to the neighbor’s cat,” he says mildly and you pout, settling back into your seat.

“Whatever,” you murmur. “Why are you awake, if you fell asleep after me?”

“Because the universe hates me.”

“Bruce called?” you guess and he shakes his head, plating your hash-browns and toast and turning to place it in front of you.

“Dick. Wanted to catch up. Why he chose at 8 in the morning is beyond me, but what the fuck ever,” he mutters, handing you a fork and taking a seat next to you. The proximity makes you shiver when his shoulder brushes against yours and you catch a whiff of his cologne. You cross your legs beneath the counter and hope he doesn’t notice, leaning in to take a bite of your food.

“You hungover?” he mutters and you shake your head. “You drank a lot last night, didn’t you?”

You hum in affirmation, letting him steal a bite of your toast. “Don’t think so. I’m a bit achy, but that’s it.”

He makes a noise in his throat. “Lucky you.”

The way he’d tugged you into his side last night flashes in your mind and you duck your head, warm all of a sudden. “Yeah.”

You stand up to put your plate away, and only when you’re at the sink and Jason makes a choked noise do you realise what you’ve wandered out in. You stiffen.

“The fuck are you wearing?”

You blink, not expecting him to be so incensed. You set the plate down in the sink and turn, looking down at the shirt you wear– the shirt you’re only wearing – and back up at him. It hangs off your frame, somewhat, but you can admit it’s a little on the shorter side as far as oversized shirts go, just skimming below the tops of your thighs. Still, it doesn’t explain why Jason’s expression has gone taut.

“A shirt?” you offer, tentatively.

“Are you serious?” You pause when he gets short with you, eyes narrowing.

“Yes?” You don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry I forgot to put pants on. Why are you mad?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad.”

“You are.”

“Whatever.” He wrinkles his nose, and you can see his leg jumping as he taps his foot, agitated. “You should go put some clothes on.”

Your mouth tugs down into an unimpressed frown. “So you are mad about my clothes,” you say flatly. “You’ve never had a problem with what I wear around the house before.”

And you know that he knows it’s true. You’ve accidentally come out in your pyjamas when he’s had his friends over, not seeing the text he’d sent to give you a heads up and he’s only ever laughed it off. You know he’s seen you like this before, too. You’ve grown so used to Jason it no longer occurs to you to cover up – it’s only Jason. He’s used to it.

But then you look at the agitation on his face. You’re beginning to think that maybe he isn’t.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to say anything about it,” he says. “In the interest of keeping the peace.”

You shoot him a withering stare. He’s so full of shit. “So you’re not interested in keeping the peace anymore. Why are you saying something now?”

He lifts a shoulder, churlish. “Maybe I think it’s time. It’s not really appropriate, is it?”

If you weren’t growing madder by the second, you’d laugh in his face at the twitch of his eye as he says that, as though the words coming out of his mouth are pain to get out.

“I pay half the rent,” you tell him hotly. “There’s no one around and you know what, I don’t think you even care about what I wear.”

He looks startled when you say that and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. You continue.

“All I’m hearing right now is a lot of ‘maybe’ and I’m not buying it. You’re a shit liar, Jason. What the fuck is your problem? The truth this time.”

He blinks, momentarily stunned. Anger like the tide, it washes away to make room for the truth before rushing back in. He stands up, breakfast abandoned, and your heart thrums in anticipation as the chair screeches backwards.

“My problem is you,” he says finally, and your mouth drops open.

“Me?” you squawk, indignant and he nods.

“Yeah, you.”

“What did I do?”

You wrack your brain, trying to come up with a reason he might be picking a fight with you. You hadn’t forgotten to take your clothes from the bathroom after you’d showered in a while, you’d been pretty good about replacing the liner in the bins when you noticed it was full – had you left your dishes in the sink yesterday before you’d gone out? Still, it didn’t warrant this level of a fight. This was beyond petty roommate squabbles – neither of you hesitated to get snippy about pulling your weight, and you forgave each other just as fast, too.

Jason was genuinely pissed off with you. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out why.

“Is this some sort of game to you?” he asks you, instead of elaborating and you’re left more confused.

“I’m not playing any games with you – what are you talking about?” you demand, exasperatedly and he rounds the counter, stepping close to you. Absently, you’re reminded of last night. (The beat of his heart under your fingers, angry thrumming that echoed the rush of your own in your ears.)

Blue-green eyes narrow at you and he scoffs. “You know how many guys I nearly got into it with last night because I had to come get your drunk ass? The entire time, you’re just smiling–I don’t think you even knew where you were at that point.”

“I knew where I was!” you argue but he continues.

“Then I finally get you home and you decide that wasn’t enough, you have to tell me you kissed some guy, try to put the moves on me, and then pretend like nothing’s happened this morning which – whatever, fine, but then you walk around in this? And I’m not supposed to think you’re playing games?”

You stare at him, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“You are so stupid,” you breathe out. “What are you, jealous?”

“Yeah,” he huffs out, and you freeze. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“What?” you mutter, barely audible.

He crowds you into the sink, until you can feel the edge of it pressed against your back. “You flirt with me, and I’m not supposed to do anything about it, because we live together. I have to watch you walk out of the house when you go out in your little outfits, and I’m not supposed to do anything about that either.”

He leans down and you’re nose to nose. “You accidentally send me something meant for someone else, and I’m not supposed to do anything about that, except all I can think about is how it’s meant for not me. Isn’t that a little unfair? How am I supposed to just move on from that? But I did. I made peace with the fact that you’re here, that you’re close enough for me to touch but I’m not supposed to.”

You go hot when you remember that, remembering the horror when in the heat of the moment you’d accidentally sent a photo meant for a hookup to Jason’s contact instead. It did little to comfort you when in response to your harried, apologetic explanation, Jason had simply sent you:

don’t worry i deleted it seriously it’s fine

He hadn’t acted in any way the next day to suggest that you’d ruined things or made it awkward, but you’d  been mortified. The way he looks down at you now, you think he must be better at hiding it than you thought. Barely concealed lust darkens his eyes, pupils blown wide. It coaxes your own want out of you, your hands beginning to shake as you rest them on the counter behind you. Water flecks your palms but you’re uncaring, staring back at your roommate.

Jason stares down at you, waiting.

Well. You had resigned to doing as he did.

You tilt your head, scrutinising him with narrowed eyes. The edges of your mouth twitch in an effort to stifle the urge to smirk.

“Maybe you should do something about that,” you challenge, leaning in until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. From here, you can count every eyelash that frames his eyes, can notice the scar just beneath his eyebrow, barely a quarter of an inch, a nick he must’ve gotten in his childhood. You add in a steady, derisive tone, tamping down the excitement that’s already begun to itch underneath your skin in anticipation, “instead of being quiet about it, like a coward. At least those guys had the nerve to try.”

His eyes flash and the breath he lets out is the only warning you get before you’re being kissed to within an inch of your life.

Your first thought is: why the fuck hadn’t you egged him on sooner?

Jason kisses like he might die if he doesn’t get to. You go boneless under the grip of his hands when they settle around your waist, tugging you into him urgently until your chest is pressed tight against his. You scramble for purchase, reaching to tug at his hair while his tongue swipes at your bottom lip and neither of you expect the breathless groan he lets out, but it goes straight to your gut, desire pooling low and driving you to tug again. Your noses bump and he lets out a wrecked laugh into your mouth.

“You’re seriously ruining it,” you mutter between kisses and he pulls away, much to your displeasure. You’re madder still at the way you chase his mouth, leaning in before blinking up at him.

“Yeah, what would you rather I do?”

Insufferable, even after having his tongue in your mouth. You tug his collar and pull him back down. He meets your height with a self satisfied smirk, laughter in his eyes. You’re not so amused.

“I’d rather,” you tell him, “you not laugh in my face while making out with me. It’s really making me reconsider letting you take this off me. I’m not wearing anything under this, you know.”

You want to laugh at how quickly his smirk drops at that but you’re too busy slipping out from the tight space, darting to the mouth of the hallway where you pause grin at him teasingly, tilting your head questioningly. Well? Are you coming or not?

He lunges forward and you squeal, taking off to your room with him hot on your heels. You’re just shy of your door when you’re flung over his shoulder, the world abruptly tipping as he grabs you. He laughs, victorious, and then a moment later he’s inside, you’re being thrown onto your bed. He stands at the foot of your bed for a moment, just staring and you feel a prickle of nervousness roll over your skin, ensnared in his gaze and the anticipation only made worse by the waiting.

And then he’s moving, a knee pressing into the bed as he climbs on, but you stop him, a hand flying to his shoulder. He goes still under your touch.

“Wait, can you–” you pause, feeling your face grow warm. “Can you close the blinds? I don’t want the neighbours to get a free show or something.”

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering before he snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay, sure.” He looks back at you as he pulls them firmly shut, throwing the room sharply into dimness but not before you catch sight of that teasing grin. “And here I was thinking you were so bold.”

“Not that bold,” you mutter, before you grin. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Not with me,” he mutters, climbing back onto the bed. He doesn’t waste any time in putting his mouth to your neck, teeth barely grazing against the skin. You inhale sharply, eyes fluttering under the touch. Jealousy colours his words when he says, “Don’t want anyone else seeing you like that.”

“N-no?” you barely manage to eke out, fingers digging into your sheets. You don’t want to admit his tone sends a thrill down your spine. You’re lucky he’s preoccupied, arching into his touch when his fingers find your sides again, rucking your shirt up your thighs.

“No,” he says firmly, before kissing you again.

When he pulls away you’re a little dizzy, breaths coming out heavy. It takes you a moment to realise your shirt lays over your stomach now, pushed up – showing off the underwear you’d lied about not wearing. He raises an eyebrow at you, unimpressed and you shrug, unrepentant. A finger skims over the band on your hip, hooking underneath it to snap it against your skin. It makes you gasp, and his lips twitch.

“Not wearing anything under this, huh,” he mocks.

“How else was I gonna get you to take it off faster?” you provide by way of explanation, grinning and he shakes his head, looking quite as though he doesn’t know what to do with you. When he pauses, staring, you roll your eyes, pushing up to pull your shirt off. His eyes widen as you settle back into your pillows, and you tell him archly, “There. Now you still get to take off only one thing.”

You watch him swallow you with his gaze, blue-green lingering on every inch of skin bared to him, breathing out heavily. Knelt between your legs, his hands remain hovering by your hips and you push them up, shifting until you brush against him. Impatience makes you petulant, slinging a leg over his hip and reaching out to coax his hand to fucking touch you.

“Do you want to do this?” you ask, when he only brushes a hand over your hip once more, and he frowns.

“Why’re you asking me that? Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you protest. “It’s just – you’ve got me naked and you’re not doing anything about it. It kind of feels like you don’t want to.”

He grins then, incredulously. “God. You’re so whiny. Is this how you are with all your hookups?”

You scowl at him. “You really wanna talk about my hookups? Now?”

His nose wrinkles in disdain and he leans in. “No. I’m gonna make you forget about them, though.”

You don’t know what it is about Jason that draws it out of you – you speak without thinking, dryly telling him, “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

He shuts you up with a glare and lowers himself down, settling on his stomach between your legs. You swallow nervously when his breath skims over the seat of your underwear, the lace already damp. Jason grins to himself when he nudges against the crease of your thigh with his nose and you tremble, biting down a gasp when his fingers hook into the lace and instead of pulling them off entirely, he only tugs them to the side.

He sighs, eyes flicking up to where you stare at him. “So fucking pretty.” He reaches a hand up to press to your mouth and you blink, letting your roommate part your lips with his fingers, pressing them flat against your tongue. It makes your head spin, and you drool over his fingers, wrapping your lips around them and sucking. You delight in the way he watches you do it and emboldened, you reach a shaking hand to encircle his wrist, keeping it in place.

Eventually he pulls himself out of your mouth, but not without shifting against the mattress, and you give him a smile, spit smearing down your chin. He curses under his breath, and you grin when you hear the words, “Fucking brat.”

Thoroughly soaked, he takes his fingers to your cunt and your eyes roll back when he spits onto your clit before attaching his mouth to you. Very quickly, Jason makes a mess of you under his fingers and tongue, pressing inside with ease and curling his fingers to hit the spot you can never quite reach yourself. You see stars, squealing when he bands his free arm over your stomach, pressing down and only intensifying the scale of your pleasure.

Sinking into the mattress, you lose sense of all else but the slick sounds of your sex and Jason’s ministrations, eyes fluttering closed as you whimper. He steadily increases his pace and you’re curling your fingers into the sheets, feeling the knot in your stomach twist and tighten. One twist of his fingers, the tug of his mouth on you, and you’re coming apart with a gasp of his name, hips straining upwards against his arm to ride out your high.

 “Fuck,” you breathe out, stunned and staring at the ceiling and he laughs, laving your cunt with another look before he pulls away, delight on his face at the whimper you let out.

“You still wanna talk shit?” he questions, pushing himself up to come into your line of vision. You blink blearily at him.

“Give me a minute. Then, maybe,” you mumble and he snickers.

“Don’t tell me you’re tapping out now. All that attitude, and you didn’t even last ten minutes.”

You frown at him, sitting up and he falls back on his haunches to give you room. “I’m not tapping out, you asshole. When did I say that?”

He holds up his hands. “My bad, sweetheart. Must’ve misread that look on your face.”

“You’re insufferable,” is all you can say back to him, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, before a shit-eating grin curves his mouth upwards. “But you want to fuck me anyway.”

God help you, you really do.

You look down at him instead, and tug on the hem of his t-shirt. “Take this off.”

“Bossy,” he intones playfully, but pulls it off anyway, revealing the torso you’re guilty of having admired on several occasions, all powerful muscle and tanned skin. A thick pattern of hair trails down from his belly button into where his pyjama pants hang low on his hips, and you think maybe you’ve come on the spot again just at the sight of it, pressing your legs tight together.

He snorts above you, but says nothing, letting you push yourself up onto your knees, pressing a hand to his chest. He’s warm under you and just like last night, the beat of his heart is fast. You do what you’d longed to last night, sliding your hand up from his chest to his neck, tugging him down to press your lips against his. He inhales sharply through his nose, as if surprised, and you smile against his lips. You remain like that for a few moments, mouths slanted against each other and panting.

When you pull away, it’s with a fire burning in your gut, flames high and setting your skin alight.

“Those too,” you breathe out, nodding to his pants and not a moment wasted, they join your shirt on the floor. The both of you left in your underwear, you pout at him, brushing a hand over where he strains against the confines of it.

“I want you in me,” you tell him and he swears, screwing his eyes shut. You lower yourself back down, kneeling, to mouth over his hipbone. Tilting your chin up, you watch him shudder when your fingers ghost over the band of his underwear. “Can I?”

“Fuck. Yeah – yeah you can,” he grits out and you grin, pulling them down greedily. You move backwards as he kicks them off, and your mouth dries when you take in the size of him.

He’s bigger than any of your hookups, and your lust is dashed by the worry that suddenly overtakes you.

“Jason,” you say nervously and he hums. “I don’t think that’s going to fit.”

You try to appreciate that he attempts to muffle his laugh but immediately you’re looking back up at him, indignant. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m being serious.”

“Sweetheart, it’ll fit,” he reassures, smoothing a hand over your cheek, uncharacteristically tender. You find yourself leaning into it, a silent you promise? in your eyes. You believe him, though, you realise. “C’mon, let me take that off you.”

You sink back down into the sheets, pushing up your hips as he finally pulls off your underwear. And even though he’d been nose deep between your lips only a few minutes ago, he lets out a low breath at the sight of you, fully bared to him, a curse that skitters over your skin, stomach tightening as he shuffles closer.

He tightens a fist over his cock, smearing his pre over it as he gives it a few strokes before settling in the cradle of your hips. You shiver when he rests himself against you, sliding his cock over your cunt. Your mess clings to him, and the both of you groan when the tip of him catches against you, taking a sharp breath when he bumps against your clit.

“Don’t tease,” you murmur, reaching out to tug him down. He meets your mouth in a messy kiss, supporting himself on an elbow beside you, his free hand pushing your leg apart before guiding himself to your entrance.

You tense at the intrusion before he mutters at you to fucking breathe, baby. Inch by inch, with a thumb guiding tight circles over your clit, Jason pushes inside. The stretch of him is one you’ve not ever experienced, and you feel winded when he bottoms out, fully seating himself within you.

“Fuck,” you whisper. He grins, leaning down to kiss your jaw.

“Told you it’d fit,” he muses smugly, and you let out a dazed breath, pinching his arm. “Ow!”

“Don’t be a dick with your dick in me,” you mutter crossly and he lets out a laugh.

“Sorry. You okay?”

You blink a few times, wiggling your hips – Jason lets out a hiss – before nodding. His fingers haven’t stopped on your clit and slowly, the stretch has begun to feel a little pleasurable. When he pulls out a little before thrusting, you sigh, bringing your arms up to loop around his neck.

“Feels good?” he asks and you hum. Pleased, he begins to move.

Your senses dissolve quickly. The room slips into a cacophony of moans, the air thickening with urgency with every second that passes. Jason had kissed you like it was life or death; it had only been a precursor. Every nerve in your body feels like a live-wire, thrumming with electricity and so utterly sensitive to his every thrust, and touch, and kiss. His hands are bruising on your waist, your hips, your thigh, when he lifts your leg to sling it around his hip. His mouth seeks yours, all teeth and tongue, exchanging panted breaths and moans, mumbled swears spilling from his lips like a broken dam –

So fucking perfect.

Been waiting so – fuck, so long.

So good for me.

Yeah, just like that.

You can’t keep up with it, sinking your head back into the pillows beneath you. He takes advantage to lave his tongue against the exposed skin there, too, teeth working at you until you’re sure he’s left a mark to accompany the others.

Time passes thickly, your sense of it obscured by the man over you. He fucks you right through your first – technically second – orgasm, and works you up all over again, coaxing you through the next one with breathy laughs and a mean smile when you shake your head, tears budding at the corners of your eyes. You fall apart though, you couldn’t not, with the way he touches you as he angles his hips. Absently, you think, if your sheets weren’t already ruined from your makeup last night, they will be now.

“Thought you couldn’t,” he goads you, rolling the both of you over so you’re slumped on his chest and pushing back in you. You curl your nails into his chest and he gasps, “–Fuck!”

Jason doesn’t seem to mind that he’s worn you out too much to do anything beyond lay on his chest. He holds you easily, thrusting upwards. The change in position makes you cry out, tightening around him once more.

He lets out a startled laugh. “You have one more in you, sweetheart?”

You shake your head once more and he pouts, a hand taking your chin and directing your gaze to him. He’s pouting mockingly at you. “No? Are you sure?”

“You’re–” you stumble out, face screwing up under the weight of your building orgasm, “such a bastard.”

He just grins at you, but it’s strained, too, starting to slip around the edges. He tips his throat back, and you can feel his thrusts beginning to stutter. You take the chance to lean down and latch your mouth to his neck, tired hips rolling against his as you return his favour. His hands tighten around your hips and he groans. “Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna come, where do you want me?”

And because he’s stolen away with him your ability to reason, you whine out needily, “Inside. Need you, fuck, please, I need it inside.”

He swears loudly, hips bucking frantically. You keen as you feel your fourth orgasm of the morning roll over you, and not a moment later Jason follows suit. You feel the warmth of it slide down your thigh and his grip around you tightens as he rides out his high, face buried in your hair. His breathing is ragged, and you close your eyes for a moment against his neck, resting. The room falls silent for several moments, only your breathing to be heard as it evens out.

“Gonna have to get you the pill,” Jason mumbles into your neck and you hum. “Fuck, I should’ve gone to the store or something.”

You hug him a little tighter, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

He laughs wearily, but his arms tighten around you briefly, too. “Not gonna be so perfect if I accidentally knock you up, baby. ‘M smarter about this, usually.”

You grumble, biting his neck gently. “I don’t wanna talk about your hookups with your dick still in me.”

“Should I pull out, so we can discuss them?” he offers, laughing when you try to pinch him.

“You’re so not funny,” you tell him, and he scrunches his nose playfully.

“Yeah, but you need me so bad,” he repeats, leaning in to steal a kiss before you can snap at him. It doesn’t save him; once you recover, you’re reaching to squish his face between your palms.

“You’re the biggest dweeb on the planet, I really hope you know that,” you tell him matter-of-fact-ly. To your annoyance, he doesn’t seem too chastised, beaming up at you when you let him go. You slump back down onto his chest, sighing loudly. “I’m so tired. How do you have that much energy? You slept less than me.”

He shrugs underneath you, a hand settling on your back and trailing up and down. The movement is soothing, and you find your eyelids growing heavier. “Think I’m kind of used to running on no sleep.”

“Freak,” you mumble, and he snickers. “You know, I really wasn’t teasing you when I came out.”

“Hm?”

“No pants. Just forgot,” you slur.

“Go to sleep,” is all he says, but you’re sure you hear a muffled laugh before sleep overtakes you.

You don’t know what you expect to happen from sleeping with Jason. When you wake up, you find that he’d dozed off around the same time as you, but not before cleaning you up and pulling your blanket over the both of you. It makes something in your heart twinge, and you have to avert your eyes when he wakes up not longer after you do. The both of you order an early dinner, having slept through most of the morning and afternoon – “Work tomorrow, too,” Jason had grumbled when you drew the blinds open to a late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky.

“Classes tomorrow,” you pout, as you strip the sheets in your bed. “And I slept through the whole day.”

“Your fault for not sleeping in this morning,” Jason mutters, still in your bed with his face pressed unhelpfully into a pillow. You swat his leg and when he lifts it to shoot you a beleaguered scowl, you gesture to the pillow. He grumbles, sitting up and taking off the pillowcase, throwing it at you. It unfolds halfway through and the both of you stare as it sadly flutters on top of the duvet between you.

“Sad,” you tell him. When the bed’s been stripped, you make him take it down to the laundry – “You have better luck with the machines, they’re always full when I go.”

“That’s such bullshit,” he grumbles, but he takes the basket anyway and heads downstairs to the laundry unit in your apartment building. He’s back five minutes later and unwilling to admit that you’d been right, mumbling a whatever when you let him in because he’d forgotten his keys.

“You wanna watch something tonight?” you ask him as he’s wrangling a fitted sheet over your mattress. The pillowcases and duvet cover replaced, you sit on a chair waiting for your sheet to be changed.

Jason mumbles out a, “Yeah, sure.” and you nod decisively.

Neither of you end up being able to choose a movie. The both of you take turns showering and by the time the clothes have been washed and the food comes, you can’t think of anything you want to watch. You resign to put on a few episodes of your show and call it a night. Though, you worry over your noodles – are you meant to sleep in his bed tonight? Is he going to sleep in yours?

Jason saves you the awkwardness by standing up at the end of your Gilmore Girls episode and heading to his bedroom. There’s no difference in his departure either. He doesn’t kiss you, or hug you or do anything out of the ordinary – he knocks the side of your head with his knuckle and heads off, calling over his shoulder, “Night.”

You’re left there to ponder over it.

You’ve made a disastrous mistake by sleeping with Jason.

You decide this upon waking the next morning and shuffling out into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat before your classes and finding a box of pastries waiting on the counter. You hadn’t expected to have much for breakfast – you were due to go grocery shopping with Jason soon, the fridge growing ever emptier by the day. The sight of it makes you stop short, and you feel that twinge in your heart again, only it’s immediately followed by horror – because you know what it is.

You like him.

You have no time to contemplate this bitter pill, forced to swallow it alongside a few bites of the unforgivably good pastries before getting ready to leave the house – you curse that he’d chosen your favourites, too. You like your roommate. The world goes on. You sit on the bus feeling shell-shocked, sure it must show on your face that you’ve come to terms with a life-changing revelation.

How long have you felt this way, how long have these feelings been blooming inside you, you wonder – feelings that go beyond the basic attraction you’re sure Jason is used to dealing with in his every day life. This isn’t lust, you realise miserably. That would be much too easy.

You like him. You want to strangle him most days, but you like Jason. You like his company, like his stupid sense of humour and despite your better judgement, like his attention. You like that he nags you about pulling your weight, like that he doesn’t care when you mouth off to him, like that he likes you with no pretenses.

Fuck.

There is nothing to suggest in Jason’s behaviour that what’s happened between the both of you actually happened. You feel like a bit of a creep for watching him the way you do, sneaking glances at him over the counter when it’s his turn to make dinner and reading into every syllable of every word he says to you – it begins to feel like you’ve slowly started to go mad. There’s no sign of anything.

Stephanie looks at you oddly when a few days later you both meet up with your mutual friends, pushing a few tables together and ordering nearly everything off the menu – it’s on her, tonight, thanks to the promotion you’re all getting together to celebrate. She drags you into the bathroom before your food arrives and you find yourself spilling the details to her, unable to keep it a secret any longer and almost regretting it when her face screws up into disgust.

“I mean, I knew it was bound to happen but gross,” she squeals, pretending to gag and you glare at her.

“What do you mean? You knew?”

She tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and leans against the bathroom counter, giving you a pointed look. “Are you serious? You had to have known. It was so obvious.”

What you suspect to be an incoming rant is interrupted by the swing of the bathroom door and the call of your names – “The guys told me to come get you before everything’s gone.”

The apparent inevitability of your getting together with your roommate is filed away for later as you exit the bathroom. No sooner than you approach the table do you notice your seat has been claimed, and you look over at Steph when the culprit – a friend she’d brought– smiles at you and apologises, gesturing between her and Jason.

“Do you mind switching with me?” she asks and you blink at her. She tilts her head and you can’t help but notice the shine of her hair, water-like in its movements as it sways. Next to her, Jason eyes you curiously and you smile tightly.

Logic reasons that you have no reason to say no. Jealousy sinks your fingernails into your palm behind your back as you shove your hands into your back pockets.

“Sure,” you tell her, and shove yourself into the seat next to Steph, waving a hand at Roy when he returns from the pool table across the bar and complains about you stealing his seat.

“I don’t see your name on it,” you tell him archly and turn firmly back to the conversation at hand – something about a coworker and someone’s boss that you’re guilty of not paying any attention to. Try as you might, you can’t focus on anything but the laughs from across the table, Steph’s friend leaning in and joking around with Jason.

Stephanie looks over at one point and pinches you under the table, ignoring your hiss to lean in and whisper, “What’s wrong with you?”

You pinch her back, but she simply raises her eyebrows, waiting. You glance over at your roommate, catching his eye before you mutter into her ear – and really, you’re thankful for the ruckus that your table and the dinner crowd provides, otherwise you’d never hear the end of it for ‘keeping secrets’–

“Why’d you invite her?”

She looks back and forth between the two before she raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re seriously pissy because you’re jealous? If you wanted to sit next to him, you should’ve just said.”

You frown at her. “Why would I do that? We haven’t even talked about it, I can’t just tell her to fuck off. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Do you want him to be?” she asks, reaching for the untouched slice of pizza on your plate.

You sneak a look at Jason, who’s bringing a glass of beer to his mouth, smiling over the rim at not you. The answer is too humiliating to say out loud.

Envy clings to you long after everyone parts ways, waiting on the sidewalk and staring down hard at a piece of gum that’s lodged itself between the cracks in the pavement while Jason says goodbye. You don’t like how thankful you are that neither of them exchange numbers – or the possibility that it will come later.

The routine after a night out is usually like this – Jason tends to linger close by as you wash your face and get changed, sitting over the ledge of the closed toilet lid while you run through the events of the night. Normally, you don’t mind it so much. You’ve even found yourself mirroring him when it’s his turn to come home after a night out, standing outside his bedroom door while he changes and talking through the wall. You like the company, and the mutual dissection of your shared gatherings. It feels domestic.

Tonight, you close the bathroom door on him once you both get home and you can tell from the surprised sputter that he hadn’t been expecting it. But the drive home has given your jealousy time to fester, your blood running hot at the thought of all the shared glances and attention paid to someone that wasn’t you. It’s irrational, and mean, and completely crazy, but you find yourself angry with him for letting it happen and angrier still at yourself for feeling this way.

Jason, unaware that he’s back on your shit list, knocks on the door, demanding to be let in. You liken him to a cat, yowling at your doorstep. There’s a shit eating grin on his face when you open the door that drops the moment he catches sight of the look on your face.

“What.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice lilting in uncertainty and you huff.

“No, I just want to go to bed. I’m tired.” Lying through your teeth, you look away from where he’s trying to meet your eyes.

“Did something happen tonight?”

You hate the way his voice turns a little soft, truly, earnestly worried. His hands come up, hovering by your sides as if to turn you over and make sure you haven’t been hurt. It should make you melt, but all it does it make you madder.

“Nothing happened, don’t worry about it,” you tell him curtly, and his brow furrows for a moment, thoughtful.

“Is this about Steph’s friend?” he says and your face grows hotter when he says her name.

“No,” you say baldly, turning around and reaching for your cleanser. You work it between your palms with more force than necessary and the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. “But you know what? I hate her. You shouldn’t talk to her.”

There’s a silence before he replies, and you hate the way he’s somehow found amusement in all of this. Amused, always amused when it comes to you. You wonder if he ever takes anything you say seriously. “You can’t tell me who I can talk to.”

You come up from the sink, water dripping from your lashes and chin and he pauses, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Fine, whatever. Go talk to little miss–” Your jaw closes with a clack and you purse your lips, reaching for your face towel. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

He stops you from reaching for the next product in your long routine, a hand circling around your wrist and tugging you a little closer. When you refuse to look up, his other hand tilts your chin up, and you hate him once more for ducking his head to meet your eyes.

“You mad ‘cos I didn’t sit next to you?” he asks, quiet and you scoff, pushing him away.

“No, have you lost your mind? Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t let you go very far, hands settling on your hips and holding you in place. You lift your chin stubbornly, glaring at the cracks in the tile over his shoulder. At the edges of your vision, Jason shuffles closer, bending his head to press his nose into your cheek.

“You know you can’t lie to me, right?” he murmurs, affection colouring his words. Then, voice dipping, he says softly, “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you protest weakly but his resounding laugh skitters over the line of your neck and you sag against the counter.

“Yeah you are,” he says brightly, and you’re surprised when his lips press chastely into the swell of your cheek. “It’s okay.”

The frustration that’s been simmering in your veins all night boils over when he tilts his head to kiss your jaw. You reach for Jason, guiding his mouth to yours.

He kisses you sweetly tonight, and you squeeze your eyes tightly shut as his lips slide against yours, knuckles bumping against your jaw. There’s this feeling in your chest, champagne fizz-like, a cacophony of bursts, ever rising and rendering you giddy in his arms. It lasts only for a second before you’re pressing further into him, fingers tangling into the thick of his hair and tugging him closer, harried.

The sound of surprise he lets out is muffled, settling against your tongue and swallowed greedily while you press your hips into his. Jason quickly sets you against the edge of the counter, half-hard in his jeans where he stands between your parted legs. Desperation and anger line your movements, pressing closer, closer, impossibly closer to him until every inch of you is near flush against him, separated only by layers of clothing. There’s an urgency to your actions, mapping out his mouth and squeezing your legs around his hips in a bid to relieve the growing pressure.

He pants against your mouth, the hands at your waist kneading your skin through the fabric of your top, fisting it tight and rocking you closer against him.

“Want you,” you demand, breathy and shameless and he groans, eyes screwing shut before he’s nodding fervently, moving away slightly to help you tug your pants off until you’re left only in your underwear. Your hands reach for his belt as his slide down your waistband, spit-slicked fingers sliding against you with ease. You keen under his touch, fingers closing around his length and pulling him out.

You lean over, spitting onto his cock and the curse he bites out echoes in the bathroom. He’s warm in your hand and you delight in the moan he lets out when you pass your fist over his length, echoing it not a moment later when he circles your clit.

Half-dressed and pawing at each other, you rock against his fingers with one hand gripping his shoulder for dear life and the other passing broad, firm strokes over his cock. His hips buck into your fist and you catch his laboured breaths in a messy kiss once more, feeling pleasure coil tighter and tighter in your stomach. A well timed twist of his fingers draws a high-pitched gasp out of you.

“I’m–” you cry and he nods, face twisting.

“Me too.”

Only a few more strokes and the two of you cry out in unison, moans muffled in each other’s mouths as you come. Jason spills over your wrist, his own slowing to a stop beneath the band of your underwear as you let out a ragged breath, pressing your sweaty forehead to his.

His eyelashes flutter against your cheek and you let out a breath through your nose at the tickling sensation. Blue-green eyes meet yours, so close you think you can count the stars in his pupils, and Jason grins, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

Moments pass as he slowly dots kisses to your face, trailing over the corners of your mouth to your jaw and chin, sweet once more. You sigh, letting your eyes shut under his touch and leaning into press of his mouth, your limbs loosening under every baby-soft touch until you’re pliant in his arms.

“C’mon,” he tells you quietly, nosing at your jaw. “We gotta clean up.”

You tip your head tiredly, letting him maneuver you around to wash your hands in the sink while he takes care of himself. By the time he comes up behind you again, you’re watching the soap bubbles wash away down the drain.

“You still mad at me?” he mutters into your temple, and you look up to meet his eyes in the mirror. His arm hangs loosely around your shoulder, drawing you back into his chest. He’s shucked his jeans, left in only his t-shirt and underwear. You can feel the press of his skin against the back of your bare legs, the heat of him through his t-shirt.

You shrug, feeling oddly vulnerable. His lips seem to turn down for the slightest moment before he’s turning you to face him, a hand coming to rest against your jaw.

“Tell me,” he asks. The bite of tiramisu he’d had at dinner still lingers on your tongue and you can smell the lingering notes of his cologne. You press up on your toes to kiss him once more, a gentle brush of lips that carries with it the weight of your entire heart before you’re pulling away.

“Don’t talk to her,” you say quietly, too cowardly to say what you really feel. He regards you with a stare that feels too scrutinising for your liking, before he finally nods.

“Okay.” His thumbs sweeps across your cheek. “I won’t.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, averting your gaze as you nod. “Okay. Good.”

You fear you might have revealed more of yourself than you’d intended when, following the events of that night, Jason softens a little. Only infinitesimally, but you notice it – the way he begins to seek you out a little more, the ease with which he settles by your side in the kitchen when it’s your turn to make dinner, taking advantage of the proximity to steal bites of the food from the pan over your shoulder. Still, amongst the feelings that that particular thought evokes, you don’t find regret.

You dare to think that maybe, even, it was for the better when, twenty minutes into a gathering for one of your friend’s birthdays, Jason drags you out to the car under the pretense of going on an ice run and you find yourself making out with him at a red light, his thigh squeezing at the flesh of your thigh as he whispers filthy promises into your mouth. When you return, it’s with a bruise sucked into the hollow of your throat, hidden in the shadowed collar of your hoodie and kiss swollen lips that you can only hope goes unnoticed.

It gives you something of a thrill, kissing in darkened corners and returning to your friends with the taste of each other on your tongue, a secret shared only between you and Jason. You find yourself biting back grins when he meets your eye from across a room, tamping down the excitement of following him into the bathroom and letting him coax you into just one more kiss.

At home, the air is charged with an undercurrent of electricity, thick with the weight of all that has, and could happen. Your movie nights hang on a razor’s edge, the threat of devolving into something else looming between you at all times. Tonight, you give in, sinking to your knees twenty minutes into the movie and taking Jason’s length in your mouth.

He sinks his head back into the couch as you suck his cock, a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. You hum around him, half lidded eyes gazing up at him.

“Fuck...”

His voice is hoarse, a husky groan spilling from reddened lips, and he runs his other hand through his already messy hair, tousled from where you’d run your fingers through it only moments ago.

“Just like that,” he moans, head tipping back down to look at you, blue-green eyes swallowed by the dark of his pupils. “So fucking good, baby.”

You drag a fist up the end of his length, spit and pre-cum smearing over your fingers. It’s messy, quickened movements and wrecked sighs, Jason’s hips taut as he tries not to buck into your mouth. His grasp on his control slips a little when you dig your fingernails into the skin of his hip, nails scratching over where you know him to be sensitive. Startled, he lifts off the couch, hitting the back of your throat and drawing tears to your eyes.

“Shit,” he says, a half moan as he runs a hand down your face. “Sorry, you okay?”

You blink up at him, tears sticking your lashes together, and hum. The concern in his expression bleeds into realisation and he shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle a smirk.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, dropping back into the couch cushions. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You pull off him to give him a smile, letting out a little laugh. “Yeah? Feels good?”

The hand on your face presses into your cheeks in warning when he lifts his head to glare at you tiredly, and you snicker once more before wrapping your lips around him.

He comes soon afterwards, pulling out of your mouth and making a mess on your face, spend smearing over your lips and chin. You squeeze your eyes shut as he finishes, the sound of his ragged breathing and the salt on your lips coaxing out your own need, wetness quickly growing between your legs. You think it must be obvious on your face. Jason, after carefully wiping your face, pulls you onto his lap, settling a muscled thigh between your legs and gazing up at you with blazing eyes as if to say, well? Your turn now.

The movie remains long forgotten.

“You okay?”

You purse your lips, fiddling with the straw in your drink. The cafe you’ve met at for lunch is one of your favourites, but you find it hard to focus on your food when you keep meeting someone’s eyes over Jason’s shoulder. The man grins at you when you look back, and your frown deepens.

Sat in front of you, Jason taps your foot under the table. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“There’s some guy behind you that keeps looking over here.”

His brows furrow and he leans in over the small table. “You don’t know him?”

You shake your head. “He doesn’t look familiar.”

He considers your answer and nods, before rising from the table. Startled, your hand flies out to clutch his sleeve, already imagining the blood on his knuckles. “What are you doing? Sit down!”

He looks at you like you’re crazy, and you feel your face grow hot. “Would you chill? I was going to tell you to switch seats with me.”

Your rehearsal of the explanation you’re going to have to give to his older brother that you were partially the reason Jason was in a police station comes to a screeching halt. “Oh.”

Flustered, you awkwardly slide out of your seat and into his. Jason passes your things over as he settles into your previous seat comfortably, and you watch his eyes scan over your shoulder, lingering only once, briefly, on something before he’s meeting your gaze with a small grin. His face doesn’t betray his annoyance, features set in a pleasant, neutral expression – except for the minute tightening of the skin around his eyes.

You squirm in your seat, still feeling the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of your head. “Is he still looking?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, shaking his head before, as casually as he would if he were brushing a leaf out of your hair, he extends a hand to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a kiss over the table. Your sound of surprise is lost to his mouth, and Jason lets out a quiet laugh against your lips. When he pulls away, he lingers for a moment, a hair’s breadth away and bright eyed. “If he was still staring, he won’t be anymore.”

“Oh. Okay,” you murmur, dazed, settling back into the metal of your chair. The feel of his lips on yours lingers for the rest of lunch, and long after you part ways, you for your next class and Jason to work.

“See you at home,” you tell him quietly, as the crossing light turns green at the corner where you’re due to part. He grins down at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. You half-heartedly bat his hand away, and he laughs, dropping it back to his side. You have the urge then, looking up at him, to hug him, but the seconds are counting down and bravery evades you, still.

“Yeah. See you.”

You wait there at the intersection, long after he’s crossed the street and disappeared around another corner. You aren’t quite sure what you’re waiting for. You aren’t sure how to explain your resulting tardiness to your teacher, either.

How do you explain the twist of your heart when you think of tourmaline eyes, the phantom brush of tender fingers over your cheek? You can only smile apologetically and hurry to your seat, face warming in both embarrassment and longing.

Jason lingers even when he isn’t there, the ghost of him stood in the doorway of your mind, a constant companion to your thoughts. You’d often thought of love as hues of rose, but you feel as though your vision has been wrapped in a sea-glass film, the world around you now cast in glittering jewel tones.

He draws out a different part of you now, you find. Still teasing, he’s the same Jason he’s ever been. And yet...

There’s a softness to your interactions that you wonder if you only see because you want it to be there. Silence between you now settles with a weight behind it, but it feels like the comfort of a down blanket, soft, and grounding, it feels like contentment. There’s a quality to his voice, to the way his mouth forms your name, something wrapped around every letter that makes you burn, hope flickering dangerously in your heart. You dare to let yourself wonder in the darkness of your room, hidden under the blanket – could he?

Hope, dangerous hope. It does away with any sense you have left. Hope turns you sweeter, displays your love-sickness for all to see across your face, eyes always searching for his in a room, smiles turned shyer. You don’t know who you’ve become, gentle and yearning, the cutting remarks you reserve for him now dulled. Hope pulls the words from your lips when you’re watching Jason make to rise from your bed, moonlight spilling across the floor of your bed through a crack in the blinds.

“Do you -” you falter, and he looks back.

“What?”

Your fingers twist in the bed sheets, nervous and you feel a little sick as you say, “Do you want to just sleep here, tonight?”

And you think you’re going to die, then, when he says nothing for a very long moment. It stretches out into the vast nothingness, and you feel shame heat your face, the weight of what you’ve just asked pressing down on your chest. You wish it would be quicker about finishing you off, you wish you could turn back time, you wish –

“Are you -” he falters. “Really?”

It isn’t a no. “Only if you want to,” you say quietly and the silence returns, before you hear the rustle of your sheets.

“Okay,” Jason whispers, and in the dark you think you hear him exhale shakily but you’re too relieved to pay attention, hope’s flickering flame roaring brightly once more.

It isn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed. You’ve fallen asleep next to each other on movie nights, and when you’d been too stubborn to call it a night while nodding off watching your show. You know the softness of Jason’s bed, know the warmth of his shoulder against yours. And still, your heart races when he returns from the bathroom and climbs into bed beside you.

This isn’t a first. And yet it feels entirely novel.

His arm finds you in the darkness and he draws you closer to his chest, but he pauses. “Is – is this okay?”

He’s warm, heat bleeding through the thin shirt you’d pulled on. You settle a shaky hand over the one on your stomach, squeezing it briefly. Your throat feels dry as you rasp out, “Yeah. Yeah it’s okay.”

“Okay.” A silence, and you feel the ghost of a kiss being pressed into your hair. “Night.”

“Night.”

You wake first in the morning, turning over and blinking open bleary eyes to the sight of him still in your bed. Your heart stutters at the sight of him, and you feel shame wrap you in its grasp once more as you take him in.

He’s beautiful, you think mournfully. There’s a white hair hidden in the depths of his temple, you notice, and a freckle below his left eye, thick lashes fanning over it. You trace the line of the scar in his eyebrow once more, the subtle cleft in his chin, the shape of his mouth.

He shifts a little in his sleep and it makes you tense, but all he does is curl closer to you, the arm beneath your head flexing as he presses his nose to your temple. His other arm comes to sling over your hip. Affection comes in thick waves to you then, rising in your throat like the tide and threatening to drag you beneath its depths forever. Overwhelmed and in love, you press your face to his chest and hope he doesn’t feel the tear that slips down the side of your face, sliding against the skin of his wrist.

Jason wakes not long after you do, mouth curving into a tired grin when he opens his eyes and Hope, dangerous and fickle thing that it is, burns bright through the morning.

Your name makes you look up from the covert game of not-quite-footsie you’ve been playing with Jason on the couch, trying to keep your giggles to a minimum as you kick his feet away from yours while the others linger in the kitchen, arguing about pizza toppings. Jia bounds over to the adjacent armchair and you get one last kick in before you straighten your expression.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!”

You grin at that, pointing teasingly at her. “That’s because you’ve been flaking on us! When was the last time I saw you?”

Her mouth pulls up into a grin and you’re drawn into a conversation with her, but it’s difficult to pay her your full attention. The press of Jason’s thigh against yours makes your head spin a little, even though he’s busying himself with something on his phone.

Hope has left the both of you teetering on the precipice of something the last week or so, and you’ve started to wonder whether it isn’t entirely implausible that you’re not reading into it. Jason had kept his arm around your shoulder when you’d gone grocery shopping the other day, snickering and leaning in over the console in his car to steal a kiss before you carried the shopping in. He’s been stealing bites of your food off the plate you’d balanced on your knees only a few minutes ago, now empty and set on the coffee table, your drink in his hand as he texts back his brother.

It takes only a few words from Jia for you to lose your footing. You feel Jason stiffen next to you and you pause, registering her words.

“How’s that guy you were seeing? Are you guys still together?”

“What?” you ask and she grins at you, oblivious.

“C’mon, you remember. It wasn’t that long ago. I thought you liked him.”

The precipice of something does not overlook what you had thought it had – you fall, fall, fall, and hope, delicate thing that it is, gutters out before your eyes. You feel Jason draw away from you in the seconds it takes you to reply, only shifting in his seat and already an abyss yawns between the both of you.

Jia, ignorant to the upheaval her words have caused, directs her attention to Jason.

“Did they not tell you?” she laughs, and you want to shake her, but you’re silent. “Oh my gosh, didn’t he show up after your class with flowers?”

Jason looks at you in surprise and you can tell he’s remembering the flowers you’d brought home months ago, bright and red, they’d taken up a spot on your dining table for a week before they’d wilted. You hadn’t bought any flowers home since then – it’d been months ago. Months before you’d ever even come close to touching him, an age before you’d reached whatever weird middle you two were in, playing house like you’d been. Months ago. You want to scream at Jia for even bringing it up but you know she doesn’t mean any harm and really – more than anything, you’re mad at yourself.

It’s your fault, you think, grief and panic curling tight in your chest as Jason mumbles an excuse about having to use the bathroom and rises from the couch. You’re the one who hasn’t made it clear to him, cowardly and comfortable in the in between. All the things you should’ve said slam against the roof of your mouth. You like him, he’s the only one you want to cuddle with on the couch and bring flowers.

The smile on your face feels like a painted grimace for the rest of the night, and you don’t ever seem to get within a few feet of Jason before something comes up and he’s whisked away into conversation. You’ve never seen him so social.

“Oh, by the way, man-” Alex says, when you’re gathered in the living room, swallowing a mouthful of the cruiser that only he can stand to drink. “Steph’s friend, what’s her name – she asked me for your number.”

You can’t help yourself from turning your head, stomach twisting itself into knots, and you meet Jason’s gaze for the briefest moments as he looks over, biting the inside of his cheek contemplatively before nodding his head. “Yeah, whatever. That’s fine, I guess.”

Well.

You remain rooted in your seat for what feels like the longest five minutes of your life, watching the movie with unseeing eyes before getting up with a half-hearted excuse to Jia.

“I’m gonna head home,” you whisper, pulling up a ride app. She turns to you with a pout.

“What? Noo.”

“I just remembered I’ve got a paper I have to turn in,” you grimace at her. “I’ll see you later.”

You whisper a bye to the host, crouching to your knees beside their chair and squeezing their arm with a promise to catch up later before you retreat, toeing your shoes on hastily and shutting the door behind you as softly as you can before rushing to the elevator.

In the car on the way home, you listen to the radio with the blood roaring in your ears. There’s a different kind of burning in your chest now, and by the time you reach your apartment, it threatens to leave only ash in its wake.

You lock your bedroom door when you storm inside, slumping onto your bed face down dramatically until it becomes hard to breathe, at which point you roll over. Staring at the ceiling, you feel the tears you’ve been holding back all night crowd your eyes, angry and leaving burning trails in their wake. You slam a fist against your mattress, letting out an aggravated sigh.

“Whatever,” you muse out loud stubbornly, ignoring the tremble in your voice, the lump in your throat that makes it difficult to swallow. “What the fuck ever. I don’t care.”

It’s a difficult thing to convince yourself of. When you hear the sound of the front door, nearing an hour or so later, your chest tightens in anxiety – far from uncaring, you sit up and watch the shadows in the hall move.

Footsteps pass outside your door, pausing only for a moment before you hear Jason’s door open and close. Your eyes burn once more.

You find it uncomfortable how quickly things turn grey in your home. There are no movie nights after that, no Jason peeking his head through the door of your room to ask you if you want to come with him to run errands, or to try the sauce he’s making for dinner, or if you have any clothes you need to throw in the wash because he’s got room in his basket and he needs to do a round. There isn’t much of anything, actually. Silence, thick and tense, hangs over the apartment and makes every noise all the louder.

You make your own meals, and Jason doesn’t look at you when you take your plate into your room. The groceries dwindle down and you go to the store after your class, only to come home and find bread already in the pantry when you go to put it away. The sight of it makes you grit your teeth, but you have no time to stare at it when you hear the click of Jason’s door opening, hurriedly stuffing the bread away before storming to your room.

There are times when you think Jason might break first on the cold war between the both of you out of pure frustration. It comes in the form of disapproving frowns when you return home late from classes, taking the bus instead of calling him – spite keeps you warm enough to make the short walk home as the weather cools – or leaving your dishes in the sink for the morning because you know he’s too stubborn to break first to yell at you about it. Still, he remains silent as you pass him in the hall.

“You guys need to kiss and make up about it,” is all that Steph has to say about it when you tell her, wrinkling her nose at the thought. “Seriously. He’s been so insufferable, I’m begging you. When he gets in a mood, I have to listen to Tim complain about it and I just don’t have the time to listen to him right now.”

“He can do whatever he wants,” you tell her frankly, curling into the corner of her couch. You pull at the sleeves of your hoodie, scowling at a thread that’s come loose. “I don’t care. He’s the one being childish.”

“Wrong.” She shakes her head, making a buzzing noise, as though the subject of your failed love life is as serious as a game show.

“He is,” you insist, nudging her thigh with a foot.

She shrugs, rolling her eyes skyward. “I never said he wasn’t. I just said you were wrong.”

It clicks for you, then, and you frown. “I’m not being childish, I’m just returning his energy.”

Steph’s face contorts into an expression of disbelief and you falter. “Why would you ever do that? Have you ever considered that just ‘cause he’s book smart doesn’t mean he’s love smart?”

It doesn’t make sense to you. Jason is whip-smart – it’s how he landed his job after graduation in the first place. You didn’t get to work at a leading firm without the credentials, and you’d been to his childhood home enough times to see the various certificates and medals filling a trophy case. Half the space in his room and your living room was taken up by the sheer amount of books in his collection, the spines worn and aged, spanning from romance to philosophy. You think he might be the smartest person you know – it doesn’t occur to you that he’s capable of occasionally making a mistake.

You tell Steph as much and she looks weary as she gears up to explain it once more to you.

“Does it feel right that things are like this between you?” You open your mouth to reply and she shoots you a piercing glare. “Be honest.”

Your shoulders slump. “No,” you admit, meekly.

“Then it doesn’t matter how he’s dealt with this,” she says, slapping her hands over your shoulders to give you a little shake. “You might as well try to fix it. And soon, please. I don’t think I can deal with the fallout from your lover’s spat again in this lifetime let alone this week.”

You apologise mentally to Steph when, going on a week later, you haven’t found the courage to approach Jason. Your temper wavers, constantly, as if unable to make its mind up. You go from shyness, hesitant to even leave your room for fear of bumping into him outside, to indignant, your pride demanding that he be the one to lay his armour down first. He’d accepted the other girl’s number to spite you.

Jealousy curls around your throat, tight, unforgiving, and fills your mind with thoughts of Jason, taking her out, looking at her in the way you want to steal all for yourself, eyes half-lidded and sweet; you imagine his fingers curling around hers, his shoulder brushing against hers on the couch. It makes you feel like you’re going insane, pressing your face into your pillow to let out silent screams, thrashing around on your mattress in the world’s quietest temper tantrum.

Spite drives you to sit in the living room on your day off and put on Gilmore Girls after Jason leaves for work, parking yourself on the couch and starting from the beginning of the series. You reason, despite the kernel of guilt that sits in the pit of your stomach, that even if you were watching the show without him, you a) had watched the show long before the two of you ever had officially started watching it together and b) hadn’t continued without him. The excuses feel pale to you, but you’re stubborn and it’s a harmless slight – one he won’t even know about.

Except, as it happens, you fall asleep in the afternoon and Jason happens to return home just as a new episode begins. You blame it on the tension of the last few days – you’d never slept better than when the two of you had been toeing the line of something more, but fighting with Jason steals sleep from you and you find it difficult to close your eyes without being met with the urge to stand at his door and make him hear you out. Pride and shame war within you at night in place of dreams, and you leave for your classes poorly rested.

You wake at the slam of the front door – you really need to speak to your landlord about replacing it, too heavy to close normally, but you’ve got your hands full being mad – and come face to face with a fuming Jason. He looks between you and the T.V, mouth dropping open.

“Are you serious?” he spits. It’s the first words he’s spoken to you in a week and you draw yourself to your full height, rising off the couch and planting your hands on your hips. His tone lights a fire within you, and you’re itching to let him have it.

“Excuse me?”

He narrows his eyes at you, scoffing. “You’re so...”

“I’m so what,” you sneer and he blusters for a moment, almost apoplectic.

“You’re so childish. What, we don’t talk for a few days and you’re gonna watch it without me?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one that started ignoring me!”

“I didn’t see you trying to talk to me, either,” he retorts and your lip curls in anger.

“Why would I talk to -”

“Oh, I knew you would-” Jason cuts you off, but you’re unwilling to back down, raising your voice higher until the both of you are arguing over each other.

“Yeah, because you know everything – you’re so annoying -”

“I’m annoying-” he sputters, lifting a hand to point at the dishes. “I’m not the one leaving my dirty dishes in the sink. You’re disgusting.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. You wash them if they bother you so much! I’m not the one who forgets to wipe the counter in the bathroom after I use it!”

“That’s because you’re too busy leaving your clothes everywhere!”

On and on it goes, every petty grievance met with a complaint in turn. You argue until you’re heaving breaths and Jason is blue in the face, but none of it means a single thing to you, carrying the anger of a far bigger, unvoiced slight. And then, you don’t know how or why, but in a matter of seconds it is no longer unsaid. You’ve spilled it into the air between the both of you and Jason’s staring at you with a glint in his eye as if to say, finally.

“I can’t believe you took her number!”

And you hate the way your voice hitches on the last word, throat constricting as you stare at him reproachfully. You don’t let him reply, stepping closer angrily with your nails pressing into the palms of your hands, upset and hurt. “I told you not to talk to her and you just took it like-”

“Like what?” he challenges, and you can feel your eyes beginning to sting, humiliation washing hot over you. “Tell me.”

But you don’t know what to tell him. All you can do is stare, chest heaving and eyes wet. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he nods.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He lets out a breath, wiping a hand over his face wearily. “Whatever, I’ll talk. Do you have any idea how stupid I felt, playing like I’m your boyfriend and thinking maybe that’s what you want too–”

Your mouth opens helplessly, heart gripped in a tight vice at the hurt in his voice, his nose screwing up in upset.

“–and then I get the biggest reality check of my life, because I guess it isn’t what you want, but I just figured–” his voice cuts off then, and his eyes are ultramarine as he stares at you. “I just thought you’d be straight up with me.”

Panic engulfs you then, at the resignation in his face and you see it then, the profile of his back as he leaves, the packed boxes and the silence of an apartment too big for just one, the emptiness of the room next door, an ever clear mirror – you’re lurching forward before you can lose him.

“It is what I want!”

He doesn’t leave – yet. Your fingers grasp the sleeve of his hoodie tightly, and you can feel a few errant tears in the hollow beneath your eyes, marking a trail down the curve of your cheek as you stare at him.

“It is what I want,” you repeat yourself. Jason exhales shakily, but doesn’t make to remove your hand.

“Then – the guy?”

“I’m not seeing him,” you tell him, shaking your head fervently. “I haven’t -” Face warming, you duck your head. “For a long time...It’s only been you.”

He blinks slowly, lashes heavy as they flutter, eyes rimmed red. The tip of his nose is pink, too, you notice. Jason sniffs, looking away for a moment.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” his voice is rough, and you take a step closer. Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, and you blink back your grief.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I was scared. I guess I thought maybe I’d explain at home, but then...”

You trail off and above you, you can hear him kiss his teeth, face contorting into a grimace.

“I–” he blows out a breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you, ‘stead of assuming.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” you tell him sullenly. He grimaces, and you sigh, squeezing his wrist gently. “I should’ve told you, earlier, though – I was too chicken to talk to you, I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“You should’ve,” he echoes you, lightly, a hesitant grin on his lips. “It wouldn’t have ruined it.”

“I know that now. I thought..” you trail off, embarrassed. He turns his wrist over in yours, your palms kissing, and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

“What?”

“I thought you just wanted no-strings, I thought maybe I was just reading too much into it. You never said anything, either, I thought I’d just be wrecking it if I brought it up,” you admit, averting your eyes. When you chance a look back at him, he looks dismayed.

“I did want it,” he says, lips curving downwards into a frown. “I thought you wanted no-strings, ‘n I was the one being selfish, wanting you to myself.”

The both of you stay there like that, in the middle of your living room, hands linked and an abject feeling of disappointment weighing your hearts down.

“It’s not what I want,” you whisper, desperation lining your voice. “I – I feel crazy, that’s how much it isn’t what I want.”

“What do you want?” he asks, a tremor in his voice.

There’s that feeling again, that choking fear that closes your throat up and roots you to the floor. There’s terror at the thought of being known – but stronger still is the fear of walking away from him at the end of this and it being forever. You struggle, forcing the words out.

“You.” You feel your eyes water once more. “I want you. For me, only. I want you to look at me and steal food from my plate and want me and – and be mine. I don’t care that you nag me about the dishes and I don’t care that you never put your shoes away properly–”

At this, he lets out a choked laugh.

“– and I know we argue all the time, I know I get on your nerves, but I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. Properly, with all the strings attached,” you finish, letting out a shaky breath.

Seconds pass.

“Say something,” you whisper, hand still in his.

Jason offers you a wobbly smile. “I want you to be mine, too,” he says, voice wrought with longing. “It’s all I ever wanted. God, I thought I was going to lose it when Jia started talking about that guy, I kept thinking about him getting to see that side of you, make you smile – bringing you flowers, I want to be the one to do that.”

“You’re the only one I want that from,” you murmur and his lips curve downwards into a rueful smile.

“We’re both pretty stupid, huh?” he remarks. Then, looking away, he clears his throat. “Look, I’m not – I don’t like her like that. I told Alex later not to, uh, y’know. I don’t – I didn’t get her number. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place, but – yeah.”

You stare at him, feeling pressure behind your eyes. Your voice comes out wobbly when you reply, a congested, “Good.” that has his face dropping, moving to curl his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, and you shake your head, pressing your face into his chest. The smell of coffee clings to his shirt, and you breathe it in, comforted by the feeling of his arms holding you tightly to his chest. You cling to him, unwilling to part too soon after the ugliness of the last week, and it’s only when he laughs your name against your temple, curling inwards to meet your height, tall as he is, do you pull away to look up at him.

“Can you-” your face grows warm. “Will you..kiss me?”

The expression on his face is immeasurably soft. You think, a week ago, if you had asked him this way, he might’ve laughed at the tone of your voice, needled you a bit about being so shy. You understand his gentleness now, though, as he murmurs a,

“Yeah, sweetheart. Come here.”

Your wounds remain tender, and Jason kisses you as though you’re something delicate, something to be treasured, lips slanting over yours, feather light, before he presses closer. He’s syrupy sweet, kissing you slow. There’s a newness in every touch, every shared breath and sigh. Hands that have trailed your waist and hips so many times before now squeeze your palms, fingers intertwined like a promise. He breathes your name against your lips, nose pressing into your cheek, still sticky with tears.

“I love you,” you tell him, and he kisses you once more.

In the middle of your living room, you begin anew.

fin.

author's note: holy fuck. here is 17.6k words of what i thought was going to be 80% smut 20% emotion and ended up being whatever this is. i said i wasn't going to start a longfic during the semester and then this would NOT stop bothering me so. here we are...that content warning looks like an ingredients list for real.

anyway i'll post an author's note on ao3 that doesn't sound like brainrot. probably. idk this fic isn't that deep. reader and jason r extremely unserious and also probably a little shitty but it's okay. it's the roomie verse! we didn't come here for innocent angel characters. let's be serious! also i tried to fit in every single roomieverse hc that i could sorry they r something like easter eggs to me. swifties have t@ylor swift you have ME! i was gonna say something about that woman but let me not speak ab her too much with a folklore inspired username LMAO

[revehae]

fixative

pairing ↠ ex!seulgi x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon to dubcon pipeline, implied!stalker au, breaking and entering

summary ↠ months after breaking up with your toxic ex-girlfriend, you finally pluck the courage to move on and press your luck with another girl, but seulgi isn’t keen as on letting go.

wc ↠ 2.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost :)

don’t like it, don’t read.

your stomach was taut, beset with unease. the first date since her, you thought to yourself with a nervous shudder. needless to say, you were a bundle of agitated nerves.

three months ago, you broke up with your obsessive ex-girlfriend, seulgi. since then, you had been hesitant to step back into the dating realm for obvious reasons, but lately you had been talking to some chick named irene and she seemed sweet enough.

no apparent psychopathic tendencies, at least. seulgi was sweet, but it was all an act to lure you right where she wanted you. beneath of all of those saccharine affections was a woman that wanted to control you and treat you like an object at her disposal. on more than one occasion, she had threatened your friends and warned them to stay away from you.

the signs were subtle at first, quiet. seulgi always spoiled you, treated you like a princess. she flattered you and made it a point to remind you she wouldn’t know what she’d ever do if you weren’t her girl. you never thought anything of her affections, finding her cute.

seulgi wanted to know all there was about you, and told you everything about her, volunteering her social media and iphone password. which made you feel like it would only be fair for you to do the same. she hated when you kept secrets, emphasizing that openness and communication were the key to all successful relationships. naturally, you would feel bad if you kept things from her and told her everything.

then, she started guilt-tripping you. if you did something that made her unhappy, she would always come up with some sob story to make you feel like a bad girlfriend. and it worked. so to placate your girlfriend, you devoted all of your time to her and let her get so deep inside your head that she even made you doubt your friends. 

that was why when your friends initially pointed out how odd she was and mentioned that she had threatened them, you were convinced that they were lying. it wasn’t until later when your mother, who you’d had limited interactions with (because of your ever so perfect angel of a girlfriend), barged into your apartment and demanded an explanation for your behavior that you realized they had been right along. you told her that you were devoting your time to your girlfriend and after describing to her a series of events that you had naively believed were normal, she promptly told you in no uncertain terms that your girlfriend’s behavior was obsessive and controlling, and she was manipulating you.

you proceeded to dump her after that. fortunately, it wasn’t too late and your friends begrudgingly welcomed you back into your friend group (though you had to put in a lot of work to make amends), and your life was finally gearing back on the right track.

fresh out of the shower, you walked out of the bathroom connected to your bedroom, towel wrapped around your torso, and went to grab a bra from the over-the-door hanger behind your bedroom door. you groaned, miffed. you chastised to yourself, why would you put it up so high, knowing you couldn’t reach it, dummy?

a weird feeling settled in your gut, remembering the times when you and seulgi were together. she would always hang your bras up higher than you could reach solely so that she could help you take it back down. at the time, you thought nothing of it, writing her off as an annoying, mischievous goofball. the tease you had fallen for. you grimaced. weird how she always made me depend on her.

“need help?”

you shrieked, instantly whipping around. your mind recognized who it was before you saw it yourself, knowing that voice as too well. the blood drained from your face when you saw no other than your ex-girlfriend in the flesh, watching you with a cocky smirk.

you cowered, backing against the door with your hand over your chest, feeling your heart race. “what the fuck are you doing here?” you exclaimed.

“relax, baby. this is my home too, you know,” seulgi said, approaching you steadily.

“stay back,” you growled, though you were consumed head to toe in fear.

seulgi stopped dead in her tracks, but not really because you told her to. she smiled in a way that was very ominous and off-putting before asking, “and if i don’t?”

“i’m going to call the police if you don’t leave,” you threatened. 

seulgi took a single step forward. 

just seeing her move sent sheer panic throughout your body and you immediately grabbed the doorknob, prepared to rush out of the room and into the living room where you had left your phone to charge, but it didn’t budge. oddly enough, neither did seulgi, merely watching you from a slight distance as you tried to see if the door was locked, only to find that that wasn’t the case. 

still, it didn’t open.

your next instinct was to run into the bathroom, but that door didn’t open either, and when you turned around in wonder of why she wasn’t trying to stop you, that was when you finally defeatedly noticed the bottle of gorilla glue at her feet.

you gulped. 

seulgi laughed, full of mischief, though not the kind you had fallen for. “should i glue your legs together too so you stopped spreading them for women who aren’t me?” she asked. “what’s her name - irene?”

“don’t say her name,” you hissed. you didn’t even want to ask her how she knew.

“trust me, i don’t want to any more than you want me to,” seulgi said, approaching you again. 

you parted your lips to scream in hopes that maybe your neighbors would hear you, but seulgi covered your mouth with her palm and lowered you to the ground, all the struggle making your towel fall.

you whimpered her name, but with her hand muffling your sounds, it just came out as a tiny noise.

“poor baby. you’re shaking,” seulgi said in a gently scolding tone, shaking her head. “are you cold or are you scared? i turned the ceiling fan off when you were in the bathroom, you always forgot to do that before you got in the shower. see, what would you do without me?”

“you haven’t changed,” you snarled when she moved her hand, tears forming in your eyes, but you resisted them. 

seulgi, remembering all the times she thoughtfully turned your ceiling fan off for you while you were in the shower, scoffed, “clearly, neither have you.”

“fuck you.”

“shit, yeah, baby. love when you talk dirty to me,” seulgi had the nerve to joke, wiggling her brows.

you bristled with anger and tried to fight her off, though to no avail. seulgi had always been stronger than you. far, far stronger.

“stop resisting. you know i would never do anything to hurt you, baby,” she sang softly. “i love you.”

“no, you don’t,” you snapped. “if you loved me, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

seulgi switched on a dime and shot back, “i told you when we got together that i couldn’t be the perfect girlfriend. and what did you tell me, huh? fucking say it!”

the first few tears slid down your cheeks when she lashed out at you. you were getting deja vu and not the pleasant kind. “that i loved you anyways,” you whispered sadly. 

you weren’t even sure why you said it, why you listened. maybe it was out of habit. never once did you defy her back then, because she convinced you that you were wrong and she was always right, and you needed her to guide you. you always listened.

seulgi narrowed her eyes at you. “exactly. and now you don’t love me anymore? is that it?”

your heart hurt. you didn’t want to, but you knew it would take a while before you forgot how it felt to be in love with her. to need her more than anything. maybe you weren’t exactly over her, no matter how badly you tried - or wanted - to be.

when you didn’t respond, seulgi grabbed you by the throat and didn’t apply pressure, but her silent threat was ever clear. “say you love me.”

you were sobbing. the fear and the memories were overwhelming, but this was next level. not once did seulgi ever put her hands on you unless you asked for it, specifically in the bedroom, so this was jarring. “i love you,” you croaked, heart thumping.

“liar. if you loved me, you wouldn’t be going on a date with some other girl only three months after our breakup like a fucking whore,” seulgi shot, mimicking you a little. her eyes fitted over your body, trailing between your thighs and down your legs. you squeezed your legs together, remembering you were exposed, but seulgi pried them back open and groped you. “you even shaved for her. did you plan on letting somebody else taste what’s mine?”

“i’m not yours,” you told her with extra vitriol. 

seulgi’s clasp around your neck tightened. “you are mine. every part of you belongs to me. and that pussy is especially mine.”

you shook your head, but let out a sound when she shoved two fingers inside your cunt.

“you fucking slut. no way you’re seriously wet right now,” seulgi taunted, fingers coating your arousal.

you hid your face in embarrassment. your body seemingly also remembered that the only time she ever dared put her hands around your throat was in the bedroom, because it responded with immediate pining. you could never hide how much you liked it when she choked you out, just long enough to make you think you could faint.

seulgi spread your thighs apart even further, then pushed her fingers back inside your pussy, watching your face erupt with the opposite of agony. in spite of the tears streaming down your face. 

“you can’t,” you whispered to her. 

“shh,” seulgi sang, brushing you off. “it’s okay, baby. you’re all mine. just for me.”

forget that you had a date you were late to. seulgi’s fingers felt good pressed inside you, filling you completely. it wasn’t fair. seulgi knew your body better than anybody out there, and you feared she always would, having studied you so attentively.

your cunt tightened around her fingers, expressing just how much you loved how she felt inside you. you whimpered out a cry of her name, the word slipping from your tongue involuntarily, though there was no way that you could retract it now.

seulgi knew your body couldn’t get enough of her. she remembered all the times she strung you to climax, making you shake and cry out in her arms again and again, over and over. day and night. dusk and dawn. she was the best you ever had and was hoping to have ruined you for any other woman. 

this other woman was a bit of a nuisance in that plan, but it was nothing seulgi couldn’t take care of. she would just have to remind you who you belonged to, and who could pleasure you like her. which, judging by the ecstasy in your voice, she was doing a damn good job at. 

“you know nobody could ever love you like i do, right?” seulgi asked, tightening her hold at your neck because she knew you liked it.

“uh-huh,” you moaned, not really in any place to tell her no. not with how your body was responding to her touches.

“then why are you trying to replace me? you’ll never find anyone like me,” she said, meeting your eyes.

you stammered, “i… i wasn’t.”

“liar,” seulgi hissed. “you wanna know why? because you’re a fucking whore. and that’s what leg-spreading whores like you do.”

“no,” you whimpered, trying to deny it, but to no avail. 

seulgi countered, “mm-hm. i told you about that bitch before, didn’t i? told you she’s no good and that you should stay away from her, but what do you do? you throw your legs open for her.”

“i haven’t…,” you trailed off, reluctant, but you found the courage to continue, “i haven’t had sex with her.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i promise i’m not!” you cried. “you’re the last person to touch me, seulgi.”

seulgi was contemplative, wondering if you were telling the truth, but she knew that you couldn’t make up any lies as long as she was pleasuring you. you had tried, on more than one occasion, and failed terribly. “good. and it’s going to stay that way,” she told you sternly. “anybody touches this fucking pussy and i’ll kill them.”

“i’m gonna…, i’m gonna cum,” you whined, grabbing her arm for anchorage. you were holding on so tight and seulgi couldn’t get enough of the feeling, dreading the moment you would let go.

“cum,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “and you better moan my name when you do.”

obediently, you let out a moan of her name when you came, and a loud one at that, shaking and trembling, and writhing. she watched every second of it, enamored with you and at awe of how hard you came when she was at the forefront. the euphoria on your face was almost enough to make her cum. 

you slumped down when you came, weak. seulgi uttered a, “stay right there,” and got up, knowing you would stay. out of obedience, and because you were much to spent to move, even if it was the better decision. not that you could go anywhere naked.

seulgi came back half naked and with your ringing phone in hand, which alarmed you, but you didn’t move. “i’m going to ride your face,” she said. “and you’re going to like it.”

you nodded. you didn’t have it in you to protest. 

seulgi sat on your face and answered your phone, pressing it to her ear, and said, “hello?”

you watched her, eyes wide, but she just grinded her pussy into your mouth. “she can’t come to the phone right now. she’s a little busy.”

you whimpered loudly, but seulgi merely buried her cunt against your against, smiling down at you.

[sagesolsticewrites]

Sundress (Anthony Boyle x Reader)

In which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen

Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for this idea and for being my spicy Anto/Croz hypewoman <3 ily girlieeeee 👏👏 👏

content warnings: mature content (thigh riding, oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), slight dom/sub dynamics if you squint, praise kink, swearing, Anthony Boyle being entirely too sweet and sexy for this world 🥴 (again: this is for mature audiences only!! 18+!!)

word count: 2.7k (ANTHONY BOYLE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME 😩)

Masterlist

You stand in front of your closet, fighting off a grin of anticipation.

The press tours for Masters of the Air and Manhunt had finally come to a close, and you had a few days of respite before your boyfriend went off to his next project.

Of course, with Anthony, this meant date night.

You linger near your reliable jeans-and-a-nice-top combos for a moment before the sundresses hanging near the back catch your eye.

The weather has been getting warmer, you think, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to wear these…

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snag one of your favorites off the hanger and change into it, twirling to see every angle in front of the mirror.

It complements your curves perfectly, hanging at just the right length that won’t make you nervous about walking up any stairs but isn’t too modest.

You make quick work of your makeup and jewelry, making sure to include the delicate necklace that Anthony gifted you for your first anniversary together, and before too long there’s a knock at the door.

Your boyfriend, fresh from some last-minute press responsibilities, was right on time.

You rush towards the door, the clacking of your heels on the floor surely announcing your excitement to Anthony as you fling it open.

“Hi,” you say, barely able to speak around your grin.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you in for a swift kiss— the first you’ve shared in weeks. Reluctantly, the two of you eventually pull away for air and he steps inside, eyes raking over your figure, “You look… absolutely fantastic.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, twirling so he can see how the dress fans out around you. “You don’t look too bad, yourself.” You add, eyeing the rolled-up sleeves of his white button down revealing entirely too attractive forearms and the patch of chest hair just visible underneath the effortlessly unbuttoned top buttons — bless his stylist, who had clearly attended the Austin Butler School of Buttoning Shirts — all complemented perfectly with sleek black pants.

“Thank you, my love. I’m, uh…” he trails off as he watches your dress settle around you, then seems to jolt back to himself after barely a second, “I’m just gonna go grab a jacket and then we’ll head out, alright?”

He returns soon, now armed with a black suit jacket, and you glance down at the sundress that now seems a bit too casual for what he’s wearing.

However, when you ask if you should change, his answer is a swift, decisive, “No.”

“You look stunning just as you are, darling,” he amends his sharp response, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before escorting you out the door.

Anthony is his usual gentlemanly self while you’re out: he pulls your seat out and waits for you to sit down first when you arrive at your favorite Italian restaurant, happily splits a dessert with you (though if you happened to end up with the bigger half, despite your insistence that you split it equally, well… it wasn’t a crime to treat his girl, was it?), and when Frank Sinatra starts playing on the speakers overhead, he jumps to his feet and extends his hand to you, twirling you around the floor with not a single care for the eyes watching when you gladly accept and pulling you in for a sweet kiss as the song ends, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you close.

“So… ready to head home, sweetheart?” He asks as the two of you return to your seats.

“I— yes, I guess so?” You reply, slightly confused. Normally Anto loved to keep you out with him for as long as possible; returning home directly after dessert was a rarity.

He scrambles to assure you that he would be more than happy to stay out if you want, but something about the way his fingertips dance over your knee under the table, toying with the lace edging of your dress, makes you agree that it’s time to call it a night.

The air between the two of you as you head home is thick and hot, the anticipation of something building.

And that anticipation comes to a head as you enter the privacy of your home, finding yourself pinned to the inside of the door as soon as it closes.

“Sweetheart,” Anthony nearly growls against your lips, hands firm on your waist as his voice grows increasingly more strangled, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I don’t—” You just barely choke back a moan. You haven’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but if it’s getting him to manhandle you like this after so long away…

“This dress,” he groans, bunching the flimsy fabric in his fists, “I’ve been gone for weeks, and the first thing I see is you in this little thing—” he moves as he speaks, from murmuring against your own lips to traveling down back to your ear and along your neck, “— and I take you out to dinner, and dessert, and dancing—” he punctuates each item with a light nip to your skin, making you jolt.

“—when all I really want to do,” he returns to speaking directly in your ear, his voice a soft growl that does startling things to your heart rate, “is see how pretty you look in this dress when I fuck you in it.”

Your entire body turns to jello, and the only thing keeping you upright is Anthony’s hands on your hips and his leg wedged in between yours. You can’t help but let out a sharp gasp when your core comes into contact with his leg, and his already dilated eyes turn almost entirely black at the sound.

“C’mere, baby,” he whispers, pulling you along to the bedroom, discarding his jacket somewhere in the house as he does.

You scramble to kick off your heels as you enter the dimly-lit room, your boyfriend wasting no time in untucking and unbuttoning his shirt from his perch on the edge of the bed.

“No,” he says sharply when your fingers move to the straps of your dress, “Keep it on.”

Your breath catches, biting your lip to stifle a moan as you realize he was serious.

He wordlessly beckons you closer, and you step forward obediently, standing between his spread legs. Pinching your chin, he tugs you down for a gentle kiss that’s fairly at odds with his dominating persona at the moment.

“This okay?” he murmurs softly against your lips, and somehow the gentle check-in combined with the events happening now are enough to make you even wetter than you already are.

You nod, adding a soft “Yes” when you remember he won’t do anything unless you’ve given a verbal okay.

That settled, he captures your lips in a decidedly more heated kiss, hands moving down to grip your hips as he adjusts so you’re straddling his thigh.

You meet his scorching gaze, practically feeling yourself melting as you realize what he intends to do.

“Noticed you seemed to like this earlier, my love,” he murmurs against your lips, smirking.

You quickly move to clutch at his shoulders as he drags your clothed core along his quadricep, mouth opening in a silent moan.

He huffs out a laugh, nudging your nose with his own as he bunches up the soft fabric of your dress.

“I was right, you do look very pretty like that,” he mumbles, “but I don’t even get to hear your pretty noises? C’mon, honey…”

He flexes his thigh, the new angle making you jump as you gasp, “Anthony, oh my god—”

“Just like that, sweet girl,” he growls into your mouth, scattering kisses all down your neck and chest as your pace speeds up.

A familiar tension builds just below your belly as you clutch yourself against him, throwing your head back and rolling your hips against his still-clothed thigh faster, faster, faster, Anthony murmuring soft praise and encouragement all the while.

“Anthony,” you gasp into his mouth, one hand clutching at his shoulder while the other buries itself in his dark curls as you feel yourself teetering on the precipice of your release, “‘M gonna—”

Your warning is cut off by a sharp, keening whine when Anthony grips your hips firmly, stopping their motion just before you tip over the edge.

“No, Ant—” you whine, struggling against his grip as your almost-orgasm fades, “Please, I was so close…”

“‘Msorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your skin, rising with you as you stand on wobbly legs, “I promise I’ll make this next part worth it,” He murmurs teasingly as he gently lays you back on the bed.

He shucks off his shirt before climbing on top of you, giving you a knowing smirk as you eye the exposed skin, your gaze lingering on the fully-revealed chest hair and the wet patch just barely visible on his thigh. The bed dips with his weight as his limbs cage you in, one hand delicately tracing the curves and lines of your body, making you shiver.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, your hands eagerly traveling along his skin.

“If you’re gonna cum, sweetheart,” he breathes in a low, gravelly tone that sends heat straight to your core, “it’s gonna be on my mouth before anything else.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve truly actually turned to liquid, especially if the increasing wetness between your thighs is any indication, but your boyfriend proves you’re still deliciously solid, his lips tracing a path down your neck to where the tops of your breasts are just barely exposed by your dress.

Your fingers creep up to pull your dress down, to fully expose your chest so he can scatter kisses over every inch of you, but Anthony stops you.

His pretty brown eyes, molten with heat, meet yours as he stops you from tugging desperately at your dress.

“I told you, baby,” he says, keeping eye contact as he drags his lips over your clothed chest, paying special attention to your quickly hardening nipples peeking through the fabric before moving lower.

“Keep. It. On.” 

You throw your head back, gasping softly as his lips travel down, down, down, along your stomach and hips down to your thighs.

He carefully slides the now irreparably wrinkled fabric up, flipping up the hem to reveal your hips and thighs and the lacy fabric covering your core.

He wastes no time in pressing kisses to you over your underwear, your hips bucking up into him as you chase the feeling of his mouth on you.

Little tease that he is, he keeps his mouth just out of reach as he peels off the soaked lace fabric

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, your own breath catching as he drags his fingertips through your folds and they come away dripping, “All this for me?”

You can only whine, having long ago lost the ability to form words.

He prolongs your torment by kissing a slow, torturous path up the inside of each of your thighs before finally — finally — diving into you, eagerly licking into your folds.

You let out a choked gasp as he licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans against you, his voice sending vibrations through your core, “Taste even better than I remembered.”

“A-Ant—“ you stutter out a warning, that familiar tension building once again.

You feel him grin against you, and lord if that doesn’t send all kinds of sparks racing through your body, a feeling that only intensifies as his thumb comes up to circle your clit, a litany of praise and encouragement falling from his lips.

“‘M not gonna stop you this time, sweetheart, just let go,” he murmurs against you, fingers and tongue working overtime on your core, “C’mon baby, please, wanna taste you—”

You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, Anthony dutifully guiding you through your climax.

You come back to yourself, shuddering, as your boyfriend pulls away to brush a gentle kiss to your hipbone, mouth glistening and eyes nearly black with desire.

“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he groans, trailing back up to capture your lips with his.

You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

The two of you stay like that for a while, Ant letting you recover, until the bulge pressing into your thigh becomes too much to ignore.

He gasps into your mouth as your hand moves down to palm at him through his slacks.

“Darlin’— shit, you’re ready for me already?”

As if your furious nodding wasn’t enough of an answer, you move your hand more insistently against him.

“Fuck, fuck, okay—” he hisses, moving off of you to rid himself of his his pants and boxers.

You watch, bottom lip caught between your teeth, as his length springs free from his underwear, tip already leaking.

He returns to hover over you, brushing kisses all over your face and neck as he strokes himself a few times.

You can’t resist touching him, and your fingertips grazing along his length has his eyes fluttering shut.

“Not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that, sweetheart,” he warns with a gasp, breath hot against your cheek.

You reluctantly retract your fingers, barely stifling a moan when his tip brushes against you as he positions himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock on yours, watching your face contort in pleasure as he slowly, slowly, enters you.

“You ready, darlin’?” He breathes against your lips after a moment to let you adjust.

The frantic “yes” that escapes you isn’t so much a word as a gasp, and your thoughts turn to static as he begins to thrust into you with slow, languid strokes.

Your breaths mingle, his exhales becoming your inhales, the thin fabric of your sundress providing a delicious friction as you feel every inch of him pressed against you.

“You’re so tight,” he gasps, increasing his pace as your breathing becomes heavier, “Fuck, I missed this, I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” you whine into his mouth, your hand fisting his soft dark curls, “Missed you so much, Ant—”

His mouth closes the millimeters of distance between the two of you, crashing onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss.

You let out a muffled moan as his hips grind against yours faster and faster, feeling your second orgasm of the night building.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” Anthony groans, hips stuttering, letting out a soft “fuck” when you tell him you’re almost there, too.

“C’mon, come for me darlin’” he grinds out against your mouth, “‘M right behind you, please, please, come for me, honey…”

You reach your second climax with a cry, Anthony muffling his own in your neck as he spills into you, thrusting slowly until he’s spent.

The two of you stay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, until Anthony lifts his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“So,” he says breathlessly, toying with the hopelessly wrinkled fabric of your dress, “You’ll be wearing these more often, yeah?”

You huff out a laugh. “If you promise not to ruin them, absolutely.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ll buy you a thousand more of these. Whatever you want. As long as I know there’s at least one in your closet for me to enjoy.”

He murmurs the last sentence against your lips, punctuating it with a long, slow kiss that has you grinning against him.

You bump your nose against his as he pulls away, your thumb stroking his cheek.

“Welcome home, honey.”

His gaze softens, pulling you in for another brief, gentle kiss.

“Thank you, my love.”

[meat-wentz]

FOB LORE POST Pt. 1

okay so tumblr ate the original ask i was responding to and now refuses to save/post all the edits i’ve made, so this post has to come out in two parts. i’d rate it surface level-knee deep lore (maybe some waist deep, maybe some neck deep idk we'll see)! i'll be focusing on pre-hiatus just cause post-hiatus is generally easier to find (but there will also be post-hiatus because i can't help myself). also curated to my tastes these are things that *i* always think about, so big disclaimer this is not everything. this part basically covers the fob extended universe (terms/people to know, blog links, and important texts here and there), links to unrealeased tracks/rares/covers, and a rundown on the origin story.

so here's some basic things to know:

FBR- Fueled by Ramen. baby's first record label. also host to a bunch of other notable acts from the scene.

FOBR- easy to mix up. literally just falloutboyrock.com, their website. hosted journal entries, updates, the webstore, and more.

Decaydance- record label owned by Patrick and Pete under FBR, founded in 2005 when Pete wanted to sign P!ATD and realized he didn't have label to do so. AWESOME ORAL HISTORY FEATURING PETE, TRAVIE, GABE, AND SPENCER. intro to Decaydance (included in article). relaunched as DCD2 in 2014.

FOE- friendsorenemies.com, let's do a quote about this one: "If you’re one of those types that have uttered the words, “I’m their biggest fan” in reference to post-punk popsters Fall Out Boy, then you’re in luck because there is a site where like-minded people can hang out. Honda Civic Tours has joined forces with Friendsorenemies.com, to create a user-generated worldwide fan community for the Chicago-based band. The site includes dozens of up-close and oh-so-personal videos of the band, along with exclusive, unscripted content that gives an extensive behind-the-scenes look at the Fall Out Boy’s latest tour… because pop stars shouldn’t have any privacy or down time." they have a youtube with SO MANY videos here (check out their playlists, they have a bunch of fob specific ones.

OCK- Overcast Kids, fob's official fan club, usually got exclusive content, merch, pre-orders, and more. you'll see some blog posts where pete makes references to overcast kids referring to the fans.

Fuck City- essentially Andy Hurley frat house/collective/brand. he has Fuck City tatted on his knuckles. there's primers out there i'd search for "Matt Mixon primer" and you'll probably find some livejournal links.

Clandestine Industries- Pete's clothing brand. there's a whole dvd about his collab with nordstrom and in it he states he wanted to aim for "unisex," if i ever found a rip of this i'll link it here. meanwhile here's a video about their landmark store. video that was on the site. 2010 fashion show.

Pete’s blog entries (best viewed in browser). there's also this masterpost (hint, if some links don't work in this, especially for fobomatic, try amending the url to "fobomatic-blog," and it should pop up). and this tumblr: @disloyalorderofpete

Joe’s blog entries

Patrick’s blog entries

important text: “We Liked You Better Fat: Confessions of a Pariah” written by Patrick post-Soul Punk, and kicked off talks of coming off hiatus between Pete and Patrick.

important text: “Fall Out Boy Forever” by Hanif Abdurraqib

important text: “The Boy With the Thorn in His Side” by Pete (his first book), you can read here, just scroll to the bottom to start: @clandestineindustriespresen-blog

important text: to you (unfinished, off the top of my head) arguably one of the most important Pete blog entries (to the fans and to ME at least)

you'll see some names around, so here's a few touring friends and crew you'll want to make note of: Charlie (security), Dirty (personal court jester and whipping boy, he seems to like it, i want to do a study on him, he has Pete's initials branded in his ass- Pete did it himself with a hanger), HeyChris (i'll probably give him is own section), Nick Scimeca (i've never really clear on him, i think he acted as web designer/bestie, but i know for sure he lived in the dirty ass tttyg apartment), Hemingway (Pete's dog), Matt Mixon (Andy's bestie/fuck city roommate). primary ones to know are bolded.

HeyChris: okay Chris is important because he was in Arma Angelus and was fob's first supporter, caught the name HeyChris through grenade jumper (which they wrote for him!). he tours with them for awhile, i *think* doing crew duties, running the merch stand, being one helluva hypeman. QUITE A DYNAMIC with pete. part of the World's Most Hated Crew which were crew members primarily shared between mcr and fob, who had bad reputations for 1) their proximity to the bands 2) being scene kings/queens 3) gossip and drama. 2006, he and Pete have a massive falling out over their blogs. since then they've made up, still talk every once in awhile. he runs the catcade in chicago and emerges out of the woodwork to stir shit up every now and then. here's his livejournal. and another one. he also has a tumblr. so go hunting if you want. most of his updates are through instagram, he loves to troll.

list of movie references in songs

because it's referenced so much i have to include the drunk history, but be warned it's Brendon, and a whole lot of him.

here’s some of my personal fave unreleased/covers/features:

hand of god (some very uhm breathy whiny patrick vocals in this that i can’t believe are legal)

austin we have a problem (also horny vocals and for what)

star 67

we don’t take hits we write them (listen the amount of blood i would spill to get a clear recording of this song)

save your generation (jawbreaker cover)

basket case (green day cover live)

under pressure (queen and david bowie cover, patrick does both vocal parts and and it’s so cunt)

what’s this? (nightmare revisited: nightmare before christmas cover album and US SPOTIFY REFUSES TO COUGH UP THE ONE FOB TRACK, however i still recommend korn’s version of kidnap the sandy claws and rise against’s version of making christmas)

lullabye (hidden track on folie a deux written pete’s son)

catch me if you can

mr. brightside (killers cover which they did live a few times, which is extremely funny because pete and brandon flowers were feuding after brandon said fob and emo were ‘dangerous’ and ‘poisoning the minds of the youth’ and that he wanted to ‘beat all those emo bands to death’)

i write sins not tragedies

tiffany blews bridge ft. patrick vocals

patrick covering i can make you a man from rocky horror

patrick feature on one day i’ll stay home by misery signals

patrick features on cupid’s chokehold and clothes off! by gym class heroes (these may be obvious to some but i’m including just in case and also because they slap)

patrick feature on one of THOSE nights by the cab, brendon jumpscare warning, but patrick’s vocals literally made me fucking insane here, also the amount that pete is featured in this video is so funny to me

fob feature on the hand crushed by a mallet remix by 100 gecs (the way i fucking lost my mind when this dropped)

these are on spotify but often get looked over/missed/are hard to find:

roxanne (police cover): spotify, youtube

start today (gorilla biscuits cover): spotify, youtube

snitches and talkers get stitches and walkers: spotify, youtube

the music or the misery: spotify, youtube

my heart is the worst kind of weapon: spotify, youtube

my heart will always be the b-side to my tongue

pax am days

lake effect kid

yule shoot your eye out: spotify, youtube

i wanna dance with somebody (whitney houston cover): spotify, youtube

the world's not waiting (for five tired boys in a broken down van)- literally my personal favorite off of EOWYG it makes me insane: spotify, youtube

some fun extras:

there’s also this fun little behind the scenes video for cobra starship where patrick is singing city at war

this uncomfortable video of patrick and pete singing womanizer with ellen degenres

this video of fob at the inaugural dinner for obama where they have light up instruments and patrick starts off i don’t care with a little snippet of womanizer (very cunt) which also has a part 2 where pete climbs a tree and they meet the president ajbdjdksndnd.

fall out boy on teen titans go: part 1, part 2, song

deep blue love (patrick wrote this for a movie! and it makes me need to lay down) "behind the scenes" here

patrick song in star vs. the forces of evil

patrick theme for spidey and his amazing friends

patrick musical episode of dead end paranormal park (most of the patrick demos are uploaded as well)

patrick features on robot chicken, also here's the uncensored version of blue rabbits fucking

you can also look up their rare/unreleased songs and get a whole lot more than provided here, and also patrick has done so many covers it’s wild there’s a playlist on youtube that’s 130 videos long and includes bangers such as this is how we do it, let’s dance, in the air tonight, kiss my sass, fob covers of we are the champions, don’t stop believin’ and more.

NOW. as far as origin stories go. let’s start with pete who was a notable figure in the chicago hardcore scene, having been in bands on bands on bands, and very notably RACETRAITOR. pete, joe, patrick (i still haven’t found the source for patrick but it’s on wikipedia so i’ll include him) and andy have all at varying points played in racetraitor, and andy still plays with racetraitor when they get together. joe and pete become friends, joe driving him around because his license is suspended, and right around that time pete starts ARMA ANGELUS and when heychris can’t make it on tour, pete convinces joe’s parents to let him fill in on bass and they all go out on the road. when they come back, arma’s kinda its last leg and this is when pete and joe start talks for a pop-punk project. joe will play guitar, pete will play bass, now they just need a drummer and a singer.

so very important lore here, joe’s hanging out in borders when he’s interrupted by none other than one patrick stump who starts a lecture on music to which joe starts lecturing back, THIS IS HOW THEY MEET. i’ll let joe tell it (click for full view):

this continues into another important bit of lore, which is that joe dragged pete to patrick’s house so he could audition and patrick answered the door wearing a sweater, shorts, and socks. this is important, it comes up time and time again, patrick answered the door in an sweater, shorts and socks. it’s important. to both me and pete. he proceeds to show them all his talents, but when he sings, that’s when it clicks and everyone in the room says you’ve got a massive set of pipes there, you’re our singer. now, patrick didn’t care about singing, in other bands he had primarily focused on drums. but he wanted to be in a band that would let him write music and he also had admired pete from afar on the scene and so he agreed to sing.

they finally pull andy when they start recording seriously and their drummer can’t make it so they ask andy to fill in. andy at this point is a notable drummer in the scene, like he plays in so many bands and is referred to as “the metal drummer.” pete and andy have known each other for a long while and they've had their eye on him since the beginning, it's just that he's in various other bands and going to school so he hasn't had the time. but they ask him to fill in and everything just falls into place. i’ll let patrick tell it:

and they've been the same lineup for two decades now (outside of fill-ins every now and again for emergencies etc). as legend goes, they had switched out names quite a few times, fall out boy being one of them, referencing the character from the simpsons. one night they came out, said "we are [insert long drawn out complicated name here]" and a fan yelled "fuck that! you're fall out boy!" and they have been ever since.

[asena-graywolf]

Are you cross with me?

You couldn't stand your boyfriend who had been ignoring you for weeks. You had exams last week, and the whole week after that Kenji had to practice after school. Even when his hard work was over, you could not get a positive sign from him.

You were only communicating. Even in your shared home, your only communication was "hello-good morning-good night and I'm home”. It was starting to get really cold. You were skeptical of whether your relationship would continue at this rate.

Kenji has been your boyfriend since high school. You were together for almost 3 years. When you started university, you bought a house and shared the same house. You shared everything, not just your home. Even the same bed

Now you were preparing yourself for everything you shared to disappear slowly—perhaps in an instant. More precisely, you felt compelled to prepare yourself.

You came home depressed and thoughtful. You took off your shoes and put them in the shoe rack. Hang your coat on the hanger next to Kenji's hanger

You made your way to your shared bedroom. You're wearing a baggy t-shirt. You took off your pants and you're left with only your underwear

All you could think about was getting under the covers and escaping this awful day. You had to talk about it properly when Kenji came.

Will your relationship keep on? Or is it time to break up?

Your head was like a cauldron from thinking.

You heard the door open. And then that familiar voice calling out to you

“Y/N! I'm home my love!"

You didn't answer him. You pulled the duvet over your head and continued to pretend to be asleep.

“Y/N? Where are you?"

Kenji looked through all the rooms. He couldn't find you in any of them. There was only one option left. He knew it was your habit to lock yourself in the bedroom and crawl under the covers when you were sad. So it took him a long time to realize what was going on.

He opened the bedroom door and saw your bump on the bed

"Babe? Are you sleeping?"

He took off his jacket and tried to reach for it softly. His arms reached you from behind, he put his head close to your neck

“What happened to my baby?” he whispered in your ear

You struggled to get out of Kenji's arms

“Go fry and egg Kenji!”

Kenji didn't give up. He put his elbow on the pillow and put his hand on his face, bracing himself and laying down next to him again.

She took a lock of her hair from the end of the duvet and wrapped it around her finger.

“Is my baby cross with me? Did I break my little kitty's heart too much?"

You didn't answer, but your anger level was getting higher and higher.

“I guess I should take your silence as a yes. Oh y/n. I love you. Yes, I like to tease you,make fun of you. I have always enjoyed dealing with the person I love. I guess I neglected you, honey."

He got under the covers with you and tried to hug you from behind. But you tried your best to push him away

“Kenji get out of here! Get out of my side!"

“Oh, my kitty seems very angry with me. How can I make amends for my angry kitty?”

He grabbed your waist and forced you towards him. You were still struggling, but he was already above you.

"Let go of me! Churl!"

"Sorry? What?"

"CHURL! Do I need to repeat it again?"

“Kidding me? Oh…So you call churl to boy like me…I reproach you at all"

“Kenji get the hell out or…”

"What if? What are you going to do honey?" he said, giving you a threatening but not serious look.

“I SAID LET GO OF ME!”

As he shouted, the anger and resentment that had accumulated in him was about to turn into tears.

Seeing your watering eyes, he realized how hurt and angry he was, ignoring you. The purse seine stopped crossing and lowered both of his arms, which he had placed on either side of his body like a barrier. He lay on top of you and put his head on your chest. You could feel his hot breath on your neck

"I'm sorry" he muttered

“I'm really an asshole. It was the last thing I wanted to ignore you. I admit my mistake. Please don't ignore me too y/n. I really feel sad when the two of us are like this. When I see you like this…”

You took a deep breath and your hands went to Kenji's auburn hair. You were both angry and mad with love. That's why you grabbed her by the hair. You both tugged and stroked

"It's impossible to be offended with you anyway."

As soon as he heard that you had forgiven him, he got up from his chest and laughed mockingly again.

"Did you forgive me? Are we making peace?"

You punched him in the chest for fun

“Don't get spoiled now!”

“But y/n…”

You got out of bed

"Okay okay. I forgived. You asinine!”

“You can say whatever you want. I deserved it"

You hit his head with a pillow

“You talk too much handsome”

You grabbed Kenji's neck and pressed your own lips to his soft plump lips. Kenji wraps his arms around your waist too. You stroked his soft hair with your free hand. Your short kiss was enough to heal your wounds

After your lips parted, Kenji had an idea.

"What shall we do now? How about preparing your favorite dish?”

————————-————————-————————-

I know it was a little stereotype scenario. But i just would like to write about Futakuchi. I guess after Aone, i would into Futakuchi

[bxcketbarnes]

Making Amends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2900+

Author’s Note: The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (kinda) spoilers if you haven’t watched it. Uh, someone send help because I’m falling in love. I hope whoever reads this enjoys it as much as I did writing it. Much love to you all! xoxo

"Who's Y/N?" Dr. Raynor asks Bucky and his head snaps up, narrowing his eyes a bit. The therapist raises an eyebrow at his reaction to the question.

Bucky gets up from the couch before snatching the phone from her hands, not answering her question. He swallows thickly as he looks at the text you sent him, asking if the two of you could meet up.

He can feel his heartbeat quicken as Bucky hasn't seen you in almost eight years. The super-soldier licks his lips as he thinks about the last interaction he had with you, remembering his metal hand wrapped around your throat.

"She's someone I wronged years ago," he finally answers while continuing to stare at his phone.

"Well, you're working on making amends. Why don't you start with her," Dr. Raynor suggests and Bucky presses his lips together before slowly nodding his head.

The brunette sighs and texts you back, agreeing to meet up before showing his therapist the text. Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket before standing up.

"I need to go. See you in a couple of weeks, Doc," he mumbles while walking out of the office.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair as he walks out of the building, thoughts of you filling his mind. He wonders why you want to meet now after eight years since the incident.

You happened to be strolling through the airport grounds when hell started to break loose. You were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your eyes widened when you noticed a quinjet in one of the hangers, never seeing one of the Avengers vehicles up close.

Your eyes looked around everywhere as you tried to see if you could spot any of the mighty heroes. Two figures ran towards you and you jumped when one of the airport towers started to fall in front of the wide-open hanger.

"This isn't good," you mumbled to yourself and took a couple of steps back.

Everything started to happen so fast that you didn't see Captain America and The Winter Soldier run towards you. You went to move out of the way when the long-haired man wrapped his metal hand around your throat.

A gasp leaves your lips as you breathed in as much air as you could, your hand gripping his metal wrist. "Bucky, let her go," Steve told him and you could feel his grip on you tighten.

"I-I'm sorry," you squeaked out as tears filled your eyes, glancing towards Steve. "I-I just wanted to see the quinjet up close. I won't tell anyone I swear."

Your eyes met the Winter Soldier's cold blue ones before the super-soldier dropped you from his grasp. You gasped and started to breathe heavily while scrambling to get off of the floor.

Bucky's phone ringing snaps him from the memory he's having and he fishes the device out of his pocket. His breath hitches in his throat at your name flashing across his screen.

"Hello?" He hesitantly answers and your giggle comes through the speaker.

"Hi, Bucky," you greet him and Bucky swallows the lump in his throat as he sits down on the bench. "I'm sorry for calling all of a sudden, but I've been thinking about you."

He furrows his brows, not expecting such a warm welcome from you as Bucky licks his lips again. "You have?" Bucks asks.

"Yeah! The reason I asked to meet up is that I happen to be in New York for the first time in years," you explain to him and Bucky nods his head. "I know the first time we met wasn't exactly a fun one, but I figured we could put that behind us."

"Absolutely," Bucky sighs in relief, wanting to apologize to you for almost killing you that day in the hanger. "I've also been thinking about that a lot."

"Oh! That's great. Do you want to meet up for coffee or something?" You ask him and Bucky agrees. "Great! Uh, there's a quiet Café on the main drag that's right near the bookstore-"

"Oh, yeah, I know the one that you're talking about," Bucky mumbles and you mutter to yourself incoherently, a smile coming to the super-soldiers lips. "I'll see you in an hour?"

A grin settles on your lips as you look out the window of your hotel room, nodding your head before verbally agreeing with the plan. You bid Bucky goodbye and hang up the phone, sliding the device into your back pocket.

You've thanked Steve a few times already for providing you with Bucky's number. Captain America told you all about his past to try and make up for how he reacted in the airport hanger years ago.

You didn't blame him for his actions as you understand the reason why he did what he did. You just hope that the two of you can put your past behind you and be friends. "Here goes nothing…" you trail off before leaving your hotel room.

-

Bucky sits in one of the booths, fiddling with the gloves on his hands as he waits for you to arrive. He chews on his bottom lip when the bell attached to the cafe's front door chimes, making the super-soldier turn his head towards it.

His blue eyes soften at the sight of you. You're looking around the Cafe frantically before your eyes meet his. A smile comes to your lips as you give him a small wave and start walking towards him.

"Hey, Bucky," you greet and the brunette stands up from his seat. "You look great. The haircut suits you well."

Bucky awkwardly smiles and runs a hand through his hair. "Thank you," he whispers as his heartbeat quickens. "You look great as well. It's been… a while for sure."

A chuckle leaves your lips as you nod your head in response, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Do you want a coffee?" You ask him and Bucky shakes his head, politely declining your offer. "Okay. I'll be right back, hold on."

He watches you from the booth as you order your coffee. Bucky lets out a huff of breath, trying to relax his nerves before you come back over here. Am I really ready for this?

"So, what have you been up to?" You ask the brunette as you sit across from him. You look into his eyes while sipping the scalding hot coffee, awaiting his answer.

"Uhm, not much really. I-I go to therapy every few weeks. It was one of the requirements for my pardon," he explains and you nod your head in response. Bucky clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, feeling the leather gloves tug on the small hairs. "I've been trying to make amends with people who I've wronged."

You hum with an eyebrow raise, swallowing the liquid before speaking. "Oh, that's good. Is it working? Like, how are you feeling about that?" You question him and Bucky swallows thickly.

I still have nightmares every night. He thinks to himself as he stays quiet, not really knowing how to answer the question. "Uh-"

"I hope I'm not prying too much," you cut him off with wide eyes, just now realizing your intrusiveness. "I just… Steve's told me quite a bit about you and I know that you almost killed me when we first met, but I find you intriguing, Bucky."

Bucky smiles softly and shakes his head, not noticing any sign of fear in your eyes. "You're intriguing," he states and you can feel your cheeks heat up at his words. "I had my hand wrapped around your throat and here you are, trying to be friends with me. It's incredible really. Something I've never seen."

You shrug your shoulders while fiddling with your fingers, a shy smile on your lips. "I believe in everyone having second chances," you mumble to him and Bucky nods his head.

"Well, I'm really glad you're providing me with a second chance," he softly whispers as his heart flutters in his chest.

-

You run down the streets of lower Manhattan, quickly making your way towards the building the GRC are held in. You heard about the hostage threat on the news and for some stupid reason, you wanted to be close to the action.

Once you make it to the front of the building and stand behind the police barricade they have set up for the public. Your eyes see Bucky's figure walking around on the other side and your eyes widen.

"Bucky!" You call out, causing some heads to snap your way. A blush covers your cheeks while mumbling an apology.

The super-soldier walks over to you and looks around him cautiously. "Y/N, what are you doing?! You shouldn't be here!" He quietly scolds and you look up at him through your lashes, heavy breaths leaving your lips.

"You know me… I like an adventure. You remember the airport incident," you remind him, and Bucky's jaw clenches.

"Unfortunately, I do, yeah," he comments and grabs a hold of your hand before leading you off somewhere else. "Listen, Karli and her team are here and she's using people against us. I don't want you getting hurt."

Your eyes trail down his chest, noticing the metal all he's currently sporting. "You changed it," you whisper and reach your hand out, gliding your fingertips along the cool surface.

Bucky swallows thickly as his eyes move from your face to your hand on his arm. "Y/N," he softly mumbles and your eyes move to his blue ones. "Please do me a favor and get out of here. Please."

"Okay," you tell him while nodding your head, causing the super-soldier to let out a sigh of relief. "Be careful."

Bucky chuckles and mumbles incoherently as you lean on your toes, kissing the corner of his lips. The laughter dies on his lips as a blush covers his cheeks, his hand moving to grip your forearm gently. You pull away from him and smile up at him before making your way back towards your apartment.

You begin to feel uneasy during your walk home, looking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one's following you. A small scream leaves your lips as you find someone wearing a mask in front of you, blocking your path. You take a couple of steps back and swallow the lump in your throat as your back collides with someone.

You didn't have time to say anything before getting knocked out by one of the men, losing consciousness instantly. A member of the Flag Smashers easily picks up your body before bringing you to their leader, Karli.

When your eyes flutter open, you see a shorter redhead standing in front of you with a phone pressed to her ear. "Listen here, Bucky. I don't want to hurt you guys, but you're giving me no choice," she starts and you begin to panic slightly as you feel your wrists bound together behind your back. "So, I'm gonna make a deal with you. You and Sam pack it up and leave… or I hurt your precious Y/N."

Bucky's breath hitches in his throat at the sound of your name, his eyes dancing around the area he's standing in. "I swear to God if yo-"

"You've got one hour to make a decision," she cuts him off before hanging up. You look up at the girl as you breathe heavily, chest heaving rapidly. Karli walks towards you before crouching slightly. "Let's hope Bucky cares enough about you to listen."

"Sam, they've got Y/N," the super-soldier informs him through comms, his heart pounding in his chest as Sharon runs up to him. "We need to find her before Karli does anything to her."

"I know where they are," the blonde mentions to Bucky, and his blue eyes snap towards her. "C'mon, I'll show you the entrance."

Sam finally joins the two as they stealth their way through the building, avoiding any member of the Flag Smashers as best as possible. "She'll be okay," Sam reassures Bucky who clenches his jaw in response, hoping that he's right.

A pained yelp leaves your lips as one of the members punches you across the face. You lean your head back, growing tired of the questions Karli's asking. "Fuck you," you growl and spit some blood onto the floor beside you. "You think you're helping but you're making it worse."

Karli's nostrils flare up before nodding her head once more. The same man who's been beating you the past thirty minutes throws another punch at you, causing the chair you're sitting in to fall back against the concrete.

"You should think before you speak," she snarls before walking away from you. "C'mon, leave her here. We've got shit to do."

You pant heavily as you lay helplessly on the ground, the chair crushing your hands beneath you. "This is what happens when you adventure off, Y/N," you say to yourself while staring up at the ceiling.

Your ears perk up at the sounds of multiple footsteps, your heartbeat quickening as you think they've come back to finish you off instead. "Y/N?" Bucky calls out and a weight lifts off your shoulders while a sigh of relief leaves your lips.

"Bucky," you cry out and attempt to move.

The super-soldier kneels beside you before lifting your chair. "Hey, you okay?" He asks softly and you nod your head.

"As okay as I can be," you whisper with a pained smile. Sam undoes your restraints as Bucky places his right hand against your cheek, stroking your bruised skin gently.

"I'm sorry," you both say simultaneously, earning a chuckle from the brunette in front of you.

Bucky helps you stand up, his metal hand resting on your waist while the other grabs a hold of your hand. "I'm gonna give you my address and the key to my apartment," he tells you and you nod your head, listening carefully. "Go there and stay inside until I get back, okay?"

"Y-Yeah," you whisper and grab the key from his fingers, gripping onto it tightly. You swallow thickly as the pain begins to take over. A hiss leaves your lips and Bucky looks down at you with a worried expression. "You happen to have a first aid kit at your place?"

"Under the bathroom sink," he informs you, and you nod before heading towards the exit.

Bucky calls out to you and you glance over your shoulder to look back at him. You watch him as he quickly walks over to you before capturing your lips with his. A short gasp leaves your lips while wrapping an arm around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulls away after a few moments, his heavy breaths fanning your lips and you let out a soft chuckle.

“Come back alive and there’s more where that came from,” you whisper to him and Bucky lets out a laugh before shaking his head.

“But I’m one who kissed you,” he reminds you and you shush him, giggling.

“Well, if you want more, come back alive, mmkay?”

Bucky licks his lips before nodding his head in response, pressing a soft kiss to your lips once more. “I promise, now go,” he demands. You bite your lip and nod your head, continuing to walk towards the exit.

-

You sit on the kitchen island counter, swinging your feet as your eyes are glued to the television screen. It’s been a few hours since you arrived at Bucky’s apartment, your eyes widening at the very little furniture he has in the place. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as Sam comes on screen, the newscast recording the speech he’s currently giving.

You can hear the doorknob jiggle and your eyes snap towards the front door, watching Bucky walk through it. “Buck,” you whisper out with a grin on your lips, his blue eyes glancing towards you.

The super-soldier waltz’s over to you before wrapping his arms around your shoulders, bringing you into his chest. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he whispers and you nuzzle your face into his neck, inhaling his scent.

“I could say the same about you,” you tell him while dragging your fingers through his hair.

Bucky pulls away from you and drags his hands down your sides, kissing your forehead softly. “You get everything bandaged up?” He asks you and you nod your head, grinning like a fool.

“Yeah, nothing needed to get bandaged, but I’ll have some killer bruises,” you laugh and Bucky frowns, his eyes casting down to your torso. “I’ll be fine, Bucky.”

"I just worry," he whispers and your heart flutters in your chest. You bring your hand to his face, stroking his cheekbone gently as the brunette leans into your touch.

You lick your lips as you reach into your back pocket before pulling his little booklet out. "I, uh, found this lying open when I got here," you inform the super-soldier and his blue eyes look down at the small notebook. "I crossed my name out for you."

Bucky gently takes the book from your hand and shoves it into his jacket pocket before lacing your fingers with his. "Thank you… for reaching out to me that day."

You grin, leaning forward to kiss his lips gently and Bucky hums into the kiss. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

-

Taglist: @jessalyn-jpeg​ @queen-of-mischief​ @bumblebet-20​

[lil-sweater-slut]

ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ? ᴡᴀꜱɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ. ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ‘ɴᴏ’. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏᴜɴᴅ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇʀ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴛɪɢʜᴛ ᴀꜱꜱ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ, ʜᴇ’ꜱ ʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴇᴄꜱᴛᴀᴛɪᴄ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ꜰʀᴜꜱᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1958

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴏᴋᴀʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇꜱɪᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴍʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ 1-3 ᴅᴀʏꜱ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

Putting the last Glock into its holster by your hip, you rushed towards the hanger jet. You saw the hatch open with everyone on board when a dark brown glove stopped you in your path, “Woah woah. What in the world do you think you’re doing recruit?” Great. Make to the dehumanizing nickname we are. Steve’s face was hard and stoic as he looked down at you. “The Avengers need to assemble. That includes me grandpa.” You rolled your eyes, taking a few steps before you were pulled back from Steve grabbing your arm, “Okay first. You will watch your tone with me recruit.” He points a finger in your face. Oh, how much you wanted to break it in that moment.

“And second, this mission is for the experienced of the team. When it’s your time you’ll come.” Steve let go of your arm and strode into the jets open hatch. You looked into it, your face pleading with Natasha’s to help you out, she shrugged her shoulders giving you a sad frown, “I’m sorry Y/N but Cap is right. This mission isn’t for you. We’ll get you on the field soon though.” She smiled and waved goodbye.

You huffed looking at everyone in the back of the jet including Steve who was holding a safety strap, looking relieved seeing you still on the ground.

Groaning and moaning about how it was unfair for you to be an Avenger and not get to go on this mission, you bumped into a muscular body causing you to fall back a bit. “Oh jeez sorry doll- “Bucky chuckles as he keeps you from falling flat on your ass.

You laugh a little, relieved to see him. “Sergeant Barnes it’s good to see you” he puts his hand up, laughing a bit more, “Please doll just call me Bucky. You’re not a recruit in my eyes anymore.” He says with a wink. You smile a bit but then you frown a bit, “yeah well your best friend doesn’t think so.”

Buck sits down in a barstool at the island of the kitchen asking you what you mean by that as he motions you sit with him and talk. “Steve doesn’t really seem to like me all that much Buck. When he trained me-“Bucky interrupts with a heavy sigh, “Yeah I heard about the things he said to you when he trained you. Boy was I furious. He shouldn’t have done that n’ that’s not really something he normally does doll.” He tries to explain as best as he could all well defending Steve. “yeah I know I know. But just before F.R.I.D.A.Y came on he seemed- I don’t know- worried about me? Tried to make amends and he actually called me by my name for once.”

Bucky pinched his lips together as he looked down at the floor almost processing what this all means. Concluding he says, “If we are going to be fair, you are apart of the team now. You two are gonna be working together and closely. It would make sense why he wants to make amends and want to use your name.” You chuckle shaking your head, “Yeah but just before he left when I was trying to get on the jet, he called me recruit again and almost threatened me for ‘getting smart’ with him.” He looked up at the sky almost praying in his head with a small smile on his, “Mr. High and mighty. I don’t know then Y/N. I may be his best friend, but he doesn’t tell me everything in that egotistical brain of his.”

You laughed. Soon you realized something, “Hey buck?” He looked up at you waiting for what you had to say, “how come you didn’t go on the mission?” Bucky took a big breath, almost unsure of how to answer. He knew that you knew he used to be the Winter Soldier, but he doesn’t know what all you know about him and what he did.

“uh… good question. Let’s just say that much like you and Steve, Tony and I don’t get along very well.” You look at him urging him to go on, “I- Tony and I have a long history together and unfortunately it’s not a pretty history. When I was the Winter Soldier- I…hurt a lot of people. Some of those people being families, friends.” He looks down at the floor, unsure of himself.

You could see some tears brimming his eyes. You sighed, somewhat understanding what happened. You put your right hand on Bucky’s knee, trying to provide some sort of comfort to him. He turned his head facing you, his blue eyes seeming so much bluer now. He smiled softy at you, knowing that you won’t push him more that he’s comfortable with. You two rested your foreheads together in a mutual understanding and comfort when a cough pulled you two away.

Looking up you see Steve with his arms crossed in front of his chest, brooding as usual. Groaning and rolling your eyes, you stood up from the barstool, “careful Buck, the boring one has arrived.” Bucky picking up on your snide remarks he stifles a chuckle, apologizing softly when Steve whipped his head giving Bucky a hard look. “Buck, we need you in the briefing room.” Bucky stands with a immediate serious face. You gaped you mouth open in shock, “Hey don’t I get to join the briefing room too?!”

Steve turned his head over his shoulder, not so much as even giving you a sideways glance, “No. This is for real team members recruit.” You shook your head and ran up behind Steve, touching his shoulder urging him to look at you, “You keep forgetting. I am a real team member.”

Steve turns fast, his voice booming across the whole room, “I said no recruit!” You were taken back. Not ever has he raised his voice at you. You turned on your heel, walking away from this whole situation, needing a good punching session. As you walked you heard Buck talking to Steve, “You didn’t have to yell at her…”

Steve turned to his friend, continuing his walk to the briefing room, “I don’t want her to see what we saw today Buck.” Bucky shook his head still disapproving of his behavior with you but then smiling, “So, you’re trying to…protect her now?” Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, “you’re an idiot.” Bucky chuckled following him to the briefing room. When walking into the room, everyone’s face was serious and wide eyed.

This must have been some serious shit if the team is shook up like this. Steve stood at the front of the room as Bucky took a seat next to Nat. “First I want everyone to know that we all did great. We saved a lot of people. I also want you all to know that what we saw today is not to be taken lightly. I would like us all to check up on each other as well as see the therapists if you have any scary thoughts or would like to talk.”

“No? NO?! what am I a child? I can handle myself Mr. tight ass.” Grumbling to yourself as you clench your stomach muscles pulling yourself up. You had your legs wrapped around the punching bag and your hands behind your head as you did sits ups. You can’t believe that you’re an Avenger and Steve Rogers is still treating you like a small child. Your music blared through the gym speakers, only making you go harder as you pulled yourself up and started doing jabs on the bag when you reached the top.

‘Till I collapse by Eminem was suddenly put on halt, “Yo what the fuck. Who’s touching my shit! -“in the middle of a rep you turned your body to see none other than Captain jack ass. “Oh, it’s you.” He scoffs tossing his gym bag on the floor, “wow nice to see you too.”  You scoff right back at him mocking it, “that’s right. I’m so ecstatic to see you.”

You jumped off the bag, making it sway back and forth. You stopped it with your hand. Slinging your gym bag over your shoulder, you make your way to the gym door when you felt a hand grab your arm. Instinct kicked in when you ripped his hand from your arm, twisting it the opposite direction and causing him to flip right on his back. Seeing the sight of his face so caught off guard and, on the floor, caused a small chuckle from your lips, “look at who’s the little girl with their back on the mat now.” Steve pointed, shaking his finger as he shut his eyes in pain, “No, No I deserved that.” You turned you back to him, “You deserve a lot more than that.”

He sits up and is now resting with his bum on his Achilles, the thot position if you will.

“I know. Believe me. I know I do.” He pants, his arm was outstretched towards you requesting that you listen without hurting him more. “I deserve the biggest ass whooping from you and time will come for that but please, I’ve come to make peace.” You laughed whole heartedly, “Peace? You screamed at me in front of my sergeant and your best friend.”

He looks down, and then raises his head again, locking his blue eyes with yours. “I understand, but please listen. I did it to…to protect you.” This sudden confession made your stomach twist into knots as you squinted at him, “you do know that I am a big girl right Rogers? I don’t need you looking out for me.” He huffs, “I know but I just thought of what was best, and even with the mission today I just wanted to protect you.” You keep looking down at him, your heart was pounding in your ears, chest feeling tight as he spoke.

He took one leg from beneath him, setting It on the ground so that he was on one knee in front of you, both hands outstretched a little to you, “I can never take back what I said and what I did. I- I know that you are an Avenger- “He chokes out, your stomach beings to feel twisted knowing now that he accepted you as apart of the team, “I would like you and I to be friends if not, acquaintances now that we are working together. So please...” he pleads looking up at you, “please take this as my formal apology for my behavior, and attempt to make amends with me.”

Your brain is going a thousand miles an hour as you process this whole situation. This man that despised you months ago is now on his knees begging for your companionship, if not, to make sure you have his back, and he has yours in the time of a fight. You sigh looking down at him contemplating your decision. He raises his eyebrows, you put your hand out for him to help him off the floor.

His face breaks into a large white smile knowing your answer. You two would attempt to be friends for the sake of the team and each other. He stood in front of you, hand still holding yours when you got a mischievous glint behind your eyes, Steve’s face turned to confusion and then shock when you swept his big oaf of a leg from beneath him.

Landing on his back with a huff, he chuckles lightly, watching you exit the gym, “Don’t touch my music when I’m working out again Steve.” You smile back at him, finally disappearing behind the doors and into the hall.

[johnkrrasinski]

𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

Chapter 4: hell was the journey but it brought me heaven (final)

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,943

Summary: blessed with telepathic abilities since birth, you were captured by HYDRA and turned into one of their weapons to kill. after the blip, you were pardoned by the government and you were obliged to check up with dr. raynor everyday which you had no clue would lead you to the one soul you’d been waiting for.

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+) dirty talk, oral (female receiving), fingering, shower sex, happy ending.

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @ohmickeyhenry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for trusting me with your story. i sincerely hope you like it.

You sat on the front porch as your fingers flipped through the page of the romance novel you had your nose in. It was a beautiful day, the weather wasn’t too hot or too cold, perfect to spend hours escaping into a story outside. Alpine purred on the chair where Bucky would sit if he was here but he wasn’t because he was on an overseas mission with Sam and though you offered to come with him, Tony said that it would be best if you sat this one out. You didn’t take it personally, however, it was hard to be separated from him for nearly a month.

Bucky said he’d be coming home soon and though the mission kept delaying them to come home, Bucky called and texted you every day to let you know that he was alright and how far on completing the mission had they gone. You were glad that Sam and Bucky had each other while you weren’t around to take care of him because you knew that Sam was the only person who could ground him other than you.

You and Bucky had been together for nearly five months now, after your recovery in Wakanda and adjusting to the new life of being superheroes, you both decided that you wanted to settle in a more remote place. All of the Avengers had their own places outside of the compound so you thought, why don’t you get yours? You talked about getting your own place in Brooklyn but eventually, you came to a decision where somewhere in the country would be better for both of your mental beings, while also still residing in the New York area so that you’d be ready in case there are emergency missions.

Since moving to the countryside, you had felt much more at peace and you had learned more about yourself than before. You were in the middle of the process of moving in when Bucky was needed by Tony to take care of an international matter with Sam, so Tony helped call in some people to help you with your stuff.

The place you had with Bucky was lovely, it wasn’t anything big or swanky, it was simply a rural rustic home that blends woods and stones as the foundation. It had a large loft where you placed your bed, and the roof had upper windows which shed lights into the entire room. It was even more stunning at night where you could see the stars and the moon that illuminated the dark space. From the veranda, you could enjoy the beautiful view of greenery and the lake surrounding you. It was heaven, but most importantly, it was your and Bucky’s little heaven.

You’d often feel lonely living in the cabin, so you decided to adopt a cat while Bucky was away. You didn’t tell him because you wanted it to be a surprise. You named her Alpine. You’d always wanted to have a pet and now that you had your own place, you could have one without worrying it would bother anyone.

You talked to Bucky this morning and he estimated that he’d be coming home in two days, which means he’d be home by his birthday. You couldn’t think of a more perfect gift than this adorable, blue-eyed cat. It was as if she got them from her dad whom she had yet to meet. You also wanted to make his birthday and celebrate his coming home more special so you put down the book and went to the grocery store in town that afternoon to shop for the ingredients to bake a cake.

You had learned a lot of new things after you moved here, and baking was quickly becoming your hobby, so you were excited to utilize that new skill to surprise the love of your life. You spent the next day in the kitchen so once Bucky walked through the front door, the cake would be ready to be served. You were giddy thinking about the look on his face and how proud you would feel to make him happy with something you made of your own.

You were lying on your couch with Alpine by your feet, reading the book that you didn’t get to finish yesterday when you heard your phone notifying you a text had been received.

I’m outside, babydoll.

You instantly got up from your couch and put your book on the table. Your first thought this morning was Bucky would back to your arms this afternoon and you were ecstatic. You had missed him terribly and you wanted to curl up in his embrace and never let him go. He was your anchor and you were his rock, you both needed each other to get through the days. How you managed to survive so long without him was beyond you.

You chose a nice outfit, nothing fancy just a simple sundress that you feel your best in, put on some makeup and did your hair. Though you didn’t have a clue on makeup products, let alone apply them all over your face, you did spend a handful of times watching Youtube for guidance. You knew you didn't have to put all that effort to keep Bucky in love with you but you wanted to do something nice for him. For the first time in forever, you were a free woman who was allowed to make her own choices, you were going to revel in exploring them.

You opened the door and there he was, as handsome as the devil, as gentle as an angel. Everything about him captivated you yet, he soothed every nervous system in your body too. He was grinning at you like he had just won a prize and you couldn’t help but throw yourself at him as soon as the door was fully opened. “Bucky!”

He hugged you back, holding you so tightly to his chest and he kissed you as a lover would until you needed air. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he swept the hair that was falling on your face, slightly hiding your beauty.

You smiled at his flattery, “I got a surprise for you…”

“A surprise?” He looked genuinely perplexed. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s your birthday, silly. And to celebrate you coming home, of course, because I missed you so badly.”

“Sweetheart, you don't need to get me anything, you’re all the blessing I need in my life.”

“And you are mine, but you deserve more. So, close your eyes.” You ordered him like you were an excited 10 years old ready to show off her science project to her parents. He did as he was told and you took his hand and led him to the kitchen where his cake was sitting perfectly. “Don’t open your eyes until I tell you!”

He chuckled, “okay.”

Bucky trusted you wholeheartedly so he didn’t worry he’d walk into a wall or slam his hips to the kitchen counter as he was being led down to where his cake was. “Okay, now open your eyes.” He did so and he saw you standing behind the tiny dining table, near the kitchen chanting Ta-Da! Presenting a chocolate birthday cake, in the shape of a heart in front of you.

You lit up the candles that were in the shape of 106 and you brought the cake closer to him, “happy birthday, my love.”

Bucky was grinning from ear to ear, he couldn’t contain the happiness swelling in his heart. While he was on his bike, driving from the compound to his cabin-like home, all he expected was a warm shower and being tangled between the sheets with you. Since he was turned into The Winter Soldier, he no longer cared about birthdays or his age. Time felt blurry and all that mattered was his purpose in his life which is to make amends to the wrongs he committed during his winter soldier days and the few people that he cared about.

But now you were in his life, you were going to make sure his birthdays are special and that every second you both spent together was precious. “I got another surprise for you…” You walked to the couch to carry Alpine and when Bucky saw her, his eyes lit up.

“You got us a cat?!” You handed her to Bucky gently like a newborn baby and Bucky cradled her to his chest, looking like an affectionate father.

“I did. I felt lonely while you were away so I thought I’d get a pet now that we’ve got our own place and I saw her at the shelter when I went to town and she looked so adorable, I just had to take her home, Buck,” you watched Bucky lovingly stroke the cat’s ear.

“I never had a pet before…”

“I know, and neither had I so I thought, the three of us would make a wonderful family.”

“Thank you, doll. This is… This is the best birthday gift I could ever ask for.”

“You’re welcome, love. By the way, her name’s Alpine.”

Bucky nodded, “suits her.”

“Now, as delicious as that cake looks, I really need to take a shower, would you mind joining me?” Bucky held out his hand for you.

“There’s nothing else I’d rather do,” Bucky took your hand and carried you in bridal style to your bathroom, which had rustic walls like the rest of the house and dark brown sink vanity with a mirror at the centre above.

Bucky put you down and you both began stripping out of your clothes. You helped Bucky with his once yours were on the hanger because you wanted to feel him, really feel him now. Once only his boxer remained, you slid the shower glass door and you pulled him, giggling like teenagers trying to sneak out in the middle of the night as he struggled to take off his boxer with the way you were pulling him.

You turned on the shower, just warm enough to soothe your nerves and help Bucky relax. Bucky cupped your face and you both began making out, the stream of water made it difficult to keep your eyes open but you always got so lost in his kisses that you could never keep your eyes open even if you wanted to. It felt like heaven to feel those lips again after a month of his absence.

Bucky lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He slammed you to the bathroom glass as he dominated your mouth, his tongue tangled with yours as his vibranium arm leaned against the glass. Bucky trailed kissed to the column of your neck and you threw your head back, giving him easier access. He bit the skin, marking you as his.

The water kept flowing down and you both forgot what you were there for in the first place. “Oh, missed you so fucking much, doll.”

“I missed you too,” you said as you panted.

“Those nude pictures you sent weren’t helping either. Each time I see you naked, it went straight to my cock. It was torture not to have you right away.” Bucky put you down and kissed your body, down to your stomach until he reached the part where you needed him most. Bucky lifted your right leg onto his shoulder and kissed the inside of your thigh as he left a love bite with his teeth there too.

You didn’t mind, you were his as much as he was yours and you loved it when he got a little rough or possessive, though you knew Bucky would never hurt you and if he did, you wouldn’t hesitate in telling him. But you loved to walk around with his marks on you, you wore them proudly.

Bucky dipped his head to your core, tasting your arousal like a famished man. He had been deprived of your taste for a month, he wasn’t going to hold back. He could spend hours in between your legs if you let him and he’d never get tired of it. Bucky licked a stripe of your slit, making you throw your head back again and moan.

He grabbed your arse to keep you standing, with the way he was devouring you, your thighs began to shake, and you would’ve crumbled to the floor if he wasn’t holding you. You tugged his hair, keeping his face close to your cunt. You couldn’t help but grind yourself onto his face and you could feel him smirking.

The way his stubble grazed your delicate skin was tantalizing, you’d tried to close your legs a few times around his head but he always held them back. You could feel your muscles tightening, but before you could burst, Bucky put your leg to the floor and he stood up, kissing you again and you could taste your arousal all over his tongue. It was erotic yet intimate at the same time.

Bucky grabbed your hips and spun you around, you could feel his stiff member nudging you from behind as you both fought for dominance with your tongues. Bucky took a fistful of your hair and lifted your head back, once again trailing open-mouthed kisses to your throat. His fingers made their way down to your clit, rubbing it in circles furiously as if you weren’t soaked enough already from the way his tongue ingurgitated you.

You whimpered at his touch, the way he always knew how to light up every cell in your body with his touch was a wonder. It was as if your body had given itself completely to him and it was going to comply with whatever his touch tells you to do. Like the way you willingly bared your soul to him, you didn’t fight it at all, let the love and passion you had for each other consume you.

“You’re dripping all over my hand, doll.”

“I need you to fuck me now, please.” You were losing your mind with the way he was stimulating you, you needed to have him inside you now.

“Anything for you, baby.”

Bucky used your wetness to lubricate his member, making it easier for him to slide in. You leaned against the glass with your hands against it as he gripped your hip with his flesh hand and your shoulder with his vibranium one. Bucky pushed himself until he was fully sheathed and he groaned, “oh fuck, I ain’t gonna last long. Missed this tight cunt so much.”

Bucky gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size, and once you told him to move, he began with slow paces. You threw your head back and leaned against his shoulder as he kept thrusting in and out of you at a faster speed. Bucky moved his vibranium arm to your hip and wrapped his flesh hand around your jaw, directing it to his face so he could kiss you deeply.

The sounds of your skin slapping were salacious. Bucky felt you clenched around him and the coil in your stomach tightened. His fingers that were gripping your waist once again furiously rubbed your clit, igniting the fire in your muscles. Your cries grew louder as his rhythm began to falter, and the dam in you broke, your squirts streamed down your thighs, clouding your brain with pleasure.

Bucky started to get messy as he chased his own orgasm. He followed you to the place of euphoria, releasing himself deep inside you, panting your walls with hot white gush. Bucky leaned his forehead against the glass as he breathed heavily with his heart thumping against his chest. His weight on your back was comforting so you stayed there for a while until you both began to come down from your highs.

Bucky pulled out of you and his orgasm ran down your thighs, following yours. You turned around to face him and kiss him again. “That was fucking amazing,” Bucky said as he cleaned you up.

“I should be the one doing that, I wasn’t the one who just came home from a one month mission,” you retorted as you watched him going down to scrub your thighs where your juices were sticking on your skin.

“Well, now that I’m here, let me take care of my girl, will ya?”

You only chuckled and eventually, you both helped rinsed each other off. Once the shower was done, Bucky dried you with a towel and carried you to your bed, which he had yet to sleep on since it got here.

Life was a funny thing. Sometimes it dragged you down to hell, making you question if you had ever committed such a heinous crime in your previous life that cost you such misery in your present. But then, slowly but surely, the journey that you had to endure, led you to your fate, for better or for worse.

You couldn’t change where you had been and what you had done, but you could choose how you were going to redeem yourself and how you were going to spend the remaining years of your life now. You didn’t know much about your future as an Avenger. Hell, you were barely an Avenger, to begin with, but eventually, when you were ready, you knew there’d be nothing too big to overcome because you had Bucky by your side to walk through the storm with.

You didn’t have the privilege to believe in mystical things such as lucky stars but you were going to thank whatever was out there for the invisible string that tied you to Bucky.

tags; @ohmickeyhenry @suitofvibraniumarmor @themaddies-obx @themaddies-obx @beminetokeep @bluemoon-icecream @bluemoon-icecream-blog @harprs @thefridgeismybestie @abitofeverythingg @wolfonthemoonwatchestvshows @julimelodi @bookscoffeandotherstuff @tanyaherondale @artisancowbells @ferxaniti @intothesoul @hallecarey1 @buckybarnesplumwhore @thefallenbibliophilequote @andiyholly @emizla @capxwinter @jevans2 @alwaysreadingimagineschick @swtltlmrvlgrl @extremelyblackandwhite

[wcnderlnds]

safety pin the pieces of our broken hearts / bucky barnes x reader.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Description: After Steve went back to the past you’re left with the job of looking after his best friend but it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Word Count: 1358 Warnings: None. i dont think so anyway. A/N: Okaaay here we go!! part one of a Bucky series. So, uhhhh, Tony Stark is alive in this because I refuse to live in a world without him and he’s the reader’s dad for... reasons that’ll come to light later on. i’m going to v loosely follow The Falcon & The Winter Soldier ok thank you pls be kind this is my first time writing Bucky.

It felt like you’d been sat in the boring old waiting room for hours when in reality it had barely been forty-five minutes. At least your wrist was getting exercise with the amount of times you were raising it to check the time on your watch. Only fifteen more minutes to go then you’d be able to leave that dreaded place. Time seemed to drag on, the people around you irritating you more and more. It was getting to the point where you were about to stand up and yell at the woman who was tapping her fingernails against the wooden arm of the chair. Luckily, Bucky came out of his therapy session with a scowl on his face — the usual look he wore after a session. He gestured his head towards the exit to which you quickly followed him out.

“How’d it go?” You asked as the two of you walked back to the apartment you had pretty much been forced to share.

When Steve had told you his plan he knew that someone needed to take care of Bucky when he was gone and he’d bestowed that duty on you. Unfortunately, you couldn’t refuse no matter how much you’d wanted to. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Bucky because you did — you were friends or at least friendly with each other. It was more so the fact that you knew taking up that responsibility would hurt your father who just so happened to be none other than Tony Stark himself. He still held a grudge against Bucky for killing his parents — your grandparents — and you didn’t blame him but you also didn’t share the same feelings as your father. While Bucky had done some terrible things, that hadn’t been him. That had been the Winter Soldier. In your mind, Bucky and the Winter Soldier were two different people. Poor Bucky had been brainwashed into doing all the awful things he’d done and now he was living with all the guilt and memories of things that he’d had no control over. It had taken some talking with your dad but he’d decided that maybe having someone close to Bucky could at least make sure he didn’t slip again. That also meant daily updates to Tony so he could make sure you were safe. So, you and Bucky had a small apartment in New York. It wasn’t ideal but you were making it work as best you could.

“Same as always,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Wants me to talk to more people or something.”

“You know you should. Sam keeps asking me about you since you won’t answer him.”

“Don’t want to talk to him. Don’t want to talk to you most days but I have no choice on that one.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to ignore that because I know you don’t mean it and you’re just grumpy. Maybe consider at least texting Sam so I don’t have to be bombarded by him.”

“No,” he simply stated. “I’m taking a walk.”

Before you could protest, he was gone leaving you feeling grumpy now. You knew Bucky wasn’t in the best place right now. He was trying to make amends for all the things the Winter Soldier had done and he was processing the fact that Steve was gone. Not to mention the fact that Sam had given the shield away. That had been the one thing that had sent him into a deep pit of moodiness. At this point you were used to it.

With a sigh, you stepped into your apartment, throwing your jacket on the couch. Bucky was definitely going to give you crap for that later but you didn’t care. Letting out a heavy sigh, you threw yourself down onto the couch. Before you knew it, your eyes were closing and an unexpected nap took over you.

*****

“Seriously, (Y/N)?” Bucky’s voice woke you up. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes with the palm of your hands to look over at your roommate who had your jacket in his hands. “We have a coat hanger right there.”

With a huff, he placed your jacket on one of the hooks and headed for the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion. Hadn’t he just got back? How long had you been asleep? “Didn’t you just get in?”

“No. I’ve been back three hours. You were just channelling your inner sleeping beauty over there,” his hand was on the door knob. “I’ve got a date so I’ll be back later, I guess.”

“A date?!” You asked sounding far more shocked than you wanted to.

“Don’t even make a comment. I’m leaving.”

And yet again before you could even say anything he was gone. Bucky was going on a date? That was new. Maybe he was taking his therapists advice after all. As happy as you were that he was trying to give himself some semblance of a normal life, it stung a little bit that he seemed to rather spend some time with anyone that wasn’t you. It was probably because of Tony. While Bucky was friendly with you he always seemed to keep his distance. He never really let you in — he never really let anyone in. Most nights you were both either sat in silence watching a movie with the odd comment here and there or in your own rooms. Conversations never went any deeper than small talk. It was something you badly wanted to change. You wanted to be to Bucky what Steve was but you knew nobody would ever fill his shoes. All you could do was try to be there for Bucky despite how he was adamant he didn’t need anyone.

It was with that thought that you stood up from the couch to make your way to your room with your phone in your hand. After sending a quick text to your dad to let him know the latest Bucky update, you changed into your PJs and got into bed.

*****

It was the loud sound of the TV that woke you the next morning. A tired yawn passed your lips as you made your way into the living room. After a stretch, you finally saw the scene in front of you. Bucky was sat on the floor, glaring at the TV with a clenched jaw. It was then that you finally saw what had him so upset. John Walker was Captain America. John Walker was claiming Steve Rogers was a brother to him. The anger bubbled up inside you, too. Without thinking, you made your way towards Bucky and the TV. After placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, you switched the TV off.

“Don’t torture yourself like that, Buck,” you said softly. It broke your heart when you noticed the hint of tears forming in his eyes but you knew he wouldn’t let them fall. It was angry tears — you didn’t blame him one bit.

“Don’t call me Buck. Only Steve can,” he shrugged your hand off his shoulder and got to his feet. “This is all Sam’s fault.”

“No, it’s not! He did what he thought was best.”

“How is giving the shield away what’s best? Steve trusted him with that and this is what he does with it? Give it to them so they could give it to... him? If he was here right now....” Bucky seethed making his way to his room with you following him.

“I don’t think you understand,” you started but was stopped when Bucky spun around to cut you off with a bag in his hand.

“I’m off to find Sam so pack a bag because I’m sure you’re going to have to follow me like the little lost puppy you are so you can send updates to that paranoid dad of yours,” a glare was shot your way before his attention was focused on stuffing clothes into his bag.

“Okay...” you said quietly. His words hurt you but you knew he was angry with Sam and the new Captain America, not you. There was no use in fighting him right now. So without a word, you made your way to your own room and followed suit.

Guess you were off to see Sam.

[marvelslut16]

Almost lost him

Pairing: James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes x Stark!reader 

Synopsis: Tony’s little sister had always had feelings for one James R. Rhodes. She’s kept it a secret for years, but will everything come out after he is injured during the fight against Cap?

word count: 2.4k+

Warnings: Brief cannon violence. Angst. Mentions paralysis. Swearing. Age gap. Also I have a specific age for the character mentioned. 

A/N: This has been sitting in my WIP’s for over a year because I loved it so much and I didn’t want to end it poorly lmao. I know no ones gonna read it since he isn’t a popular character, but oh well. I love this fic and I love Rhodey so that’s all that matters. 

Tony and (Y/N) Stark have saved the world from terrorists once again.

“Can you believe this title?” you laugh showing Rhodey the article on your phone. 

“I was there too,” he says gruffly. 

“You just aren’t special enough,” you tease, sticking your tongue out like you’re five and not thirty-six. 

“Not everyone’s lucky enough to be a Stark,” Tony, your annoying but lovable older brother, enters the compound’s kitchen.

Tony took you under his wing and raised you since your parents died. It was a lot for a twenty-one year old to handle, no one he knew had to take care of an eleven year old. Especially one with newly discovered powers. They weren’t much, but when emotions would get overwhelming you would have white colored beams come from your hands. This later helped Tony come up with the idea for the repulsors on his Iron Man suit, which you helped him build.

As the years passed, you got a better hold on your new found powers. The more you and Tony dug into your parents past, you started to think that your dad had either given you something when you were a baby or your mom was given something while pregnant to make you like this. Your Dad always called you special, but you never thought you were this special.

“Any progress with Steve?” you ask hopefully. You know how much Tony values his friendship with Cap, he just won’t admit it. Especially because he’s hurt. 

“No,” he grunts, but tries to brush it off like he doesn’t care. You and Rhodey give each other unamused looks, clearly not believing the bullshit Tony is trying to feed you.

“I think you should try to reach out to him again, you clearly miss him Tony,” you frown at the dark haired man in front of you.

“I agree with (Y/N/N),” Rhodey speaks up from behind you. He’s closer than you remember, and you shiver as you feel the little licks of his breath on your neck as he speaks. 

“You love birds can shut up now,” Tony rolls his eyes, he leaves the kitchen without anything. 

Heat immediately rushes to your face and you can’t look Rhodey in the eye as you stutter out an apology for Tony’s actions. You quickly leave the kitchen before he can respond, wanting to put distance between your blushing self and the man you had been in love with for years. 

-- 

You had hoped that the conversation in the kitchen would have convinced Tony to reach out and make amends with Steve and half of the Avengers. But things only continued to escalate, where it seemed a battle between friends was unavoidable. So that's how you ended up in Germany, with your newest recruit Spider-Man, facing off against the people you cared most about in this world.

“Rhodey!” you scream as you watch him plummet to the Earth. Time seems to slow to a near standstill and all you can do is watch, too far away from him to be able to help somehow. Your knees buckle and you hit the ground at the same time his body does. There's a scream that’s so loud it rattles the windows of the airport hanger, a scream you weren’t even aware left your own lips. 

Vision tries to approach you, but you let out a sound that's between a sob and a scream as he gets closer. You’re angry, and scared, you can feel a rush of something in your veins. You ball your hands in fists, bringing them to your chest as you curl into yourself. 

The sound of metal crunching together pulls you from your rocking back and forth on your knees. You see a white glow, one that you're extremely familiar with, dissipating from around two shipping containers, now crushed together where vision was hovering. If he had stayed solid, he would have been crushed. You’re shaking even more as you stare down at your hands, you had never been able to move objects before. You could have hurt somebody. You can’t dwell on it too long because Peter runs to your side, telling you that Rhodey had a heartbeat and help was on the way. 

It had felt like hours since Tony, Peter, and you had landed back down in the states. Dr. Cho was working with a spine specialist and a neurosurgeon to figure out the extent of the damage. After a while, they had updated you three, telling you that Rhodey broke his spine and they were taking him into surgery. Tony had left to go fiddle with one of his suits, his coping mechanism. He left the kid with you because he didn’t want you alone. 

“How did you two meet?” Peter breaks the silence.

“Hmm?” you look away from the painting in front of you for the first time since you sat in the waiting room chair, to look at the boy. 

“Mr. Rhodes, how did you two meet?” he clarifies. 

“That’s a long story,” your eyes glaze over as memories start to come flooding back.

“I have time,” Peter gives you a small smile, you can really see what Tony see’s in the kid. The kindness that his Aunt May has taught him is abundantly clear, you know he’s only asking for your benefit.

“He met Tony when they went to MIT together, he somehow found a way to put up with my brother's antics. I didn’t meet him until two years after Tony graduated, so I was eleven,” you let out a little laugh as you realize just how long the older man has been in your life, and in your heart. “He came to my parents funeral for support for Tony, but he became my support system. Everyone seemed to ignore me and go straight for the golden boy, but Tony became too overwhelmed quickly. He introduced me to Rhodey who was the first one, besides Tony of course, to ask me how I was. He ended up spending the entire wake and funeral with me, giving me support and effectively distracting me from my pain.”

You look over at the younger boy, who seems to be staring at you with fascination. He sees the pain on your face when you stop talking, reaching over he grabs your hand loosely. Testing the waters to see if you’ll pull away from affection like Tony has with him. You give him a thankful smile and hold his hand before continuing your story.

“He joined the military not long after that. At first I would send him care packages and letters so he didn’t feel alone when he was deployed. One day when I was writing a letter one of Tony’s flings came into the kitchen and called me a pathetic child because I was crushing on Tony’s friend after I explained what I was doing. He never got that letter, or any after that. We didn’t really talk much after that, if he came to visit Tony I’d be pleasant before locking myself in my room. I guess I was embarrassed over my school girl crush. Years passed, lots of years, before Tony went missing, James was the one that told me what happened. And in those following months he would rarely leave my side, he wanted to make sure I was okay. We were finally both adults, and we gained a real friendship.” 

“That sounds like more than a friendship,” Peter sends you an innocent look. You furrow your eyebrows at him in response, Rhodey definitely doesn’t like you back. “I’m just saying, if Liz was like that with me I would be ecstatic that she liked me back.”

“He sees me as a little sister, Peter,” your heart breaking a little more knowing that you’ll never be able to be with the man you’ve loved for years. Before Peter can refute you, Rhodey’s Neurosurgeon walks into the waiting room- some guy named Dr. Strange. 

“How is he?” you jump out of your seat, Peter quickly following suit, his hand falling from yours at the movement. 

“He’s out of surgery Miss. Stark,” his voice coming out as cocky and full of himself, like he’s overly proud that he did this surgery. “But the recovery will be the difficult part.”

“What happened? What’s still wrong? And when can I see him?” you’re shooting out questions faster than the surgeon can answer.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you Miss. Stark, and you can’t see him until he’s out of the ICU,” the smug look is still on the surgeon's face, making you grow angrier with each word that leaves his mouth. 

“Excuse me?” Peter looks between you and the surgeon with wide curious eyes. 

“You aren’t family,” he states matter-of-factly. “Therefore I can’t tell you and you can’t see him.”

Your eye twitches in anger as your body starts to warm, your powers start to react to the strong emotion. You take a deep calming breath, keeping you from accidentally lashing out at the surgeon. 

“I suggest you rethink that answer,” you say deathly calm, Peter stares at you in awe as you talk back to the man. “And consider who paid for all of the new state-of-the-art Stark technology and equipment you have in this hospital. Things I’m sure that you used in that surgery, that I donated to this hospital through the outreach program that I created. Technology created by both me and my brother.”

“Is there a problem here?” a man’s voice comes from behind you, he sounds irritated that someone’s making a scene. You turn around to face the man, who is wearing a badge that says medical director on it. Perfect. His eyes widen as soon as he recognizes who you are. 

“Actually there is,” you frown. “My colleague, my friend. My favorite person after my brother really, he just had a pretty big surgery, but your surgeon here won’t tell me any details or let me go see him. So yes, we have a huge problem.”

“I’m so sorry Miss. Stark,” he exclaims. “Why don’t we go update you in private.” 

“Did I sound like a bitch?” you frown, whispering to Peter as the two of you follow the MD and the surgeon. He nods a little with a smirk adorning his face. 

“But it was awesome!” you grin at the young boy, remembering the excitement you felt when you saw Tony use his name to get what he wanted for the first time. 

“He’s paralyzed,” the surgeon throws the statement around like it isn’t a big deal as soon as the four of you enter a separate room. “From the waist down. There was nothing we could do.”

Your heart and your lungs seem to stop working at the same time. Peter discreetly uses his super strength to catch you as your legs give out at the surgeon's words. Tears start to pour down your face as you realize all of the things Rhodey will never be able to again. Like never being able to help defend his country again, or chase after you when you steal the last cookie that he wanted. 

You can’t help but feel guilty. If he had never met you and Tony he would be fine. He would still be able to do what he loves. He never would have been put in that situation. He’ll never be able to walk again. He won’t have the opportunity to dance at his wedding or chase his children around if he decided to have either of those. 

“I know it’s a lot Miss. Stark,” the MD’s voice is muffled. “But there was nothing we could have done-”

“When can I see him?” you cut the doctor off. 

“I could take you to him now,” he glares at the surgeon. “He won’t wake for at least a few more hours.”

“Peter, go call Tony and tell him the update,” you look at the young boy, he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading back to the waiting room. 

The surgeon and the MD both ramble on about Rhodey’s condition but their voices sound muffled- like you’re underwater. You feel like you're suffocating in all the pain and grief you feel for the love of your life. He’s lying on the bed, oxygen tubing up his nose, at least ten wires connected to him, and the disgusting beep of his heart monitor reminds you how lucky you are that he’s still here with you. 

The two men quickly leave you with Rhodey, but not before the MD promises that he’ll be under constant supervision and he’ll receive the best treatments they offer. Not that you're shocked to hear that with the scene you cause in the waiting room. You grab Rhodey’s hand, careful to avoid yanking the IV in it, pulling his hand up to your mouth to give it a feather light kiss. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stare at his still body, you were so close to losing him today. 

The tears have stopped by the time Tony shows up close to an hour later, he had dropped Peter off at home before coming up to the hospital room. Your older brother looks as distressed as you feel, although he seems to be tryin to hide it more than you are. 

“How is he?” his voice is quieter than you imagined, like he’s afraid any louder will make you crumble. 

“Stable,” your voice is monotonous, and you refuse to tear your eye’s from Rhodey’s face as you respond to Tony. “About as good as he could be I guess.”

“How are you?” he cuts you off as you go to respond that you're fine. “And don’t bullshit me (Y/N/N), you’ve been in love with him since you were eleven. How are you feeling?”

You don’t respond, not with words at least. Instead you do crumble, letting out a quiet sob as you grip Tony’s hand that he was about to place on your shoulder. Tony runs his free hand through your hair and down your back, trying to soothe you like he used to when you would have nightmares after your parents deaths. 

“We almost lost him today Tony, I almost lost him-” another sob racks through your body. “And now he’s paralyzed. He can never walk again, can never defend his Country again. And for what? A disagreement between you and Steve? We could have lost him Tony for something so fucking stupid.”

Before Tony can respond, a muffled voice breaks through the tension in the room. The voice is gravely, but one you love so dearly, it’s Rhodey’s. “(Y/N)?”

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always​

[thetiredbiwrites]

And then...

Dad!Tony x Son!Reader

(mentions of Uncle Rhodey)

Anon: // hello can you do angsty tony x Son reader. Tony and reader has strained relationship and they we're not in good terms, Tony prefer Peter than his son but it got change when both of them got kidnapped, they been together for a few days and slowly they reconciled. Soon they got save by the avengers but the Son Reader notice that one kidnapper pulled a weapon to Tony then R save his father, he got shot then Tony is scared to see his son dying. Its up to you the ending. ☺

A/N: Thank you for the Tony request 🤗🤗 Hope this is ok! (I love dad!Tony, I think he’d be so good...even though this fic is on a different note🤔😂)

Warnings: Cliff hanger end. It was getting pretty long and I wanted to upload something before bed (which also means it hasn’t been checked but oh well, I’ll re-read it tomorrow) BUT I do plan on doing a part 2 :)

(Also swearing, just always assume swearing)

Words: 3100+

Tony’s relationship with his son had always been strained. Ever since he was practically dumped on his doorstep at 4 years old.

Tony had no prior knowledge that he has a kid, none of the women he’s been with had ever even told him they were pregnant. But if he was being honest with himself, it didn’t surprise him. With the way he got around it was bound to happen eventually.

He just wished he’d known from the beginning.

Having a 4 year old left in his care with no warning put him in a whole new territory he was completely unprepared for.

A baby gives you time to prepare and are essentially a ‘blank slate’ at birth. A 4 year old has experiences, like and dislikes, routines, a connection to someone who abandons them with a stranger…

At the time, Tony was still a playboy, out at events and travelling a lot. As well as CEO of a company manufacturing weapons for the military. He didn’t have time for a child. To break through recently arisen trust and abandonment issues and build a relationship.

He cared about his son. Always made sure he had everything he needed or wanted, a good education and was in good health. But forming personal, emotional connections can’t be done with money, and Tony could barley cope with his own true emotions.

It quickly became clear that they did not share talents or interest in maths, sciences or mechanics. His son struggled especially with maths and Tony initially really did try to help, finally thinking something was in his element and he could bond.

But elementary (followed by middle and high) maths was so simple and automatic for Tony’s brain that he found it difficult to slow down and explain the process to the young boy.

He hired a tutor in his place.

That’s not to say Tony expected or needed his son to be a genius in the same subjects as him. He didn’t need his son to follow him (or his father) to be worthy of his time. But it would have made it easier.

Instead, his son excelled in English and arts, and was amazing in the kitchen. He loved to write stories, create pictures to accompany them and experimenting with new recipes.

Unfortunately, Tony did not excel in these areas, thus distancing them further.

At least he wasn’t taking after his father though. He didn’t force his son into one path or degrade him. No forcing him to grow up, giving him alcohol at a ridiculously young age or sending him away to be completely alone.

Tony often wondered himself if he’d have taken the path he did if his father hadn’t pushed him. If he’d be the same person without the verbal abuse and constant neglect of his father.

He wasn’t blind to his emotional distance and lack of bond to his son. Or to the connection the boy had to both Rhodey and Pepper. He could see that his son was connect to the two people he trusted the most and he was glad.

When Rhodey was available, being in the air force meant he wasn’t always around, he made sure to take the boy out, go to school events and even read his stories, giving feedback and support.

Pepper made herself available if he ever needed to talk and was always willing to taste test.

Even Happy was around to take him where he needed to go, training in the gym and joke with.

So even if the young boy didn’t have a relationship with his father, he had adults around to support and love him and help him through life.

It didn’t stop him wishing he did have a relationship to his father though.

 While MIA in Afghanistan, Tony realised he wanted to try harder to build a relationship to his nearly teenaged son.

It didn’t happen.

He returned home and completely changed his company, which required a lot of time. His guilt also led in him to putting on that damn suit and trying to save the world.

And then he nearly died from palladium poisoning.

And then New York was attacked by aliens and the avengers were formed.

And then Tony had PTSD; anxiety, panic attacks and nightmares.

And then ‘terrorists’ blew up their house and nearly killed Happy and Pepper.

And then murderous robots.

And then the avengers broke up.

And then Tony worked with the UN to amend the accords and set up more help and cleaning crews. Back to lots of travelling.

And then…

And then… Peter.

It never eased up and his son turned 18.

His son made excuses over the years. He genuinely was busy and obviously struggled with relationships. Maybe he’s just not paternal? You can’t blame someone for trying to save lives either.

Of course he was aware it isn’t all on Tony, he could have tried harder to bond with his father as well.

But then Peter came along.

Scientifically and mathematically gifted Peter.

Superhero Peter.

Enthusiastic, smart and funny 15 year old Peter.

And then Tony had the time.

He made the time.

For Peter.

To talk to him. Help with his homework and superheroing.

Teaching him. Training him.

They spent a lot of time in the workshop and lab.

Tony was always so interested in what Peter had to say. Whether is was about science or mechanics, school, spider-man or even teenage romance.

It came so easily and naturally to Tony.

He had the time.

Even the team had noticed this relationship and dubbed them ‘Iron-Dad and Spider-Son’.

That hurt.

The time he overheard Clint comment, ‘why couldn’t we have had dad-Tony this whole time?’ really stung.

Tony’s been a dad, to a son, the entire time he’s known the avengers.

He didn’t hate Peter though. It’s not his fault and he’s actually perfectly nice. But to see his father so easily bond with another kid in a short time made him realise that he’d never get that father-son relationship.

Tony is paternal. Just not for him.

--

His eyes fluttered open, the ground cold against his face.

Wait, ground? What-

A groan passed his lips as he sat up, pressing a hand to the side of his head where pain radiated.

He blinked the fuzziness from his eyes, trying to remember how he got there, but the last thing he could recall was leaving the Stark Industries event after supporting Pepper.

The room was dull and very basic. With stone walls and floor, no windows, one dim light and two metal framed beds so rusty they would probably break under his weight.

As he glanced back down to the ground, he noticed another body in the room. They were still slumped on the ground and back to him.

Scrambling across the floor, he pushed on the mans shoulder to lay in on his back and see his face.

Dad?

Quickly he checked for a pulse and when he was satisfied with the regular thumping, he moved away, letting out a sigh of relief.

With his back to the wall, arms resting on his bent knees, he waited.

It was only a short while later when Tony began to wake. Groaning and sitting up in the same manner his son had moments earlier.

“Oh God, what the hell-where am I?” He mumbled, clearly unaware he wasn’t alone.

“I was hoping you’d know the answer”

Tony’s head snapped over at the grumbled voice to see his son.

“Y/N. What- what are you doing here?”

“hell if I know. Can’t imagine why anyone would take me. I generally don’t piss people off and I’m neither an Avenger or a tech genius.”

“Maybe they mistook you for me” Tony joke, completely oblivious to his sons disinterested and cold tone.

He shuffled back to lean against the opposite wall as his son scoffed.

“Sorry kid, you got the Stark looks.”

“Yeah, that’s all I got” the young man mumbled, leaning his head back on the wall, closing his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Silence fell between them until the door opened.

The two men rose to their feet as two armed guards entered the room, a third following with a tray of unappealing food and bottled water.

Neither Stark was acknowledged as the tray was placed on one of the beds and they turned to leave. They even ignored Tony’s incessant questioning and cocky attitude.

His son stayed silent, taking on of the bottles as he sat back on the floor, still not ready to trust the beds.

“Could they just answer a simple question? They got to have a fucking reason for this.”

“Whatever it is I wish they’d just hurry up with it.”

“What, are you bored? Got places to be?” Tony asked, before taking his seat back on the floor.

“Yes, actually. I have an interview Monday and I’m not ready.”

“An interview? What for?”

“Like you actually care.”

“Hey, that’s not-“ Tony began to object but his son looked over at him and cut him off.

“Unless it’s about Peter or Superhero shit, you don’t want to know. You haven’t magically become interested, you just don’t like the silence and unfortunately I’m the only one here. You never cared about what was actually happening in my life before, why start now?”

Tony stared at his son in shock. It’s hard to make The Tony Stark speechless, but right now he had no words at all.

As his son dropped his head back to the wall, looking away from him, Tony couldn’t take his eyes off his son.

Thoughts ran through his head as he examined his son, becoming aware of how little he really did know.

-When did he get so tall? Not tall-tall though, definitely the Stark gene at work there.

-That suit makes him look so grown up, even if those a-holes took our jackets and shoes. Why did they take our shoes? No. Not important. Focus.

-I care about my son. Come on Tony, think. Something.

-School? Crap, when did I last even read a report card? He’s always aced English. Didn’t he do band? No, shit, that was Peter. Goddamnit, is he right?

“You’re 18.”

“Well done. You want a medal?”

“Is the interview for college?”

His son still didn’t move, wouldn’t even look at him.

“Please, Y/N. I-I know I’ve not really been… present in your life. But I do care about you.”

“Do you?” His eyes burned long repressed anger and Tony prepared himself for everything that was coming. He knew he’d deserve it too.

“You gave up so easily. It was too hard to bond with your idiot son, a shy kid who couldn’t understand simple maths. You’d rather be with women and go to parties, and the company always came first. All you did was throw money at things. For year I was fine with it, you using money to help me. I had more than more. It was clear you struggled with relationships of any kind and I was just dumped on you with no warning. It was fine because I had Rhodey, Pepper and Happy. They were there to talk to, they taught me things and supported me, Rhodey would go to school events whenever he could. I just figured maybe you’re not a paternal person. Then you became Iron Man and started saving the world and I can’t be mad about that.”

Tony stayed silent and watched as his son stood up, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace.

“Then you met Harley and kept in touch with him. You upgraded his garage into a high-tech lab. But he did help you save Pepper and the President so I guess you owed him and I didn’t let it bother me. It wasn’t until Peter came along that I noticed that you are one of the most naturally paternal people I know. You became his father figure, took him in so quickly, bonding immediately. If he needed help, you were there. He wanted to talk, you listened. Whether it’s out being Iron Man and Spider-man, training him, helping him with his school work or just locking yourselves in the workshop for hours building new shit. You’re always there for him. He witters on about some stupid crush for 25 minutes and you hang on every word. But you couldn’t do that for me?! What, did I need to be a genius at maths?! Interested in building extravagant technology?! Would you have noticed me then? You know, you went to Peter’s science show last month but you’ve never been to any of my school events. It was always Rhodey, Pepper and Happy a couple times, or no-one. But never you.”

The young man stared at his father, chest heaving, eyes burning as he held back tears. Yet Tony said nothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. Lips parted and eyes glistening with unshed tears, he just sat, no words coming out.

“Yeah I’m 18 any yeah it’s a college interview. I graduate in a few weeks, Rhodey’s going. I’ve already been accepted to a couple colleges. Only a few months and I can leave.”

He didn’t give Tony a chance to respond as he risked the bed, laying down and facing the wall as he focused on bringing his breathing back to normal.

Behind him, his father watched on as tears fell down his face, guilt taking over his whole being.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night. While his son eventually fell asleep, Tony stayed on the floor, thinking through everything his son told him and looking back over the years.

The following morning, two guard came in and took Tony away.

They brought him back a few hours later, unharmed. The younger Stark watched as Tony worried his bottom lip and fussed with his clothes. He noted the troubled look on his father’s face and it was clear that whatever the kidnappers told him wasn’t good at all.

But he remained silent.

Eventually Tony settled, sitting on the floor again. But the two still didn’t speak for a few more hours.

“I’m sorry,” Tony finally broke through the silence and tense atmosphere of the confined space.

His son remained silent but his eyes moved up to look at him. This was enough of an acknowledgement that he was listening and so Tony continued.

“You might not believe that, but I am. I don’t know why it was so hard or why it was so easy with Peter. I didn’t- It wasn’t intentional, I didn’t even realise.”

The young Stark kept his eyes on his father but his face stayed blank and lips sealed.

“And you know, just because maths and science subjects didn’t come naturally to you doesn’t mean you’re an idiot. I’ve never once thought you were. I know the Stark name has become so tied to them, mechanics, advanced technology and engineering… but it doesn’t mean you’re not…good enough? Because you don’t follow that. I never thought you should have been, it didn’t-didn’t disappoint me or anything. But you were always so talented in arts, you wrote the most amazing stories and a complete natural in the kitchen. Things I’m not so great at. It just made it harder for me to figure out how to connect. I didn’t know where to start.”

A small smile flashed across his face, eyes glazed as he recalled the past.

“Y’know, I loved those stories about the uh, the dragons that live on your shoulder. I’d find drawings and paintings of them all over the house, and it was a big house!”

Across from him, his son’s head raised a little higher, eyebrows subtly furrowing and looked at the soft expression on his father’s face. He had no idea Tony even know about those.

“I should have been there, tried harder. There’s no excuse for that. But I have always cared. You were just so talented in things I didn’t understand. Then I saw how close you and Rhodey became and-“

Tony let out a sigh, looking away from his son.

“You were left with me, an egotistical ass and a- a playboy. I didn’t think I deserved you. You deserved someone better. Someone emotionally available and mature. Someone to help you grow into an amazing person and progress your talents. Someone like Rhodey. He deserved you and you him. He was -and is- better for you. You were loved and supported by him, and then Pepper and Happy, so I – I thought you’d be ok. That you wouldn’t need me.”

Once again it was all quiet in the small room. This time Tony wouldn’t look at his son, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his father.

“I did need you.”

His voice was raspy as he admitted this to not only Tony but himself.

“Rhodey’s the best. I love him. Couldn’t have asked for a better Uncle. But that’s what he is; my Uncle. You were supposed to be my Dad. I shouldn’t have had a father figure when my father was right there. You were so cool, before and after becoming Iron Man. You made everything around you seem like fun. I didn’t understand the tech crap but- I’m an artist. I can, and did, design things. It’s not all on you, I didn’t make it easy.”

“You were a kid, it is on me. But, maybe- When we get out of here I’ll do better. I want to be an active part in your life. I also understand if it’s too late though.”

“It’s not. It’ll take time but, I’d like that. Rhodey might get jealous though.”

A huffed laugh slipped past Tony’s lips as they spread into a smile on his face when his son cracked a grin.

They continued to talk into the night, about school, which colleges and courses, friends and dating. Once they started they couldn’t stop.

It is hard to shut up a Stark.

They were laughing about one of Tony’s stories of his time in MIT with Rhodey when an explosion shook the room.

The men stood up and faced the door as the sounds of fighting and yelling grew nearer. A smirk spread on Tony’s face as he recognised the noises of his teammates.

It wasn’t long before the door was broken down and Captain America stood in it’s place.

“Bout damn time. Did you stop for coffee?”

“Yeah, yeah, tin man. You’re welcome.” Hawkeye quipped as they walked down the halls.

Rhodey broke through to get to his nephew’s side, checking him over and ensuring he was ok.

Tony led the group to the main room. The kidnappers had access to files and tech that would be too dangerous to leave.

As Tony wiped everything, quips flowing between him and his teammates, none of them noticed the man sneak in through another door.

The younger Stark moved before his brain could even process what was happening, placing himself between his father and the gun that was raised to his back.

*bang*

[thebluenoteblog]

Who I Am With You

Summary: You visit the Tkachuk’s for the first time and they are a bit surprised by Matthew’s new attitude.

Player: Matthew Tkachuk

Word Count: 2k

Requested: visitning Matty Tkachuk and his family and Matty being super soft and Keith and Chantal have to do a double take because he's being so sweet and puppy like

“Don’t be so nervous, babe.” Matthew said, wrapping his free arm arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Everything will be fine. They’ll love you.”

You frowned up at him then quickly looked back ahead of you to avoid running into anyone in the crowded airport. “I don’t know if I believe that,” you said. “I’m not a very loveable person.”

“That is such a lie and you know it,” he rolled his eyes at you and squeeze you against his side, you stumbled, and he steadied you then chuckled like he hadn’t been the reason that you’d almost fallen in the first place. “Besides, you’ve met Brady once and he thinks you’re great.”

“I’m still not too sure about this…” you said, trailing off as Matthew’s parents and sister came into view in the crowd of people waiting for passengers to exit the gates. “Show time.”

He snorted, “You’re ridiculous. If I had to handle meeting your family who thought I was a massive dick before they even knew me, then you can handle meeting my family who has only heard amazing things about you.”

“You don’t know what Brady has told them,” you said, pausing and looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looked down at you and for the first time realized that you were legitimately scared. He set the suitcase he was rolling up on its wheels and turned to face you. He put a hand under your chin and tilted your face up toward his. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, nothing indecent, nothing that would make anyone stop and stare. It was comforting. It was sweet. He pulled away and stroked his thumb over your cheek, “I promise, everything will be okay.”

You smiled up at him and nodded, “Okay.”

He returned your smile and your nod and said, “Good, are you ready now?”

You intertwined your fingers with his and then said, “Now I am.”

He laughed and brought your hand to his lips before dropping it back between you. He grabbed the suitcase and started toward his family.

“Welcome home, Matthew!” Chantel exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him as soon as he was close enough for her to reach. You attempted to let go of his hand, so he had two arms to hug her back with, but he held onto you.

“Hi, mom.” He said, giving her a one-armed hug.

Chantel turned to you and said, “You must be (Y/N),” she was smiling, and you could tell that you were about to get a hug too. You were right. You gave her the same one-armed hug that Matthew had a moment before.

“That would be me,” you said as she pulled back. “It’s so nice to finally meet you guys.”

“I’m still amazed that he finally brought a girl home,” Taryn said, “I was beginning to think that it would never happen.”

Chantel hushed her, “Leave your brother alone.”

Taryn’s eyes widened, “Leave Matthew alone? He has a girl here and now he’s off limits? I need to try that.”

Keith laughed and rubbed his eyebrow, “Oh god, it’s already starting.”

Matthew held up your joined hands, “I’m innocent.”

Keith looked at him and opened his mouth to say something, then paused, thought about it and said, “You know what, I think that is the first time in your entire life that you’ve ever said that, and it wasn’t a lie.”

“Thank you?” Matthew asked, dropping your hands.

Keith shook his head, still looking a little confused and held out a hand for you to shake. You took it and he said, “It’s nice to meet you too. I’ll apologize in advance for the chaos.”

You laughed, “I’m second youngest of five. I’m used to chaos.”

Keith nodded, but there was something in the look on his face that made you think you might be in for a little more than you’d bargained for over the next two weeks. “We should get going. Brady’s waiting back at the house.”

“When did he get in?” Matthew asked, grabbing his bag and you moved to grab yours, but Keith got to it before you and was wheeling it ahead of you.

“Earlier this morning,” Chantel responded, “He didn’t want to go out again after just getting off a plane or he would have been here to meet you.”

“Better to save the big family reunion for at home anyway,” Keith said, “Don’t need anyone to get cross checked in an airport.”

Matthew rolled his eyes, “It was one time.”

Chantel sighed behind you and Taryn laughed, “I thought it was funny. I was hoping for a fight.”

“Taryn,” Chantel chastised, “don’t encourage that.”

“Why do you want us to fight?” Matthew asked her, “You grew up watching us beat each other up.”

“No,” She said, “I grew up watching you beat up Brady. Now Brady is big enough to beat you up.”

Matthew looked over his shoulder and frowned at her, “Jerk.”

Keith was laughing quietly at the front of the group and Chantel was rolling her eyes. Matthew turned back around, and his eyes landed on you beside him. He brought the back of your hand to his lips again and then dropped them between you just as he had before.

You could feel two sets of eyes on your back but thought nothing of it, assuming that they were just happy to have Matthew home and taking in the girl that he had brought with him.

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Matthew tells us that you’re a social worker?” Chantel asked while gathering roasted potatoes on her fork.

You nodded, “Yeah, I graduated last semester. I’m really enjoying it.”

“It must be a hard job,” she said.

You nodded again, “It isn’t easy, but I’ve wanted to do it most of my life, so I can’t complain.”

Matthew looked over at you, “She’s amazing at what she does too,” he said.

Brady and Taryn gave each other strange looks over the table which you caught but didn’t pay much attention to. Keith looked at Matthew and leaned forward, his elbows on the table and asked, “Matthew, what do you think of Brady’s new haircut?”

Matthew didn’t even look at Brady, he had an arm across the back of your chair and he was sitting at an angle in his seat, his knee touching yours under the table. He never looked up from his plate. “It’s cool.”

Keith stared blankly at his oldest son, then his eyes drifted between the two of you. He leaned back in his seat and piled potatoes onto his fork. “Interesting,” was all he said.

<><><><><><><><>

You were curled into Matthew’s side, his arm holding you close to him and he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “See, they love you almost as much as I do. You had nothing to be worried about.”

You looked up at him and smiled as Brady plopped onto the couch beside you with an exaggerated sigh and kicked his feet up on the ottoman. “What movie are we watching?” he asked.

Matthew shrugged, “Ask (Y/N), she picked it out. I have no idea what I’m watching right now.”

Brady turned slowly to face him, “You let someone else pick a movie?”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal?”

Brady just laughed and turned toward the TV shaking his head, “I don’t even know man. I don’t even know.”

You looked between the two brothers, but Matthew didn’t seem too concerned about it, he had a hand in your hair and an arm tossed across your lap and he had his eyes fixed back on the screen as though Brady had never said a thing.

<><><><><><><><>

You pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed, watching as Matthew hung up the last shirt from your suitcases in the closet. Finally, you couldn’t take the curiosity anymore. You sighed and asked, “Why does your whole family keep giving us the side eye?”

This time it was his turn to side eye you. “What are you talking about, babe?”

“All day. It seems like every time you say something everyone looks at you like you’ve lost your mind,” you said as you pulled your leg underneath you.

He paused, hand still on the hanger. He turned to look over his shoulder at you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You shook your head and pulled the sheets over your legs, “Never mind. It was a stupid question.”

Matthew closed the closet door, walked across the room, and crawled into bed beside you. He pulled his side of the sheets over the lower half of his body and wrapped his arms around you, “None of your questions are stupid, baby.”

You curled up into his chest and closed your eyes, attempting to forget about the odd looks and Matthews avoidance of your questions.

<><><><><><><><>

Matthew always woke up before you, and this morning he could smell his mother cooking breakfast downstairs, so he wasted no time in pressing a kiss to your forehead and crawling out of bed, pulling on a shirt then heading down the stairs to hopefully steal some bacon off the plate.

The second he walked into the kitchen, four sets of eyes focused on him. He raised an eyebrow at them, “Morning,” he stretched the word, overexaggerating every syllable.

“Morning lover boy,” Brady said just lowly enough that their mother wouldn’t hear from across the kitchen where she was standing at the stove.

Matthew narrowed his eyes at his brother, “At least I can land a girl, asshole.”

Taryn snorted from across the table, “The spell only works when she’s around. We have to keep her.”

Keith was leaning back in his chair, coffee mug in his hand, “It’s weird. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Matthew asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You,” Taryn waved a hand at him, “not being an asshole for the first time in your life.”

Matthew blinked at her a few times, shocked by her words. “I take pride in being an asshole, thank you.”

“But you weren’t a dick all day yesterday,” Brady said, but he forgot to keep his voice down and Chantel heard him.

She glanced up from the bacon she was frying and narrowed her eyes at him, “Language.”

“Sorry, mom,” Brady said. “You weren’t a jerk all day yesterday,” he amended.

Matthew thought back through the day. He couldn’t think of one moment where he had said or done anything rude or crude. He didn’t even have to think about why. He knew the answer already. It was the same reason that he hadn’t answered you when you had asked him why his family was giving him weird looks even though he’d had a pretty good idea.

You were so good. You helped kids for a living and you loved spending time with them. You loved feeling like you were making a difference in the world. You were so strong. You were so beautiful. You were so much better than him.

He hit people for a living. Not really. He played hockey, and he played it well, but sometimes it felt like that’s all that people knew him for. He was terrified that if you ever saw the pesky, snarky, asshole side of him off the ice, that’s all that you would see to.

But there was more to him.

You were the first person to ever see more than that.

“No,” Matthew said, shrugging his shoulders as he headed over to the island to grab a piece of bacon, effectively ending the conversation, “I guess I wasn’t.”

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me: Chapter Five

Thanks for your continued support for these sweet artsy bairns! Here’s the next installment! I read all of your kind comments and they mean the absolute world to me.

READ ON AO3

Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

Claire was just walking up to the picturesque green of Louisburg Square, where her townhouse sat facing the gardens, when her phone began an incessant buzzing. She had her hands full after stopping at the market for dinner staples (otherwise known as a box of Velveeta Shells & Cheese). She was fumbling with her purse and muttering a not-so-quiet “Shit,” when she dropped her keys on the porch. When she stooped lower to get the keys, more toiletries from the market spilled onto the ground and rolled down the steps while her phone continued to buzz. “Oh fuck it all to hell… Oh hello, Mr. Grant!” Claire’s next door neighbor was a kind man, but always appeared perplexed -- whether by her uncontrollable hair, clothes splattered with dirt from the shop, or simply by wondering how she came to be the owner of one of the most coveted real estate properties in New England, Claire would never know.

“Hello dear. Are you alright over there?” His brow was knit as Claire shoved her scattered belongings back into their various bags all while muttering under her breath as to not offend the old man’s sensibilities. She stood, and realized he had most definitely already heard her vocabulary choices.

“Oh, I’m fine, just one of those days!” One of those days where you fall head over heels for the strange guy you met last night and then all your shit falls on the sidewalk because your brain is short-circuiting.

“Well as always, if you need anything, I’m just here and happy to help.”

“Thank you! One day I’ll absolutely take you up on it -- I’m usually less of a mess!” She tried to joke it off, but it sounded a little too much like she was trying to justify herself to neighbor, and herself.

Mr. Grant smiled. “Of course, dear. Ah, you seem to be very popular today!”

Claire’s phone went off for at least the fifth time. She tried to reign in her annoyance, said her goodbyes to the man, and using her foot to kick a back of groceries inside the doorway finally made it inside. She dug around her bag for the phone ready to lash out at whatever telemarketer couldn’t take a hint, but stopped.

Two missed phone calls, four missed texts. The caller left a voicemail for each call. She pressed play on the earlier one.

“Hi Sassenach, uh, Claire, I guess I should call ye Claire since that’s yer name, huh? Shit. Hold on… Okay, let me start over. Hello Claire, this is Jamie. James. James Fraser? From the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken? Of course she kens, ye damn eedjit… Me! Not you! Oh god this is literally the worst call I’ve ever made in my life. Fuck it, I’m just going to try again.” The voicemail abruptly ended. Claire was in stitches at his earnest attempt to just talk to her. At least he wasn’t lying when she heard him say she wouldn’t have to wait long at all for message from him. She pressed play on the second voicemail.

“Hello Claire, I hope this message finds ye well. It was verra nice to see ye today at my shop. It may be the cool, relaxed thing tae do would be to not call ye right away, but ye make me feel anything but cool and relaxed and under control. Ye make me feel… like there’s something different between us, mo nighean donn. As I told ye in the shop, I dinna think I can wait another week to see ye. If you would do me the honor of saying yes, I would verra much like to take ye out for dinner and drinks. Or anything ye wanted to do, really. Dinner and drinks was just my idea… okay I think I’m getting flustered again so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. Okay thanks, talk to you soon hopefully, bye. Oh, and this is Jamie Fraser.”

Her laughter had died out the moment he said how she made him feel. Is that really how he felt about her? Did he mean it? Claire had a feeling that Jamie Fraser from the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken didn’t ever say things he didn’t mean. She fell into the couch facing the big bay window, and breathed. Her breath came in heavy, her heartbeats fast. Her thoughts were swirling and her mind racing and everything felt light around here. A little breathlessly, she opened her text app to a number she didn’t recognize.

[+16178256192]: Hello Claire, this is James Fraser from Fraser Literature and from karaoke last night at The 21st Amendment.

Claire actually laughed out loud now. As if she could forget who he was! He had turned her world upside down at the bar, she sang in his shop, she gave him her phone number less than an hour ago! She added his number to her contacts before reading his following texts.

[Jamie]: Okay that was weirdly formal, sorry

[Jamie]: Could ye do me a favor and just delete the first voicemail?

[Jamie]: I was hoping we could maybe set up a time for the date I mentioned earlier at the shop? I would really like to see ye again before next week.

[Jamie]: And maybe before we have to hang out with the Spanish Inquisition. ;)

Claire laughed through her nose at that last one; apparently, Jamie had been grilled about their relationship? Interaction? by Rupert and Angus like Claire had been by Joe and Geillis. She reread all the messages he’d sent her before responding.

[Claire]: Hello James Fraser, owner of Fraser Literature and karaoke. I do indeed remember and even if I didn’t, you’ve reminded me several times in your many incessant texts/voicemails. ;)

Three dots immediately popped up, disappeared, popped up, and a next text appeared.

[Jamie]: I told ye to delete the first voicemail! You weren’t supposed to hear my rambling!

[Claire]: Uh huh, seems likely. ;) Maybe I have a super power that renders you useless around me?

[Jamie]: Well lass you're not far off.

[Jamie]: How’s about that date? What are you doing tonight?

[Claire]: Lol, you’re not tired of seeing my face yet?

[Jamie]: Not yet, not ever.

[Jamie]: Sooooooooo, dinner? ;)

Eventually, they decided on a little Italian place close to Claire’s place. Claire paced around the upstairs bedroom, trying out an outfit only to rip it off and throw it in a pile on the floor. She’d walk to the bathroom, evaluate her look, give a deep breath out her nose, and was now at the point of yelling about how she had no clothes. But, she remembered. In a garment bag at the back of her closet hung a blood-orange dress. A square neckline gave way to a triangle dip in the middle, the hem came just to the middle of her thigh with a cinched waistline.. She smiled, sadly. The last time she wore the dress, she was still in med school. Frank had asked her out to “a dinner with a few medical friends” and promised she could make a few connections to help her down the road. Claire ended up discarded at the door until Frank needed to show her off to a classmate or professor or colleague. She learned he hadn’t told anyone she was also studying medicine, telling her he “wanted to let you stand on your own, darling.” The last time she had worn that dress, she realized she wouldn’t resign herself to a life of being second-best to her partner, to a group of strangers, or to anyone. Tonight was the perfect time to remind herself she was taking things into her own hands yet again -- with Jamie at her side. Her smile turned genuine, and she pulled it off the hanger.

-- -- --

Jamie knew this was unusual. Claire wasn’t the first girl he’d ever been interested in, but if he had any choice in the matter, she would be the last one. Rationally, he should’ve been talking himself out of planning a future with the girl from the bar, but he couldn’t help himself. When he was in high school in Scotland, he kissed a girl who smelled like hairspray and spun sugar and he didn’t like that at all. He kissed a few lasses before rugby games and they’d tell him it was all for good luck. He enjoyed them (didn’t every red-blooded teenage boy enjoy kisses before sports games?), but enjoyment was the extent of it. In college, he had met Annalise. She was smart and kind and lovely, and so bonny. She’d loved his family, loved him. And he had loved her, too. Their relationship started after their first year at school when they became close friends and confidants. She was truly one of the best friends he’d ever had, outside of the lads. When he said he was leaving Scotland to pursue his dreams in the states, she said she was being “abandoned”. Jamie considered asking her to come with him to build a life, but reconsidered. After many long conversations, many tears, many honest words… they had decided their relationship was based in comfort. They loved each other, there was no doubt about that. They loved each other because of their close friendship, their proximity to each other at school, their families’ friendship that developed because of their own. When Jamie confronted Annalise about his realization that he would forever be grateful for her, but didn’t see a romantic future together, she had cried and told him she was so happy -- she felt the same. They split amicably and continued to call and text when they could. Friendships like theirs didn’t just dissipate.

With Claire, things felt… different. Emotional, raw, honest, profound. It felt like something he couldn’t quite place. Something he didn’t have words for. The mere thought of her made his pulse quicken, made his breath catch in his chest. Their connection last night at the bar, their physical connection at the bookshop (god, how it felt to be touched by her…) , their easy banter over text, and then when she gave him her address… he had to sit down. He knew her address exactly. He’d passed it every time he went home, or went to work, or went anywhere at all. She lived in Louisburg Square, across the garden and just to the right of a place he knew intimately. She lived across the garden and just to the right, of his place. They were neighbors. He never knew. He thought back to telling her how they must have just been missing each other for years, but god, he never knew how close they really were.

Jamie finished tying up his leather boots and took a look in the mirror. Hair brushed back, curls falling at his neck, a light blue button-up, a leather jacket. Not too bad. Still not good enough for her, though. He tugged at the neck of his shirt, and left his townhouse. He made his way up his side of the square, and stopped not ten feet up the sidewalk. He saw her. From the second floor, Claire was illuminated by soft light in the window, gauzy curtains framing her. He could only watch in awe as her head tilted to the side to fit an earring to her ear. She reached for a brush and started to comb out a curl. Jamie sighed contentedly when he noticed her hair was still down, curled around her face, wild as ever. Claire gave up with the brush and settled herself to smoothing down creases in her wee dress with delicate hands. Hands that had touched him, healed him, had literally written her name over his heart. She was... ethereal. Tearing his eyes away from the window, he managed to send her a message:

[Jamie]: On my way there Sassenach

[Claire]: No worries, take your time. See you soon!

Jamie rounded the center garden and up to her steps. The light from the window was still glowing, but he could no longer see her. One more text:

[Jamie]: Just outside

He walked up the steps, raised his knuckles to the brass knocker, and paused. First step to forever… His phone buzzed.

[Claire]: I thought I said to take your time? ;) seriously, how’d you get here so fast? Just a sec and I’ll be down!

He did knock then, answered her text to say there was no rush, he wasn’t going anywhere. Behind the door he heard a literal run down the stairs and he stifled a chuckle. There was a jingle of keys, a fairly loud, “Shit!” as the keys hit the floor, a scuttle of shoes around the entry, and the door opened.

Here we go, lad.

[aliciameade]

Desperate Measures - Ch. 4/4

Title: Desperate Measures Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Everyone in the building now hates Apartment 3N Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Mid-PP3. They are quarantined. Chloe and Beca have everything they need to weather the mandated period of social distancing and staying home: food, water, shelter, games, entertainment, and each other’s company.

The one thing they don’t have?

Much-needed privacy.

Also on AO3

Dedicated to my dearest @becabottommitchell​. 🎯 😘

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca wasn’t sure how Chloe’s and her newfound dynamic would change once Fat Amy returned to their lives.

They’d had two months of isolation together and, quite frankly, Beca had all but forgotten there was an entire world filled with other people beyond their four walls. And she really wasn’t a fan of any of them.

She was, however, a big fan of the person whose fingertips were wandering inconspicuously along her left thigh. 

They’re meant to be working together to clean the kitchen after the dinner the three had made but Amy had excused herself, explaining that she needed to get ready for her Hot Date with someone, conveniently leaving the mess to Chloe and Beca.

Beca had decided to take on the dishes while Chloe finished clearing the table and stove but following Chloe’s most recent trip to the sink where Beca stood, she’d dropped in the dishes instead of walking away, had stepped behind Beca.

It had made every hair on the back of her neck stand up when she sensed Chloe’s proximity and Chloe had giggled in her ear at Beca’s shiver the second her fingertips grazed the skin just below the hem of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she says under her breath, hand tightening so much on the plate she’s washing that it slips out and back into the water with a splash.

“Touching you,” Chloe answers breezily, as though she’s flipping through a magazine or shopping for shoes online. As if to reinforce her answer, her fingertips travel higher until they’re lifting Beca’s dress to glide over her hip and back down to where they tease a few inches above her knee. “Is that okay?”

“Amy’s literally right there,” she whispers, clanging a few dishes in the sink to help cover her words.

Chloe’s response is just a hum followed by her fingers meandering their way higher once again. They don’t seem to be making their destination clear, though Beca’s body has a pretty good idea regardless. She can feel the way it’s responding to Chloe and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she’s aroused.

Amy’s loud voice cuts through her thoughts, however. “Red or black?”

She feels Chloe move away from her as though she turned around. It’s a few seconds of reprieve from the oppressive arousal that is invading her mind and body.

“Ooh, go with the black,” Chloe replies.

“Red it is,” Amy says confidently. The sound of hangers screeching across the clothing rack that serves to weakly divide Amy’s sleeping area from Chloe and Beca’s follows, as does Chloe’s presence behind Beca.

“What if I took you right now?” The words are whispered hotly in Beca’s ear and they, along with Chloe’s fingers quickly ascending her inner thigh, make her drop the same plate she’d dropped a minute earlier. “Think I can make you come before she finishes changing?”

Beca’s vision blurs. She has little doubt Chloe could make good on her hypotheticals. Maybe it’s because Amy’s return to their lives was sudden and unexpected, leaving the current evolution of their relationship without a label. Maybe it’s because they didn’t get one last grand hurrah before having a third party present almost all hours of the day. But it’s been three days since they regained their roommate and three days without what had become Beca’s new normal: frequent and often intense physical affection and attention from Chloe.

Even under the cover of darkness, in bed together at night, they seemed to silently and mutually agree to keep their distance from one another. They hadn’t so much as kissed since the day Amy returned.

To say she was horny was an understatement.

And now Chloe’s teasing her, touching her in not-quite-there places that she hasn’t touched her in what feels like an eternity with the promise for more with Amy’s departure from the apartment imminent. The first time they’ll be alone in 72 hours.

“You’re not going to answer me?” Chloe doesn’t whisper it, innocuous a question as it is out-of-context, and it, along with her finger brushing over the thin material of Beca’s underwear between her legs shakes Beca out of her reverie to send her hips rocking forward with a gasp and the word, “Shit.”

“Did you cut yourself on my Ginsu, Shawshank?”

No, Beca did not cut herself on Amy’s home shopping network-purchased knife. She might as well have, though, for as hard as her heart is beating. “Nope!” she grinds out, hoping she can deter Amy from coming to investigate. “Thought I did but I’m not bleeding.”

“Those knives can cut through a steel can and still slice tomatoes paper-thin; don’t dull them up.”

“Yep, got it!” she spits and sends a side-eye in Chloe’s direction at the satisfied chuckle next to her ear. “She’s going to catch us if you don’t stop,” she says, lowering her voice.

“Maybe if you could control yourself.” There’s a smirk in Chloe’s tone and Beca tries to brace herself for it because she knows, she knows Chloe’s going to touch her again and just when she thinks it’s coming, the warmth of Chloe’s proximity disappears, accompanied by the scrape of hangers again.

“Ooh, you look great!” Chloe says cheerfully. “Doesn’t she, Bec?”

Beca has to hang her head and gather her thoughts before slapping on a smile to turn and look. “Yep! Go get ‘em, tiger,” she says a bit disdainfully. It’s not fair how turned on she is and it’s not fair that Amy’s taking approximately three millennia to leave for her date which, if history remains true, will likely keep her out all night.

“I don’t want to come home to any broken furniture,” Amy says casually as she drops an alarming collection of items into an oversized purse, of which Beca doesn’t want to think about when she’s potentially seconds away from desperately needed release. “And I have a blacklight. I will be inspecting all communal surfaces when I return.”

“Ew,” Beca grimaces as she turns back to stare idly at the sink full of water and dishes. She should just pull the plug and give up on the task and she dries her hands on the dishtowel in resignation. She wonders if Amy’s bluffing or if she does have a blacklight and has used it and what it’s already revealed.

“You got it,” Chloe chirps. It’s not a denial that such an inspection won’t be necessary and that floors Beca even further. 

To Amy’s credit, despite her tendencies to tease her friends to the point of harassment, she hasn’t said much about Chloe and Beca since her first day back. She’d called them out but had also shut up about it which Beca was very grateful for. Considering the myriad possibilities, the threat of a blacklight wasn’t much. She knew they’d hooked up. At least she wasn’t adding undue stress about defining their relationship.

Beca was putting enough pressure on herself for that, trying to figure out what to do and what to say.

But for now, she was listening to Amy and Chloe’s idle conversation and the sounds of Amy putting on her shoes and picking up her keys, all the while feeling Chloe’s presence hovering behind her. Close enough that their elbows touch.

“Don’t wait up!” is the last thing she hears Amy say before the door closes behind her.

The sound of it latching makes Beca slump against the counter. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Stop talking,” Chloe says and her voice is so blunt it makes Beca stand up straight again, only to be pinned against the sharp edge of the counter by Chloe’s body pressing into her as their lips reconnect for the first time in days.

Beca just nods at the command and wraps her arms around Chloe’s neck to accept the hard, demanding kiss.

“Fuck, I want you so much,” Chloe breathes as her lips slide to Beca’s neck. Her hands are already on Beca’s thighs and Beca steps wider to accommodate her. She kind of wishes they would at least relocate to their bed, first, but she has no real complaints. Not when Chloe’s fingers are already between her legs, rubbing against the soaked fabric of her underwear.

Beca moans in response and pushes her hips forward. She wants more: hard, fast, wet, deep. All of it. It’s been too long. She wants Chloe, too.

The sudden onslaught of heat is, however, interrupted by the sound of the door banging open again.

“Forgot my manacles. Pretend I’m not here.”

Chloe’s mouth disappears from Beca’s skin, both of them jumping in surprise at Amy’s unexpected, loud return.

“Did she say manacles?” Beca says, voice hushed as she breathes hard, heart racing.

Despite her abruptly pulling her mouth away from Beca’s neck, Chloe’s still just as close as she had been, and her fingers are still pressing against Beca. They’re even moving, if only slightly. “Not going to think about that right now.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says when she realizes it, too startled by the interruption to notice it sooner. Her hand seizes Chloe’s forearm but she can’t quite bring herself to actually push her away, not when Chloe’s eyes are so dark and locked onto her own.

Beca can see Amy in her periphery, mostly obscured by the clothing rack as she moves around her space rifling through drawers.

Something about that, about Amy acknowledging that she was interrupting something while pointedly ignoring it while she busies herself looking for her manacles (?), scratches at a part of Beca she hadn’t really known existed, and suddenly she’s shaking her head.

“No, don’t stop,” she quietly amends, pushing Chloe’s hand harder against herself.

She watches the effect of her permission slip into Chloe’s features: a pink blush in her cheeks, eyes wide with surprise, her lower lip snagged between her teeth as her fingers keep working against Beca. 

Beca can see the challenge in her eyes, can sense that Chloe’s remembering her daring questions from a few minutes ago about how quickly she could get Beca off. But Beca shakes her head; she doesn’t want that. Amy’s right there even if she is distracted and Beca really doesn’t want to be mid-orgasm when she finds what she needs and waltzes through the kitchen where Chloe is actively fucking her.

Chloe seems to understand because she does ease up the slightest bit when Beca releases her death-grip on her arm in favor of gripping the counter. She can still remember the last time she was gripping this counter; she’s been bent over their now-disposed-of kitchen table while Chloe railed her to within an inch of her sanity.

The memory zips right to her core and she can actually feel herself get wetter because of it. She knows Chloe feels it, too, because she moans, so, so quietly that it doesn’t even really leave her throat, and runs her fingers agonizingly slowly further, even teasing Beca’s entrance through her still-present underwear.

She has to close her eyes and try to focus on keeping it together. She can’t moan or work herself against Chloe’s hand or even kiss her; all of that would be too obvious. She focuses on her breathing and the way Chloe’s own warm breath drifts over her lips, a constant reminder of her closeness as if the fingers slowly driving Beca insane weren’t enough. The sound of heavy, thick metal suddenly rings out and her eyes snap open to meet Chloe’s equally surprised and somewhat amused gaze.

“Found ‘em!” Amy announces, and the clanging of metal increases as, Beca assumes based on what she can see without looking away from Chloe, she adds large metal restraints to her bag of tricks. “I’ll be outta here in a jiffy. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe says lightly, like she’s not actively slipping her fingers under the edge of Beca’s underwear so her fingertips can massage—so, so slowly—Beca’s clit directly.

It makes a whimper escape Beca’s clenched jaw and she turns her head to appear very interested in the yellowed laminated paper glued to the side of the ceiling cabinet containing instructions on using the fire extinguisher that supposedly came with their apartment (it did not). She hears Chloe chuckle and sees Amy emerge from her area, oversized bag clanging as it swings over her shoulder. She knows Chloe’s body is obscuring what she’s doing, but that doesn’t stop the massive blush she feels hit her cheeks.

“Okay, I’m out of here once again,” Amy says, opening the door only to stop and keep talking. “I promise to knock if I need to come back for anything. I know you two have been keeping your knees closed since I got home and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that and I realize you are probably really looking forward to my being gone tonight. But I’ll have to come back if I decide I need my strawberry-flavored—”  

“Amy, leave!” Beca says, a little more forcefully than she intended it to be, but Chloe had chosen that exact moment to slip the tip of her finger inside Beca, even as she’s turning to smile at their departing roommate.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m sure Chloe could help you out of them if you needed it though,” she adds, very conspicuously under her breath. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Have a good night!” Chloe chirps. 

Together, they watch the door close, Chloe already pushing the length of her middle finger into Beca while keys and the deadbolt jangle and clunk as Amy locks it. If she returns, at least they’ll have a few extra seconds’ warning.

“Oh, my God,” Beca says, and she means to groan it but it comes out more like a desperate whine, but she doesn’t care. Chloe’s lips are waiting for her when she turns back from staring at the cabinet.

“That was so hot,” Chloe says before her tongue is filling Beca’s mouth, doing dirty things that rival what she’s doing between Beca’s legs.

Beca hums in agreement and rocks her hips forward when the heel of Chloe’s hand grinds into her clit. “You’re really gonna make me stand up for this?” she pants when Chloe’s lips travel to her neck once again.

“Just the first one,” she answers simply as a second finger slides in next to the first to make Beca lift herself up on her tiptoes for a few seconds before she’s pushing herself down onto them to try to take them deeper. 

“First one?” She needs more. No, she doesn’t need more; she knows she’s going to come, and quickly. But she wants more. She wants Chloe all night. She wants to piss off their neighbors again by making Chloe scream her name. The ferocity with which she simply wants Chloe in all senses of the term is an almost startling thought to have in the middle of getting fucked in the kitchen and it takes everything she has to not say something dumb.

Instead, she moans, “Faster,” and shifts her weight to her one foot so she can wrap her leg around Chloe’s waist, but before she can, Chloe’s twisting away from her. Her free hand grabs the nearest chair to spin and drag it over and for a second, Beca thinks she’s going to get to sit down but Chloe just pushes it against the counter next to Beca.

“Here,” she says, guiding Beca’s foot to rest on the seat of the chair instead of having to balance on one foot. It also parts her legs spectacularly wide.

“Oh, fuck,” Beca manages to laugh through a moan.

“Good?” Chloe asks, but it’s rhetorical. She’s no longer kissing Beca; instead, she’s watching. Watching her face, looking down—and lifting Beca’s skirt out of the way—and watching her hand as her fingers slide and curl their way in and out of Beca again and again.

But Beca nods anyway. It’s good. It’s so, so fucking good and watching Chloe watching how she’s fucking Beca has her—

“Shit, I’m so close,” she gasps, the first pings of her orgasm already making her hips twitch as her arms loop around Chloe’s neck again to try to keep from sinking to the floor.

The words make Chloe’s eyes snap to her face, dark eyes begging before she even says, “God, yes, come for me, Bec.”

Chloe doesn’t bother kissing her to shut her up. Chloe wants to hear her so she lets her hear, moaning and swearing as she comes with Chloe’s fingers buried as deeply as they possibly can be.

She does kiss her once it’s passed and Beca’s trying to catch her breath, whining when Chloe withdraws from her because she’s not nearly ready to be finished yet. But the kiss is satisfactory enough for now because they haven’t kissed in three days and she’s pretty sure she could kiss Chloe forever and still want to kiss her again.

With Chloe’s hand no longer between them, she fits between Beca’s parted legs and Beca’s immediately grateful when Chloe’s hips, and the rough denim covering them, start to rock slowly against her. She has to hike her skirt up and out of the way, and she hates that she’s still wearing underwear, but they’re so wet they slide deliciously against her with every roll of Chloe’s hips.

She’s the one to break the kiss after a few too many just-right connections. “You said just the first one.” Maybe she should feel pathetic for how needy she is, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

“Okay, okay,” Chloe says with a playful roll of her eyes as she takes a step back and aside and gestures to let Beca pass. “After you.”

Beca rolls her eyes in return and hurries across the room on somewhat unsteady legs until she’s standing at the foot of their bed. She’s suddenly filled with uncertainty, however. Should she crawl into bed and let Chloe undress her? Should she wait and see what Chloe has in mind next?

When Chloe isn’t immediately with her, she turns around to find out why, only to see Chloe just standing where she’s been the entire time, just looking at Beca as if she’s waiting for something.

There’s a shred of being given control that comes with Chloe hanging back and it emboldens her to bring her hands to the first button on her dress, the one that sits nestled at the top of her cleavage, to unbutton it.

The action gets Chloe’s attention and her demeanor shifts from waiting for something to actively watching, eyes furtively bouncing from Beca’s fingers as they undo button after button. It’s not really necessary to be able to remove her dress; she could simply pull it up and over her head at any time. But holding Chloe’s rapt attention and seeing the excitement and desire that builds with each small button slipping out of its hole is intoxicating.

She knows her bra is visible in the small gap that lengthens with each button. It has Chloe’s attention, eyes no longer quite reaching Beca’s, fixating on the skin she’s revealing and tracking her hands’ path until she’s undoing the final button at her waist. All that’s left to do is let it slip off her shoulders and fall.

“Take it off,” Chloe finally says after Beca makes her wait too long.

All it takes is a shrug of her shoulders and a tug on the hem to let the patterned dress slink off her body to pool on the floor at her feet.

She’d expected the moment, one that has felt somewhat suspended in dreamy time, to extend further, for Chloe to stare and drink in her form the way Beca would do if their positions were reversed, to ask Beca to continue undressing for Chloe’s enjoyment.

Instead, Chloe advances so quickly she hasn’t quite finished taking the breath she knows she’ll need when Chloe’s lips are claiming hers again. Warm, strong hands are everywhere and she feels her bra loosen and get stripped away, followed by her breasts being claimed and held and squeezed in such a desperate, demanding way she realizes she hasn’t given much thought that Chloe is probably in a similar state as herself with their sudden hiatus.

“Lay down,” Chloe says with a sudden breaking of their kiss. Except she doesn’t stand back and let Beca do it herself. Her hands twist Beca by the hips to face the bed before she’s half-falling, half-crawling onto it. “Stay like that.”

The request instantly makes the back of her neck hot as she relaxes into the bed on her stomach, though nothing about her is at ease. She can hear Chloe undressing behind her, the tell-tale sounds of fabric shifting and the metal teeth of the zipper of her jeans before the soft tink of their button hitting the floor tells her Chloe’s naked. Or mostly naked. She wants to twist her neck and look but it’s more fun to not know.

She’s startled and relieved when Chloe’s hands finally land on her calves, especially when they travel higher so quickly until she can feel Chloe climbing onto the bed behind her. Hands travel higher still until they’re palming her ass and she can feel hard nipples grazing the backs of her knees before teeth lightly but pointedly sink into the soft flesh along the edge of her underwear.

“Shit,” she can’t help but gasp, her back bowing from the way her body is responding to Chloe’s almost demanding touch. Fingers curl under the waistband of her underwear and pull. They’re so ruined that she hopes Chloe notices and is proud of her work as they’re peeled down her legs and tossed aside.

“You’re so hot,” Chloe breathes, hot against her back before wet kisses start dropping in random places. Her right shoulder. The back of her neck. Along her ribs on her left side. Chloe’s hands are still seemingly everywhere, fingernails dragging lightly down her back only to warmly slide up her sides, working their way under Beca until her breasts are in her hands and Chloe’s hips grind forward against her ass.

The feeling makes her jaw drop and a shudder runs down her back as her own hips try to press up and back, wanting contact that is only being hinted at as Chloe grinds into her, mouthing at her back and neck and making every part of her ache with need.

She’s about to beg for more when she feels Chloe lift away from her, hands skirting down her ribs to start tugging on her hips until she’s pushing herself up and onto her elbows and knees. The position makes her head spin and she presses her forehead into the mattress to brace herself. She bites her lip at the memory that springs up of all the times she was “forced” to watch Chloe do yoga on the floor, and that she’s basically in frog pose. She’d laughed at its name at the time but that was only to mask all the thoughts she’d had about how it was a wildly sexual position.

And now here she is.

“Just like that,” Chloe praises and Beca feels a hand run up her back until it’s scratching at the nape of her neck and twisting into her hair. The other moves around to Beca’s stomach and then down until her fingers are slipping through Beca’s wetness again.

The sudden contact makes Beca moan and rock backward, instantly in search of more. Always more. “Fuck.”

“I can’t believe how wet you are.” Fingers sink into Beca as though to make her point and the fullness she feels with it makes her walk her knees wider.

She knows it’s three inside her, not two, and she clenches around them, moaning as she tries to pull Chloe deeper. “Fuck, Chlo. Please.”

There’s a gentle tug on her hair that feels less than accidental. It felt a lot like a reminder of who’s in charge at the moment but despite that, her hair is released and nails drag down her spine again. Fingers slip out of her, then, and she whines in irritation only to feel them slip in again, this time from another angle. This time from behind, while the three that just withdrew from her start, with no teasing or hesitation, rubbing her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she stutters, biting her lip because she doesn’t want to get too loud too soon. She’s bent over on the bed, Chloe behind her—kneeling between her parted legs, she assumes—using both of her hands to fuck Beca. “Oh, God don’t stop.”

Chloe doesn’t answer her. She just moves more quickly. Faster circles onto her clit. Faster fingers pumping into her cunt. Except as soon as Beca starts to get close, as soon as her moan is too obviously on-edge, Chloe eases off Beca’s clit and it drops her right back down to where she started. Maybe a degree or two higher. All but back at the beginning.

It’s maddening.

And it’s thrilling.

Chloe’s not exactly teasing her, though she is pointedly denying her an inevitable release.

“So good,” she says after a groan of agony when her orgasm gets yanked away from her again, only for it to start rebuilding immediately. She’s almost nervous about how hard she’s going to come when Chloe finally lets her.

She feels Chloe moving behind her, though her pace and rhythm fucking Beca barely falters. There’s a shifting of the bed, a squeaking of a different spring that isn’t one of the ones already whining and from their motion. She can see Chloe behind her at the very edge of her vision when she opens her eyes and turns to let her cheek rest against the bed instead of her forehead. She’s not directly behind Beca anymore and she’s still trying to figure out what’s happening when she feels the hot slickness that she knows is Chloe settling over her left calf.

Chloe moans with the contact, as does Beca who flexes her leg on instinct to harden the muscle just as Chloe drags herself against it.

Neither says anything but it’s a mutual acknowledgment. Chloe is so turned on she needs relief herself but her hands are both too busy with Beca to touch herself. Beca’s happy to provide what she can in her position.

She can only watch for a few seconds before it threatens to give her a headache from straining, the blurry silhouette of Chloe astride her leg, rutting herself against it wantonly.

“Fuck, Beca,” she finally moans after what feels like several minutes of Chloe not easing up. It makes Beca shiver and tense up in anticipation that Chloe might come soon. That Chloe might let her come soon.

The spot Chloe’s reaching in her right now, though, might not give Chloe any say in the matter. It’s making Beca’s fingers twist into the bedding to ground herself because she feels like she might ascend any second.

Only Chloe fucking stops and the groan that gets ripped from Beca’s throat is ripe with frustration, enough that she hears Chloe laugh. “What’s wrong?” Chloe asks entirely too cheerfully for what’s happening. But Chloe doesn’t just stop, she actually pulls out of Beca. She almost deflates in agony but Chloe’s hands catch her hips before she can and she can tell she’s moving again.

“Fuck off,” Beca replies though it’s all sexual frustration and no ire. She’s already resigned herself to being at Chloe’s mercy for whatever she feels like doing to her tonight. She knows it will be worth it in the end if she can find the patience.

She can’t see Chloe anymore if she opens her eyes and she doesn’t bother trying to lift her head. She likes not knowing what’s going to happen next. She can tell Chloe’s moving away from her; she’s not straddling her leg anymore. The hands on her hips move to her ass to grip it, almost tugging on it possessively and Beca chokes on air when Chloe’s tongue is suddenly pressing into her.

“What...fuck…” she groans, pushing herself up onto her elbows again so she can let her head hang. It’s too hard to breathe otherwise. Not when Chloe’s tongue is inside her. Not when it audibly slides out to instead lick at her swollen clit.

There’s movement again and this time she feels Chloe’s body settling between her legs and she cranes her neck down enough to look down her own body to see Chloe on her back, already pulling Beca down toward her face. She manages to wonder if Chloe knows Beca’s looking because her tongue is literally out and waiting like she wants Beca to see and both of them moan when Beca lets her knees slide wider apart until she’s on Chloe’s tongue.

She should have known Chloe would be just as merciless with her mouth as she’d been with her hands. There are only a few seconds of gentle grazing before Chloe has her clit between her lips to suck on it.

All Beca can really do is hold on. Chloe’s grip is so tight around her thighs she can barely move. Her hips want to rock, want to ride Chloe’s face, but she can’t.

At least Chloe doesn’t let up when Beca lets a moan slip that is a dead giveaway that she’s close.

“Please,” she says between gasping breaths and moans. “Fuck, please…”

Chloe’s answering hum lilts positively and she sucks harder. Like she’s giving Beca permission. Permission she hadn’t consciously been waiting for but somehow needed because as soon as it registers as permission, the orgasm that’s been denied at least half a dozen times in the past however many minutes crashes through her with frightening intensity. She can’t breathe but somehow can’t stop moaning. She can’t hold herself up but Chloe’s hands keep her from potentially suffocating her...roommate. She can’t feel her own fingers but she can feel the way her body is pulsing around the fingers that she doesn’t remember slipping into her with the new position.

A particularly strong aftershock lurches her forward and out of Chloe’s grasp, leaving her to gasp to catch her breath and try to recover, even as she feels Chloe’s lips on the curves of her ass and up her spine and across her shoulders until she sees through blurry vision as Chloe stretches out on her back alongside her, smiling at Beca until Chloe’s eyes close with a moan. Beca doesn’t have to look down to know Chloe’s touching herself; she’s watched her do it enough times that she knows exactly what it looks and sounds like.

But she does anyway because she’ll never get tired of watching Chloe fuck herself until she’s coming and moaning Beca’s name. She wants to help. She wants to turn onto her side and push Chloe’s hand away and take over.

Her heart is still pounding, though, and all she can manage is to reach a tired hand over to rest it on Chloe’s just to feel. She’s touching herself hard and fast and it doesn’t help Beca’s pulse to slow. The connection makes Chloe moan her name and it draws Beca’s eyes back up to her face. Chloe’s gaze is on her, though it frequently drifts as her eyelashes flutter the closer she gets.

Chloe’s climax hits her hard, thighs closing to trap her and Beca’s hands between them while she rides it out.

“God, I needed that so much,” Chloe says with a sigh of relief after a minute or two, head lolling to the left to look at Beca with an easy, contented smile.

Beca’s sure she herself still looks wrecked, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She manages a breathy laugh. “You’re telling me. Fuck, dude.”

Chloe’s smile brightens and she shimmies her shoulders a little. She’s proud. “Good?”

Beca laughs again, this time in disbelief because ‘good’ doesn’t even begin to describe what she just experienced.

“Gonna assume that means yes.”

“Mm, you’d be right,” Beca replies, finally finding the strength to stretch. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Beca glances at her as she stretches until she’s working herself onto her side so they can look at each other more easily. “Still going to repay you though. Just...need a few for minutes. I can almost feel my legs again.”

Chloe bursts into laughter at that and it makes Beca’s heart skip a beat. It’s never been so easy to be with anyone. Certainly not after sex. 

And the sex.

She knows it’s cliche, but she’s had the best sex of her life with Chloe.

And she’s just as happy with Chloe when they aren’t having sex; if she wasn’t, they wouldn’t have been friends for so many years.

But she really, really misses the sex when they aren’t having it.

She knows what that all means but she shoves it away and instead works on gathering her strength because she’s determined to make Chloe come just as hard as she’d been made to. She knows Chloe would be fine with things if they fell asleep right now and that only makes Beca want her more. She also can’t accept the fact that Chloe’s fucked her senseless twice already and Beca’s barely had a chance to touch her tonight.

She hasn’t touched her at all. Not really.

Even if Chloe’s insisting Beca owes her nothing in return, she’s not-subtly suggesting she wouldn’t be opposed by lifting her hand, fingers still wet from herself, to Beca’s lips.

She needed an energy shot and Chloe’s given it to her. She can’t stop the moan that comes with tasting Chloe as she parts her lips to take her slender middle finger into her mouth. It spurs her on until she’s sitting up, Chloe’s hand falling away so Beca can move over until she’s leaning down to kiss Chloe and her hips fit between Chloe’s parted thighs.

She can tell Chloe’s trying to hold back, and as thoughtful and sweet as Beca finds that to be, she doesn’t want it. She kisses harder, rolling her hips against Chloe until Chloe’s fingernails dig into Beca where her hands have been idly resting.

“I wanna fuck you,” Beca says when she breaks from their kiss. The look on Chloe’s face at her statement is very telling.

“Who’s stopping you?” She’s a little breathless and her hips are still pushing up into Beca’s in the rhythm Beca had set, though Beca’s no longer moving.  

The statement is one of consent in its sexiest form. It makes her bite her lip in thought; she hadn’t gotten that far yet. She just knew she wanted to be the one responsible for Chloe’s next orgasm (or two, or three...).

“How do you want me?”

The question draws Beca out of her thoughts and she meets Chloe’s eyes. She’s looking at Beca expectantly and she’s still working herself against Beca’s hips for whatever friction she can gain. It also plants another thought in her brain.

“Like this,” she answers with a pointed roll of her hips that makes Chloe’s breath catch, only for Beca to extract herself from their embrace until she’s climbing off the bed.

She can feel Chloe’s eyes on her as she sits up to rest on her elbows, watching as Beca crouches to pull open the bottom drawer of Chloe’s nightstand.

“Oh, really?” Chloe asks in amusement and Beca tries not to blush as she slips the harness briefs Chloe had purchased—and put to good use—specifically to bend Beca over. Beca has yet to wear it.

“Shut up, you asked,” Beca huffs though she’s not genuinely defensive. She grabs the accompanying toy and bottle of lube before climbing back onto the bed to kneel between Chloe’s legs, still parted just as she’d left her, and work the toy into its O-ring.

“Can’t believe you’re trying to top me right now.”

Beca does blush at that and throws a glare her way. Beca’s affinity for being...welcoming of Chloe being in charge was something they were both aware of but never explicitly discussed. Until now, apparently. “I can always put this away, you know.” It’s an empty threat. 

Chloe smiles up at her and pointedly spreads her legs wider. It’s not necessary whatsoever; Beca already had plenty of room. She does it to tell Beca she wants it—wants her—and Beca leans down to kiss her, taking care to keep her hips back so there’s nothing but the barest graze of contact for Chloe.

She melts into the kiss; Chloe’s intentionally keeping it slow and sensual even though Beca’s the one ostensibly in control. She doesn’t mind, though. The things Chloe can do with her tongue, whether it’s in Beca’s mouth or on Beca’s skin, never make Beca want to rush things. 

Other than when Beca just wants to come.

She’s unhurried now, though. Satiated, mostly. She still feels warm and heavy and when she feels Chloe’s hand between them to guide the toy, Beca uses that weighty feeling to sink into her.

Chloe’s reaction is a low, throaty groan that makes Beca’s hips grind into her on instinct to prolong the sound. She’s never done this with Chloe, and it’s been a long time since she’s done it with anyone at all, but she doesn’t feel awkward like she has when she’s worn a strap-on with other women. She doesn’t feel pressured to perform and Chloe is so warm and at-ease beneath her. She knows she can take her time if she wants to, even as Chloe’s quiet whimpers and shifting hips urge her to do more than stay buried in her and grinding slowly while they kiss.

When she feels Chloe’s heel press into her lower back, she decides she can be done taking her time.

It’s easy to set a slow rhythm with her hips, especially once she lifts herself onto her elbows. It lets her look at Chloe, too, and the way her long eyelashes flutter every time Beca pushes into her.

The physical connection between them is, she knows, artificial, but the emotional one feels particularly real and resonating and for all the wild, lustful abandonment of how the night began, it feels particularly calm and almost soothing and the way Chloe’s eyes are on hers as she lifts a hand to frame Beca’s face, thumb tracing along her cheekbone until Beca’s kissing it when it presses against her lips only adds to it.

She’s filled with the urge to speak, to spill out feelings and confessions and she almost does it. Her lips even part and she takes a breath. But Chloe chooses the exact same moment to tilt her head back and moan, “Faster, Bec,” and the moment evaporates in favor of doing as Chloe’s asked.

She works her hips faster until she finds a good pace she can keep without getting too winded and it seems to work for Chloe, too, who moans her appreciation in the way Beca knows means she’s starting to lose herself to sex.

And that, the fact that Chloe can lose herself in the way Beca can make her feel, drives her. Drives her to shift herself until she can get a hand on the back of Chloe’s left knee to pull it up and then press it back, closer to Chloe’s chest. Drives her hips into Chloe with more force.  

It pulls a groan of what sounds like surprise from Chloe, whose hands claw at Beca’s shoulders at the dramatic change from steady lovemaking to what Beca knows is raw fucking driven by need. A need for pleasure and release and for Beca to make Chloe piss off their neighbors.

“Oh, my God, Beca,” Chloe moans. She still sounds dazed and Beca watches as she throws a hand back to press against the back of the couch that serves as their headboard to brace herself. It helps Beca’s thrusts hit even harder and more deeply and she watches as Chloe’s other hand falls from Beca’s shoulder to move between them. All Beca has to do is glance down for a second to confirm her assumption: Chloe’s touching herself again.

It means she’s close and wants to come and Beca doesn’t try to stop her. She wants to watch Chloe come like this, neck straining and body moving higher and lower on the bed with every move Beca makes.

It’s Beca that’s doing all these things to her. Making her moan. Making her so wet Beca can hear it. Making herself come while Beca’s pushing into her again and again with a moan that sounds ripped from her throat as she shudders. Beca slows so she can watch it happen until she’s no longer moving, just breathing hard and pressed as close to Chloe as she can manage while Chloe breathes just as hard.

Beca should have known when Chloe’s body didn’t melt into the bed in relaxation, but she’s still caught off-guard when Chloe’s eyes finally open and they’re just as dark as they’d been before she came.

“Don’t stop yet.”

Beca doesn’t mean to laugh but it’s a hint of delirium and a dash of physical exhaustion that cause it and she tries to cover it up by clearing her throat and shifting her weight to her right arm instead of her left, but she knows Chloe caught it when hands come up to hold her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Chloe says earnestly and Beca knows it is, though she doesn’t necessarily agree with the implications.

“I can do it again,” she says with determination and tries to ignore the way her weaker, non-dominant arm is already trembling.

“Bec,” Chloe says with a smile that turns into a smirk as she nudges at Beca’s shoulders. “Lay down?”

The offer comes as a relief even though her pride doesn’t want to admit it. She’s also really, really here for them rolling over because she definitely wants to watch Chloe riding her. 

Except when Beca moves, Chloe doesn’t move with her and Beca finds herself alone on her back next to Chloe, who’s already sitting up, only to lean back down and kiss Beca as if she’d forgotten to do so before they parted.

“All good?” Chloe asks when they part and at Beca’s nod, the base of the strap-on grinds down against her clit.

“Fuck,” Beca gasps, hips immediately lifting in search of more. She’d been left painfully turned on with Chloe’s climax and she’s not sure how long she’ll last if Chloe’s going to keep doing what she’s doing. “Yeah, all good,” she answers after swallowing hard.

“This angle’s good?” Chloe’s purposeful with the way her hand is pressing and working the toy against Beca and Beca just nods. “Perfect,” she continues.

Beca watches her sit up again, missing her lips and the indirect friction but she knows it’s temporary.

She’s not ready for it, though, when instead of her right leg straddling Beca, Chloe’s turning her back to Beca and it’s her left leg straddling her.

“Oh, my God, what?” Beca says without thinking. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud but Chloe heard her and answers with a hum and all Beca can do is grab Chloe’s hips and watch Chloe guide the strap-on into herself until her body is flush with Beca’s. The view is different and just as sinful. Chloe’s back is all muscle and smooth skin that is already slick under Beca’s hands. Her hair hangs loose and reaches far down her back when she tips her face toward the ceiling with a moan that sounds more than satisfied.

She starts to move and immediately moans again. “You feel so good, shit, Beca.” There’s no slow increase of tempo this time; it’s clear Chloe doesn’t need the build-up. She leans forward just slightly and suddenly Beca’s the one groaning in surprise.

Now she understands what Chloe had been doing seconds ago. She wanted to figure out the angle that wasn’t just good for herself but good for Beca, too. 

Chloe wants to make Beca come while she rides her. 

“Good?” Chloe says with a turn of her head, though her eyes can’t meet Beca’s.

“Fuck,” Beca answers, digging her fingernails into Chloe’s hips to make her point. “Fuck, you look so hot.”

It’s not really an answer to Chloe’s question but it’s good enough. Chloe keeps the angle but works her hips even faster, her hands pushing through her own hair to lift it off her back in what is probably just need to cool off but it’s downright pornographic. It makes Beca’s hips start chasing her and Chloe feels it. 

Her hands drop from her hair to cover Beca’s hands. Connection. Connection as she rides Beca so hard that the metal legs of their shitty fold-out bed are scraping against the wooden floor with her motion.

“Chlo,” Beca says. “Fuck.” She’s trying to warn her, to tell her she’s going to come any second and if the goal is to finish together, Chloe needs to slow down.

“Yes, Beca, yes,” Chloe groans in response and her long, hard thrusts shift to sitting hard against Beca and grinding down and back. “God, Beca, come with me,” she gasps, right hand shifting to pull Beca’s hand off of her and tangle their fingers together before pressing it back against her waist.

Connection.

Beca doesn’t know who’s louder or who comes harder or longer. All she knows is that it’s together and even if she can’t see Chloe’s face at the moment, she doesn’t need to feel just as close to her as she had felt earlier. It’s heady and all-encompassing and she hisses at the unexpected direct contact of fingertips against her overstimulated clit. She didn’t even notice Chloe had moved at all, let alone turned around to lay next to Beca again.

“One more?” she asks as she kisses along Beca’s cheek.

Beca genuinely doesn’t think she can, at least not so soon, but all she can manage in reply is a moan when her hips decide for her and lift up into Chloe’s hand. It’s a snug fit, her hand down the front of the briefs, but that doesn’t matter. It makes it better.

“Why?” Beca finally manages just before Chloe’s lips make it back to her own.

“Why not?” Chloe answers.

Then they’re kissing again but Beca can hardly manage more than just offering her lips and mouth and tongue to Chloe for whatever she wants; she can’t focus anymore. Not when Chloe’s fingers are swiping back and forth across her swollen clit with a lewd kind of intensity that makes Beca feel a little like she’s in an adult film. One she’s proud to be the star of at the moment.

She doubts that she’ll be able to come again even with how amazingly intense it feels. It feels like a never-ending chord that’s been struck and sustained and she thinks it’s going to fade away until something changes. Maybe the speed or the angle or the pressure but with no warning and with a gasp that only makes Chloe kiss her harder when really what she needs is oxygen her body rocks into a blinding orgasm.

She can hear words. Chloe’s voice is in her ear which lets her breathe again. She doesn’t know what she’s saying but she sounds happy. Proud, maybe. It’s hard to concentrate on language when her body won’t stop throbbing and clenching around the fingers that slipped inside her at some point.

“I could do this with you forever.”

They’re the first words that register once her brain clears. They’re whispered while lips graze her cheek and jaw but she hears them ringing like a bell in her mind and they’re echoing her own thoughts from earlier.

Beca doesn’t dwell on it. She’s not really capable of complexities and she’s already been stripped bare in so many ways tonight. She just sighs and says, “So could I,” and tilts her chin so her lips can find Chloe’s.

She doesn’t start to panic about the exchange until Chloe’s helped her get the briefs off and tossed aside and she’s settled, warm and more than satiated, tucked into Chloe’s side, head on her shoulder and Chloe says, oh so casually, “So, forever, hm?”

It makes a different kind of heat flash through her and she hides her burning face against Chloe and does little more than grunt to at least acknowledge she heard her. She doesn’t know how to talk about this. She’s bad with words. Puts her foot in her mouth all the time. She’s an expert at saying the wrong thing. 

“Beca,” Chloe says with a chuckle that rumbles against Beca’s ear. “It’s okay, you know?”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what Chloe is referring to. She has an idea, but right now, assumptions and misinterpretations could be deadly. So she chooses to remain silent with the hope and trust that Chloe will just keep talking and have most of this conversation herself.

“And I know things are starting to go back to how they used to be. But I don’t want us to go back to how we used to be.”

“You don’t?” Beca’s proud of herself for that response and stops pressing her face into Chloe’s shoulder and turns her cheek to it again. It helps that Chloe’s fingertips are grazing idly up and down her back in a way that could put Beca to sleep if her mind wasn’t racing. 

She feels Chloe shake her head. “I really don’t.” There’s a beat of silence and Beca hears her sigh. “Do you?”

Beca feels like she could hear a pin drop if someone were to drop a pin and if she could hear over Chloe’s heart suddenly pounding in her chest beneath Beca’s ear. It betrays Chloe’s outward stillness and the notion that the question she’s posed is making her nervous, too, is somehow calming Beca. Maybe it’s that Chloe’s been thinking about it, too, and for all the same reasons Beca’s been kicking around in her mind for weeks, has been wary of bridging the topic.

It’s a yes or no question, one that will push them to one side of a line or the other: Just Friends or Something More. Chloe and Beca or Chloe and Beca. Friends or, dare she think it, girlfriends. After so many years, maybe they’re finally going to get it right.

Her fingers rap quickly in thought where they lay against Chloe’s ribs as she tries to get her mind to slow down long enough to answer. She knows she’s taking too long and Chloe’s going to interpret her silence as a bad thing if she doesn’t hurry up and speak.

“No,” she blurts. She didn’t even realize she’d committed to the decision but the word is past her lips before she can analyze it any further.

She feels Chloe’s sharp exhale. “You don’t?”

It’s out, now. She gives a shake of her head and feels Chloe’s arm moving to better wrap around her. “No. I...really, really don’t.”

Chloe giggles at that and Beca watches Chloe’s other hand come up to touch Beca’s chin so Beca leans back and lifts her head a bit so they can actually look at one another. She doesn’t overlook that Chloe’s bright eyes are a little misty in the same way they get when the little girl gets a puppy in whatever heartfelt movie they’re watching at any given time. Chloe’s smiling, too and Beca can’t help but mirror it. “So what does that mean?” Chloe asks, eyebrows lifting in a way that feels mildly like a challenge.

Beca huffs. “You’re really putting this on me, huh?”

Chloe shrugs and the hand that had grazed Beca’s chin moves to comb through Beca’s hair slowly, careful where there are tangles as she brushes it away from Beca’s face and behind her shoulder. She also worries at her bottom lip with her teeth even as she smiles.

It’s hard to imagine going back from this. That thought, and the way Chloe’s looking up at her with nervous excitement and touching her so lovingly… “Maybe that means we could try like...dating.” She has to bite her tongue to stop the ‘or whatever’ that wants to end the statement and instead rolls her eyes a little but quickly returns them to Chloe when fingernails scratch lightly at the back of her neck.

Chloe’s lip slips from between her teeth when her smile widens. “Yeah?”

“I mean…if you want.” She shrugs playfully. “I guess we could.”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a nod. “I’d like that.” Her hand tugs at Beca’s neck and Beca lets herself be reeled in for a slow kiss.

Beca would like that, too.

Very much.

The End

[drabbles-of-writing]

First Class Mess

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Living with Edric and Emira had it’s ups and downs.

On one hand, Amity could finally get away from her parents. It wasn’t a permanent living space, and she always made sure to spend at least a few nights at her parents house, excusing her absence as being busy with the Emperor’s Coven. But it was far better than trying to hide at the Owl House where her anxiety spiked through the roof, no offence to the family.

On the other hand, her siblings were an absolute mess.

,

“Rule number five, I don’t wanna see any girlfriends here.”

“Wow, okay, no, I veto that rule.” Emira said immediately, leaning her head off the couch arm to look over at her brother, who was sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, what gives?” Amity agreed, sitting on her knees on the couch.

“Amity, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Emira asked, glancing back at her with a raised brow.

“You and I both know he just means Viney and Luz,” Amity growled, crossing her arms. “He just prefers to use the term girlfriends.”

“I meant they can’t stay over for the night,” Edric said, raising his hands defensively. “This apartment can barely fit the three of us without falling apart.” He said, gesturing to the room around them, which, admittedly, did look pretty ghetto.

“I don’t need to be dealing with you two causing more damage with your little crushes. They’re kind of known for causing trouble.” He said matter-of-factly. “And yes, I’m spreading this to Emira because it’s rude to stick it only on Amity.”

“Wow, thanks,” Amity grumbled as Emira gave an offended gasp.

“Unless someone is dying, I don’t wanna see any dates in here, understand?” Edric said. “At least not until we’ve gotten everything together in some capacity.”

“I resent this rule,” Emira insisted stubbornly.

“Yeah? Well, I’m older, therefore I win.” Edric said smugly.

“Ed, it was by eleven minutes.” ,

And that’s how Amity came to the apartment in the middle of a thunderstorm to find Edric and Jerbo in the kitchen. Both a little too close to be casual.

The second they registered the door opening, Edric sprung back. Jerbo whirled around from where he was perched on the kitchen counter (seriously, that thing can only hold so much weight).

Both of them looked like King when he’d been caught stealing from the fridge for the fifth time that week.

Amity stared at them for a few moments, her brain a little fried from dealing with the pelting boiling rain earlier.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Ed.” She finally said, walking in and kicking the door shut behind her.

“It’s just Jerbo!” Edric defended frantically, looking wildly between Amity and a very perplexed Jerbo.

“The fact you immediately knew which rule I was talking about isn’t helping your situation,” Amity called back, throwing off her overly thick coat onto the hanger by the door, too lazy to take off her Emperor’s Coven cloak on underneath.

“And unless you want Emira to taunt you endlessly, I suggest Jerbo should leave soon. No offence,” She added, looking towards the upperclassmen.

“None taken,” Jerbo said with a wave of his hand. “Viney’s not much different.”

Edric groaned and slumped against the counter beside Jerbo, head hanging. Jerbo gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

Amity kicked off her boots and flopped dramatically onto the couch, waving her hand above her where the boys could see.

“Either go make out downstairs or make up your mind, ‘kay? Cause I’m tired.”

Jerbo made a strangled wheezing-like noise that reminded Amity of a deflating squeaky toy. Edric sprung upwards, flushing brightly.

“We were not making out!” He exclaimed, voice strained. “We were doing nothing even remotely like that, even!”

Amity sat up on the couch, turning her head to look over at her brother with a deadpan stare. She looked like she wanted to say something, but resigned to just sighing and laying back down on the couch.

“Whatever. I’m blackmailing you with this later.”

“You suck,”

,

“Quick question,” Emira said, poking her head into Amity’s room. “I can still get away with doing something illegal here, right?”

Amity looked up from her book, giving her sister a look that said her question was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

“I’m only a cop when on the clock, Em.” Amity said. “Anything illegal you do when I’m not working is fair game. Legally speaking.”

“Nice,” Emira pumped a fist.

“Can I ask what you’re planning on doing?” Amity raised a brow.

“You gonna rat us out?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did. Like somebody in this house!” Amity added the last part notably louder.

“Amity, shut up!” Edric called back.

“...I’m gonna ask about that later.” Emira said, pointing a finger at Amity. “Anyway, Viney can’t afford the supplies she needs to help out some baby bearstripes she found. So we were just gonna steal it and stash the supplies here.”

“You’re whipped,” Edric’s voice floated from the main room.

“Shut it, Ed!” Emira snapped back.

“Yeah, sure, go steal some stuff.” Amity shrugged. “I’m not working till tomorrow.”

“So we can totally commit crimes now?” Edric asked, suddenly appearing being Emira, looking far too excited.

“I mean, yeah, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Amity said.

“If it’s a bad enough crime I could be put on a mission to hunt the two of you down. Obviously I’m not going to raid this apartment but if I catch you on the streets it is on sight.” She warned.

“Oh, so your little Owl family gets a free pass, but we don’t?” Edric scoffed.

“I do not give them a free pass!” Amity protested. “I throw Eda in jail all the time. I’ve never even had to break her out!”

“Right, sorry,” Emira amended. “Ed meant that your hopeless crush gets a free pass, but we don’t?”

Amity growled and threw her book at the two of them. They quickly jumped back and swung the door shut, letting the book hit it instead.

“That’s a yes,” Edric snickered.

“I’m not the only one who gives crushes a free pass!” Amity shouted after them.

There were a few beats of silence.

“You have got to be kidding me, Ed.”

,

Emira knew the rules of the apartment. Which meant there were barely any and they fluctuated from day to day.

The two big ones were that anything that happened in the apartment was a safe zone, and to avoid bringing over anyone associated with the Owl House, which sadly, included Viney and Jerbo, seeing as they were friends with Luz.

They loved everyone in the Owl House, they really did. But everyone in that family was known to be very chaotic, and they’d probably break the shabby apartment or piss off the neighbors more than the siblings already had.

It was simply a precaution.

Emira, however, was a known rule-breaker.

So, it wasn’t a surprise to find Viney sitting in the living room, currently wrapping up Emira’s sprained wrist.

“You're a mess,” Viney sighed, slowly bandaging her arm. “Can’t you ask your parents to cover your medical bills?”

“Course I can, but at one in the morning?” Emira scoffed, keeping her voice low. “I’ll bug them about it later.”

“Only you would get a sprained wrist and say it’s not that big a deal,” Viney sighed, gently raising Emira’s hand and letting her hand glow, doing her best to ease the pain.

“Eh, I’d say it was worth it anyway,” Emira hissed, flinching as she felt a sharp pain in her wrist.

“Sorry, sorry,” Viney whispered, laying her free hand over Emira’s to hold her still as she slowly healed the sprain as best she could.

“I don’t have any healing glyphs, so you’ll just have to leave it be till morning. The splint should work for now, though.” She continued, looking up at Emira.

Emira was staring at where Viney was holding her hand, blushing with her ears lowered, eyes blown wide.

Though that last part might’ve been because the only light was the moon shining through the small window beside the two.

“Em?” Viney tilted her head, smiling.

“Huh?” Emira jerked her head up. “Sorry, did, uh, did you say something?” 

Viney giggled and removed her glowing hand from Emira’s wrist, though she kept holding up her arm with her other hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” She said, shaking her head.

“All the best people are,” Emira replied, dipping her head to properly meet the shorter witch’s eyes.

Viney smiled and lightly pressed her forehead against Emira’s causing the girl to freeze and stiffen up.

Emira’s face lit up and her eyes darted around, though she didn’t move away.

“S-so, sorry to hi-hide you out here,” She stuttered, shoulders hunched. “But Ed pre-pretty much broke...broke that rule s-so I’m sure it’s not...not that big a--”

“Em,”

Viney leaned forward more and squished their noses together, giving the Blight a rather amused look.

Emira quickly shut her mouth with an audible clack, meeting the witch’s gaze.

Viney slowly tilted her head forward, her eyes closing.

Emira did her best to calm her heart before leaning in as well.

Something clattered, loudly, on the kitchen floor.

Viney froze and jumped back, startled. Emira only slumped, thoroughly annoyed.

“It is one AM!” Emira snapped, leaning around the couch. “Ed, what are you doing--”

It wasn’t Ed.

Amity shut the fridge, a slice of bread in her mouth and a bag of snacks in her hands, along with the cup she had dropped.

She looked over, surprised to see Emira, before morphing into a look of understanding when she saw Viney peek out as well.

Amity took out the bread in her mouth, setting the cup down in it’s previous position by the sink.

“Carry on,” She said calmly, holding her snacks as she walked out of the kitchen and back to her room.

Emira glared in the direction where Amity left for a moment before she heard a snort behind her.

She looked back, seeing Viney was doing her best to smother a laugh.

“...what?” Emira demanded, raising a brow.

Viney broke into a fit of giggles then, barely able to smother a loud laugh that would definitely wake up Edric.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--I wasn’t expecting that!” She snickered. “What’s your sister even doing up this late?”

“I guess being up at ungodly hours just runs in the family,” Emira sighed, embarrassed as she picked up one of the pillows that had fallen off the couch with her uninjured hand and placed it in her lap.

“I take it that was probably my cue to leave,” Viney chuckled, standing up. “My dad will get worried if I’m not there in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Emira said, visibly deflating.

“Keep off that hand, you hear me?” Viney said, gathering up her bandages and extra splints into her bag. “And go to the hospital to get it properly fixed in the morning.”

“I know, I know,” Emira muttered bitterly, looking up at Viney with puppy-dog eyes. “Do you have to go?”

“Sorry, Em. But I’d rather get at least some amounts of sleep.” Viney said. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?” She said, leaning down and kissing Emira’s forehead.

Emira, somehow, lit up even brighter with her ears twitching downwards. She held her pillow tighter and buried her face in it.

“‘Kay,” She mumbled shlyly.

Viney giggled and stepped back, making her way towards the door. 

“Don’t lay on your hand too much,” She added, opening the door.

“‘Kay,” Emira repeated, lifting her head ever so slightly and watching Viney with one eye.

Viney gave a small wave before stepping out of the apartment, shutting the door behind her.

Emira only continued watching the door where Viney left, absolutely lovestruck.

“All I wanted to get was a drink,” Came a grumble behind her.

“Amity!” Emira gasped, sitting upright and looking around the couch again to see Amity had wandered back in to grab a drink. 

“I didn’t ask to see my sisters failing flirting attempts,” Amity muttered, pouring herself a cup of apple juice.

“Go back to bed!”

“I’d rather die,”

,

“Okay, okay, but what if instead of teeth, the worm had legs inside its mouth.”

“Ed, it’s like, ten. I’m not doing this right now,” Emira groaned, sitting on her bed as Edric sat on the floor beside her.

“Helps keep us awake, doesn’t it?” Edric shrugged. “Shouldn’t Amity have come back by now?”

“Maybe she just decided to sleep over and forgot to tell us,” Emira said, checking her scroll.

Sure enough, her last text from Amity, thirty minutes ago, only said ‘I’ll be back soon.’

“Doesn’t really seem like her, though.” Edric frowned.

The sound of a window opening caught their attention. Both of them scrambled out of Emira’s room and peered around the corner, curious.

Amity crawled in through the window, brushing herself off before turning back around.

Luz was outside the window, standing on her staff as it flew beside the open window. The staff lowered so Luz could learn her arms on the windowsill, giving Amity a smug look.

“See? I’m not that bad of a flier,” She said proudly.

“Uh huh, sure.” Amity said, sounding amused. “After the first couple of terrifying minutes,”

“You wound me,” Luz said with a dramatic sigh. “Why must I be cursed to be with such a cruel witch?”

“Oh hush,” Amity chuckled, batting at Luz’s arm. “You made me late!”

“Was it worth it, though?” Luz said, tilting her head with a grin.

“...yeah,” Amity admitted, turning her head away, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“That’s the Noceda charm for ya,” Luz winked.

“You’re impossible,” Amity grumbled bashfully.

“Yeah, but you like that.” Luz said, leaning forward through the window.

“Very much so,” Amity agreed, meeting Luz’s chaste kiss with a smile.

“Wha--”

Edric, who had been leaning too far out, fumbled and fell over with a loud thump. Much to Emira’s chagrin.

Amity broke the kiss and whirled around, face flushing even more when she spotted both of her siblings.

“When did you two get here?” She demanded, pressing back on the windowsill, where Luz was now staring in, startled.

“We live here, Amity.” Emira deadpanned, not bothering to help up Edric. “And you have some explaining to do, young lady!”

“I think I’m just gonna…” Luz slowly flew a few feet away from the window. “I think I’m gonna go…”

“Yeah, you probably should.” Amity sighed, looking back. “Bye, Luz.” “See you tomorrow,” Luz gave a shy smile before sitting appropriately on her staff and flying off in a flash, clearly embarrassed about the situation as well.

“Hold on!” Edric shot up from the floor. “Since when was this a thing?”

“It was recent,” Amity grumbled, shutting the window.

“Are you telling me our Mittens got herself a girlfriend?” Emira asked excitedly, spinning the girl around.

“I can’t believe she beat me,” Edric muttered, crossing his arms as he sat dramatically on the couch.

“Suck it,” Amity teased, sticking out her tongue. “And listen, I was planning on telling you, but it was pretty recent and we didn’t really--”

“How recent, exactly?” Emira raised a disbelieving brow.

Amity looked away, ears flicked back.

“Like a week and a half...?”

“...that’s reasonable.” Emira nodded, releasing her sister. “And it was about time, too!” She said, ruffling her hair.

Amity slapped away her sister's hands, embarrassed as Edric gave her a grin.

“Guess we gotta compete for second place, huh?” Edric teased.

“You and I both know you and Jerbo couldn’t ask the other on a date to save your sanities.”

“I never said it was Jerbo!” Edric squawked.

The sisters shared a knowing look but didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, I’m tired. I had a long day,” Amity said, walking by her siblings. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Try not to get lost dreaming about that heart-stealer of yours!” Emira called after her.

“Don’t make me come back out there!” Amity’s voice warned from around the corner.

“Whatever you say, Mittens!”

,

Amity wasn’t used to late-night shifts.

Coming to the apartment early in the morning was a pain. Her mask was pushed up on her head as she walked into the apartment on quiet feet, ready to collapse and sleep all day.

Edric was in the kitchen.

He was never up this early.

His elbows were leaning on the kitchen counter, and he was covering his face with one hand, his other clenched into a fist on the counter.

Amity blinked and took off her mask, setting it on the coat hanger and slowly walking over, worry evident on her face.

“Ed?” She asked quietly.

Edric jolted and jerked his head up, expression flashing to that of momentary fear.

He was crying.

“Mi-Mittens!” Edirc gasped, quickly wiping at his eyes. “I-I didn’t hear you come...come in,”

“Edric?” Amity rushed over around the counter, gently grabbing her older brother's arm. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He said, giving her a sorrowfully forced smile. “Was, er, cutting some tear-peppers earlier and it hasn’t gone away yet.”

Amity sighed and looked up at her brother.

“Ed, that’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.” She said bluntly. “What happened?” She asked again, her voice softer.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about it,” Edric insisted. “It’s my job to look after you, remember?”

“You're my brother, not my dad, thank Titan.” Amity muttered. “I’m not thirteen, Ed.” She continued. “You can tell me,”

Edric gazed down at his little sister for a moment. He swallowed before sighing and letting his shoulders slump.

“Just a little stressed,” He admitted, turning away to stare at the empty counter. “You know, what with trying to actually make a living without mom or dad's help.” He sighed.

“And then there’s the whole rebellion thing me and Em are working on. And that stupid tennant I hate. And trying to find a decent part of the Illusion Coven to join, since we definitely want to stick to that.” He continued.

“And…” He glanced down at Amity. “Well, let’s just say that fear of loneliness isn’t looking too irrational right now,” He said, sounding like he was seconds away from breaking down, hands shaking.

“Hey, that’s not true,” Amity said, squeezing Edric’s arm. “Me and Em aren’t gonna leave you.”

“Amity, you’re in the Emperor’s Coven. You're a spy. You're part of something big.” Edric shook his head. “You’ve got a lot ahead of you.”

“And Em…” He looked away. “Em’s got something going for her. You don’t become mom's favorite by being mediocre.”

“Who cares what mom thinks?” Amity demanded. “She isn’t worth either of our times. Last I checked, she was just as mean on Emira after you flunked the Emperor’s Coven tryouts as she was with you.”

“...she said a lot of things you didn’t hear,” Edric said quietly. “I’m grateful you were at the Owl House.” He murmured. “You deserve a place like that.”

Amity stared up at her brother, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Just how long, she wondered, had Edric been hiding these things from her? From Em?

She leaned against his side, burying her head in the crook of his arm.

“You deserve it, too.” She said softly. “You were able to stand up to mom, you made your own choices and even let me live with you…I couldn’t do those on my own.” She shut her eyes.

“You never gave up, even after all that. That’s what I always liked about you, y’know?”

She felt Edric stiffen and shutter, trying to hold back cries as tears freely fell down his face. He drew an arm around his little sister, pulling her close and pressing his nose into her hair.

They stayed like that for a while. Holding each other in silent reassurances.

,

It was late in the afternoon, sunset fast approaching.

The three siblings were all at different places in the apartment, for once, having a moment of peace among them.

That was, until, the power cut out.

Amity raised her head from where she was reading on the couch. Edric paused making his sandwich and Emira poked her head out of her room.

None of them said a word for a few moments.

“Did you two seriously forget to pay the power bill?” Amity broke the silence.

“I swore I paid it!” Edric insisted. “They didn’t give a notice or anything!”

“You just keep forgetting to close the mailbox, you great idiot!” Emira growled, walking into the main room. “Maybe they just got lost or something.”

Amity got off the couch and opened the apartment door, peering out. 

There were no lights in the hallways, and she could see a few other tenants looking out in confusion as well.

“Nope, it’s a complex issue.” Amity said, looking back. “Whole place lost power.”

“Fantastic,” Emira grumbled. “In the beginning of winter!”

“At least there isn’t any snow yet,” Amity shrugged.

“We’re going to freeze to death in like half an hour.” Edric sighed, stepping out from behind the counter.

“I’m sure I could find some blankets,” Emira insisted.

“You guys know we could just like...go to the Owl House?” Amity raised a brow.

Both her siblings turned to stare at her, blinking dumbfoundedly.

“...right, you guys don’t go there as often.” Amity mumbled quietly. “Look, how about we just head on over? Eda will understand. This should only last for a day or so, anyway.”

“So long I’m not freezing, I’ll take it.” Edric said, already grabbing his coat.

“Isn’t it a bit late?” Emira worried.

“Someone in that house is always awake, no matter the hour.” Amity assured her. “They won’t mind.”

“Yeah, because you have special girlfriend status,” Edric teased.

“Jealous,” Amity shot back, a blush coming to her cheeks as she held the door open for her siblings. “The Owl House has its own power, anyway. So it should be fine.”

“And if not, you get to snuggle up to Luz,” Emira taunted.

“I’m going to let Fang bite both of you,” Amity threatened, walking out after her siblings and through the dark hallways of the apartment complex.

“Ha! Jokes on you, he already bit me.” Edric said proudly. “I’m immune.”

“That’s not how that works.” ,

“Hi, Amity!” Hooty greeted, well before the Blight siblings were at the front porch.

“Can it, Hooty.” Amity said with a sneer. “Tell Eda we’re here,”

“Oh, she already knows.” Hooty said cheerfully. “Luz saw you through the--”

The door was suddenly swung open, and Hooty’s face smashed against the side of the house, much to his complaints.

Eda stood there, looking over the two young-adults and teenager with a confused, but not unwelcome expression.

“Didja get kicked out of your apartment?” She inquired, flicking an ear.

“Power went out,” Emira explained. “Amity said you’d let us stay while it gets fixed?”

“What did I say about making decisions for me?” Eda scolded the girl. “I keep getting Luz’s friends showing up because you insist that I’ll let them in.”

“And yet, you never disappoint,” Amity said with a grin. “May we come in?”

Eda muttered under her breath about kids these days before stepping aside, allowing the three to wander on in.

“Amity,” Lilith greeted from where she was having a cup of tea on the couch. Amity swore that woman was addicted to the stuff.

“Amity!” Luz said at the same time, much more enthused as she rushed from the window and enveloped the witch in a hug. “What’s with the party?” She asked.

“Power problems,” Emira explained for her flustered sister. “We’re just gonna hang here for a bit. Don’t let us invade your mushy time,” She teased, stepping around them and looking at the house.

“Aw, come on!” King complained, crawling out from underneath the table in front of the couch. “Now I’ll never get sleep with a bunch of teenagers around.”

“Excuse you, we’re nineteen! Legal adults,” Edric corrected.

“Same difference,”

Lilith rolled her eyes and offered tea to the twins. Emira accepted it while Edric hung up their coats, watching as both his sisters seamlessly fit right into the discussions of the Owl family, despite their sudden intrusion.

He smiled to himself, slowly looking around the Owl House.

Yeah, they’d picked a good family.

,

It was late.

Amity hadn’t made it home.

Emira had called the Owl House to see if Amity was there. They said she’d left two hours earlier, and were surprised to hear she hadn’t made it back to the apartment yet.

They said Amity had left after getting a call from their mother.

It was nearly midnight.

Edric was beside himself with worry, pacing the living room.

They’d even called up Keene, the second-in-command of Amity’s Emperor’s Coven group. She had given his number to them for strict emergencies.

He hadn’t seen her either.

“I’m going to go look for her,” Edric said, breaking Emira out of her train of thought and storming towards the door. “Something must have happened with mom and dad.”

“I’ll wait for her here,” Emira nodded. “I’ll call you if she--”

Right as Edric was about to open the apartment door, it swung open very aggressively.

“Amity!” The twins exclaimed.

The seventeen-year-old stood hunched in the doorway, head hanging and bangs covering her eyes. She was shaking, violently. She was still in her Emperor’s Coven outfit, as she had visited the Owl House first and didn’t have a spare change of clothes.

“Where have you been?” Edric asked worriedly, crouching down. She was always shorter than them. “We were worried sick!”

“Did something happen?” Emira added, getting off the couch. “Mittens?”

The girl raised her head, and the twins gave a sharp intake of breath.

Amity’s face was stained with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She had a dark, angry purple bruise on her left cheek, and was rubbing at her left wrist.

“What happened?” Emira demanded, shutting the door as Edric pulled Amity into the apartment.

“I-I,” Amity stuttered, fresh tears already beginning to leak from her eyes as her siblings gently led her to the couch and sat on either side of her.

“I didn’t mean to,” Amity sniffled, shoulders trembling. “I didn’t mean to say it, I didn’t, I--”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Edric comforted, holding her hands to stop her messing with her wrist. “Just tell us what happened, Amity.”

Amity took in sharp, shaky breaths for a few moments, trying to calm herself down.

“M-mom wanted me to c-come home,” She explained, though the twins already knew. “She...she told me it was because I left something there. I-I went over and...and,”

She bit her lip, holding back a cry as Emira gently placed a hand on her back.

“She got mad,” Amity said, her voice rattly. “She...she said she talked to Keene and-and he said I wasn’t spending as much t-time at the Coven as I said...he...he didn’t know--”

“Hey, we know, we know,” Emira said softly. “What else?”

“Sh-she demanded to know where I-I’d been,” Amity sniffled, holding herself. “I did...didn’t want to tell her, so I,” She inhaled. “I got mad...I got mad, I told her it wasn’t...wasn’t her business…I didn’t even really li-live with her…”

The twins fearfully glanced at each other. Nobody talked back to their mother. Not unless they wanted a death sentence.

Edric raised his hand and Amity flinched, and he felt a stab of pain in his chest.

He slowly, and genty, brushed his hand by her shoulder, right below where her bruise was.

“It...it didn’t go well,” Amity murmured, pulling off her gloves and revealing she had a bruise around her left wrist, looking like she had been sharply grabbed.

“Did mom do this?” Emira demanded quietly, gesturing to the nasty mark on her face.

Amity didn’t answer.

“She said sorry right after,” Amity mumbled, almost inaudible.

The twins stared, horror striking them to the core. Edric wrapped his arm around Amity’s shoulders, pulling her closer. She let him, sniffling.

“...you’re not going back there.” Emira decided. “I don’t care how many laws we break. You won’t.”

“I already told them,” Amity murmured, glancing over at her. “I...I said I was a member of the Emperor’s Coven and they, they couldn’t tell me what to do anymore…”

She lifted her unhurt hand to her cloak and withdrew Fang, her palisman, who was curled around her fingers and looked up at the twins.

“Eda showed me a re-recording spell before I left. They know I can use it if, if they try to get me back.”

Neither of the twins wanted to know what that snake had seen.

“Good, because you were never going to go back there to begin with.” Edric said firmly. “Well, no, no, not good, that’s probably not--”

Emira punched his arm and he winced, but obediently went quiet.

“What if she finds out I live here?” Amity asked quietly, curling closer into Ed’s shoulder. “She-she’ll try to do something. What if she cuts you off?”

“We don’t want anything to do with her anymore, I assure you.” Emira growled.

“You-you need the money,” Amity sniffled. “I know you do.”

“We can start making our own--” “Please,” Amity turned her head, giving her sister a scared look. “Please don’t cut off mom. She’ll do something worse.” She said, voice going quieter. “Not yet. You need it now. I’ll be okay.”

Emira wanted to argue, she really did.

But she couldn’t.

Getting jobs in this time of the Boiling Isles, and in this region, was tough. Especially for illusionists. They’d made a bit of money here and there, but a lot of their support came from their mother and father, who grudgingly handed it out so to make their children at least look like they were surviving on their own, for the public.

And it wasn’t like any of them could go to the coven just yet. In a real court battle, they knew their parents would win. They always would.

It was their public image that worried them. And for now, the Blight children had the upper hand.

They’d have to let the spider come to them. As horrifying as the thought of waiting sounded.

“Alright,” Edric related, drawing circles on her arm. “But you aren’t going anywhere near them. Not ever again. Do you understand?”

Amity didn’t respond. She just pulled herself closer to Edric, shuttering with the strain to hold back sobs.

Edric pulled her into a real hug, and Emira wasn’t far behind. They both murmured words of comfort as Amity muffled her cries in Edric’s shoulder, tense with the effort.

If this was what the Blight name meant, they didn’t want it.

[stereostevie]

"The United States vs. Billie Holiday" is so misguided that it's hard to know where to start griping about it. It wallows in cruelty, misery, and degradation without providing insight into the historical personages who are so thoughtfully depicted by its cast. In the title role, singer Andra Day inhabits Holiday with such intensity that she partially redeems the movie. But there's a major caveat: you'll likely spend the whole running time wishing Day had been given a vehicle with more to say about Holiday than this one, the gist of which can be summed up as, "That poor junkie sure could sing."

Directed by Lee Daniels and written by Suzan Lori-Parks, "The United States vs. Billie Holiday" is a film about a brilliant artist and drug addict that seems less interested in the art than in the pornographically exact details of the addiction (and the self-damage that often comes with it, such as alcoholism, self-destructive/abusive relationships, and sexually compulsive behavior). If you called the movie up on Hulu, its debut streaming platform, hoping to watch facsimiles of Holiday and her bandmates, lovers, and hangers-on tying off and shooting up, often with closeups of needles going into arms (and in one case, blood spurting from an injection hole), you won't be disappointed. This is also your movie if you want to watch men beating each other up over women, men beating women up over men, Black people selling out and exploiting other Black people for clout or money, and an array of cardboard cutout white authority figures tormenting the Black characters.

The poker-faced Caucasoid sadists in the film (led by Garrett Hedlund's Harry J. Anslinger, the first chief of the U.S. Treasury Department's Bureau of Narcotics, an outspoken racist who believed jazz was jungle music and a corrupting influence on whites) don't so much incarnate the ugliness of white supremacy in mid-20th century America as give viewers heels that they can boo. Anslinger even makes a point of showing up in person at key points in the narrative of torment that he has authored for Holiday, as punishment for daring to continue singing her anti-lynching ballad "Strange Fruit" after being warned not to. Holiday lost her cabaret license in a drug bust, and was targeted again in a subsequent bust that biographers agree was based on planted narcotics.

This film's version of Anslinger might as well be Elmer Fudd chasing a wascally wabbit. The cartoonish depiction of Anslinger (drawn from the film's source material, Johann Hari's Chasing the Scream: The First and Last Days of the War on Drugs) is reminiscent of the otherwise excellent historical drama "The Hurricane," which made it seem as if Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, a champion boxer railroaded on a phony murder charge, was victimized not by appendages of an American government that had been around for centuries, but by a lone, bad white cop who hated him for being Black.

This is, of course, a familiar and regrettable tendency in Hollywood biopics dealing with race and inequity—a dramatic shortcut. It's easy to make viewers despise the sort of melodramatic movie villain who would twirl a mustache if he had one, and hard to make them care about systemic and institutionalized racism, or the unequal enforcement of drug laws that disproportionately hurt entertainers of color, and still do. (The drug habits of white stars like Judy Garland were treated more sympathetically by law enforcement.)

Even more unfortunate is the decision to divide screen time between Holiday and a Black junior FBI agent named Jimmy Fletcher (Trevante Rhodes), who is based on a real man who regretted his role in Holiday's persecution but didn't have the kind of longstanding love affair with Holiday depicted in this movie. A condensed excerpt from Hari's book says Fletcher set up one of Holiday's busts (though apparently not one that sent her to prison, as depicted in Daniels' movie). He was seen dancing with her at a club a while later, and many years after that was sent a signed copy of Holiday's autobiography with a note from the singer that read, in part, "Most federal agents are nice people. They’ve got a dirty job to do and they have to do it. Some of the nicer ones have feelings enough to hate themselves sometime for what they have to do." But Daniels and Parks go several extra miles beyond that, showing Fletcher not just falling in love with the singer but tanking testimony to make amends for that early bust, then becoming a constant, nurturing presence in her life, up to and including her dying days in a hospital following her final overdose (along the way, Fletcher also becomes a junkie, like nearly everyone else in Holiday's orbit).

What's questionable here isn't the lack of veracity (if infidelity to history were a deal-breaker for audiences, Shakespeare wouldn't have lasted five minutes) but the message it conveys. What we come away with here is the story of a race traitor who expresses his guilt about setting up one of the century's greatest singers by entering into a redemptive affair with her, and becoming so adored and trusted that he learns her bleakest secrets. Two of these—witnessing acts of racist violence and getting turned out by her own mother in the brothel where she was raised—are dramatized in a tour-de-force, single-take, Grand Guignol tracking shot that turns Holiday's trauma into a theme park ride. It's as if the Haunted Mansion at Disney World had been replaced with a tour of Richard Pryor's childhood.

And what, the reader may rightly ask, does any of this have to do with "Strange Fruit"? It's hard to say. The film is so poorly structured and ineptly edited that I often wasn't sure what I was looking at, when it was taking place, or what the filmmakers wanted me to take away, other than that Holiday had a wretched early life; that her adulthood was an equally miserable slog, filled with self-medicating that made things worse; and that despite it all, she was a crackerjack song interpreter who left some classic recordings behind. Natasha Lyonne shows up as Tallulah Bankhead, Holiday's maybe-lover, and disappears instantly. Years bleed into other years. Much dope is shot.

Holiday's indefatigable spirit gets buried under misery porn that's a bit much even by Daniels' standards. At least "Precious" was audacious. You could tell Daniels was going for a semi-satirical, Todd Solondz-like vibe, where you were supposed to ask, "Is this meant to be funny, and am I a bad person for laughing?" There's no such tonal cheekiness here. The film is solemn as can be, hammering nails into Billie Holiday's ankles and wrists and raising her up on the cross at the end. Daniels frames Holiday in a tight closeup and watches her sing as she stares into the middle distance through glazed eyes. He crosscuts between Holiday singing onstage and getting shtupped backstage by a smooth criminal. He stares at her defeated, puffy face as she lies in a hospital bed with a catheter snaking from her hospital gown, talking to her pals about how her liver has failed. There seems to be no dramatic objective to scenes like these other than to remind us yet again, "Billie Holiday was a junkie, drugs are bad."

Over the course of two hours that feel like three, "All of Me" loops in and out of the soundtrack in varied arrangements, including a rumbling funereal version that may very well show up in a trailer advertising an R-rated, dark-and-gritty reboot of, hell, who knows which early 20th century cartoon property. Maybe Betty Boop. The film itself seems strung out, and not in an interesting way. It needed an intervention.