#he so much as vaguely smiles in another guy’s general direction and it is OVER

[mediumgayitalian]

A whisp of hair tickles his cheek, following the elbow resting on his shoulder. Lee glances over as Cass swipes the strands back behind her ear.

“So,” she says, very nearly dropping her plate. Lee reaches over and gently tilts it back upright. His sister Does Not notice.

He lets it fall. She doesn’t notice that, either. Rest in peace, Stale Piece of Olive Bread, Single Grape, and Sprig of Parsley (?). You will be missed.

“So,” Lee repeats. He follows her eyes, gaze landing on a frizzy mess of blond curls and vacant blue eyes. “…Ah. So.”

Cass’s fork twirls in the general direction of their new baby brother. Several other people in line at the braziers also look over to where she’s pointing, glance obviously back towards the two of them, leaning close, and then pretend to look away while very clearly straining to hear. What a place, Camp Half-Blood.

“We gotta fix that.”

Lee grunts. She’s right — rarely does he ever see a kid Will’s age so blasé and sad about camp for so long.

But.

The circumstances.

“We already talked to Luke, Cass.”

She waves a hand. Her fork very nearly misses his eye. Lee would like, for once, if she could maybe use perhaps one ounce of her prophetic abilities to be less of a klutz. “Eh, Luke doesn’t know everything. There’s gotta be something he didn’t try, something Will likes. I mean, I think I saw the barest little hint of a smile when Diana was cussing Michael out yesterday.”

“Achlys would smile at that,” Lee argues. “I mean, come on. He got flamed. It was embarrassing.”

“Fair, fair.”

Lee looks back at Will. He still sits at the edge of the Apollo picnic table, chin on the worn-smooth wood, poking vaguely at the food Diana got for him. There’s a decent spread — some of the roast chicken, some of the lemon potatoes, probably more vegetables than any eight year old would be willing to eat, but it’s not like they would know. Will barely eats anything. If it weren’t for the Twizzlers that keep disappearing from Lee’s stash under the floorboards, he would’ve stuck the kid on an IV already. It’s been weeks.

“We could maybe try the weapons rounds again,” Cass murmurs. “I know Luke did it on intake, but maybe —”

She glances over, peeking through the edge of her hair, and cuts herself off, mouth furrowing as she bites the inside of her cheek. The son of Hermes in question leans on one of his younger siblings, grinning as they shriek and complain, laughing as another kid empties out what looks like the entire camp stash of cutlery from her pockets. Lee’s not dumb — he saw the difference, too. There’s no demigod more kind and welcoming and determined than Luke Castellan, Lee knows it, Lee’s experienced it, but —

When Will came up Half-Blood Hill, he was sobbing. He scratched four other demigods trying to squirm his way back to where his mother was running back to her car, shoulders heaving with her own cries, face-tear streaked and laden with guilt as she watched him go. When Will was dragged to the Big House, he was there ‘til nightfall. When Will was placed, as all are, in Hermes, he didn’t leave the cabin for days.

Camp doesn’t usually see that. Luke doesn’t usually see that. And as much as the guy has seen everything, there’s nothing he can handle less than a demigod who desperately wants to go home.

It’s not something anyone brings up.

“We’ll give it a go after dinner,” Lee agrees.

It’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing. It might help to get a tour of what Camp offers by someone a little more…qualified. Or enthusiastic, rather. Will’s eight, after all. What kind of eight-year-old doesn’t want to swing a real sword at a training dummy? Or, hell, at another eight-year-old? Not that there are many other eight-year-olds at camp this lovely April, but Annabeth is like…ten. Lee thinks. Eleven? Something like that. Maybe she’ll swing a sword around with the kid. She only tends to be lethal when someone is doubting her. She’ll probably be very lenient on someone who is just learning.

Well.

Like, one would hope.

Whatever. It’ll sort itself out.

He repeats it to himself as he sits down, plastering a wide smile on his face and meeting Will’s eyes. Will stares back, eyes big and dead, but Lee refuses to look away first, to look down. Eventually Will return his gaze to the brown mush he’s made out of his plate.

“Hi,” he hedges.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Will hums. From beside him, Diana sighs — that is the extent of what they usually get. A little more, actually. The hi was slightly more animated than usual. More like a single two-by-four than a rotting corpse, in terms of spirited greetings.

If Lee is anything, though, it’s annoying and persistent. It’s actually what led to his getting claimed last winter.

“You get something to drink?”

Will shrugs. Lee glances into his cup to see that he has not, in fact, gotten anything to drink.

“They’re enchanted, you know.” He taps his own cup. “Anything you ask for, you get. I get Green Apple Kool-Aid.”

“‘Cus you’re a freak,” Michael mutters. Lee shoves him off the table.

Will scrunches his nose. “…Enchanted cups?”

The look he levels in Lee’s direction is equivalent, he imagines, to the look the jury gave OJ Simpson on his first foray of the witness stand, but the allure of discontinued novelty drinks must be stronger than his suspicion, because he tilts his cup closer to him, thinks for a minute, and then says, “Coke.”

All three of them hold their breath. Even Michael, who is recovering from his recent trip to the ground. The cup slowly fills with sparkling amber liquid.

Will frowns.

“Hey,” he says, something akin to a pout taking over his face, “I asked for coke.”

The drink stops fizzing. It, too, seems to regard the young boy in confusion.

“That would indeed be Coke,” Diana says eventually.

Will scowls. (It is, probably unfortunately for him, a little bit adorable, because his cheeks are very pudgy and he has quite a lot of freckles and his whole face seems to scrunch with the movement. Like a baby hippo. Lee tries really very hard not to smile but it’s something of a losing battle, he thinks.)

“It gave me cola!”

Lee looks at Cass. Cass looks at Lee. Cass looks at Michael, then, and Lee looks at Diana, and they all kind of look at each other and envision the words what the fuck floating between them in wavy comic sans.

“That would be the case,” tries Michael. Lee can see that he tries very hard not to tack ‘you dumbass’ on the end there. Lee pats him on the shoulder in recognition for his efforts.

“I asked for coke!”

“Okay, let’s maybe back up a bit,” Cass thankfully says, before Lee can utter his very eloquent ‘huh’. “What are you asking for, hun?”

“Coke!”

“No, I — I, uh, I got that part.” She purses her lips very thoughtfully. “Are you thinking of, maybe, Diet Coke?”

“No! Regular orange coke!”

“Okay,” mutters Diana. “Okay, awesome, I love it when everything makes sense.”

“Orange coke!” insists Will again. And, like, yeah, they brought this on themselves. When Lee scraped off a portion of his food and prayed for more emotion from Will, he did not specify. He was under the unfortunate misconception that his father loved him and was not a sociopathic genie. That’s on him. But still. “The fruity one! With the orange lid an’ the F on the bottle an’ not the one with no bubbles! The coke one!”

“Are you thinking maybe of Fanta?” Cass says, finally. She makes a weird shape with her fingers. “Odd bottle shape? Neon?”

“Yes!” exclaims Will, visibly relieved. “The orange coke! The good one!”

The cup quickly ripples and changes into a liquid the approximate colour of their shirts, only harder to look at. Will narrows his eyes, drags it over, dips his tongue into it, and then lights up, chugging it down with the zeal and zest Aphrodite kids do cranberry juice.

“One thing they got right up here,” he says happily, wiping the sticky moustache off his top lip. He, for the first time, looks a little less like there is a giant aching hole in the centre of him.

All at once, Lee remembers the one time his mother took him with her to one of her conferences, deep down in Arkansas. They stopped for Wendy’s on the drive. Lee requested Coke. The cashier asked ‘what kind’. Lee stared blankly at her for a total of at least seventeen solid seconds before replying ‘uh, the…Coke…kind?’ and received a large disappointing cup of Sprite.

“Oh my gods,” he says. He now knows, he feels, at least an approximation of the shock Phaethon felt that one time. “You’re Texan.”

None of his siblings share in the euphoria of this realization. This eureka moment, really. Least of all Will, who seems to be wondering if he can, perhaps, put in a request to be claimed by another god with smarter children.

“Lee,” says Cass gently, “have you gotten dumber?”

“No, no, he’s Texan,” Lee repeats. “They’re like. They say weird shit down there.” He gestures at Will, who is rapidly shifting from bewildered to offended. Lee would feel bad if it wasn’t a little bit funny. “Coke means pop. Fixin’ means intending. Might could — actually, I’m not sure what might could means, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.”

“It means might could!” Will cries. He throws his hands up in exasperation which would be better conveyed where his hands not still pudgy enough to have the little indents on the knuckles. Lee melts to the actual floor. “That’s like askin’ — askin’ what ‘the’ means! It means ‘the’!”

“Oh my gods,” breathes Diana, hand pressed to her mouth. “Oh my gods, he’s adorable.”

“What does ‘might could’ mean, he says! Nex’ thing I’mma hear’s gonna be some stupid Yank quest’n ‘bout y’all, I bet —”

There is a thump as Michael slides right off the bench. This time, Lee doesn’t even need to push him.

“Yank,” he wheezes, from the floor. There are real tears in his eyes. “You’re my favourite, kid, holy fuck —”

Will stomps his little foot. It’s so — tiny. Bite sized. The lights in the sole twinkle like crazy. He’s got Princess Leia on the heels.

Lee is going to melt into goo.

“Who authorized him to be this goddamn cute,” Lee whisper-yells. “Like, genuinely. Look at him.

“Believe me, I’m looking,” Cass says, smiling softly. She knocks their shoulders together, snorting as Will chokes on his own indignity, hollering something about and there’s no such thing as healthy brisket! how about that! til’ his freckly face glows.

“Oh, wait, shit, that’s real,” Lee says. “That’s — yo, he’s actually bioluminescing. Are you seeing this? I am seeing this.”

“Didn’t know that was something we could do,” Diana comments. She grabs her cup, empties it into Michael’s (making a truly — truly — rank concoction of milk and Mountain Dew, Lee physically recoils) and stares at it until it refills.

“Hey, Glowstick.”

Will freezes. The most affronted look Lee has ever seen on a child scrunches his squishy face. Cass coos. Michael starts cackling again.

“Who are you talking to,” Will demands, scowling.

Diana looks at him. She raises her eyebrows.

“You tell me, Johnny Storm.”

“That’s a — that’s a bad reference!”

“Just — here.” Diana slides over the cup before Will can get started again. “Here’s your coke, kid.”

Will squints at the cup for several seconds. Diana holds it out dutifully. Well, for a dutiful seven seconds before her arm gets tired, then she sets it down and moves her hand away.

“Mama says I’m not allowed two cokes in a row,” he says finally.

Lee glances over at Cass. She grimaces back.

Here we go.

Diana just blinks.

“What does your Mama say about throwing stones at people named Clarisse from the roof of the Big House?”

“She never mentioned.”

“Well, we’re allowed to do that here. The rules say you can have two cokes, too, if you want.”

Will screws up his face. He gnaws on his bottom lip. Lee holds his breath.

Finally, he takes the tiniest of little sips.

“I guess two cokes is kind of nice,” he says.

Lee smiles. He reaches over, paying close attention in case Will’s a biter — you never know at Camp Half-Blood — and ruffles the kid’s frizzy curls.

“Some good things about camp, huh?”

Will huffs. “It’s still not great.” He sets his cup down. His soda moustache sits at a firm handlebar. Cass muffles a snort in her hands. “But not bad for a bunch of Yanks.”

Lee decides that he will take that. A stubborn, sarcastic Will is better than a miserable one. They got time. They’ll get there.

Plus, when Michael takes a mindless sip of his Surprise Concoction and sprays it all over Diana’s face, hacking and cussing up a storm, Will even smiles.

Yeah. They might even get there soon.

[venus-vault]

The Wife Of A Close Friend

Daniel Cleaver × Fem!Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Part 3 - The Morning after the night before...

⚠️TW: Hangover, Raw P in V Penetration, Shower Sex, Light FemDom, Implied Mommy Kink, Manipulative Weird Man With Vague Corporate Job, General Smut.

I'm awoken from my dead sleep by a pounding headache. I don't even want to open my eyes for fear of the sun.

An... arm... is wrapped around me as well as a leg and it all comes rushing back.

Dinner. Daniel. Chardonnay. Champagne. A cozy yet incredibly stimulating sexual experience.

I suck in a deep breath, blinking back to life and wrestling my arms free just long enough to peel Daniel's t-shirt from between my legs. I fling it across the room at the hamper -miss- and flop back under the covers, where I am immediately re-enveloped in his warm, sleep-heavy limbs. The bed smells like my perfume, his cologne, our sex.

It all feels like a Chanel ad, and I let him just hold me for what seems like an eternity until-

"Mm? Hm. Oh. Hello, (y/n)..." He grumbles, arms tightening around me as he buries his face into the crook of my neck. 

"Morning. My head is full of lava and if I move too much, I will be sick, just giving a heads up."

"Warnings noted," he chuckles, pressing a light kiss into the top of my head and my hair hurts. "I won't disturb you much then. Stay here." He rolls out of bed, and my gaze trails his body as he pads out of the room, leaving me to my own devices.

Shutting my eyes tight, I pull the covers up over my head, taking in a deep breath.

Moments later I hear Daniel's footsteps re-enter the room, stopping at my side of the bed.

"Is it that bad or are you just being dramatic?"

"It is that bad. You said you wouldn't disturb me. So I'd like to die here in peace, please."

"What if I said I could cure you in minutes?"

"You'd be full of shit." I pull the covers off my head and squint in his direction.

Apparently his hair is just like that in the mornings, and he smiles down at me "So this is what you're like in the morning." 

I let my eyes travel to his hands, in which there is a small tray containing a Lucozade Sport, a plate of toast with jam, and two paracetamol. Once I've investigated these offerings, he sets the tray on the nightstand, kneeling beside the bed "You'll only feel better if you get fluids and carbohydrates up. Come on."

"You ruin my marriage, then take me to dinner. You get me hungover, then suddenly you've got exactly what I need to make it better. Daniel, are you planning these things or do they just happen?" I roll my eyes at him, snatching the Lucozade off the table and taking a cautious sip. It immediately relieves some of the dryness, pain and pressure in my head and I take another, and a third.

He scoffs "Well, they did just happen, actually. I genuinely was checking for the speakers that day. And then-"

"And then what?"

"And then, You. With your rolling, hate-hot eyes and your Prada mini dress, perfectly helpful demeanor... the way you just... relaxed into me, it was like you'd been waiting to finally just let your shoulders drop..."

"It was a mistake-"

"Was it a mistake the second time?"

"No, but-"

"Was it a mistake when you told me he'd never made you come? That it was just me, only me, that had made you feel the way you did?"

"No, it's just-"

"Just what? Wrong? Immoral? Aren't we a bit past that, (y/n)? You've done everything right. Your whole life. Had everything curated to such a T. You even married Mister Darcy."

"Daniel-"

"My point is, you can afford a little hedonism. Have a little fun for once. Be the right girl, try the wrong guy..."

"I assume you're referring to yourself?"

"I just don't see why you're so resistant to giving me a chance when every time we've been alone together you've had an objectively fantastic time."

"Maybe because I've heard every story about the way you've treated any woman you've bedded since uni?"

"Ah... Heh, yeah... I could see how that might give someone the wrong... impression... but I'm more than my reputation, (y/n), honest-"

"Daniel. I'm not resistant to giving you a chance. I'm opposed to the means by which you went about asking for one. Seducing me in the house I bought with my husband on Christmas Eve a year out from our wedding at which you were Best Man? Not saying anything to him at any point about your wants, your jealousy? Not saying anything to me in all these years? You have to realize how you look."

"Well when you lay it all out so... plainly... I suppose I must seem like a bit of a twat..." he winces.

"A bit?" I chuckle.

"Alright listen. If you'll allow me, I can prove to you this isn't just sex for me. I'm not that stupid little boy you met at university anymore. In fact, I'm about to be up for a promotion to Publishing Manager at Pemberly. An idiotic, terrible man-child incapable of earning your trust isn't given that degree of responsibility. Let me prove myself to you, (y/n). It's all I want. All I ask."

"Fine. But only because you're on your knees begging and if you don't shut up I will vomit."

He lets out a sigh of relief "(y/n), you will not regret this, you have my word." He stands, "Now then, I'm going to head out for a run. Anything you need from the kitchen, the medicine cabinet, the alternative medicine cabinet, it's yours. I'll be back in about an hour."

I flash him a thumbs up and in return he gives me a quick kiss before heading to the dresser to throw on a pair of running shorts and a track jacket before shuffling out of sight, out of mind.

I take my medicine and drink my electrolytes so before long I'm able to get out of bed without much trouble. Shuffling down the hallway, I finally arrive at the bathroom and much like every other room in this place it's too large for one man to occupy, with granite flooring. Heated granite flooring.

Turning on the shower and hoisting myself onto the countertop, I discard Daniel's shirt as I wait for the water to heat. I draw in a deep breath as the room fogs over with steam, feeling my pores open up as I step into the glass-walled shower and let the water run over my back. This is exactly what I needed and I feel my muscles melt under the mellow spray as I close my eyes and let my head tip back into the stream.

Today I need to move my furniture out of Mark's and into storage, the jewelry to my safety deposit at Brightlings, clothing to my suite at the Corinthia, and-

I'm gently shoved out of my thoughts and out of the flow of water by Daniel, whose run was apparently shorter than I'd anticipated.

"Wh-"

"It's awful outside (y/n), you wouldn't fucking believe it," he huffs, splashing water into his face and letting it run through his hair.

"I did happen to be showering just then, if you wouldn't mind-"

"Oh! Oh. I'm sorry, I heard the water running and thought it might be alright if I just popped in for a quick rinse, I-" he looks me over a moment and I scramble to cover myself.

"Daniel!"

"I'll be out in a minute and it'll be like I was never here, promise."

I stand in the slightly cooler steam, my back to him as I go about lathering soap- why do men insist on buying bar soap? -over my body in soft little circles, and attempt to pretend I have any semblance of privacy here.

"(y/n), do something for me?"

"What."

"Tip your head back a second?"

I do but only so I can see what the hell he's up to now, and his hands come to rest in my hair, lathering and working shampoo in with his fingers.

Against my better judgement I allow this to continue, stepping back and closing my eyes at the way he massages my scalp.

"Hmm, that's very nice actually, thank you..." I smile.

"Course. Figured you could use some tension relief..."

I could and his hands are magic as they work through my hair.

"Hold on, stay just like this, there we are-"

Warm water rinses the suds from my head and one of his hands finds my hip as he continues rinsing the soap from my body with the handheld shower head, guiding it over my neck, breasts, my stomach... He nips down my neck while guiding my legs apart just slightly with one hand, maneuvering the spray to hit my vulva at just the right angle. A soft moan escapes me at the way it feels, warm water running up and down my center, and he angles the spray onto my clit, moving it back and forth.

"Daaaniel?"

"Mm?"

He pulls me close and I have to wonder if I'll ever get used to the proportions of his cock as I feel it twitch against my ass. If I said I didn't want this I'd be lying but-

"Are... are we going to have sex... here?" I breathe, uncertain.

"That is a brilliant idea, (y/n)," he murmurs, lightly suckling at one earlobe as he continues working me with the showerhead. "Ever done it before?"

"N-no... I've always been too afraid of slipping so- aah, I-"

"That's what they make these little benches and shower wands for, you know."

"Is it?"

"Mhm. Here, I'll show you."

He places the shower head back onto its fixture and I watch him take a seat on the stone bench, leaning back against one wall, legs spread apart. He gestures for me to come closer, and I look him over as I do. His hair is damp, water beading off his features in thin rivulets, body toned and freshly excersised, he looks incredible. I'm transfixed as he takes my hand, pulling me closer.

I'm stood between his legs and his eyes afix to mine as he gives himself a few slow strokes, tongue flicking over his lower lip as he does.

"You are so perfect, (y/n), so fucking gorgeous..." he looks my body over, studying every freckle and dip carefully.

"Right. So just... hook each of your legs over mine, don't worry about falling, yeah? I've got ya, there you go... see?" He guides me into his lap, hands supporting my ass as the water hits my back, soothing.

"That's not so scary..." he keeps his eyes trained on mine as he aligns himself with my entrance, pulling me down onto his lap "Okay, just... good, that's good..." I wince at the initial stretch, impaling myself onto him til he's completely seated within me. He's easier to take now, comfortable... almost.

"Are you ready?"

I nod and that's all the confirmation he needs as he guides my hips up and down steadily and I gasp at the new sensation. Something about the water, the heat, the way he's holding me.

"Ohhh fuck me, that is nice..." he moans, voicing my thoughts.

Before long, I've gotten the hang of this and I'm bouncing on it without much effort, my forearms pressed into Daniel's shoulders for leverage.

"(y/n)..." he sighs, fingers digging into my thighs.

"(y/n), slow down some, yeah?" He sucks in a gasp through his teeth and I feel myself clench at the sound.

"Okay," I slow my pace slightly as a now familiar tension starts to wind up within me.

"God, (y/n)...feel so fucking good, ah-" he whines, and- wait a second. He whines? I study his face. He's flushed, panting, his body is taut and I feel him pulse once, twice inside me. He's close. An idea strikes me.

"Aww, you need something?" I inquire, condescending.

"Mhmm-" he nods frantically, lip caught between his teeth, brow knit, and I watch him try and fail to swallow a moan. This is going to be fun and I slow my hips to an agonizing pace, watching his reactions intently. I lean in, my lips just brushing his ear.

"Words, Daniel. Tell me exactly what you need. Can you do that?" He just nods. But nods aren't words and I lace my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, jerking his head back and eliciting a low, needy groan from him.

It's de ja vu in reverse, I'm the one in control and he's so pathetic right now. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I ramp up my pace a bit more and watch him helplessly attempt to buck into me from his position. That won't do. Gently wrapping my hand around his throat, "Stay still."

"Please," he whimpers, hoarse, and I get why he likes being the one in charge. It's actually very entertaining seeing him like this. I smirk down at him. Oh, this is rich. I see an opportunity, and take it.

"Please, what. Daniel?"

His eyes widen momentarily and he blushes a deeper shade of red as I start to ride him at a more regular pace.

"Please Mummy, I fucking need it, I need to come, let me please, I-" he murmurs into my neck.

"Say it again."

"Mummy, please," he moans, desperate and I am loving this.

"Good boy,"

I finally give him what he wants and within seconds I'm watching him unravel beneath me in a series of desperate whimpers, groans and barely coherent mumbles.

"Jesus fucking christ, (y/n)..." he puffs, exasperated.

"Was that good?"

"Was that good? That, was fucking incredible."

We stay there for a while, catching breath. After a couple minutes Daniel carefully lifts me off his lap and I slump onto the bench beside him, spent. My thighs are on fucking fire. I watch him shakily rise and shampoo, rinse, condition, rinse, lather, rinse, finally stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel and making a way towards the bedroom, legs still trembling from the height of his orgasm.

I manage to suppress a giggle as I watch him stumble out of the room, wrapping the towel around his hips lazily as he does.

Rinsing my own body thoroughly with the handheld showerhead, I step out a few minutes after him, turning off the taps and patting my body down with the remaining towel on the rack.

When I walk back into the bedroom, Daniel is already dressed in jeans and a polo.

"Plans for the day?" I find my dress on its hanger in the closet and slip it on, deciding not to bother with last night's underwear.

"None, for the most part. It is New Year's Eve though, so tonight myself, Patrick and Lee will be partying like it's 1999."

"It is 1999."

"Not for long. What're you getting up to before year's end then, (y/n)?"

"Well I have to move a shitload of stuff from Mark's to storage and to the bank and to the Corinthia-"

"The Corinthia? You'll kill your savings staying there,"

"Yeah, but I can't very well stick around Mark's, can I?"

He lets his eyes close, lips pursing into a simper, and I watch him exhale deeply through his nose before looking back up at me.

"Stay here."

"What?"

"Stay with me. It's a loft, I've definitely got enough space for all your skimpy little frocks and your shoes and sweaters. You could even take the guest room. I wouldn't mind, really. Just while you're between places, of course."

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

"Are you certain?"

"Entirely."

[densi-mber]

Team Bonding

A/N: A fic in which Sam attempts to corral the other unruly members of the team, with absolute terrible results.

***

“You know, when I suggested a team building trip, this is not what I had in mind,” Sam commented, standing over Deeks and Kensi, who were currently sunbathing on the deck side pool. The impressive “vacation house” Sam had scored for them creates a nice backdrop.

“Uh, Sam my man, you’re kind of creating a shadow,” Deeks replied without opening his eyes.

“This was an amazing idea,” Kensi added. “Thanks for suggesting it.” She smiled in his general direction.

Deeks still had his eyes closed, but he didn’t miss Sam’s annoyed sigh. “We’re supposed to be connecting.”

“Oh, we’ve been connecting,” Deeks assured him, the innuendo heavy in his voice as he trailed his fingers across Kensi’s shoulder. She actually giggled, wriggling closer to him.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Sam growled. Deciding he wasn’t going to get any more peace for the moment, Deeks finally sat up.

“And that connection is why I’m glad we all have separate suites,” Nell said, walking out from the house in a loose and flowing dress and sun hat; Eric wasn’t far behind.

Sam inhaled deeply, visibly working to control his temper. “Guys, this trip is supposed to be about bonding and self-reflection,” he reminded them.

“Oh, I’m definitely reflecting,” Callen promised from his lawn chair. He looked vaguely out of place in a garish Hawaii shirt (Deeks was 99% certain Callen had brought it solely to annoy Sam), jeans, and hat even wider than Nell’s. “I’m reflecting on how much I’m enjoying this latte and croissant. You know, normally I’m not a latte kind of guy, but this one is the exception.”

“I will hurt you,” Sam promised gravely, jabbing a finger at Callen. Turning to point that same finger at each of them in turn, he sent them a disappointed look. “Listen, this is a great opportunity to reveal our weaknesses, as individuals and a group. We can become a stronger, more united team. You really want to waste that opportunity?”

“Ok, ok,” Kensi sighed, tossing the book she’d been pretending to read to the side. “You’ve convinced us, Sam.”

“Yeah, if only to stop the lectures,” Deeks added.

***

“Oh yes, this is so much better than swimming, tanning, and eating our weight in gourmet pastries,” Deeks said under his breath. Actually, he hadn’t spoken that quietly, but Sam, who was several yards ahead of him, seemed to be pretending not to hear any criticism.

In true Sam nature, he’d instructed them all to dress for a hike, and meet him out front. He’d then wordless led them to a heavily wooded patch of ground near the house.

Despite her earlier protests, Kensi had predictably come prepared in full hiking gear, complete with provisions, and weapons. Eric and Nell had gone with a combination of clothes that seemed more appropriate for a scenic walk around the park than whatever Sam had planned. Once again, Deeks assumed this was their silent form of protest.

“I know. But let’s just get it over with so Sam gets it out of his system,” Kensi suggested, squeezing his hand. “Then we can spend some quality time together, baby.”

“Ooh, we’re dropping babys in public now.” Grinning, Deeks leaned down to kiss her.

“Hey, stop goofing around!” Sam shouted back at them, his voice traveling through the leafy foliage. “We’ve got a five mile hike, then team activities, before we set up camp for the night.”

“Uh Sam, I didn’t bring a sleeping bag. Or my pillow,” Eric called out, picking his way around a patch of poison ivy.

***

“‘We’ll be connecting,’ he said. ‘It’s a bonding experience.’,” Nell said, managing a fair comparison of Sam’s voice. She glared up from under her hood, raindrops soaking into the fabric.

It had started drizzling sometime around six, but Sam had insisted it would clear up. So, they’d pushed on, making it through another two miles before the drizzle increased to a steady downpour.

“I’m sorry, Nell. The forecast said nothing about rain,” Sam apologized, having the good grace to look contrite as he pounded a stake into the soggy ground. Kensi, Deeks, and Callen were each working on one of the three other sides while Eric and Nell made sure their “provisions” stayed dry.

“This is good for your character,” Sam continued. “We don’t want to get too soft.”

“Sam, I say this with full love, but shut up,” Deeks said pleasantly. “I think after our multiple unsanctioned treks through foreign countries in less-than-ideal circumstances has given us more than enough character. Some might even say too much.”

“Ok, before we say something we’ll all regret, how about we stop to eat?�� Kensi suggested.

“Kensi, we need to set up shelter before anything else.”

“That’s a good idea. What do we have, Nell?” Callen asked, ignoring Sam.

“Uh, granola bars, trail mix, beef jerky, pairs, water, and instant coffee,” Nell rattled off.

“And I may have snuck a few Twix bars into my pack,” Kensi added.

A few minutes later, everyone besides Sam had gathered on bits of damp log to enjoy their meager dinner. Once they’d broken into Kensi’s chocolate stash, the mood lifted considerably, even though they were all still soggy and chilly.

“God bless you, Kensi,” Eric said fervently around his candy bar.

“Now you better not tease me about my food habits anymore.” Kensi poked Deeks in the side, and he nodded agreeably.

“I won’t make fun of you for at least a month.” Looking past Kensi’s shoulder, he found Sam still stubbornly working at the tent. “Hey Sam, why don’t you join us?”

“Yeah, you’ll feel better if you eat something,” Callen coaxed him.

Making a disgusted sound, Sam tossed down a handful of stakes, and wiped his damp hands on his jeans.

“Fine. Give me a damn candy bar,” he grumbled, sitting next to Callen, and begrudgingly accepting a packet. He tore off the wrapper, taking a healthy bite. “Just so you know, I’m not taking any of you out on one of these ever again.”

“And for that, we thank you,” Deeks said happily.

[julianrchandlerx]

It felt often times like Julian Chandler had been lost at sea. Caught by a riptide and dragged out into the far depths, nothing but sky and water for miles and miles. A daunting metaphor for a boy who was scared of open water, but it often felt adequate for the complicatedness and insecure moments of adulthood. Jules had a tendency to get wrapped up in things — pursuits, relationships, emotions. He’d get so wrapped up in things, he’d often lose himself. And when he suddenly realized how far out the current took him, there was often only one thing to anchor him and bring him back to shore: Art. The grand dream. The thing he always aspired to and yet could never quite reach. In all his experiences when he reached a moment of struggle, this was the thing to center him. Aside from a beautiful redhead who he tried not to burden with his insecurities and fears, of course. Art was vital to his being, like his blood was actually made of watercolor and ink.

Figure drawing class was always a good place to start. Classes in general were good — like all skills, art needed to be worked on and practiced diligently, in order to keep cultivating and growing. Julian was a landscape artist, but he loved drawing people as much as he enjoyed a gorgeous nature scene. And so a figure drawing class was a great chance to break out the tools and get to work. Finding a spot in the circle of artists waiting on their model, he offered a bright smile to a vaguely familiar face who found herself next to him. Around town she was known as the Fae Queen, which Julian thought was kind of metal. Most of the titles were pretty cool — Alpha, but not in an “alpha male” incel way, was baller, Supreme made him hungry for pizza but was pretty sweet, but Queen? That was straight up royalty, and a great band, so he had some level of respect for her. And maybe needed to bite his tongue from making an is this the real life or is this just fantasy, or is the fae queen sitting next to me joke. Half because it was lame, and half because it maybe sounded flirty and he was a super taken guy. He’d have to pass it on to the next hopeless nut who wanted to get in with her majesty the Queen. And by impeccable timing, it seemed there was a nut with some interest.

Or two nuts.

When the model had revealed himself — like, literally — Julian fought his expression from twisting in reaction. Amusement? Fear? Shock? He wasn’t sure what he felt at the geriatric cowboy in nothing but a hat and boots choosing his spot at the center of the artists, the spurs on his boots clicking as he sauntered by the stool at the center… Only to lift one leg upon it, spreading himself out. And standing directly in front of Jules and Aiyla. Julian wanted to sink behind his sketchbook, but he was rather tall and broad, and couldn’t hide. Instead he just had to make eye contact with Saggy John Wayne and the one eyed snake. “That’s a really nice way to put it,” he whispered back to her words, pressing his pencil to the page to quickly draw the man before them. The faster he drew, the faster time would go by. And then he could go home, show Briar, and they could laugh about it. And—

“Say, little lady, you got a name? ‘Cuz I just think yer the purttiest thing I ever laid my eye’ on.” For a flash of a second, Julian came so close to saying his own name, not realizing that the comically fake accented voice was not being directed at him… but at the young woman beside him. Blinking, he turned his head to look over at Aiyla, who was being addressed by the old naked man before them. His jaw nearly dropped. Was this guy serious? Was he seriously about to do this? It was then Julian made another realization — Aiyla was the only girl there. And that’s why he was so spread eagle there in front of them. Jules didn’t know whether to feel horrible for her or to find the shameless nature of the man admirable. That’s when he noticed the guy cocking a brow at him. “This here big feller yer mister? He seems real jealous,” the man said with a wiggle of his hips to emphasize the last word. Jules did not hide his grossed out expression this time.

On the corner of his paper, Julian swiftly scribbled a note, tilting his sketchbook enough for Aiyla to see as he subtly turned towards her. Draw a check mark on the corner of your page if you want me to be the liar and say we’re dating. He didn’t know a whole ton about his fellow supernaturals but he’d learned things here and there, one of which being the fact that Faeries could not lie. She’d have to be so clever to get around things, but Julian could straight up lie if she needed him to. Mentally he apologized to Briar for the potential fake boyfriend scenario he was walking into, eyes shifting to her page to see if she would doodle in that check mark and give him the okay to step in and intervene.

“If he ain’t, I know where we can get a fine cup o’ joe after this. Show me how well you drew me and my assets,” the cowboy chuckled, hands on his hips as he leaned back a bit on his boots. They had to have a flirty shameless old guy model today, didn’t they?

Julian & Aiyla - figure drawing class @julianrchandlerx

Between the ebbs and flows of time, Aiyla had seldom had a moment to herself to do one of the hobbies she had collected over the years like pebbles of a person she could have been if she wasn't this. If life hadn't had other plans, pushed her towards another path that oftentimes felt predetermined for her despite her best efforts to deny fate; home was home, and in every life she had ever had, something pulled her here, like magic to leylines, moths to the moon or flames depending on how she looked at it; she was always destined to be here. Banshee Queen.

She had her rebellions, and she collected tokens of who she wanted to be: watercolor paints made from things around the house for the resourceful mountain woman version of her, winged specimens of ethically sourced insects she had collected as a girl, the first a butterfly she had hit by mistake with her tennis racket. Rather than leaving it out to be picked apart, she laid it in satin and carefully displayed it. A pebble belonging to the wealthy French girl she was, full of hope and curiosities. Her life was littered with hobbies like these, baking, because she once wanted to own a bakery. Aiyla dreamed of the smell of vanilla and café au lait, a dream she shared once with Defne. Before, she could no longer pretend that she was human. Before, the pull of this life demanded her physical form.

Sometimes, now, it felt like all she had were stolen moments for herself, woven into the fabric of responsibility. This day was one of her stolen moments, a clean piece of paper, the tools she would need at her fingertips, and a figure model, nearly as naked as the day he was born, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots, sauntering into the room of sketch artists looking to learn the human form. Stopping facing nearest herself and a man she had known in passing as Julian Chandler, the naked cowboy tipped his face to her in a grin as he set his leg up on the stool, leaving himself on full, unabashed display. Aiyla furrowed a brow, tilting her head towards Julian, cutting a curious glance his way before gripping her pencil, "It's a choice," she whispered low enough she knew only he would hear before dutifully setting to work, trying not to think too hard about the absurdity of what she was putting to paper; this was a token of the life she would have had if she were only an artists, nothing more.

[gainingfiction]

Thrifting

Summary: Ali works at a second-hand store. Evan is a regular customer who donates clothes as he outgrows them. As Evan’s size increases, so does the attraction between the two men.

~

S

Evan adjusted the waistband of his slim-fitting track pants as he approached the storefront, a garbage bag of old clothes clutched in his free hand. Like most of the clothes he was giving away, the track pants were extra-small, and they didn’t fit quite as well as they had a few months earlier. They were getting harder to pull over his butt, and the elastic was starting to leave an imprint around his waist when he stripped them off at the end of the day. When his friends asked him to go thrifting, he decided it was as good a time as any to size up to a small.

He followed his friends into the store. They were college classmates, all stylish girls with elaborate, glittering eye makeup, baggy jeans, and crop tops that showed off their toned midriffs. Evan liked to keep up with fashion, too, and generally took care of himself, at least in the skincare and haircare department. But since getting into his first long-term relationship, he may have let his diet and gym regime slide a little, hence the need for some new threads.

The store was quiet when they entered, the air smelling vaguely musty. The first thing Evan noticed was the cashier. He looked to be in his mid 20s, slightly older than Evan, and tall: about a head taller than Evan, who stood at 5’7”. He was dressed in a loose-fitting graphic tee featuring Blondie, a pair of oversized jeans, and some hightop sneakers from the 80s or 90s. He exhaled a cloud of vape smoke, tucking his Juul into his pocket at the sight of customers.

Evan was instantly smitten, stomach fluttering as he walked up to the counter. When he reached the cash register he noticed the guy’s name tag, identifying him as Ali, and the way his dark eyes seemed so calm and intelligent. He had black curls that fell around his face to about his chin, and a prominent but well-proportioned nose. He gave Evan an easygoing smile as he approached. He was thin, but with a wiry strength that made Evan acutely conscious of the way his stomach had started to brush oh-so-slightly against the front of his form-fitting shirt.

“I have some clothes to give away,” Evan said. “But I didn’t see a donation bin.”

“You can give them here,” Ali said. He accepted the heavy bag with one hand, bicep flexing, and set it behind the counter.

“There’s lots of good stuff there,” Evan said. “It just doesn’t fit great anymore. You know, relationship weight.” He flashed a sheepish grin in Ali’s direction. Why did I say that?

The cashier gave a knowing nod. “Well, thanks so much. Most of the proceeds go to the local animal shelter, so we really appreciate it.” Another easy smile, as the guy coursed a hand through his glossy hair, melting Evan’s heart.

He could have spent the whole day staring, but his friend, Cassie, approached, carrying a sweater. “Evan, check this out! It’s a Calvin Klein quarter-zip in great condition, you should give it a try.”

Evan turned and followed her to the mirror, watching from the corner of his eye as the handsome cashier turned to sift through Evan’s old clothes. He’d have to come shopping here again.

M

Ali pushed rice around his plate, keeping his eye on the time. He had work soon, which gave him a great excuse to ditch his family lunch.

“You coming to my graduation this weekend, bro?” Faisal asked. Ali’s brother was a 26-year-old health nut, who wore a buzzcut and a rotation of tight-fitting v-necks to flatter his gym-trained figure. He’d just finished med school.

“Of course he will be there,” their father answered, before Ali could respond. He was a commanding presence, with a broad belly and a bushy moustache. He kept his thinning gray curls cut short, a relic of army life.

“Not like he’ll have one of his own,” Shadia said, smirking.

Ali rolled his eyes. His little sister had just started work as an engineer, and she loved to look down on Ali’s education, job, apartment, and fashion sense. And since he came out to her, she also made fun of his taste in men, dubbing them “doughy white guys.”

“Be nice,” their mother said. She was laid back, with an average build and culinary skills Ali could only dream of. Before immigrating, she was also an engineer, but now she helped run the family restaurant. “Speaking of nice, I told Noor you will take her daughter out for dinner this weekend. She is a very sweet girl, I know you will like her.”

Ali felt a lump in his throat. The pressure to start a family had been ramping up since he turned 25, and he knew he couldn’t hold his family off forever. Shadia looked at him with concern.

“Sounds great,” he managed.

Then, he said his goodbyes and left for work, eager for some mindless tasks that could distract him from his pushy relations. In the parking lot outside the store, he slipped on his favourite choker and undid his button-down shirt, revealing a loose tank top underneath. He flipped his septum piercing out of his nostrils. Feeling more like himself, Ali walked in, tying a patterned fleece around his waist as he went.

It was boring for a while, but things got a little more interesting a few hours into his shift, when a familiar figure entered. It was the guy from a few months ago, who had come in with his friends. Ali recognized the way his chestnut hair flopped in front of his forehead, and remembered how he’d talked about relationship weight, flashing Ali a shy grin with dazzlingly white teeth. Evan, was it? Ali was pretty sure he’d heard one of the girls call him that.

He entered with an equally handsome and very well-built young man. It had been a few months since his last visit, and Evan’s shirt looked even tighter today than Ali remembered, framing not just his slight belly but a pair of small love handles that poked over the waistband of his pants, forming a little muffin top. Looser clothes might have hidden his pudge completely, but his form-fitting apparel put his extra 20 or so pounds on display.

The two men approached the counter, with the brawny one carrying a bag.

“Another donation?” Ali asked, with a smile.

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Outgrew some more clothes.”

The hunky boyfriend rolled his eyes, slightly. “Are you totally sure you want to give these away? You’ll probably fit back into them soon,” he said.

Evan bit his lip, looking embarrassed. “I don’t know, I can always buy new ones,” he said. He didn’t sound too confident.

Ali accepted the bag, thanked the men, and left them to their shopping. As they walked away, Ali noted the way Evan’s perky bubble butt packed his black denim pants, the curves of each cheek hugged by the taut fabric. He sighed and opened the bag for sorting. Evan’s last donation had been full of extra-small clothes, but this bag was full of smalls and a few mediums, with jeans that went up to 33”. It was all in great condition, and medium was Ali’s size… he’d definitely be buying some of these for himself.

As he separated different types of clothing, Ali watched the two men with silent jealousy. He wondered if Evan would lose weight, as his boyfriend predicted, secretly hoping that he wouldn’t.

L

The bell in the doorway trilled as Evan entered the thrift store. Standing next to Hannah and Cassie, he felt particularly fat, aware of the way his medium shirt cradled his soft belly and love handles, which muffin topped over the waistband of his too-small shorts. In just three months, he had definitively outgrown all of his medium-sized clothes. And when his chubby backside popped the seam at the seat of his pants during work one day, Evan knew he couldn’t keep putting it off: he was overdue for an upgrade.

His breakup with Jeff had been hard. It was the sort of breakup that made Evan lock himself in his room and eat four thousand calories of rocky road ice cream in a single sitting. Jeff had always been shallow, but dumping Evan over an extra 40 pounds was a particularly heavy blow to his self-confidence. And rather than inspire him to get back in shape, it just inspired him to wallow in self-pity, turning his 40-pound weight gain into a 55-pound weight gain. Evan now weighed 197 pounds, by far the heaviest he’d ever been. He wasn’t proud to be a size large, didn’t like that his pants were at least six inches larger than his former waist size, but he couldn’t live in denial forever. Especially when his added poundage was pushing his clothes beyond their breaking point.

He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness when he saw Ali at the cash register. He looked totally gorgeous in a slim-fitting bowling shirt, and he now sported a short, well-styled beard. Evan was secretly hoping his favourite cashier would be working, since it would give him a chance to ask Ali out.

Evan approached the checkout, toting his bag of undersized clothes. His palms were clammy as he stood in front of Ali, heart pounding.

“More donations?” Ali asked. His voice was so soft and smooth that Evan felt a little more at ease.

“You know me,” Evan said. He didn’t need to explain it anymore; the evidence was written across his widening torso and burgeoning hips.

“Well, thanks so much,” Ali said, taking the bag in his strong arms.

Evan hesitated. Now was his chance. “Hey, I was just wondering if… would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

The way Ali’s face dropped made Evan feel self-conscious, like his impossible request had embarrassed a guy who was way out of his league. “I’m, uh, engaged, actually,” Ali said. His tone was bland, without a trace of excitement in his voice. If anything, he sounded disappointed.

Evan kept a smile on his face, to mask his own disappointment. “Oh wow, congratulations! When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t set a date yet,” Ali said, without hesitating. “Fatima wants a spring wedding, I think.”

“Huh,” Evan said. He was surprised to hear that Ali was engaged to a woman, but he did his best to hide it. His gaydar was usually spot-on; maybe this guy was bi? “Well, I’m sure it’ll be lovely. I bet you’ll make her very happy.”

Ali smiled weakly. “Thanks. Oh, by the way, I don’t know if you like kebab or shawarma, but my family has a restaurant downtown. I do shifts there sometimes, so you might see me around, if you’re ever out for a bite.” Ali gave him the address.

“Middle Eastern food is my favourite,” Evan grinned. He made a mental note to check it out, and not just for the food.

Donation complete, Evan returned to the racks of clothes. The rejection stung, but at least Ali hadn’t shut him out entirely. The invitation to his family’s restaurant was far from a date, but it gave Evan hope that they could at least be friends. 

He was distracted from his fantasies by Hannah, seeking an opinion on a slightly hideous knit beret. As he checked it out, Evan noticed Ali staring in his direction, a wistful look on his face.

XL

Ali stared across the bar, wanting to go home and sleep. He’d met his sister at a small pub near the thrift store, to give her some clothes he thought she’d like. Shadia didn’t drink, but Ali nursed a vodka tonic, feeling miserable. All his work was running him into the ground, but at least it gave him a reason to neglect his personal life. Other than going to the gym, he didn’t do much besides work and sleep.

“You look exhausted,” Shadia said. She had a real knack for mixing judgment with concern.

“Thanks,” Ali said, frowning. “The store was busy today. Lots of back to school shoppers, and people giving away summer clothes.”

He didn’t mention the worst part of his day, when Evan came in with yet another donation, looking more overfed and adorable than ever. Ever since the growing young man had asked him out, he’d been all Ali could think about. His cute, round face, the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled… he was so damn cute, and Ali had turned him down.

After Evan left, Ali had sifted through his donations. They were mostly size L, with plenty of stretched-out elastic waistbands. When Ali noticed a pair of tiny pink swim shorts, he imagined Evan wearing them at the beach, frolicking in the sun and sand with his beautiful chub on full display. The fact that he was giving them away suggested that they had gotten too small for public viewing. Ali had shoved the bag aside, trying to rid his mind of thoughts of those swim shorts, skin-tight against Evan’s round bottom, seams fighting against his chubby thighs.

But as much as he wanted to get Evan out of his head, the universe seemed to have different plans. Ali nearly choked on his drink when he saw Evan walk into the bar with a tall, slender guy. Evan’s companion seemed about Ali’s age, with an unremarkable face and thin brown hair. He was dressed in khakis and a dress shirt, which fit him far better than the fashion-forward corduroy shorts and tight patterned shirt swaddling Evan’s hips and gut.

Ali tried to hide his face, but Evan noticed him immediately, and pulled his boyfriend in Ali’s direction. Shadia seemed generally oblivious, sipping cranberry juice and staring at her phone.

“Hey! Funny seeing you here,” Evan said, standing by their table. His perfect smile was like a sledgehammer to Ali’s chest. He turned to the man he was with, adding: “This is the guy from the thrift store I was telling you about.”

That sentence made Ali pause. Were you telling him about the guy, or the store? he wanted to ask. “Hey,” he said instead, managing a weak smile of his own. He extended a hand to the guy Evan was with. “Is this your boyfriend? I’m Ali, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I’m not—uh, we’re not—” the guy fumbled for words, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around the bar as he shook Ali’s hand. His palm was sweaty. “Xander.”

Evan seemed embarrassed by his response. “Xander TA’d one of my electives last term. Intro to Classics,” he said. He turned to Shadia, whose interest had been pulled from her phone, and extended his hand to her. “I’m Evan.”

Shadia shook it. “I’m Ali’s sister. Shadia, nice to meet you.” She shook Xander’s hand, too.

“I just have to say, you have, like, the best eye makeup I’ve seen in a while,” Evan said. Shadia beamed, lapping up the praise, as Evan turned back to Ali. “Well, it was nice running into you. Now you know I go to places other than your family’s restaurant.”

Ali chuckled, tucking a lock of curly hair behind his ear. “Good seeing you, too.”

And with that, Evan and Xander turned and walked away, heading towards a table at the other end of the bar. Ali watched Evan’s chubby hips sway as he walked, admiring the way his plump lower half jiggled in his skintight shorts.

“You like him!” Shadia whispered once they were out of earshot, a massive grin crossing her face. “You have a crush on him!”

“Shut up, I do not,” Ali lied, crossing his arms.

“You are such a liar,” Shadia said, still grinning. “It’s so obvious, you were practically drooling. I wish I could get a guy to look at me like that.”

Ali shook his head, “Okay, fine, maybe I do. But I obviously can’t do anything about it when I’m supposed to be planning my wedding.”

Shadia rolled her eyes. “Tell me you aren’t seriously considering going through with this marriage,” Shadia said. “You can’t marry this poor girl just to make Mom and Dad happy.”

Ali sighed, knowing his sister was right. They’d been engaged for six months and were still no closer to setting a date, much less starting any preparations, and he knew Fatima and her family were starting to get impatient.

He motioned to the bartender for another drink. Even if he wanted to make a move, it didn’t matter now. Ali had waited too long, and Evan was off the market.

XXL

Evan was starving. He fucking hated dieting, but he’d been putting on so much weight that Xander was starting to get on his case about eating better. Sure, he was up to a 2XL, but Evan reassured himself that it was only temporary as he walked into Eastern Flavours, mouth watering at the smell of seasoned meat and fry oil. He wasn’t even going to donate his XL stuff, since he’d be back into them in no time. Probably even smaller.

Evan grinned when he saw Ali at the cash register, somehow managing to make a polo shirt and chinos look sexy and cute at the same time. He always dressed so differently at the thrift store; it was funny to see how conservative and straight-laced he looked as a server, with his mop of curls tucked under a baseball cap.

“Hey, Evan,” Ali said. “The usual? Number 4 combo with chicken, fries, and a fountain drink?”

Evan was a little embarrassed by the fact that he had a usual order. But he was a regular customer, even if his recent attempt at weight loss had seen him cut back his visits. He’d been good all week, though, and he felt like he’d earned a reward. “Sounds perfect,” he said.

Ali rang him up, and a few moments later he arrived at Evan’s table with a basket of food that looked as incredible as it smelled. “I threw in some extra pita bread and fries,” Ali said. “Consider it part of our loyalty program.”

Evan beamed at him, although he felt a little guilty about overdoing it. Xander thought he was going for a smoothie, not a family-sized Mediterranean feast. Still, if he destroyed the evidence, no one would ever need to know….

As he ate, Evan watched Ali wipe down tables, discreetly ogling his tight little ass. But it wasn’t just the food or the scenery that Evan liked about this place. It had warmth. He appreciated seeing Ali’s parents in the kitchen, conversing as they cooked up incredible meals. Sometimes Ali’s brother came by, too. They seemed like such a nice family; Evan thought about the time he met Ali’s sister at the bar. He struggled to imagine a night out with his own sister. His family just wasn’t that close.

After his lunch was finished, Evan headed out, bundling up against the cold winter air. There used to be a time when winter clothes would disguise any body fat, but now they just made him look bigger. When he got back to his apartment, Xander was marking papers on the couch. “How was lunch?” he asked.

“Fine. Sure do love those smoothies,” he lied, as he made his way to the bathroom.

“You have hummus in your beard,” Xander called after him.

Evan was blushing as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, knowing he’d been caught red-handed. He sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror. He kept his beard short, barely longer than stubble, but it was long enough to betray his lunchtime indulgence.

He’d grown out his facial hair to try to mask how round his face was becoming. Bye bye, jawline, he thought, noticing his developing double chin and chubby cheeks. He turned on the shower and started pulling off his clothes. His chunky belly flopped out as he removed his shirt, taking a few seconds to stop jiggling. He dragged his fingers along the underside, trailing them over his love handles. He had so many stretch marks now, little red lines that gave away just how much he’d blown up, and how quickly the weight kept piling on. He lifted his belly with both hands, noticing the way it bulged through his fingers. He had more than a couple of handfuls of fat to grip; it was a full-blown gut. And a heavy one, at that.

He peeled off his pants and stood nearly naked, letting it all hang out. Looking at himself in just his underwear, he knew he wasn’t just chubby anymore; he had broken through into fat guy territory. He spun around and looked at himself side-on, at how far his gut hung out in front of him, and how far his butt stuck out behind him, and then turned and looked over his shoulder at his backside. He had to admit, 2XL undies fit him much better. He was a little pear-shaped, and he was no longer able to fit his ass into XL briefs. He could get them up, but they were too tight, constraining his package and leaving a wedge of crack exposed. He slid out of his underwear, watching the way his butt wobbled as he freed it from containment. His wide lower back dimpled above it.

He studied the prominent shelf of ass fat, the way his love handles looked even beefier from the back. He was carrying so much weight back there. He didn’t just look fat. He looked obese.

He frowned. He knew he was supposed to be trying to lose weight, but he honestly liked getting bigger. Feeling the pounds piling up on his body was hot. As he ran a hand along the curve of his blown-up butt, he felt himself starting to get hard.

Fuck it, he thought. No more stupid diets. I’m gonna eat what I want.

When he pulled on his sweats after the shower, he started going through his closet for XL clothes to give away.

3XL

The restaurant was bustling with customers, mostly college students looking for a snack after a night of hard drinking. They always did well on weekends, thanks to that demographic. Ali zoned out as he rang up orders and handed over foil-covered wraps to beefy frat guys and their glassy-eyed girlfriends.

Breaking up with Fatima had been the right thing to do. His family wasn’t thrilled, but it wasn’t fair to keep stringing her along. And she’d landed on her feet, anyway: just a few months after the breakup, she and Faisal announced their engagement. Shadia attributed it to the power of maternal scheming, but Ali wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was a far better match. Faisal had an MD after his name and a well-documented attraction to women, neither of which Ali could offer.

But being single had left him with plenty of time to reflect on his own life. He was lonely. Whenever he worked at the thrift store, he kept waiting for Evan to walk in with another bag of tight clothes and that perfect smile on his round face. But he never did.

Ali still saw him, though, and he was clearly still going through clothes like a mall on Black Friday: it seemed like every time Evan came by the restaurant to stuff his face with mind-boggling quantities of food, he looked bigger and fatter than he had the time before. Ali knew it was stupid, but a small part of him hoped that Evan was coming to see him. Ali wanted to flirt with him, to smile back and tell him how cute he was, but he always felt like a kid when he worked the cash register, caught by the watchful gaze of his parents.

And anyway, it just wasn’t in the stars. Evan had someone else.

At that moment, as if on cue, Evan appeared in the doorway. His svelte friends were completely dwarfed by him; he looked massively overnourished in a tank top and a pair of jeans. Ali wondered if they were supposed to be that form-fitting, or if they were just struggling against Evan’s juicy legs and generous, baby-making hips.

They were part of the bar crowd; the girls were dressed for a night out, with slinky dresses and high heels, and it was obvious from the volume of their conversation that they were drunk. Ali smiled as they reached the front of the line and he got a good look at Evan. He looked even bigger up close, his beefy breasts cleaving against the front of his tank top, which had started to slip up his gut to reveal a few stretch marks. That gut now hung out well in front of him, hiding his waistband from view. His arms looked huge, too—and not from muscle.

“Hey!” Evan said, flashing a drunken smile. “I’ll get a number three combo with fries, a shawarma wrap, a kebab, and an extra order of fries, large.”

“The ‘Fuck Xander Special’,” one of the girls said. They all laughed, even though Evan looked a little sheepish.

“You guys broke up?” Ali said. He didn’t want to pry, but that comment had sent his curiosity through the roof.

“Yup, Xander dumped me,” Evan said. He looked bashful, but there was something else in his expression. Was it… pride? “Pretty much said I was too fat for him.”

“What an asshole,” Ali said, meaning every word. “Well, this one’s on me.”

Evan beamed, a smile that was worth every penny. “Oh, and you guys wanted fries too?”

Ali hadn’t realized all that food was for Evan, but he tried not to let his surprise show as he added fries to the order.

He watched Evan laughing with his friends as they waited for their order. So Evan was single again… And now he was single, too… Ali handed Evan his order, and the young chub headed to the exit.

Ali’s mind was reeling, and he knew he was going to do something really stupid as he leaned into the door of the kitchen.

“Mama, can you watch the register for a minute?” Ali said.

“Your father needs me here, I—”

“Thanks! I’ll be right back!” Ali said. And then he raced through the front door and into the summer night.

Evan and his friends were halfway down the block, and they all turned when Ali called his name.

He felt a little awkward at the audience, but he pressed ahead, jogging over to Evan, who was already tearing into his first wrap. He looked particularly immense from behind, and Ali drank in his curves as he turned around. “I—I wanted to catch you before you left,” Ali said. He swallowed.

Evan looked a little confused. His friends were whispering to each other. “What’s up?” he asked. He gave a mischievous grin, maybe to defuse the awkwardness. “Did you decide to charge me after all?”

“I just wanted to say that… you’re a catch. And Xander didn’t deserve you. And that he should have treated you like the prize you are.” Ali cringed at the word vomit that was spilling out of him; he had waited so long to ask Evan out, and now he was making a complete ass of himself in front of Evan’s friends.

Evan looked around, seeming a little embarrassed. “Ali, you don’t have to say—”

Ali cut him off. He knew he was destroying the suave image he had spent so long cultivating, but he couldn’t let Evan get away again, even if that meant spilling his guts like a teenager with a schoolyard crush. “I know. I just—I really like you, Evan. I’ve liked you from the first time I saw you. And I know I’m being super weird right now, and you probably just want to walk away and never see me again, but…”

Evan laid a hand on Ali’s bony side, and Ali felt himself run out of words as Evan leaned towards him. And then Ali was leaning in, too, and he could smell the liquor and tahini on Evan’s breath, and see the city lights in his eyes, and feel Evan’s bulk, warm and vast, pressing against him, enveloping him. Their lips met.

Ali could barely hear the sound of Evan’s friends hooting in the background—his heart was racing, and he broke into a grin with Evan’s lips still pressed against his own. He felt like the luckiest man on Earth.

4XL

Evan managed to finish his ice cream cone by the time they reached the front door of the thrift store. Ali was carrying two large garbage bags, full of the 2- and 3XL clothes that Evan had outgrown.

He started sifting through the racks as Ali dropped off the donation, but he knew it would be slim pickings—well, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words, but it would be next to impossible to find anything that fit him. Trying to find anything stylish in a 4XL was a huge pain in Evan’s huge ass.

But they weren’t just here for him. Ali was looking for maternity clothes for his sister-in-law—who also happened to be his ex-fiancée, but Evan didn’t judge. If anything, he related to Fatima more than ever. Pregnancy struggles sounded pretty familiar—round belly, swollen feet, nothing to wear, constantly sweaty… Welcome to my life, girl, Evan thought. At least her pregnancy would end when she had the baby; for Evan, feeling heavy and cumbersome, with a big belly and sensitive nipples, was a part of life. A very enjoyable part of life, for the most part. But he did wish that people would give him their seat on the bus. Ideally more than one seat.

And he wasn’t the only one who had put on some weight: Ali’s brother Faisal had clearly packed on a few pounds of sympathy weight, his tight shirts looking tighter than ever around his belly. A family of dishes, Evan thought, as he considered the two beautiful brothers.

Evan hadn’t been there when Ali came out to his parents, but apparently it went fine. Ali’s siblings dutifully backed him up, and Ali’s mother—the mastermind behind all that delicious food that had fuelled Evan’s transformation from cub to chub—made it clear that she would always stand by her son. Even Ali’s father was coming around; he was very interested to hear about Evan’s time as a high school soccer player (football, as he called it) and delighted to learn that they cheered for the same leagues. It may not have been what either of Ali’s parents expected, but no one could deny how much happier Ali seemed these days.

Evan was happy, too. Ali didn’t just tolerate his weight gain, he actively encouraged it, ordering for Evan at restaurants, loading up shopping carts with his favourite snacks, and constantly pushing him to exceed his limits. It was no surprise that his weight had soared far beyond 300 pounds, considering how thoroughly his boyfriend pampered him. He hadn’t just doubled his weight, he’d doubled it and kept on growing. It had been a while since he weighed himself, but considering the fact that 3XL clothes were starting to get constricting, he guessed that 350 pounds could be an underestimate. Was he proud to be two and a half times the weight he’d been when he started college? Fuck yeah he was.

Both men alternated between dominant and submissive. Sometimes, Ali would bring out an enormous plate of food, forcefully stuffing Evan’s face, ordering him to keep eating until he licked the plate clean and leaned back, stomach stretched to its limits and so bloated that it was firm beneath his thick layer of pudge. Other times, Evan bossed him around, ordering him to serve up plate after heavily-laden plate; Ali would be forbidden from touching himself until Evan had eaten every last bite, no matter how hard his erection cried out for attention. Evan enjoyed stretching out those meals, savouring every bite as Ali watched, rapt, practically aching with pleasure but powerless to relieve the tension. Evan would moan and groan as he filled his gigantic belly, while his naked boyfriend squirmed, desperate for release. Food and sex were so comingled in Evan’s mind that overeating made him horny, and sex invariably left him craving something sweet.

“This would look cute on you,” Ali said, snapping Evan away from his lustful daydream. Ali was holding up a narrow tank-top with pink and white horizontal stripes. Not only was it at least four sizes too small, that pattern would be sure to accentuate his astonishing girth. There was a time when that shirt would have been too big for him, but those days were long gone.

“That would be, like, a crop top on me,” Evan said. It might contain his moobs, but there was no way it would cover more than a few inches of his incredibly fat belly. Even a well-fitting shirt would be tested by his gut; it projected so far outwards that his underbelly would always be exposed, unless he tucked it in. “But sure, toss it in the cart.”

It was cheap, anyway, and growing his tits so fat that even they couldn’t fit into that shirt could be his next goal. A target to work towards. Plus, Ali went absolutely wild at the sight of Evan in undersized clothing. That’s why they made sure not to give all of his old stuff away.

“I was thinking we could go to the beach later,” Ali said, as he browsed the racks. “So I can slather you with sunscreen and show you off.”

Evan chuckled. “If you can find a pair of swim trunks or board shorts that can actually cover my ass, I’m in.”

Ali peered at Evan’s huge backside, biting his lip. “Well, maybe we could let it hang out just a little….”

5XL

Ali adjusted his tie as he surveyed the latest Eastern Flavours location. Business was good: things were running like a well-oiled machine, and the customers were happy. If this kept up, they might even be able to open a fourth location next year, in the next town over.

And the family business wasn’t the only thing expanding. Evan was blowing up like a balloon from the absurd quantities of food that Ali was pumping into him.

On that note, Ali piled up a plate with fries and headed to the office upstairs. Cool air hit him as soon as he walked in; Evan kept the air conditioner on bust to keep his generously-padded frame from completely overheating.

He was seated in a reinforced gaming chair, his mountainous bulk bearing down on it, taking up every free inch. His ample hips and voluminous love handles pressed into the sides; that chair had a 500 pound weight limit, but Ali was confident he could push Evan past its breaking point.

“Hey, cutie,” Ali said, as he approached his fiancé with yet another mountainous portion of food. “Thought you could use an afternoon snack.”

“You know I ate lunch an hour ago,” Evan said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know,” Ali said. “What took me so long?”

Evan laughed as he helped himself to a heaping handful of fries. Paperwork spread out on the desk in front of him, and his dual monitors were full of spreadsheets and supply orders. He moaned as he ate, trailing a meaty hand across his boundless gut. “I was looking at tuxes for the wedding this morning,” he said, through a mouthful of fries. “Not exactly a lot of choice out there for a guy my size.”

They had decided to elope; neither of them wanted the drama of a big wedding, but a tropical vacation—with Evan lounging naked on the beach, sipping daiquiris—sounded like heaven. Still, they did want to bring along some formalwear, at least for the photos. If only to prove that Evan had once been able to fit himself into a 5X dress shirt.

Ali rubbed Evan’s shoulders; even those were encased in soft fat that gave way beneath his fingers. “Well, how’s business?” he asked. “Maybe we could go for something bespoke. You know, really freak out the tailor who has to take your measurements.”

“He’d be freaked out until he swiped our card,” Evan said. “Then we’d be his favourite customers. Business is good, by the way. Really good.”

Ali beamed. He’d finally made his parents proud: they could now say that he was an entrepreneur, growing the family business into a successful franchise with three locations across the city. And he couldn’t have done it without Evan, whose business degree was turning out to be a very valuable asset.

Ali bent down and kissed Evan’s chubby cheek; he turned and planted a kiss on Ali’s lips. 

“Oh, by the way, Fatima was asking if you have any old 2XL clothes. Apparently Faisal needs to size up again,” Ali said.

Evan arched an eyebrow. “Maybe you and Fatima have more in common than you thought,” he said. “There’s no way that’s just sympathy weight.”

Evan was right: Ali’s nephew was about to have his first birthday, and Faisal was looking even fatter than he had when his son was born. Ali considered the thought; the idea of Fatima deliberately fattening up his ex-jock brother was pretty funny, in his opinion, given how obsessed Faisal had been with “making gains” at the gym, and all the vanity behind his thirst trap Instagram photos. Now all his gains were made at the buffet table, steadily enlarging his gut.

“Good point,” Ali said. “Pretty soon he’s gonna make my dad look skinny.”

“I’ll have a look in my closet, but you know I never keep clothes for long. I might have a few things for him, though,” Evan said. He grabbed another handful of fries, washing it down with a swig of soda from the two-litre bottle on his desk. The watch Ali had proposed to him with looked tight around his chubby wrist, cutting into the fat between his plump forearm and his porky hand; they would need to get a few links added to it soon.

“I should probably get back to managing things downstairs and leave you to do the real work,” Ali said. 

“Bringing me fries is real work,” Evan said. He slipped a hand under his monster gut and gave it a shake, sending ripples across his epic torso. “This thing is—uuuurp—a full-time job.” Evan flushed; all that jiggling had coaxed out an impressive burp.

Seeing the way Evan’s fat belly wobbled and quivered made Ali realize just how tight his t-shirt had gotten. It was probably time to drop off some more clothes at the thrift store where Ali used to work. He nudged the plate of fries closer to Evan, smiling at the thought. “Well, I should get on that.”

Evan grinned at him. That perfect smile still made Ali’s stomach flutter. “Oh, you should definitely get on that.”

The thought of climbing all over Evan’s blubber-bound body got Ali’s heart racing. He really couldn’t wait to get on that.

[lemonylioness]

Possessive Itachi x reader age gap?!?

So I'm not sure how much of an age gap is feasible since Itachi is on the younger side in canon and my reader is never a minor as we are all consenting adults here. I also tend to be on the vague side on how old exactly the reader is to have it be as flexible and immersive as possible so I'm going to write this and see if I get it to come across a little younger on the reader's side, however keep in mind that they are still of consenting age and not a minor. Not that this one ended being up spicy, but I thought this would be good to say just in general. Please let me know if you'd like a part two since this one stayed SFW!

Content Warnings: Not much this time around, just a guy being creepy to a reader who can't get away and some general PG violence.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” You asked the person in front of you who you had been helping for the last fifteen minutes, beaming with your best customer service smile. They waved you away with a small smile of their own and a quiet thank you, letting you get back to your work.

You had barely turned around to head off when a man stepped up to you, “I could use some help, sweetheart.”

The smile froze on your face, “Sure… What can I help you with today?” He didn’t seem to notice how much you had tensed, instead he was encouraged by your job-required niceness as he leaned back against the aisle shelving with his arm propped up on a shelf as he posed and preened while you watched uncomfortably.

“Well, I can’t seem to find the aisle where I would get a date with a pretty girl, think you can point me in the right direction?” He smirked as he waited for your reaction.

“Dates are in the produce aisle and we don’t sell pretty girls here, sir, unless you’d like to check the toy section for a Barbie,” you deadpanned, your smile still glued in place. You got to watch the rare treat of a creep’s brain short-circuiting from your unexpected response. His face went from shock to understanding to anger in 2.6 seconds as he realized his pick up line had not worked.

“Uh, thanks, but, um, I- uh,” he tripped over his own tongue as he reigned in his frustration and tried again, “How about movies? There’s this great one playing tonight and I hate going alone…”

Finally, your smile dropped as you opened your mouth to reject him yet again when you were stopped by a familiar arm wrapping around your waist, the slender but strong hand tipped with neat black painted nails coming to rest on your middle as warmth pressed against your back. “Is this man bothering you, my dear,” Itachi’s cool, deep voice sent a shiver down your spine as you quickly shook your head.

“No, he was just asking where something was in the store and answered him, we were already done with our conversation,” you tilted your head up to catch Itachi’s eye, but all of his attention was on the now angry looking man. And even though you had tried to give him another out, the creep continued to dig his own grave.

“Hey! Find your own girl, man! This one is mine!” He took a step forward trying to be intimidating.

Itachi didn't even react to the man as his other hand came up to push some of your hair back behind your ear so he could see more of your face as he asked, "Is your shift over? Are you ready to go home?" Before you had time to answer, the creep, red in the face and mad that he was being ignored, lunged forward to grab you, his fingers just grazing your sleeve. Suddenly, you were pushed to the side, out of his reach, and he dropped to his knees with a shout of pain, Itachi's pale hand twisting his arm and wrist into a position that threatened to pull the whole limb from its socket. Itachi's quiet and scary voice cut through the man's pained whimpers, "Unless you'd prefer I break your arm, I suggest you leave my girlfriend alone and never bother her again. I won't be so nice next time."

He then released the creep's arm, letting him scramble away at top speed as Itachi watched with dark eyes and his back to you. Sighing softly, relieved that the whole ordeal was now over with none the worse for wear, you reached out and closed your fingers around the bottom hem of his shirt, gently tugging to get his attention, "Thank you, Itachi... He wouldn't leave me alone."

"You're welcome, my dear," he turned to look at you, catching your outstretched hand in his own, "Let's get you home, I have a little lesson to teach you."

"Oh? Like self defense?" You looked up him in confusion as he smiled unexpectedly.

"No, you seem to need a little reminder of who you belong to. Don't think I didn't notice you trying to give him an out, not once but twice. I won't have you protecting other men, especially creeps that don't deserve it," his fingers tightened around yours, starting to tug you out of the aisle to leave as you swallowed hard, a small shiver of anticipation rolling down your spine as you followed him out of the store.

[joaquinwhorres]

gazes (joaquín torres x reader)

SUMMARY ››››› It's become increasingly apparent to Sam and Bucky that you and Joaquin cannot take your eyes off each other. Unfortunately for them, you two have decided to be Professionals and that means keeping your eyes, hands, and lips to yourselves. No matter how difficult it is.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,716

WARNINGS ››››› sexy times implied

A/N ››››› Ok so these headcanons y'all have been sending me are incredible. I read these two back to back and I just had to write something connecting them.

The kid had no tact.

Sam wasn't exactly sure why he expected more from the guy who'd led into his theory that Steve was on the moon by referencing vague internet rumors, but even despite that, he'd assumed Joaquin possessed some sense of subtlety.

Instead he was over at the leg press trying and failing not to stare at Y/N as she bent over at the middle to help Bucky push deeper into the stretch.

"You know she could hit you with a harassment claim for staring at her like that."

Joaquin jumped, the weights dropping suddenly with a loud clang. Across the gym, Bucky laughed as Y/N whipped around to face the two men. "Everything ok?" Her voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Joaquin turned towards her, giving a little wave.

"Foot slipped," he answered, and she nodded, turning back to Bucky quickly.

"Foot slipped," Sam mocked.

"Dude, you scared the shit out of me."

"If you paid half the amount of attention you give to Y/N to your surroundings, you'd have known I'd been standing here for three minutes."

Joaquin gave a defensive scoff. "I wasn't staring at her--I was just--" he stopped, searching for an excuse, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

When it was clear Joaquin couldn't find a convincing enough lie to end the sentence, Sam shook his head. "You know, if you talk to her, she might actually let you take her out."

"I talk to her," Joaquin protested.

Sam shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "No, I mean talk to her. Chat her up. You've gotta have some game, right?"

"I've got game..." His sentence trailed off as he turned to look in her direction, finding her standing over Bucky's feet with her hands on her hips. "But like, we're co-workers, you know? I don't want to make things awkward around the gym or the compound or anything."

"Joaquin," Sam said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're already making things awkward."

"He's staring at your ass again."

"And you're trying to get out of stretching again," you quipped, moving Bucky's leg closer to his chest. The super soldier tilted his head as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of your accusation.

"Doesn't change the fact that I think you're about to give him a heart attack."

"I highly doubt he's worried in the slightest about my ass. He's probably zoned out."

"He's definitely focused in...on--"

"On my ass," you finished, shaking your head. You might have given Bucky's claim a little more credence if it weren't for the fact that Joaquin Torres had been anything but the consummate professional towards you. He was friendly and upbeat and welcoming, and one of the few genuinely good guys you'd ever had the pleasure of working with.

You'd never caught him staring once, and it's not like the boy was exactly known for subtlety. Last time Bucky had asked him to cover for him so you couldn't come down and teach him the right way to train his body, he'd told you that Bucky had left the compound to get you a thank you gift for all of your hard work. All while staring at the gym door.

The heavy sound of weights falling against each other echoed throughout the gym, and you spun around to face the sound. Sam hovered over Joaquin's shoulder, the latter no longer working the leg press but instead looking as if he'd just received the scare of his life.

Bucky broke into laughter, and you smacked at his leg.

"Everything ok?" you called out, and Joaquin smiled, giving a sheepish little wave at you. "Foot slipped."

"It's a good thing he wasn't at the bench press. You might have killed him."

Your head snapped back to Bucky who was giving you a shit eating grin.

"You're an asshole."

"I'm right."

"Do you think if I ask nicely Wakanda will take you back?"

"So you know I'm right."

You chanced a glance back at Joaquin who was still talking to Sam before turning back around and placing your hands on your hips. "I'm calling Ayo."

You were running early.

Not to any event in particular, but just for the general course of your day. It was rare for you to wake up to your first alarm so completely refreshed, and with a fully awake brain, you found it much easier to navigate the morning. You were able to get dressed without crawling back in bed for a few more minutes, and didn't have to battle with sleepy indecision when choosing what you wanted to eat for breakfast.

One thing after another just continued to roll your way, leading you to the gym much earlier than usual.

And that's where the luck stopped.

Or maybe it didn't stop. But it definitely took a turn. Because while you fully expected someone else to be in the gym already, you hadn't expected just one person to be in the gym. And even if you had, you wouldn't have guessed that that one person would be Joaquin. And if, for some reason, you'd had the foresight to sense that, you definitely never would have pictured him to be running on the treadmill shirtless.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes falling to the bouncing dog tags on his chest and then lower to the well defined abs you'd somehow never seen before.

It felt like you'd seen just about every man in this compound shirtless. At some point, they all seemed to strip in the gym or during one of your group training classes you ran for those who weren't field agents. Bucky was shirtless half the time you worked together. It was so normal, you hardly even blinked an eye anymore. Seeing Sam without a shirt was more rare and quite the sight, but it'd never caught your breath quite like seeing Joaquin. Joaquin, who had never so much as worn a tank top in the gym, Joaquin.

And now here he was, chest bare and heaving, feet pounding rhythmically against the treadmill, hair still messy from his pillow and sweat. Your brain couldn't seem to function correctly, offering you images of the sight before you, only closer. Much closer. Hovering inches over your stretched out body as the headboard behind you rammed into the wall with the force of each thrust--

"Hey," Joaquin greeted, noticing you standing off to the side. You blinked, heat rushing to your face as he turned the treadmill down to a more leisurely pace. "Something wrong with my form?"

It was tempting to lie and offer to "help him fix it." Or to be completely honest and tell him you'd never seen a human form as perfect as his.

But neither of those responses were professional or even appropriate, and you needed this job.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, I was just wondering why you were wearing those," you said, gesturing to his dog tags, and allowing your eyes to fall to his chest once more. You followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his body, heading to the waistband of his shorts. Joaquin reached to touch his tags, causing them to jingle together once more and pull your attention up to him.

"It's hard to let them go," he smiled, ruefully, hitting the button so the belt slowed even more. "I'd say it's a habit, putting them on, but at this point they're just like a part of me."

You nodded, wishing you'd taken this conversation anywhere but to the idea of dog tags and what they stood for. It wasn't so much a mood killer but a guilt inducer because instead of you feeling embarrassed and somber, all you wanted to do was grab them and pull him closer to you.

He must have read the conflict on your face because he gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, sorry, it's kinda morbid."

"No," you shook your head, clearing it of the daydream induced fog. "I probably shouldn't have asked."

"No, nah, it's cool," his smile grew into grin, as the belt came to a stop. He leaned his forearms against the console, staring at you as if waiting for you to continue the conversation. Which you were not equipped to do with a smiling and shirtless and sweaty Joaquin Torres right before you.

"Well, thanks for being cool about it," you said with a nod.

My God, something was wrong with you. They were just abs. And sure, maybe the abs belonged to the man who not only found the time to moonlight as a superhero but star in your increasingly dirty dreams of late, but it was just a body party that you'd seen a million times.

But never on Joaquin.

You blamed everything your brain was doing to you on Bucky and all of his stupid comments about Joaquin's supposed fixation on your ass. You wondered what he would say if he could see you now. "And I thought I was half machine. I could practically see your brain short circuiting." or "If that's what you're like when you see him half-naked, how are you ever going to--"

"Yeah, of course," Joaquin said, still smiling, his eyes lifting up over your shoulder as the other door to the gym opened and Sam came in. "Hey," he greeted with a jerk of his chin.

"Hey," Sam said, drawing closer, his eyes on you. You forced a smile on to your own face, and lifted a hand, not trusting anything that was coming out of your mouth.

"You're here early," the other man said, stepping onto the treadmill next to Joaquin's, and putting his water bottle down next to the machine.

Both of them were looking at you now, and it's not like you could handle staying in this gym any longer. "I came down looking for my water bottle. I think I left it here yesterday."

Sam raised his eyebrows glancing around the gym, and Joaquin stepped down off of the machine. "Do you want help looking for it?" he asked, and your whole body seemed to tense up at the idea, your brain transporting you to a future scenario where the two of you wandered around the room, Joaquin next to you or behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, all the while searching for a water bottle that was sitting on your dresser.

"No." Your voice came out too high, but you tried to play it off, shaking your head. "I've already interrupted your workout enough. It's either by the weights or not in here."

"Alright," he nodded. "If you need any help looking around the compound though, let me know."

"Thanks," you said. And then you gave another stupid wave and beelined it for the weight racks because you had to get out of here.

You made a show of looking next to each section of weights, even bending over to check underneath of them as if it could have been knocked under somewhere. After you felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to be convincing, you straightened up, empty handed. You turned back to Joaquin and Sam, both watching you rather than continuing their workouts as you might have hoped.

"Not here," you called back with a shrug and then left the gym and headed straight up to your shower.

He was nothing if not predictable.

The minute Y/N bent over to check behind the weight rack, his eyes were glued to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the bright teal spandex shorts she wore. As she pulled herself back up from searching for her water bottle and turned to them, Joaquin quickly looked to Sam as if the two had been talking the whole time and then "casually" returned to her.

"Not here!" she said, shrugging and then walking out of the gym, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she left through the door Sam had just entered by.

"So, what'd I interrupt?"

Joaquin looked up at Sam as if remembering he was there. "What?"

"You know, when the two of you were sitting by this machine making eyes at each other? Did you actually say anything to her or….?"

Joaquin shook his head. "No, she just came in and, uh, we chatted for a second, and then…" he trailed off, as if not fully remembering any of the past ten, twenty, however many minutes.

"You just chatted," Sam repeated, the disbelief on his face edging into his voice.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded.

"Anywhere in this chat you finally ask her out?"

"Nah, it didn't feel right."

"It didn't--she was practically taking off the other half of your clothes with her eyes," Sam sputtered, gesturing to Joaquin's shorts.

The kid laughed and shook his head as if Sam didn't know what he was talking about. Joaquin moved to exit the gym as well. "I'll see you later, man," he said, leaving a very exasperated Sam behind.

Bucky Barnes was a motherfucking liar.

"Let's grab a drink on Friday," he said.

"Consider it me making it up to you for being such a pain in your ass," he said.

"I'll buy," he said.

Mothefucker.

This wasn't just you and your favorite co-worker getting a drink. This was a goddamn set up. Because one hour and three mojitos into the night, Sam and Joaquin walked in the front door.

"I fucking hate you," you said, glaring up at his stupid smug face.

"Well, what a surprise, he grinned, as you shook a finger up at him.

"I told you in confidence I'm a flirty drunk."

He snorted, giving you a look out the side of his eyes. "You told me you were a flirty drunk after you sent me several highly inappropriate drunk text messages about what you wanted to do to a certain Lieutenant, who," the self-satisfied smile was back on Bucky's face. "Is making his way over to us right now."

"When I get home, I swear to God, I'm buying you a ticket to Wakanda."

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "You're not going to do it now?"

"I didn't bring my credit card because you said you were paying," you huffed.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam and Joaquin were next to the two of you, greeting Bucky with hand slaps and one armed hugs. Sam came around and wrapped an arm around you first before sliding into the seat next to Bucky, and Joaquin came forward, giving you a quick hug.

Which was a first.

More than the feeling of his back underneath your palm, or the way he seemed to emanate warmth, you were done in by how absolutely incredible he smelled. But before you could fully identify whether it was his shampoo, a cologne, or just him, he pulled away and took the only other available seat near the group--the one next to you.

"I see you started without us," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at the assortment of glasses that sat before you. Most of them were Bucky's as he downed beers faster than should have been humanly possible.

"Hard drinker, huh Y/N," Joaquin teased, shooting you a smile.

"Pfft," you dismissed. "Only three are mine."

"Three?" Sam asked, leaning forward to better look at you. "How long have you been here?"

"An hour," you said, completely unnecessarily leaning forward too.

Bucky shrugged. "I got the time wrong."

"Guess we better catch up then," Joaquin said, and you sank back into your chair, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge.

"If you can."

They did.

You were outpaced fairly quickly against the two soldiers and one super soldier. The rum-induced fuzziness around the edges of your brain was compounded by having Joaquin so close to you. At some point he'd pulled his chair a bit closer to yours so that he could better hear the conversation, and you don't remember when it happened, but his arm had also slid around the back of your chair. To your relief neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to acknowledge this. In fact, Bucky was positively quiet and normal all things considered. Everything was going better than you could have expected.

Until the music kicked up.

Sam was the first to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was Captain America. Of course he'd been targeted by the stunning girl in the red dress who'd only had to come up and ask "Does Captain America dance?" to succeed in pulling him off to the dance floor.

Bucky was next. Although he wasn't tugged onto the dance floor by his hand the way Sam was. It was the sight of the person in the tight black number that did him in, luring him away to the dance as if drawn by a magnet.

And then it was you and Joaquin, sitting at the bar. Alone. Together.

You looked up from your drink, pushing the straw down into the ice to stir up the clinking sounds, and he took a swig of his beer before putting the bottle back down on the bar.

"Alright, let's dance," he said, nodding with his head towards the crowd, and you let out a disbelieving snort.

"I don't know how to dance. I mean, I can dance," you attempted to clarify, although you had a feeling words were failing you at the moment. "But that's real dancing, and I can't do that."

"I guess you're lucky you have a really good teacher asking you to dance then," Joaquin grinned, holding out a hand. You looked down at his open palm, hesitating only for a second before you slid your hand into his and jumped down from your chair.

He led you out through the moving bodies expertly, dodging couples who were clearly more into the dancing than each other and couples where the complete opposite was true. The small bit of space he found you was closer to the center of the dance floor than you'd usually feel comfortable with, but when he turned towards you with that look on his face, any of your residual anxiety had vanished.

"Ok, come close," he said, and you took a small step closer to him, causing him to laugh. "Closer." He gestured, and you moved forward some more, Joaquin's hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you even closer. His hands rose, one finding its way to your mid-back, pushing your elbow up to rest on his, as the other took your hand and placed it over shoulder.

"This ok?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, trying to keep your attention on him, his instructions and his words, and not the way that you could feel just about every part of him from the way he was angled against you. His right side was flush against your left, and his knee pushed between yours.

"Just follow me," he said, his head bent close to yours. Before you could even respond, he started to move, pulling you along with him through the dance. It was smooth and rolling and you'd never seen a guy able to roll his hips like Joaquin. He seemed to know exactly how to guide you, moving his body to push and pull yours along whenever you hesitated or felt lost, coaxing waves and movements out of you that you didn't know you could do. Each success was met with a small word of praise and a brilliant smile, as his hands shifted to hold you closer, and you wrapped your own hand around his neck to better feel and predict his movements.

It felt as if a fog had rolled in over the dancefloor, obstructing all else from view so it was just you and Joaquin, eyes locked to each other as you moved together, occupying the same space.

The song faded into the next one, and Joaquin stopped. You went to move backwards, to give him space and have him move on as many other of the more skilled dancing couples seemed to do, switching partners amongst each other. But he kept you close to him, hand sliding down to your waist.

"Now you can really dance," he teased, his eyes shining as they stared into yours.

"Only with you." It was supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, but it came out too quiet and earnest. Joaquin licked his lips, and your eyes followed the gesture, flickering between his mouth and his eyes.

You don't remember making the decision. You only remember, moving even further into his arms, and pushing yourself up to reach his lips with your own. He bent down to meet you, pulling you even closer and pressing his hard body into yours. His lips moved as slowly and sensually as his hips had, drawing you in and guiding you through a careful rhythm that promised much, much more.

Sam sat with Bucky at the bar. Joaquin and Y/N had disappeared somewhere amongst the dance floor, hidden amongst the crowd.

"You think it worked?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

"If it didn't we're screwed," Sam shook his head, taking a swig from his drink.

As if on cue, the two emerged from the swaying bodies, hand in hand, sweaty and much happier than they had been when Sam had left them at the bar.

"We're gonna head back to the compound," Joaquin said with practiced casualness.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, and Sam swore there was mischief literally glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded too fast and too many times. "Yeah, Y/N forgot about something there…"

"What'd you forget?" Bucky asked, turning to Y/N with a wolfish smile.

"Nothing. We're going to have sex," Y/N said, flatly, causing Sam to nearly spit out his drink. "And if you say one more word, I know a pilot who will fly you to Wakanda himself. No ticket needed."

Bucky mimicked zippering his lips into a smug look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging Joaquin out of the bar by his hand. And he followed. Eyes glued to her ass.

[cno-inbminor]

iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin​ for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia 

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings:  DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

-

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

-

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

-

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

-

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and  caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him.  It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,”  he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

-

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

-

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

-

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

-

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

-

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

-

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

-

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

-

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

-

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

[titan-fodder]

The Warrior Experience; ft. the Marley Warriors

Rating: Explicit; mdni

Pairing: Zeke, Reiner, Porco, Pieck x fem!reader

Word Count: ~5.3K

Warnings: mildly dubious consent (reader isn’t exactly there of her own free will but is still dtf), multiple partners, voyeurism, virgin Colt, rough blowjob, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unpleasant contraceptives, lots of cum, clear bias toward Reiner

A/N: I don’t know what happened today. I just got possessed by the horny ghost. Enjoy~

It’s always Magath who retrieves you, the sour-faced General swinging open the door to your small room without any type of knock or warning. 

On most nights, he takes a look at you, frowns, then grunts the name of whoever is actually calling for you—requesting your “presence”. This evening, however, he remains silent, leaving it a mystery that keeps you curious as you make yourself slightly more presentable, pulling on a skirt, running a comb through your hair, just enough to look a little more human. 

You walk in silence down the hallways, your hands clasped behind your back as the older man struts in his usual militaristic fashion. As you near the Warrior quarters, you do your best to prepare yourself, but without an idea of who you’re meeting, it’s difficult. 

Because they’re all so different. Galliard, for instance, usually starts the nights off aggressively. He particularly likes slamming you into various surfaces, pinning you down with a bruising grip, but his demeanor changes as soon as he’s inside you. The once careless young man turns to jelly underneath you, gasping and groaning as his adrenaline wanes and he unravels. 

Always tired and slightly unstable, Reiner is soft. Even when his thrusts are deep and harsh, his hands remain gentle, calluses feather light as they dance up and down your ribs, over your breasts. His stamina varies. Sometimes, when he’s a little more out of his head, a little more haunted, he ruts into you for what feels like an eternity. Most of those instances, he doesn’t even come. You’re just there for a distraction— “A nice one,” he tells you quietly, gratefully, but you still know where you stand with him. 

There are nights when he’s desperate for release, however, taking you with quick, sloppy thrusts, spilling inside you within minutes then rubbing your clit until you squeeze him back to full hardness so that he can do it all over again.

Zeke is the hardest to predict, on far ends of one, sadistic spectrum: he either wants you to do all the work while he smirks up at you with a cigarette between his lips, occasionally blowing smoke into your face, or he wants to dominate you entirely. When he falls into the latter category, you’re in his bed for hours, sniffling or sobbing, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to stop—one, because he won’t listen, but also because it isn’t your place. 

The Warriors are honorary Marleyans which means they’re much more important and valuable than you are. Your opinion never matters, least of all in the bedroom. 

You’re more or less a toy for them to use, an Eldian plucked from Liberio and brought to the military base with no real say in it. The Warriors are all young and virile, after all. They have needs like anyone else, but despite their honorary status, they’re forbidden from sleeping with Marleyan women. 

So, you live here, at their beck and call with one purpose and one purpose only. 

To your surprise, Magath stops before you can get to the sleeping quarters you are very familiar with at this point. You stand outside of a closed door, raise an eyebrow at the General but don’t dare question him. 

“They’re in there,” he grumbles, nodding to the door before turning around and walking away.

They…

Raising a suddenly very heavy hand, you knock lightly then shift awkwardly until the door opens and reveals Galliard. His perpetual scowl is in place, but he nods his head in acknowledgment then moves to the side to let you in. 

Galliard isn’t the only one in the room—what looks like some kind of conference area with a sizable wooden table surrounded by chairs, a window on the far end displaying the night sky and twinkling stars. Nearly all of those chairs are full, one scooted back from the table that you can easily assume belongs to the redhead standing behind you.

Zeke is lounging comfortably, feet kicked up on the table as he puffs on a cigarette. Reiner is sitting in his chair backwards, slumped forward to rest his head on the wooden backing, though he lifts it to look at you with bloodshot eyes. Pieck, who you do not see often at all, is slouched with her arms pillowing her face, offering you a lazy smile that’s laced with something you cannot place. 

There’s one more person in the room, the vaguely familiar face of Colt Grice, Warrior Candidate slated to inherit the Beast Titan in a few years. You’ve seen him around the base, usually trailing closely behind Zeke, but haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet. 

You remain standing even as Galliard takes his seat again, nibbling on your bottom lip, waiting expectantly—nervously. The last time you were in a room with all of them at once was when you’d first been brought here, and that had just been for informal introductions. There had also been another Eldian with you at the time, a male to keep Pieck satisfied, but he’s… No longer with you. 

In true leader fashion, Zeke is the first to speak after taking a long drag from his cigarette, tilting his head back to blow it into the air and creating a haze over himself. 

“Glad you could join us tonight, sweetheart,” he shows a short, unconvincing smile, and that paired with the condescending pet name leads you to believe he’s in one of his more controlling moods.

“I’m just glad to be able to service the Wa—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to do all that,” he waves you off. “I’ll cut to the chase.”

“Let her sit down first, Zeke, geeze,” Pieck murmurs before holding a small hand out for you, beckoning you to take the seat next to hers.

Never one to argue or disobey, you shuffle over to it and lower yourself, but you can’t relax, not with so many pairs of eyes on you. 

Galliard is twitchy, bouncing his leg up and down, pushing his hair back too often. Reiner, unmoving, just blinks slowly at you, expression flat. Grabbing your hand, Pieck offers a nod that isn’t the slightest bit reassuring while Zeke pins you with an icy gaze. 

“Colt here is gonna be a big boy Warrior pretty soon,” he says, motioning to the boyish blond in the corner who suddenly seems more interested in the floor than anything. “And, he hasn’t been given the chance to have the experiences he deserves. You follow?”

You nod, easily putting the pieces together. They want you to sleep with him, some sort of sexual initiation.

“As I’m sure you’ve picked up, Titan holders don’t have the longest lifespans, so I figure he needs to enjoy what life he has left.”

Another nod, then you start to stand only to be stopped by Galliard who asks, “What’re you doing? Sit back down.”

“Oh,” you plant yourself back in the chair, eyes growing as your stomach sinks. “I thought you wanted me to show Colt—”

Zeke laughs around his cigarette, adding even more smoke to the air around you, and shakes his head. “No, you misunderstand. You will be showing Colt a thing or two tonight, but in here where we can all watch and… Lend a helping hand if need be.”

Mouth going dry, you can’t stop yourself from frowning. Sleep with Colt… In front of all of them? You don’t fancy yourself much of a performer, doubt you’ll be able to put on any kind of good show under so much pressure.

But, you can’t protest. You can’t go against their wishes or complain. You should consider yourself lucky, being able to service the Warriors. It means you’re a half-step above the other Eldians—a devil but a halfway useful one.

“Um. Okay,” you consent.

Zeke claps his hands together. “Excellent,” then tells you. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Go rinse off, do whatever you need to do to get ready, then meet us back here.”

You don’t dawdle, doing exactly what you’re told. The restroom is obviously for multiple people, a few stalls with cheap curtains to block you from view. You make quick work of bathing so that you’ll have time to prepare yourself, starting the process of stretching yourself while under the spray. With no idea how large Colt might be, and taking into account that he might be completely clueless about female anatomy, you make sure to work three fingers into your cunt, moving them as best you can until you’re a little loosened up and wet. 

When you return to the conference room, you’re just in a towel, folded clothes under your arm and placed in an empty chair. 

“Easy access,” Galliard smirks. “Good call.” You squeak when he slaps your ass then sit on the edge of the table as you’re directed to. 

Most of them have shed their boots and jackets, looking a little more casual now. It doesn’t put you at ease—if anything, it makes you think the others will get a little more involved than Zeke originally let on, and the thought alone is enough to overwhelm you. 

It takes some prompting for Colt to muster the courage to approach you. The others scoot to the edges of the room, giving the two of you center stage. It's daunting, but you do your best to forget about them, to focus on the nervous blond in front of you. 

Spreading your legs, you pull him by the shirt to stand between them then look up at him through your lashes and ask, "Am I allowed to kiss you?" You can never assume. Everyone has different rules. 

When you're with Reiner, he has his mouth against yours more than he doesn't, Galliard will nip and suck against every part of you that isn't your mouth, and the closest Zeke gets to your mouth is prying it open to spit on your tongue. 

Naturally, Colt looks to his War Chief for answers, but Zeke just shrugs. "Your choice, big guy. You're the one calling the shots."

Colt contemplates for a little while but eventually nods and swallows. "Uh, yeah. That's okay, I guess."

He seems to feel just as awkward as you do about this whole situation, would also probably prefer for it to happen in private, but you imagine he's doing everything in his power to show that he's worthy of inheriting Zeke's Titan. He's basically in the same boat as you. 

Reaching up, you lace your fingers behind his neck and pull him to you, pressing your lips to his slowly, softly, trying not to spook him too much. 

After gaining as much experience as you have over the last year or so, it's rare for you to feel shy when getting intimate. Three of the other people in that room have seen everything there is to see about you, your most private of body parts, your most visceral, primal reactions. You have nothing to hide any more. 

Colt is stiff against you. His hands are still by his sides, lips firm but unmoving. 

He has no idea what to do. It's almost disappointing, knowing you're about to spend the evening teaching this kid, fresh faced, twenty years old at most and completely clueless. 

You're saved when a gruff voice makes you pull away: "Alright, this is hard to watch." Reiner sits up and rubs his eyes, then swings his leg over the chair to stand and walk over. "Grice, have you ever even seen anyone kiss before?"

Cheeks turning red, Colt moves out of the way, stuttering out "W-well yeah, but I never watch." 

The taller man takes the vacant space between your legs, and you inhale sharply when he slides a large hand to the back of your head, tilting your face even further upward. Reiner kisses you in a way that makes your head spin. He has that desperate taste he always has, and even without opening your eyes, you can tell he's frowning. But his hand is cautious, careful not to tug your hair just like he's careful not to knock his teeth into yours when he parts your lips with his. 

"There we go," Zeke laughs, clapping twice and cheering, "'Atta boy, Braun!" 

Reiner's tongue dances with yours in a heated back and forth for a few seconds before he pulls back. He doesn't smile, but he does sigh in a thoughtful manner before turning to Colt and pointedly telling him, "That's how you kiss a woman."

Reiner softly scratches the back of your head in a fond gesture, then steps away and motions for Colt to try again. 

He's slightly more confident this time around, starting off slowly at first but eventually pushing against you harder and harder until it's a little much, and you just barely push at his chest to get him to let up. He replaces pressure with tongue, probing and curious but not awful. 

"Undo her towel, Grice. Get a move on," Galliard demands. 

Colt reaches up with a shaky hand, breathing through his nose while keeping his lips attached to yours as he pulls at the loose knot just above your breasts. The material falls and pools around you on the table, and before he can be criticized again, you grab one of Colt's hands and place it on one of the perky mounds. You move your fingers over his, showing how you like to be massaged then guiding him to your nipple. 

"Oh, this is very romantic," Zeke drawls, snapping his fingers to get someone's attention then addressing, "Pock," who grunts in response. "You're a tit man, right? Your turn to show him how it's done." 

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor rings throughout the room, but instead of pushing Colt out of the way, Galliard stands on the other side of the table behind you, bends forward, then grabs you by the hair to pull you down. The breath is knocked out of you as your back hits the table, and you blink up at the redhead in surprise. 

Upside down, your face is about level with his hips, maybe a foot away from his pelvis, but before you can dwell on it, Galliard's rough hands are on your tits, groping, massaging, then pinching your nipples so that you arch and moan. 

"Know I probably shouldn't like it so much, but you sound so pretty, baby," he growls, flicking over the hardened buds then squeezing again. 

"We're all devils here. You can like it as much as you want," Reiner gruffs. 

"Justifying your own feelings?" Zeke snarks. 

You aren't able to see or hear Reiner's response, too busy whining as Galliard starts to slap your tits over and over, making the flesh burn and sting. 

Porco groans, "Mm, love that bounce," hitting them a few more times then stopping and allowing you to take a shuddering breath. 

Your body is hot all over, especially your chest, and your pussy is starting to throb. After playing with yourself in the shower, the heated kiss you shared with Reiner, and now the abuse Galliard just showered on your tits, you're starting to get restless, ready to be filled with something. 

"While I'm right here, m'gonna show you somethin' else, Grice."

Galliard grips your upper arms and slides you closer to him on the table, then undoes his pants and pulls his cock free. As soon as you feel the tap on your lips, you open up for him, relaxing just in time for him to shove his length over your tongue and into the tight sleeve of your throat. 

And, pride actually wells up inside of you. That hardly ever happens. 

There's no time to acclimate really, your only choice being to just lay and take it, so you do, choking and gagging around Galliard's cock as everyone else watches. Tears stream down the sides of your face, but you feel them get wiped away and open bleary eyes to find Pieck peering down at you, soft hands catching the drops as she coos, "You're doing so good, love."

You squirm on the table, start to rock your hips into nothing—no one—in desperate need of friction now. 

"You want something stuffed in that pussy?" Zeke calls out. 

The vibration of your responding whine makes Galliard curse and thrust into your throat until your forehead is pressed against his heavy balls. Strings of spit leak from the corners of your mouth. You try to slurp and suckle, but the steady pistoning of Galliard’s hips just keeps pushing more out. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Colt, you wanna go for it, or do you wanna watch first?” Zeke questions.

“Um, I—I’ll watch first, I think.”

“Good choice. See how it’s done before diving in.”

You’re barely aware of the conversation around you, mouth full of cock, gentle hands on your face. Pieck must not be fazed by being so close to her comrade’s privates because she just keeps stroking and praising you, like she thinks you might break or lose it. 

There are fingers on your wet folds, spreading them apart, then the harsh sound of spitting before a glob of thick fluid lands in your pussy. Zeke smears his saliva over your clit, and you buck under his touch, moaning when two thick digits are pushed into your heat all at once. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, getting used to it as he continues the job you’d started in the shower. 

“I don’t always do this sort of thing just ‘cause I like the way she feels all tight and tense on my dick, but if you don’t want her to whine as much, I’d advise prepping her with your fingers or mouth.”

You squirm and writhe, the glide of his fingers getting easier with every thrust as your hole drools slick onto the table beneath you. Zeke’s palm grinds against your clit, pressure and friction where you want it most for half a second before it disappears—comes back, disappears—until you’re forcing yourself down on his hand. 

He lets out one of his standoffish little chuckles as you slide up and down Galliard’s length and fuck yourself on Zeke’s fingers, but the delicious sensation disappears entirely when Zeke pulls out, probably to work himself out of his pants, then presses the blunt head of his cock against your clenching hole. He pushes the tip in only to pull it back out, tap it against the swollen bundle of nerves a few times, then finally pushes in all the way. 

You’re a little too far up on the table now, and Zeke doesn’t bother warning you or Galliard as he tugs you back down to better situate you on his cock, causing the other man to slip out of your mouth.

“Fuck man, I was getting close!”

Without a care in the world, Zeke shrugs him off, tells him, “Come on her face or something then, I don’t give a fuck.”

Your voice comes out hoarse as you moan for all of them to hear, teary eyes cracking open to see Galliard step back and lean against the wall behind him. His fist is tight around his shaft, but he’s pumping himself slowly, like he’s suddenly pacing himself despite just having fucked your throat raw. 

A rough pinch to your nipple brings your eyes to Zeke, blond hair hanging in his face, glasses slipping down his nose. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, but other than that, he’s basically fully clothed. He’s flushed from his neck down to his chest, jaw barely hanging open as his eyebrows raise. He’s certainly enjoying himself, and you can’t say you aren’t because the drag of his thick cock in your pussy is incredible. 

Your head lolls to one side and you find Colt staring at you with wide eyes, watching the way his superior sheathes himself in you over and over. It makes you blush, so you turn to the other side, see Reiner posted up in the corner, about half hard in his pants as he watches your face. 

Mouth dropping open, you shut your eyes, trying to will away the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. You raise your arms above your head, hands dangling off the other end of the table, and Pieck takes them, squeezing once before lightly running nimble fingers over your sensitive skin.

You’ve never been with her, not that you’d be opposed. She’s very pretty and seems kind enough. But you had guessed you weren’t exactly her type. Now, though, you second guess yourself since she seems more than content with touching you. 

The painful squeezes of Zeke’s fingers are batted away, replaced by the ghost of stimulation on your sore nipples. Pieck rubs over one so lightly you hardly register it, but it still shoots right to your pussy, makes you clench around Zeke. 

He’s holding you by the hips now, pulling you onto his cock, and it goes like this for a while. At some point, the wet sound of Galliard jacking off fades, but you doubt he’s come; he’s typically quite vocal when he climaxes. 

Zeke never lets up, fucking deep and fast and right over the spot that makes you leak until he suddenly pulls out and shoots strings of hot cum onto your thighs and the table between them. 

“You don’t… Inside?” Colt speaks up.

Rubbing his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, Zeke answers, “Never. That’s preference, though. I just don’t want any accidents to happen.”

You would remind him that you go to the medic after every encounter you have with the Warriors to get checked out, given an unpleasant medicine that leaves you sick for a few days, but it’s hard to think straight right now. 

Before Colt can move toward you again or any more questions can be asked, Galliard is rounding the table, cock in hand once again, shouldering Zeke out of the way so that he can bury himself in your pussy. He’s a shorter length than the man who was in you just moments ago, but a little thicker. Veiny and curved upward, Galliard always feels good inside of you. Unfortunately for you, he’s basically been edging himself since you were pulled from him, so he doesn’t last long at all. 

Unlike Zeke, Galliard has no qualms about coming inside of you. You feel his seed fill you, mixing with your own wet arousal and making you drip with it when he pulls out. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” he grins before giving your pussy a slap, making you push more of his cum out. 

You hear someone suck in a deep breath, and Colt slowly shuffles over to you. He stares at your throbbing cunt for a while, raising a timid hand to stroke over now messy folds, and you let out a mewl, a very soft, “Please…”

Pieck places a tender kiss at your hairline that makes your heart jump into your throat, such a kind gesture as she murmurs against you, “You’re doing so well for them.”

“Can I—” You blink up at her face, floating upside down over yours. “Can I do anything f-for you, Pieck?”

She shows another one of those smiles, the kind that’s hiding a little something, and she shakes her head, wavy, black hair flowing over her shoulders. “I’m just enjoying watching. You’re very pretty to look at.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond, so you just let her keep touching you, keep cooing and doting. You’ll never say no to affection like this. 

Colt doesn’t have any trouble finding your entrance, which is a relief. He lines himself up and pushes in painfully slowly, panting the entire time and letting out one very satisfying, “O-oh, shit.”

“Feels good, doesn’t she?” Zeke hums.

Colt nods, arms beginning to shake on the table. He seems to be holding himself back, whether it’s from coming or fucking into you is a mystery, but eventually he bottoms out and stays still save for his trembling. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you do feel very full, his hips flush against yours, cockhead nestled right up against your cervix. If he was any longer, you would definitely be in pain. 

“Grice, you can move, you know,” Galliard jabs, but Colt just shakes his head. 

“One second. Lemme just…” He shifts his hips some, not thrusting as much as grinding into you, and you cry out when he presses against that far wall. 

You can feel Galliard’s cum leaking down the curvature of your ass, pooling with whatever of Zeke’s is left on the table. You’re so wet, noisy when Colt finally does start slowly pulling out and pushing in. The squelches echo in the conference room and make you cringe, but Zeke seems to appreciate it as he hums, “Listen to that sloppy pussy.”

“Like music to my fuckin’ ears,” Galliard adds.

Colt has trouble keeping an even pace, his hips stuttering often, but the ridge of his cock strokes over the sensitive spot inside you—the one that makes you drool and babble—almost every time. Your muscles clench around him, changing the sensation for both of you, and when that rhythm becomes even more erratic, you know he’s close.

“Fuck, fuck, I—”

“Just add to the mess. We’ll clean up later,” Zeke reassures him.

Colt’s eyes find yours for the first time since he started fucking you, searching for something like permission, so you nod and show a lazy grin.

“It’s okay, you can come in me.”

That sends him over, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat as he milks himself in your cunt. You can feel the pressure of building liquid inside you, pushing on your insides, but it wanes when Colt pulls out. 

You feel swollen and used at this point, but your core is still hot with the desire to come. There’s a chance you won’t, especially now that Colt has finished, but you can always get yourself off in the privacy of your quarters if need be. 

The freshly fucked blond receives a couple slaps on the back, some patronizing comments from his War Chief, and you take the time to just breathe and melt into the table, enjoying the way Pieck is stroking your hair now, smiling at the other Warriors. 

Your eyes are just about to close when you see Reiner making his way over. He stands between your legs for a while, just looking over the damage, the slight discoloration of your chest, your raw nipples, mouth swollen from Galliard’s cock, then finally your used pussy. 

His fingertips brush over sensitive skin, making you shudder, and you nearly cry when he asks, “You ready to get yours?”

You nod, sucking in an unsteady breath. Reiner mouths the word, “Okay,” then unbuckles his pants and pushes them down to his thighs, and the tears really do start to gather in your eyes now because Reiner is big, and you're already getting sore from three other cocks you've taken. 

He rubs his hands up your thighs, tells you, “Wrap your legs around my waist,” which you somehow manage even though they’re weak with numbness. 

Reiner doesn’t push in just yet, though you can feel his warm cock rubbing between your engorged lips. Instead, he slides his arms under your back and lifts you, turning so that he’s sitting on the table and you’re in his lap, ankles still crossed at his lower back. 

“Just go at your own pace.” His voice is quiet, his mouth hovering just over yours, and here, like this, you almost forget about the others. 

You lift yourself just enough to line his tip up with your leaking entrance then lower yourself onto his cock inch by inch. His girth stretches you, always burns just a little, even when you’re well prepared. 

Your spongy walls make room for him, sucking him in even as you whine at his size. He waits for you to get settled, for you to start rocking, and only then does Reiner start moving. His cheeks are pink, light brown eyes nearly taken over by blown pupils, but the shift of his hips is slow and deliberate, hitting just where you need him to.

He keeps one hand at your back to help you balance, but his other moves down to press on the puffy flesh at the apex of your cunt. It forces your clit to rub against the coarse hairs on his pelvis, and you throw your head back as you finally, finally get that friction you were craving. 

Reiner lowers his face to your chest, warm tongue laving over one nipple in a soothing manner as it pebbles against the muscle. He moves to the other and does the same, suckles on it softly so that you dig your nails into his back.

You leak with every shallow thrust, various fluids getting pushed from your wet pussy, and the closer you get to your orgasm, the worse it gets. You squirt first, a juice thinner than your slick arousal dribbling from you and coating Reiner’s thighs. 

“Fucking—” He cuts himself off by kissing you, obviously uncaring of the fact that you had someone else’s cock in your mouth maybe half an hour ago. He licks into you, holding your body tight against his as your muscles tense, thighs rigid around his waist. You climb and climb, gut hotter and hotter until you reach your peak and moan into his mouth. 

Your hips start moving on their own accord, a little faster as you squeeze the thick cock inside of you until your body grows tired enough to stop. Reiner keeps the same, slow pace, rumbles, “Just keep squeezing me, and I’ll come soon.”

So, you do, clenching around him and trembling the more overstimulated you become because you’re so sensitive and so swollen and so full. Every part of you aches. Every shift of his cock makes you whimper, but when Reiner finally spills inside of you, holding you down on his spurting cock, you sigh and slump against him. 

You breathe heavily, and so does Reiner, his chest, now damp with sweat, rising and falling against yours. His shirt chafes against your nipples, making you hiss, but you’re too exhausted to move.

“Is that what sex is always like with you two?” Galliard scoffs. “That was some soft shit. I’m a little disgusted.”

If you were a little more lucid, you’d consider calling him out and announcing to the room how wanton he gets alone in the bedroom, but your brain is functioning at minimal capacity right now.

“Oh, leave them alone, Pock,” Pieck chides, and you glance across the table at her with tired eyes to find another one of those smiles on her face. “Everyone deserves some softness, especially this little angel after the way you guys treated her.”

“Didn’t treat her any differently than I normally do,” Zeke says, voice slightly muffled as he speaks around a new cigarette. 

“In that case, I offer my condolences,” Pieck tells you, pulling a little snort from you. 

“S’fine,” you slur. “I’m just happy to service the Warriors.”

Galliard rolls his eyes. Pieck hums thoughtfully. Zeke smirks. Reiner lets his head fall to your shoulder.

And, Colt croaks out a honestly endearing, “Well, I, uh, appreciate the service,” which makes you and all of his superiors laugh. 

It’s not an easy job, this one you've been given. You try to be grateful for the opportunity, but most days end with you struggling to find your own self worth.

Tonight is different, though. It’s rare that you feel genuinely appreciated, but right now, sitting in Reiner’s lap with Colt looking at you in both embarrassment and gratefulness, you feel that maybe you're worth something.

[sparks-joy-imagines]

Hi! Could I request some hcs or a one shot (whichever you prefer!) where Gojo finds out reader has never orgasmed with a partner before because her previous partners were kind of asses. Thank you either way! Have a lovely day! :)

hello love~ I figured I might as well turn this into a one shot because there had been just so~ many ideas floating around my head for this (including a few Japan traumata lol) - I hope you're ready to buckle up cause this one comes in at 5k appr. enjoy -mesu. PS: A very special thanks to niob for beta-ing this monster and talking me through it!!!❤

Gojō Satoru x f!reader warnings: vaginal penetration, oral sex (receiving), Gojō being a smug arse

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.

The first time you had met Gojo it had been your first year teaching at Kyoto jujutsu high and your first impression had been that no single living being could withstand his gaze of scrutiny. Given, as the wielder of both infinity and the six eyes there wasn’t anyone on his level to begin with, but did he really have to be an arse about it? Who even hired him as a teacher – a person supposed to be of pedagogic value – in the first place?

Luckily, you didn’t have to see him all that often, usually just whenever the time of year came around for the good-will event with the sister school in Tokyo but he had picked up an unhealthy interest in your person and relentlessly teased you for whatever you did and didn’t do alike.

Utahime had once suggested that it was Gojo’s twisted way of flirting with you and you couldn’t help but scoff and reply that you had seen Gojo flirting. And it was nothing alike how he was acting towards you. Afterwards, Utahime had taken pity on you and acted as an intermittence between you and Gojo so he wouldn’t get under your skin anymore, albeit he mostly ended up getting under hers instead.

At least, that was until tonight. With the students being sound asleep in bed, everyone involved in the event unanimously had decided to head for a drink at a fancy bar in Ginza to celebrate the event ending more or less successfully despite the unforeseen interference of some higher ranked curses and you ended up sitting sandwiched between Utahime and Shoko who both had insisted on a girl’s table away from curious colleagues and ears, while the other staff were seated at a slightly larger table just out of earshot.

The back of your head hit your nape when you downed what felt like the 7th shot of nihonshu. The alcohol prior to the shots had already infiltrated your system, leaving your senses foggy and your tongue loose. You weren’t about to spill your secrets just yet, but it was definitely getting harder to suppress the glances you’d love to gift Gojo who seemed entirely unfazed by any of the liquor he had consumed this evening.

That prick has to use his innate techniques to cope with the alcohol!

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at the tall man across the table who hadn’t even bothered to take his blindfold off while sporting a vaguely amused if aloof expression while the headmaster of Kyoto high and Tokyo high appeared to be in a heated discussion. Speaking of rude.

Lost in your thought of how much you longed to wipe that smirk off of Gojo’s face, you didn’t follow the topic of conversation of your friends at the table who definitely had one nihonshu too many.

“I’m telling you, anatomically speaking, it’s just unfair. It’s so much easier for men to achieve an orgasm, alright? It’s as if nature was against us women,” Shoko sighed dramatically, taking the nihonshu bottle to refill the shot glasses only to find it empty. Another, this time desperate, sigh followed.

“What’s even worse is that men usually don’t care about their partner's pleasure at allll,” Utahime responded with a distinct lull in her voice while she was already close to resting her cheek on the table. She’s definitely had enough but that didn’t stop her from going on, “Ever since I started dating, there’s been what? Maybe two decent enough guys that actually cared if I came too or not.”

“Sounds about right,” Shoko agreed, apparently trying to find some universal truth in the emptiness of the bottle she was still holding onto.

You shot a glance to the two unhappy women at your side, deciding that it was time to share your two cents of truth under your breath, “At least you’ve had partners before who took care of your needs, too. I for once have only been with arseholes who could care less if I came or not. And so I never did… so…consider yourselves lucky? I guess.”

As expected, your volume made it impossible for them to catch what you were revealing and Utahime unbeknownst interrupted the aftermath to your soft confession by suddenly straightening her posture in a surge of drunken energy, grabbing one of your and Shoko’s hands respectively to declare something about not letting this circumstance prevent anyone from having a great night.

You could’ve sworn the corner of Gojo’s mouth perked up the second you shot him another glance…

A few drinks, a second bar, and a couple hours later.

Your head was spinning slightly and you leaned your back against the wall of the establishment you’d just stepped out of. Damn your senpai for making you drink. You soaked in the wet, clean night air which could only be achieved during the rainy season in Tokyo.

The moment you pressed your eyes shut you could hear Utahime demanding to move onto a karaoke bar and continue this until morning. Of fucking course, you thought to yourself and opened your eyes, desperate for any excuse to skip what was about to come.

Among general consensus with a few nods and exclamations here and there, you slowly noticed how Gojo was watching you intently. By now he had actually gotten rid of his blindfold and was sporting his dark shades, his soft hair was framing his angular face, slightly damp by the drizzle and you would have gladly punched him for the way the street lights and shop signs reflected in his hair.

Still, right now you had other things to worry about and so you took a deep breath and spoke up, “Thanks for this evening but I’ll have to take my leave now. It’s already late and I don’t think my voice can handle singing right now.” An obvious lie as your voice was just fine, but it’d do the trick of getting you out of corporate pressure.

And that’s exactly what happened. Your excuse was accepted at face value and you were wished a good night’s rest. Umbrellas were opened and the group made of two faculties strolled towards the closet illuminated Karaoke sign.

You waited until everyone was on the move, so you could gather yourself in your time without any scrutinising eyes on you.

“Leaving an intoxicated damsel to her own devices? How could I be the strongest without taking care of her? Allow me to lead you home, (Y/N)~”

Just when you thought you had lived through the worst, Gojo’s voice piped up right next to your ear. You hadn’t seen him stay behind and now he was close, dangerously so, and he didn’t even care to hide the glee in his voice.

You managed to turn your head in his direction and gift him – what was in your imagination – a nasty stare. For Gojo, it rather seemed like you were trying your best to fixate your dizzy gaze on him.

He sighed and for once dropped his excruciating façade, speaking in a normal tone, “Seriously tough, (Y/N), I’d rather lead you home. Tokyo’s far from being safe at night.”

Seeing and actually hearing Gojo apparently genuinely concerned made you weigh your chances enough that you finally sighed in defeat, “Fine. But only up to the doorstep.”

Gojo blinked at you repeatedly, appearing almost insulted that you dared to think him a man who would take advantage of women like that – truth being that he was more insulted that you thought that he was actually in need of such tricks – and made an off-hand remark of how he could never.

You waved your hand dismissively and slowly tried to straighten your posture, “You’re here by car, right? That’s why you used your innate technique to not get drunk. Wish I could’ve done the same, wouldn’t be dying of spinning world syndrome right now.”

That stopped Gojo’s rant about his hurt pride. A sheepish smirk appeared on his lips and he stated flatly, “You noticed.”

You nodded, which turned out to have been a terrible idea. Nausea overcame you and you tried to curl into a ball, but Gojo was next to you in a second, smoothly wrapping his long arm around your waist while his free hand reached for your hand, easily securing your stance like that.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?”

You nodded and simply concentrated on not getting sick while he led you towards the parking lot where his car was parked. He left you shortly to pay for the ticket and you leaned against one of the nearby vending machines, concentrating on your breathing.

A few moments later the relatively quiet night was disturbed by the low roar of what turned out to be a pricey sports car. It didn’t take long for Gojo to stop said car right in front of you. Ever the gentleman he stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door to the passenger’s side for you, offering his hand to you for assistance. The entire picture which enfolded in front of you seemed to be taken out of a romance.

Only when you wobbled over to the car and felt the infinity between your hand and Gojo’s you snapped back to reality, pursing your lips as you stated, “You never let anyone actually touch you, do you?”

“If someone’s worth my while, sure I do,” Gojo replied with a sly smile, but something in his eyes appeared resigned, almost lost. But maybe that was just your imagination? Almost promising.

You didn’t even have time to follow-up on his statement as he simply shut the door in your face, cutting any further discussion short. Soon, Gojo settled in the driver’s seat and drove off towards your hotel. You didn’t even question how he knew where he needed to go.

Silence fell upon you and you simply turned your gaze to the flashing street lights, allowing you to marvel at Tokyo’s nocturnal atmosphere for a while. This was so much better than making your way through the confusing public transport in time for the last train. You shot Gojo another gaze and were surprised to find him diligently keeping his eyes on the road.

At once you wondered if you unwittingly had been keeping him from joining the others at karaoke. Singing one’s soul out and getting undressed in the process seemed right up Gojo’s alley.

“…Thank you for taking me back to the hotel. I appreciate it. You… didn’t really have to do this though, I’m sure you wanted to attend karaoke with the others,” you started off your half-apology.

A soft yet deep chuckle escaped Gojo’s throat.

“Oh sure I did, hun. There’s been something on my mind concerning you which is just soooo much more fun than karaoke could ever be after all,” Gojo casually replied, eyes never straying from the road.

You frowned and cocked your head in an inquisitive manner.

“Don’t act confused now, love,” Gojo smirked as he pulled over and parked the car right next to the entrance of the hotel. He unfastened his seatbelt to turn to you completely and casually rested his elbow against his seat, “Now, why don’t you tell me about never having orgasmed with a partner before?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as Gojo watched you curiously while you didn’t believe the meaning behind what your ears had picked up on.

“I…,” you spilled quickly, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. This had to be a nightmare. How did he know of that? You never told a soul, too embarrassed by your unfortunate choice of past sexual partners, and now Gojo Satoru – out of all possible people – knew of your secret?!

The panic must have shown on your face as Gojo’s smug expression softened slightly and he leaned closer to you, only stopping when the tip of his nose almost collided with yours, “You should take more care who might be listening in when you’re talking to yourself, (Y/N).”

You nodded once and leaned back, avoiding Gojo’s touch and gaze as best you could, “T-thanks for the ride.” Even if his revelation had thrown you off entirely, you tried your best to hide it.

“My pleasure. I’ll have to insist on taking you to your room though.” Gojo’s tone was unforgiving and made it very clear that you wouldn’t get out of him walking you all the way.

You sighed deeply and submitted to your fate, sinking into your seat until he had rounded the car and opened the passenger’s door so you could accept his hand to disembark in a semi-elegant manner.

Once you had found your balance he let go of your hand, matching your pace as you walked towards your room, acting as if he hadn’t just nonchalantly invaded your privacy. You shot him several glances but Gojo acted very interested in the interior of the hotel. You didn’t buy it though. Obviously he was just relishing in the fact that he got under your skin.

So he didn’t want to push any further? Fine by you. You huffed softly and pushed the button for your floor once you boarded the lift, Gojo strolling on your heels, hands shoved into the pocket of his trousers.

You refrained from looking at anything close to Gojo’s direction, albeit you could feel his piercing gaze on you. You used the time of the short ride to get your room card out of your purse and as soon as the automatic doors opened, you darted out of the lift and unlocked the door to your room with a soft beep.

Barely having shuffled inside you got rid of your purse and turned around to thank Gojo once again, finding him right on your doorstep.

“Thanks, Gojo, I appreciate what you did tonight,” you smiled awkwardly at the close proximity and mustered the courage to look into his eyes, just to be surprised by their intensity.

“Of course,” Gojo hummed, resting his left arm on the doorframe he leaned closer, stopping right before crossing the threshold with his movements. He easily kept your eyes locked in his, making you all but forget about bringing some distance between you.

“Before I leave… y’know I could help you out with your little problem, (Y/N). If you’re up for it, that is.”

Gojo’s voice was low, eyes dark, pupils dilated with a certain hunger as they stared right into your soul.

When his words registered a soft gasp unwittingly left your lips as your eyes grew wide.

Just what was happening? Had Utahime been right all along?

The next moment Gojo was leaning down to you, making all but sure that your senses shut down to a bare minimum. Standing there frozen in place, time seemed to slow down around you as your eyes flickered from Gojo’s luscious lips to his cyan eyes and back to his lips again.

Was this really happening right now?

Your heart pounded against your chest harshly and you pressed your eyes shut to calm your nerves. That is when you felt his soft lips against the skin of your cheek, undoubtedly skin on skin. He‘d really turned his infinity off!

“As I have told you prior, I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women. But as I understand it, you still have a couple hours before your bullet train back to Kyoto tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you, (Y/N). You won’t regret it. . .~”

You held your breath and nothing. When you finally opened your eyes again Gojo was gone. Simply vanished! He had done exactly what he had promised to do. Taken you home, up to your doorstep and not a millimetre further.

Did this mean that he was going to keep what he offered if you turned up at his doorstep tomorrow? Up until now Gojo had never given you any reason to doubt him. Sure, he was a prick, but he was honest about being a prick. At least that was more than could be said about any of your former affiliations.

It took a couple more moments before you managed to close the door and turn in to a sleepless night contemplating if you might as well take Gojo up on his offer.

The next day. After some empty excuses to Utahime of why you couldn’t spend the last hours in Tokyo together. In front of Gojo’s apartment.

You stared at the kanji at the apartment, contemplating if you should really proceed now. It had been a pain to get Gojo’s address, dodging several inquisitive questions of Utahime, but now that you were finally here you weren’t sure if you should be anymore.

Given Gojo had lived up to every single thing he had proclaimed so far, plus he never had given you any reason not to trust him. Still, did being here meant that you were willing to compromise your integrity for something as trivial as good sex? More so than the actual act, you were afraid of what it might mean for your future relationship with Gojo; which would be anything but professional hereafter.

Before you could spiral further into second guessing yourself, the apartment door in front of you opened smoothly, offering the view to a slightly dishevelled looking Gojo apparently just out of the shower.

The moment you locked eyes with his bare ocean orbs, a smug grin emerged on his face, “Fancy seeing you here, (Y/N). Come in.”

You mumbled a greeting and stepped into his modern apartment, quickly getting rid of your shoes and outer layers while Gojo walked further back into the flat calling out to you, “Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Pineapple juice?~”

You rolled your eyes, very convinced that you just shouldn’t have come here. You followed Gojo’s voice into a broad living room with an open kitchen. The colours and décor were kept simple, black and white, sometimes a splash of colour in the colour of his goddamn eyes.

After having accessed the surroundings to your heart’s content you turned to Gojo, “Do you happen to have pineapple juice – notoriously known for apparently for making the taste of oral sex sweeter – at hand for your guests at all times? Or did you go shopping for me yesterday?”

A soft chuckle, “I happen to like the flavour. Plus, I am quite certain your juices aren’t in need of any enhancement.” A wink followed. What a bastard.

Ignoring the faint blush that emerged on your cheeks, you countered, “And what exactly makes you so sure about that, mh?”

Gojo shortly nibbled on his full lips as he sized you up with hungry eyes. Then, he slowly rounded the kitchen counter until he stood right in front of you. The smell of his surprisingly fruity after-shave intoxicated your senses.

“Wanna find out?”

You managed a nod and Gojo smirked wider, simply lifting you up on the counter so you were closer to eye level with him.

And then he finally let his soft luscious lips collide with yours, involving you in a breathless, inifity-less kiss while your arms wrapped around his neck on their own accord. Gojo smirked against your lips pulling you closer to himself, gladly taking the opportunity to feel up through the fabric of the blouse you were wearing for travel.

How you cursed the school’s clothing protocol at that moment!

Frowning slightly you broke the kiss, quickly trying to get rid of your blouse with your hands, but Gojo had other plans, catching your hands in his he leaned closer and purred on your lips, “Ah-ah (Y/N), there’s still plenty of time till your bullet train. No need to rush~ This is more than a mere quicky to shoot one’s load and carry on, after all. I need you to relax and enjoy the ride.”

You weren’t quite sure what did the trick. The proximity to him or his genuine tone, but you visibly relaxed and started shamelessly feeling Gojo up in return. You weren’t surprised to find defined abs when you pushed the fabric of his shirt out of the way and followed their lines for a bit before you moved on to explore his back.

“Good girl,” Gojo chuckled in your ear and let out a teasing gasp in response to your initiative before he went to nibble on your earlobe, making you cross your legs behind his hips as a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Sensitive, are we?”

Gojo moved back, capturing your lips in another kiss, this time parting yours with his cheeky tongue so he could explore your mouth to his heart’s content. You happily complied and concentrated on his tongue enough that you didn’t notice how he skilfully unbuttoned your blouse.

Your legs tightened around Gojo’s hips and you moaned when you felt his growing bulge through the fabric. Gojo took this opportunity to kiss down your neck only to ravish it mercilessly while his hands had taken a liking to your boobs, kneading them through your lacey bra.

“Hah~” More and more lewd noises filled the heated air as Gojo pinched your hardened nipples just the right amount to send shivers down your spine and you were glad that you didn’t have to depend on your trembling legs anymore.

Desperate for support you scratched blindly over Gojo’s upper arms which led him to gift you a wolfish smile as he pulled back enough to strip off your blouse and a swift motion later your bra followed.

Pouting slightly you picked on his shirt, making Gojo scoff and get rid of it, too. You sighed content about the equal stages of undress and wiggled slightly on top of the counter, enjoying the friction this provided against both the fabric of your pants and Gojo’s bulge.

“You little minx,” Gojo growled lowly, suddenly pinning you down to the counter by your neck. The cold surface sent a shiver through the entirety of your body. He adjusted his grip to be more gentle, yet still determined enough to hold you in place, actively preventing you from escaping from his touch. You would welcome the sweet torture that was to follow deliberately and Gojo was very aware of that.

Soon enough Gojo began his agonisingly slow treatment of your torso, mouthing his way from your collar bones to your chest where he spent his sweet time circling each nipple with his tongue.

You didn’t know what exactly he was doing with his shameless long tongue but you had never felt your body rise to the touch on its own quite like that and it took a minute to recognise it was your own voice which echoed through the apartment so obscenely.

Desperate for more stimulation which Gojo still withheld from you, you tried to pull him closer with your crossed legs, earning a suppressed moan from him as his erect member brushed against your clothed sex. How much you would’ve given for those layers to finally be gone.

“You really haven’t been getting laid properly at all, huh.”

Completely unnerved by now you groaned and shot Gojo an acid glare, but the elite sorcerer just chuckled to himself as he straightened back up, sizing you up in the process once again. You had never seen his eyes this dark.

In a split second his hands were undoing your pants as if they had never done anything else in his life and a few moments later you were sitting on the counter completely undressed.

When you blinked away your surprise, Gojo brushed another deep kiss on your lips, humming on them, “I’d hold onto something if I were you~”

And then he dove down to your core, hands holding your hips in place well aware that you wouldn’t be able to hold still.

As soon as his lips connected to your nether folds, a lightning impulse flashed through your body and your loudest moan yet left your lips. Your head flew back by itself and you wreathed as best you could on the counter top for either more or less friction, you weren’t quite sure.

All the while Gojo relentlessly continued his pursuit of your sex, tongue swirling expertly over and around your clit, building up a certain intensity before he moved down slightly to lick and mouth at your entrance.

You desperately held onto the edge of the counter for support, spilling his name over and over again, while Gojo cheekily thrust his tongue into you for a taste before he redirected his attention to your clit again.

The coil in your core seemed to harden and become undone at the same time and another flick of Gojo’s tongue made you scream as you jerked up as you finally hit your high. Juices spilled out of your cunt and you buried your flushed face in your hands while your entire body was convulsing in ecstasy.

Gojo made sure to keep his grip on you so you wouldn’t slide down from the counter, licking his soiled lips. Once he was sure that your breathing calmed down a bit he gently stroked away a couple of stray strands of hair and smirked, “Told ya you weren’t in the need of any enhancement, babe. You’re to die for~”

Still concentrating on your oxygen intake you were feeling rather overwhelmed with everything that had played out just now. It took a bit of bargaining with yourself to search for Gojo’s gaze again, but when your eyes met you immediately noticed the mixture of hunger and smug complacency in his. He had gotten you good, but you decided you weren’t going to leave before payback.

And so you cocked your brow up and smirked, “I admit you lived up to your word, Gojo. Mind if we take round two to the bedroom?”

A grin.

“Not at all, princess,” Gojo replied and picked you up bridal style to carry you off into his chamber.

Gojo’s bedroom was dark. Both furniture and bedding were either held in a dark grey or black and the shades were lowered. When Gojo let you down on the bed you took a look around and tended your head slightly at the unexpected interior.

You were torn out of your thoughts when you heard Gojo unbuckle his belt, followed by the sound of his zipper and turned back to see him in his whole glory.

His member was definitely on the larger side, but you were happy to see it came short of what you knew would be painful to insert. It had a nice girth and was slightly tended to the right, the tip glistening with pre-cum meant for your prior endeavors. You licked your lips unconsciously, eager to feel it in you.

“Marveled at my dick enough, have we? ” Gojo smirked knowingly and reached for a condom which just happened to lie on top of his nightstand.

You nodded slightly and watched him routinely put it on, before you pulled him on top of the bed and ravished his mouth with yours. He had deserved your undivided attention after making true of his promise and you were way past the stage of having any second thoughts.

Gojo curled his lips against yours, easily positioning himself on top of you while his hands were suddenly all over your body. It seemed like he wanted to leave his touch on every inch of your being and honestly? At this very moment you didn’t mind if he did.

The energy between the two of you grew hotter by the minute and you gasped for breath when he readjusted your hips so his member was prodding against your entrance.

“Last chance, (Y/N)…hng~”

The strain in his voice did it for you and you brushed a fleeting kiss on his cheek on your way to his ear, “Take me already, Satoru!”

A deep groan reverberated in Gojo’s upper body at the mention of his first name and he penetrated you in a swift, smooth motion, making both of you moan with pleasure.

He gave you a moment before he moved, offering the opportunity to get used to his considerable size before he started moving at a cheeky pace. Something had just clicked between the two of you and you moved against him as if you had never done anything else in your life. It felt liberating. It felt right. . .

A couple many minutes and exchanges of ecstasy later.

You were laying sprawled half-way over Gojo while he lazily played with your slightly damp hair. After your last round he had suggested a shower since you technically still had a train to catch and you thought it a good idea.

If you hadn’t stopped him, you would’ve also stained his bathroom with his name. Who would’ve thought that his infinite also applied to sexual stamina? But then again, it was Gojo who you were talking about.

You weren’t quite sure how this session was going to change your relationship with Gojo in the future, but you definitely didn’t regret going through with it.

You shuffled slightly on the bed and stretched slightly, “Mh, what’s the time?”

“Hn, ten past two,” Gojo replied with a raspy, yet slightly amused voice.

Ten past two. Ten past two. The bullet train back to Kyoto you were supposed to board was leaving at half past two!

You jumped out of the bed, hurriedly reaching for your clothes.

“FUCK!”

“Any time, (Y/N)”

You shot Gojo another glare, painfully aware that he had to have known.

Gojo only gifted you a wink and grinned, “If you are going to be as nice to me as you were just now the next time we meet, I might be willing to help you out, (Y/N)~”

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.,

[hnychn]

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

pairing: poly! bakusquad x gn! reader

summary: why settle for one lover when you could have five? 

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 🐝: ugh i love the idea of all five of these assholes in one relationship !! it just makes my heart 😫. lmk what you thought of it, i appreciate any constructive criticism that'll help me improve 🤍 i'm also working on a shoto work next so!! PS. this ended up being a lot longer than i thought, so i'll be making it into diferent parts!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 || 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞

ur their baby

sorry

don't make the rules 🤷🏻‍♀️

so first and foremost, how you became a part of their relationship.

surprisingly, it was bakugo who brought up the idea to the others 😳

you're not in 1a, but you are in the support class. you make them gadgets 😌

and bakugo met you when the last student who was supposed to be responsible for his costume design and other shit refused to work with bakugo anymore

that was the sixth guy to quit

so you offered to pick up his work 😌

otherwise the storyline wouldn't continue

so bakugo goes to you after school and is like, "listen here you fucking extra-"

and that's as far as he got before you interrupted him and was like:

"no yOU listen you hot-headed cyndaquil! the only reason you should be talking to me is if you want to submit a request for your costume. other than that, don't look at me. don't speak to me. don't even breathe near me. GOT IT?!"

and he was just. . .😳 damn

highkey thought your yelling was hot

so the weeks pass and surprisingly he listens to you and doesn't speak to you outside of making requests for his costume or giving feedback

and your relationship with him is relatively stable

you're not friends but you can live together without ripping each other apart

there's a term for it but i forget what it is

he starts coming by more often because there's a kink in one of your gadgets

so you ask him to stay after school to test it out and figure out what the problem is

you end up talking

and you realise he's not as much of an asshole as you thought he was

and your relationship turns into more of a "friendship" but not if that makes sense?

like, "ok so i don't hate you, but i still hate you."

does that make sense? i how it does

anyways,

the two of you start saying hi in the halls or nodding at each other

bakugo's babies see this and are like ??

yOU MADE A FREND??

yes. yes he did 😌

so kirishima and mina try and convince him to introduce them to you

"why would i introduce you to that dumbass? they're nothing special."

he doesn't mean it, he's just flustered.

so kirishima, mina, kaminari, and sero start looking out for you in the halls

and they start picking up on your routine

without knowing they basically know your schedule

it's bakugo who points it out when kirishima said it was time to go

🦈 "oh! it's time to go guys!"

💥 "why? lunch isn't even over yet"

⚡️ "y/n usually goes to that vending machine by their art class during this time"

💥 ". . . how do you fuckers know that?"

and they're all silent like. . . how do they know that?

that's when it hits then that without them knowing, you slipped your way into their heart

because here they were,

right next to the vending machine where you always go 20 minutes before lunch ended to get a small snack

and when you get there and see bakugo surrounded by a bunch of people looking at you with starry eyed

". . . hi?"

mina lunges at you and asks how the hell you tamed bakugo

"easy, i beat his ass."

"NO YOU DIDN'T YOU FUCKER!"

and you just snort at his reaction and put some coins into the vending machine

"why do you think your gauntlet backfired yesterday, dumbass?"

and he blanks like. . .wait. . . wAIT A MINUTE

"THAT WAS YOU?!"

you nod, "wish i was there to see it though."

and you pout

fUCKING.

POUT.

and they all just feel their heart go doki doki

so the bell rings for class to start and you say goodbye to them and kaminari promises to show you the video he took of bakugo's gauntlet backfiring tmr at lunch

and while they're walking to class, none of them are talking

which is very unusual

but they all know their thoughts are only of you

it's kind of like an unspoken agreement that they're all falling for you

they have a hard time paying attention in class that day.

OK NEXT DAY!!

so you rush over to the bakusquad and practically throw yourself at kaminari

because you wanna see that video

you don't notice he's a blushing mess and the others are staring a bit bitterly because

:I i want that

so he shows you the video and you start laughing so hard

and it's so contagious and soon they're all laughing

except bakugo because he refuses to laugh at himself

but they suddenly hear someone calling your name

and you all look over and see some guy who's also from general studies

they see you roll your eyes and mutter, "fucking hell" under your breath

so it's safe to assume you don't like this guy.

"hey l/n."

"hey tanaka. . ."

the boy shoves his hands in his pockets, "so about that date saturday-"

you might have slapped the bakusquad in the face with a fish because holy-

they never considered you were seeing anyone and now they're kinda heartbroken because oop-

caught feelings too quick 🙊

but you grind your teeth, "it's not a date tanaka. the teacher paired us up for a project because he knows you're so incapable of doing anything on your own you have to be watched like a child."

anD WHOO BOY THEY WERE NOT EXPECTING THAT

kaminari snorts a bit before slapping a hand over his mouth

mina grabs kirishima's arm and burries her face into his jacket to stifle her laughs

kirishima and sero and just staring at each other with wide eyes and slowly growing smiles like "bro did they just say that?" "dude i think they did!"

and bakugo. . .

he's staring at you with the proudest look in his eyes and a smirk because yeah, that's his baby

wait what.

now the boy is a bit embarrassed that you said that in front of some of the school's top heroes

so he sputters a bit before walking away with a red face

💥 "damn i didn't know you had that in you, spit fire."

you stare at him a bit with a small blush at the nickname

and you sputter out a thanks before making an excuse to leave (something about banana milk)

and they all stare at each other

⚡️ ". . .did they . ."

🦈 "was that a-"

🍊 "holy fuck that was-"

💥 "-adorable."

mina is took shocked to say anything

during this time, you bang to realise your feelings for the group as well

but you thought you were being selfish for wanting all five of them

so you kind of avoid them for the next few days in hopes of your feelings going away

you change up your schedule

and when you see them or one of then in the halls you turn around and go another direction

they were a bit confused as to what they did

but kirisima assured them that you were probably just working out your feelings and they should respect that

so they did

and they pretended it didn't hurt when you suddenly dart the other way when you see one of them

they gave you your space

and they thought you would come to them when you had everything worked out

until bakugo cane storming into the dorms one day

he was obviously pissed, but his eyes were also a bit glossy

so they all dragged him to kirishima's room since it was closest and asked him was was wrong

💥 "that dumbass quit from making my items."

and they were all kind of shocked

like wtf ??

uhm, for why?

you had assured bakugo that you wouldn't be another one of those losers who resigned because of his eccentric personality

and yet here we are

they spend the rest of the night in kirishima' room comforting bakugo

because he really took it the hardest

like sure the others liked you too,

but bakugo spent the most time with you

and developed a deeper relationship with you than the others

so the next day,

kirishima wants to talk to you

so he goes to the support room and bumps into hatsume as she was walking out

he asks her if you're in

"oh, yeah they are, I'll go get them for you."

this is a lot longer than i thought it would be uhhh oops

so you come out, not knowing it was kirishima asking for you because hatsume was vague

only telling you, "someone wants to talk to you"

like ok specifics??

anyways

you're like. . . oop heyyy. . .

because you knew what he was there for

the two of you don’t say anything for a bit

you’re just staring at your shoes and he’s looking at you with a small frown on his face 

lowkey he’s kinda disappointed in you

so he finally speaks first

“you quit.” 

it’s not a question, or something you were expecting 

but you nod 

there’s another silence 

“why?” 

you fiddle with your fingers for a bit. 

now this was a question you were expecting, though, you didn’t want to answer 

kirishima is a patient boy though, and waits for you to gather the courage to tell him 

he’s not leaving without an answer

“i just-” you begin, “i. . .” 

kirishima is still waiting patiently for your answer 

“i don’t want to be selfish.” 

now he surprised. wdym selfish. please explain.

“it’s just- you all already have such an established relationship and i don’t want to interrupt that. you guys have a schedule. adding myself into the mix would only mess all of that up, and no matter how strong my feelings are for all of you, i could never mess up your relationship like that. it would be so selfish of me to put my feelings before all of yours, so i thought the only way to get rid of these feeling as to distance myself from all of you...” 

“starting with bakugo...” kirishima whispered after your rambling came to an end. 

you nodded 

kiri was at a stand still for a bit 

and it was silent once again in the hall

kiri knew his lovers had feelings for you too, and would have no problem adding you into the relationship, 

but he also knew he couldn’t fore you into anything 

he was about to reassure you that you wouldn’t be interrupting anything and that they would love to have you in the relationship 

but then you were tackled 

to the ground 

by kaminari 

and smacked your head against the floor

really hard

like, you passed out 

ahaha. . .

when you wake up, your head feels like it’s going to split open

and the loud voices aren’t helping 

so you let out a groan, “shut the fuck up...” 

and everything goes silent. 

until someone SCREAMS AGAIN

“YOU’RE AWAKE!” 

it’s kaminari 

bless his soul

poor baby is a bit slow 

so you groan out again and clutch your head

bakugo slaps the back of kaminari’s head

“shut the fuck up, dunce face!” 

he whisper shouts

mina hands you some pain killers recovery girl said you give you when you woke up, and sero hands you a glass of water 

they’re all watching you as you take the pills 

it’s silent for a bit 

and it’s making you anxious, so you fiddle with the empty glass for a bit before bakugo snatches it from you, 

“dumbass...” he muttered as he refilled it and handed it back to you

sero rubs the back of his head, “so...” 

mina pulls at the hem of her sweater, “we heard everything you said to kirishima.” 

kaminari sits next to you on the bed and whispers, “sorry for tackling you. i just got a bit emotional...” 

I'm so sorry this is getting so long 😭😭 i'm trying to wrap this up so if it gets a bit jumbled, my bad

so they all reassyre you you're more than welcome into their relationship and wouldn't be interfering with anything

so you agree

and they're all so happy 🥳🥳

and while everyone is celebrating

(quietly because your head still feels like shit)

bakugo comes up to you

"you better start making my items again, dumbass. those other dipshits in your class don't know what they're doing."

bakugo only said that because they weren't you but he'd never outright say that to you

OK ITS OVER OH MY

IT GOT SO LONG IM SO SORRY LMAO

[plan-d-to-i]

(google translate again, yeah)

(I forgot to thank you for the last answer, I really didn't know that the drama used the music of my compatriot, it was a pleasant surprise for me)

I don't know if anyone has asked you this before, but do you think JC was good with WWX as a kid?

I mean not just their childhood, but the time of their training in Gusu.

I really love JC, and I understand perfectly well that he is the most dick in character, but I love him precisely during my studies at Gusu, I can not give any arguments that then JC was directly GOOD to WWX, but he is clearly cared a little about him and even ... worried? at least that moment after the punishment where JC helped WWX get to the room...

Yay - I'm so happy to hear about Stravinsky :)

Hahah loving jc as the dick that he is is the way to do it! go for it. :) also, sorry this was so delayed I wanted to reread the Cloud Recesses arc so it would be fresh in my mind before answering.

In terms of jc the Cloud Recesses arc is perhaps the most 'mellow' we see him aside from the Lotus Pod Extra but for me it's still impossible to find him a worthwhile person. I can already see the faults in his character that I know will only get worse as he grows older. Canonically I don't see how he would have any friends studying in the Cloud Recesses if he didn't come as a package deal w Wei Wuxian. I mean I doubt jiang cheng would have any friends without WWX period. In fact jiang cheng doesn't make any friends over the course of 13 years. He's also unable to find a wife bc of his temperament and behavior...

What we can glean about their relationship in the Cloud Recesses arc (and even the Lotus Pod Extra) is that any time WWX gets a kind word or understanding from someone, jiang cheng scoffs at it. Any time someone shits on WWX, jc is there to agree, to relish the idea of WWX being punished, and shit on him some more. He would be an immensely exhausting person to be around. He doesnt believe in WWX's ideas and ingenuity, (as NHS does for example), he doesn't believe WWX is hurt, he always assumes the worst of him, he doesn't believe LWJ might like WWX. The only thing he ever seems to believe is that WWX will dishonor YunmengJiang and that WWX should be punished. So for a kid who supposedly wants his father's approval so badly he instead constantly acts like his mother's mouthpiece/minion. He reprimands WWX like he's trying to become Madam Yu 2.0. I see jc stans all the time being like oh he had to keep WWX in check bc WWX was such a lOOooose canon, for the good of the Clan!! lol listen JFM didn't give a f...about WWX's behavior (in his letter to LQR) why are you so concerned? JFM would have preferred for jc to try & save his peers in the Xuanwu cave or at least to understand why that was the correct course of action rather than for him to just sit in front of the class in the Cloud Recesses and tell WWX off for giving LQR as good as he got, while actually still breaking the rules himself but eschewing punishment.

salt up here, quotes below :

Even when Nie Huaisang picks up on the fact that WWX is being treated unfairly by LQR, jc dismisses it and piles on WWX instead.

Nie Huaisang said, “Old Man Lan really seems like he’s coming down especially harshly on you. Every time he reprimands someone, it’s always you.” Jiang Cheng grunted. “He deserves it. What kind of answer was that? He can get away with saying that sort of nonsense at home, but he had the nerve to say it to Lan Qiren’s face. He was practically asking for the old man to kill him!”

But does WWX get away with ANYTHING in Lotus Pier? When we know he is punished constantly for EVERYTHING? This is jiang cheng fully being his mother's mouth piece. It's not something WWX would get away with, it's something jc knows JFM wouldn't mind. Which is why he's so pissed off. Which begs the question if JFM would not be upset with WWX's behavior why does jc need to criticize him? Again :

A dark expression shadowed Jiang Cheng’s face, and his voice was filled with anger. “Why are you so proud of yourself? What is there to be proud of?! Is being told to get out some amazing accomplishment? You’re making our entire clan lose face!”

and his glee at the idea that WWX will be punished leaves a bad taste in one's mouth considering how WWX was perpetually punished in Lotus Pier by jiang cheng's mother for... existing.

Jiang Cheng smiled grimly. “Now that you’ve thoroughly offended both Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren, you’re basically dead tomorrow. No one’s going to clean up your corpse either.”

and again

Without the old one, only the young one remained. This would be easy to deal with! Wei Wuxian rolled off the bed and laughed while putting on his boots. “Heaven’s charmed clouds are blessing me with shade.” Jiang Cheng was beside him polishing his sword with loving care when he decided to spill cold water over Wei Wuxian’s head. “Just wait until he gets back. You can’t escape punishment.”

Where others like NHS see value in WWX's thoughts

Nie Huaisang thought for a while. “Actually, I thought what you said was very interesting,” he said, not entirely able to hide his envy and yearning.

jc is always dismissive of WWX's ideas. These are inventions that WWX realizes. Demonic cultivation in the first conversation and The Spirit-Attraction Flag and The Compass of Evil in the second:

“Enough,” Jiang Cheng warned. “Whatever nonsense you spout, you better not head down that sort of dark road.”

-

Changing the topic, Wei Wuxian said, “If only there was something like fishing bait that could draw the water ghosts in. Or, something that could point in the direction they’re hiding, like a compass, that sort of thing.”

“Lower your head and watch the water,” Jiang Cheng said. “You’re letting your fantasies run wild again. Concentrate on looking for water ghosts like you’re supposed to.”

“Hey, mounting swords and flying was also only a fantasy once!” Wei Wuxian said.

He's also a hypocrite. Because even though he berates WWX for misbehaving, he himself breaks the rules. He drinks, he even goads WWX into buying liquor, the only difference is that he doesn't get punished for it, and he doesn't feel like coming forward and getting punished for it :

Naturally, Jiang Cheng was too embarrassed to talk about what Wei Wuxian had been up to. After all, all of them had egged him on to go and buy alcohol, and they all deserved to be punished as well. He could only speak vaguely. “It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s not that bad! He can walk. Wei Wuxian, why haven’t you gotten off yet?”

It's no wonder WWX is so impressed by LWJ's integrity in spite of his social status, when he's clearly used to the other dynamic :

“Lan Zhan, I really admire you,” Wei Wuxian said sincerely. “After I told you that you had to punish yourself too, you actually did it. You didn’t let yourself off at all. I can’t argue against that.”

A dynamic which is shown repeating in the Lotus Pod Extra where WWX is the only one to get punished for sunbathing, and which repeats here when Wei Wuxian here stops jiang cheng from confronting Zixuan over YanLi's honor (and jc's) and does it himself.

Zixuan :“Why don’t you ask what about her could make me satisfied?” he said in return.

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng rose. Wei Wuxian pushed him away and stepped between them, smiling coldly. “You think you’re very satisfactory? As though you have the right to be so picky!”

Zixuan: “If she’s unhappy, then let her break off the engagement! I certainly don’t cherish your wonderful disciple-sister. If you cherish her so much, why don’t you take it up with your father? Doesn’t he love you more than his own son?”

After hearing the last sentence, Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, and Wei Wuxian was no longer able to contain his own fury. He flew at Jin Zixuan, his fist raised.

WWX takes the punishment alone. Same way he offers to do when he hurts himself falling from a tree because jc threatened him with dogs. meanwhile jc is gleeful to see him being punished.

[Wei Wuxian] was kneeling on the stretch of pebble road to which Lan Qiren had assigned him when Jiang Cheng walked over from afar and mocked him. “You’re kneeling so obediently.”

“It’s not like you don’t know I have to do this all the time.” Wei Wuxian’s voice filled with schadenfreude. “But this Jin Zixuan guy, there’s no way he hasn’t been pampered and spoiled rotten since birth. No one’s ever forced him to kneel, I’m sure of it. If he doesn’t wind up crying for mommy and daddy today, I’m not named Wei.”....

Wei Wuxian "...It’s a good thing you didn’t do anything.”

“I was going to. If you hadn’t pushed me away, the other side of Jin Zixuan’s face would be hideous too.”

“Stop it. His face is uglier for being lopsided."

WWX is happy to have spared jc from getting into trouble but jc makes the whole thing about himself anyway (like everything else ever) and is upset JFM would rush over for WWX - in his mind. Even though JFM clearly had to rush over to meet with Jin Guangshan not to coddle WWX in any way.

"Jiang Fengmian had never rushed to another clan in less than a day because of him. Regardless of whether what happened was big or small, or good or bad." Never

WWX on the other hand tries to be observant of jc's feelings and reassure him & distract him from his moods :

When Wei Wuxian saw Jiang Cheng’s melancholy expression, he thought he was still upset with what Jin Zixuan said. “You should leave. You don’t need to keep me company any longer. If Lan Wangji comes again, he’ll catch you. If you have time, you should find Jin Zixuan and watch his pitiful kneeling.”

Later in the book after nearly dying in the Xuanwu cave WWX leaves his sick bed to run after jc and comfort him after his mother's rant, even though WWX had to listen to his parents (and himself) being slandered by YZY. jc doesn't spare any thoughts for how other people might be feeling or suffering. His entire perception of the world is centered around himself. To him even WWX's greatest fear doesn't generate empathy, only amusement or later on a form of torture.

From that point onward, they made trouble everywhere together, and if they encountered a dog, Jiang Cheng would always chase it away for him, then enjoy a peal of derisive, unbridled laughter at Wei Wuxian’s expense beneath whichever tree the boy had leapt atop.

he grew up on the streets, often having to fight for food with vicious dogs. After several bites and chases, he gradually became extremely scared of all dogs, no matter the size. Jiang Cheng laughed at him because of this quite a lot of times.

This brings me to the last point. jc's resentment of WWX's interest in Lan Zhan, or in a serious friendship outside of him. I see so many ppl say that bc WWX fought he was kicked out of the Cloud Recesses early... but was he?

Jiang Cheng was somewhat taken aback. “Lan Wangji? What was he doing here? He still has the nerve to come see you again?”

“Yeah, I think his bravery is laudable if he still has the nerve to come see me. His uncle probably told him to check on me and see if I was kneeling properly.”

Jiang Cheng’s instincts were sending him ominous signals. “So were you kneeling properly?”

“I was then,” Wei Wuxian replied. “But I waited for him to walk away a bit, then took a tree branch, lowered my head, and dug out a hole in the dirt near me. It’s the pile right by your foot—there are ant tunnels there. It took me so much effort to find them. Anyway, I waited for him to turn back and see my shoulders shaking. He had to have thought I was crying, so he came back and asked. You should have seen his face when he caught sight of the ant tunnels!

“…” Jiang Cheng said, “Why don’t you just get the hell out and go back to Yunmeng? I bet he never wants to see you again.”

Thus, that evening, Wei Wuxian packed up his things, got the hell out, and went back to Yunmeng with Jiang Fengmian.

Repeatedly throught his stay in the Cloud Recesses even while NHS was observing that LWJ's behavior around WWX was strange and unique, jc was telling WWX he is hated and bothersome. When WWX wanted to apologize to LWJ jc is completely dismissive of it :

“He hates me already? I was thinking of apologizing to him,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Oh, so you want to apologize now? It’s too late!” Jiang Cheng said derisively. “He’s exactly like his uncle. He thinks you’ve been wicked ever since you were an embryo, so it’s beneath his dignity to pay you any attention.”

Later on when WWX mentioned wanting to invite LWJ to Lotus Pier jc categorically says no.

“Jiang Cheng had on a stern expression, “Let’s make this clear. I don’t want him to come, anyhow. Don’t invite him.”

BONUS

jc also always doubts WWX. He suspects him immediately of wrongdoings. He doesn't believe that getting hit with the discipline ruler in Cloud Recesses actually hurt him until LXC confirms that WWX might take more than a few days to heal. He doesn't understand WWX is in actual trouble from the Waterborne abyss and assumes he's fooling around luckily Lan Zhan is there to rescue him:

The disciple’s lower body had already been swallowed by the black whirlpool. It spun faster and faster, and he continued to sink deeper and deeper, as though something hidden beneath the water was pulling down on his legs.

Mounted on Sandu, Jiang Cheng had risen calmly until he was about sixty meters above the whirlpool before he looked down. Filled with displeasure at what he saw, he shouted and dove down. “What are you up to now?!”

The suction force inside Lake Biling grew ever stronger. Wei Wuxian’s sword was optimized for agility, and consequently, its strength happened to fall just short, and they were nearly pulled to the surface of the lake. Wei Wuxian steadied himself and held on to Su She with both hands.

“Someone help! If I can’t pull him up soon, I’ll have to let go!” he shouted.

Suddenly, the back of Wei Wuxian’s collar tightened, and his body was lifted into the air. He twisted his neck and saw Lan Wangji holding him up with one hand.

He maintains this same mindset when he tries to whip LWJ and WWX as they're attempting to leave Lotus Pier after the ancestral hall confrontation when WWX passes out.

Is jc evil in the Cloud Recesses ? No. He's just an annoying, basic, disagreeable asshole who doesn't bring anything positive to someone like WWX. People like jc become obsessed with kind, outgoing, generous people, people who don't set boundaries on what they give and what others take in their friendships. Even though they're dependent on them for their social interactions, because who else would socialize with them willingly, they resent them in equal measure, but at the same time they wouldn't be drawn to another selfish, self centered piece of shit person like themselves.

On a personal note, even Cloud Recesses jiang cheng is someone I would exclude from any personal friend group. Friendship with him is adding a minefield of jealousies and snide comments to every interaction. Things that then others will need to compensate around because he won't compromise or empathize w issues outside of his own concerns.

Translation source : x

[yesimwriting]

Searing Starlight (chapter 3)

A/n I CANNOT believe how many people have supported this story,, I’m so excited to continue it with you guys :)) 

Just a reminder that while this is based off the show i hope to blend in some book aspects/vibes and this is just a fanfic and it won’t be completely accurate/follow the show 100% and any changes I make/parts I chose not to focus on are for the sake of the story I’m trying to tell 

-- 

I can’t tell if I wish Kaz had let me go with Inej or not. She’s faster than I am, and considering that I have no real reason to be loyal to them, I’m a flight risk. That means I’m stuck here with only the Kaz Brekker and Jesper, who I tricked. I hadn’t exactly befriended Inej entirely in the few minutes I was alone with her, but she seemed more trustworthy than them. More susceptible to reason. And when she heard where I was from, who was responsible for raising me, something in the way she watched me changed. It was the oddest combination--a look of both tired sympathy and cautious admiration.

“What I don’t understand…” Jesper breaks the silence. “Is why you all go back there. He lets you leave, he gives you money--there’s no reason to return.” 

I try not to let the question anger me. I shift awkwardly, scratching at my palm. “We tried leaving.” My stomach knots. “Once.” How do I make them understand? “He caught us because we young and stupid, and then he…” I exhale slowly. They’re just words. They don’t change anything. Whether I speak them or not, the events of my history aren’t different. “He picked the youngest, a girl only six months younger than me, and he slit her throat from ear to ear and took a finger of anyone that flinched as her blood splattered onto them. He said her blood was our penance and to live with knowing what we did to her would be our punishment.” 

I don’t tell them that I was twelve. I don’t tell them Anya lied about my birthday on the records. I don’t tell them I’m missing the very tip of my pinky--a small punishment for the twitch of my lip. “When Kenya is truly angry, he never hurts you--he hurts those around you.” No one responds to that. They’re making me seem like such a bummer. “It’s not awful all the time...he borders on agreeable when you listen to him.” 

Most days we have peace, left to our own devices as long as we accomplish certain goals. Their silence does little to unnerve me. After speaking so freely of such a nightmare, the desire to be rid of the taste of those words from my mouth is almost overwhelming, but I hold to the silence. 

“Why has he never sold you to the grisha that are so desperate for you?”

Of course Kaz Brekker would ask a question like that. “He isn’t the business of money, he’s in the business of creating gods. He indentures people he thinks could one day become saints or something else entirely. He wants to be owed by the heavens.” 

I watch Kaz carefully, a part of me curious about how someone like him could react to a goal like that. I can see him understanding the ambition of it all, but I can’t imagine himself a person of faith. Perhaps he’ll think it a clever trick. Perhaps he’ll even agree with Kenya.

He nods once; something I get nothing from. 

Whatever. He can be coy and distant this entire time. They all can. I’ll be out of here soon enough, and I’ll find Anya. And if I can stop something bad from happening to Alina then that’s a bonus I’m willing to take risks for. 

“That man is awful.” 

Inej’s voice comes from right behind me. I snap my head around. “You’re in here.” 

She nods once, oblivious to how shocking her sudden appearance is. She hands me a knapsack casually, staring at Kaz. “What’s the plan? We have six hours.” 

I look around the room, only seeing one closed window and one closed door. “There’s one door in this room.” 

“We take the Inferni to the ship.” He doesn’t even bother looking in my direction. 

Okay, they can be mean to be all they want but they can’t ignore me. I don’t think I’ve ever been ignored in my entire life. Gods in the making get attention. It may be the cruel attention of fate, but it’s something. 

“Did she come in through the window?” 

Again, I am ignored. 

“And then what, boss?” Jesper casually crosses the room, sitting down next to me on the small couch. It’s like I’m not even here. “We’d need to break into the Little Palace to get Alina.” 

What? “You guys are going to--” No. No. I am not kidnapping Alina. And there’s no way she’d be in the Little Palace. “First off--if you want to kidnap Alina Starkov for whatever insane ploy you’re all playing at, you’d never find her at Little Palace. She’s not a Grisha and second--” I cut myself off, standing from my seat. “Why am I even telling you this? I shouldn’t be helping you kidnap her.” 

Kaz’s eyes dart to me boredly. At least it’s some kind of acknowledgement of my existence. “I thought you two weren’t close.” 

I seriously consider scorching him. Just a little. Not even enough to scar him, just enough to get him to shut up. “She’s still a person who has a right to her body and what happens to it.” 

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but if we pull this off we get one million kruge.” 

What does he think I’m going to say? ‘Okay, well as long as you’re doing it for a good reason.’ Is that the response he expects. “Okay, well that makes it fair.” 

His eyes narrow skeptically, but Jesper is the one to ask, “Really?” 

“No,” I scoff, slumping back into my seat, “I was being sarcastic.” 

I drop my head back, neck craning over the back of the small couch. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it makes it easier to ignore them. I’ve kept worse company for less. There’s an odd silence for a long second. I look forward without moving, I see Kaz vaguely gesture in Inej’s direction.

“Y/n,” Inej’s voice is refreshingly measured, “I think after the kinds of things we’ve gone through we understand that there’s some relativity in morality.” 

I shift my head to the right so I can look at her. “...Yes, but you’re just forcing another girl into a similar situation.” Why is Alina even worth so much? “And why would anyone pay so much for Alina?” 

Inej hesitates, glancing at Kaz and then back at me. “She’s a Sun Summoner.” 

On instinct, I straighten entirely, my body rigid. They’re insane. “You all are cracked if you think Alina’s a Sun Summoner.” No. No. It couldn’t be her. “Bless your hearts, seriously, she’s--she was trained to be a map maker--she’s not…” None of them relax, none of them shift in any way. What good would lying about this bring them? They have no reason to lie about this. “Saints, I should have had more to drink while downstairs.” 

So what if she’s a Sun Summoner? She didn’t ask to be one. She doesn’t deserve this. I cross my arms. “It doesn’t make this okay.” 

“And would it make it okay if you were getting a cut of the profit?” What? 

Kaz is looking at me in that tactful way. It takes all of my focus to not let myself become unnerved. “What?” 

“If I offered you a cut, would you be able to push aside more protests in order to make working with you easier?” 

Could I do it? Could I betray Alina? I drop my gaze away from his, opting to focus on the forgotten lantern on the coffee table in front of me. It flickers to life with no conscious prompting on my part. The flame is low and blue. Still though, Kaz notices it. What doesn’t he notice? 

“I can help you do what I agreed to.” I swallow around a lump in my throat, “But I cannot help you kidnap Alina.” 

The corner of his mouth tugs downwards. “We’re just going to get her to work with us.” 

“Work with you?” 

“We never said anything about taking her, and if Alina is really your friend you should know that the entire world is after her. Better us who can get her out of an unwanted situation quickly than the brutal General Kirigan who will hold her hostage until she does what he wants.” 

...I guess he has a point. “Oh.” I’m not naive enough to think that their methods will revolve around making Alina comfortable, but perhaps it’s not as dark as I assumed. “Maybe I was a little quick to assume…” I trail off awkwardly, looking at Inej for some type of reassurance. She avoids my gaze. 

I scratch the back of my arm, feeling like a spiraling child. I pick up my knapsack and place it on my lap, fiddling with the strap. 

“Come on,” Kaz stands, adjusting his grip on his cane, “We only have until sunrise.” 

As I stand, I pull down the skirt of my dress, suddenly aware of how inappropriate my clothing is for this late in the night. “Can--can I change first?” 

It’s a sheepish question, leaving me feeling like a child. 

“Five minutes,” Kaz offers, stepping out of the room with the rest of them. 

Inej leaves last, feet more silent than a cat. She offers me the tiniest hint of a smile. Despite my reservations, I beam at her. Something about me finds her politeness endearing despite it all. I think she closes the door loudly on purpose, to assure me of privacy. 

Normally changing in a building so full of drunk men would leave me nervous, but knowing Inej is outside leaves me feeling safe. I may not trust her with my life but something about her being tells me she values personal autonomy enough to protect it. 

I sift through the belongings Inej brought me. Clean underwear I try not think of her searching for, a thin white dress, comfortable pants, shorts, a few casual shirts, my red hood, and a nightgown. When I get to the bottom of the bag, and I see the personal belongings Inej smuggled back for me, I’m moved so powerfully my hand flies to my mouth on instinct. She had brought the folded up piece of paper with the only information I’ve been able to find about Kamil, the book I left on my nightstand, the small candle holder Alina had given me the day before I was taken away, the blade Mal had given me the day I left, the deck of playing cards Anya had first taught me to play with, and my mother’s necklace. The silver north star on a long chain. 

Before I can become too emotional, I take off the Crow’s Club T-shirt Inej had given me when I looked cold. I change into black pants, tucking the small blade Mal had given me into the pocket. The shirt I put on is pale blue, breaking the dark theme of everything around me. I fasten my red hood over my shoulders, basking in the familiar fabric. Lastly, I pull the north star necklace over my head, watching the blue orb with a black dot at its center blink at me in the light. I always found the stone at the pendant’s center odd. I'm quick to walk towards the door, nervous about what wasting their time could mean. 

“Let’s do this,” I sigh, pushing open the door. 

They all pause. Or maybe they were never moving. I try to imagine them interacting normally, but it’s hard to picture them as anything but intense and unflinching. There’s something odd about them, though, Jesper practically sulking and Kaz dropping his head despite Inej’s harsh stare.

“What kind of stone is in your necklace?” 

I swear to the Saints that if Kaz Brekker tries to steal it I’ll melt those leather gloves into his hands. “Try to take it and--” 

“That’s what I get for trying to make ‘polite conversation.’” He throws a look at Inej as he speaks the last two words. 

Wait--did Inej tell him to try to make polite conversation? Wait--more importantly, did he just kind of, almost say something that borders on casual? 

Wrinkling my nose, I let out a slight sigh. “Sorry.” 

His eyebrows draw together quizzically. “Did you just apologize for assuming I’d steal from you?” 

Great. Now I’m fully embarrassed. “Can we just go?” 

“Not before meeting me, I hope.” The stranger’s voice means nothing to me, but the others tense at it immediately. What? The man continues to walk forward, his steps too casual and confident for me to trust. The stranger is quick to respond to the question on my face, “Pekka Rollins.” 

--

Taglist: @ambrosia-v-black @fandomstuffff @boxofteenageideas @losers-club6 @cityofstaars @stillreadingfantasy @slatersbrekker  @xoxo-aclown @alzawas-plug @nuwanda-greaser @swearingsolemnly @-thatgirloverthere-

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part VII

Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys

Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. Also, huge thanks to @reidscanehand​ for beta-ing and just generally being my hype person!!!!

Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

...

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

Spencer Reid Re:

Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho.

...

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited years to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now painfully aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— someone about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— talked to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain.

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. Find that Reid and bring him back to us. He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.

———

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Broken tags: @saspencereid @this-is-gublerween

[awanderingdeal]

I vote leo meeting the harvard team! 💕

So this fic has been a bit of a mare to write, but we are here!

You can read the first part of this here

Rating: T

CW: Alcohol, academic superiority complex and coming out.

Logan, Finn, Leo, Percy, Will and the general Sweater Weather universe belongs to @lumosinlove. The other team members were made up by me for this fic.

“Okay, tell me their names again,” Leo said, tugging at the rolled neck of his sweater as he shut the car door.

“Nutty,” Finn laughed. “There’s not going to be a pop quiz. We’ll introduce you when we meet people.”

Leo scowled, letting Logan thread their fingers together. It was weird being able to do this in public still and Leo couldn’t help but glance around. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Logan squeezed his hand reassuringly, meeting Leo’s gaze with a soft smile.

“Nobody expects you to know anything. And everybody’s great.” Logan wrinkled his nose like he’d just smelt something bad. “Except Wesley, he’s an ass, but I’ll point him out.”

Like many of the others in Harvard square, the building was all exposed brick and white accents, blending in seamlessly with those around it. Inside was different, more modern. Leo didn’t get to see much of the first floor, the one dedicated to the restaurant Finn, Logan and the rest of the team had dined at previous evening, before he was ushered up a grand staircase, but he’d seen the photographs. The cherry blossom ceilings and walls of glass provided the perfect backdrop for the instagram feeds of the hoards of celebrities and influencers that flocked there. Hence his surprise when, after checking their invitations again, an employee pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a room that more resembled a 1920’s speakeasy than anything 21st century. A loud cheer went up as they crossed the threshold.

“Is this a team thing?” Leo mouthed at Logan.

He got his answer from Percy Marshall. Leo had met him a few times before when they’d played the Rangers. “You’re the last to arrive,” Percy chuckled. “I’d say I was surprised, but that would be a lie.” He slapped a hand playfully against Finn’s bicep. Is this outfit change number 52, Finn? Don’t worry, you didn’t disappoint. You look wonderful.”

“Fuck you, Marshy,” Finn laughed. “Tremz was on a call to his sisters actually.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Percy clasped his hand to his chest. “We wouldn’t dare break up a Tremblay soiree.”

“You’re an ass,” Logan scoffed, plucking at Finn’s slacks. “I was only talking to them because Finn was taking so long. Did you know there are several shades of mustard and only one of them goes with this shirt?”

“Oh look, they argue like an old married couple too,” William Morgan, another of those Leo knew, and Percy’s teammate on the Rangers, teased. “Marshy, these hands are looking too empty. Get these men a drink.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n.” Leo set to follow as Percy led the way to the bar, stumbling slightly as he found Will’s firm grasp on his shoulder stopping his movement. Logan turned as his fingers slipped from his hand.

“Go ahead, Tremzy. I’m going to introduce Leo to some of the team. We want all the gossip without you two around to censor him.”

Logan frowned. “I’m not sure -”

“Relax, Logan. This isn’t a hazing. We’ll be right over there,” Will pointed towards a group perched on stools around two of the tables in the centre of the room, a mix of the old team and what Leo assumed were their partners. “Knut’s a big boy. He can object for himself if he really doesn’t want to come.”

“I’m sure I can hold my own,” Leo cocked his head slightly and smiled. “You better not leave Harzy with Percy for too long. They’ll be three shots down by now.”

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of introductions. Leo had lost count of the number of hands he'd shaken and the new names he'd learned. It reminded him of those first few days in Gryffindor, being shuffled around from place to place and everybody telling him he'd get used to it.

The quiet of the bathroom was a welcome reprieve to the chaos. “Sweetheart,” Leo laughed, listening to Finn sing to himself in the stall. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” A concerningly loud crash preceded the door being pushed open. “I’m here.”

“You’re drunk,” Leo chuckled.

Finn pulled his hands from under the stream of water, shaking droplets everywhere as he squeezed the tips of his thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe just the tiniest bit.”

Leo shook his head fondly. “Let’s go and find Lo.” Glancing back to check Finn was following him proved to be a mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologised, rubbing at his forehead and stepping back from the wall of muscle he’d just crashed into. Of course, the tall man with his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail was the one person Leo hadn’t yet met.

“Leo, this is James. Call him Hunter,” Finn grinned with his hand resting in the small of Leo’s back. "Hunter, this is -"

"Leo Knut. I know. Everybody knows," Hunter said and Leo noted the familiar notes of his own accent in the words. He faltered with his hand thrust halfway in Leo's direction, letting it fall back by his side. "Oh fuck, sorry man. Did you want to introduce him as your boyfriend? Go ahead."

"It's cool, no worries." Finn shrugged, the rounds of his cheeks tinged with the slightest of blushes. "Aww, what the heck!" He squared his shoulders, standing a little taller, the corners of his mouth splitting with pride. "Hunter, this is Leo, my boyfriend."

Hunter extended his hand again for Leo to shake. “Nice to meet you. Please excuse me, I have to use the bathroom now, but we’ll talk later.”

***

"Boys." The call had come from behind them and Logan groaned low in his chest as they turned to acknowledge it.

"Wes! You made it," Finn smiled, the corners of his mouth tight. "We weren't sure you'd be able to. With all those big meetings you have to attend and such. Is your wife, Renee, wasn’t it, here? I'd love to meet her."

Something flickered in Wes' smug expression. "They stayed in California. Nate has a very busy schedule. Harvard is very important to me, as you know, so I came alone."

“Isn’t Nate three?” Logan blinked.

“You have to give them a good start if you want them to get them to get into a good college these days, I’m sure you understand. Where was it you went, Leo?"

Leo pursed his lips, letting the same calm wash over him that he channelled for interviews. “I didn’t go. I got drafted straight out of high school.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” Wes said. “College isn’t for everybody though, is it?”

Logan bristled beside him, and Leo placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Indeed,” he blinked. “I didn’t need my intelligence validated by a degree then, and I still don’t now. And I was hardly about to turn down an offer from The Gryffindor Lions now, was I?”

Wes grumbled something that sounded vaguely like an agreement before turning on his heel and walking off in a manner that Leo could only describe as petulant.

“You’re so hot,” Finn took Leo’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want another?”

“Please,” Leo nodded. Logan raised his still mostly full glass as a rejection of the offer.

“You should have let me punch him,” Logan huffed. “He would have deserved it.”

"And get blood on your shirt? Let’s leave that on the ice, shall we?” Leo tugged at the lapels of Logan’s jacket.

***

"So," Logan started as they claimed one of the low tables in the corner, a little tucked away from the rest of the room. "What do you think?"

"It's always nice seeing where you two started," Leo hummed, threading his fingers through the thin curls on the nape of Logan's neck. "I just don't know how you used to do this everyday. Live amongst all this energy. The guys all seem great, but it's a lot even now and I'm assuming you've all mellowed somewhat with age."

"I am not old," Logan scoffed. "Mais non, I agree. Wasn't always like this though. There's more than one graduating class here and we've been apart a long time. A lot of excitement."

"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up with Biscuit. He has triplets now, isn't that crazy?" Finn said, pressing a glass into Logan’s hand and setting Leo’s in front of him before flopping onto the couch opposite. "One Margarita for the fine sir."

"Thanks, Harzy," Leo laughed lightly.

"I can't believe him and Vanessa are still together," Logan hummed, taking a long sip of his drink. He leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right thigh and snaked his arm across the dark leather, brushing his fingers against Leo's shoulder. "I only introduced them because she was flirting with you at that party, the one just after we got back from winter break my junior year, and I wanted to distract her."

"Oh, so that's why you got all moody," Finn said. "She wasn't flirting, she needed help with an essay, idiot."

"The fact you remember Logan's mood on a night seven years ago says more about you than him," Leo snorted.

"First of all, Tremzy being grumpy? That's just a good guess. Second, some of us were still stupid at 20, Knutty." Finn sighed wistfully. "Hey, at least it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed in the chest these days when I think about it. Progress, right?"

Logan tipped his glass in Finn's direction, nodding his head briefly. "I'll cheers to that."

"To -" Leo started, letting the toast die off as another of Finn and Logan's old team mates approached. He hoped the disappointment he felt wasn't written across his face; whilst he hadn't really expected to be left alone for too long, he had hoped for the brief respite to have lasted longer.

"Hey." The newcomer had his hand shoved into his pockets and his shoulders stooped, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Ken!" Finn patted the empty seat next to him. "Of course not. Come, sit."

Leo extended his arm, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you. Ken was it? I'm Leo."

"Ken's what the team always called me. Don't really hear it much these days." Leo thought he saw something sad in the smile sent his way. "My real name is Obi."

"That's because you went off the radar," Logan gave a pointed look.

"About that -" Obi swiped Finn's drink, ignoring his disgruntled protest. He drained what was left of it, pulling at an non-existent loose thread on his sweater. "I wanted to say thank you, you know. For having the guts to come out. I know Black and Lupin were first, but that was forced wasn’t it. You made a choice. I know that must have been hard. It was one hell of a ballsy move."

Leo looked between Finn and Logan, expecting them to answer, but neither of them spoke. "We didn't have much of a choice, not if we didn't want to be watching our back every second of every day."

"It was still brave," Obi muttered. "I couldn't have done it."

"Ken, what are you saying?" Logan never did have much patience for others taking their time to get to the point, even though he was a fan of the scenic route himself.

"They gave you a whole Harvard degree and you need to ask that question?" Obi huffed a laugh. "I'm gay. I met Marco, my now husband at the end of senior year, and freaked out. I didn't know how to make these two worlds work, so I didn't. I moved to DC with him, and started a new life. I'm an accountant, he works in marketing. We have four rats, and a Vizsla called Poppy. It's all very domestic. I love it, but I was a coward.”

"You're not a coward. You don't owe that information to anybody, Ken. Not the others, not the media, not the NHL and not us. Not now, not then, not ever.” Finn took a breath, holding up his finger to signal he wasn’t finished. “Besides, it's not as if Lo and I planned this. We went into this with every intention of stuffing this deep, deep into the depths of denial, never for anybody to find out. Including ourselves. And then Nutty came along.”

Obi smiled at Leo, turning his attention back to Finn. "When did you become Gay Yoda?"

"I spend way too much time in our psych's office. Just spreading the wisdom. Heather would be proud."

"Do the others know?" Logan asked.

"Not yet, I think I'd like them to though."

Logan shifted, leaning forward in his seat. "There's no rush, Ken. We've got your back, whatever you decide."

"So, do you have photos?" Leo cocked his head. "We got to show off. Now it's your turn. Even if it's only for us."

"Of Marco?"

"I'm sure he's wonderful, but I was actually talking about Poppy. And the rats," Leo teased.

There were moments when Leo wondered whether they had made the right decision. When he was playing in front of hostile crowds, or fending off stupid media questions, or blocking bigots on twitter. And then there were moments when he knew the decision they had made was 100% perfect. Right now, that was one of those moments.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture ­– a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.  

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.  

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

 —

 As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.  

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.  

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.  

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.  

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

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