#his ear for it is impeccable I’m not stressing either way

[solarwynd]

This still interests me a lot because he said something similar along the lines of him believing that like crazy would be more favored over smf2 in the DOC because it was pop/more mainstream. Even though he might not necessarily be referring to music in the screenshot still so happy jimin goes with his gut and what he likes instead of tailor making things to take they easy route out.

[elifalvey]

LOCATION: Eli and Asli's home, Claret Park.

WHEN: After Spring Extravaganza's annual kayak race.

WHO: Elijah & Aslihan ( @draslihanxfahri-bailey ).

The sound of the idling Jeep rang through Elijah’s ears and nothing else, having sat in the driveway with his hands still clutching onto the steering wheel for more than a handful of minutes now; it was a bloody miracle that he even managed to make it home in one piece, all puffy-eyed and mentally disheveled by the time he turned the corner of their street. Things had been fine when he’d first showed up. He’d been determined to have a good day, spending much needed quality time with Erol as they watched the town’s yearly kayak race commence. The moment that Erol had left, however, it was like it had all gone to shit — with impeccable timing, another ghost of his past had decided to waltz back into his life and now he was stuck, replaying their conversation over and over in his mind. He would have hated you for doing this to us. His knuckles were white — had been the entire drive, actually — and he slowly, meticulously, almost painfully unfurled his fingers in an attempt to calm down. He turned the car off. Released a breath. Shut his eyes as the engine came to a halt and he was met with complete silence. No, no, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fucking calm down. As he sat there and tried, the only thought that had reared its ugly head was how badly he needed a fucking cigarette instead, and his breath easily turned into a frustrated groan. The crux of the issue was Kaya, and how easily she and Roman had managed to crumble the walls he’d placed in front of himself after nearly five whole years of building them up, but the inability to process any of that so quickly meant that his anger had redirected in different ways; the inability to find his stupid cigarettes being the main one, at the minute, itching to relieve an almost insatiable stress-induced urge. He patted his pockets down several times when he first hurried back to the car, but found nothing except his phone and wallet. Afterwards, he practically turned the whole damn thing upside down to sift through every compartment — no luck there, either. He couldn’t even visualize them sitting atop his bedside nightstand, like most misplaced things he happened to realize were misplaced far too late. He was at a loss. Opening his eyes again, he finally willed himself to move, locking the vehicle behind him and barreling into the house. He didn’t make time to kick off his shoes, or to pet the cats that came trotting to say hello as he usually would. Rather, he barreled up the stairs and made a beeline for their bedroom in order to tear that entire place up, too. No blanket left unruffled, no pillow spared as he feverishly searched for the tiny blue box he’d been needing as a crutch. As to be expected, there was no sight of them, and so he detoured to the balcony, and then the bathroom, and each of the guest rooms until the entire upstairs had been rifled through. He couldn’t fucking find them. He expelled another irritated groan. “Babe!” he called out, his voice practically booming through the otherwise quiet house as he hurried back down the stairs, searching for Aslihan this time. Undoubtedly an easier task, and maybe she’d know where he put them. “Asli, have you seen my American Spirits? I thought I saw them this morning, but now I can’t fucking find them, and I —” He tiredly ran a hand over his face, into his beard before he finally made eye contact with her once it dropped to his side. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out, a little softer. “Have you seen them?”

[forever-rogue]

can i request just steven fluff? Maybe you are stressed and he is going out of his comfort zone to comfort you? I want a fic that is just him bc i hate the way Marc is always always always the focus! I love marc but steven my love <3

AN | Steven really just out here being everyone’s dream mans, huh? I just think he would the sweetest when you need him  🥰

Pairing | Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Period Related Issues, Mentions of Estranged Family

Word Count | 1.6k

Masterlist | Main, Moon Knight

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Hello darling,” his voice was soft and cheery as he looked from the book he was reading as you trudged into his apartment. He hadn’t done anything wrong or said anything wrong but it still managed to annoy you. You felt bad the moment you realized it was probably written all over your face.

“No,” you sighed as you shook your head before dropping your bag and heading towards the bathroom to take a long, hot shower, “I’m so sorry, Steven. I just…I’m in a horrible mood. It’s not you, at all, but I just need a bit of time alone.”

“Okay,” he agreed softly, deciding to respect your boundaries. For a moment he wanted to be offended but then quickly decided realized it wasn’t personal. Instead he dog-eared the page he was on and tossed his book onto the table before walking into the kitchen. If there wasn’t anything he could say to make you feel better, then maybe a nice cup of tea would help. 

Just standing under the hot water and scrubbing away the grime of the day helped you to feel a million times better. You took your time, making sure you were thoroughly clean, lathering up in Steven’s soap and shampoo. You always loved how he smelled and wanted to have him that much closer, that even when you woke up the next you could still feel him.

You weren’t even sure how long you remained in the shower, stepping out only when the water started to run cold. Steven must have slipped in silently at some point, leaving a warm, fluffy towel and some clean clothes for you on the edge of the sink for you. The kind gesture made your heart constrict slightly, and you felt bad for how you’d snapped at him. He always managed to be so gentle and kind hearted, even when people didn’t deserve it. 

You were drying off your hair when you walked back into the living area, finding him watching a random documentary on TV, a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of him. He had impeccable timing and had made your favorite tea in your favorite mug. 

“Steven,” you whispered his name so softly that it captured his attention immediately. A smile worked its way onto his face as he patted the spot next to him on the couch where he’d placed a big blanket. You made a small sound as you padded over and huddled under the warmth of it as he wrapped his arm around you without hesitation, “I’m sorry for snapping at you, my love. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he insisted with that grin you loved so much, “we all have off days. I’m sure I’m not always a peach either, and yet you still put up with me!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you turned so you were looking up at him. His eyes were illuminated by soft lamp light, making them the most lovely shade of umber, his gaze so tender and gentle, “you are always wonderful, Steven. I can’t even think of a moment you weren’t.”

“No need to flatter me,” a dark flush of pink crept into his cheeks as you gently touched his face, “do you want to tell me about it? What’s got you upset, sweetheart?”

“It’s just…I apologize in advance for all my whinging, but I’m just going to get it off my chest and then it’ll be done,” you huffed lightly.

“Don’t apologize,” he repeated softly, “just tell me. Let me carry some of the burden for you.”

“I love you,” was the first thing off your lips as you leaned up to kiss him. He repeated the sentiment quietly, “work has been mental, as I’ve already whined about, and my boss has been hounding me about this silly presentation I’m working on. I’m not presenting it for another two weeks and it’s coming along. He’s practically hovering over me half the day about it and it’s frustrating. I know what I’m doing and am more than capable. I wish he’d leave me alone.”

“He’s…definitely something,” he agreed, never having been his biggest fan, “have you tried…suggesting that he could leave you alone?”

“In nice terms,” you sighed, “I think I might just have to be direct, even if it hurts his feelings a little. Maybe then I can breathe.”

“I can always rough him up a little,” he suggested with an eyebrow wiggle as you couldn’t help but laugh, “well, maybe Marc can, but it’s all the same, innit?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned as he shot you a cheeky wink, “on top of that, my family’s been on me about us going to see them and spending the week there. And…hesitation is not anything to do with you. I just…I don’t really want to see them. They front like they’re such wonderful people but they’re not - I mean, I’ve told you stories about them. They’re my family you know, by blood, but you…you’re my real family. You’re the one that matters.”

“The feeling is much the same, sweetheart,” the expression he was watching you with was nothing short of reverent. His hand found your face as he stroked his thumb over your cheek before wiping away the tears that had pearled up and rolled down, “don’t cry, it’s alright. Don’t pay them any mind.”

“I know,” you huffed with a light laugh, “it’s silly to worry about something so trivial.”

“If it has to do with your feelings, it’s not trivial.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you wrapped an arm around his middle, snuggling yourself into his side as much as possible, wanting to mold yourself into him, “I’m glad one of us manages to be level-headed. I am also majorly deep in my PMS and that’s not helping anything.” 

“I can’t speak to how horrible that is,” he shuffled you around slightly so he could pull you into lap. He reached up and swiped his thumb along your bottom lip, and you pressed a kiss to it before taking his hand repeating the action to each finger, “but it seems like the worst. .”

“It can be,” that might have been an understatement, “and makes me so…I don’t know. The hormones definitely are all over the place. I cried at a commercial with a dog earlier-”

“But was it a sad commercial?”

“Not even,” you laughed, a sense of ease seeping into your bones. Nothing - nobody - made you feel the way he did. So loved and cared for…seen and heard, “it was just a commercial. And then I came home and was mean to you! I…I’m sorry, truly Steven. But you…thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for, darling?” Was it possible for him to be any sweeter? You put your hands on either side of his hand, studying him intently as he practically beamed at you. You sighed lightly, a warm contented sound, before leaning and kissing him gently. His hands found purchase on your waist as he held you softly, capturing your lips with a few soft kisses of his own. 

“For being you,” you kissed his cheek before pressing your forehead against his, “for always being there for me, for being kind and patient, gentle, and loving. You are everything and more than I could ever wish for. I love you.”

“You have me, sweetheart,” he promised, nudging your nose with his, “I love you too…did you use my shampoo?”

“Yes,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around your neck, carding a hand through his dark curls, “I wanted to smell like you. It always makes me feel better. That’s why I like to use your pillow when you’re gone. It makes me feel like you’re there.”

“Funny story,” he whispered in your ear before you pulled back to look at him, “I do the same thing to your pillow.”

“Steven,” the small laugh that escaped your lips was definitely his favorite sound in the world, “I am so in love with you. Every little thing you do and say. You’re my favorite thing in this world.”

“I think that might just be the crazy hormones talking,” he suddenly seemed very shy as he dipped his head, burrowing it in your neck. His arms had a tight grip on and you kissed the side of his head, “silly, gorgeous girl.”

“It’s not,” you promised quietly, “it’s the truth, Steven Grant. I just…thank you.”

“You’re my favorite thing too,” he was gently stroking your back, the touch feeling wonderful on your stiff muscles, causing you to arch into his touch, “want to order a take away and watch a silly romantic comedy?”

“I would love nothing more,” the look in your eyes was enough to make him melt, “you’ve turned my entire day around and made it a million times better, my love.”

“And I’ll do it whenever you need me to,” it was a soft, gentle promise, “my darling.”

[iamasphodelknox]

Suptober Day 26 Happy Homemaker

Dean pulled Baby into the garage and turned off her engine. 

Home. He was home. 

And home meant Cas. He grinned and followed Sam as they both got out of the car, grabbed their duffels, and made their way into the bunker. 

“Cas?” Dean hollered as he and Sam walked to their rooms. No response. 

“Maybe he’s out in the garden,” Dean muttered under his breath. He opened his bedroom door. 

“We were only gone three days, Dean,” Sam teased with a smirk before going into his room and closing the door. Dean just rolled his eyes fondly. 

“Cas, buddy?” Dean shouted again, tossing his bag into his bedroom and making his way towards the kitchen.

The closer Dean got to the kitchen, the more he picked up scents of cinnamon, cloves, apples, and… was that chocolate? Dean followed his nose and turned into the kitchen. 

There was Cas in an impeccable clean kitchen, mixing something in a bowl. The oven was on and Dean could just see the outline of something baking. And lined up next to the oven on the counter, were three loaves of what looked like banana bread, two stacks of muffins, and a tray of brownies. 

“Do you stress bake when I’m gone, Cas?” Dean asked, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning against the kitchen doorframe, grinning from ear to ear. 

Cas turned, his face the picture of pleasant surprise. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas said, wiping his hands on a towel thrown over his shoulder with a bashful grin. “I made blueberry muffins.” 

Dean pushed himself off the doorframe and, in two strides, wrapped his arms around Cas. Cas hugged him back, both of them holding on like they’d never ever let go again. 

Dean let out a deep sigh, relaxing into Cas’s arms. Cas smelled like rest, safety, calmness. Dean tucked his nose just behind Cas’s ear and breathed in. He wasn’t in a chick flick, dammit, he wasn’t gonna cry. 

God, he really was a sap. That wouldn’t stop him from hugging Cas though. And besides, Cas didn’t seem to mind. 

“Those muffins smell really good,” Dean said into Cas’s neck. He felt Cas’s chuckle rumble against his face. 

“They’re pretty good if I do say so myself,” Cas said, his arms still tight around Dean. “I might have stress baked… as you called it.” 

Dean went for it and kissed the side of Cas’s jaw. “That’s okay. Apparently, Sam called you last night cause I was being a jerk and he thought talking to you would make me be nicer.” 

“Did it?” Cas’s voice was soft, tender, and he turned his cheek to rest against Dean’s. 

“Yeah, Cas, you always make me better.” Dean spoke before he really processed his words, and if he’d been thinking he’d have held back a bit, maybe not be so bluntly honest. But Cas couldn’t see his cheeks turn pink because Dean’s face was tucked into Cas’s neck. So it was a win-win all around, really. 

“You make me better too, Dean,” Cas said. “I’m glad you’re home.” 

“I’m glad to be home,” Dean said. “I missed you.” 

Dean’s younger self would never have admitted it. But current Dean, who was holding Cas in what was definitely a too-long-for-just-friends hug, couldn’t care less. 

Cas didn’t seem to care either. Cas seemed pretty content right where he was. 

“Did I bake too much, do you think?” Cas asked in a small voice. Dean pulled back sharply, looking Cas straight in the eyes, but still holding him close. 

“No way, dude,” Dean said. “There’s no such thing as too many baked goods. We can freeze whatever we don’t eat and we’re set for a month. As long as I don’t have to leave you for it to happen again, we’re good.” 

He was being honest all over the place. Is this what love did to you? He really was a sap.

“You did say we’d make another apple pie,” Cas whispered and Dean chuckled.

Cas blushed and damn was Dean glad he got to see it. Dean rested their foreheads together, feeling them on the precipice of something. His heart was pounding in his chest, but his hands were steady. As if holding Cas was assurance, steadiness, stability, all in one. He met Cas’s eyes, the two of them so close he could see traces of gold filtered in between the blue.

“The best part of this whole thing,” Dean continued softly, “was coming home to you.” 

Dean felt the soft puff of Cas’s breath on his lips. Just an inch and they could close the distance. Dean swallowed, felt Cas tighten his grip on Dean’s shoulders. He leaned in just a bit. Cas’s eyelids fluttered closed. 

“Hey Dean, did you find... Woah. Guess you found him.” 

Dean and Cas both jumped a mile as Sam bounded into the kitchen like a puppy. Dean was still holding onto Cas’s waist, Cas still had an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Sam looked between them, and where Dean expected teasing and smirking galore, instead, Sam just looked happy. 

“Right,” Sam said, his expression one of surprised joy. “I’ll uh… I gotta put the case in the records so, I’ll be in the library if you need me or anything. Take out for dinner?” 

And then he was gone, scurrying out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d arrived. Dean rubbed his forehead, sighing to himself. The Universe was conspiring against him kissing Cas. That was just not cool. 

Cas giggled beside him. 

“That was almost romantic until Sam walked in,” Cas said, a wide toothy grin beaming at Dean, giddy and light.

Dean moved back towards Cas, cupped his face with his hands, determined, pulled to Cas like a string tugging at his heart. 

“Who said it wasn't romantic anymore?” Dean asked. Then, without hesitation, without care of anyone or anything besides Cas, Dean ducked his head down and finally, finally, finally, pressed his lips to Cas’s.

Cas hummed, kissing back, closed-mouthed at first, but eager and willing when Dean licked at his lips to enter in. Dean felt Cas walking them back, pressing Dean against the counter, trying to get as close as possible. Dean went easily, feeling a thrill in his belly at Cas moving him where he wanted him.  

Dean broke the kiss to catch his breath. 

“We can…” he started, “We can wait on the apple pie, right?” 

Cas kissed Dean once. “Yes, Dean. I think we have better things to do right now.”

“I think we have a bit of time to make up for.” 

“You have no idea.”  

Dean grinned, wide and cheeky. Cas grinned back, before diving into another kiss that stole Dean’s breath away. 

He supposed in the end, it didn’t matter why it had taken them so long. They had arrived eventually, right when they were supposed.  This is part of a whole fic in honor of Suptober. There’s a link in the comments if you want to read the whole thing!

[mauvecherie-writes]

Home This Christmas.

PAIRING: Dani [oc] x Michael B Jordan.

SUMMARY: Dani is weary that her fiancé won’t be home in time for Christmas but he makes sure that he’s there.

WARNING: 18+ fluff, sexual content, hormonal pregnant woman.

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

NOTE: micheal is not famous. this is not a request but a personal christmas present for my best friend @beautifullmelodyxx i love you so much!

“No, no, no. baby you promised me that you’d be on your way back and that you’d be in town by now!” Dani exclaimed as she slammed her fist against the steering wheel. Frustration quickly began to take over her body as she pondered on the words of her fiancé.

“I know babe and I’m really sorry but work has gone into overtime and I can’t stop it.”

“Michael Bakari Jordan, you are the CEO and owner of your company. You can delegate your power to your other admin and be on the first plane home.”

“Damn, not the full name.” He mumbled.

“I’m irritated Michael! You promised me that’d you’d be here tonight and I wouldn’t spend christmas eve alone and you’re about to break it.”

“It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose. The client is being a pain to sign the contract and it’s causing everyone especially me. But you know I’m doing my best to speed up the process and come home to you.”

Dani screamed through her closed mouth. Yes, she was throwing a tantrum but it was all within good reason. Michael had not been home for a week and she was missing him terribly. Her pregnancy also made it extremely hard for her to control her hormones thus making her more needy than usual. She wanted Michael by her side and he wasn’t here which effectively added to the bad mood she was already experiencing from having to deal with entitled customers all day.

“You know what, I don’t want to call me unless you’re telling me you’ve landed and you’re coming home. Bye.” Dani did not give him time to respond before she ended the call and tightened grip around the leather of the wheel as tears pinched behind her eyes. She groaned before taking a deep breath and trying to calm her nerves as she pulled into the road that led to her home.

The black iron gates opened to her command after she pressed the fob on her keys. She parked her car and then got out, grabbing her office bags with her. As she stood up straight, the small rounded bottom of her belly was more prominent. At sixteen weeks, it was getting harder to hide her pregnancy as her emotions and cravings would often threaten to tell her secret. Dani and Michael had planned on revealing the news to their family during the swapping of gifts at Christmas tomorrow. However with the news that Michael dropped on her, it was looking like that plan was going to be pushed to the back burner.

Dani opened the front door with a heavy sigh as her shoulders slumped and leaned against the closed door before taking off her shoes and placed them onto the shoe rack by the door. She stalked further into their spacious home and placed her bags onto the couch before continuing her journey into the kitchen. Dani opened cupboards, grabbing her favourite snacks before jogging up the stairs.

She was stuffing her face with chips when she entered the master bedroom with an absent mind.

“Surprise!” A voice broke through the silent air which startled Dani so much, she screamed and dropped everything that was in her arms. With a hand on her chest, she focused on Michael’s figure that was standing in the middle of the bedroom dressed in jeans and a Christmas sweater.

“Fucking hell Michael!” She yelled at him and she rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes as she tried to control the anger that was already festering within her. His muffled laughter rang in her ears as he approached closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. He held her tightly against his chest as he rocked from side to side. He placed kisses on her cheeks and the side of her forehead.

“Hi baby.” He greeted Dani, his voice soft and mellow but she was not having it.

“You’re not funny.” She pushed him away and headed towards the bathroom but she could hear his footsteps behind her. “Don’t follow me, I’m mad at you right now.”

She entered the bathroom and began to run the water in the tub. After she dropped some bath salts and bubble bath soap, Dani stripped out of her clothes and put her locs into her bun on top of her head. She lathered her face in a mask and then finally sunk into the hot water. A soft hum came out of her as the warmth engulfed her.

Her eyes were still closed as she caught onto the scent of her fiancé before hearing the dragging of a stool towards the tub. Dani turned her head to the side and opened her eyes and welcomed the softness of Michael’s eyes.

“When did you get here?” She softly asked.

“A little after lunch. I initially thought about coming to your office and surprising you there but this seemed like a better idea. But now I’m starting to regret it.”

“You should. I was about to cry in the car. I really missed you.” Dani pouted which caused him to smile, showing his dimple.

“I missed you too.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips. She softly moaned as she held onto his cheek as she deepened the kiss but for a moment before pulling away. “Tantrums and all.” She tried to hide her smile as she rolled her eyes and moved back into her relaxed position.

“Whatever. I’m a pregnant hormonal woman and you’re not doing a very good job of making sure that I’m not stressed.”

His hand was in the water as he caressed her leg.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” The look in his eyes was full of temptation. He was trying to seduce his way out of trouble and Dani felt every fibre of her being wanting to give in but she wanted to make him sweat a little.

“You can start by cooking me something nice and quick.”

“Anything else?”

“I want the fireplace lit with a little set up in front of it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you do all of that, I might forgive you.”

Michael chuckled before capturing her lips once again.

“I‘ll do what I can.” Dani bit onto her lip as he watched him walk away. Her eyes narrowed on his ass and she moaned getting flashbacks of the day before he left for his trip. She remembered digging her manicured nails into the firm, muscled flesh of his ass. Now, her arousal began to rise which caused her to groan softly and close her eyes as the thoughts filled her mind.

She did not stay in the tub for more time than needed and took a quick shower before leaving the bathroom. Dani moisturised her skin and then got dressed in an old large shirt of Michael’s and a pair of red thongs and some warm, fluffy christmas socks. She neatly wrapped her hair and applied her night creams.

When she got downstairs, the scent of the food became stronger. Michael was standing by the counter as he dished the food. He made a quick meal of creamy ham and mushroom linguine with a side of wild green salad.

Dani’s mouth watered at the sight.

“This looks so good baby.” She commented as she sat at a stool by the counter. Michael pushed a plate towards her and poured her a cup of strawberry lemonade.

“Thank you.” He replied with another shared kiss before the couple indulged in their food. They shared stories of their work days — Dani’s being far more interesting as her career as an event planner led her to cross paths with peculiar people.

As it was Christmas, her and her team were organising annual Christmas parties for companies. Dani and her assistant were planning a party for a successful local law firm and they were having a problem with the firm’s representative and it took all of Dani’s customer service training to not blow off her top and refuse to work with her. However Dani’s company had an incredibly clean record with an impeccable reputation. Nothing, especially snotty, little entitled fund babies.

Michael laughed at all of her retelling and watched her with an awestruck look in his eyes. Together for four years and nothing about the way that he felt about her had changed, only intensified. Eating dinner with her before moving to the fireplace as the Grinch played lowly in the background made him appreciate the little things. These were moments that he never wanted to miss and he promised to himself that he never will.

He was leaning against the couch with Dani in between his legs. His hands were around her torso, hands on her belly as he listened to her ramblings about past christmases. As much as he was trying to listen to what she was saying, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her womb. His seed was growing in there. Their baby was within her and she was bringing life into their world and extending their family.

How could he not be in love with her? Dani trusted him so much that she was willing to give birth and be with him in matrimony. Michael had never experienced a love like this and he was never going to give it up.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dani asked as she shifted her head slightly to look at him.

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “I was thinking about how in love I am with you.”

“Awe baby.” She cooed as she turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you so much.” Multiple kisses were placed on his jawline, tickling his skin causing him to laugh before turning his head and capturing her lips into a passionate kiss. Her hands went to tug onto his small afro as the kiss intensified. He laid her down onto the blanket that was beneath them and made sure that he wasn’t applying too much pressure onto her lower abdomen.

His hands were on either side of her head as her legs shifted to being around his waist. He brought his weight down and pressed himself against her flimsily covered core. Dani whimpered into his mouth as her hands moved down his torso and pulled on his sweater. He stood on his knees and pulled it off his body before hovering above her and attaching his lips to her once more.

Her hips bucked upwards so as to build on the friction but Michael held her down by her arms before trailing his lips down her neck, the soft prickles of his beard rubbing against her skin caused her buried arousal to begin to arise once more. As he worked his way down her body, he pushed the shirt further up her body and took one of her nippled into his mouth.

“Fuck.” Dani gasped as she felt his tongue flick her sensitive nipple before sucking on it. Her pregnancy made everything much more sensitive which intensified every little thing. As she took off her shirt and dropped it onto the floor as Michael pushed her thighs apart and chuckled at the festive colour of her damp thongs.

“Did you put these on for me?” He mumbled against her thigh and bit into it as he pulled them down her legs before settling close to her pussy once again.

“I thought that they matched the festive spirit.” Dani replied, giggling as she felt his breath brush against her drenched core. She bit onto her lip as she leaned up onto her elbows and looked down at her fiance. The yellow lights of the Christmas tree illuminated onto his face before he used his tongue to lick clean her weeping nectar.

That’s when he lost himself in between her thighs. Using his skilful tongue, he would lick around her clit, flick it repeatedly before trailing down to her entrance and pushing his tongue in. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he paid more attention to her clit and began fucking her with his fingers which caused her moan to turn into screams.

She pulled on the blanket s beneath her as her orgasm began to rise.

“Oh baby, I’m going to cum.” Dani gasped as her thighs began to quake. Her orgasm gripped her body as she arched off the floor. He thrusted his fingers faster and faster into her, prolonging her climax for as long as her could before she finally pushed him away.

“Can’t take it baby?” He licked his lips as he took his trousers off and laid down on the floor and pulled her on top of him. Dani positioned herself properly and went in between her leg and wrapped her hands around his cock and stroked him softly. She watched as his chest raised up and down as he throbbed in her hand.

“You get too overzealous, my pussy is too tender for that.” She replied as she raised up and

began to sink down onto his thickness. Dani let out a sweet moan as he stretched her walls. She leaned forward and placed her hands onto his chest as she took deep breaths as Michael pushed deeper into her. He watched as she bit on her lip and her eyes fluttered close as she took all of him.

He groaned as he gripped onto her thighs as she snuggly fit around him. “But you’re not complaining when I’m deep inside of you.”

“Daddy.” Dani gasped as he lifted her hips and brought her back down onto him. The best thing was watching the faces she made as she used him for her pleasure. With every roll of her hips and each breathy moan that left her parted lips, Michael could feel the tug at the bottom of his stomach. When she was so consumed within the throes, Dani never called him by his given name, just Daddy. He loved hearing her call him.

His hand travelled to her breast and pulled on her nipple as he moved his hips to her pace.

“Fuck!” She groaned as she rolled her hips faster and faster, tightening her core around his cock causing him to growl beneath her. Dani opened her eyes and leaned down and took his bottom lip into her mouth as she began to bounce on him.

“You feeling good baby?” He mumbled against her lips as she looked into his eyes as his arms wrapped around her and he planted his feet onto the floor and thrusted harder into her causing her moans to turn into the screams. Her head was slightly above his as she pulled on the blankets. Their bodies moved in sync with each other as they chased their climax. Michael sat up and held onto the back of her neck as he branded her lips with his.

Embracing each other tightly, Dani continued moving her hips as their tongues passionately entangled as their moans blended together.

“Fuck baby, I’m going to cum.” He whispered against her lips.

“Cum in me Daddy, fill me up. Please, please, please.” Dani moaned as her walls clenched around him, eliciting a deep moan as Michael squeezed onto her ass as he held onto her body as he buried his seed deep inside of her. Dani whimpered as she let go of her inhibitions and trembled in his arms.

They held each other as they focused on calming themselves down. Michael laid back down with her still on top of him. Her eyes were closed as she listened to his beating heart. When her eyes opened, she caught sight of the erected Christmas tree.

“Oh god.” Dani groaned with a scoff. “We fucked in front of the Christmas tree like some cliche hallmark movie.”

“It’d be r rated just from your moans alone.” Michael replied as he ran his fingers up and down her back. Dani laughed as she playfully slapped his chest.

“Shut up.” She mumbled before cuddling into his body and closing her eyes as she felt her body relax. Christmas was looking up already...

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Some People Wrap Their Lies Around a Cocktail Glass | Damian Wayne

Come. And Be My Baby

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 3k

✦ fake dating AU

✦ summary — you need to cover up the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you a week before your step-father’s Christmas party, and Damian needs a date for his father’s New Year’s ball. Both of you are experts at pretending, what could go wrong?

✦ warnings — some angst (very light, blink and you’ll miss it), mentions of alcohol, a little awkwardness, fluff.

✦ author's note — thank you for reading this mini series! Most things had to be improvised because I couldn’t follow the plan I had for this story due to health issues. I hope you like it.

✦ mini series masterlist

════════════════════════

Turning the TV off, you found your own reflection ridden by guilt on the black screen.

You forgot to tell your mother you had plans for New Year’s that didn’t involve your father. You could blame Travis in your head and convince yourself that the stress of your fight with him had clouded your judgment, but it was far from the truth.

His attitude hurt, but you found it hard to feel too upset about it. Damian had been a good distraction which was a problem in itself — said problem would bother you furthermore if he hadn’t been so perfect at playing his role.

And now you would have to impress his father. Well, his siblings too, even if he wanted to act like he didn’t care about anybody from his family.

You really needed to talk to your mother.

There was no chance you would find your mother at home. Leonard liked to welcome the new year out of the country. Calling home would be easier, you could leave her a message with a maid.

Contacting your father first would open the possibility of your mother finding out from him and you knew better than doing something like that to her.

As if the universe was on your side, your mother didn’t pick up the phone and the perfect middle ground came to your mind.

Leonard answered at the third ring, calling you by your nickname as he greeted you.

“My mother isn’t answering her phone. Is everything okay?”

“She’s at the spa.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Did you need anything?”

You sighed. “Not exactly… but now that you mention it, I could use your help.”

“Is your father treating you badly?”

“No, no. It’s about Damian.” Before he could assume anything, you clarified, “He isn’t treating me badly either.”

“I’m all ears.”

You toyed with the tv remote, tracing the spaces between the buttons with your fingertip. “I… first, I need to tell you something,” you started, unsure. “But you have to promise mom will never find out.”

Leonard hummed. “Are you finally confessing that Damian isn’t your boyfriend?”

You winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“No. Harry told me about your fight with Trent.”

“Travis,” you corrected him.

“Him, yes,” Leonard dismissed the correction. “You didn’t have to lie to us, you know?”

“Mother was happy to know I was dating somebody,” you mumbled, “but Travis chickened out.”

“And Damian didn’t.”

“Exactly.”

“So? What’s the issue?”

Shifting, you rested your head on the arm of the couch. You felt like a teen again, telling Leonard about your day and the drama in your friend group. “I think I like him. I don’t know, I’m confused.”

“Give yourself time to figure it out.” It sounded easy coming out of his mouth.

“I wish I could. I have to get ready in like two hours to attend a ball with him, and I’ll have to pretend to be his perfect girlfriend like he pretended to be my perfect boyfriend.”

“You’ll do great,” he said gently. “You’ve pretended to enjoy events before.”

“I’ve never pretended to be perfect.”

“Because you don’t have to. Treat it like you used to treat the events you attended us. Why was that so easy to do?”

“Because I wanted you to look good.”

“Do you want Damian to look good?”

“Yes.”

“There’s your answer.” Good ol’ Leonard, always so patient with you.

“Will you help me get a new identity if I mess it up?”

He snorted. “Anything you want. Always.”

“I’m guessing you can tell my mother to call me?” You tried your luck, “Or let her know I won’t visit my father…”

“You’re not getting out of that one.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed softly.

Later, as you were getting ready, a question filled your mind — did Leonard imply Damian and you would be a good couple or did you imagine that?

════════════════════════

You jumped upon hearing the doorbell. Taking your clutch from the coffee table, you checked yourself on the mirror one last time.

Opening the door, you found an impeccably dressed Damian. His aftershave hit your nostrils immediately, mixed with his cologne.

“Ready?” he asked.

No. “Yes,” you assured him, watching him step backward to give you space.

You felt his eyes on you as you locked the door. Your eyes locked with his when you turned around, but neither of you said anything.

“My siblings might be too much to handle at first,” he warned you.

You shifted to look at him as he drove. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“I’ll let you decide once you meet them.”

“Oh, you’re cruel.”

He almost smiled.

This time the drive was shorter, and if Damian was nervous, he knew how to hide it to perfection.

His wall crumbled rather quickly. His eyes were fixed on the butler, gaze softening as he was greeted. You heard him refer to the butler by his last name, and introduce you.

“Please call me Alfred, miss.”

“Thank you, Alfred. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The old man smiled at you, bowing.

A commotion behind Alfred interrupted the butler himself who moved to the side. A blue-eyed man grabbed Damian by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug.

Damian inhaled sharply, patting the other man’s back a few times. “Richard,” he whined, “you’re ruining my attire.”

“Don’t worry. Jason isn’t even wearing a tux.” Hearing Damian scoff, Richard let go of him.

You stifled a laugh, watching Damian fix imaginary creases on his blazer. He sent you a glare, mouth twitching as he saw you pursing your lips.

“Hold it! You brought at date?!”

Standing straight, Damian introduced you to Richard as his girlfriend. You extended your free hand in a polite gesture that Richard almost found insulting.

You too were pulled into a hug. And welcomed to the family. “I can’t believe this!”

“Richard,” Damian gritted.

Ignoring his brother, the man hugging you said, “Call me Dick. Dami refuses to do it for whatever reason.”

You hugged him back, wondering if this was what Damian meant by too much. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dick.”

Dick shuffled, quite excited as he attempted to guide you towards the reception with an arm around your neck. “Come. Everybody will be happy to meet you.”

“Hey!” Damian exclaimed. “She’s my girlfriend, I should be the one introducing her!”

God. How many times would he call you his girlfriend? And how many times would you be able to take it?

Dick smiled, withdrawing his arm off you. “Of course.”

Damian lightly shoved Dick as he took your hand. His eyes found yours once again, silently asking you if you were ready. Gripping his hand, you lied by assuring him you were.

Two men and two women were in the living room. You recognized Jason immediately thanks to Dick’s comment about his lack of suit.

Chatter died down as four pairs of eyes fixed on you and Damian. You weren’t sure if they were shocked because Damian was there or because he had taken you with him.

“Hello,” Damian greeted blandly.

Jason snorted. “Definitely not a clone.”

The other man stood up, smiling at Damian. “Welcome home, Dami.”

“Thank you… Tim.”

Tim’s smile turned even brighter. He introduced himself to you unprompted, and he did a better job at hiding his surprise than Dick.

Everybody did, in fact. Jason winked at Damian as he congratulated him, Stephanie said she was happy for the two of you, and Cassandra stared straight into your soul before giving you a small smile.

Just when you thought things would go smoothly, somebody else entered the room and your stomach dropped.

Bruce stood in front of you and Damian, seemingly at a loss of words.

“I’m glad you could make it.”

Damian have his father a curt nod. Seeing his eyes deviate toward you, he opened his mouth to introduce you.

You were quicker. It was only fair, he hadn’t made you introduce him to your mother and he had already done the work with his siblings.

Bruce wasn’t interested in hiding his shock upon hearing you were Damian’s girlfriend. “You didn’t say anything about a girlfriend at work.”

“I didn’t find it appropriate,” Damian explained with ease.

“We should have dinner next week so we can get to know you better,” Bruce suggested, eyes solely on you.

“O—of course, sir.” What were you getting yourself into?

“I wish we had more time tonight,” Bruce continued, “but our guests will be arriving any moment now.”

Bruce was proven right as Alfred announced the arrival of a few guests.

Throughout the night, Damian watched you charm people he had never cared for and people he had once struggled to have in his pocket alike.

He felt you lace your arm with his and follow the pattern of his steps to walk in sync with him.

He heard you laugh with his siblings and gossip with Stephanie as if you had known them for years.

He became aware of the warmth of your palms and the coldness of your fingers as you danced.

And he couldn’t bear it.

Damian slowly slid his arm off yours and excused himself.

You decided to give him space. He would’ve asked you to go with him if he wanted your company.

It was clear that you weren’t the only one who was overwhelmed, and at the end of the night, he was the one who needed to look good. He deserved a break.

Damian roamed the main hallway, so familiar yet so foreign. Nothing had changed except for him and said changes weren’t unwelcome.

In hindsight, the only unwelcome thing he could find was how much he was dreading the end of the night.

He found his way back to the living room and stood in front of the window. He could see a couple hiding behind Alfred’s perfectly trimmed bushes, presumably making out.

Not many minutes passed before he heard approaching steps. He should’ve expected Dick to follow him.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Dick broke the silence. “But I’m glad you did. And I’m glad you brought your girlfriend with you.”

Humming, Damian continued staring at the greenery. “I always keep my promises.”

“And secrets, huh. We wouldn’t have known you had a girlfriend if you hadn’t come.”

“I suppose not.”

“You okay? I know you don’t want to be here, but—“

Damian interrupted him, “I am not uncomfortable here. Surprisingly.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?”

Damian tore his eyes off the window and glared at Dick.

“You know I’m joking.”

Sighing, Damian nodded. “I’m not used to… this.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“Not really.”

Dick stayed silent, respecting Damian’s line. The two of them enjoyed a silent moment together, staring out of the window.

A snicker blurted out of Dick as he caught sight of the couple Damian had spotted. Both were doing a poor job at fixing their attire.

Damian huffed a laugh, sharing an amused look with his brother.

“We should go back before Bruce starts the toast.”

Damian motioned for his brother to lead the way.

He took his spot next to you, snaking his arm around your waist. You leaned into his touch, feeling his steady breathing.

He didn’t give a single sign of being upset, so you asked him in a whisper, “Everything okay?”

“Don’t worry,” he answered in your ear.

You fought against the shiver the gesture sent down your spine.

════════════════════════

Leaving Wayne Manor was harder than you expected it to be. You would never judge Damian for wanting to be away from his family, he had his reasons, you simply didn’t share the sentiment.

You managed to fit easily with them, and what marveled you the most was how little you had to pretend to be somebody else.

The sight of your building saddened you. Everything would be over in a few minutes, just what you had wanted the day before, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

Walking down the hallway in silence, you were about to say good night as you approached his door when Damian asked, “Can you come in for a little bit?”

You nodded, not ready for the night to end. “Sure.”

Damian unlocked his door and allowed you to get in first, turning the lights on as he entered the apartment behind you.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

You shook your head. “I drank enough already.”

He shed his blazer, going straight to the point, “Travis was right.”

His comment took you aback. You didn’t expect this from Damian. You didn’t even want to believe it. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, you asked, “About what?”

“You should have been with me from the beginning. And I hadn’t even...” He made a face, as though the right words were escaping him. That was a first. “I can’t tell you I love you. Not now, that would be insane. But I’m pretty sure I’m halfway there.”

He undid his tie, speaking still, “I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I started falling for you, I just know it makes all the sense in the world.”

Damian never imagined his life going like this. Romance wasn’t on his list of priorities when he left the manor. Or ever. He wanted to know himself properly, to be his own person, to finally let go of the bottled-up resentment.

He liked to think he had accomplished those things, and he had done so on his own. He was proud of that — of himself.

“You made the bad days worth it without even knowing,” he continued talking. You had never heard him speak this much. “The days in which I believed there was nothing more to myself than what everybody wanted to believe, mostly. You didn’t know a damn thing about me, and if you did then you never showed it. I was just Damian, your neighbor.”

“I—“

He shushed so you would shut up. He wasn’t done. “I was just Damian to you even tonight, surrounded by people who only see me as an extension to my father.”

“I like being just Damian. And for a while, I thought that was it. We’re good friends, we feel comfortable around each other… but the fact that you are gorgeous was never going to help my case.”

He stopped you before you could say anything. Almost desperate as he said, “I didn’t offer to do this because I wanted you to like me, or because I wanted to know how it felt like to be your partner. I need you to know that.”

“I also need you to know that the only reason why I’m telling you all of this is that I wish I didn’t have to lie when I told my family you were my girlfriend, because I wish you could truly get to know my father… because my family likes you and you like them, and it feels good.”

Getting rid of your coat, you let it fall onto the couch beside you. “Can I talk now?”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

You nodded. “But I want to.” When you were sure he wouldn’t interrupt again, you spoke, “I don’t know what’s going on. I mean, I’m not blind, you’re handsome, and I like spending time with you...”

“But?” he asked, impatient.

“There’s not a but. Let me finish!”

He motioned for you to go on.

“This is new. And I’m... confused?” You shook your head. “Not confused. Maybe surprised?” Chuckling, you messed with your hair. “I was going to distance myself from you for a little while to figure things out. And now I feel like I wouldn’t bear it.”

He swallowed loudly. “I can give you space if that’s what you need.”

“No.” It wasn’t what you needed, it couldn’t be when you felt the most comfortable around him.

Damian sat down, watching you. He liked doing it, following the movement of your lips as you spoke, and the way your hands seemed to have a mind of their own.

“I like being just Damian,” he repeated. “But I would love to be your Damian.”

Flushed, you admitted, “I like the sound of that.”

“Would you like to be my (Name)?” he asked softly.

“I would love to.”

“We can take things slow,” he assured you, eyes dancing all over your face. “I don’t want to pressure you or myself.”

You sat next to him. “It’s fine by me.”

Damian softly smiled. He placed his hand on top of yours, gripping it as his warmth eased the coldness of your fingers.

You returned the smile. “What a week, huh?”

“Eventful,” he conceded, scooting closer to you.

“At least we had an exciting end of the year.”

He playfully narrowed his eyes. “Is the Venn diagram between your idea of excitement and your idea of anxiety a perfect circle?”

You elbowed him on the side. “It wasn’t that bad.” Turning to look at him, you added, “Was it?”

Shaking his head, he stared at your lips as he whispered, “Should we make it more exciting?”

You licked your bottom lip, lightly leaning in. “It’s only fair.”

Damian left the playfulness to the side and captured your lips between his. The kiss was short and chaste, a perfectly acceptable first kiss between people who hadn’t known what they felt for each other until a few days ago.

But you soon remembered that it didn’t have to stop there. That you didn’t want it to. So you kissed him again, and Damian allowed you to set the pace at first.

Withdrawing his hand from yours, he wrapped his arm around your neck and brought you closer, prompting you to place your farthest hand on his shoulder as you tilted your head.

You felt him smile against your lips before the pressure of his mouth on yours became harsher.

Thankfully, you wouldn’t need a new identity. You liked yours very much.

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

As it turned out, Tony did make great pancakes. Peter woke up the next day to the smell of them, and shyly headed in the general direction it was coming from, until he reached the kitchen. Tony was standing there, wearing impeccable gray dress pants, a crisp white shirt and a green tie, as he added batter to a frying pan. Peter supposed that was what heaven would look like when he died.

“Oh, hey, kitten, you’re up.” He grinned at him, who smiled in return, nodding. He had put his clothes from the night before back on, and he was glad he did, because Tony was dressed to the nines and it would have been awkward if he had shown up in just his boxers or something. “Sleep well?”

“I did, thanks.” And it was surprisingly true. Peter hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep in a while, he supposed he missed sleeping next to someone. He did share a bed with Beck for two years, so it felt awfully lonely to sleep by himself. “Are you headed to work?” He asked as he sat on a stool by the kitchen island and Tony nodded guiltily, fixing two plates of pancakes.

“I’m so sorry, I tried to make arrangements to get the morning off, but duty calls.” To his credit, he did look genuinely sorry, so Peter thought maybe it wasn’t just an excuse to get rid of him. Maybe.

“It’s okay, I have to be home soon, or my friends will worry.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but not exactly a lie either. They wouldn’t notice he was gone until lunchtime, since they both had work or class in the morning, but when they did notice, they would freak out.

“I thought you lived by yourself?” Tony sounded interested as he sat beside him by the kitchen counter and pushed a plate his way. Peter thanked him, taking a bite of the surprisingly good pancake.

“I do, but we live in the same building, so we’re always checking in on each other.” Tony hummed, nodding, and they were silent for a little while, until the older man spoke up again.

“Can I ask about your relatives?” He felt his eyes on him and knew that, much like the night before, he was testing the waters, making sure Peter was comfortable with that subject.

“Sure. I don’t have any, though. I’m an orphan, I’ve lived in foster homes for most of my life.” Peter didn’t really mind talking about that period – it was basically all he knew. He was too little when his parents died and was only ten when Ben and May passed away, so the foster homes were where he made most of his memories.

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Tony winced, maybe thinking he had touched a sensitive subject after all, but Peter smiled and shrugged.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. My friends are like family to me now, so I’m good.”

“I’m glad you have them.” Again, he gave him that genuine smile that made Peter believe he was actually glad to hear that. Like he actually cared. “So… Can I see you again? Or was this just a one time thing?” The older man turned his body to face Peter, who froze for a second with the mug held to his lips, mid-sip.

“Oh, uhm…” Peter almost chocked on the coffee, not quite believing his ears. He honestly thought that the older man would slowly disappear from his life. Or maybe not even that slowly. Peter figured he had gotten what he wanted, so why would he stick around? “I mean, sure. If you want.” He said, like an idiot, and Tony raised a brow.

“I really do, but I don’t mean to pressure you, so if you want to say no and just go back to what we had, that’s okay. Or not even that, if you prefer. Just say the word and I’ll get out of your hair.” He sounded honest enough, but Peter quickly shook his head, eyes wide.

“No, it’s okay, I definitely wanna do this again.” He assured him, and Tony seemed satisfied with his answer, expression softening as he nodded.

After breakfast, the older man insisted on driving him home and when they arrived at his building, he felt a little awkward as to how to say goodbye, but Tony made it easier by simply leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips, one hand stroking his knee in a gentle caress.

“I’ll call you later, kitten.” He promised and Peter just sighed quietly, feeling dizzy.

He was a little out of it for the rest of the day, both Ned and MJ asked what was wrong with him in separate occasions, but he just said he was tired from his new routine. They had dinner together and when he went back to his apartment that night, he was just mildly surprised that he actually got a call from Tony. It was an innocent, sweet phone call, too. He did not expect that, to be honest, they had been sexting for two months and they had actual sex the previous night, so he kind of expected Tony to just go for it.

But no.

He asked about his day, about his friends, he told him about his own day, then somehow they ended up talking a little bit about Peter’s childhood, his parents, aunt May and Uncle Ben, it was just a really nice chat, which he appreciated. Not that he didn’t enjoy talking dirty to Tony, but the fact that he called just to have a normal conversation with no second intentions was, well. Nice.

He didn’t really know where they were going with that, probably nowhere, really, Peter was an ex-porn star, Tony was an A-list celebrity, a billionaire and a fucking Avenger, so there was literally zero chance they could evolve to something else. They would probably just go out a few more times, have mind-blowing awesome sex, and then go their separate ways. And Peter was okay with that.

It was fine. Really. It was just fine.

And it was for the best, otherwise how would he explain to Ned and MJ that he was dating Tony Fucking Stark? It would be a nightmare. MJ would kill him and lecture him on how big corporations like Stark Industries were destroying their way of life and Ned would pass out – and possibly die – so, yeah. It was a good thing they had no real future together.  

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted, though. Tony was really nice, a true gentleman, a good conversationalist, a great kisser and an amazing lay. So whatever he could get out of those moments they had together, he would. Everything was perfectly fine and under control. And did he mention fine?

The next morning, he woke up early and went for a jog around the block. He had been experimenting with different types of workout routines, but he thought he might stick with jogging and yoga for a while, he was even looking for a yoga studio close to his building so he could start training more seriously. When he got back, he took a long shower, made breakfast and spent a few hours answering people on Just4Fans, then posted a few pictures there, linked it to his twitter account and let people know on Instagram.

Tony texted him mid-morning and Peter blushed like a teenager when he read his message.

“Just saw the new pics, you look stunning as always, baby, but I have to admit I’m spoiled now, pictures are not enough. Can’t wait to see you again. Dinner tomorrow?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, sir, keep it coming.” He smiled to himself and bit his lower lip, excited by the prospect of seeing Tony again so soon. “Tomorrow sounds great, where are we going? Should I start stressing about the dress code?”

“I was thinking you could come over. Did I mention that I’m a great cook? Pancakes aren’t my only specialty.” Peter felt butterflies in his stomach. It was stupid, of course, but he just found it endearing that Tony wanted to cook for him.

“I’d love to. I’m curious about your cooking, your pancakes did taste fantastic.” Just the thought of that morning and, more importantly, the night before that, made his mind wander, as a quiet sigh left his lips.

“Prepare to be blown away.”

“You’re so humble, I love that about you.” The young man smiled to himself.

“Thank you, kitten, it’s one of my many qualities.” Peter laughed at his antics.

They settled on a time and Tony insisted on picking him up, even though it was obviously inconvenient since they were having dinner at his place, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Peter gave in. They talked a little more, but soon Tony had to go back to work and now that the younger man knew exactly who he was, he imagined it was a lot of work.

He went on with his Saturday – in the afternoon, he took a few pictures and videos with different sets of lingerie he bought with MJ when they went to Victoria’s Secret, and that should be enough to last him at least a few days. At dinnertime, he went down to his friends’ apartment, as usual, and they were both home.

“What’s up, nerd,” MJ greeted from the couch, but didn’t raise her eyes from her phone.

“Hey, Pete, dinner is almost ready,” Ned called from the kitchen island.

“Want me to set the table?” He walked over to where Ned was fishing a plate out of the microwave.

“Sure.”

Peter knew his way around the kitchen, so he got to work, placing the plates and cutlery on the small, square table by the counter.

“Hey, are you up for a Star Trek marathon tomorrow night? I don’t have any classes next Monday morning, we can stay up late.”

“Oh, uhm. I –“ Fuck, he hadn’t really thought of an excuse for why he wouldn’t be having dinner with them. “I can’t, because…” He noticed that MJ had finally raised her eyes from her phone, only to stare at him suspiciously. “I have this thing, uhm, on my Just4Fans… Tomorrow night.”

“Can’t you just schedule the posts?” MJ asked from the couch, because of-fucking-course she knew about that.

“Uhm, yeah, I can, but – uhm. It’s a live stream. I’m live streaming tomorrow for the first time. It’s good for tips and stuff, so. Yeah. I’ve already let everybody know, I can’t cancel.” He gave them an apologetic smile, trying to look convincing, but he was pretty sure he just looked like a nervous wreck.

“Oh. Ok, then.” Ned shrugged and didn’t seem bothered at all, but MJ kept staring at him from the couch, like she could smell his bullshit from a mile away. She didn’t say anything, though, for which he was grateful.

The next morning, he woke up early and decided to skip his usual jog around the block and just did a short yoga session in his living room, warmed by the morning sun that flooded his apartment at that time. He had lunch with his friends and spent the afternoon with them, but left early with the excuse that he had to get ready for his “live stream”.

When the older man texted to say he was waiting outside, Peter was already showered and dressed and skipped downstairs two steps at a time. He didn’t know what he was supposed to wear to a billionaire’s house, but he decided casual was probably fine, so he put on a pair of light blue jeans and a light pink, thin sweater.

Tony was driving a low-profile, black SUV and he got out of the car when Peter stepped outside the building. He had a baseball cap and tinted glasses on, dark blue jeans, a Metallica t-shirt and sneakers, and if Peter didn’t know it was him, he would never have thought that was actually Tony Stark.

“Hey, gorgeous, looking good.” Tony didn’t think twice before reaching out to pull him closer by the hips, stealing a chaste kiss from his lips. Peter blushed and completely forgot he should be worried that Ned or MJ might see them if they came downstairs for something, or even if they looked out the living room window. He wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck and deepened the kiss.

“Thanks, but you should get your eyes checked.” He joked as he let go, taking a small step back.

“Yeah, I think so too, I think constantly staring at such beauty is taking a toll on my eyesight, I’m an old man, after all.” Tony pulled him by the chin and stole yet another kiss. When he pulled away,  Peter shook his head and laughed.

“Oh my God. Seriously, do you practice these lines in the mirror or something?” He had a feeling that if it was anyone else saying half the things Tony said to him daily, he would find it corny and possibly annoying, but somehow the older man made everything sound charming, sweet, sexy, endearing – hell, everything at once. And he always knew what to say to make Peter’s knees go weak, it was unnerving sometimes.

“No, you just inspire me daily, baby.” He gave him a charming smile, as he opened the door and gestured for Peter to get in the car.

The ride to Tony’s place was filled with the sound of the older man humming along to the music playing. Peter didn’t recognize any of the songs, it was a classic rock playlist, but then he heard a familiar beat and thought it was a great opportunity to stick his foot so deep inside his mouth he almost choked.

“I love Led Zeppelin!” He didn’t exactly love Led Zeppelin and he was quite sure he had just heard a cover of that song, not the original version, but he thought he’d sound cool if he said that. When he looked over, though, Tony was laughing his head off. Peter blushed a deep crimson, eyes widening as he realized he must have said something incredibly dumb.

“Oh, you’re not joking.” Finally seeming to realize that the younger man wasn’t laughing along with him, Tony turned down the volume, as they approached Stark Tower’s garage entrance. “That’s Back in Black by AC/DC, kitten. But hey, I love Zeppelin, too, who doesn’t?” He smiled warmly, looking at him sideways, and Peter nodded.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Of course.” Fuck his life. Of course he had to make a complete fool of himself right at the beginning of the night. He wanted to jump out the window from embarrassment, but it would only add to his humiliation, since Tony had already parked and got out of the car.

The older man opened the door for him and Peter avoided eyes contact, as he led him to the elevator. He could still feel his cheeks burning on the ride up, his head was starting to hurt from shame. Was that a thing?

“Hey, don’t be like this.” Tony pulled him into a loose hug, kissing his temple with a soft smile on his lips. “It was an honest mistake. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to identify whatever it is you kids listen to these days.”

It was oddly comforting to hear that. Even though he knew Tony wasn’t trying to be mean to him back in the car, it was hard not to feel attacked in situations like that. Beck always tried to make him feel dumb, inferior and juvenile whenever he got the chance.

So he rested his head on Tony’s shoulder and nodded slowly. He was going to say something like “don’t worry, I’m fine” but it got lost somewhere in the back of his throat when the older man held him a little tighter and stroked his hair.

The whole interaction lasted merely a few seconds, soon the elevator doors opened to the familiar sight of Tony’s living room, looking just as impeccable as it did a couple of nights earlier. The older man gestured for Peter to lead the way and he did, paying closer attention to the details, since he was a little too nervous to do it the last time he was there.

What he realized when he took a look around, was that the penthouse didn’t look lived in at all. It was all glass and metal, shiny floors and sophisticated furniture, black and gray decoration – it looked ready to be featured in one of those shows that listed the most beautiful houses in the world, but it didn’t look like a place he would like to go back to at the end of the day.

“You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” Peter asked, as Tony led them in the direction he remembered the kitchen and the dining room were.

“That obvious, huh?” The older man winced and Peter flushed, realizing he might have been a little rude in his observation. “But yeah, when I’m home, I spend most of my time down in the workshop.”

“Ah, the famous workshop. I suppose if I were to visit right now there would be pictures of me hanging on every wall?” He joked, remembering that Tony had once told him that he would hang his pictures in the workshop and never get any work done.

“I mean, not every wall…” He turned to him and winked, leaving the younger man a little unsure if he meant it or if he was just messing around. Sometimes it was hard to tell with the man’s sarcastic sense of humor. “I’ll give you a tour after dinner.” He promised, when they finally reached the dining room.

The table was set in a simple manner, for what Peter was glad, it made him feel more comfortable and at ease. Tony pulled out a chair for him then headed to the kitchen, which was separated from the dining room only by a long, wide counter, where the had breakfast the other day.

The man came back with wine, pouring two glasses for them, then he started placing the dishes on the table. There was mashed potatoes, grilled veggies and roast chicken, and the smell was to die for, Peter’s stomach rumbled and he wasn’t even that hungry.  

“Voilà. This was my favorite meal as a kid, my grandma used to make this for me all the time when I spent summers with her.” He took a seat across from Peter, looking at him expectantly. The younger man found his enthusiasm amusing, so he fixed a plate under Tony’s eager supervision. “Tell me what you think. But be nice, I haven’t cooked this in a while, it might be a little dry.”

Peter took a bite of the chicken first, and it took him a few moments to feel the explosion of flavors on his tongue. The meat was tender and juicy, cooked to perfection, and the seasoning tasted inexplicably like home – it didn’t taste like something he could order at a restaurant, let alone a frozen meal he could buy at the supermarket. He then tried the mashed potatoes along with the grilled veggies and almost cried.

“Tony, this is so good, have you considered dropping everything and starting a restaurant?” he gushed, taking another bite of the chicken only to confirm that, yes, that was probably what paradise tasted like.

“Don’t exaggerate. I already like you plenty, kitten, you don’t need to flatter my cooking skills.” Tony smiled, shaking his head lightly, and if Peter didn’t know any better, he might think he was blushing.

“I’m not, this is seriously the best homemade meal I’ve ever eaten,” he insisted and Tony cocked his head to the side, with a confused smile and a frown

“What the hell have they been feeding you, kid?” He asked and Peter chuckled.

“Well, I spent most of my life in foster care and I was never lucky enough to end up in a family that liked to cook.” The families he stayed with weren’t bad – not compared to some of the horror stories he heard from other foster kids he met in the past – they just weren’t good. They provided him with the bare minimum for survival, so water and enough food to avoid starvation. “And uncle Ben and aunt May, dude… They couldn’t cook for shit.” He laughed, remembering Aunt May’s date loaf, which was probably the worst thing he had ever tasted in his life.

“Well, now I feel obligated to feed you properly,” Tony announced, and Peter quickly shook his head, feeling his face grow red for the hundredth time that night.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to, I wasn’t–”

“I want to, if I’m your only source of good, homemade food, then I’m taking this seriously, kitten.” He pointed a fork at him as he spoke. “And you can help me cook, what do you say? That way I can teach you a thing or two so you won’t starve to death.” Again, the idea that Tony wanted to cook for him was too sweet. He was an incredibly busy guy who probably didn’t even cook for himself, but he was willing to waste that kind of time on Peter. It just–

“Sounds amazing.” He smiled, nodding, and the older man’s face softened when their eyes met.  

“Good.” He took a sip of wine and topped off both of their glasses. “Did you tell your friends you were coming here today?” That seemed like a polite way to ask if they knew about him, and Peter wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was expecting.

“No, they think I’m home.” He watched the man’s face, waiting for his reaction, but there was none, so Peter felt like he should explain himself further. “After my ex – they’re just a little too overprotective, so, you know. I just don’t want them to worry.” Tony raised his eyebrows and Peter’s eyes widened, realizing what that might have sounded like. “Not that I think you’re my – that we’re – I mean, I’m not assuming anything, I just meant –“

“Hey, it’s okay, I know what you mean.” He reached across the table to squeeze one of his shaking hands. “Your friends sound like good people, by the way. You’re lucky to have them.”

“Thanks.” Tony smoothly changed the subject and started talking about his summers with his grandmother and how she taught him everything he knew about cooking. He said that was the reason why his repertoire consisted only of comfort food and Peter thought that was the sweetest thing he had learned about him so far.

Once dinner was done with, Tony kept his promise and gave him a tour. The place looked like a labyrinth made of glass and steel, there were five floors, several rooms with various purposes, but everything seemed sterile and impersonal, like nobody ever stepped foot in any of those places, which somehow made them look lifeless and even a little scary – like a ghost town of sorts. Peter couldn’t help but think that his tiny, mostly empty apartment felt more like a home than all five floors of Tony’s.

Well, all except for one.

“And this is the workshop,” Tony declared with a flourish when the glass doors slid open, revealing a wide, open space filled with worktables, holographic screens, robots, cars, Iron Man suits, and so many other things he had never seen before in his life. “Sorry about the mess.” He didn’t sound sorry, though, he sounded happy and proud, and Peter thought it was the only place in the penthouse that felt weirdly cozy and homey. To his relief – and secret disappointment –, there were no pictures of him in lingerie hanging on the walls.

“This is amazing…” Peter breathed out, realizing that that was Tony’s actual home. There was even a kitchenette in a corner, and next to it there was a small, cozy couch in front of a reasonably sized TV and a fluffy rug. He supposed Tony took naps there, too, because there was also a blanket draped over the back of the couch.

He walked over there, followed closely by the older man, and took a seat, sinking into the soft pillows.  

“I think this is my favorite room.” He blinked up at Tony, who regarded him silently for a few moments, and Peter started to think he had fucked up again. “What?” He whispered, but his answer came in the form of a kiss. He immediately melted into it, all worries flying out the window as he opened his mouth to taste him better.

Tony pushed him gently until he was lying on the couch with his larger body on top of him, and he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

It was a tight fit, but they made it work, as pieces of clothes were thrown to a pile on the floor; as skin met skin and made the room feel unbearably hot; as hands explored and mouths danced together and teeth left secret claiming marks on eager necks; as he felt, once again, full and sate and whole, and then spent and lax and dazed in the best of ways.

Suddenly, what had been frantic and passionate became slow and soft, what had been loud and messy became quiet and wholesome.  

The room was silent then, as their bodies slowly cooled down. Tony was lying on his back on the couch and Peter was lying on top of him, chests flush together, breathing in and out in sync. He felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders and he all but melted into the body underneath him.

“Can I ask you a question?” He whispered quietly into Tony’s neck, after several minutes, not sure if the older man had fallen asleep, his breathing was slow and constant.

“Baby, you could ask me anything right now, there’s no way I’d say no to you.” He answered right away and Peter giggled, pushing himself up on Tony’s chest to look down at him.

“Why did you want to meet me? For real?” Tony, whose eyes had been closed until that moment, opened them to gaze at him. He was quiet for a while, as one of his hands found the small of Peter’s back under the blanket and started rubbing circles on his skin.

“I liked talking to you.” He answered quietly, eyes locked on his. At first, Peter thought that was all the answer he was getting, and he would have been fine with that, but Tony kept talking. “You made me feel alive again.” His heart raced and his breath hitched in shock. He blinked down at the older man, who raised his free hand to tuck some of Peter’s curls behind his ear. “You see, things were… rough. After Thanos.” He remembered the funny story Tony told him in the restaurant a few nights earlier and was surprised to see such grief in the man’s eyes. “I had these nightmares. Anxiety attacks. Couldn’t sleep most nights.”

Peter reached out and ran a finger across the man’s forehead, trying to smooth down the frown that had formed there. Tony smiled, grabbing that hand to give it a little kiss.

“Pepper wanted me to give up the suit for good, said it was killing me and she wouldn’t stand by and watch it happen. On top of that, my relationship with some of the Avengers was strained, to say the least. I thought retiring from the Avengers would be enough to solve most of my problems, but I was wrong and everything just kind of snowballed from there. So what I mean to say is that by the time I met you, I was… Fucking exhausted.”

“Tony...” He frowned, heart clenching, because he could hear the pain in the man’s voice and how much he meant every word and it was devastating.  

“I looked forward to talking to you every night, you know. Still do. I don’t why you got under my skin like that, but you did. So when I said I needed to meet you, I meant I needed to meet you.” He smiled and Peter’s heart skipped a beat. The whole confession was almost too much to handle, too much to believe. At the same time, he knew what Tony meant because he had also been in a very dark place when they met and, somehow, talking to him brought some light back into his life. “My turn?”

“Sure.” Peter smiled, entwining his fingers on Tony’s chest and resting his chin on top of them, looking at the older man’s face.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, I have a feeling this might be a bit of a touchy subject for you.” He cautioned, and Peter gulped. He knew what was coming and he thought about not answering, but Tony had been honest with him, so he took a deep breath and nodded.

“O-okay.”

“How did you end up doing porn? Not that it’s bad or anything, you just sounded so uncomfortable the other night... Like you’re ashamed of it, or regretful.” Tony asked carefully, one of his hands was still rubbing soothing circles on the skin of his back.

“Hm… Well. It’s complicated. I guess the short answer is: I was young and dumb and my older boyfriend convinced me it was a good idea. Then he left me and took all the money and everything we’ve ever built with him and – and now the only thing I know how to do is porn, so… Yeah.” It was a very short version of what happened, but very accurate as well. Tony frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean he took everything?”

“He told me to pack a bag and leave. Whatever I couldn’t fit in my bag stayed behind, as well as the social media accounts, the channel, the money… He locked me out of everything.” Peter’s voice grew weaker as he spoke, because he felt so fucking ashamed. Of everything. Of admitting he let a man like Quentin into his life, that he made so many terrible decisions just so he could stay with him, only to be treated like that in the end. It was fucking humiliating.

Tony sat up in a haste, forcing him to do the same, until they were both facing each other on the couch. The older man’s eyes were wide, he looked so shocked it was almost funny. Almost.

“Peter, that’s – why – wait, and what do you mean he convinced you to do porn? Is it not something that you want to do?” Peter dropped his gaze for a second, not really sure what the true answer to that question was. If he was honest with himself, most times he just avoided thinking too much about what he was doing.  

“Well… I don’t hate it anymore, I guess,” he settled on that, after a few minutes of silence. “Sometimes I even enjoy it now, like… Like when we talk,” he mumbled the last part, raising his eyes again to look into Tony’s warm ones, and the older man looked back at him with – what? Worry? Regret? Guilt?

“So you hated it? Before?” He insisted, and Peter knew he could still choose not to answer if he wanted to, Tony wouldn’t force it out of him, but still – Peter wanted to tell him. He wanted Tony to know.

To know him. All of him. Even the parts that hurt.

“I did.” He whispered, holding back the tears that filled his eyes when the confession left his lips, because that was something that he never wanted to acknowledge. It took all he had to hold Tony’s gaze and not look away in shame. “I just felt… kinda shitty sometimes. Like… I wasn’t even human, just an object to be used and abused and disposed of.” He continued, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t read Tony’s expression, but his eyes were gentle as always, there was no judgment there. “I didn’t feel like my body belonged to me anymore.” Saying that aloud came almost as a surprise to Peter himself. He always tried so hard not to think about those feelings he almost believed they didn’t really exist, even though they were always there at the back of his mind.

“Pete...” Tony cupped his face in both of his hands, he looked so torn, it almost made Peter regret telling him.

“I’m doing okay now, I promise. I’m in control of my body, my choices, my money. I’m fine now, really,” he vowed and Tony pulled his head closer and pressed their lips together – it wasn’t even a kiss, just a caress.

“I can help you.” He offered with determination, holding his face in his hands, looking straight into his eyes and they were burning with anger, but Peter knew it wasn’t directed to him. “I can help you get everything back, I can make his life a living hell for doing that to you, I can –“

“Please, don’t,” He winced, shaking his head firmly, lifting his hands to hold Tony’s wrists, feeling his pulse and how fast his heart was beating. “Okay? It’s in the past. It’s over now. I don’t want to – relive it, I just want to forget.” His heart raced when the older man closed his eyes and started shaking his head. “Tony?”

“Peter, you can’t ask me to –“

“I am asking you leave it alone.” He insisted, a little desperately, but Tony’s face was locked in a frown and panic started creeping up on him. He couldn’t bear to think about confronting Beck, having to see him again, maybe talk to him again, he just wanted to move on, to forget he ever existed. His eyes burned and he closed them, trying to get his breath under control, but he could feel his hands shaking. “Please, please, don’t make me –“

“Hey, no, no, no.” Tony gathered him in his arms, rubbing his shoulders in a soothing way. “I’m sorry, no, I would never force you to do anything, okay? It’s your choice.” He cupped his face in his hands again, peppering kisses on his cheeks and forehead. Peter started calming down slowly, and even laughed a little when the man’s beard tickled his nose. “You know that I see you, right? And I mean I see you, Peter Parker, not the persona in the videos or the pictures, and you sure seem pretty fucking human to me, kid. You know that, right?” Tony kept holding his head in between his hands, forcing Peter to look back at him, which wasn’t necessary, he couldn’t look away if he tried.

He smiled, nodding slowly, leaning in to kiss his lips. The older man lay back down, pulling him along, until they were back to their original position. He rested his head on Tony’s chest and closed his eyes, sighing in relief.

He felt Tony wrap his arms around his waist, holding him tight, and he thought to himself that if heaven looked like Tony making breakfast in the morning and tasted like his cooking in the evening, it certainly felt like holding him at night.

-x-

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list):  @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud @staticwhispersinthedark @bluestarker

Sorry for the long chapter, guys, it really got away from me 🥴 Only four more chapters to goo ✨✨

[wevegottogetaway]

I love you

First I love yous...do I need to say more? Anyway, please don’t hesitate to reach out for anything, whether that be comments, requests, feedback or just to have a chat! Happy reading xx

It’s been three days of utter pandemonium ripping through your brain in complete disarray. Three days of pent up stress storming through your mind as you ran like a headless chicken to try and find a handle on a situation that frankly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

It all started when your boss had called you in his office, his signature tyrant-resting face on, solid frown drafting his features in a look of severity. Well, this can’t be good, you’d immediately thought once you took a hesitant seat across his desk. You’d hoped for a benign reason behind the sudden meeting, and that the scowl on his face was merely a residual of some other trouble that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

Your prayers had fallen on deaf ears however, as the summoning proved to be a twenty minutes angry diatribe about how one of your most recent client had expressed their wish to withdraw from their deal and de facto, the company. Though it hadn’t been your fault per se, your boss didn’t have any reservations about reminding you of your supposed responsibility to keep your clients sated and on the company’s leash. He’d given you three days to fix it after that. Three days to persuade the client not to pull out of the deal, or you risked some serious downgrading if not redundancy.  

You’d called Harry for support the minute you got home and spent the whole evening brainstorming the craziest ideas to him. He’d listened patiently, holding your hand on the table as you both indulged in the Thai take-out he’d picked up on his way over. That first night, you’d barely slept as you laid in his strong arms, back to his chest. Your reeling mind had still been trying to conjure up any sort of plan that would help you out of this chaos; but for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, your hopes had dwindled some.

You hadn’t known then, but Harry couldn’t find rest either as he spooned you against him. You two hadn’t been dating long, several months at best, but already your distress was unbearable to him and every bone in his body ached to do something to help you. This feeling of powerlessness was crawling out of his skin and swimming around like a shark amidst his prevalent thoughts of support, admiration and love. Because, while he’d shown you the first and conveyed the second countless times in the past, the third had yet to tumble out of his lips, despite the confession burning their flesh a bit stronger every day.

What really had had his mind reeling though, was knowing that maybe, just maybe, he had the power to make this situation go away; and for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, his hopes grew some.

Your earlier utterance of the client’s name had been ringing through his mind in faint recognition, an itch starting to fester at his fingertips. Dialing a phone number was all it could take. A couple choice words and if he played his cards right, the deal would be back on the table. He’d known interfering was arguably a bad idea, and truthfully he’d always made a point of honor not to use his connections to serve ulterior motives (his or anyone else’s), but how was he supposed to do nothing when the person that caused you trouble was in fact a friend of a friend that might reevaluate their stance if he pitched in with a bit of charm and compelling words? How was he supposed to stay idle, watch you dissolve in an anxious mess, if he wasn’t as powerless as he thought?

So he didn’t. 

He’d originally planned on keeping you in the loop, but you’d been gone by the time his forest green eyes had fluttered back to consciousness the next morning. After a quick shower, a large mug of the coffee you’d left for him before running back to work, and locking your apartment with the spare key you’d given him a couple weeks back, he’d pulled out his phone. Two minutes was all it took for his friend to pass him your client’s number and without hesitation, he’d launched the call and brought his phone to his ear.

It took a bit longer than a couple of minutes for that conversation to take effect, but eventually his words hit their target. After all, his lovely nature could pierce through the most robust walls and stubborn minds. He didn’t even have to put on the charm that much, instead drawing earnest sentiments about your impeccable skills and rambling about how there was no better person to keep their account safe in the business. He’d gnawed at his lips the whole time, desperate to pull through but still scared to fail you somehow. You’d already been let down by the client and your boss, you certainly didn’t need your boyfriend added to the list.

The call had ended with their promise to reassess and consider your undeniable abilities in the equation, yet the next day you were once again convoked to your boss’ office with a snarly bark of your name. Puzzlement washed over you as you speed-walked after him. Why was he still so resentful with you when you’d gotten the client to reenter the contract?

Another twenty minutes of intense scolding provided you with that answer. With a disdainful gaze puncturing your poise, your boss told you that while your job was no longer on the line, you’d been given a firm warning about using your boyfriend as negotiator for the company’s dealings.

How he knew when you yourself weren’t aware of the fact, you didn’t know. In retrospect, your talk with the client had been suspiciously easy for someone who’d made their will to ditch the company crystal clear. You’d merely laid out your arguments, expecting resistance and some pushing, but were only met with a squinted look and cautious acceptance. Now you know your case had already been pleaded once, by the man who was taking more and more space for himself inside the chambers of your heart.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it; didn’t know if you should be mad or grateful. You were specifically stunned because you knew it was out of character for Harry. Your boyfriend was the most generous being you’d ever met, but humility was even more so a prevailing layer of his beautiful nature. You certainly didn’t expect it, didn’t wish for it to happen again because you were always adamant not to ever use anyone for their assets. Yet there was a tingling, a mixture of discomfort and gratefulness, sloshing in the pit of your stomach. 

This whole thing was a mind-fuckery of emotions you were too tired to process.

What you did feel though, was the pure frustration at your boss’ hypocrisy. You both knew he didn’t really care how you’d gotten the deal back, just that you did, but his intolerable disposition wouldn’t allow him to applaud your efforts and move on.

Wanting to put this all mess behind you, you bit back the retorts that you craved to force down his throat, simply nodded through his chastising charade, and leaped to your feet as soon as the dismissing words left his stupid trap.

Now that you’re making your way inside your home, your nose is hit by a waft of delicious aromas traveling from the kitchen. Your mind is still fuzzy with every trouble and startling revelation that transpired in the past three days, but as your eyes settle on your apron-clad boyfriend, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of his soft figure stirring the content of what must be a pan on the gas. His back is facing you, but you can hear the gentle humming under his breath, as he hasn’t registered your arrival yet.

After another minute of whistling, he finally twists around and his eyes almost pop out of their socket when they find your timid stance a couple feet away. "Jesus, pet, didn’t know you were home yet," he chuckles softly before taking in your somewhat moony features. Your expression is hard to pinpoint, your delicate traits blank of any emotions yet your eyes have the same sparkle that greets him every morning and every night when he pulls you for a deep kiss in his warm embrace. "Everythin’ okay, love?"

The query snaps you out of your semblance of trance, your head looking down to the floor to gather your wits before you level your gaze back to his. "Yeah it is. Umm, my boss called me in again today," your bite your lip, not knowing how to navigate the conversation. In all honesty, you just want to be done with the whole thing, would rather spend an evening full of cuddles and potentially mind-blowing sex, but you know this ought to be acknowledged.

"Oh," his brows pull together with the same confusion you’d experienced when your boss ushered you to his office. "Did he thank you for the big save?"

"Not exactly," you clear your throat bracing yourself and Harry’s face tenses at the realization about where this is going. "My job is safe and I’m still working on the account," hie loosens up in relief, but your next words have him stiffen right back up in alarm. "But I got a warning for a certain someone’s involvement in the company’s operations. Apparently, my boyfriend called the client on my behalf and forgot to clue me in…"

Your voice is calm and doesn’t carry any reproachful tone, but Harry’s pulse is suddenly speeding with dread regardless. The fact that he could have lost you your jobs is the only thing registering in his frenzied mind, as he sets the dish towel from his shoulder down on the counter and steps closer to you. His eyes are bouncing off yours in a frantic back and forth, as he gulps his remorse down. Before you can appease him with reassuring words, and show your lack of anger, he launches in an apologetic rant, enclosing both your hands between his palms.

"M’so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Fuck I just- I kept thinkin’ I could help since your client was a friend of a friend. And, the more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking 'I can’t do nothin’. Cause I hate seein’ you in pain an’ I really want to be here fo’ you and I know this was probably the wrong way to go about it, but damn y/n, I couldn’t stand doin’ nothing, m’sorry-"

"I love you."

The words come fast but distinct, airy but firm, not an ounce of doubt laced through their utterance. An eerie silence permeate the small space surrounding them, as Harry tries to find his own words back. It took three of them to steal all of his, but in his defense they were the ones he’d been dying to hear and to deliver himself. His eyes are wide, blinking in total surprise. He’d expected irritation, disappointment perhaps, maybe even anger, but definitely not the sweetest words he’s been keeping at the forefront of his mind. "I- you do?"

You still have that wondrous look on your face, but this time a bright smile enlivens your features, "I really do." You take your hands out of his grip to hold onto his wrists and pull him closer to you. You have to look up since he towers over you but you’ve always liked that about your relationship; the way he always seems to dwarf you in his embraces, whether because of his height or his bear-paw hands. "I mean, don’t that again," you let out a soft laugh, "but I know why you did it, and I love you for it." 

Harry smiles rivals your own now, as your hands smooth up his arms to clasp at the nape of his neck, "plus, my boss is a jerk anyway so, who cares?" You pull him in a loving kiss then and his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders in a tight lock. His lips are as soft as ever between your own, and you detect the faintest taste of pepper and other exotic herbs lingering on their edge, from his cooking endeavors. He’s always been one to have a taste or two while he’s working, whether that be in the kitchen or other rooms…and regardless, you always like it when you get your share from his supple lips.

He feels slightly distracted against your mouth though, his technique not as ravishing as it usually is. and before you can wonder why, he’s pulling an inch away from your swollen lips, hurriedly whispering your tender confession back to you as though the words couldn’t be out of his mouth and into your heart fast enough, "I love you too, pet. So much." His hands are cajoling your face, thumbs drawing soothing circles across your cheeks, and his beaming smile is melting your heart in a goo of pleasure after all the strain it suffered in the past couple of days.

"Fuck, c’mere, don’t ever wanna stop kissing you," Harry mutters against your lips before diving in for a real mind-bending, soul-shaking, tantalizing kiss this time. Just like that, all your worries and sorrow evaporate into thin air, only to be replaced by an intoxicating pink loving brume. You two definitely spend the most perfect evening with lots of cuddles and endless mind-blowing lovemaking. Screw everything else.

➪ Masterlist

[bevioletskies]

meet me halfway (across the sky)

summary: Video calls back home were a rare treat for Apollo, considering how busy his life in Khura’in could be. Catching up with Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix was one thing. Getting a sudden call from Klavier was another. And talking to Klavier every day for hours about everything they never knew about each other was possibly the most unexpected thing of all.

word count: 12k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day five of seven (prompt: "parallels"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

Mild spoiler warning for Spirit of Justice, along with implied spoilers for Dual Destinies. Fic title is from the song Meet Me Half Way by Kenny Loggins.

“Uh, Mr. Wright, you’re way too close to the screen. Can you sit back a little?”

“Oops - sorry, Apollo! Still not used to this kind of technology, heh.”

“Sheesh, Daddy, you make yourself sound ancient - ”

“Ah! Did you guys start already? Attendez-moi!”

Chuckling, Apollo leaned back in his seat and waited while the three of them rearranged themselves in front of their webcam. He’d missed this, this camaraderie that he didn’t quite have with his current companions in Khura’in. There was something immensely comforting about it, about every time he managed to schedule a video call with everyone back home. It didn’t happen as often as they would’ve liked, given how busy they all were, how tricky the time difference could be, but when it did, it was the best part of Apollo’s week.

“Hey, guys,” Apollo said, waving sleepily. “What’s been going on?” He leaned closer, peering at his screen. “...Athena, why do you have a banana sticker on your forehead?”

“Why don’t you have a banana sticker on your forehead?” Athena retorted, peeling hers off with a flourish. “Anyway, everything’s been sehr gut! We’ve had, hm...I think four clients since we last talked? All acquitted, of course!”

“Anything interesting?” Apollo asked. “I’ve had twelve clients, myself.”

Phoenix frowned. “I’m...not so sure that’s a good thing. Are you getting enough sleep? I can’t imagine you having that many cases and not mixing them up. Keeping track of evidence alone must be a nightmare!”

“It’s been...a process,” Apollo said diplomatically, trying not to think about the dozens of folders he had on both his desktop and his actual desk that needed to be sorted in a way that made some semblance of sense. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Wright, I-I’m fine!”

“Famous last words,” Trucy huffed. “Polly, you need rest! We want you back home in one piece, after all.”

“At least I’m not accepting odd jobs anymore,” Apollo chuckled. “I don’t mind helping someone set up their internet or move their couch every now and then, but I can’t do everything.” He startled suddenly at the sound of his phone going off. “Oh - sorry, one sec.” His brows knitted together when he read the call display: Klavier Gavin.

“Apollo? Is something wrong?” Athena asked, concerned.

“I - uh…” Apollo hesitated, unsure of what to do. “I’m gonna mute myself for a second, hang on.” He did just that, then answered his phone. “Gavin? Are you...wait. Did you call me by accident?”

There was a long, lingering silence. Then, “Ach, I only just realized what time it is where you are. I should’ve texted first, ja?”

“Yeah, probably,” Apollo said, laughing awkwardly. “Is this, uh, urgent? It’s just - I’m in the middle of a video call, so…”

“Nein, nein, not all!” Klavier’s voice was too loud, too sharp. Apollo didn’t need to see his face to know what that meant. “You know what? Forget I called, it’s nothing.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Apollo protested, frowning. “If you wanna talk for whatever reason, we can - ”

“I have somewhere I need to be, anyway, so, er - Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” Klavier quickly hung up before Apollo could get a word in edgewise. He stared at his phone, perplexed, before unmuting himself. The others looked as confused as he was.

“What happened?” Phoenix asked.

“...Prosecutor Gavin called me?” Apollo shook himself a little. “I’ll get back to him later, so - anyway, what were we talking about?”

_____

Three days passed before Klavier responded to the inquiring text message Apollo had sent him after he’d finished talking to the others. He still didn’t seem ready to talk about it - whatever it was - but he did suggest they do a video call of their own, to which Apollo agreed. Something about Klavier’s behavior was bothering him, and he was more curious about it than he expected to be.

“Forehead? You’re staring, achtung. I know I’m handsome, but you should really keep those eyes of yours under control. They’re going to get you in trouble someday, I’m sure of it.”

“I - ” Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “Really, Gavin? That’s how we’re starting this?”

“It was you who started it,” Klavier said petulantly, his tone not unlike a five-year-old’s. But really, Apollo couldn’t stop staring - not because of Klavier’s looks; he’d long made peace with how attractive he thought Klavier was and how much he didn’t want Klavier to know, but because of how tired Klavier seemed. Apollo had expected him to be in his usual “uniform”, his silver jewelry and perfect makeup and impeccably styled hair. Instead, Klavier was wearing an oversized sweater, his hair up in a loose topknot, his face completely bare. He still had that lazy, slightly flirtatious smile on his face, but he was slouching quite a bit, his arms loosely wrapped around his propped-up knee. With his cracked lips, acne scars, and hunched shoulders, he looked more human than Apollo had ever thought possible.

“How’ve you been?” Apollo asked, ignoring him. “I’m surprised you called. I haven’t heard from you in, like. Three months? Four? I swear, I’m losing all sense of time here.”

“Well, it’s not like we had a habit of talking in the first place, ja?” Klavier pointed out. “But...to borrow a phrase, I’m fine, though the courts have been so boring without you here. I almost miss the ringing ears I got after every single one of our trials.”

“Har, har,” Apollo drawled. “Congratulations, you and everyone else have broken me down into exactly two personality traits: sarcastic and loud. Are you proud of yourself?”

“You forgot ‘oblivious’,” Klavier supplied helpfully.

Apollo blinked. “...to what?” He blinked again. “Wait - ”

“Too late,” Klavier interrupted gleefully, beaming. “You’ve proven my point beautifully.” Apollo glared; not five minutes in, and he was already prepared to hang up. “Anyway, I’ve been sehr gut, for the most part. Work has been keeping me busy. You?”

“I’m pretty settled here by now,” Apollo said, shrugging. “It’s rough, y’know, trying to rebuild an entire legal system as the only defense attorney in the country, but, uh...at least I’m not completely alone. And as nerdy as it sounds, I’m actually really liking the work. Not the stress - that, I could do without - but the fact that I get to be a part of this big...thing. It’s exciting, I guess.”

“It’s not that nerdy,” Klavier reasoned. “Nerdy is reading law textbooks at night, under the covers. As a child.”

“...is it weird that I actually did that?” Apollo asked, wincing.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to blink, stunned. “Wait, really? I was talking about me.”

“Oh.” Apollo shifted in his seat, surprised. “Never would’ve guessed. I mean, obviously, I know you became a prosecutor at seventeen, but I just assumed you were a musical child prodigy and...I dunno, switched career paths at some point.”

Klavier let out a soft laugh. “Again, you flatter me, Herr Forehead, but I’m not a prodigy of any kind. Just some good old-fashioned hard work, you know?” He then frowned very slightly. “Though...I’ll admit, I’m not sure how much of my standing at the prosecutor’s office also came down to good old-fashioned nepotism. After all, Kristoph…” He trailed off, unwilling to say more.

Apollo shuddered. Even after all this time, he couldn’t get his former boss’s maniacal laughter out of his head. “Right, um...oh, have you had any interesting cases lately? Athena was telling me she had a literal gravedigger as a client - no prizes for guessing where the victim’s body was discovered…”

The next hour seemed to fly by surprisingly quickly, with the two of them exchanging light-hearted anecdotes about work. As it turned out, they’d both had many interesting cases since the last time they spoke. It wasn’t until Apollo could barely keep his eyes open that he realized what time it was.

“Ach, don’t let me keep you,” Klavier said when Apollo yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row. “You have work in the morning, I’m sure.”

“Wait, but - ” Apollo yawned yet again “ - but we never got around to...whatever it was you were calling about the first time. Your so-called ‘nothing’.”

Klavier’s expression sobered instantly, his mouth pulling back into a hard line. “I’m not going to bother lying to you, Apollo. But I’m not interested in telling you, either. So let’s leave it at that, ja?”

“I...oh.” Apollo nodded, feeling somewhat chastised. “Fine. Fine, we don’t have to - but if you wanna, y’know, catch up again sometime, let me know, okay? I’ve got time to talk. Er, I think.”

Klavier laughed, surprised, though his eyes were still wary. “Do you actually...miss me, Forehead?”

“You really know how to ruin a moment, Gavin,” Apollo sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, talk to you later...maybe. Haven’t decided on whether I actually want to anymore, jerk.”

Klavier continued to grin. “Auf Wiedersehen, baby.” Apollo tried not to think about how the last word had made him shiver.

Weeks went by before Apollo heard from Klavier again, a few days after he’d had a two-hour long call with Trucy. Apollo’s voice was a bit hoarse from all the talking he’d done - not to mention how angry he’d gotten in court just yesterday after a particularly smug witness tried to take over the entire trial - but nevertheless, he was surprised at how happy he was to see Klavier, a feeling he was mostly unfamiliar with.

“Do you have a cold?” Klavier asked. “Your voice sounds a bit strained and raspy.”

“My brain feels strained and raspy,” Apollo groaned. He then paused; for some reason, the exchange sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. “It’s nothing, I just got pissed and yelled at someone in court yesterday. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.”

“But isn’t yelling your default?” Klavier smirked. He looked more relaxed than last time, the tension in his face less noticeable. “I hope the rest of the trial went well, at least.”

“Oh, it didn’t,” Apollo said, snorting. “But...past’s in the past. I have too many cases to deal with to bother worrying about one crappy witness. My client was acquitted, I got the real culprit, you know the deal. It’s all starting to blur together, to be honest.”

“It sounds like you need to get out more,” Klavier suggested, not unkindly. “Is there any sort of...nightlife in Khura’in? Recreational activities, maybe? Don’t make me bother Fräulein Detective and get her to drag you to a bar every now and then.”

“We go out to eat or drink sometimes,” Apollo replied, shrugging. “But...I dunno. I don’t really have the time to take up a new hobby or whatever. My free time is for eating, sleeping, and catching up with people back home.”

“Fair enough, though you really should lighten your workload,” Klavier said sagely. “It’s not like you took cases every day when you were here, ja? I know Khura’in needs your help, but what good are you to them if you’re burnt out?”

Apollo’s eyes widened slightly, stupefied. Then, he tried - and failed - to stifle a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Sheesh, you sound like Mr. Wright trying to give me a pep talk.” He sat back in his seat, loosely running his fingers through his hair. “Fine, then, question for you - when’s the last time you took a day off?”

“I went to visit my parents last Saturday,” Klavier answered after taking a moment to think. “They needed help cleaning and packing away some of...some of his things.” He visibly swallowed, though he tried to hide it with a sharp cough. After some consideration, Apollo decided not to comment on it.

“That’s hardly a day off,” Apollo retorted instead. “I mean, it’s technically not work, but - wait. Do you usually work on weekends, too?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, confused. “Do you mean to say you don’t?”

“No, I - I work on weekends more than I should,” Apollo admitted. “But it’s kinda hypocritical of you to tell me to get out more when you don’t have much of a life, either, y’know. Also, are you seriously telling me you don’t have, like. Other things to do? People to see, places to be? Not that spending time with your parents is a bad thing, I-I mean, it’s cool that you do, it’s just...well.”

Klavier averted his eyes, reaching across his desk to pick up his mug of tea. He took his time with it, drinking at a leisurely pace, before finally speaking again. “Do you actually care to know, Forehead? Or are you just asking to ask?” he said evenly.

“I…” Apollo found himself caught off-guard by both the question and his own answer. “No, I actually wanna know. ‘Cos it’s just - it’s not what I imagined. I’ve seen all the headlines and photos and stuff, so…”

“Ah.” Klavier smiled ruefully. “From the early Gavinners days, I take it? Back when I had Daryan around to be my bad influence? Nein, that’s not exactly my style anymore. I already feel too old for that kind of scheisse. Now, I do these things out of obligation, you know? Work parties, family events...nothing too wild. Not when I’ve been involved in too many scandals. Better to lay low than to put myself out there again, ja?”

“I...I see.” Apollo went quiet for a moment, ruminating. He couldn’t help but notice Klavier had neatly avoided the word “friend”; he was starting to wonder how many he actually had. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had ever mentioned anyone outside of people that Apollo himself already knew.

“You’re staring again, Forehead.” Klavier leaned closer, resting his chin in his hands, a wicked grin plastered across his face. “There’s no one nearly as pretty as me in Khura’in, I take it? Don’t worry, I’d be surprised if there was.” Apollo said nothing, instead lifting a hand from his own mug of honey lemon tea to flip him off. Klavier merely laughed in response, delighted.

_____

After that, the gap between video calls went down from a few weeks to a few days. Neither of them knew why, but somehow, they’d come to a silent agreement that they were going to talk once or twice a week about nothing in particular. However, Apollo still hadn’t quite figured out why Klavier had called him the first time. Initially, he suspected it had something to do with Kristoph, given that the Gavins were finally starting to pack up his things. Maybe Klavier had visited him recently, or maybe he’d reminisced a little too long about their shared childhood, whatever that looked like. But when Apollo had asked, Klavier had simply shrugged it off.

“It’s no secret that even thinking about thinking about Kristoph puts me in a foul mood,” Klavier had replied. “But I haven’t seen him lately, nein. I’m done, I’m - I just want to move on with my life, without his shadow lurking in the darkness.”

Not all their conversations were so heavy, though; once they’d finally caught up on everything they’d missed out on over the last several months, their topics turned mundane, even silly. Apollo never expected to spend one of his precious free Saturday mornings arguing with Klavier, of all people, about breakfast, of all things, but here he was.

“Yes, I’ve had instant ramen for breakfast, what of it?!” Apollo had exclaimed defensively. “Add an egg, some bacon bits...what’s your problem?”

“My problem is your sodium intake,” Klavier had protested. “Bitte, tell me you eat actual fruits and vegetables from time to time. Tell me you have some semblance of a balanced diet and your stomach hasn’t just turned into a toxic wasteland.”

Apollo wasn’t sure why he was talking to Klavier so often, so suddenly, in all honesty. Part of him supposed it was because Klavier just happened to be there - after all, he seemed freer to talk than Phoenix, Trucy, or Athena, and he wasn’t bad company when he wasn’t not-so-stealthily insulting Apollo in court. But another part of him, the part he desperately wanted to ignore, felt oddly comforted by Klavier’s probably-fake accent and his too-wide smile. Klavier’s presence in his small, chilly Khura’inese bedroom almost made him feel like he was back home.

“Have you seen the others lately?” Apollo asked one evening, bundled up in the thickest blanket he could find. There was a draft coming in from somewhere that he had yet to take care of, and neither Datz nor Ahlbi were too interested in checking it out, either. “Or...I dunno. Watched any of Trucy’s shows?”

“I’ve only seen them around at crime scenes and the courthouse,” Klavier replied. Apollo couldn’t stop himself from sneaking a peek over Klavier’s shoulders at his surroundings in curiosity. For once, Klavier was sitting on his bed instead of at his desk or in what was presumably his home office. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to have a huge, ostentatious-looking bedroom that was probably bigger than Apollo’s office. “Things have been...busy at the Gavin estate. I don't have much time to socialize with colleagues.”

“Busy?” Apollo echoed, sitting up. “More cleaning, you mean?”

“My parents aren’t retired, but sometimes, they act like they are,” Klavier said wryly. “They want to remodel so many rooms - the kitchen, the conservatory, my old playroom...so I’ve been going home quite a bit these days, helping them with the little things. It was nostalgic, seeing all the toys I used to play with. Feels like a lifetime ago, achtung.”

“What was your thing?” Apollo asked. “Beanie Babies? Barbie Dreamhouses? Legos? Wait, let me guess - you had one of those Fisher-Price piano playmats, didn’t you? Don’t even lie to me.”

“I would never own something so tacky,” Klavier protested; he almost seemed offended. “Nein, Mama was all about wooden toys - blocks, cars, dollhouses, kitchen sets - it’s very aesthetically pleasing. With the occasional soft toy, ja, but we never had plastic.”

“Interesting,” Apollo said, humming. “Same here, no plastic for us. Only, uh - not for the same reasons. More out of...necessity.”

“Oh.” Klavier’s expression softened. “Ja, I suppose in your...situation, you wouldn’t be able to get new things easily.” He then smirked. “Now I’m trying to imagine you and Herr Sahdmadhi as children. I can’t picture either of you with dolls or teddy bears.”

“Try actual frogs and actual bunnies,” Apollo said, sinking down further into his chair. “We were outdoorsy kids, believe it or not. Scraped knees and sunburns and all. But now, uh, good luck dragging me away from air conditioning and indoor plumbing. You couldn’t pay me to abandon my weighted blanket.”

“Picky, picky,” Klavier teased, grinning. “I don’t blame you, though. I’m too comfortable with being comfortable to like change. Though...I suppose that’s not really up to us, is it? Changing?”

“How philosophical of you,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that deep, Gavin, I’m just saying I’m not interested in sleeping outdoors again anytime soon. One instance of me waking up with ants in places that you definitely don’t want ants was enough.” He then chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “And honestly, who does like change? It’s like when I get a new client, right, and every time, something changes on me. Evidence, circumstances, logic...hell, it’s your fault sometimes!”

“When did this become about me?” Klavier chuckled, still smiling.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back. “It’s like you have this...this uncanny ability to turn any normal conversation into an opportunity for you to wax poetic, just so you can sound cool. If you ask me, it’s more dorky than anything else.”

Klavier’s mouth dropped open. “...Apollo Justice, are you calling me a dork?”

“Maybe I am, Klavier Gavin. What are we, Prosecutor von Karma?” Apollo snorted. “Sorry, Gavin, but between you and her, I think I know which one of you is actually German.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m very German,” Klavier protested, wagging an accusing finger at his screen. “Both of my parents grew up in Germany; they only came to the States so they could get their master’s. They had me learn German by watching Janoschs Traumstunde and Die Sendung mit der Maus, and Mama taught me how to make spätzle and schupfnudeln and reibekuchen - ah, and my favorite dessert? Bienenstich.”

Apollo held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. I just think your accent’s a little...questionable. You sound like someone who got too overconfident in their dedication to Duolingo.”

“Ach,” Klavier said, laughing. “Anyway, do you mean it? Am I really...dorky?”

“Wow, you’re even more hung up on that than I thought,” Apollo teased, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing as well. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Image is a big deal to you, after all. Yes, Gavin, you’re a huge dork. How can you not be when you say shit like - like ‘tell me you share my angst, Herr Forehead’ - ”

“And you think my accent is terrible,” Klavier mused, sighing. “So sue me, I like to embellish. I like a little romance in my language - it makes life more interesting, you know? Though I suppose you wouldn’t understand, being the kind of person that you are. You wouldn’t know romance if it asked you to dinner.”

“Ugh, that reminds me.” An involuntary shudder went through Apollo’s entire body. “I had a client ask me out a few weeks ago. Like, seconds after I got him acquitted. As if that was all he was thinking about while the judge declared him not guilty.”

Klavier went still. “...really? What happened? What did you say?”

“I said no, obviously!” Apollo exclaimed, loud enough that he briefly wondered if he’d accidentally woken up his neighbors. “He wasn’t a murderer, but he was still a shitty person. Besides, shitty or not, it’s kind of an unspoken thing to not date clients and co-workers, isn’t it?”

“Ja, of course,” Klavier said, waving a hand aimlessly. “I’m just...surprised.”

“That someone was interested in me? Thanks, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes.

“That someone thought it was a good idea,” Klavier corrected, mouth twisting into a slight frown. “You’re perfect...ly acceptable, Forehead. As a, ah, person to go on a date with, I mean.” He cleared his throat; it seemed to get stuck quite often these days. “Anyway - surely, he didn’t think you would agree!”

“I dunno what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all in the first place,” Apollo sighed, shivering once more. “At least Ema got a good laugh out of it.”

Klavier straightened up, his expression quickly returning to normal. “How is she, by the way? I can only imagine that Khura’in is completely covered in luminol by now.”

“She’s adjusted pretty well, though she’s used to living overseas,” Apollo shrugged. “Her Khura’inese needs some work, though. Er, not that mine’s much better, I’ve been gone for too long. It’s coming back to me...slowly. Very slowly.”

“Sometimes I forget that you speak another language, too,” Klavier remarked. “Considering your grasp of English…”

“My English is fine, thanks,” Apollo huffed; it seemed like he couldn’t go one conversation without wanting to stick his tongue out at Klavier like they were unruly children on a school playground. Or, alternatively, flipping him off like they were fighting over the last parking spot. “Just ‘cos I don’t get all fancy with it - ”

“Here we go again,” Klavier sighed, dropping his chin into his hands. “And you say I make everything about me, hm?”

“Two-way street, Gavin. Two-way street,” Apollo said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Besides, that’s...it’s kind of our thing, isn’t it? Poking at each other until someone gets legitimately pissed? Usually me, but still.”

“I didn’t know we had a ‘thing’,” Klavier said, cocking his head in curiosity. “Tell me more about this ‘thing’ of ours, bitte.”

“See? There you go again!” Now Apollo’s neighbors were definitely awake; he didn’t have to look out the window to know that their lights were coming back on. “You can’t go two seconds without being...smarmy about something. It’s like a bad habit of yours, and I know a thing or two about bad habits.”

“What’s yours?”

Apollo blinked. Klavier had asked so suddenly, so immediately, that he’d barely heard what he’d said. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your bad habit,” Klavier elaborated. “I know you were talking about spotting other people’s tells, but I’m more curious about yours. You’d think that, since I get on your nerves so easily, I’d be able to see it myself, but…” He shrugged, still smiling. It was one of those indiscernible expressions of his that frustrated Apollo so much, the kind of bland, indifferent smile that seemed to mean anything and nothing at the same time. The kind of smile Klavier had in court as he reviewed the facts of the case, or when he ran into Apollo at a crime scene, or even when he talked about not talking about his brother.

“I...I, uh, never really thought about it.” Apollo hummed, thinking it over. “Messing with my hair, I guess? I’ve definitely, literally pulled my hair out before whenever I’m, like. Nervous. Stressed. Worried. Or, y’know, all of the above. I even had a crooked hairline in high school ‘cos I used to do it all the time.”

Klavier lifted his head from his hands, looking at Apollo in awe. He was quiet for so long that Apollo almost asked him if his internet connection had cut out, only to watch Klavier fuss with his bangs, then push them back completely, exposing his hairline, near-identical to what Apollo’s used to look like. It was only then that Apollo realized he’d never seen Klavier with his hair completely up. Of course, he’d seen Klavier do ponytails, braids, even space buns if he was feeling particularly stylish, but his bangs were always swept over his left eye. Now, he could see why.

“...oh.” Apollo wasn’t sure what to say. “I...I see. Is that, uh, recent?”

Klavier nodded shortly, then briefly turned away to grab a hair tie from his bedside table. He held the hair tie between his teeth while he gathered up his hair and twisted it into a neat knot; Apollo tried not to stare at the fullness of Klavier’s bottom lip, sticking out in a perfect pout, as he did. “Can I tell you a secret, Herr Forehead?”

“Oh - er - okay, abrupt change of topic there,” Apollo muttered, more to himself than to Klavier. “I guess so. What’s up?”

“I...haven’t decided how I feel yet about my parents remodeling our family estate.” Klavier’s tone was casual, but Apollo knew by now that it meant nothing. “I know why they’re doing it, I just don’t know why they’re doing it now. Nothing has changed, you know? They’re still working, I’m still working...Kristoph is still in prison.”

“Well, I don’t...know your parents or anything,” Apollo said carefully. “But i-it could be, like, a healing process thing. Starting fresh and all that, you know? But maybe it’s really not that deep. Maybe they literally just felt like, hey, now’s the right time to renovate. You could ask ‘em.”

“Ah - nein, I couldn’t inconvenience them like that,” Klavier said, chuckling awkwardly. He was already starting to mess with his hair once more. “If I expressed anything other than my complete support, they would stop immediately. And they’ve already sacrificed so much for me, I would never...I can’t…”

“Gavin,” Apollo said softly.

“It’s just a few rooms.” Klavier inhaled sharply. “What does it matter? It’s not like I live there. If Mama wants to turn our playroom into a crafting room, it...it makes sense.”

Their conversation, understandably, didn’t last too long after that. Apollo crawled into bed, still wrapped up in his blankets, with over a dozen trains of thought trekking through his mind, more of them about Klavier than he wanted to admit. He’d never thought of Klavier as an inherently private person - at times, he seemed almost too open to speaking his mind - but now, he could see that in some ways, he had been completely wrong.

_____

Unlike before, a few weeks passed before they had another video call. Klavier was wearing a muscle tank this time, his hair scraped back into a messy bun, his bangs perfectly placed. Apollo found himself more than a little distracted by the broadness of Klavier’s shoulders, by the length of Klavier’s neck. “Entschuldigung for last time,” Klavier said smoothly, by way of greeting. “Let’s not have me treat our conversations like my therapy sessions, ja?”

“It’s fine, Gavin,” Apollo reassured him. “One comment about how you’re feeling is no big deal. If you wanna talk, then...talk. Honestly, I’m a huge law nerd, and I could talk about Khura’inese legal practices all day, but, uh, I could definitely use a conversation or two that’s about something completely different.”

Klavier nodded, seemingly thinking it over. “...I like your hair.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “...and I like your shirt. What, are we on a shitty speed date? C’mon, you can do better than that!”

“Ach, you didn’t let me finish,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “I just meant...I like your hair like this. It looks...soft. Less severe. Something that would be nice to touch, you know?”

“I...oh.” A pleasant tingle went up Apollo’s spine. Klavier’s voice was low, warm, especially through his headphones. He brushed his hair back behind his ears, ducking his head slightly so Klavier wouldn’t notice the heat rising in his cheeks. “Trucy introduced me to some new hair products a while back. Said it was stuff she uses to make her hair look extra shiny under the stage lights. Er, n-not that that’s why I’m using it, just...it’s nice to treat myself every now and then.”

Klavier suddenly perked up. “Speaking of treating yourself, that reminds me - you know the best way to help you with all that stress and tension you’re dealing with? A gut massage. Surely, there are some facilities like that in Khura’in, ja?”

Apollo fixed Klavier with a withering look. “...Gavin, we just had a revolution here, like, six months ago. Getting a massage and a facial is hardly anyone’s priority right now, believe me. It’s not like the legal system is off in its own little world, y’know? The economy, the sociopolitical order…everyone considers themselves lucky that they can go about their day-to-day lives, but luxury goods and services? Not here, not yet.”

“Shame, though I can’t fault Khura’in for having its priorities in order,” Klavier said, frowning slightly. “Well, if I ever get bored enough and feel like hopping on a plane, maybe I’ll come visit and give you a massage myself.”

“I’m not paying for your ticket,” Apollo retorted, his cheeks reddening once more. “And are you even qualified?”

“I always massage Papa’s shoulders whenever I go to my parents’ house,” Klavier mused thoughtfully. “He gets sore from all the gardening he does. You should see our estate garden; it’s like something out of a fairytale.”

Apollo’s nose twitched. “I’m, uh, I’m sure it does. Hey, so - tell me about your parents. You’ve mentioned them a bunch of times, but I don’t actually know that much about them.”

“High school sweethearts,” Klavier said with an almost dreamy smile on his face. “The old-school kind, slipping love letters into each other’s bags between classes and all that. Now, they’re both college professors at the same school. They both act like practical, no-nonsense people, but the truth is, they're both romantisch at heart.”

“And then passed that on to you,” Apollo nodded. “Makes sense. They sound adorable, actually.”

“I never had a high school sweetheart of my own,” Klavier sighed wistfully. “I can’t imagine how...all-consuming that must feel. To be so young, to be so sure that this one person, the only person you’ve ever loved, will be the only person you’ll ever love.”

“I guess that’s where we differ,” Apollo said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, surprised at himself. He wasn’t sure where his comment had come from, why he’d blurted it out loud without a second thought. “I, uh, I had...something like that. Someone like that.”

“...oh.” Klavier furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What happened?”

Apollo ducked his head, unable to look Klavier in the eye. “...you know what happened to him.”

Klavier’s eyes widened in realization. “Ach - Apollo, I’m so - ”

“Don’t, I - don’t,” Apollo insisted, a lump forming in his throat. “It’s not, uh. It’s not something I really wanna talk about.”

Klavier seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes shining with pity. Apollo hated it, hated how genuinely sorry Klavier looked, as if he had anything to do with it at all. Klavier opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “...I’ve written songs about my parents, actually. Not that you’ll find them on any Gavinners’ albums, just little love ballads that I played at their anniversary parties and vow renewal. They were big hits with my extended family - the one I wrote when I was ten years old is an absolute classic.”

“I’m sure it was,” Apollo chuckled, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “How about now, you write anything recently?”

“Barely a tune since the Gavinners disbanded,” Klavier admitted. “I haven’t felt all that inspired lately. Maybe someday it’ll come back to me, but right now...nothing. Nichts.”

“Good luck, I guess,” Apollo offered. “By the way, what’s with the tank top? Is it that hot over there already?”

“I’ve always been hot, Forehead, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klavier said, grinning victoriously at the almost too obvious bait.

Apollo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I will hang up on you someday, Gavin, don’t think I won’t.”

_____

The gap between video calls quickly dwindled down from a few days to no days at all. Text messages were constant, to the point where Apollo had to sheepishly ask Nahyuta how to upgrade his phone plan. Even phone calls started to increase in frequency; Apollo was starting to think he heard Klavier’s voice more often than he heard Ema’s, and they often spent entire days in each other’s presence.

“How do you feel about peaches?” Apollo asked, his phone carefully sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he deftly navigated his way through the farmer’s market, nearly tripping over a stray dog as he did so.

“Great emoji,” Klavier replied semi-seriously, though Apollo could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Although...Forehead, if this is your subtle way of asking me for my opinion on Call Me By Your Name, I’ll have you know I never learned how to play Capriccio sopra la lontananza del suo fratello dilettissimo. Now, Zion Hört Die Wächter Singen, on the other hand - ”

“Need I remind you, I only speak English, Khura’inese, and college-level Spanish?” Apollo interrupted, shaking his head. “Anyway, peaches are basically a delicacy here. Sucks for me, since I’m allergic to stone fruit.”

“Same, I can only eat them cooked. I love a good cherry pie,” Klavier hummed. “Did you remember to get kale this time?”

“Yeah, I got a huge bundle of it right here,” Apollo said, jostling his wicker basket loudly enough so Klavier could hear. A few market patrons turned to look at him strangely. “Thanks again for the tip, by the way. I’m still getting used to cooking stuff that’s not instant or frozen, so roasting vegetables is a total game-changer.”

“Glad to hear you’re eating actual fruits and vegetables now,” Klavier replied, chuckling. “So, I had a case go kaput today. Thought you might want to hear about it.”

“Obviously!” Apollo said, lighting up. “What did you do?”

“Achtung, why do you think it was my fault?” Klavier protested, his laughter warm in Apollo’s ear.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back, laughing as well. “Seriously, what happened? Can’t be as bad as...literally anything that’s happened to me.”

“Nein, not quite,” Klavier agreed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t up against Athena or Herr Wright. Some rookie, I think; I was going to go easy on them. That is, until the defendant, apparently overcome with guilt, decided to bring their own decisive evidence to prove that they did, in fact, kill the victim.”

“No!” Apollo exclaimed. More market patrons turned in his direction, glaringly so. He shot them apologetic grimaces, then ducked behind a watermelon display. “Really? Like, are we talking fingerprints, photographs…”

“Everything, Forehead, everything. I couldn’t have convicted them better myself,” Klavier remarked. “Obviously, I take no joy in celebrating crime, especially murder, but ach, I consider that one of the highlights of my career. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if you were there. I can picture your dumbfounded expression now.”

“You’re terrible,” Apollo informed him, with no real bite behind his words. “But...not gonna lie, that’s kind of incredible. I feel bad for the defense, though. I’ve been screwed over by clients before, but usually not that badly.” He then heard a sharp wuff somewhere by his feet; he glanced down to see the dog he’d nearly tripped over before was now sitting on top of his toes, looking up at him with literal puppy-dog eyes. “...uh, hello. Did you need something?”

“What’s that?” Klavier asked.

“Oh - sorry, not you, Gavin. A stray dog just came over to say hi, I guess.” Apollo crouched down, taking care not to tip his basket. “Hey, buddy. I’m not the one to beg for food, if that’s what you’re looking for. All I can offer is, like, a belly rub.”

“Wait, switch to video, I want to see this,” Klavier pleaded, laughing again. Sighing, Apollo turned on his camera, then aimed his phone at the dog, who was now rolling over onto its back, its tail thumping enthusiastically against the cobblestone. “Ah, what an adorable hündchen! Go on, Forehead, don’t make him wait.” Sighing yet again - at Klavier, naturally, not the dog; he could never begrudge the dog - Apollo carefully set his basket down, then began rubbing the dog’s belly, smiling at the adorably goofy look the dog gave him in return, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his eyes closing in utter bliss. “Hold still for a moment, bitte? I want to make this my contact photo for you.”

“Gavin, I swear - ”

“Uh, Apollo? What are you doing?”

Apollo startled at the sound of a new voice; his eyes widened when he looked up and realized who it belonged to. “Ema! He-e-ey, wh-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ema replied, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you petting a dog while video-calling Gavin at the farmer’s market?”

“...because I can?” Apollo offered meekly, straightening up. He quickly hung up on Klavier before Ema could attempt to talk to him, silently noting the need to send him an apology text later. “Hey, um - th-there’s a discount on tangyuan today, you wanna go all out and split the cost with me?”

Ema continued to eye him suspiciously. “Sure. But please don’t insult my intelligence - you can’t just distract me with snacks, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Apollo sighed, giving the dog one last pat on the head before leading Ema across the market, towards the aforementioned snack stall. “We just...we talk sometimes. What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing, if you guys just do video calls every now and then,” Ema said. “But here you are, shopping for produce and chatting with Gavin at the same time. It’s...a little domestic, don’t you think?”

“D...domestic?” Apollo echoed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just didn’t think you and Gavin had that kind of relationship, that’s all,” Ema continued, shrugging as she popped a grape from her own basket into her mouth. “Listen, I couldn’t care less about that guy. But you’re my friend, so...I have to ask. Is something, y’know...going on there?”

“Wh - no, no, no, o-of course not!” Apollo ducked behind Ema the second he felt the glares of the market patrons turn to face him, again. He was starting to think he wasn’t going to be welcome back for a couple of weeks, at least. “I - he - we’re friends! It’s kinda new, b-but we’re friends. Just friends. He’s, like...pretty decent when he’s not being obnoxious in court. Or at a crime scene...or just in general.”

Ema snorted, reaching over to steal a strawberry from Apollo’s basket next. “I think it’s time you hop off that bicycle of yours, Apollo, because you’re obviously backpedaling.”

“Tortured metaphor, but okay,” Apollo muttered, glowering at her.

“How’d you guys end up talking in the first place, anyway?” Ema asked, chewing noisily. “I can’t imagine you were the one to initiate it.”

“It...I’m not sure, actually,” Apollo admitted, slapping her hand away before she could steal his entire carton of freshly-picked strawberries. They were probably more expensive than all the vegetables he’d purchased, combined. “Gavin called me a while back, seemed embarrassed about it, and then hung up. I asked him later what was going on, we started doing video calls and stuff, and then it turned into a thing, but…I never figured out why he called the first time. And I don’t think there’s any point in asking.”

“Fair enough, though I gotta admit, I’m still curious. For scientific purposes, of course,” Ema added, humming to herself. “Maybe he...no, there’s no way.”

“You know something I don’t?” Apollo asked, nudging her. “What happened to ‘I couldn’t care less’?”

“Believe me, I really couldn’t,” Ema retorted, elbowing him back. “Surprises me that you have enough to talk about, though. I mean, it’s Gavin.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested; suddenly, he felt weirdly defensive of Klavier. Again, it wasn’t a feeling he was too familiar with. “We have more in common than you think. It’s not all just - just guitar riffs and hair tosses with him.”

“If you say so,” Ema sighed, clearly uninterested in pursuing the topic any further. “C’mon, let’s pick our flavors already. And if you short me on black sesame, I will be taking those strawberries of yours.”

Later that evening, Apollo was cocooned in his usual plethora of blankets, poring over the evidence for three separate cases - honestly, the autopsy reports were starting to blur together, which explained why, for a moment, he thought one of the victims had somehow ended up with a bullet hole in their stomach from being stabbed with a blunt object - when his phone went off. He immediately perked up when he read the call display. “Gavin, hey. Sorry again about earlier, you know how Ema is.”

“Keine Sorge, you already apologized,” Klavier replied. “That’s not why I was calling, in any case.”

Apollo frowned slightly, putting Klavier on speakerphone and nestling his phone among his files. “Oh? I, uh, I thought you were just calling to chat.”

“Ja, we can talk about whatever we feel like after, it’s just - I had a question for you.” The deep breath Klavier took before speaking again made Apollo nervous. “Are you homesick?”

“...huh?” Apollo wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “Well, I mean. Yeah. Yeah, obviously. Khura’in was my home once, so it’s not like I’m in a completely new place, but it’s...yeah, I miss being back home, traffic jams and heatwaves and all. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Klavier said innocently, in that sort of tone of voice that made Apollo want to reach through the phone and strangle him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“There’s either no reason, or a reason that I’ll learn soon enough. Pick one, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. All he got in response was warm, throaty laughter that sent pleasant tingles down his spine. “Fine, don’t tell me. So, what’re you up to?”

“Just got back from my morning run.” There was a rustling of sound on Klavier’s end that suggested he was still walking around somewhere, presumably inside his apartment. Apollo could only imagine how sweaty he still was, how his skin glistened in the mid-morning sun - and now, he realized belatedly, he wasn’t sure if it was something he should be thinking about at all. “You know, after all this time - I still hate it. Running, I mean.”

“Then why do you do it?” Apollo said, trying not to laugh. “Though to be fair, I feel the same way. Athena used to make me run laps around the agency’s neighborhood sometimes ‘cos I need to ‘improve my cardiovascular health’ or whatever. Never got any good at it.”

“I do it because it’s good for me, but achtung, I wish I actually liked it,” Klavier sighed. “The fresh air, the endorphins, it’s all gut and well, but you know what I can’t stand? Sweat-soaked hair. Sore ankles and stiff knees. Don’t get me started on the sunburns, ach.”

“Okay, old man,” Apollo chuckled. “You sound like a guy twice your age, you know that?”

“I’m not the one who once said they were starting to prefer blander foods over spicy foods - calling me an old man, mein Gott, the disrespect - ”

A few hours later, Apollo was fully curled up beneath his duvet, head resting on his pillow, eyes closed, with his phone tucked under his ear. Neither of them had spoken in a little while, though Apollo could hear Klavier humming under his breath while he worked on clearing out his email inbox. “...you really should take a day off, Gavin.”

“You first,” Klavier said without missing a beat. “Don’t trick yourself into thinking you have to take every case in the country, ja?”

“Same to you,” Apollo mumbled; he was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. “You’re working, like...stupidly long hours. It’s not like you’re the only prosecutor in the district.”

There was a long pause. “Mama said that to me the other day. She told me I should live a little.”

“And she’s right,” Apollo yawned. “Anyway, I’m not gonna get into this again. And it’s not like you have to do anything major, just...take a day off. Go get a massage or whatever. Hang out with friends, go on a date, I dunno.”

“Go on a date, right,” Klavier drawled sarcastically. “Easier said than done, ja?”

“What, is it the fame thing?” Apollo asked, eyes snapping open in curiosity.

“It’s the, ah. ‘Trusting people’ thing.” Klavier let out a quiet laugh. “After convicting mein Bruder, after convicting someone I thought was my best friend...who’s to say any future romantic partner of mine wouldn’t end up facing that same fate?”

“...oh.” Apollo’s face softened; part of him wanted to see Klavier’s expression, while another part of him had the feeling it was better this way, to only hear the slight rasp, the slight crack in Klavier’s voice as he spoke. He could only imagine the noticeable twitch in Klavier’s eyes, the forced smile on his lips, that he’d seen a surprising amount of times over the past few months. “I see. I-I get it. Not like I’m any good at trusting people, either.”

Klavier went quiet again. “Apollo?”

“I...oh. Yeah?” He couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had called him by his actual name.

“Be honest with me, ja?” Klavier murmured. “When we talk every day, when we text and chat and send each other silly things...is it something you actually like doing, or...or are you just bored?”

Apollo snorted. “Oh please, you know my schedule. I couldn’t be bored if I tried.” He nestled deeper into his pillow, yawning. “Nah, you’re...we’re friends. Talking to you is like...part of my routine now.”

“You mean it?” Klavier asked. He sounded so uncertain that it made Apollo’s heart ache.

“I don’t send stupid memes to just anybody, you know,” Apollo teased. “And look, I’m not pretending like this isn’t weird. If you asked me a year ago if I could see myself talking to you on a daily basis, I would’ve said, y’know, ‘never in a million years’. But things are different now, so...yeah. You’re not so bad, Gavin.”

“Ah, danke. What high praise, coming from you,” Klavier drawled, laughing. “But really, I’m glad to hear it. I...wasn’t sure if I was bothering you. When I called that first time, I suppose I had my answer. Then after that, I never really knew for sure.”

“Now you do,” Apollo affirmed, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling too much.

“Now I do,” Klavier echoed, satisfied. “So, how about you, Forehead? Any clients ask you out again recently?”

“No, thank god,” Apollo said, shuddering. “Besides, I’m, uh. I’m not exactly looking to date right now, either. I’m...I’m pretty good with how things are going at the moment. Maybe after I get back. Thinking about thinking about dating, I mean.”

“Smart.” Klavier’s voice was so clear, so warm, that it almost sounded as if he were in Apollo’s bedroom, too. Apollo briefly wondered what it would be like to have Klavier visit, to wander the farmer’s market with him, to take evening walks along the river and watch the fireflies together, to go through an endless number of cases with him by his side. He had to admit, it didn’t sound half-bad. Better than half-bad, really, not that he was going to say so out loud. “Long-distance is never easy. The time zones, the uncertainty, the inability to truly be together...I can only imagine.”

“Right,” Apollo hummed, his eyes drifting closed once more. “I can only imagine.” When he woke up the next morning, he found a text message waiting for him - a screenshot of Klavier’s home screen; its background was a photo of Apollo and the friendly dog. sehr süß, Klavier had texted, and the hündchen isn’t so bad, either. It was too early, in Apollo’s opinion, for his heart to be racing this quickly.

_____

Almost four months to the day since they started talking, Apollo arrived at the post office with a delivery slip in hand, visibly confused by its earlier presence on his front door. “Was this really meant for me?” he managed to ask in his steadily improving Khura’inese. “I never ordered anything from the United States. Just paying customs would make me broke!”

“It really is for you, Mr. Justice,” the receptionist replied. Apollo watched, stunned, as she dragged a crate-sized package out from behind her desk. “You must have people who really love you back home, sir.”

“I...w-wow.” Apollo didn’t know what to say. “Er, do you have someone who can help me bring this back to my office?”

Twenty minutes later, Apollo was sitting on the floor of Justice Law Offices, embarrassingly sweaty and sore from how much effort it had taken him and one of the post office employees to haul his delivery here. Groaning, he reached for his pocket knife, then carefully sliced through the tape, unwrapping the enormous package layer by layer. When he finally reached its actual contents, he sat back on his haunches, stunned by the sheer amount of items inside.

The package consisted of two sturdy boxes; one was labeled with Ema’s name, so Apollo took it out and set it aside. He then opened the one that bore his name, only to find it was packed surprisingly tight. Boxes and boxes of his favorite snacks that were too expensive to import to Khura’in, well-loved copies of his favorite manga that had clearly been taken from his apartment back home, thick stacks of the most obnoxious California-themed postcards known to humankind with handwritten notes on their backs - before Apollo knew it, his eyes started to well up with emotion. Finally, at the bottom of the box, cushioning the other items nicely, were a few of his sweaters and hoodies, some of which still had a few stray Mikeko hairs on it.

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, wiping his eyes hastily despite being completely alone. Then, he frowned. “Wait, what is…” He pulled out the only item of clothing he didn’t recognize, an unusually large hoodie in a familiar shade of purple with an embroidered rose on its breast pocket. Stuck to its left sleeve cuff was a sticky note; Apollo peeled it off and began to read what was on it.

herr forehead,

wear this the next time you go out, just in case you run into that hündchen again. It smells just a little bit like my parents’ dog - and like me, if you’re into that sort of thing.

alles liebe, klavier

Later that day - well into the evening, really - Apollo was eating dinner at his desk, rummaging through a hefty stack of police reports, when his laptop pinged, reminding him he had a scheduled video call that was about to start. Grinning, Apollo turned on his webcam, his heart pounding in anticipation. “Hey, Gavin. So, what do you think?”

“What do I think about - oh.” Klavier’s mouth fell open. “You’re...I didn’t think you were actually going to wear it.”

“Is, uh...is that a bad thing?” Apollo asked, suddenly nervous.

“Nein, nein, not at all! You look...achtung, you look good,” Klavier said hoarsely, swallowing. He then cleared his throat; his cheeks were flushed pink, much to Apollo’s delight. “Bitte, stand up for me? I want to see how long it is on you; it’s amazing you haven’t completely disappeared inside of it.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately, getting out of his chair and taking a few steps back so Klavier could see. He smoothed out the front of the hoodie, realizing belatedly that its hem only just grazed the tops of his bare thighs. “Er, don’t mind my legs. I-I’m wearing shorts underneath, I swear!”

“I don’t mind at all,” Klavier replied, cocking his head. His eyes were darkening, shining with something that Apollo couldn’t quite identify. “Have you worn it outside yet?”

“Nah, not yet. I was actually planning on wearing it to bed since it’s kinda cold, and this thing’s the biggest thing I have,” Apollo admitted, sitting back down. At Klavier’s exaggerated eyebrow raise, he groaned. “Shut up. Don’t make it weird.”

“I said nothing,” Klavier teased, dropping his chin into his hands. “So, did you like our care package? Trucy reached out to me on the same day you ran into that hündchen and asked if I had anything to contribute. I also sent Ema some old Gavinners’ merchandise, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I heard about it from her, alright,” Apollo chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Amazing how you manage to continue torturing her from several continents away. Maybe that’s your real talent.”

“To be fair, I was also the one who got her the beaker shot glasses and the glow-in-the-dark periodic table blanket,” Klavier pointed out, laughing as well. “I think all would be forgiven if she knew that was me.”

“So she gets new stuff and I get hand-me-downs, huh? I see how it is,” Apollo said, tucking his knees into his chest and yawning. “Seriously, though, thanks. This thing smells like that cologne of yours I don’t like.”

“And the backhanded compliments continue,” Klavier said, amused. “I hope you feel a little less homesick, at least.”

“Oh, I’m more homesick than ever,” Apollo snorted. “But I appreciate the care package, really! Having all this stuff here is amazing. It’s just...well. Stuff isn’t, uh...it’s not exactly a substitute for people, y’know?”

Klavier nodded thoughtfully, his smile sympathetic. Apollo took a moment to look at Klavier, to really look at him, and see how he was doing. He looked good; his skin had a glow to it, and his eyes and hair seemed to shine a little brighter than they had the very first time they’d talked. Klavier was bare-faced more often than not - aside from his tattooed eyebrows and eyelash extensions - though he seemed to be experimenting with his hair here and there, occasionally sporting different styles of ponytails, braids, and updos. It almost made Apollo forget how sullen he’d looked four months ago.

“Is that why you’re staring again?” Klavier asked, smirking. “Are you finally ready to admit you miss me, Forehead? That you miss my charming personality and my devastatingly good looks?”

“So what if I do?” Apollo huffed. He then frowned at Klavier’s wide eyes. “...what?”

“Nichts, it’s just - you do realize you just said you actually miss me, ja?” Klavier said disbelievingly. “Do you really mean it, or...or are you just saying that?”

“I-I...well.” Apollo shot him a small smile. “Yeah, Gavin, I miss you. Thought that was, uh. Kinda obvious by now.”

Klavier grinned victoriously; he looked seconds away from pumping his fist into the air. “Achtung, I knew it!”

“And the dorkiness continues,” Apollo said mockingly, rolling his eyes. “I mean it, how did you convince an entire generation of teenagers that you were cool? You go around saying crap like ‘let’s rock with these documents’ and ‘you have to get on up in order to get on down to prosecuting’ - are you an internationally-renowned rockstar, or an awkward dad trying to connect with his teenager through the power of classic rock? What’s next, Gavin, you gonna go buy a lawnmower and some cargo shorts? Fire up the grill and wear a kitschy apron?”

“Mein Gott, you’re vicious sometimes,” Klavier sighed, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ich vermisse dich auch, by the way. I think I've been...a little more obvious than you.”

“Maybe,” Apollo hummed. “But hey, I’ll take it. It’s nice to feel appreciated for once.”

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?” Klavier asked.

“I’m, er...I’m not sure,” Apollo said hesitantly, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t think I was gonna be sticking around for this long to begin with, and now it’s...it’s gonna be the rest of the year, at least. Maybe even another year on top of that.”

“You...you think so?” Klavier’s voice was small. Nothing about his expression seemed remotely cheerful now.

“It’s not like I can leave whenever I want to,” Apollo shrugged, sighing. “Khura’in needs more defense attorneys before I could even begin to consider it, and that’s not gonna happen overnight. Not with their deeply ingrained feelings towards ‘em.”

“Wait - you’re not still in danger, are you?” Klavier asked worriedly, his voice suddenly filling with urgency. “No threats, no death sentences - ”

“I-I’m fine, Gavin, don’t worry,” Apollo reassured him. “It was a little touch-and-go there for a minute, back at the beginning, but everything’s fine now. Trust me, if something was going on, you would’ve heard about it earlier.”

“Gut,” Klavier said, satisfied. “After all, if something were to happen to you…” An odd expression flitted across his face, too quickly for Apollo to catch, though he had his suspicions. “Well. Trucy would be devastated, natürlich.”

“Right...just Trucy, huh?” Apollo murmured, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What about...oh, I dunno. Athena would be upset for sure. Can’t forget Mr. Wright, either.”

“Nein, definitely not,” Klavier said, clearing his throat. He paused before speaking again. “Forehead, do you ever wonder what Herr Wright really thinks of you?”

“Sure, all the time,” Apollo admitted. “We didn’t, uh...well, let’s just say we didn’t start off on the best foot, you know that. Why?”

“Because I do, too,” Klavier confessed. “Ach, I want to go the rest of my life not thinking about mein Bruder and all the lives he ruined, all the lives I helped him ruin, but - ”

“Gavin, that’s not what happened and you know it,” Apollo said gently. “And I’m not exactly sure how Mr. Wright feels about you, but I seriously doubt he still has a problem with you. He probably just feels a little, y’know, awkward. You guys went seven years without knowing the whole truth, after all.”

“Ich weiß, ich weiß, it’s just…” Klavier laughed bitterly. “...I’d like to go at least one day without worrying about what someone else thinks of me. Just one.”

Apollo suddenly found himself wishing he could reach through the screen and pull Klavier into his arms; it wasn’t the first time, and he knew it wasn’t going to be the last. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. You already know what I think about you.”

“Do I really?” Klavier teased, though he still looked somewhat worried.

“Yeah, sure,” Apollo replied, smirking. “You’re the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. And, uh...I wouldn't have it any other way. I think.”

Klavier laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “You have a way with words, Forehead, you really do.”

“Thanks,” Apollo drawled, chuckling. “So, today’s case went about as well as expected - meaning it didn’t go well at all…”

_____

Khura’in was beautiful year-round, Apollo mused as he walked alongside the riverbank, but it was especially picturesque in the height of spring, during the month of May. He’d woken up unusually early today, especially given it was one of his very rare days off, not to mention the fact that he’d stayed up late last night, talking to Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix. For whatever reason, he had felt like taking his breakfast - anpan and a warm thermos of green tea - outside, while the sun was still rising. It was a peaceful backdrop for the start of what he hoped would be a peaceful day.

Yawning and stretching, Apollo dropped down to sit in the long grass, the worn-out toes of his boots grazing the water’s edge. He lifted his saddlebag off his shoulders and set it aside, raking his fingers through his hair. It was getting quite long in the back, he noted, but he didn’t care enough to cut it. Before he could take his first bite of his anpan, his phone started to ring. “...Gavin? What’s up, aren’t you going to bed soon?”

“I just wrote a song for the first time in ages, so I’m too alert to sleep at the moment,” Klavier admitted, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, sending shivers up Apollo’s spine. “I’m surprised you’re awake, too. It was only when I started calling you that I realized you were probably still in bed.”

“Felt like catching the sunrise for once.” Apollo turned on his phone camera, then switched it to the rear-facing one so Klavier could see what he was seeing. The entirety of Khura’in, it seemed, was momentarily bathed in a warm, yellow-orange glow. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s wunderschön,” Klavier remarked, awed. “Almost makes me wish I was in Khura’in.”

“I wish you were here, too,” Apollo said quietly. His eyes then widened. “Er, I-I mean - ”

“...Apollo?” Groaning internally, Apollo fumbled with his phone, reluctantly switching to his front-facing camera so he could shoot Klavier a nervous smile. He could see now that Klavier had turned on his camera, too; he appeared to be sitting on his bedroom floor, leaning up against a window, his face illuminated by moonlight. Somehow, his blue eyes were even brighter in the darkness, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones sharpened by the shadows. Apollo’s breath hitched as he was momentarily rendered speechless. “Achtung, you still manage to surprise me after all this time.”

“I-I said nothing!” Apollo said hastily. “You’re - I - i-it’s early, I don’t know what I’m saying!”

“If you’re planning on staying for even longer, I really should come and visit, ja?” Klavier continued, his grin equal parts sleepy and teasing. “For one thing, I can finally make good on that massage I promised you, get all that stress and tension out of your body. I could also bring you more of my clothes, since you seem to really like that hoodie of mine.”

“What would you even do here, anyway?” Apollo asked, momentarily looking away so Klavier wouldn’t see how red his cheeks had gotten. “There’s no nightlife, barely any recreational activities...not to mention the wi-fi kinda sucks. Besides, it’s not like you’re allowed to prosecute in Khura’in.”

“Let me be your co-counsel,” Klavier offered. “After all, if Herr Blackquill can help Athena, why can’t I help you?”

“That...would be kinda interesting, actually,” Apollo admitted. “And where would you stay?”

“WIth you, natürlich,” Klavier replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “After all, if you want me there, I should be as close as possible. I’d make the perfekt roommate, you know. I can cook for you, clean for you...it’d be domestic, nein? Like I’m your stay-at-home husband or something.”

Apollo shivered again. Despite his distaste for his lyrics, Klavier certainly had a way with words. “You wouldn’t be...I dunno, bored out of your mind? Things are definitely slower here compared to California, you know.”

“The change of pace would be nice,” Klavier said diplomatically. “And I certainly wouldn’t complain about the company.”

“Well, uh, sorry to break up your super-specific fantasy, but I think I’m actually pretty close to getting out of here,” Apollo said, trying not to linger too much on his own mental picture of what Klavier had described. “Another few months, maybe? Six, at most. And since it’s sorta unknown, I wouldn’t recommend booking plane tickets anytime soon.”

“Really?” Klavier perked up. “You’re coming home? Have you told the others?”

“Yeah, I talked to ‘em last night,” Apollo said, setting his phone down by his bag so he could finally take his first bite of anpan. “It’ll be weird once I return, that’s for sure. I’ve been in Khura’in for exactly one year, right down to the day, but...well. It’s definitely grown on me, even with all my...my mixed feelings about it. Though I, um...I guess those mixed feelings are more about a person than a place, and he’s...he’s, well...you know.” He swallowed thickly, reaching for his thermos and taking a generous gulp of his tea.

“Any regrets?” Klavier asked softly.

“About Khura’in, or d’you mean in general?” Apollo asked, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his nervous laugh.

“However you’d like to interpret it,” Klavier said, gesturing aimlessly. “I can be generous sometimes.”

“Yeah, real philanthropist, you are,” Apollo retorted, chuckling. “Well, you know I’ve had days where, like. I feel like I shouldn’t have stayed behind, after all. Like I’m way in over my head, and..like I’m not...not good enough. Like I’m just winging this whole thing, which is scary, ‘cos it’s like the entire country’s future is in my hands, and I can’t just - I can’t improvise. I can’t make it up as I go along, I-I have to know it. Do it, be about it. Make it my whole life, you know?” He stopped to take a breath; the sympathetic crinkle of Klavier’s brow was more welcome this time. “But no, I don’t regret sticking around. I just wish I’d gotten some closure.”

“Closure?” Klavier echoed.

“Yeah, there’s...I’ve got stuff I wish I’d been able to do or, or say before I ended up living here for twelve months,” Apollo confessed. “It’s not like I knew I was moving here when I did, so...it’ll be nice to head back home and settle in and...and get all of that out of the way.” He took a few more bites of his anpan as they ruminated in their shared silence. “How about you? Any regrets about, well, anything?”

“Me?” Then, to Apollo’s surprise - though maybe not to his surprise, given all that had been said and done between the two of them, just the two of them - Klavier let out a bitter laugh. “Always.”

Apollo’s face softened. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly, nein,” Klavier said, visibly shuddering. “Just once, I’d like to not drag our conversation down. Ach, and I used to think you were the buzzkill. Now look at me, ja?”

“Don’t worry about it, Gavin,” Apollo insisted. “I get it, you - you feel things really intensely. I know that now, and, uh. Well, I do it, too. And we hold it all in and we don’t say anything ‘cos there’s bigger things to worry about, a-and then it’s like...like a dam breaks. Like everything just comes rushing at you all at once. There’s no way of stopping it, as much as you want to, and when it’s finally over...you never know how to feel about it. Because it’s not cut and dry, i-it’s not black-and-white, it’s just...it just is. So you move on, ‘cos there’s nothing else you can do about it, and you keep going. And then it starts all over again.” He let out an awkward laugh. “Or, uh, or maybe I’m just describing what a trial feels like.” Apollo glanced back at his phone, only to see Klavier staring at him in wonderment. “...er, too much?”

“Not at all, it’s just...you’re always full of surprises,” Klavier murmured; he almost sounded impressed. “That was incredibly astute, especially for you.”

Apollo wilted. “...thanks. Glad to know you think so highly of my intellect.” Still, Klavier’s warm laughter managed to get him to crack a smile. “So, you said something about writing a new song? How’d that go?”

“I had a burst of inspiration, you might say,” Klavier said, nodding. “Like my muse sat beside me on the piano bench and hummed a melody in my ear.”

“That sounds more creepy than anything else, but okay,” Apollo snorted. “Can I hear it?”

“Nein, not yet,” Klavier replied mysteriously. “When the time is right, ja? Besides, it’s...it’s a bit personal.”

Apollo shifted slightly in his spot. “Personal, huh?”

“It’s about...someone who means a lot to me, and something I’ve been meaning to say to them,” Klavier said carefully. “Because...I’ve been looking for closure, too. And possibly, if I do it right, I might also get a new beginning. Does that make sense?”

“It’s a little cheesy, but, uh, yeah. Makes sense.” Apollo pulled his knees into his chest, resting his chin on top of them with a quiet exhale. “Do I know this someone of yours?”

“Ja, definitely,” Klavier murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they’re not mine, but...I want them to be.”

“I...I see.” Apollo felt his own pulse pounding in his ears, so loudly that he could barely hear his own voice. “Hey, Gavin, I - I wanted to - there’s something I’ve been wanting to say, and...and I…”

“What is it?” Klavier asked, sitting up, hopeful.

“Well, I...no, n-never mind.” Apollo cleared his throat. “Probably should, um. I should probably save it for when we see each other in person.” Klavier leaned back, disappointed. “Anyway, you, uh, you should probably sleep now if you wanna be awake enough for work. Unless you take the day off like I did.”

“I might actually consider it,” Klavier chuckled. “And we’ll talk tomorrow, ja? Or later today for you, I suppose.”

“Definitely,” Apollo confirmed, nodding.

Something in Klavier’s eyes seemed to shift then, something Apollo couldn’t quite understand. It happened more and more with each passing day, with every conversation, and Apollo wasn’t sure if he was ready to figure out what it meant, if it meant something other than what he hoped it meant. “Du siehst wunderschön aus in diesem licht.”

Apollo blinked. “Sorry?”

“Never mind,” Klavier said, a sleepy grin stretching across his face. “Guten Morgen to you, Herr Forehead.”

“And goodnight to you, Gavin,” Apollo replied, waving briefly before ending the call. He sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing his tea and enjoying the sun’s warmth. Then, he stood, stretching his arms over his head, and smoothed out the creases in his pants and what was now his oversized purple hoodie. “Someday,” he mumbled to himself, slinging his bag over his shoulder and turning back in the direction of the bazaar. “Just...not yet.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my fifth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the second of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. However, as I mentioned in the top notes, day seven is a sequel to this one, so look out for it! This is the second-longest fic of all my Klapollo Week fics, and for good reason - I could've easily included an endless number of random conversations and made this fic twice as long if it weren't for the posting deadline. One of my favorite things about writing Klapollo is their back-and-forth, so I love writing fics where they simply just...talk, and hang out. And I know it's definitely a concept that's been done before, but someday, I wanna write my own version of "Klavier visits Apollo in Khura'in and they fall (more) in love". That might end up being my longest Klapollo fic yet 😜

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR] A Tot Debate

Pairing(s): Liam x Katrina, Drake x Alyssa Stiles Rating: G Author’s Note: Here’s my belated birthday fic for @cocomaxley based on a conversation we had with @ao719 and @the-soot-sprite with oddly impeccable timing 🙃 * Happy Birthday to my fellow stubborn ram baby, Gen! I am so happy to be friends with your sarcastic ass, lol and I hope we spend more years coming up with random inside jokes about rice and half a dozen other things 💙 Author’s Note 2: * All main characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them * Katrina Bailey is my MC, Alyssa Stiles is one of my OCs * Many, many, MANY moons ago I wrote a fic where Katrina is pregnant again, expecting twins after she and Liam already have four little princes * Creative liberties were used for canon character birthdates for the sake of this one shot * This is a bit of silliness and my submission for @wackydrabbles​​ Prompt 87: No offense, but I’m not interested. * Word Count: 1099

It was a rare Saturday afternoon in the Cordonian palace, where King Liam and Queen Katrina were gathered in a sitting room with their friends, free of appointments and scheduled appearances. Katrina’s feet were perched upon a plush footstool while she rubbed the small swell of her belly, and she grinned when she felt a flutter from one of the twins.

Liam and Maxwell were in the middle of a discussion over what to watch next, while Drake and Alyssa replenished their drinks and assembled a small plate of snacks. Katrina opened Pictagram on her phone and scrolled through the latest posts, tapping on images she liked, when she paused on a comic. “Huh,” she murmured, looking over the image.

“What’s that?” Drake asked, peering over her shoulder before returning to his seat.

“Comic strip about what kind of potato you are, based on your horoscope.” Katrina scoffed at the screen. “I am not a plate of curly fries!”

“What am I?” Maxwell craned his neck, curious to their conversation.

Katrina looked at the screen again. “Potato chips,” she giggled. “Lyssa's sweet potato fries, Liam’s sweet potato mash, and you,” she paused, pointing at Drake, “are a big bowl of mashed potatoes.” Katrina pulled up a web browser and typed away at her screen, quickly reading through the lines of text. “It’s okay, with the new star signs I’m now a Pisces, and I accept my new fate as a bowl of ube ice cream.” She grinned brightly at her friends.

Everyone’s brows furrowed at Katrina. “The what now?” Drake inquired.

“According to the new dates with the thirteenth astrological sign, I’m a Pisces,” she repeated. “You haven’t heard about it? It was a whole thing last year.”

“Wait. What? Why would they need to add a whole new sign to the zodiac?” Maxwell pulled his phone out of his pocket in search of answering his own question.

“It’s always been there,” Katrina replied. “NASA looked into it, and I guess the ancient astrologers omitted…” — she looked down at her phone screen — “off…offy…?”

Drake held his phone in his hands, having pulled up a similar article about the 13th sign, and glared at the name. “This is crap,” Drake added. “There’s no room for it because I can’t even spell it, let alone pronounce it.”

Liam leaned over to look at Maxwell’s screen, peering down at the name in Greek. “Ophiuchus,” he repeated, stressing the last syllable. “Or perhaps off-ee-yoo-kus?”

“That sounds like a weird cross between Ryu’s dragon punch and mucus,” Maxwell chuckled. “Why would they leave out an entire constellation?”

“It’s easier to split up three hundred and sixty degrees into twelve even pieces and match up with calendar months,” Alyssa answered.

Katrina looked down at the article. “With the new signs, Max would be a potato salad Capricorn, Lyssa’s an oven roasted potato Virgo, Drake gets to be twice baked potatoes as a Gemini, and Liam…” Katrina stopped reading and glanced up at her husband, smiling awkwardly as she bared her teeth. “You’re the new sign, and have no potato representation.”

“Pardon?”

Alyssa stifled a laugh as Katrina held out her phone to Liam so he could read the screen. “Looks like your birthday falls in between Scorpio and the new sign, so you could go with either.”

“But neither of those are the sign I’ve grown up as!”

“None of us fall under the signs we’ve grown up with,” Alyssa replied. “I am not a Virgo.”

“I don’t like this new zodiac. I refuse to acknowledge it,” Liam said, shaking his head.

“Li, it’s okay, you can be any kind of potato you want to be this way!” Katrina bit back her smile as she spoke.

“Don’t patronize me, Trina,” Liam quipped. He glanced back at Maxwell’s screen. “Why does Scorpio only get a week to make room for this…this…what is that symbol even supposed to be?”

Alyssa squinted at Katrina’s screen. “A man wrestling with a snake, apparently.”

“Cordonia won’t acknowledge this information, even if the rest of the world decides to. I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t you want to be a modern leader? Someone the people can look up to and admire for taking steps towards becoming an innovative country?” Katrina tucked her lips between her teeth, but the corners of her eyes crinkled as she restrained her amusement.

“No offense, but I’m not interested.” Liam rose from his seat and pulled his phone out from his pants pocket. “I need to speak with the head of our space agency as soon as possible…today, if need be,” he spoke into the phone. “It’s important.”

—

Half an hour later, Liam paced back an forth in front of one of the large palace windows, running a hand through his dark hair while the other pinned his phone to his ear as he engaged in a heated discussion with the head of the Cordonian space agency, with a look of utter disbelief across his face.

Drake and Maxwell had gone back to scrolling through movie options on the screen, having lost interest in the constellation conversation. They were more interested in debating over whether the group could handle the four hour Snyder version of Justice League.

Alyssa smirked when she turned her head to look at Katrina, who was holding a bowl of the purple tuber ice cream between her hands. “Y’know,” she began, leaning over to nudge her friend’s shoulder, “would’ve been easier to just ask for the ice cream if you had a craving. You didn’t have to make your poor husband’s brain implode.”

Katrina shrugged, pleasant smile on her lips as she withdrew the spoon from her mouth, savoring the cold, creamy dessert as it melted down her throat. She felt another flutter from one of the babies. “I take joy in knowing I've blown your minds about astrological signs solely because I don't wanna be a curly fry. Ooh!” She sat up a bit. “Fries would be great with ice cream!”

The ladies looked over at Liam, who continued to pace in front of the window and spoke rapidly in Cordonian. “Should you tell him now, or after his phone call, that NASA eventually debunked the whole thirteenth sign thing?” Alyssa cast a wary look to Katrina.

Katrina pushed herself up off the sofa. “You call down to the kitchen and ask for extra crispy fries and whatever snacks you and the guys want, I’ll make sure Liam doesn’t fire the poor guy on the other end of his phone call,” she giggled. “I’ll blame it on the babies.”

[fallout4reactsblog]

companions react to news of the institute christmas party courser revolution and the fact that the institute is now apparently populated entirely by festive rogue coursers in elf costumes and also what ramifications this has on the politics of the commonwealth as a whole. father's drowned corpse, still in his silly santa hat, is now impaled on the antlers of the fake reindeer on the sleigh prop by the institute's metaphorical front door as a warning and a symbol of their casting off chains.

Cait: “You have to at least give them some points for creativity.”

Cait pulls a face, but says, “I guess.”

“Come on, Cait. You could at least admit it’s a little funny. I’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall that day.”

“It’s fucked up, is what it is. How are you so calm?”

“How are you so stressed?” They lean back in their chair, folding their arms contentedly. “They basically did our job for us. No more Institute.”

She sighs. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. I guess all we can do is wait and see what happens, huh? Maybe they’ll retreat to their underground hidey-hole and leave the Commonwealth alone.”

“Not countin’ on it.”

“You can be as pessimistic as you like. The way I see it, this is a good thing both ways. Either the Institute collapses without strict management- which would be good- the coursers decide they don’t believe in what the Institute was doing before and stop- also good- or we go in there and only have to kill half of what was there. A win-win-win situation.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Curie: “The absurdity of the situation is certainly not lost on me, Madam/Monsieur, but surely there are still, ah, consequences for this?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, definitely. I mean, they’ve basically got my son on a pike on the CIT lawn. But, you know, don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things, as the old saying goes.”

“I... do not think this is a ‘petty thing’ anymore.”

They wave a hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for the dust to settle, then go check it out. Until then, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”

“I am merely saying that, given the evidence, this seems quite disastrous, especially in terms of political instability.”

“Ah, who cares about politics? Unless they or someone else starts a war, it’ll be fine. Let ‘em live a little. Everybody’s gotta have a rebellious teenager phase at some point.”

Curie wasn’t sure this counted as being a rebellious teen, but if that was what brought sole comfort, she would let them have it.

Danse: Listening Post Bravo is quiet. That’s how he likes it, and how it’s going to stay.

Courser uprising. Of course, it was a courser uprising. What else could it have been? Those things are killing machines; death is everything they were designed for, and now they’ve taken the reigns and can do as they see fit across the Commonwealth with no masters to keep them in check.

He pulls himself a little tighter into his corner. God, what a mess. This is over. They needed to go back to DC and forget they had ever heard of the Institute. Tactical retreat. If Arthur wasn’t so far on his warpath, he might have even suggested it, but he was six feet deep in his “now’s the time to strike” speech with no sign of stopping to think about the hole he was digging.

Well, Arthur could do what he wanted. Danse has had enough of this, enough of the goddamn Commonwealth, enough of the synths, enough of it all. This was his home, now, and he was going to sit here and plant potatoes and forget anything that happened outside. Especially the fact that coursers even existed and could, presumably, come knocking on his door at any moment. 

He was going to make an effort to forget that first.

Deacon: He lets out a long, low, whistle, then turns to Dez. “We should’ve thought of that one first, Boss. It’s genius.”

“It’s madness.” Desdemona pinches the bridge of her nose. “But I suppose it works in our favor, at least for now. There should be chaos in the Institute right about now.”

“Other synths probably saw the carnage.” Glory pipes up. “They might be getting some similar ideas. This could be our moment.”

“Who would’ve predicted this, though?” Deacon grins. “It’s so out there that I can’t even be surprised that it happened. I mean, tell me “Holiday Office Party Leads to Destruction of Commonwealth Boogeyman” doesn’t sound like a headline you’d see in the Publick these days. It’s the perfect brand of Commonwealth crazy.”

“The Brotherhood is going to want to get on this,” Carrington says, shooting a glare Deacon’s direction. “We need to act before they can get there.”

“I’ve reached out to our man on the inside,” Deacon replies, glaring back. “But until we hear back, we might as well enjoy the show.”

Dez shakes her head. “I suppose so.”

Gage: “Honestly? Can’t blame ‘em. That holiday party sounds like an actual nightmare. I’d kill someone if they stuck elf ears on me, too.”

“Damn. There go my plans for next Christmas.”

Sole’s tone is dry enough he can’t tell if they’re joking. “I’m serious, Overboss. You even look at me with a costume-”

“I value my life, thanks.”

“Just providin’ fair warning. I don’t think any of the others would take kindly to it, either.”

They shake their head. “Mason wouldn’t mind. He practically dresses up in a costume every day.”

“Are you shitting me? He’d be the one that hated it the most.”

“Absolutely not. Mags would hate it the most.”

He thinks about it a moment, then replies, “Fair point, but what about Nisha?”

Sole sucks in a tense breath. “Oh, that’d be a mess. A bloody, ugly mess. Moral of the story: no holiday parties.”

“Good advice.”

Hancock: “I mean, good for them?” He stares at the ceiling, still a little baffled. “I guess?”

“But what does this mean, John?” Fahrenheit lights up a cigarette across from him.

“Well, we’ll be fine. I have that on good authority. Everybody else...” He makes a face.

“Exactly. No one knows.”

“No one even knew this was an option.” Smoke hisses between his teeth. “I mean, it’s fitting that they’d go up in smoke because of their own arrogance, but still.”

“People are losing it.”

He snorts. “Think of the Brotherhood. They must be havin’ a real heyday over there. But us? We’ll be fine. That’s what matters, right?”

“That’s what matters.”

MacCready: “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Sole shrugs. “Then don’t say anything. I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself.”

“This is a good thing, right?” He looks to them for some explanation. “Right?”

“It’s too early to say, yet.”

“’Too early to say’? It’s a courser uprising for crying out loud. Forget what I said. This is bad.”

“Could turn out to be good, though.”

“Okay, it could, but...” he shakes his head. “What the heck. You’re right. We’ll see.”

Still, it’s a messed-up way to go. The only thing worse than being killed by a courser, he imagines, is being killed by a courser dressed up as a holiday elf.

Nick: He blinks slowly, purses his lips, then carefully folds his newspaper and puts it to the side.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?” Sole pops the cap off a Nuka-Cola and takes a seat on his desk. “All it took was a Christmas party.”

“I gotta say, this wasn’t among the ways I thought the Institute would go. Up in a firey ball, sure, but at the hands of killing machines dressed as Santa’s elves?”

“That’s what makes it so great! No one saw this coming, the Institute least of all, I assume. Can you imagine the mess that must be happening at Boston Airport right now? The Brotherhood is shitting their pants as we speak.”

He just shakes his head. “We can close that case, I guess. I’m not sure if I should be happy for them or horrified at the circumstances. Still, we should be careful; it’ll be hard to know what a change in leadership means for us.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll give ‘em credit for creativity, though.”

Piper: This is the best thing to happen all year.

For once, papers are flying off the shelves. She’s selling copies right off the press, selling them before they’re even printed. She’s on backorder for the story of the festive courser rebellion, which she’d heard all the details about from a Diamond City guard wearing suspiciously Deacon-like sunglasses. But forget him.

People have traveled to get here and get their hands on the Publick. There’s someone from Bunker Hill sitting next to someone from Cambridge next to someone who said they came from the Glowing Sea, of all places. The caps she’s making is more than she could have ever imagined, and she’s glad she faced sleep deprivation to make this one a Publick Occurrences exclusive. It’s been well worth it so far. Nat doesn’t even have to stand on the street to hawk the paper, people are coming right up to her door and knocking, no joke.

She knew the war would be profitable, but it’s made even better by the way it all went down. A holiday party gone wrong is the perfect headline, and if she could find a courser, she’d kiss them for their genius. Because this is the best thing to happen to her since she not-so-subtly implied McDonough was a synth.

Bless the coursers of the Institute for their impeccable sense of style.

Preston: “I have to say, I didn’t expect to be crossing ‘take care of the Institute’ off of my to-do list so quickly.”

Sole cocks their head to the side. “I mean, it’s not gone yet. Just... under new management.”

“New management, new threat in my opinion. You can’t really believe everything is going to stay the same after this. The Institute is going to change in at least a couple of ways.”

“Fair.” They lean up against the workbench. “Kinda crazy how it all went down, though.”

He chuckles. “I’d call that an understatement, General. No one could’ve seen this one coming. Trigger-happy Brotherhood goes on the warpath? I thought we might see that one, but blowing up from the inside?” He shakes his head. “That’s a new one.”

“They kinda had it coming, though. Who thought making killing machines play Barbie was a good idea?”

“Someone who came to regret it, no doubt.”

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[be11atrixthestrange]

The Loft (Chapter 2)

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom.

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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Chapter 2

[Ron]

Shoveling cereal into his mouth, Ron stares across the room to where Hermione's sprawled out on the couch amidst a crocheted blanket and a mountain of tissues. Apart from her personal bubble of chaos, the loft itself is immaculate. Over the past week, Hermione dedicated all of her free time to either crying over romantic comedies, or stress cleaning, and as a result, the loft looks like an Ikea showroom, and Ron's Netflix recommendations are all fucked up.

"Didn't you watch that one yesterday?" he asks with a mouth full of food.

Hermione props herself up onto her elbows and raises an eyebrow at him. "Yes, I did. Why does it matter?"

"Dunno," he shrugs, before slurping the remaining milk from the cereal bowl. "Seems kinda pointless."

Ron sets the empty bowl into the sink and is about to leave the kitchen, but stops when Hermione clears her throat.

"What?"

"You're just going to leave your bowl there?"

"Yep. That's how things work here. When you need a dish, you take a dirty one from the sink and wash it."

"I've noticed," she says, "and I think it's disgusting."

"Well, you're new here, so you're the one that has to adapt. It's simple, really."

Ignoring her eye roll, he breezes past the couch and into his bedroom. She can deal with a few dirty dishes.

Unfortunately, the interaction reminds him that he has a pile of dirty laundry to clean. Groaning, he trudges over to the closet and braces himself for the mess when he opens the door.

To his shock, there is no mess. In fact, everything is clean, folded, and neatly stacked on his shelves. What should be a pleasant surprise instead makes his blood boil — only one person in this loft would even think about doing his laundry, and it's the same person who has absolutely no right to touch his underwear. His face heats up as he realizes what she's probably seen — Ron's underwear collection isn't exactly manly, and there are certain things Hermione doesn't need to know about him yet. Or ever, for that matter.

Ron storms back into the living room, clutching a wad of clean boxers. "Hermione!"

"What?"

"What the fuck?" He waves his underwear at her. What's the point of hiding them anymore when she's already rummaged through them all?

"You're welcome!" she hisses. "Your laundry was getting full. And stinky."

"I didn't say thank you," he says. "You can't just go through my clothes! Do your own laundry."

She mumbles something into her throw blanket just as Ron slams his bedroom door behind him.

Once in his room, Ron scrambles for his phone to send a text to the loft's group chat — the one that doesn't include Hermione yet.

Loft meeting in ten. My room. Don't tell H.

x

There's a knock at Ron's door ten minutes later, and Ron opens it to find Neville waiting patiently, bouncing on his heel. Hermione's still curled up on the sofa in a pile of blankets, and bears him no notice.

"Are you sure you don't want Hermione to come?" whispers Neville as he passes through the door.

"Positive," says Ron once the door shuts behind him.

Seamus pops in a few moments later. "Is this meeting about me? Did I do something?"

"Nope," says Ron.

Another knock at the door reveals Harry, closely followed by his sister.

"Hey!" says Harry.

"Hi… erm...Ginny?"

"Hey, brother," she greets him smiling, plopping down on his bed next to Neville.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just hanging out," she shrugs.

"Did Hermoine invite you? You weren't watching movies with her."

"No. Harry invited me."

Ron shoots a confused glance at Harry, who's pointedly looking away. "Harry has your number?"

Harry shrugs and glances down while Ginny brushes the subject aside.

"What's the point of this meeting?" asks Ginny.

Ron scowls at the group. Harry and Ginny hang out? Since when? "You don't have to be here since you don't even li—"

"What exactly are we discussing at this 'loft meeting'?" asks Seamus, cutting him off.

A few Dorito chips escape Seamus's mouth at his question. Ron resists pointing it out to him for fear of undermining his own complaint. "Okay, listen. Have you noticed how clean this place is?"

"Yeah, it's awesome," says Neville.

"Seriously," says Harry, nodding in agreement. "The fridge doesn't smell bad anymore."

"I agree. What's the problem with that?" asks Seamus, squinting toward his closed door, from which they can hear the muffled dialogue of Hermione's movie.

Groaning, Ron opens his closet door and gestures to the neatly folded rainbow of underwear. "That's the problem."

Seamus laughs. "Hermione did your laundry?"

"Yes," growls Ron. "Can you believe it?"

"What I can't believe is that you're upset about it. I wish she'd do mine!"

"Of course I'm upset. She went through my clothes!"

"Don't be!" laughs Seamus. "This is the closest you've gotten to a girl touching your boxers in what, months?"

"Shut up," groans Ron. "She didn't do any of yours?"

Ron glances back at his roommates; they are all shaking their heads no. "We don't let our laundry sit for days on end. Not like you," mutters Harry.

"You think she's just picking on me because I'm the loft slob?"

"Well…yeah," says Seamus, while Harry shrugs.

"Ron, it's not that big of a deal. She's upset, and cleaning is a good distraction for her," interjects Neville.

"Plus, she still doesn't have all her stuff back," says Ginny. "She doesn't have her own things to clean."

"Her stuff is at her ex's?" asks Ron. It would make sense — she has been wearing the same pair of sweatpants around the house since moving in.

Ginny nods.

"If she needs clothes, I could let her peruse my lost and found drawer," says Seamus. "I have a drawer for leftover clothes from women I— ."

"Yeah, we know. You talk about it all the time," interrupts Ron. "Also, jar."

Seamus chuckles.

"Maybe if she gets her stuff back, she won't touch mine."

"She already tried," says Ginny. "Why do you think she's been a mess for the last twenty-four hours?" She gestures toward the living room, drawing everyone's attention to the sound of drama brewing onscreen, as a heated argument between scorned lovers fills the silence.

"She went there?"

Ginny nods.

"And it didn't work?"

"All I know is she left empty-handed and crying. Cormac has a way of doing that to her."

"Can you… encourage her to go back?" asks Ron, ignoring the lump in his throat that forms at the thought of Hermione leaving that douchebag's apartment in tears. He shakes his head to dissolve the image. He can't let his pity for her get in the way of maintaining the natural order of the loft.

"She'll need more than encouragement," says Ginny.

"Then let's go with her," says Harry, eying Ginny, who smiles at his offer. "We can help!"

"No," says Ron. "I don't want to get involved."

At that moment, there's a loud crash in the living room. A few seconds of silence follow, indicating the interruption of Hermione's movie, and then she shrieks.

"Fuck," groans Ron.

They rush to the door and pour into the living room. Hermione's on her feet, clutching her blankets around her, staring at the TV. On the floor. Shattered.

"What the hell, Hermione!" shouts Ron. The tone of his own voice makes his own hair stand on end, and he'd hate to be on the receiving end. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I...I threw the remote at the TV, and it knocked it off the stand. I'm so sorry!"

"Why?"

"Because Bradley Cooper was about to cheat on his wife with Scarlett Johannsen, and it made me angry. I just reacted."

"It's a MOVIE, Hermione! It's not real!" screams Ron.

"It's real for me," she says back, her eyes watering with tears.

"You owe us another TV," says Ron. He glances at his roommates, hoping for backup, but they all just stand there motionless, gawking at the scene before them.

"I can replace it!" she says. "I swear, I have another TV. I'll go get it!"

"At your ex's?"

"Yes," she says, her voice breaking like she's about to cry again.

Ron addresses his roommates. "We're going now."

Hermione looks unsure. "I… I can't."

Ginny approaches her. "You can. You just need some courage."

"When it comes to Cormac, I don't have that."

Ginny pulls out a flask from her pocket. "Now you do. Drink this."

"What is it," asks Hermione, sniffing it and wincing. "I'm not a big drinker…"

"Liquid courage. Drink it, and let's go."

x

They take two cars to Cormac's apartment, assuring that they'll have enough room to haul back Hermione's belongings and that Ron doesn't have to drive with her. He doesn't think he'd be able to resist yelling at her again.

Ron, Neville and Seamus pull up behind Harry's pickup truck and watch as Hermione exits, takes a deep breath, and scuttles to the front door of a modest duplex. A few empty beer bottles are scattered around the two lawn chairs in the front yard, and there's a small garden that looks like it stopped being maintained about a week ago. Hermione knocks and waits. Ron catches his foot tapping impatiently, and his frustration grows at Cormac's slow response to her knock.

When Cormac finally opens the door, Ron lets out a big exhale. His ears burn with the realization that he was holding his breath. Seamus sends him a knowing smile.

The boys watch as Hermione starts to argue with the tall, sandy-haired man at the door. He'd be quite intimidating if he wasn't wearing a bright green hat featuring the logo from the Broadway musical Wicked. His impeccable taste in musicals only makes Ron hate him more.

"That's her ex?" asks Seamus. "The dude has muscles."

Ron ignores the wave of insecurity Seamus' comment ignites.

"His yard plants look awful," adds Neville. "He should take better care of his ferns."

Leave it to Neville to notice someone's plant maintenance, but Ron latches on to his criticism anyway. "Yeah, he really should water those."

They watch their argument until Cormac opens his arms in invitation.

"Don't do it, Hermione," says Neville.

Yeah. Don't do it, Hermione.

Hermione collapses into Cormac's open arms, and he engulfs her in a hug, running a comforting hand down her back. Ron feels sick at the sight and looks away — it must just be disappointment at the thought of Hermione not getting her television...nothing more.

"What the hell?" says Seamus. "He's like her kryptonite."

Cormac and Hermione sway on the spot and then freeze. Hermione appears to stiffen in his arms before pushing him away and pointing at the dying ferns. "You were supposed to water these!" she yells, loud enough that the boys can hear her.

"Well, I'm not really a plant guy!" says Cormac. "And neither is Romilda!"

At the sound of Cormac's new girlfriend's name, Hermione reaches for the potted fern on the porch and lifts it overhead.

"What are you— argh!" shrieks Cormac as Hermione dumps the pot on top of him, showering him with soil before slamming the pot onto the concrete where it shatters. "What the fuck, Hermione!"

"Oh shit!" says Seamus. "Don't mess with Granger."

"That was scary," says Ron before he can stop himself. "Brilliant, but scary."

The door to Harry's pickup opens, and Ginny exits, slamming it behind her and sauntering across the lawn. "I'm going to get your stuff, Hermione," she calls, before swiping past a stunned Cormac into the house.

Harry follows and motions toward Ron to help.

"Let's go," says Ron, opening his car door.

Ron makes sure to knock into Cormac's sturdy shoulder on his way through the door, and waits until he's out of sight to rub it. He really does have muscles, he thinks to himself. His insecurity bubbles back up at the thought.

Ron finds Hermione stumbling down the stairs carrying a pile of clothing. The alcohol Ginny gave her must be taking effect because she loses her balance and nearly trips, just barely catching herself on the bannister. Her clothes tumble from her arms and onto the stairs. On instinct, Ron drops to the floor to help her.

"Ron, no!"

It's too late. Ron is already on his hands and knees gathering her belongings into his arms. He blushes when he realizes he's holding a pile of her bras and underwear.`

"Erm, sorry," he says, handing the pile back to her. Her cheeks are rosy, spurring Ron's guilt for making her feel awkward. Not that he has any reason to feel guilty for simply touching her underwear — Hermione touched his, after all.

Ron clears his throat. "I'll just… help my sister with your other stuff," he says, passing her on his way up the stairs.

"Sounds good," she says awkwardly, and the two part ways.

x

Half an hour later, both cars are filled to the brim with all of Hermione's belongings, except for one: her television.

Cormac is guarding the monitor with his life, clutching it with his ham-like hands while Seamus tries to tug it free. The boys managed to move it out to the lawn, but now Cormac is putting up a fight.

"You can't take this!" he yells.

"Give it up, Cormac!" says Hermione, her arms folded.

"Yeah, dude, it's not even yours!" says Seamus.

Ron approaches the two to help Seamus try to pull it from Cormac's grip.

"Who the fuck are you, anyway," asks Cormac.

Ron opens his mouth, but Hermione beats him to it.

"These are my roommates, and I love them!" Her words slur together.

"You… what?" asks Cormac. His surprise causes his grip to loosen just enough for Ron and Seamus to slide it from him. "Are you drunk?"

"I love them so much!" she yells, which adequately answers Cormac's question.

"Maybe cut back on the 'love' talk, Hermione," says Ron, his stomach churning with discomfort.

Hermione ignores him and addresses Cormac. "I love them, and I hate you!"

Discomfort aside, Ron can't help but chuckle at her passion.

"She's a lightweight. Noted," adds Ginny, mostly to a grinning Harry.

"Now I'm taking my TV!"

"No!" says Cormac. "You never even use it!"

"I paid for it!"

"We can work out an arrangement," he pleads.

"Bro, she's taking the TV," says Ron, as he and Seamus haul it into his car.

"One more thing," says Hermione. "That's my hat!" She points at Cormac's Wicked cap.

"No, this is Romilda's," he says. "She loves musicals."

"No, it isn't! I love musicals!"

Ron watches with wide eyes as Hermione opens the door to his car and sticks her hand into a box. She pulls out half a dozen hats, all featuring a different Broadway musical.

Cormac crosses his arms, standing his ground. "Will you just get out of here now?"

He looks ridiculous trying to intimidate in his Wicked hat, and two can play that game. Ron reaches into the box for a second hat and plops it on his head. He's excited to see that he selected Les Miserables memorabilia. "Give her the hat back, and she'll leave," says Ron, crossing his arms to mimic Cormac.

Neville reaches for a Cats hat and sticks it on his head. "Yeah. Give it back."

Harry fishes out more hats — Rent for himself, Annie for Ginny, and Fiddler On The Roof for Seamus — and the three pull them over their heads, cross their arms, and stare Cormac down.

"No," says Cormac.

Ron exchanges a glance with his roommates, who nod in understanding. "One, two, three!"

Seamus, Ron, and Harry rush to tackle Cormac to the ground. He's caught off guard, and stumbles back before collapsing, and the boys are able to pin him down as he struggles. Neville swipes the hat from his head.

"Get in the car, quick!" says Ron, holding Cormac down for everyone to get a head start. Feeling a sense of pride at tackling the guy, Ron roughly pushes himself off and sprints to his car door, slamming it shut and turning over his engine before Cormac's even able to scramble to his feet.

"Wooo!" says Ron. "That was awesome!"

He expects a response from Neville or Seamus but is greeted with silence instead. Ron glances to the passenger seat to find that he's sharing the car with only one person: Hermione.

"Oh, Hermione," he stumbles, immediately feeling awkward at her presence. "Where's everyone else?"

"Harry's car had more room," she says.

"Gotcha."

They continue in awkward silence for a few moments before Hermione speaks up again. "Thank you for helping. You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, well… now that you have your things back, you don't have to touch mine anymore," says Ron, "especially not my underwear."

Hermione laughs. "Well, something good came from me touching your underwear."

"What's that?"

"Now I know you're also a Broadway fan."

Wincing, Ron recalls his collection of Broadway musical-themed boxers at the bottom of his drawer. He wasn't sure if she was planning on bringing it up, but it might just be the only common ground between them.

As it turns out, he's also wearing his Hamilton briefs, but Hermione doesn't need to know that. She'd probably think they clash with his Wicked cap.

"Don't tell the guys," he says cautiously, knowing he can no longer deny his guilty pleasure." Erm...maybe we could watch a musical sometime?"

"I'd love that!" she smiles.

Ron smiles back. Maybe she isn't so bad.

"Does this mean we're friends?" she asks.

Ron laughs. "No. We're still just roommates." It's going to take a lot more than a shared interest in musicals for them to be friends.

Hermione nods. "I'll keep trying for friends, but I can live with roommates for now."

"Let me clarify. Roommates who don't touch each others' underwear," he says. "Deal?"

"Roommates who don't touch each other's underwear. Deal," she confirms with a small smile before turning her focus back to the road.

The phrase doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, and he can't prevent the memory of Hermione's bra in his hands surfacing. He stares intently at the street, and hopes she doesn't notice the blush creeping back up his neck — he wouldn't want to give her the wrong idea.

From the corner of his eye, he can see her face flushing too. Ron's heart flutters before logic takes over. Maybe she's thinking the exact same thing as him — hoping he doesn't notice her blush, so as to prevent him from assuming she's attracted to him, or something.

If so, it's a good thing they're on the same page. Roommates who don't touch each other's underwear.

[lilyvandersteen]

Out of the Blue: Epilogue

Author’s Note:

Many of you asked for an epilogue, so here it finally is. Not as long or as detailed as I might have wanted and you might have expected, but words aren't coming easily to me these days. I hope this brings a smile to your face, and makes you forget the world we live in for a minute. Sending you all hugs XOXOXO Take care and stay safe!

Read at AO3 or FF.net

Epilogue

Blaine looked up from the sauce he was stirring when he heard the front door open and close. “How was your day, love?”

Kurt sighed, passing a hand over his eyes, and took his shoes and coat off sluggishly. He joined Blaine in the kitchen and hugged him from behind, kissing his neck. “Better now that I’m with you.”

“That bad, huh?”

Kurt’s head drooped onto Blaine’s shoulder. “The worst. If these two keep fighting like this over every detail, they’re going to split up before the wedding even takes place, and stiff me with all the bills.”

“You’ve already paid for stuff?”

Kurt nodded. “Deposits. For the venue. And the cake. And the caterer. And the florist. And the DJ. Ugh.”

Blaine hummed and stirred on until the sauce thickened, thinking hard. “Do you think it would be possible to use the deposits you made for another couple? That could solve the problem of them walking out on you.”

Kurt quirked his head to the side. “Well, in theory, yes, but who will I find that would be willing to marry just five weeks from now and will leave all the choices up to me?”

Blaine switched off the stove and smiled at Kurt, but before he could answer, the front door opened again.

“Hellooo lovebirds!” Cooper grinned. “I just knew I could count on one of you having made dinner. You don’t mind if I join you, do you? I’m starved!”

Blaine rolled his eyes at his brother, but took another plate from the cupboard and filled it, handing it to Cooper with cutlery.

Cooper dug in without even waiting for Kurt and Blaine to be served, and all was quiet until he finished his plate.

“Sooo what’s up with you, lovebirds? Haven’t heard much from either of you the past few weeks. Blaine’s working on the H&M deal, I know, but what’s new with you, Kurtsie?”

Kurt glared at Cooper. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ooh, I’m sensing a lot of stress. Blaine not taking care of you like he should?”

Kurt’s glare intensified. “It has nothing to do with Blaine, thank you very much. I’m stressing out over work stuff.”

“Anything I could help with?” Cooper offered.

That made Kurt thaw out slightly. “No, not really. Unless you’d be willing to marry five weeks from now?”

“Uhm, Kurt, I think you’re talking to the wrong brother. Blaine is over there.”

Cooper helpfully pointed to Blaine, who rolled his eyes again.

Kurt huffed. “I’m well aware… Oh!”

Kurt’s mouth fell open and he looked at Blaine. “Would you?”

Blaine smiled at Kurt. “I’d marry you anytime, anywhere, anyhow. I promise. I haven’t pushed you to start planning our wedding because I know how insanely busy you’ve been. But the truth is, I can’t wait to call you my husband. So if these two split up and leave you in the lurch, then yes, by all means use everything for our wedding. Absolutely.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You chose everything, so it’s sure to be fabulous.”

Kurt frowned. “Well, yes, it’s tasteful, but it’s not what I would have chosen for us.”

Blaine shrugged. “Let’s just get married and then we can plan a vow renewal ceremony exactly the way you envisioned it in a few years or so.”

Kurt’s brow smoothed out, and he laughed. “Mr. Problem Solver to the rescue! Thank you, sweetheart. I feel much better about this already. Only… What do we do about the invitations? If we wait until these two break up, it’s going to be short notice. If we send them out now and they don’t break up, we won’t be able to get married that day, ‘cause I’ll be overseeing their wedding.”

Just then, his phone rang. It was the bride-to-be, and her screeching was loud enough for Blaine and Cooper to hear her call her fiancé a couple of interesting swear words and call the wedding off. “I caught the bastard screwing my maid of honour behind my back! Cancel everything, you hear! And if there are bills to pay, send them to that good-for-nothing scumbag!”

There was silence for a moment after she’d rung off.

Then Cooper said chipperly, “Well, that solves the invitation problem! If I can help addressing invitations, just say the word!”

That cracked Blaine up, and before long, all three of them were laughing their heads off.

K&B

Five weeks later, Blaine held Kurt’s hands, looked deep into his eyes, and spoke from his heart as he promised to cherish Kurt forever. He choked up a little towards the end of his vows, but managed to get all the words out before he started crying.

Cooper handed him a handkerchief and whispered, “Here you go, cry-baby.”

Blaine let out a squeaky little laugh, dabbed at his eyes and turned his attention to Kurt, clasping hands with him again to listen to Kurt’s vows.

When they walked down the aisle towards their family and friends after the ceremony, Blaine couldn’t help sneaking glances at his wedding ring every few seconds and beaming. He felt the cold metal of Kurt’s rings against the palm of his hand, and his smile stretched even wider.

Burt Hummel was the first to hug the both of them, closely followed by Carole, and then Cooper clapped Kurt on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, bro! Wait ‘till you find out what I’ve planned for your honeymoon, you’re going to LOVE it!”

Only inviting one family member to the wedding did not save Blaine from embarrassing stories. Cooper, fulfilling his duty as best man by speeching at dinner, dug up every anecdote he could think of that would make people laugh at his brother’s expense, and Blaine cringed the whole time.

Kurt loved it, though, giggling his head off, his eyes crinkling and all his teeth showing. That made Blaine smile, no matter how much he hated Cooper’s anecdotes.

The best part of the wedding, though, for Blaine, was all the guests telling them what a perfect couple they made. Every time that happened, Kurt beamed and pulled Blaine a bit closer still.

During their first dance, Kurt dipped Blaine to loud cheers, and then pulled him up again until their noses were touching. He whispered, “Happy, Mr. Hummel-Anderson?”

Blaine kissed him softly. “The happiest I’ve ever been.”

K&B

The honeymoon was everything Cooper had promised and more. They did a Jane Austen tour and a Harry Potter tour in the UK, they had a Willy Wonka themed high tea in London and visited Buckingham Palace and the Tower. On the European mainland, they went to Florence and Milan and Venice, they saw the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona and the royal palace in Lisbon.

And then, when they went to Paris, they saw a familiar face sauntering up to them while they were having tea at Angelina’s.

“Cooper!”

Cooper pretended to be very surprised. “Fancy seeing you here! I needed a bit of a break, so where better than the City of Love, if you catch my drift?”

He waggled his eyebrows, and Blaine shook his head, chuckling. “Oh please, like we’d believe that! You’re here because we’re going to Disneyland tomorrow. Admit it. You want to come along with us, don’t you?”

Cooper grinned. “Now how nice of you to invite me! Yes, I’d love to go to Disneyland with you guys!”

Kurt burst out laughing.

“I told you so, didn’t I?” Blaine sighed. “I’m surprised it took this long for Coop to show up.”

“Aww, Blainey, don’t be like that! I’ve been SO good. I gave you more than two weeks to yourselves!”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “And you couldn’t have left us in peace for one more week?”

Cooper took a chair from another table and straddled it, whining, “But I missed you guys!”

An impeccably dressed waiter came to take Cooper’s order, and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when Coop told him to bring, “A bit of everything. Savoury and sweet. I’m really hungry. Oh, and that amazing hot chocolate you have here. Please.”

As soon as the waiter had left, Cooper smiled widely at Kurt. “So how’s the honeymoon been so far? Did it live up to your expectations?”

“Now, really, that is….” Blaine spluttered, but Kurt put a hand on his arm.

“Relax, honey, I don’t think your brother’s asking about the sex we’ve been having. He’s asking about all the entertainment and hotels and food he’s arranged for us.”

Blaine deflated. “Oh…”

Kurt’s eyes flitted from Blaine’s sheepish face to Cooper’s horrified expression and started laughing again, so infectiously that they both joined in.

“To answer your question, Cooper,” Kurt said, stealing a fry from the platter that had just arrived for Cooper, “we’ve loved everything you’ve booked for us so far. That Bond in Motion exhibition was especially wonderful. I loved seeing all those James Bond cars – made me wish Dad was with me to geek out over them. I bought him the book, though.”

“And I loved taking the Hogwarts Express and visiting Alnwick Castle,” Blaine chimed in, taking one of Cooper’s leek and cheese tartlets.

“Hey, stop eating my stuff!” Cooper complained.

Blaine looked at the giant platter with mini quiches, croques, small servings of soup and salad, filled croissants and even truffle ravioli, dwarfing the table they were sitting at. Then he looked at the three-tier stand waiting on a table next to them holding every possible type of dessert. “Where will you put all that? If we don’t help you eat it, you’ll still be here next week.”

“True, that. Well, then, dug in!���

K&B

Much as Blaine complained about Cooper ruining their honeymoon, it WAS fun going to Disneyland with his brother.

“Just like old times, isn’t it, squirt?” Cooper grinned while racing Blaine and Kurt to Peter Plan’s Flight, his Mickey Mouse ears wobbling like mad.

By noon, they’d hit pretty much all of the Fantasyland and Tomorrowland attractions, and now Kurt and Blaine sat on a bench eating a sandwich and giggling at Cooper, who was now flirting with the actress impersonating the Disney character of Aurora. Sleeping Beauty and Cooper ended up singing “Once Upon a Dream” together, and children crowded around them eagerly, clamouring for pictures with both of them.

Cooper happily obliged, and joined Kurt and Blaine with a skip in his step.

“I got her phone number!” he whispered. “And she encouraged me to apply for a job here as a Disney prince!”

Kurt laughed. “Of course she did. You are every inch a Disney prince. Must be something in the Anderson genes, ‘cause Blaine is just as much of a prince, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Blaine beamed and kissed Kurt, murmuring softly in Kurt’s ear that he was a prince to him too.

“Okay, okay, stop with the mushiness, please,” Cooper said. “We’re here to have FUN!”

They took turns trying to get the Excalibur sword out of the stone, making quite a performance of it again, to the delight of the children present, and then went and bought fake swords in one of the souvenir shops so that they could have a sword fight.

In no time, Kurt had disarmed both Blaine and Cooper.

“Years of combat training,” he shrugged when they complimented him, but a small smile playing on his lips belied his nonchalance.

The day ended with a spectacular fireworks display, which made Cooper whoop so loudly he startled some nearby ducks.

Blaine shook his head at his brother. “You’d think he was the younger one, not me.”

“Aww, I think it’s sweet he’s still so enthusiastic about anything and everything,” Kurt said. “That’s what I like most about Cooper. He’s rich as Croesus and could be on a yacht in Monte Carlo right now, waited on hand and foot and snobbish like anything. But that’s not his style, and I’m glad it’s not. He takes delight in the smallest things in life, and in doing so, he makes everyone around him happier.”

“True.”

Blaine nestled his head against Kurt’s shoulder with a soft sigh of contentment and focused on the fireworks again. He’d take a leaf out of his brother’s book and enjoy this perfect moment.

And with Kurt, a perfect life.

THE END

[delicrieux]

queens, half past ten | p.p.

pairing: peter parker (as spiderman) x reader

summary: walking home alone at night is terrifying with your phone being dead, but, heh, spiderman is on patrol and you’re really craving starbucks.

warnings: nothing! fluff and pinning only xx

words: 2.2k

author’s note: this is part of my social media au BE MY VALENTINE! but it can also be read as a standalone fic!!

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | buy me coffee☕. previous. next.

heading home from a concert under normal circumstances would be an adventure-esque movie/music clip where you’d listen to music and stare longingly out the window and into the shadow shrouded streets, faraway blinking lights from either cars or buildings. you’d imagine what it would be like to be a lead singer, or a drummer, or better yet the guitarist, and what all of that would entail. how you’d perform and smile and scream the lyrics along with adoring fans, how you’d get free drinks (when you’re legal), and how you’d have many bowie-esque backstage shenanigans.

alas, your phone is dead and you are stuck in confining silence, with nothing but the occasional whine of a passing car making you jump. the night is cold; smoke leaves your lips with each breath and you are eerily aware how loud your breathing is. the streets are bare —work night, no one really hangs around this late — and you feel like the only person in the world, but in a bad way. normally you’d call mj or jess and chat away about your experience at the concert, smile so hard your cheeks would hurt. now you hurry down the streets, itching to get home as soon as possible. not safe. pepper spray is grasped inside your pocket, but knowing you, if an attack (god forbid!) would happen, you’d probably spray yourself in the face and be doomed for. how did you forget to charge your phone? your friends must be worried sick. your mom would probably be too, if it wasn’t for the fact that you told her your at mj’s and she thinks you’re eating snacks and gossiping at the moment. instead you’re walking home alone with no means of communication. oh my god, no one would even be able to find you if you disappeared.

scaring yourself to death won’t help, nor make the walk shorter, or so you concluded. alas, you can’t help being on edge. if you saw a person now you’d probably burst into tears.

worst fears come true. the night had been amazing but it seems that everything is going downhill when you pass a pub. some loiter next to the door and smoke, their eyes trailing you as you walk past. bad bad bad. not everyone is evil, but you never know! being a girl is hard enough without the crushing fear of going home alone. you quickly disappear around a corner, sharp turn, you’re really working up a sweat by walking so quickly. the worst has passed, you think, sighing.

then someone has the fucking nerve to whistle at you. you thought this only happens in movies, but no, reality is just as cruel. you keep your head down and pick up the pace, but before much else—

“hey!” you jump and snap your head to a nearby lamppost, eyes wide in horror, heart hammering in your chest, but relax once you see it’s just spiderman. he gives an awkward wave, sitting quite comfortably on the lamp, legs swinging, as if he’s bored. staring as him, you uncertainly wave back, “sorry, i didn't mean to scare you.” he says, his voice deep and strange and somehow familiar. “i just uhh— heard those guys whistle at you and figured you’d appreciate the company. not safe in this part of town.”

you really don’t know what to say as he makes his way down to stand beside you. you hadn’t prepared to meet a superhero tonight, and certainly not one you had been actively stalking on social media for a better part of the year. oh my god. he’s really next to you, isn’t he? had he noticed you liking all of his posts? dear god, you hope not. suddenly rooted in spot, breath spent, cheeks aflame, you are thankful it’s so dark outside.

“i’m uhhh spiderman.” he introduces.

you manage to give him a shy smile, “...hi.”

mj will freak when she hears this. you will too once you process what’s happening. worlds are colliding in your very eyes. you have a hopeless crush on him, though now... is it really that hopeless? it’s fate. you don’t believe in fate, but any other explanation escapes you. he awkwardly mutters for you to lead the way and you two fall into pace. yet you don’t feel much calmer, rather now you’re nervous, but in a good way. you trust him. instantly. there is something familiar about his stance, his demeanor, yet you can’t quite place it. you wonder what he looks like behind his mask and sneak a glance at him. there is no way to tell. but your guess? hm... couldn’t be anyone like timothee chalamet, spiderman has some bulk on him. evan peters? maybe, but the aura doesn't quite fit. ross lynch?

you glance at him again, smiling to yourself a little. could be like ross lynch — brown hair, kind eyes —...what if it is ross lynch? can’t be that far of a stretch, most superheroes are hot (you’ve seen captain marvel, or just, as most dub her, god). but if it really is, you’ll faint.

you quickly fix your hair, somewhat self-conscious. you must look a mess right now. how will he fall in love with you when you’re all red and sweaty?

“so... what have you been up to?” he asks. he’s interested. good start. you have to swallow down a manic giggle.

“i went to this concert with my friend.” you say, a bit breathless, “it was so, so much fun, i just forgot to charge my phone so...” you tilt your head to him, flash him your most lovely smile, “i’m glad you showed up.”

“just uhhh—“ he fumbles, “doing my job! yes.”

“i know you’re like super busy—“ you continue shyly, hooking a strand of hair behind your ear (you are too good at this. if it wasn’t love at first sight, it sure as hell going to be at second), “—fighting crime, saving people... so it means a lot that you... you know... are not doing that right now to make sure i make it home safely.”

most don’t know this (with the exception of mj, that is) but you are very sly and calculating when you need to be. so you, gracefully and absolutely ‘unintentionally’, step closer to him, walking side by side, shoulders brushing. he fidgets, anxious, and you can only assume he is a bit flustered under that mask of his. your heart skips happy beats. you wonder if you whined enough would he web-sling you back to your apartment. you’ve never flown before. it must be exhilarating.

“your safety is just as important, (n—“ he promptly shuts up, swallows, then clears his throat, “uh... what’s your name, again?” you introduce yourself with another love-struck smile, “haha, i’m spiderman...” he chuckles nervously.

you lean in. he freezes. “i know.”

“so, uh, anyway, anything else i can do for you?” he wonders aloud, his voice unnaturally deep. you wonder if his throat hurts from putting all that stress on his vocal cords. alas, his identity must be kept top secret -- if it really is ross lynch, you understand that his career as a heartthrob is more important -- and so you refrain from questioning him. though, now that you think about it, you are a bit parched. power walking home really takes a lot out of the body, and you could definitely use a sugary drink. probably not the best idea, but you still have a mountain of homework, so it’s not like you’ll go to sleep once you’re actually home. 

besides, the more time you spend with this, presumably, insanely handsome superhero - the better. 

“actually...” you say with a dreamy smile, “i’d go for a drink right now. like starbucks. oh yea, definitely starbucks.” as overpriced as their coffee is, the flavor is impeccable.

spiderman is quiet for a moment, possibly considering whether to dismiss you or not, or trying to locate the nearest starbucks in the map of his mind.

lastly, “sure.” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, “there’s one a few blocks down...i think.”

“ahh...” you nod, looking down at your shoes wistfully. no, they are not uncomfortable, actually the opposite of that. but he doesn’t know that. this is your one and only chance to see the city from a birds eye view, and there is no chance in hell you’re missing out on it. you’ll scam your way into anything. 

“are you scared of heights?” he suddenly asks.

you jerk, startled, wide-eyed, in absolute disbelieve that your cheap tricks are actually working, “...no. why?” you narrow your eyes, all suspicious and pretend like. 

he opens his arms, “well...come here.”

“what?”

“we’re taking a shortcut. will be fun, promise.” he insists. you heart roars in joy. he is so in love with you. fighting a grin, you sling your arms over his neck, and his arm snakes it’s way around your waist, pressing you close.

“just...hold on tightly.” you can barely hear him over the drum of your heartbeat. and before you can prepare - physically and mentally - you’re shot into the air, wind in your ears, adrenaline in your veins.

the city goes in vertigo and you laugh, wondrous and scared out of your wits, but excited all the same. the glimmering lights, car beeps and snippets of conversation fade into an incoherent whistle. your eyes start to water and so you shut them for a moment, before opening them again and seeing queens from so far up before your vision blurs as you race forward.

when he sets you down, you’re on shaky legs, hair a mess, smile so wide it hurts your cheeks but you can’t help it.

“that was...” you start, breathless, “so...so awesome. best uber i’ve ever had.”

“five stars?”

“i’d give you ten if it was possible.”

starbucks is up and running and unsurprisingly empty of patrons and the two of you slowly walk over, mindful of your wobbly stance. he grasps your shoulder, steadying you, and you nod at him gratefully. being the true gentleman he is, he opens the door for you with a dramatic bow, and you giggle a you enter.

“yo!” the barista, a young college student, calls, “sup, spiderman?”

“hey, george.” 

“friend of yours?” you whisper to him.

“yep. two free coffees, coming right up.” he mutters back, stalking to the counter before you can stop him. your orders are usually complicated and absolutely bizarre, but you suppose something simple for this hectic night wouldn't be that bad--

your mouth falls open when he says the exact order of your favorite drink. word for word. even the pronunciation is similar. and for himself he picks peter’s go-to. the barista, you suppose calling him george would be appropriate, nods and goes to fix your drinks. you wander to spiderman, blushing.

“how...did you know my favorite order?” you pipe up.

“oh-uh... i’m good at reading people.” he explains quickly, “it’s uhh--...part of my superpower.”

“wow, that’s awesome, wish i had powers.” you say, “actually, you ordered peter’s fav.” you admit, “oh! uh, peter’s my friend.”

“he sounds like a really cool dude.”

“you...don’t know anything about him?”

“uh...it’s the name. peter’s a strong name. for a...strong cool guy.”

“he’s kind of a dork, to be honest.” you mutter with a soft smile, “but he’s really sweet.”

“so...you like him?”

“‘course i like him!” you say, just as george announces your drinks are ready, “he’s my friend.” you finish, quickly maneuvering past him to get your coffee.

“right...friend...”

there was a mutual agreement to walk back, since neither of you wanted to risk spilling your drinks on unknowing townies or yourselves. to your surprise, he had lifted his mask up, just a bit, to expose his jaw and lips and to sip his delicious drink. and yes, you might have stared excessively and shamelessly, and yes, you were almost convinced it was ross lynch himself walking you home, and yes, the urge to kiss him for this fantastic date came in waves. one moment you wanted to throw your arms around him and taste the coffee drops on his lips, but the next you recoiled and re-thought your approach. alas, your street came into view all too quick.

you stop, and so does he, and with a somewhat sad smile, you say, “well, i won’t keep you any longer. there’s probably a robbery happening or something, and i’m...” you turn away, see your apartment complex looming, “home.”

“uh—yea, totally.” he nods, “uhm...it was a pleasure to meet you, (name). i had fun.”

now or never.

instead of giving him some lame, forgettable goodbye, you throw your arms around him and squeeze tightly, smiling into his shoulder. he wraps his arms around you loosely, stiffly, as if uncertain whether it’s the right thing to do or not.  blushed like a rose, you tilt your head and land a soft kiss on the side of his lips, “that’s for good luck.” you murmur, smiling deliriously, lastly pulling a way and waving, “and for the record, i had fun too.”

he says nothing, too stunned to move.

you, in the elevator, your dead phone grasped in your hand, feeling like your heart might bust out of your chest, and he, sitting on a roof of a nearby building, watching, waiting for the light in your room to turn on as an indication that you’re finally safe, mutter: “holy shit.”

tags(i wasn’t able to tag the italicized!): @toospicy-peppermint​ - @badbitsh13​ - @hotshot-deserves-more-love​ - @bitcheekun​ - @songofcosplay​ - @magical-spit​ - @stxrtreatment​ - @kxssiewrites​ - @captain-lovemeplease - @myangelarcade​ - @goldenrunaway​

[thisbrokenmask]

Havana Nights

Title: Havana Nights

Pairing: Jin x reader

Genre: Meet-cute, flirting

Warnings: sexual tension?, Jin being a big-ass flirt, Y/N also being a big-ass flirt

Word Count: 5.1k

Song inspiration: Airplane Pt. 2

A/N: Even though ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event is now over, I’m still planning on finishing as many of the songs on my bingo card as I can! I was actually working on this in plenty of time before the end of the event but I just couldn’t get the wording right until this week. 

I also didn’t realise I would end up writing for Jin the most before I started this but what can I say, WWH just does things to me ig.

You were grateful for the cool rush of air that graced your skin as you entered the bar; the fan fixed above the door was one of many attempting to circulate air around the room, but was the only one that would actually grant any relief from the sticky heat of the midsummer night. You knew that as soon as you took another step into the bar you would be hit by the feverish aura radiating from the undulating mass of writhing bodies on the dancefloor, so you took a few moments to revel in the cool relief before you left it.

Pulling your hair away from your neck and tilting your head to the side to allow the fanned air to hit your pulse point, you smiled at the music that met your ears. You couldn’t see much above the crowd, but you could tell that Ernesto had found another band to perform live rather than playing the same well-loved tracks each night on his beloved jukebox. 

You made your way through the crowd towards the bar, helpless against the smile that pulled at your lips when you saw Ernesto already pouring you a drink. You’d always wanted to come to Cuba, something about the classic cars and the brightly-coloured streets drawing you in, so when you’d decided to travel on your own - a la Julia Roberts in Eat Pray Love - Cuba had been first on your list. You hadn’t really had a plan when you’d arrived, but you’d quickly settled in and found a few friends, even writing articles for a local magazine to get you by once your savings started to look a bit thin. You’d met Ernesto no more than a week into your time in Havana, when you’d wandered into the nicest-looking bar near your temporary apartment and he’d immediately taken you under his wing. You were the same age as his own daughter, apparently, but she’d decided to go to graduate school in America and he was missing her, so he made sure he looked after girls like you when they came into his establishment. You had grown to care for him in return, as him being roughly the same age as your own father made it easy to return the familial affection. Carmella, his wife, had started popping round to your apartment to bring you food a few times a week before you eventually started being invited for dinner on a regular basis. As the weeks had gone on, you’d found yourself feeling like this might just be your new home, at least for the foreseeable future, and Ernesto and Carmella had been delighted when you’d told them as such. 

You spent several nights a week at his bar, either chatting to him and some regulars you’d befriended just to be out of the house after a day of writing, or to cut a little loose on the weekends. Ernesto often refused to let men buy you a drink, adamant none of them were good enough for you, but all it took was a smile from you and he would back down, never intervening if you wanted to approach someone on your own. 

“Buena noches, Y/N,” he greeted you with a smile, sliding your favourite daiquiri towards you as you took a seat at the bar. 

“Buena noches, Tio,” you greeted him in return, wrapping your hand around the ice-filled glass and feeling the condensation wet your skin. “New singers tonight?”

Ernesto grinned at you before looking over to the group of heads you could see bobbing on the other side of the crowd. “Sí! They come to me last night, seven of them! They ask to perform here, I say they have to prove they can sing first,” Ernesto recounts the story to you and several other patrons as he continues to serve drinks, everyone listening with a smile as he raises a finger, as if he’s about to confide a secret. “They come this morning, they sing a few songs for me and Carmella and I put them straight on the board for tonight!” He laughs as he gestures towards the bar’s entrance, referring to the small notice board that sits on the wall outside to which he attaches the names of the bands he lets play here. You curse yourself for not checking it before you came in. “I don’t understand a lot of it but I’ve been around long enough to know they’re good. They’re from Korea, can you believe? From Korea to my little bar in Havana!” Ernesto is chuckling to himself about the strings of fate being pulled in such a way to bring this band to him, his patrons unable to hold back their grins at his unfaltering spirit, and his awe of them deepens your curiosity ten-fold.

Craning your neck, you attempt to catch sight of the singers through the crowd but can only spy several heads of hair as they bop in time to the beat of their current song. You count six in total; sleek black, two dirty blonds, dark red, what you believe is a head of pale pink, and a wide-brimmed cream hat, but you struggle to see more than glimpses of the faces beneath. Taking a sip of your drink through your straw, the combination of sharp lemon and smooth white rum floods your taste buds as you continue to watch for gaps in the crowd. The music changes several times before you drain your glass, but all of them have kept the crowd thriving and grinding in front of you. 

Placing your empty glass back on the bar, you tuck your hair behind your ear and straighten out your dress as you stand up. You slip between the bodies, letting yourself sink into the heat and the movement of the bodies around you that push and pull like a hot ocean tide. You’ve come to find the sticky heat of the crowds here comforting, almost blissful in how easily they melt away the stresses and worries of your daily life. Ernesto’s is your haven, and the effect of the dancefloor is now instantaneous.

You push your way to the front, bodies parting easily to let you through, and find yourself staring into the shining dark eyes of who you assume is the seventh man that you couldn’t see before. His blond hair is brighter than the other two you had already spotted, shimmering under the lights like the finest white-gold thread.

You notice his eyes quickly glance over you before a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips, his singing uninterrupted. The air of professionalism around him strikes you, as you’re used to a lot of amateur musicians coming through and getting flustered by the proximity of the crowds. You feel heat rise in your cheeks at his close scrutiny of your outfit, your face, and your body, but you also feel heat settle in your abdomen as his gaze never breaks from your own. To grant yourself some minor relief, you look away to observe their set up, your suspicions that they’re more than a travelling band being confirmed the more you see.   

An invisible line on the floor has been mutually agreed between them and the patrons in lieu of an actual stage, a laptop, a few speakers and seven microphones the extent of their equipment. All seven of them are dressed impeccably, their outfits clearly chosen to appear casual and lightweight to suit the heat, yet the evidence of high-quality labels is visible to those who pay attention. All seven of them are also incredibly handsome in their own rights, a combination of sharp and softer jawlines all presided over by deep brown eyes. 

There wasn’t enough room for choreography, but the subtle moves they could pull off were infallibly synchronised. Whether it was shifting their weight from foot to foot in a sway to the beat or performing simple gestures with their arms, as you look down the row of them you could see that none of them were even half a second out of sync. 

The singer in front of you is still watching you, although the intensity of his gaze seems to have lessened slightly while you’ve been distracted. When you look back to him, you see a harder edge start to creep back in again and it stokes the heat in your abdomen. 

You let your gaze drift down him and he watches with interest as you drink in the sight of him. The loose material of his shirt keeps you from being able to distinguish where his waist tapers, but it does nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You briefly wonder what it would be like to hold onto them if he was holding himself above you and whether you’d be able to feel the muscles flexing under your fingers, but you blink the thoughts away, hoping your open appreciation wasn’t too obvious. His simple black jeans accentuate the length of his legs and the strength of his thighs, and you definitely feel your temperature rise as you skim back upwards to his face. 

If you weren’t looking into them, you might not believe that human eyes could be as dark as the ones in front of you, but given the way they burn into yours as soon as they meet, swirling with intrigue and temptation, you’d be a fool to deny the power they hold. You barely notice the song has ended, only becoming aware of it once the man in front of you turns away and walks towards the back of the stage, but not before dropping you a wink. You’re confused but too wired up to turn away, feeling adrenaline rush through your veins as you watch eagerly to see what’s happening. The seven singers gather together briefly, grabbing bottles of water and towels to dab at their faces as they murmur between themselves. The crowd behind you has stilled, but the hum of applause and conversation prevents silence from falling. Soon enough, the band breaks apart to form a vague line, looking out to the crowd before the tallest one steps forward to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for allowing us to entertain you tonight,” his voice is deep and smooth and his accented American gives his words a lilt that makes him even more charming. It’s definitely the voice of a man charismatic enough to apparently be the band’s leader, you think. The crowd applauds behind you, cheers and whoops ringing out loud enough that the leader has to wait a few seconds to speak again. “We’ve thoroughly enjoyed singing for you tonight, and we hope you’ve enjoyed our performance. We’re going to take a break now, but we’ll be back after a short while. For now, please speak to our man, Yunki, if you have any requests.” He gestures to the dark red-headed man to his left, who raises his hand in a wave before heading to the back of the stage and leaning over the laptop, clicking buttons.

The blond you’d been eyeing catches your eye again, the two of you immediately locking gazes. You’ve never experienced a pull towards another person as intense as this before, especially when it’s only after eye contact, and you feel your knees weakening under his gaze. The rest of the members begin to disperse, most heading in your direction to head towards the bar, your blond beau cocking an eyebrow as he begins to walk towards you. Feeling a rush of confidence under his heated stare, you let your lips twitch into a coy smile before turning and making your way back through the crowd, feeling your heart race with excitement and hope that he’s following you as you suspect he will. 

You return to the bar to find your earlier seat still vacant, but your empty glass has been removed and the bartop wiped down. You see Ernesto already grabbing a fresh glass before you even take your seat, a knowing smile in his eyes as he shakes his head fondly at you and a grin breaking across your lips. You see his eyes flicker to something behind you before returning to finishing your drink but, before you can turn to look, he brings your drink to you and places it down with a flourish. 

“And what can I get for the best singers my bar has ever seen?” 

You hear several low chuckles from behind you, five of the seven men having gathered behind you to order from the bar. You turn on the stool to sit sideways, Ernesto on your right and the band on your left, and your eyes immediately meet with the blond at the back of the group. He’s already gazing at you by the time you turn around, his dark eyes steadily watching you, the same smirk from earlier once again pushing up the corner of his lips. He seems to be as interested in you as you are in him, which sends a thrill pulsing through your body. 

“Five of your coldest beers, please, sir,” the leader says in front of you with a charming smile as he dips a hand into his pockets to find his money, “and a single of your finest whiskey, too. Neat, please.” 

“Coming right up!” Ernesto turns to start the drinks, leaving the six of you to exchange silent smiles before you decide to speak.

“You guys are the best band I’ve ever seen here,” you tell them, turning more to lean against the bar as you speak. “I’m pretty sure Ernesto would keep you here permanently if you let him.”

“Ah, thank you very much,” the leader bows his head slightly with a grin, his eyes scrunching closed adorably, his cheeks dimpling. A few more thank yous echo from around the group, all of them having heard your compliment, proud yet bashful grins lighting up all of their faces. “I’m Namjoon,” he offers his hand to you, which you take, and he shakes it gently.

“Y/N,” you offer back with a smile as he releases your hand. 

“That’s a beautiful name,” he says. “It suits you.” 

You can’t help the hard blush that burns your cheeks, especially when you see the other singers nodding in agreement with him, but you still preen under their complimentary smiles. It’s hard not to feel flattered when you have five very handsome and obviously talented gentlemen agreeing that you’re beautiful.

“You’re too kind,” you say instead, taking a sip through your straw to hide your smile and attempt to cool yourself down slightly. When you return the glass to the bar, Namjoon turns to introduce you to the other men at his side.

“Where are my manners?” he says with a chuckle. “Y/N, let me introduce you to my friends. This is Seokjin-hyung,” he gestures to the man at the back, ushering him to the front and making your heart hammer in your chest as the man you can’t stop staring at steps forward.

The word ‘hello’ has never seemed so attractive as it does when he says it, taking your hand in his and dipping down to press a light kiss to your skin. You miss the others roll their eyes and laugh quietly at his antics, too enchanted by the deep eyes you’re finally seeing up close: they’re dark as sin, yet they glimmer under the lights in a way that reminds you of obsidian glass. He lifts his head once more, his blond hair appearing almost white when it catches the light as he does so, and looks at you with a small smile, saying, “Please, call me Jin.” He holds your gaze and you find yourself nodding dumbly, completely entranced. You don’t see the knowing looks passed between the men around you before he’s stepping back and letting your hand gently slip from his grasp, as if he can’t quite bring himself to let you go. 

Namjoon glances between the two of you with a smirk, clearing his throat gently to break the eye contact between you. You shake your head slightly and send a small apologetic smile his way, but he’s either very understanding or doesn’t notice as he gestures to the next man.

“This is Hoseok-”

“Please, call me Hobi.” You don’t miss the snickers this time as he copies his bandmate, although he skips the kiss to your hand. The radiant grin he offers as he shakes your hand instead is contagious and you’re sure it would be enough to cheer you up if you weren’t already in such a good mood. His black hair is parted down the middle and sits gently above his eyebrows, and you wonder if all of them get dimples in their cheeks when they smile, because so far you’re three for three.

“Jimin,” Namjoon gestures to the next man along, whose handsome features are so delicately refined you’d possibly call him beautiful instead, his face blessed with a devilish combination of a sharp jaw and soft eyes, plush lips and apple cheeks.

“It’s a pleasure,” he smiles, bowing nearly 45 degrees as he takes your hand. His voice is as melodic when he talks as you remember it was when you saw him sing just minutes ago, although it seems slightly deeper in conversation.

“Our youngest, Jungkook,” Namjoon gestures to the man standing at your left elbow, who you definitely wouldn’t have guessed was the youngest. He’s taller than Jimin, looks like he might be taller than Hobi as well, and even his arms held politely in front of him can’t hide how broad his chest is. You suppose his eyes give his youth away, wide and curious as they are underneath his peach-pink hair, but he still quirks his lips in a smile as he greets you. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says with a shallower bow than Jimin’s, and his deep voice takes you by surprise - you’re pretty sure you witnessed him effortlessly hitting several high notes that you could only dream of reaching. You’re not sure if it’s his age, but he seems more nervous than the others and lets go of your hand sooner than his friends.

“The two over there,” Namjoon leans closer to you as he points to the two men still standing by the equipment, one you recognise as the ‘Yunki’ previously introduced to the crowd when they announced their break and the other talking to him quietly, watching as Yunki taps away at his laptop. “- are Yunki-hyung and Tae. Tae’s the one with the hat.” You giggle at how bluntly he says it, missing the way all of them watch you with gentle smiles as you do so.

“Hyung?” you look to Jin questioningly, feeling the weight of the foreign word on your tongue as you try to figure out its meaning. “Brothers?”

All of the men chuckle slightly, but none of them come across as malicious or even teasing. “Sort of,” he grins with a nod. “But probably not in the way you’re thinking,” he explains, and you find yourself unable to look away from the kindness in his eyes as he elaborates. “It’s a Korean word, not a surname. More like a term of endearment. We use it to address our friends - and our actual brothers - who are older than us; it’s like a sign of respect.”

“I see,” you nod, offering a sheepish smile to the rest of your company. “My mistake.” They all shake their heads good-naturedly, clearly used to having to explain this to people as they’ve travelled. Your mind briefly wonders how old they all are, whether they’re older or younger than you. “So, would I use it? If you’re older than me, I mean.”

“No, no,” another chuckle escapes Namjoon as he pushes his hair back, another quiet titter of laughter spreading through the group. “‘Hyung’ is just for guys, and only when they talk to other guys that are older than them, family or not.” He pauses, frowning slightly as he considers just how much detail to go into in the middle of a bar. He’s not in the mood to give a full honorifics lesson and, by the way your eyes shift to Jin, he supposes you aren’t in the mood to hear one, either. “There are different words for everyone, really.”

“So what would I call you guys?” Now that your focus on Namjoon has been broken, you struggle to keep it away from Jin for more than a few seconds, your eyes constantly drifting back to him. It allows you to notice the way his pupils dilate slightly at your question, his voice sounding before Namjoon even has a chance to take a breath.

“‘Oppa’,” he tells you, his hungry gaze holding onto yours as if he’s daring you to look away from him.

“Oppa?” You ask experimentally, letting the word roll off your tongue and exaggerating the pout of your lips as you do, taking note of the way his shoulders seem to tense when he hears you say it. You bite into the corner of your lip to try and stop the smirk you can feel pushing at your cheeks, vaguely aware that there are four other men here watching you essentially eye-fuck their friend. 

Your gaze is broken when Ernesto returns just moments later with five of his largest bottles of beer, holding them by their necks before he places them down, pools of water immediately gathering on the bar from the condensation dripping off the bottles. You sit up again and turn back to watch him, barely even seeing the small bottle opener tucked between his fingers as he expertly plucks off all the bottle caps, dropping them all into the bin you know he keeps behind the bar for that very purpose. You cock an eyebrow at him, silently questioning how it seemed to take him much longer than normal to collect a couple of beers, but he simply winks at you with a smile. You shake your head lightheartedly, knowing that his tardiness is his way of giving you time with these men and an unspoken sign of his opinion that at least one of them might just be good enough for you. He retrieves a glass next and then reaches up for a bottle of whiskey you’ve never seen him serve before. The seal is broken but it looks like barely more than a few singles have ever been served out of it. You wince at the thought of the price tag the drink must come with, especially given how small it is, and also wonder which one of them is the one with such a refined taste. 

Your eyes drift to Jin, wondering if his lips will be the ones coated in the sweet, oaky taste of whiskey and whether you’d be able to taste it if you kissed him afterwards, but for once he’s not actually looking at you. He’s murmuring something into Hobi’s ear, his face turned away from you so that you can only see the round outline of his cheeks and the sharp rise of his jawline. You notice the back of his ears have gone slightly pink, but it’s Hobi’s mischievous smile towards you that really captures your attention. Whatever Jin’s saying, you’re growing more sure with every second that it’s about you, especially when Hobi winks at you, but you’re aware that the little you can hear from this distance is Korean. You tell yourself you’re just imagining things as you move your hair back off your shoulders, although you’re not sure if you do so to cool yourself down or to distract yourself. 

“Anything else?” Ernesto asks, smiling warmly at the men beside you, and Jungkook mumbles something to Namjoon in their native tongue that makes the leader startle, his eyes widening almost comically.

“Oh! A glass of water, please,” he says, putting notes down on the bar.

Ernesto nods but pushes the notes back towards Namjoon before he goes to get the final drink. You watch Namjoon’s face contort in confusion, stifling a laugh when he looks at you for an answer.

“Did I do something wrong?” he whispers, unsure if he’s missed a cultural cue or has been impolite in some way. 

“No, no,” you assure him gently, resting your chin on your hand, but hold off from giving him any further explanation until Ernesto returns. 

“Excuse me, sir, did I pay the wrong amount?” Namjoon’s hesitant, probably painfully aware that Ernesto is responsible for his current employment but desperately wanting to do the right thing. 

“My singers don’t pay,” Ernesto says firmly, ignoring the money Namjoon’s holding out to him as he pushes the drinks forward. You notice Jimin stand a little taller at this, nudging Jungkook with his elbow and grinning, wiggling his eyebrows at what he’s essentially just heard as meaning an open bar, but Hobi sends him a slight warning glare and his grin turns into a smirk that he tries to hide behind pretending to wipe his upper lip. 

If nothing else happens, you’re certain you’ve found a reasonable drinking buddy in Jimin, should he wish to join you after his set. 

“I’ll take this to Yunki-hyung,” Hobi says, picking up the glass of whiskey before taking one of the beers and walking away. 

“Pass me the water, please, hyung,” Jimin says, pointing to the glass. Namjoon passes it over to him, then grabs two beers and gives one each to Jimin and Jungkook. You watch them follow Hobi back through the crowd, Jimin passing the water to Taehyung before offering a sip of his beer, which Tae sniffs but seems skeptical, taking a large drink of water instead, much to Jimin’s apparent amusement.

You’re left with Namjoon and Jin, Namjoon still trying to insist he pays Ernesto in as polite a way as he can muster, while Jin leans past him to take his drink. He leans right between you and Namjoon, leaving you staring directly at his broad chest merely inches from your face. You’ve barely had a chance to take in the sweet, woody aroma of his cologne before he’s pulling away again, a hint of something close to cinnamon lingering before he disappears. 

You don’t turn to watch him leave, returning your focus to Namjoon’s valiant yet pointless efforts in order to distract yourself from the heavy weight sinking in your chest. You’d thought Jin would stay and talk to you, especially with the way you’d both been eyeing each other all night, and you can’t say you’re not disappointed.

Although, the feeling doesn’t last for long.

“So, tell me,” you almost jump at the words that are murmured in your ear, turning on your barstool to see Jin taking a seat on the one beside you. His body is leant forward towards you, close enough to keep your conversation private and, once you’ve turned fully, for your knees to brush against his. “If singers don’t pay here, how am I supposed to buy you a drink?”

“Well, oppa,” you lean closer to him, emphasising your newly-learnt word as you place your hand on his thigh, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, hard. “I’m sure you could think of something else you could give me.” The muscles under your fingers tense and you’re sure you both feel the jolt of electricity that passes between you, even if you do still curse the denim that prevents you from feeling the skin of his thigh directly under your fingertips. 

“I’m sure I could,” his eyes once again drift down your body, unabashed in how he so brazenly drinks in the way your skin shimmers under the lights. You hear Namjoon cough awkwardly behind you before he walks away, but you can’t pull your eyes away from Jin. He wets his lips as he zones in on the exposed curve of your neck, your eyes following the brief flash of pink of his tongue before you lock eyes once more. 

“Dinner, maybe?” His eyes drop to your mouth when you speak, fascinated by the way your lips mould around your words.

“Sounds good.”

“Mmm, I agree.” You’ve both been gradually leaning in closer and now you can feel his breath as it ghosts over your skin, resisting the shiver that scurries up your spine in favour of scaling his thigh with your hand. There’s barely a few inches of space between your noses now, both pairs of eyes darting rapidly to take in every feature they can. The hand that was holding his drink on the bar now begins to lightly caress your upper arm, drawing small circles with the wet condensation on his fingers. 

“What are you doing later?”

“All the restaurants will be shut by the time you guys finish,” you tell him with a grin, but he’s undeterred.

“I’ll cook for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You any good?”

“Never had any complaints.” You get the distinct feeling he’s not just talking about food anymore when his hand goes from drawing circles on your arm to gently wrapping around it to hold you close. 

“What can you do?”

“Whatever you want,” he declares, briefly letting go of your arm to tuck your hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, his fingers gently playing with your hair. 

“Sounds promising.” Your fingers brush against the bottom of his belt, your heart rate rapidly increasing as you feel his breath against your own lips. 

“Jin-hyung!” You can’t help but laugh at the rush of air on your lips when Jin sighs, his head dropping slightly, and above the crowd you hear what sounds like Hobi yelping and several different laughs. Jin looks back up to you, an apologetic smile on his lips as you both feel the heat of the moment begin to slip away, although he still plays with the ends of your hair.

“They’re calling you,” you mumble, your hand slipping back down his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. He looks over your shoulder and lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgement of his band before turning back to you, his palm finally coming to cup your cheek.

“I’ll see you later?” 

“For dinner?” you smirk, and a dark gleam returns to his eyes as he bites his lip.

“For dinner.”

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