#i know damn well he’d just casually say ‘i’m bi but he’s not that good looking. i have taste’ or some shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

Text

An Artful Revenge pt. 3 (Feysand)

Part of the Damnation Series.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

~Feyre~

I spend three days figuring out what to do with the phone number.

On Day 1, I decided I’d text, not call. It was the cowardly thing to do, but the thought of him answering the phone and putting me on the spot made me want to run and hide.

Day 2 had been plain ole procrastination. I’d gone to the museum on the hope he’d be there, but like he’d said, that really was a horrible way of communicating.

Day 3, I decided, was the day of reckoning. I’d text him today.

Shit, did billionaires even text?

Maybe I should send a properly-formatted memo instead.

And what should I even write? Hey seemed too casual. Hi, maybe? How’s your day going? Wanna make out?

Gods, I’m bad at this.

After another two hours of staring at a blank screen, I send: Dinner tonight?

Then, because I realize I’m a fucking idiot: It’s Feyre, btw.

I throw my phone across the room in embarrassment, and put my head in my hands like that’ll unsend the message, then jump the couch like a hurdle when I hear a ding.

And promptly frown when I read: If you’re going to ask me out, you have to call me like an adult.

I can practically hear his the smile in his voice, and I grit my teeth in annoyance.

But I call him anyway.

“Look who grew up,” he says in lieu of hello, voice gravelly and amused.

“Oh, shut up. Do you want to buy me dinner or not?”

He laughs at that, the sound making my lips twitch. “I would love to buy you dinner. But only because I can’t bear the thought of you eating Ramen for the third time this week.”

Narrowing my eyes and glancing around like a fugitive, I try to figure out how the hell he knows I’ve been surviving on reheated, soggy noodles for the past week.

I don’t have the chance to ask before he declares, “I’ll pick you up at six. Oh, and check your doorstep.”

The line clicks dead ominously, and I glance suspiciously at my front door.

Tiptoeing over, I peek outside, eyes going wide when I see a package leaning against the brick side of the building.

How long has that been here? I got the mail yesterday, so it had to come today, but... how did he know I’d call today? Is he Batman or something?

I grab the package, roll my eyes at the big red bow on top, and put it on the counter. Then I pick it back up and shake it like that’ll tell me what he’s up to.

But the curiosity starts to kill me, and I rip into the pretty packaging like a feral animal, unable to wait another second. A shiny black box is inside, and I flip the top open, eyebrows flying up when I look inside.

The dress is blood red and looks fitted and beautiful. But that isn’t what surprises me. It the thin, lacy underwear with a note attached. A note that reads, in Rhysand’s slashy, distinct handwriting, These are optional.

The feminist in me flares, and I decide right then and there to make him eat those words.

When six o’clock comes around, I’m prepped and ready for battle.

My hair is done, my makeup pristine, and the dress is hugging every curve and propping my boobs up to sit nicely on my chest. I don’t typically give myself compliments, but I look damn good. And more than that, I feel good.

I also don’t typically wear bold makeup, but I’ve thrown that rule out the window.

My lips match the dress, a dark, ruby red that makes my skin look pale in comparison. I’m complete shit at eyeliner, but I put enough mascara on to frame my eyes and make the blue pop against the red of my lips and dress.

I look like a mix between a pinup girl and a vampire, basically.

Knowing how punctual he is, as soon as the clock on my phone reads 7:00, I swing the door open and smile broadly.

Rhysand pauses, fist halfway to where the door was, and uses a long moment to take me in. His eyes linger on my lips, the exposed cleavage, the sweep of my hips. His mouth drops open slightly, but before he can speak, I step out and lock the door behind me.

“The problem with your chauvinistic little plan to tell me what to wear, Rhysand,” I tell him, slipping the lace he’d gifted me into his pants pocket and accidently feeling him up, “Is that now you know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“It was a flawed plan, I admit.” He swallows, eyes narrowing on my hips like he can sense if I’m telling the truth. “But the important thing is to not stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reasons for existing.”

I roll my eyes. “Quoting Einstein now to make yourself feel smart?”

He smiles at that. “Stop calling me on my shit, Feyre. Let’s go.”

I take his hand, happy with myself for winning this round, and let him pull me down the street. He stops in front of a dark, speedy looking car. “Beefcakes busy tonight?”

He gives me a strange look, then laughs loudly. “His name is Rolando.”

Still chuckling, he opens the door for me before walking around to his side. The car’s low to the ground and dark inside, and it makes a loud, rumbling sound when he turns it on.

He grins, almost like he can’t help it, and I laugh. “Boys and their toys.”

Rhysand pulls out of the spot smoothly, driving slowly because of the traffic. He reaches over and puts a hand on my thigh, just below the hem of the dress.

It’s warm and wonderful and casual enough to not mean anything, but I’ve made it my goal tonight to make him cry like a baby, so I swat it away. “Don’t even start.”

“Start what?”

I look over at him and smile sweetly. “Trying to seduce me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I link our fingers together and rest them on the center consol. “Where are we going?”

“New York.”

My mouth drops open. “Um, what? That’s like a twelve hour drive.”

“We’re not driving.”

I gesture around us with my free hand. “Yes, we are.”

“You are such a little smartass tonight. We are currently driving, but we aren’t driving to New York. And before you ask, the answer is yes.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “To what question?”

“If it’s my plane.”

I drop his hand and throw both of mine up in frustration. “Okay what gives? Did you stick a chip in my head or something?”

He smiles, pulling onto the interstate smoothly. Even though it’s not as crowded, he still drives slower than I’d expected when I saw the car. “Your face is very easy to read.”

“It is not,” I argue, my face instantly finding insult with that statement.

“Yes, it is. I’ll prove it to you. Tell me two truths and a lie, and I bet I can guess which one is the lie.”

“What’s the bet?”

He takes his eyes off the road to give me a very male look. I narrow my eyes, picking up on the innuendo in his gaze, and he laughs.

“And if I win?” I ask, taking in his profile while he drives and trying not to sigh at how handsome he is. Such a nice jawline.

“I’ll answer three of the questions you’re dying to ask.”

Oh, he knows me too well for this. His smile grows because he knows I’m a fish gladly swallowing the hook, but still asks, “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

I take a few minutes to think of facts about myself.

“I had a pet goat when I was little, my best friend’s a lesbian, and I think Mick Jagger is sexy.”

They’re the three most random things I could think of, things he’d have absolutely no way of knowing.

But the damn bastard still says immediately, “Your best friend isn’t a lesbian.”

My mouth drops open because technically, she’s bi, and I make a strangled sound of disbelief that makes him grin. “I told you. You’re a bad liar. Shame, I could tell you really wanted to ask those questions.”

“I hate you,” I tell him, beyond annoyed myself.

He pulls off the highway and turns, leading us out to a dusky private airfield I--shockingly--never knew was behind the airport. Rhysand slows to a stop and looks over at me, then leans slowly to press his lips to mine.

It’s warm and sweet and soft, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

He ruins the moment by murmuring, “I’ll take my reward later, by the way.”

I shove him over to his side of the car and climb out, then realize I don’t know where to go. We’re surrounded by expensive looking planes, one of which is obviously owned by the billionaire trying to get in my pants, but I don’t know which one.

I glance back over my shoulder at him, and he smirks and points at the one to our right.

“Are you seriously taking me to New York?”

I kind of thought he’d been joking, but he nods. “My favorite restaurant is there.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“More like hungry,” he argues, holding out a hand to gesture up the open steps leading in the plane.

I stay where I am, casting a curious glance up the stairs. It looks nice and shiny in there, but no matter how nice and shiny, it’s basically a steel death trap.

Even though I can feel his eyes on me and desperately want to hide this fact about myself, I can’t step up.

And because he’s an observant little asshole, he notices. “You’re afraid to fly.”

“Um, well, not afraid-”

“You’ve never flown before.”

I nod, blushing from embarrassment. I mean, it’s obvious he flies all the time if he has his own plane, and I’m small town enough to have never even been in one.

“Don’t be embarrassed. My first time flying was three years ago, Feyre.”

My face must look doubtful, because he nods. “I’m serious. I never saw the point until a business rivalry made me feel inadequate. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. We can go somewhere else.”

He’s sweet to offer, but... I want to go. I’ve never been to New York, and when am I going to get an offer like this again?

“I’m... uh... are you sure about this thing?” I reach out and grab the handle of the stairs, shaking it to see if it’ll fall off or something.

“Yes.”

There’s no argument, no doubt in his voice. And I know it’s irrational, but-

Strong arms wrap around my waist and heft me up, and I yelp as Rhysand flings me over his shoulder and my head comes very close to his ass. “What are you doing?”

“Kidnapping you. You obviously want to go, and I’d hate to miss the reservations.”

“Rhysand, wait, hold on a second.” He ignores me entirely and walks up the stairs and inside the plane, even stopping to shake hands with the pilot. I’m dropped in a plush chair, and before I can object, a seatbelt is around my waist.

“See?” He gestures around. “Like a living room.”

“In the sky!”

He shrugs like that’s an irrelevant detail, looking back over his shoulder and gesturing again to the pilot. I peek around him to see the door seal closed, then the gentle-looking man disappears in the control room.

“He’s the one flying this thing?” I mean, he looked competent enough, but...

I start freaking out.

Rhysand slips his jacket off, throwing it over the back of a seat before sliding into it, gentle grace and luxury lining his every movement. His eyes roam over me slowly, and I can tell he’s about to try and distract me before he even says, “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I pant back, gripping the arms of the seat with white knuckles.

Plan A having failed, he swiftly moves onto B. “Are you really not wearing underwear?”

B, I have to admit, does a decent job of momentarily distracting me from my inevitable death. “I thought you said I’m easy to read.”

He smirks. “Tell me anyway. I won the bet, remember?”

“I remember you never specified the terms, so-”

I cut myself off as the plane starts rolling, and if I had half a mind to care, I’d worry my painted nails are about to bust through the soft leather of his chair.

I feel like fucking throwing up or stabbing him or running far away or crying.

Rhysand, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed, sprawled casually in the seat across from me.

The plane makes a slow turn, then pauses. Apprehension sweeps over me, and I groan and look at the ceiling.

“Allow me to rectify that horrible mistake. My prize is... a kiss.”

Despite the nausea, I raise a brow and looks at him suspiciously. “You want to kiss me? That’s it?”

“Mmhm. Right now. Close your eyes.”

“But the plane-”

He shrugs and waves a hand. “Just close your eyes, love.”

I shut up and close my eyes, slightly pursing my lips and waiting patiently. I hear a shuffle, feel the warmth of his body come close to mine. My breath draws shallow in anticipation, goosebumps appearing on my arms.

There’s another pause, and I’m about to open my eyes to see where he went, but then the plane attempts to break the sound barrier and takes off, and I’m thrown back against the seat.

At the same time, I feel a kiss on the inside of my knee.

My eyes fly open to find Rhysand kneeling in front of me, hands bracketing my thighs. I open my mouth to say something, but he growls, “Close. Your. Eyes.”

The frank demand in his voice gives me no option, and as soon as I do, he kisses my thigh again in reward.

“Now spread your legs.”

The plane goes faster and faster. “Rhysand...”

He sighs, a long-suffering sound that makes me giggle as I once again do what he wants. I mean, really, why was I even hesitating?

It’s obvious what he’s doing, and even though it’s not safe in the slightest, I’m well on board with the idea.

His hands move to my knees, then glide up, pushing the tight hem of the dress up. He’s pressing open-mouth kisses to my thighs as he goes, and then his hands slide up another inch, and my lack of undergarments are revealed.

“Fuck, Feyre,” he says, like my going commando was my idea, not his.

I’m about to point that out when he leans forward and put his mouth on me. At the same time the plane lifts off the ground.

I’m torn between panic and ecstasy. The combination makes me light headed, and a rush of adrenaline hits my system, making me gasp.

I try to sit up straighter in the seat, but he’s holding my hips in a death grip and pulls them the other way. I slide down, thighs falling further open. He slips his shoulders under them, completely in control of the situation, and all I can do is grip his hair and enjoy the ride.

His mouth is insistent and confident against me and makes me finally stop thinking about dying in a fiery plane crash.

He slides a hand up my thigh, somehow able to hold me still with just one, then presses a finger inside me. I groan and pull on his hair, squirming underneath his grip, but it’s useless.

Rhysand holds tight, his strong hands preventing me from moving, as he devours me completely. I make a helpless sound, but he doesn’t take mercy.

I think, instead of the crash, I’ll die from this instead.

I think I’ll just burn and burn and burn from the fire he’s ignited in my blood.

His name slips past my lips, and he pauses, then becomes even more demanding. I’m being adored, worshipped, eaten like a ice cream sundae.

Another finger slips inside me as his mouth sucks softly, and I come with a cry, practically strangling him with my thighs.

He keeps moving, kissing me softly, until my thighs go limp and I fall back into the seat with a huff.

He leans back on his heels, hands braced on my thighs, and runs his tongue across his lower lip in a way that makes me almost come again. Realization of what he just did courses through me, and I blush, well aware that my lady bits are still on display.

“Flying isn’t so bad after all.”

Rhysand laughs, pressing one last kiss to my knee before gently pulling my dress back into place. Then he sits back in his seat, crosses his legs, and looks me over slowly.

“Well, that was definitely a faulty plan, because now I don’t even want to go to dinner.”

“No?”

“No.”

The heat in his gaze sends a thrill through me, because suddenly, I don’t even care about New York. I want him to land this plane and take me home and give me a repeat of what just happened.

But now it’s abundantly clear that if I went home with him, I wouldn’t walk out with my sanity. So, once again a coward, I deflect. “Well, too bad. I’m hungry.”

He says something I can’t quite hear, the way he looks at me tells me not to ask.

“How long is the flight?”

He checks his watch. “About another half hour.” My mind wanders to very... creative ways we could fill that time, and I blush again. “I’m curious to know what you’re thinking about over there.”

His smile says he knows, so I look him over like he often does me and say softly, “I’m thinking about returning the favor.”

His eyes flare, his mind easily following mine, but he maintains his composure. “A half hour isn’t nearly enough time if we start going down that road.”

It takes me more than a second to figure out how to breathe again. “How much time would we need?”

“Days.”

Oh, holy hell.

I’m about to tell him to keep us in the air that long, but he winks and looks away, then presses a button on a remote I hadn’t noticed he was holding. A classy looking woman in a red skirt and matching blouse comes out of the cockpit, wheeling an ice bucket and holding two glasses.

“Good evening,” she says quietly, looking at me kindly but avoiding eye contact with Rhysand entirely as she pours us both champagne. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Then she’s gone.

I’m about to sip from my glass, but he reaches out and switches his with mine.

Immediately, I steal my original glass back. “I’m not getting poisoned because you pissed her off.”

“What makes you think I pissed her off?”

“She couldn’t even look at you.”

His lips twitch. “I know you’ll find this strange, but some people find me intimidating.”

I scoff, a very ladylike sound, and take a gulp of the champagne. Noticing he still hasn’t drank any of his, I take his glass and sip from it with a raised brow. “Are you going to let me die alone?”

He rolls his eyes and calls me a smartass but drinks from his glass anyway.

“Why are you always so sure someone’s trying to kill you, anyway?”

There’s a long pause, and he seems to be debating if he’s actually going to tell me before he responds, “I have a lot of enemies, Feyre.”

He sounds so unusually serious, like he’s just told me something important.

“I don’t,” I tell him with a sigh, suddenly irritated with my normal life. “I think I’ve grown a bit boring, actually. No one hates me, and I never even have to worry about being poisoned.”

Rhysand chuckles and gives me a strange look. “You’re not boring. And never worrying about being murdered isn’t a terrible thing.”

“I’m boring. I can’t even lie properly.”

“That,” he laughs, “I can’t argue with.”

“New game: I say something, and you guess if it’s a lie. No betting this time.”

He sighs but nods and gives me a get on with it gesture.

Keeping my face completely neutral and making sure my fingers aren’t twitching or any other obvious give away, I say, “I have two sisters.”

“True.”

I narrow my eyes, but take a deep breath and keep my cool. “I tried to learn Italian last summer.”

“Also true, but I’m willing to bet it went poorly.”

A laugh escapes me at that. “It was horrible. I’m complete shit at the accent.” I try to think of other facts about myself and come up short. Gods, I really am boring, aren’t I?

“I’ve never been in love.”

His eyes scan my face. “That’s a lie.”

“It is,” I confirm, looking at his chin and wondering why I even said that in the first place.

He ducks to catch my gaze. “Your ex?”

We’re getting into dangerous territory--even I know you don’t discuss your ex-boyfriend this early in the game--but he doesn’t seem upset or stressed or jealous. He looks... curious. So I shrug and nod.

“What happened?”

Taking another large gulp of champagne, I say, “He wanted to get married, I didn’t. I loved him, but... he was older and wanted something I just wasn’t ready to give him. And then he moved, and I got over it.”

Rhysand’s silent for a beat, a muscle in his jaw twitching, then nods like he understands. “Older, huh? You have a type.”

I laugh at the thought of the two of them being anything alike. “You couldn’t look more different from my ex. And you refused to actually tell me how old you are. ”

He sighs. “I’m seven years older than you.”

Quick math has never been my strong suit, but I figure it out eventually, my mouth dropping open when I do. “You’re twenty-eight?”

He nods in confirmation, and I proceed to lose my mind.

“Just twenty-eight? As in two eight, twenty-eight?”

Another nod, along with a very strange look.

I realize I’m acting just a little bizarre, so I shake my head to clear it and say, “You’re... very impressive, Rhysand.”

When I’m twenty-eight, I’ll probably be just another starving artist, looking for a museum to hire me as a curator and begging people to buy my paintings. I’ll be broke and will have developed an allergy to Ramen from how much I’ll be eating it.

I definitely won’t be a gazillionaire with a private art collection and enough real estate to own half the city of Chicago.

He shrugs uncomfortably, like my bewilderment isn’t deserved, and I can’t resist the temptation to tease him. “You also suck at taking compliments.”

“Yes,” he admits. “But so do you.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

He smiles and braces his elbows on his knees and immediately proceeds to prove me wrong. “You’re far more impressive than me. You’re gorgeous and talented and have a way of looking at the world that makes me feel like I haven’t lived a day of my life properly.”

I blush furiously and look at the ceiling of our death trap, wildly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You’ve proved your point.”

Rhysand laughs, then glances at his watch. “We should be on the ground soon.”

Almost like he spoke it into being, the plane dips and a mechanical whirring sound meets my ears. Is that supposed to happen? “Oh, fucking hell, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“You did try to poison me.”

I give him a nasty look and mutter, “So fucking ridiculous, flying to another city for dinner. Next time, we’re going to Taco Bell.”

He rolls his eyes at my antics, unbuckling and moving to sit next to me. His hand slides into mine, warm and comforting, and I grab onto it like child child running from the boogeyman. His thumb runs over the back of my hand, and I sigh, leaning to put my head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for the dress,” I finally say, remembering my manners.

“It looks good on you. Like I said, I have excellent taste.”

I smile. “I’m waiting on dinner to confirm or deny that.”

Suddenly, there’s a large sound and a bump, then I’m leaning forward as the plane comes screeching to a halt. I press my eyes shut and squeeze the shit out of his hand, but he just keeps running his thumb along my skin, silently comforting me.

The plane comes to an eventual stop, and I peek open my eyes to see him grinning down at me. “Welcome to New York, Feyre darling.”

A week after our soiree to the Big Apple, I decide I have a problem.

I like Rhysand way too much to have only known him three weeks.

He’s all I fucking think about.

Which, I guess, isn’t a problem. Being swept off your feet is every little girl’s dream. But it’s getting harder and harder to resist sleeping with him.

I’ve been wined and dined and given searing kisses that make my toes curl, not to mention the whole incident on the airplane, but we haven’t actually had sex. Honestly, I thought I’d cave on the way back from New York, but I ended up passing out in a food coma before the plane even took off, my head nestled in the happy spot between his shoulder and neck.

I definitely want to sleep with him, so much so it makes my eyes cross just thinking about it, but it just scares me how much I like him.

And I know sleeping with him would just make me like him more.

I need a breather, need to get my distance and keep my head or whatever the saying is. I need to calm the fuck down, basically.

So I, being a mature adult, decide to avoid him.

I make it five days.

Five days of missed calls and intentionally unseen smoke signals.

Then he apparently decides to stoop to my level and figure out how to text, because five days after the most extravagant dinner date of my life, my phone dings.

If you ignore one more of my calls, I’m going to buy Dancers in Blue and light it on fire.

I spend exactly eighty-three seconds debating if he’s serious. I mean... surely not, right? I know he’s richer than sin, but he wouldn’t just burn fifty million dollars.

Right?

Rational thought and self preservation be damned, I pick up the phone when it starts to ring.

“That, Rhysand, was emotional manipulation.”

“Yes, it was.” He’s shameless. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.” I don’t know why I bother lying, since I’m apparently such shit at it, but I do. “I’ve been busy.”

Yes, very busy with watching nine movies in the past four days.

“With...?”

Inspiration dawns. “My senior project.”

“Oh, really?” A nervous sweat breaks out across my back at the knowing tone of his voice, and I begin to doubt my genius. “What’s the subject?”

“Uh, well-”

“Now that we’ve reestablished you’re a horrible liar, tell me what’s really going on.”

If he were here, I’d strangle him.

Or maybe kiss him.

“I need a few days,” I mutter, upset with myself for being an open book.

“Why?”

His simple question makes me think he doesn’t want space. Is he as into me as I am to him? Is that even possible?

“Because I like you,” I say honestly, having learned my lesson about lying.

Rhysand’s quiet for a long moment, then he chuckles. “I see the issue.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Answer the door.”

What? “There’s no one at the door.”

At least there shouldn’t be, because I didn’t invite anyone over.

“Incorrect.”

Eyes already narrowed, I stomp over and fling the door open, practically ripping it off its hinges in my frustration. He’s leaning against the brick stoop, looking sexier than socks on a rooster in a midnight blue shirt and black slacks, smiling at me.

“You are not allowed to avoid me just because you like me,” he states, brushing past me without invitation.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

He kisses my brow. “I like you, too.”

“Okay, but-”

“And I have cake.” He holds up a clear box, allowing me a glimpse of the fluffy chocolate deliciousness inside.

It’s almost annoying how well he knows me, because chocolate cake is my vice.

I try to think of another protest that won’t que him in to why I’m actually scared, but he cuts me off because of course, he already knows. “I won’t touch you, I promise. Even if you ask.”

My lips twitch. “Even if I ask?”

“Even if you beg,” he states with confidence, strolling into the kitchen like he owns the place. He looks around, face not giving a single detail away as he takes in everything.

Thankfully, I’m not a slob, so the place isn’t dirty, but it’s definitely not a penthouse apartment.

It’s a tiny old townhouse, barely big enough to even be called that. The water is lukewarm, never hot, and I had to just take the smoke detector out of the ceiling so it would stop beeping.

It’s part of my scholarship, and compared to where most college students live, it’s a dream, so I don’t complain.

His eyes roam over half-done canvases and art supplies, pictures of my sisters, random shit I don’t have the heart to throw away.

I sigh and bump him aside with a hip so I can grab two forks, then motion for him to follow me. We head into the living room, and I flop onto the couch dramatically, then motion for him to hand me the cake.

Sitting next to me with far more class, he flips open the lid and hands me a fork. “Chocolate mousse.”

“I’m going to be three hundred pounds if you keep feeding me,” I warn as I take a bite, not at all concerned with that possibility.

“I think you’ll be fine.”

I grab the remote and flip through movies, eventually sighing in defeat and putting on Scarface.

“Seriously?” he asks around a mouthful of cake, fighting a smile.

“It’s my favorite movie, and nothing good’s on anyway.”

He looks at me like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across, but settles down and flings an arm around me. Fighting the urge to tell him this breaks his whole ‘no touching’ rule, I snuggle into his side.

Maybe it’s the cake, or the fact that I’m horrible at staying awake through a movie past eight o’clock, but I drift off to sleep, my face pressed into his chest.

~Rhysand~

I finish the movie--fucking Scarface--even though she fell asleep a while ago.

She’s soft and warm against me, body relaxed into mine without an ounce of hesitation.

She tried to hide it, but I know why she didn’t want to see me.

She’s falling for me.

Which, technically, is the plan.

Technically, everything is going great.

Except she’s fucking worming her way into my heart too. Which is so goddamn annoying, it makes me want to strangle her. Or maybe kiss her.

Being with her is... a wonderful kind of torture.

She’s beautiful and charming and doesn’t look at me with an ounce of fear in her bright blue eyes, but it’s also like holding up a mirror that shows me the worst parts of myself.

I hear her laugh and am reminded of the last time I laughed and loved freely. I see her beautiful soul and compare it to the bleakness of my own.

I look at her blind innocence and force myself to not care that I’ll be the one who robs her of it.

Maybe that’s why I finish the movie. I give myself two hours to sit here and enjoy her company, two hours where she doesn’t hate me or curse the day I was born.

But then the credits role, and I have to pull my head our of my ass and get on with it, no matter how much I don’t want to.

Moving slowly so she doesn’t stir, I lift her into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, fingers playing in the hair at my nape, and sighs happily.

I wish she wouldn’t do shit like that.

I wish she was heartless and cruel and cold.

I make my way up the creaky stairs to her room, then put her on the unmade bed, the covers horribly messy around her. The moonlight coming through the open window illuminates her skin and allows me to see how vulnerable she looks.

She’s in tiny little shorts that shouldn’t be legal, and a thin white shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide what’s underneath. Her hair’s a mess around her, her lips are parted, and there’s a calm, peaceful look on her face.

It’s perfect.

It’s horrible.

Taking a deep breath and running a hand through my hair, I tell myself not to care.

But as I take out my phone and snap a picture, my hands still shake.

And as I type the message I’ve been mentally drafting for years, I feel like I’m going to be sick.

But as much as I hate myself for it, a feeling of victory shoots through me as I hit send. Revenge, it seems, really is sweet.

And I’m just getting started.

___________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @alpha-omegas @joyceortiz13 @sapphic-beauty @meowsekai @ahappyhistorianreader @courtofjurdan @acalypsot @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou�� @bamchickawowow @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #feyre x rhys #rhysand #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury

161 notes · View notes

dramaqueeenamby · 4 years ago

Text

Waves: The Dinner

A/N: Not a single soul asked for this, but I couldn’t shake the idea, so here we are. Let me know if you like Waves content where the twins are older or naw.

Words: 3.5K

Warnings: None

TAGS: @babe-im-bi @notacamelthatsmywife @missyperle @queenoftheworldisdead @tashawar @valkryienymph @letsshamelessqueen-m @liquorlaughslove @lettytheletdown @hello-therree @missdforever @mani-lifes @toni9 @koko-michelle

Waves

“You ask him.”

“Me?”

“No. Doggy. Yes, you, dummy.”

Elysha ignored the insult and settled for her initial follow-up question. “Why me?”

“Because he likes you better.”

“Bullshit,” she scoffed, reaching to steal one of Emmett’s pretzels. She scowled, however, when he snatched it from her and swallowed it whole. “Creep.”

“Lee, you know the rules.” The twins neglected to hide their surprise when Christopher sauntered into the kitchen, a faux stern expression on his face. “No bullying each other when the other person can hear it.”

While Elysha smirked, Emmett rolled his eyes and muttered, “told you.”

Christopher chuckled and walked to the fridge, leaning over to pull out the pack of meat he’d pulled from the freezer the night before. “So, I take it you don’t want us to go to the dealership this weekend, eh?”

As Emmett’s eyes lit up with excitement, Elysha groaned and crossed her arms. “Papa, that’s not fair. Why is it he gets a new car and I don’t?”

“Because your brother held up his end of the bargain, while you, my beautiful little girl, did not,” Christopher reminded, handing the meat to Emmett who placed it on the counter and waited for his dad to reach him the rest of the ingredients. He checked the time on his Apple watch and mentally cursed. Damn, it was already time for dinner.

Elysha was seconds away from pouting and stomping. “Papa, I saved up money, too.”

“Yes, you did,” Christopher agreed, closing the fridge with a bottle of beer in one hand. “And you spent it all on a pair of boots.”

“But they were Gucci!”

“Good luck driving Gucci to school next week.”

“Shut up, Emmett!”

“What did I just say about bullying?” Christopher lectured as he instructed Emmett to hand him the stainless steel skillet. “Not when the other person can hear it.” A beat. “And you’ll be driving your sister to school, mate, so don’t be too smug.”

Elysha rolled her eyes and caught the way Emmett nodded his head in their father’s direction, eyes widening to convey the unspoken but urgent message.

Do it now!

Clearing her throat, she sauntered over to the counter where her father was starting to prep, hopping up, and earning a sideway glance.

“You’re lucky your mom’s not here,” he murmured, failing to tell her to get down. “Alright, what is it and how much is it gonna cost me?”

She shrugged casually. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Christopher wasn’t even trying to hide his disbelief. “Elysha, do I need to call our lawyer?”

“Papa,” she interjected with the sweetest smile that she could muster. “Emmett and I were wondering, if, well-” She took a deep breath while playing with her fingers. “We want to invite two people over for dinner.”

Christopher looked over at the meat. “How much do you think they’ll eat?”

“Not tonight,” Emmett interjected. “Maybe this Friday?” He took a deep breath, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s not just any two people, dad. It’s….the two people we’re talking to.”

Deep down, Christopher knew what his kids were trying to tell, err, ask him. However, if he wasn’t anything else, he was stubborn and could play the hell out of the obtuse role. “Jesus, all the people you have in my house for parties and you mean to tell me you two only talk to two of them?”

“No, papa, he means talking to, as if, ya know, dating.” A beat. “And mama said this is her house, you’re just a renter.”

“What? When did she say--never mind.” He could come back to that. One problem at a time. “So, why invite them over for dinner? Why not just throw another party you think your mother and me won’t find out about?”

Emmett ignored the sly remark about the parties. His dad was right. “Because we actually want you guys to meet them.”

Christopher carried the bowl over to the sink, turning on the faucet. “Is that so?” He saw the kids nod out the corner of his eye and asked, “have you asked your mother about this?”

“Not yet,” Elysha answered. “We figured we’d ask you first since you actually do all the cooking.”

“And because we were also hoping you could ask her for us.

“See, push long enough, and the truth always comes out from you two.” As the twins exchanged nonverbal communication, Christopher pondered their question. In the long line of expensive and wild things his kids had requested over the years, this was relatively tame, and it would cost nothing. Nothing monetary, at least. “Fine. Friday at 5. I’ll talk to your mother.”

“Seriously?” Elysha didn’t want to give him time to rethink his answer. Hopping off the counter, she gave him a tight side hug. “Thank you, papa. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively, seconds before Elysha buzzed out of the kitchen to call Jason and tell him that they were on.

“Thank you, dad.” Emmett kept it brief, squeezing his dad’s shoulders while sliding his phone out his pocket to see if Madi could Facetime when Christopher called out.

“Where are you going, mate? It’s your night to help me fix dinner.”

“But--”

“Unless you want to switch shifts with your sister, so you clean and she helps.”

He could have put up a fight, but considering Christopher had already agreed to both the dinner and talking to Summer for them, Emmett realized he had to pick his battles.

“What do you need me to do?”

------

“What are they even doing dating in the first place? They should be focused on school.”

“Babe, they’re straight A Honor Roll students.”

“Well, then, their sports.”

Summer sighed, securing the silk scarf around her edges. “Both are captains.”

“Work with me here, Elsa.”

She looked at him through her vanity mirror, eyebrow raised. “You want my help?” Standing up, she sauntered over to her husband, placing her arms around his waist. “Let it go, Kristoff.”

“Summer, our children are in the middle of a teenlife crisis. This is no time for games.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away, going to remove the decorative pillows from their bed. “Most parents would kill to have their kids let them know who they’re dating--”

“They’re not dating them. They’re talking.”

“--Our kids are inviting them over just so they can meet us, and you’re upset?” Hearing it aloud made her laugh. “Baby, people are dying. Find something else to grow gray hairs over.”

Christopher paused, watching her peel back her side of the blankets and climb in. “That’s low, swimming pool. Even for you.” A beat. “Maybe they’re being blackmailed.”

Summer sighed as he finally joined her in bed. She moved her body across the mattress, pressing herself into his side as he wrapped his arms around her. “You need a hobby.”

“How can I enjoy life when my children are suffering?”

“Oh my god.” Summer sat up in the bed and forced him on his back, climbing on top of him, hands restricting his wrist. “Christopher, the kids are alright. You, however, I am starting to worry about.” Any trace of humor depleted as she frowned while caressing his cheek, fingers playing with the hair of his beard. Scruffy Christopher was always her favorite. “Our babies are growing up, babe. We can’t stop it, no matter how much we may want to. We just have to be there for them, be supportive of them, so long as they’re not hurting themselves or anybody.” She moved her index finger to his mouth to silence him. “You will be fine, sir.”

He sighed, gently moving her hands up and down her sides. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“Oh, I’m imploding on the inside,” she admitted casually, lowering herself so her lips grazed his. “But, I’m also an EGOT winner, baby.” She moved her mouth to his ear, giving a slight tug with her teeth. “I can fake anything.”

Summer yelped when he switched so that his body was over his. “Not anything.”

------

“This is a bad idea. A terrible idea.”

Emmett looked over at Madi who was currently looking into her compact mirror, applying another unnecessary layer of mascara. She caught him looking and motioned to the road. “Focus.”

Emmett rolled his eyes and reached over, placing a hand on her lap. “Would you relax? They’re going to love you.”

“That’s easy for you to say. They’re your parents.” She leaned her head against the car window, mindful of her bun. It wasn’t easy fighting box braids in a bun, and she surely did not have time to do a redo. “You don’t get it. Your parents are….you freaking mom is….she’s my idol. She’s every little black girl’s idol, and now I’m just supposed to walk up to her, extend my hand, and say, ‘Hi, Mrs. Hemsworth. I worship you. Also, I’m dating your son.”

Emmett shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” Madi reached over and shrugged him when Emmett grabbed her hand and brought it to her mouth. “I promise it’s going to be fine.”

She sighed, leaning back and looking at him while she gently asked. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled. “Do what?”

“Make me feel better so easily.”

Emmett smiled and winked. “I got my daddy’s charm.”

Madi smirked and lowered the armrest. “You also have his car.”

Emmett sucked his teeth. “I’m getting mine soon.” She laughed. “I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are, baby. I’m sure you are.”

------

“Are you insane, Elysha?”

She sighed, switching out her textbooks. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Jason’s eyes nearly doubled in size as he stared down at her. “Your dad is going to kill me. That’s the big deal.” Elysha laughed, checking the time on her watch. Being late for class was a pet peeve of hers. There was no excuse. “Oh, I’m glad you find my upcoming murder funny. Why don’t you just livestream it, too?”

“You are completely overreacting,” she sighed, shutting her locker and keeping her hand flat on the locker. “My dad isn’t like that. He’s super chill.”

“Chill?” He repeated her term while accepting the books she handed him so that she could adjust her uniform top. “I’m sorry, but have you seen your dad? He’s freaking huge.”

Sighing, she relieved him from the books after being satisfied with her tie. “Okay, and?”

As she began to walk, Jason kept the same pace with her, lowering his voice so that the other students couldn’t overhear. “Wait, are your uncles going to be there too? Fuck. I’m so screwed.”

While she understood his concern, she couldn’t help but find the whole thing humorous. Everyone seemed to believe her dad’s size meant he was a holy terror when it was the complete opposite. “Jason, my uncles are even more chill than my dad. Trust me.”

“On your mom’s side too?”

She laughed. “Oh no, they’re all crazy.” Elysha placed her arm around his waist when he moved his around her. “No, I promise my parents are going to love you, and that includes my dad.”

“I’m the first guy you’ve ever introduced to them, huh?” Her silence didn’t help. “Even better.”

She stopped walking, forcing him to do the same. Naturally, people walked around them, no one wanting to interrupt one of the “it” couples on campus. “Look, Jason, if you don’t want to do this, then you don’t have to. I just-I just wanted you to meet my parents, because I want them to know about you.”

“Stop,” he interrupted, shaking his head and cupping her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I just, I really like you, and I just-I want to make the best first impression that I can.” He dropped his hands, taking hers in his. “I want them to know how crazy I am about their daughter.”

She smiled, looking down to hide her bashfulness, only for him to bring his finger under her chin. He matched her smile. “What time do you want me to be there?”

------

“They’re here!”

Summer and Christopher shared a look, his sigh of exasperation forcing her to walk over to him, placing her hands on his chest. “Be nice.”

“I’m letting them in my house, aren’t I?” Summer slapped his arm, forcing him to relent. “Fine. I’ll be fair. For now.”

“There will be no embarrassing stories or threats of violence issued, do I make myself clear?” Summer wagged her finger and turned away, purposely switching her hips, hiding her smirk when her husband slapped her ass and whistled.

“Mama! Papa!”

“Coming,” Summer called out, speeding up her pace as she made her way out the study and down the hall, allowing a kind smile to grace her face as she was met with her children and their friends.

Elysha was the first to speak, clearing her throat. “Mama, this is--”

“Jason,” she guessed, withholding her laugh when Elysha seemed surprised, while Summer pointed to the tall young man with striking green eyes and dark brown hair that grazed past his ears. Strangely enough, he reminded her of Christopher in some of the family albums she’d been shown during one of the many family dinners with her in-laws.

“I told you I have eyes in the back of my head.” Jason gave a nervous laugh that prompted her to take it easy on him. He seemed terrified.

Finally, he spoke, giving a weak clearing of his throat.. “Yes ma’am. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Elysha cleared her throat, reminding him about the flowers in his hands. “I’m sorry. These are for you.”

“Thank you.” Her smile widened as she sniffed them. “Gardenias. One of my favorites.”

He seemed relieved by that information, prompting her to turn to the young wide eyed girl who also looked as though she was close to passing out.

Emmett took advantage of the opportunity to introduce Madi. Summer smirked when she saw he had his hand on the small of the young lady’s back. “And mama, this is-”

“Madi.” Again, Summer was correct and almost offended by the surprise on their faces. “Do ya’ll not believe me when I tell you that I know everything?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s so nice to meet you as well--”

“--Madi.”

“--I love you.”

They spoke at the same time. Summer laughed and placed her hand on Madi’s shoulder who was clearly mortified by her unintentional confession.

“I mean--I don’t--I mean, I do, but….” Madi shut her eyes and quietly murmured, “I’ll just shut up now.”

Summer shook her head, never once dropping her friendly smile.

“You both need to relax. I promise you have nothing to be nervous about.” She nodded in the direction of the dining room. “Come on.” Summer guided the four to the room, stepping aside to allow them to enter while she turned around to direct them to their seats when Christopher finally decided to make his presence known.

“Sorry about that.” He rubbed his hands on the towel in his hands before tossing it over his shoulder. He approached Madi first. “Madison?”

She was clearly awestruck, eventually shaking her head to accept her handshake. “Please, call me Madi, Mr. Hemsworth. It’s so nice to meet you.”

He waved her off and smiled. “Chris is fine.” That smile dimmed when his eyes landed on Jason. “Hello.”

Elysha grabbed his hand, giving a light squeeze. “Papa, this is Jason.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason,” Christopher forced, squeezing Jason’s hand tighter than necessary but just enough to get his message across. “You play any sports, mate?”

“No. I mean, yes--basketball.” He swallowed deeply, remembering something else. “I also surf as well, Chris.”

“Mr. Hemsworth will be fine,” he corrected.

Summer rolled her eyes and shoved him. “Pay him no mind. Ya’ll sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

“I’m sure you already have, though.” Christopher joked, earning a glare from Summer. “Come on, babe. No one throws a party like the twins.” A beat. “Speaking of, I’d say we could give you a tour, but I’m sure you both already know your way around.”

“Ignore him,” Summer interjected, shooting him a glare. “He’s still upset that you kids are able to throw a party better than we ever could when we were your age.”

That seemed to alleviate more of Jason’s nerves. “You used to party, Mrs. Hemsworth?”

“Boy,” she laughed. “If you don’t call me Summer.” Elysha smiled up at him, giving him a slight squeeze of his hand. “And what do you mean used to?”

Madi was also fully invested in the conversation, her fangirling almost impossible to contain. “You really are even nicer in person.”

“Don’t be fooled. It’s all an act.” Christopher interjected, walking over to pull the chair out for her. He noticed how Jason did the same for Elysha, and of course, Emmett with Madi.

“Ignore him. He’s actually hired help.”

Summer and Christopher shared a look as he rolled his eyes while murmuring. “Cute.” Sitting in his own seat, he jumped into the questions. “So, kids, tell us about yourselves.”

Madi and Jason shared a look when he told her to go first. Again, something else Christopher noticed.

“Well, I’m a junior, an only child, and my dad is in the Navy--”

“So, your family is stationed here?” Summer surmised.

“Yes ma’am.” Christopher and Summer exchanged a look, but unlike the previous ones, this was not a warning from wife to husband. This one was of silent concern. Madi wasn’t an Australian native. She would eventually return to the states. Both mother and father quietly wondered if that was something Emmett was taking into consideration.

After briefly discussing the shared commonalities of having active duty family members, Christopher turned the question back to Jason. “And what about you, young man?”

Summer contained her sigh at the way his eyes widened before he tentatively spoke. “Well, sir--”

“Chris is fine.”

Both Summer and Elysha looked over at that last statement, Summer with a smirk and Elysha with a small smile. Chris looked at his daughter and shot her a wink.

Jason, to Summer’s happiness, seemed thrilled by the stripping of the formal address.

“I, well, my family is originally from Melbourne--”

“Melbourne native, eh?”

“Yes, sir. My, uh, dad got a job up here when I was eight, and we’ve been here ever since.”

“Any siblings?”

Jason chuckled. “Believe it or not, two. I’m the middle child.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Christopher shrugged. “I’d say we’re the best.”

“Elysha and Madi.” Summer stood up and nodded to the kitchen. “Help me prepare the toss salad.”

“Yes ma’am.” Elysha also stood up and shot a reassuring look to Jason while Emmett gave one to Madi as well. As soon as the ladies were in the kitchen and the swinging doors shut, Summer released a sigh of relief. “Finally, that was too much testosterone.”

Madi laughed. “You and Mr--Chris are really nice, Summer.”

Elysha nodded and playfully bumped Madi with her hip. “Told you they were chill. Even my dad is being surprisingly nice to Jason.”

“Ladies, trust me, if Chris didn’t really like either of you, he would let you know. He’s just giving Jason a hard time because Elysha is his little girl. He’s always going to be protective.” She reached the bowl to Madi while speaking. “Just how I’m protective of my little boy.” Madi’s smile dimmed. “So you can imagine how proud I am to see his amazing taste in women.” She winked and laughed when Madi placed her hand over her chest.

She straightened up and spoke truthfully. “I really do like Emmett, Summer. He’s….he’s amazing.”

“He’s a jerk.”

“Shut it, Elysha,” Summer warned with a small head shake. “You know, Madi, you should join Lee and me on one of our spa days.”

Her jaw dropped. “A-are you serious?” She looked at Elysha who seemed just as thrilled by the idea of a spa day with her mom and good friend.

“Of course, and Emmett told me you’re in theater with Lee, so if you ever need any advice or have any questions, I’m always available.”

“I’m going to pass out.”

Summer laughed and gave Madi a side hug. “Welcome to the family, Ms. Madi.”

Just as Elysha and Madi shared excited squeals, Emmett stuck his head in the door.

“Mama, ya’ll almost done?”

“Boy, don’t rush us.”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry, mama, it’s just that Uncle Liam is here--”

“What?” She interrupted, hand on her hip. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“I don’t know, but dad just asked Jason how he feels about weekly, random drug tests.”

“Christopher!”

#chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfiction #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth x black!reader #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x black!oc #fic: waves

97 notes · View notes

planetesastraea · 4 years ago

Text

On the tip of his tongue

Read Part 1: On the Tip of his Fingers

Geraskier, Modern AU - Explicit - 10 179 words - Warnings: none

Character study, developing relationship, banter, feelings, Geralt vs words, bisexual!Geralt, bottom!Geralt, top!Jaskier, first time, handjobs, blowjobs, anal sex. Also contains pizza (mentioned)

Betaed by the wonderful @oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co

Read on AO3

That morning Jaskier got woken up by a soft but firm hand on his shoulder and a husky voice saying his name.

“Hmmf?” was his very articulate reply, definitely worthy of the Creative Writing and Composition in Medieval Times professor he was. “Three words or less,” he would always say to motivate his students to answer questions during class and to start a conversation. Damn, they would have been proud.

“I gotta go,” the deep voice whispered and the previous evening suddenly came back to Jaskier. Geralt. Wow. Geralt . He sat up and blinked a few times before realising his eyes were open but the sun wasn’t up yet. Geralt was but a silhouette in the dark, his smell a mix of long-forgotten aftershave and well remembered sex.

“Mmokay,” Jaskier mumbled, rubbing one eye with his palm. “Thanks for telling me,” he said sleepily. There was a pause and he realised the sentence didn’t land well.

“Sorry. Didn’t want to sneak out,” Geralt replied tightly.

“Yeano, yeah- I meant it. Sorry. Me,” Jaskier said, pointing towards his own face in the dark, and thus proving the point to no one but himself, “not a morning person.”

Geralt snorted softly. Jaskier was overcome with a powerful wave of fondness and a guttural need to reach out and kiss him. Gods bless adorable bi himbos at law.

“I should get going,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought he heard some hesitation in his voice. The mattress dipped slightly as Geralt moved to stand up, and Jaskier reached out blindly. His hand found the inside of Geralt’s elbow and then slid down softly to the man’s wrist, finding his palm.

“Wait,” Jaskier said and Geralt waited. Then it dawned on him that he was supposed to say something . “Do you want to… see me again?” he offered, truly bringing his A-game as the (supposedly) most romantic man in the continent. (He was not boasting. It had simply been brought to his attention by many of his exes, and who was he to question the opinion of the people?) He tried not to sound too hopeful but it was too early in the morning and his acting skills needed a warm-up. After all, one couldn’t just naturally wake up that good.

The silence stretched in a way that made him uncomfortable, especially since Geralt was practically invisible in front of him. Geralt’s fingers brushed his and something in his chest relaxed, but only for a moment.

“I can’t,” Geralt started, making Jaskier’s heart drop, “make promises.”

And okay that wasn’t the worst he could have said but also - uh what ? “Okay? Well I- I’m not asking you to?”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt, I- I had a really nice time with you, you know? And I’d really like to have more… nice times with you. And not just sex, I mean, yes, sex was fantastic, it was , but also, well- what I mean is, I don’t expect you to like, abandon your life or whatever, I just-” he was running out of breath. “Gosh I’m talking too much again, fuck, please, say something? I’m getting zero feedback here and you have to know I’m gonna keep talking until you cut me off-”

“Sorry,” Geralt sighed, his fingers threading between Jaskier’s. “It’s just- This is… I haven’t been with someone in a while and,” he said with hesitation and left the sentence unfinished.

And never with a man , Jaskier thought, pretty sure of what was coming next. “Right,” he said, feeling his throat tighten. Not like he wasn’t used to falling for people who just didn’t have the same life plan- or day plan , even.

“But I think I would,” Geralt said, “like to see you again, I mean.”

“Wait, what?“ Jaskier’s brain derailed.

“I’d like to see you again?” Geralt repeated and it sounded even better the second time.

“Oh.”

"I… had a nice time, too.”

“Oh. Good,” Jaskier whispered, relief washing over him and unlocking the door to yearning. He moved forward, closer to Geralt, his hand sliding up to his shoulder, finding his cheek and feeling the beginning of a stubble under his fingers. “Good,” Jaskier murmured again. Feeling Geralt lean into him was the best reward. He moved his head closer and his nose rubbed softly against Geralt’s, the intimacy sweeter than some of the sex he’d had in the past.

Geralt inclined his head slightly and pressed a chaste, tender kiss against Jaskier’s lips.

Once they parted, phone numbers were exchanged and the soft wish of getting in touch soon was expressed - or, rather, as Jaskier put it as he walked Geralt to the door, “in touch and, well, in touch .” A freaking poet.

The morning after they “had a milkshake” - as Jaskier nicknamed their first close encounter - Geralt had gone home right before sunrise to find Eskel wide awake, sitting on the living room couch, a book on his lap. Eskel had looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and pressed his lips together to suppress a smile. “Coffee?” was all he had said and Geralt had been oh so grateful.

In the days that followed, he learned a bit more about Jaskier. He taught both poetry and musicology at university, gave private lessons, and performed with his band from time to time. Spring meant preparing finals, helping students to rehearse for auditions, and getting ready for the upcoming festivals The Bard would participate in. Between his schedule and Geralt’s, over a month had gone before they saw each other in the flesh again. But texting? Texting was definitely a Jaskier thing.

A couple of hours after Geralt had left, Jaskier had sent him a text saying “my bed misses you” . Geralt had promptly walked from one meeting to another, only realising at 6.30 pm during a phone call from Assengard, as he caught sight of the restaurant from across the street, that he had left Jaskier hanging. He tried to think of something clever on his way to pick Ciri up from her fencing class. To his surprise, his idea had worked very well on Jaskier.

Of course, as with most things concerning Jaskier, Geralt quickly discovered, it was prone to get out of hand. The man had decided that “the milkshake” would become “a thing”. The fact that Geralt’s favourite order at Denise’s included a vanilla milkshake with cream on top was apparently hilarious for reasons Geralt could not understand.

Since then, Geralt would receive texts from Jaskier every few days, ranging from “thinking of u” to “which one of these says ‘I am a 100%-responsible adult person who will turn your child into a virtuoso if you allow me to teach them?’” with a picture of two button-down shirts attached.

Geralt had left him on read , the bastard.

After the six most frustrating weeks of his life - yes, more frustrating than the whole summer he spent sharing a flat with a Spanish model who had very loud, very heterosexual sex on the other side of their paper-thin, shared bedroom wall - Jaskier finally got his hands back on his favourite lawyer’s ass.

They had agreed Geralt would meet him at his place that Friday after work. And so, Jaskier spent the afternoon trying to convince himself he could mark students’ essays, and was absolutely not in the hellish head-space where nervousness meets horniness. (He made it through five so he counted it as a win.)

He had changed outfits three times in two hours, and had promised Essi he absolutely was not falling for some seemingly perfect person who would then turn out to have a secret wife, three children and a dog (“Well since you’re asking, he has a very public ex-wife, one daughter, and a horse.” “A horse?” “Yup.” “What the hell?” “I have no fucking clue.”)

Jaskier was busy adjusting a sofa pillow to make it appear tidy-but-casual when the bell rang, making him jump out of his skin.

When he opened the door, Geralt looked like he was two seconds away from running back down the stairs and disappearing forever in some mysterious vineyard near Toussaint. Geralt, being the absolute asshole that he was, also looked like a fucking god amongst humans so Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of him once again. He had almost forgotten how stunning the man was.

“Hi,” Geralt said.

Jaskier shook himself out of his dreamy smitten state and felt a tingle in his cheeks as he blushed. “Hey, come on in,” he said, waving the man inside.

Geralt had his hair tied in a casual bun and was wearing a black winter coat way above Jaskier’s pay grade. Gods, what a sight. Jaskier was fucked .

“Are you-”

“So how’s-”

They both started and stopped at the same time, which made Jaskier laugh and Geralt shake his head as he looked away, a side of his mouth rising into a smile. Boy, Jaskier thought, if Geralt was half as fond of him as he was of Geralt, they’d be married in three years, move to a farm in five, and adopt every stray dog in the area a year after that at the latest.

“Can I take your coat?” Jaskier offered.

As Geralt nodded, Jaskier got his hands on the lapels of Geralt’s coat, fingers absent-mindedly pressing against Geralt’s chest, feeling the soft wool, and the strong pecs underneath all the layers. A moment passed and he realised Geralt hadn’t moved an inch. He stopped staring at his own hand and, as he looked up, realised Geralt was looking at him. Or more like, looking at his mouth.

There was a beat and they both moved forward, catching each other’s lips.

“Fuck, is it ok to say I’ve missed you?” Jaskier breathed between two kisses.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, pushing Jaskier against the door and leaving his lips to kiss and suck the skin of his neck.

“Ah, okay, I’ll take that as a yes,” he half-moaned and got Geralt’s mouth back against his, kissing like he just couldn’t get enough- because he couldn’t. Geralt got rid of his coat, letting it fall onto the floor.

“M-maybe we should take a second to hang it. It looks expensive.”

“It’s a gift from my ex,” Geralt mumbled against Jaskier’s skin, biting tentatively at his Adam’s apple.

“Or we could stomp all over it,” Jaskier deadpanned. Geralt laughed against his throat and Jaskier felt it resonate through his chest.

“So you’re the possessive kind, then?”

“Uh,” Jaskier bit his lip, “only if that turns you on.”

Geralt kissed a line up to Jaskier’s ear and caressed him through his trousers as he nibbled at his earlobe. In the softest, most quiet whisper, he murmured: “It does.”

Jaskier groaned with pleasure and Geralt kissed him in earnest, his hand still fondling the man’s inseam. He pressed his pelvis against Jaskier’s and both moaned from the supplementary friction.

“Let me try something?” Geralt asked against Jaskier’s lips before promptly getting down onto his knees.

“Oh, wow, okay,” Jaskier gasped as Geralt went straight for his belt. “Ah- w-wait, you- you sure?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, undoing the man’s button and zipper until Jaskier’s hands came to rest softly over his.

“No, I’m serious, you don’t have to.”

"I know,” Geralt answered, looking up at him. “I want to.”

“Okay. Okay. Just stop if it’s not good with you, right?”

“Right.”

He pulled Jaskier’s trousers down, not wasting any time. The curved line of his hardening cock was obvious under his underwear and Geralt slowed down, caressing the back of Jaskier’s thigh with one hand, the other moving up to his crotch. He palmed Jaskier through his boxer briefs (his navy blue boxer briefs) and was delighted to see him try to control his breathing through the surging wave of desire.

“Take them off for me?” Geralt asked, his voice rough with arousal.

Jaskier breathed out shakingly and slid his thumbs under the waistband, pulling his underwear down under Geralt’s relentless attention. Unable to stop himself, Jaskier took his own cock in hand and stroked himself, humming with pleasure with the first movement of his wrist. Geralt was sitting on his ankles, mesmerised.

“You like watching?” Jaskier asked, and even though the answer was pretty obvious, Geralt didn’t say it out loud. He raised to his knees, kissing the inside of Jaskier’s thighs, every breath softly tickling Jaskier’s skin, the hand maintaining its rhythm.

Moving upwards, Geralt’s tongue darted out to lick Jaskier’s balls, surprising him so much the back of his head hit the door, generating a moan which turned into a wince and then back into a moan again. Geralt’s smile shaped the kiss he pressed on Jaskier’s thigh as his fingers brushed through the man’s pubic hair, and slid up to find Jaskier’s hand, slowing it down.

Jaskier felt Geralt’s hot breath coming closer to his cock and had to bite his lower lip when the other man’s lips brushed against his fingers, kissing them one by one, silently asking him to let go. Jaskier didn’t need much convincing until, of course, fuck his goddamn unstoppable brain, a thought occurred to him.

“Wait!” he exclaimed and, at least, was blessed with the sight of Geralt looking up at him with surprise, his lips apart, tongue visible, and… Fuck, he looked so innocent and yet devilishly hot like this.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Just- safety, right? You can, uh, get STIs. From, you know, sucking off someone unprotected. So you should be safe, you know.”

“Uh,” Geralt frowned. “Do you have STIs I should worry about?”

“No, I’m clean. I just mean, you know, in general.”

“I don’t need sex ed, Jaskier.”

“I know,“ he said, unconvincingly. "I’m just saying. Cause, like, it matters, and, you… well, you know.”

“I know,” he nodded even though he didn’t really. “Anything else?” he asked, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

“Well, you shouldn’t take my word for it.”

“What?” Well, he only had himself to blame, right? He did ask.

“That I’m clean. I mean you can’t take people’s word for it, sometimes people just-”

“ Jaskier. I’ve slept with strangers before,” Geralt said bluntly, missing the brief pained look on Jaskier’s face at being classified as a stranger . “You’re clean. I’m clean. If you’re fine with this, I’m fine with this.”

“Yes. Yeah, I am. I am. Sorry,” Jaskier shook his head. “Did I just ruin it? It’s just, it matters you know, so I figured-”

“Jask. I get it. It’s fine,” Geralt said, rubbing his thumbs on each of Jaskier’s hip bones. “Can I suck your cock, now?” he asked softly. Jaskier’s worries disappeared from his mind instantly, and he nodded enthusiastically about twelve times above the consent limit.

Geralt took him into his hand and stroked him, slowly but firmly, further limiting his brain’s already diminished access to oxygen. Geralt’s other hand had reached out to fondle his ass and his fingers began to lightly drum along the back of Jaskier’s thigh, brushing softly, ghosting against his skin, and sending a brand new kind of sparks of want to Jaskier’s cock.

After a few strokes, Geralt brought his lips to the base of Jaskier’s shaft, kissing the hairs in a way one could have described as chaste if it hadn’t been happening so close to another man’s dick. He then proceeded to drop fuller kisses on the soft skin of Jaskier’s cock, pressing his lips against the skin almost reverently as his hand kept working Jaskier. When he was satisfied with the soft noises and the sound of fast breathing above him, he guided his hand back to the base of Jaskier’s cock, pumping a few times before guiding the tip of Jaskier’s dick to his mouth as he licked .

“Fffuck-” Jaskier gasped, and Geralt smiled.

Wetting his lips, he opened his mouth and wrapped it around the very tip of Jaskier’s cock, kissing it wetly, his tongue running against the underside. He let go, only to kiss the side of the head with an open mouth and then took Jaskier’s cock again.

As soon as he had run into Geralt at the bar, Jaskier had been both mindlessly infatuated and completely unsure what to expect. Geralt’s enthusiasm for learning to give head was definitely one of the things he didn’t see coming.

Geralt’s hand fondled his butt cheek again. As he pressed the tip of his fingers lightly against his sacrum, Jaskier sighed and angled his pelvis forward the way Geralt’s hand invited him to. Geralt took a slow breath through his nose, obviously trying to relax as much as he could as he moved forward, taking in a little more of Jaskier in his mouth and sliding his lips over the ring of Jaskier’s cock.

“Oh,” escaped from Jaskier’s lips as Geralt drew back slightly and took more of him again. “Oh darling, oh, yes, that’s good,” he stammered, caressing Geralt’s cheek before drawing back and slapping his hand against the door to ground himself and to restrain from grabbing the back of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt groaned softly at the loss, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand, closing his eyes as soon as he felt Jaskier’s touch again. He moaned as he kept sucking him slowly, clearly enjoying the guiding hand on his cheek.

“Oh, darling,” Jaskier moaned. His thumb rubbed softly against Geralt’s stubbly cheekbone before his hand slid against his cheek and jaw encouragingly. “Oh, that’s good, yeah that’s- Keep going, love,” he whispered again.

Biting his lower lip, Jaskier kept caressing Geralt’s cheek, whispering sweet nothings and sliding his fingers through the other man’s hair, convinced Geralt would have purred around his cock if he could.

"That’s really good, sweetheart,” and as Geralt enthusiastically took him a tad deeper, he just couldn’t help himself. “Oh, that’s my good boy ,” he moaned and Geralt all but choked on his dick.

Pulling back and resting a hand against the floor, half-slipping on his discarded coat, Geralt coughed and tried to get his breath back from choking on his own spit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry-” Jaskier kneeled by him hastily - and heavily . Having his jeans pooled around his knees wasn’t exactly helping him be graceful. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Geralt rasped, a bright shade of pink all over his face. He coughed again.

“Do you need a drink or something?”

Geralt laughed brokenly through a cough. “To help me forget I could have bitten your dick off?” he asked and Jaskier huffed.

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled, brushing away the hair across Geralt’s face as he leaned to kiss him. “This cock has seen worse.”

“That’s always comforting,” Geralt mumbled against his lips.

Jaskier laughed and caught his lips into another kiss, enjoying the way Geralt sighed comfortably, and held on to the back of his neck. His hand wandered to find the hem of Geralt’s shirt and slipped under his waistband before he arrived at a bright idea. “What if - and I know it’s going to be a very bold, and novel concept, but hear me out - what if we stopped using my front door and living room floor as acceptable fucking surfaces and straight out moved to the bed?”

“Hmm,” Geralt mused falsely. “Didn’t know there was anything straight about you,” he snarked and was met with a playful slap on the breast accompanied by Jaskier’s cackling laughter.

“Oh, look who’s talking now!”

They fumbled to get Jaskier back on his feet - “well I do love to spend time on my knees” - and got rid of the jeans which were annoyingly getting in their way, to then move on to the bedroom.

His bedroom, Jaskier decided, was absolutely ruined . Nothing would ever look better than Geralt sprawled on his bed, naked, his hard cock pressed against his lower belly. If Geralt ever decided to break things off with him - a thought which, despite people often calling him dramatic, he knew was perfectly realistic - Jaskier would have to change the room entirely. He would repaint the walls, get new furniture, burn the bed, maybe, or - to simplify - move places. No, there was no way a single soul could ever sleep on sheets which had touched Geralt’s skin without missing his presence like any respectable bard would miss their medieval lute.

At that moment, however, this bard was straddling Geralt’s lap, his arms around Geralt’s neck, while being held around his middle and kissed languorously. They were both naked, every inch of skin yearning to feel the other, and not a single thing was amiss.

“Would you like to touch yourself for me, darling?” Jaskier asked between two kisses, his voice low and syrupy.

A groan came from the bottom of Geralt’s throat and vibrated against Jaskier’s tongue.

“Fuck, I love the noises you make,” he whispered against Geralt’s lips, catching the man’s tongue in another open-mouth kiss.

Geralt started stroking his own cock and howled, and Jaskier broke the kiss unintentionally, unable to stop smiling at the sheer bestiality of the man.

Jaskier smacked his lips against Geralt’s a few more times as Geralt chased his mouth for more. Curving his hand around Geralt’s cheek, he kissed him one more time before slipping his thumb on his lips. He didn’t expect Geralt to kiss his finger, chastely, then lick its tip and lustfully take it in his mouth. Jaskier didn’t sigh as much as he whined .

“Would you prepare yourself for me?” Jaskier asked, making his intentions clearer, his voice a bit hesitant but hopeful.

Geralt let go of his thumb, letting Jaskier caress his lips lovingly. “Maybe it’s better if you do it,” he said, kissing the inside of Jaskier’s palm in an obvious attempt to hide his face.

“Is it?” Jaskier asked, and Geralt closed his eyes, something like regret written on his face.

“I’m not very good at it,” he grimaced.

“You’ve done it before?”

Geralt hummed, uncomfortable. “Since last time,” he clarified. “It didn’t really- I don’t know, maybe it’s not my thing,” he shrugged, still avoiding Jaskier’s eyes.

“Hey,” Jaskier whispered, his voice coated with kindness, unable to stop himself as he tipped Geralt’s chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. “You can’t become a virtuoso on the first try,” he said.

Geralt frowned but then hid his discomfort behind a playful look. “Are you saying my ass is a musical instrument-”

“Shush, you!” Jaskier giggled. “I’m trying to be serious, for once!” he chastised him.

Geralt snickered and hid his face back into Jaskier’s hand, softly kissing his wrist.

“Maybe you had one of the best orgasms of your life the first time you rubbed one out but we , regular human beings, had to work for it,” he paused for more dramatic flair. “L ong and hard and again and again …” he wiggled his eyebrows and Geralt snorted. “We learn what feels good and what doesn’t. Just because you’re ol-” Geralt gave him a pointed look “ -der doesn’t mean you don’t need to get to know yourself.”

“Nice save,” Geralt deadpanned.

“I know, right? Almost seamless,” Jaskier smiled back, clearly full of shit, and went in for a kiss.

“Hmm,” Geralt sighed. “I think I’d rather-” he hesitated, “get on with it, you know.”

“Get on with it?” It was Jaskier’s turn to raise an unconvinced eyebrow.

“Yeah, just get it done.”

“My, what a romantic you are,” Jaskier snickered and Geralt rolled his eyes, trying to make amends by rubbing Jaskier’s skin with his thumb where his hand rested on his hip.

“You just said it, first times suck. I just gotta- get through it and then, well. Hopefully, we get to the good stuff.”

“G- get through it ? You know this isn’t CrossFit, right?”

Geralt snorted. “You know what I mean,” Geralt said, then bit his lip as he frowned, pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s. “You know I’m not-,” he waved his hand, “good at this.”

“Words?”

He puffed. “Yeah, words.”

“Yeah, I got that. I hear you.” Jaskier smoothly brushed a strand of hair back behind Geralt’s ear. “There’s something else I heard. ‘First times suck’ ? Well challenge accepted, my dear,” he said and Geralt laughed as he kissed him again.

Geralt let himself be slowly pushed down to the bed as they kissed, his hands moving up Jaskier’s back, feeling the muscles along the way. His hand reached the back of Jaskier’s neck, covering it for a moment before he buried his fingers into the man’s hair as they softly ground against each other.

Jaskier slid his hand between them, giving both of their cocks a pull before moving lower. “Raise your legs for me, darling?” he asked in low tones, sliding his hands under Geralt’s knees. He could feel Geralt slightly tensing up as he set his feet to the mattress. It didn’t feel like it had anything to do with the scar Jaskier had brushed with his fingertips.

“Shouldn’t I be on my hands and knees?” he asked in a breath while Jaskier’s hands found their way back to his chest.

“You could,” he kissed a spot on his jaw, caressing Geralt’s pectoral. “You don’t have to.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier?” his voice was fairly tight and Jaskier faintly wondered if it was any clue to the state of his ass- and then kept the thought very much to his stupid dick-jokes self.

“Nah, not necessarily,” he whispered, trying to make his hands into a calming, solid presence against Geralt’s skin, caressing his breasts, his ribs, his clavicles, lining his scars with the care they deserved. Whichever God carved this man’s body, Jaskier swore to worship them until the end of his days.

“It can be straining to hold that position. Also…” Jaskier raised himself to face Geralt, picking up the man’s hand as it slipped over his shoulder and kissed the root of each finger. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it,” he said. “We don’t have to do it today.” He weaved his fingers between Geralt’s and kissed their tips. “And we don’t have to do it ever.”

Geralt’s face became closed off as he took a slow breath in, bolting up the gates before Jaskier had a chance to read him. He raised to meet Jaskier, his hand finding the perfect place at the back of his neck, and kissed him earnestly.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said against his lips.

“Yeah?” Jaskier gasped. “Got you, loud and clear,” Jaskier whispered and leaned into another kiss.

He broke away from Geralt to reach his nightstand drawer, pulling out some lube and condoms. He grabbed a pillow, invited Geralt to raise his hips and slid it underneath.

“Now, where was I?” he said under his breath, settling between Geralt’s legs and rubbing their bodies against each other. Geralt moaned and wrapped a leg around Jaskier’s pelvis, grinding back eagerly.

Holding his thigh with one hand, Jaskier began kissing his neck, licking and biting the skin at his throat, intending to take care of every inch of Geralt’s body. He licked one of Geralt’s nipples, extracting a moan from Geralt when he sucked and scraped his teeth against the strong muscle of his tit. Feeling Geralt slowly relax under his hands, he headed lower, kissing the pale hairy line that led from his navel to his cock.

He squeezed Geralt’s cock gently, carefully caressing the tip with his thumb and watching the precome spread, shiny against the soft skin. He looked up at Geralt as he moved his hand steadily up and down, a spark of ecstasy jumping from his heart to his cock at the sight of Geralt, eyes closed, biting his lower lip. Every moment assured Jaskier that pleasuring this man was actually his entire life’s purpose.

Geralt hummed with pleasure as Jaskier wrapped his lips around his cock, already struggling not to buck his hips when Jaskier took more of him in his mouth.

Jaskier couldn’t help but hum around his dick as he took it in, playing with depth and rhythm like a true maestro, his fingers threading through the light grey curls of Geralt’s pubes. He then let go of Geralt’s cock with an obscene pop that made him laugh and licked up from the spot right above Geralt’s balls.

Geralt’s hips stirred in both pleasure and surprise.

Jaskier got his hands back on the lube as he kissed and licked the man’s balls, encouraged by the whines and groans that escaped Geralt’s throat. He warmed his lubed fingers against each other and caressed Geralt’s ass with what he wouldn’t deny was absolute adoration. “Can I touch you, darling?” he asked, his voice a bit rough.

Geralt breathed a “yeah” and sounded almost like he was begging but Jaskier gracefully didn’t comment on it. (He, however, definitely took note.) Instead, he slid a hand between Geralt’s cheeks and brushed a finger against his hole as his mouth drove back down Geralt’s beautifully thick cock.

Jaskier teased a little, trying out different pressures against the man’s hole before the song of Geralt’s moans left no room for doubt. He slid his forefinger in while his other hand caressed Geralt’s inner thigh and finally felt the heat of Geralt’s body wrapped around his finger. He pulled back slightly and pushed again, this time steadily driving his finger deeper, synching his hand with the movements of his neck.

Despite Geralt’s frequent struggles with words, his gasps and moans were graced with great clarity and proved sufficient to let Jaskier know he was right to keep going. As far as non-verbal cues go, he also quickly found delight in feeling the walls of Geralt’s ass tightening around him and the taste of more precome coating his tongue.

“ Ah , your mouth,” Geralt moaned, reaching out and grasping onto Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier closed his eyes and moaned, aching for better friction than the bit of sheet he could rub his cock against. Grabbing the lube with one hand, he couldn’t help but jerk himself a couple of times as Geralt’s hand kept pulling his hair with each bop of his head.

Pointedly slowing down and looking up, he waited for Geralt’s attention to focus on him. He made a point of keeping their eyes locked as he shamelessly pulled up and let go of his cock. “D’you want another finger, honey?” he asked, perfectly aware of how depraved he had to look with his hair astray and his lips as probably as crimson as the tip of Geralt’s cock.

Geralt pulled him closer and met him with a crushing kiss as he nodded and moaned against Jaskier’s brow. “Hm- wait,” he breathed, holding Jaskier back as he started to let go, “I haven’t touched you at all,” he complained, his hands cupping Jaskier’s ass in a kind but firm grasp.

“Ah- It’s alright, love,” Jaskier said. “We’ve got time for that,” he smiled against Geralt’s lips but before he could leave again, Geralt grabbed his hand.

“I want you to feel as good as I do,” he breathed.

“Oh, trust me, darling, I’m feeling fantastic,” Jaskier grinned. They kissed one more time before Geralt let go of him and Jaskier drove his attention back to his lover’s lower body.

Geralt sighed as he settled his head back against his pillow, muttering something about how Jaskier was going to kill him.

Jaskier brought one hand at the base of Geralt’s cock, put his mouth back to work and fingered him a little while longer before adding another slick finger. Geralt whined and Jaskier reached out for his hand, threading their fingers together, hoping Geralt would know it was his way of checking in before Geralt sighed “ Yeah, s’good ,” in a tone that sounded pretty far gone.

He fucked Geralt with his fingers a few tentative times and curled them softly on the way out. In case he had any doubt his fingers were brushing against the right spot, Geralt’s hips jerked, driving his cock further down Jaskier’s throat.

“Ah, fuck ,” Geralt moaned. “Fuck, sorry,” slipped from his lips as if he was holding back so many more words.

Jaskier squeezed his hand in reassurance and kept sucking on Geralt’s dick until he could feel him tremble. He rubbed against Geralt’s prostate, drinking in every noise leaving the man’s lips, every movement revealing his pleasure.

“Ah, Jask,” Geralt moaned again, clutching to Jaskier’s hand like nothing would ever be able to make him let go. “Jas- Jaskier, ah , Jask, wait, I’m gonna-”

His hips buckled and his back raised from the mattress as he came, mouth open, gasping. He moaned and groaned as Jaskier kept fucking him onto his fingers until he was done spilling.

Jaskier slid his fingers out of Geralt’s ass, unable not to pull on his own cock even as he wiped off his mouth and tried to catch his breath, resting his forehead against the soft flesh of Geralt’s hip.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered as he stretched, the last tingles of pleasure leaving his body. He brought his hands to his face, covering his blush and groaned “ fuck ” in a wholly different tone.

“Hey,” Jaskier gasped, slowing down the movements of his wrist and bringing his other hand to touch Geralt’s arm. “Hey, you alright?”

“Hmm,” he groaned from under his hands.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked and Geralt huffed.

“I just came like a teenager, darling ,” Geralt mumbled, the edge of his sarcasm largely smoothed out by post-coital bliss.

Jaskier chuckled. “No, you didn’t. You held up really well,” he said, caressing Geralt’s forearm. “My charms were simply too mighty for you to keep it in any longer,” he whispered, and kissed his other wrist and hand, hoping Geralt would emerge from his hiding place.

Geralt groaned again, unconvinced, but let his hand slip away when Jaskier kissed his knuckles, allowing the other man to paint his cheek with the sweet brush of his lips.

“I wanted you,” Geralt whispered, in a weak, almost plaintive way.

“I’m still right here, love,” Jaskier whispered back. “You still have me,” he said at the corner of Geralt’s lips, pressing his mouth softly against his. He found Geralt pressing back with the same tenderness then savouring the taste his own come on Jaskier’s tongue.

They stayed like this for a moment, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s arms, slowly kissing and holding each other.

“Do you need me?” Geralt asked after Jaskier buckled against his hips involuntarily.

“If your schedule allows it,” Jaskier joked, hiding his face in his neck and humming as he rubbed himself against Geralt.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked, caressing the length of Jaskier’s back, pressing his fingers along the muscles, waking up every fibre of Jaskier’s body.

“This,” Jaskier murmured, “This is perfect.”

He rubbed himself slowly against Geralt as the man covered him in caresses, the callousness of Geralt’s hands contrasting with the softness of his gestures. He ground against Geralt’s hip lazily, welcoming the pressure of Geralt’s hands on his ass, feeling the imprint of each finger into his flesh. His cock was still smeared with lube and the mess he’d spit onto Geralt’s pelvis made for a dirty, wonderful help.

“You look so good like this,” Geralt whispered, kissing a spot under his ear. “You feel so good against me,” he said softly, his tenderness almost making Jaskier come on the spot.

“ Ah , please, touch me,” he begged and Geralt reached for his cock like a servant knight, enthusiastically escorting him to rapture as Jaskier fucked into his hand again and again and again , his shout resonating through the bedroom as he came.

Geralt held him as Jaskier made his way back down, their bodies sweaty and well spent, comfortably intertwined.

After a while during which Jaskier’s mind drifted and fluttered between sleep and consciousness, he adjusted his body to kiss the side of Geralt’s jaw.

“Care to be introduced to my shower?” he asked sleepily.

“Hmm. Good call,” Geralt nodded, and pressed a kiss against his temple.

When Geralt walked out of the shower, freshly cleaned up and smelling like Jaskier’s lemon soap, his clothes were neatly arranged on the bed. He got dressed and followed the sound of Jaskier’s humming, finding him in the kitchen frowning at some delivery menus. He was biting his lip, seeming pretty conflicted and Geralt surprised himself thinking: shit, he’s cute.

He kept expecting to have a change of heart any minute now. It was, after all, bound to happen, the next logical step, the most probable outcome: one morning he would wake up and realise that surely this had all been fun but he wasn’t into it anymore. He just had gotten a bit confused and wasn’t actually feeling so much for this man- or any other man, or any other person for that matter.

After splitting up with Yen, he thought he’d never grow fond of someone enough to want anything (at least anything more than sex, but even sex was quite low on his list of priorities). With Jaskier, though- it was like every other day, Geralt would find another thing he’d like to share with the handsome man who had run into him and insisted on sticking around.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, noticing him in the doorway. “So I was thinking, either Casa Lauretta or Athumani’s Kitchen , what do you think? And before you say anything- I know , take out again, but I can’t both try to seduce you and subject you to my cooking.”

Geralt snorted. “You’ve had me in your bed already. Twice. ” he said, raising a playful eyebrow. “At what point will you consider me successfully seduced?”

“Uh, I don’t know, some time between the third dog and the second honeymoon, I guess?” Jaskier pretended to ponder.

Geralt blinked at him and his smile froze on his face. He often struggled with words to begin with but Jaskier mastered the art of leaving him speechless. Banter was his realm. Jaskier knew the terrain by heart and he revelled in it. He was light on his feet and quick on his toes. Every time Geralt tried to play his game and stepped towards Jaskier, the distance separating them seemed to grow.

He felt like a novice trying to catch up with a man who had hiked the trail his whole life, knew its twists and turns by heart. No matter how much he tried to relax and enjoy the sights by Jaskier’s side, he still felt the man would always be ahead of him. Like he would never be able to catch up and stay stuck in the land of the new and uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat. “What’s in these cupboards of yours?“ he asked, brushing past Jaskier to open a few of them. At first, the answer seemed to be both everything and not much at all . But after initial confusion, he realised Jaskier might actually have a system.

Items weren’t sorted by kind but rather by what goes well together: canned mushrooms next to rice, coconut milk next to curry powder, sliced bread between jam and mustard. He wasn’t sure why "365 Lesser-known Eastern Medieval Poems” was stacked with cereals, or why Jaskier’s watch was in a bowl, but he could find out with time.

Something tickled the back of his neck and he realised Jaskier was playing with his hair, a bit of a smitten look on his face. As Geralt looked at him, Jaskier froze and blushed.

“Sorry,” he said, retreating his hand. “I love your hair,” he said sheepishly.

“I lost my hairband somewhere,” Geralt said, looking around.

“It looks good like this too,” Jaskier said. “Pretty sure it looks good all the time,” he smiled and brushed an escapee strand of hair back behind Geralt’s ear.

And here it was: another immensely confusing thing about Jaskier. The man radiated self-confidence 99% of the time. He could bathe in the attention of a crowd, flirt shamelessly with a complete stranger and whisper the filthiest words, dirtiest things- he could fantasize out loud about getting married to a man he’d only known for a few weeks. Yet there was also a shyness about the smallest of things, a vulnerability . It made Geralt want to pick him up and take him to safety- and he was perfectly aware of how ridiculous that sounded. But it felt like maybe, Jaskier’s hidden, more reserved side was a path where they could meet halfway.

He leaned towards him and kissed the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said.

Jaskier smiled and his whole face illuminated. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good,” Geralt nodded, taking his attention back to the cupboard. And so here he was again, taking a step back on what had started to feel like a comfortable route and stiffly navigating in between the metaphorical potholes on the road leading to Jaskier. As it turned out, talking about how his ass felt after getting fingered was not Geralt’s forte either. But Jaskier - in a moment of extreme humility - had described himself as a master of words and rhythm and that’s exactly what he was. He could use any word, touch upon any topic, express any emotion. Jaskier had a whole planisphere at his disposal, a means to take any road; Geralt had shitty directions and a compass that only told North once in a blue moon.

“No pain?”

“No,” he answered, closed the cupboard and exited Jaskier’s personal space to grab the menus. “Maybe delivery’s better, you’re right,” he said.

“Hmm,” Jaskier answered. “You do that a lot,” he pointed out.

Geralt gave him a look above his shoulder. “What?”

“Changing topics. Avoiding conversations,” Jaskier explained lightly. His tone was not judgemental. He was merely making an observation.

And so, “I’m not,” Geralt lied. He only realised he had lied the second he heard himself. Fuck . “I didn’t realise there was more to say.” Less of a lie. Not quite a half-truth.

Jaskier sighed softly and settled next to Geralt, pressing his forearms against the kitchen counter. "Margherita, then?” he asked. Geralt could see the tight shape of his lips and the square angle of his shoulders. Jaskier had obviously seen right through him but was dropping the subject for his sake.

“You’re disappointed,” he said and Jaskier’s head shot back up to look at him.

“With the pizza options?” Jaskier joked weakly.

“With,” he hesitated. “Me.”

“No-” Jaskier argued right away, raising his hand to cut him off. But Geralt knew how it was, what people expected, not unfairly, versus how little he could offer.

“It’s fine,” Geralt said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I-,” he paused to weigh his words carefully, eyes focused on the menus. "I’m not very good at-” he hesitated then snorted under Jaskier’s confused look. “ Opening up ?” he said, raising an eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction.

Jaskier laughed and reached out to rest his hand over Geralt’s. “Well, we’ve talked about this,” he said, with a shine in his eyes. “Practice makes better.” Geralt hummed, looking at Jaskier’s hand over his. To his surprise, Jaskier retracted his hand somewhat suddenly and he missed the weight of it right away. “And it’s not like we know each other that well, as you said,” he shrugged, at the edge of Geralt’s field of vision.

“I am ok,” he said, answering Jaskier’s previous question more honestly. “Bit weird but ok.” His brain then caught up with Jaskier’s words a moment too late; as you said ?

"Okay,” Jaskier said, offering a shy smile. “I- it’s okay if it doesn’t come naturally to you. I just- well, I’d just like you to be more comfortable with me. But we’ll get there, right?”

Geralt swallowed, closing and opening the hand that was resting on the counter to get rid of a slight tremor. Saying yes would have been another lie. He couldn’t make that promise. He had tried before, thought that maybe if he forced himself to be enough then things would work out eventually- but they hadn’t.

And so it would have been easy to say no , to back off entirely. He could tell Jaskier he wasn’t interested in building something, just wanted an easy fuck, to experiment a bit, and had simply gotten lucky enough to find a guy who wasn’t repelled by his shitty personality and off-putting scars. It would have been so easy- to tell Jaskier, “I don’t know what you thought you were getting out of this, but you won’t get me .” It was complete and absolute bullshit, a sad pack of lies, but it would be so much easier. He could get back to his life, his job, his kid and the handful of friends he still had, and never think about blue eyes or milkshakes again.

If only the thought didn’t make him nauseous.

Fuck, he wanted this.

“This isn’t casual for you, is it?” he asked, voice tight, and Jaskier startled, almost taking a step back. His face made an odd succession of expressions and he opened his mouth a couple of times before closing it again.

“I- I can be casual. I can be very casual. That’s not a problem, that’s not a- but I-,” he sighed and brushed his hand through his hair nervously. “Fuck, you really don’t fuck around, do you?” Geralt tried to come up with something to say but Jaskier shook his head, his voice way calmer now even if a bit wavering. “No. No, I don’t think I want to be casual with you. And- And you- you don’t w-”

“Me neither,” Geralt cut in before panic took over Jaskier.

The man’s eyes grew a little wider. “You neither?” he asked, and fuck if that wasn’t the most obvious display of naked hope Geralt had ever seen on anybody’s face.

Geralt shook his head and Jaskier seemingly had to fight a full-body shiver.

Jaskier walked the two steps separating them and kissed Geralt with his entire soul. When he pulled back, Geralt leaned into him again for another taste of his tongue. He brought a hand to Jaskier’s cheek and kissed him with feeling. When they parted, he kept his eyes closed, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s, the tip of his fingers grazing the short hair behind his ear.

“I’m not used to wanting…” Geralt said. “Sex is good. But usually I don’t- I don’t want more. With you, I- I don’t want to ru- to leave . And it’s…”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Jaskier offered, his voice tight but tone playful. The shy smile on his lips was a delicious cherry on top, making the teasing even softer. (Little did Jaskier know that a cherry was the only thing in Geralt’s opinion that could ever improve a creamy vanilla milkshake.)

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Geralt huffed. Jaskier kissed him, and after working through so many words, Geralt ran out of things to say. “So, yeah. Margherita’s good,” he whispered, and it was his turn to make Jaskier laugh. The man cleared his throat and sighed like a weight had been taken off his chest.

“I can’t believe you said all that before even knowing Lauretta delivers vanilla milkshakes,” he said and Geralt poked him in the ribs until they half-wrestled, laughing, Jaskier’s back hitting the fridge- and they were kissing again.

They talked over dinner for a while. Jaskier came up with questions for Geralt to answer, helping him ease into a casual conversation. They teased and flirted and laughed, and soon ended up in bed again, tasting each other’s skin and leaning into each other’s curves.

“Full disclosure?” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s mouth as he was straddling him. “I really fucking love those tits of yours,” he said, cupping Geralt’s chest with his two hands. Geralt scoffed in between two kisses.

“They’re called pecs,” he said, enjoying the way Jaskier’s hands were basically venerating his chest.

“Nuh-uh,” Jaskier replied, “I, good sir, am an artist, not an anatomist, and these are definitely some of the most magnificent boobies I have ever had the chance to see, touch and lick,” he said, brushing a nipple with his thumb while kissing Geralt’s jaw.

Geralt snorted and kept caressing Jaskier’s incredibly precious ass.

Jaskier sighed with contentment. “So, tell me your secret,” he mumbled against Geralt’s skin, finding a tendon in Geralt’s neck and following it with his lips, tongue and teeth. “How does a corporate lawyer get as buff as you?”

Geralt’s laugh was more of a scoff as he felt the more-or-less accidental brush of Jaskier’s cock against his.

“You’re one to talk,” he groaned, getting his hand into Jaskier’s hair and pulling him into a kiss. “Have you seen yourself, Professor?”

Jaskier suddenly pulled back, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “I- well- I mean I’m nothing close to- Your body is,” he huffed, seemingly at loss for words which was a very odd thing coming from Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, bringing his hand to the small of the man’s back, and squinted. “You know you’re hot, right?” he asked seriously and witnessed Jaskier dissolve into a fit of giggles, ducking his head and blushing even harder.

“I’m- nah, I’m not-”

“ Jaskier ,” Geralt repeated with intent.

“I mean, I’m fine but I’m not- you’re like a, a- an underwear supermodel.”

Geralt snorted. “Right, they do love bodies covered with scar tissue in underwear magazines,” he said self-deprecatingly, making Jaskier frown.

“Don’t do that. You’re beautiful,” he chastised.

“If you say so-” Geralt shrugged.

“I do say so. Les Dessous de Beauclair can go fuck itself,” Jaskier replied and Geralt snorted again.

“Point still stands,” Geralt said. “You’re hot.”

Jaskier looked away again, biting his lower lip. “Wh-,” he started and then closed his mouth right away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head.

“Jaskier? I’m the one who isn’t much of a talker. There can’t be two of us,” he said, and Jaskier laughed, then hid his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders.

“What do you like about me?” he asked, his voice so small Geralt barely heard him. He let a moment pass, wondering where to start and how. He slid a hand at the back of Jaskier’s neck, caressing the short strands of hair.

“This,” he said. “Your hair right here. It’s short but long enough that I can grab it,” he felt Jaskier smile against his neck.

” Kinky ,“ Jaskier whispered.

“And I like your eyes,” Geralt said, too focused on picking the right words to get sidetracked. “At the bar, I-” he hesitated, pacing himself. “I noticed your eyes first,” he said and swallowed.

Jaskier hugged him tighter. “I love your eyes too,” he mumbled into Geralt’s hair. "They’re incredible.”

Geralt managed to duck his head and press a soft kiss below Jaskier’s ear. “Your cheekbones,” he said, his mouth finding the sweet spot at the base of Jaskier’s neck. “Your shoulders,” he whispered, kissing Jaskier’s clavicle, loosening their embrace to keep going lower. “Your collarbones,” he nipped his teeth at the bone above Jaskier’s chest, “they’re really, really hot,” he said and Jaskier giggled, still hiding his face by pressing his forehead against Geralt’s temple.

Geralt brought his hands up Jaskier’s back and felt him shiver, Jaskier’s hips startling gently against his, bringing a soft moan from the both of them. “Your back,” he said, “I really love your back- and your ass, gods ,” he linked his hands behind Jaskier’s neck and rolled his hips, their moans echoing through the room. “ Ah , and those fucking arms of yours,” Geralt whispered. “Have you seen those arms?” he repeated, still softly rubbing their cocks together with slow movements of his hips and caressing Jaskier’s arm. “I’m sure you could lift me up with those arms,” he said and Jaskier groaned. “Would you like that?” he asked. “Would you- would you like to hold me up and fuck me?”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier moaned, his face pressed against Geralt’s cheek. “Fuck, fuck, yes, yes please, yes,” he begged, and Geralt grabbed the hair at the back of his neck and pulled just enough for Jaskier to whine with pleasure as they both rushed in an almost bruising kiss.

Jaskier had a hard time pulling away from Geralt, but finally managed to turn towards the bedside table to retrieve lube and condoms.

Geralt flushed himself against his back, tearing a moan from Jaskier as his hand directly went for Jaskier’s cock and Geralt’s dick rubbed against his ass.

“Oh fuck, yeah- yeah , we gotta do this some time too, darling,” he panted and Geralt groaned, grinding against him.

“You would like that?” he breathed, his voice low and coated with desire.

“Gods, I’d fuck you anyway you want, darling-” he moaned, “-but fffuck , if you keep going, there isn’t going to be much left of me.”

Geralt chuckled against him. He pulled back, freeing Jaskier from his embrace and sitting back against the wall.

Jaskier kneeled in between his legs and tore the package open, sliding the condom on his cock, realising after raising his eyes that he was under Geralt’s scrutiny.

“You okay?” he asked at the exact moment Geralt breathed “Come here.”

Somehow they crashed into each other, and yet fit each other’s shapes perfectly.

Geralt raised on his knees, thighs parted, Jaskier’s hands moving from his cock to his balls, making his hips jerk and his teeth close on Jaskier’s lower lip as he moaned. Jaskier slid his fingers further, caressing the sweet spot of Geralt’s perineum, making Geralt break the kiss as he gasped.

“Fuck, please, Jask-”

“I’ve got you,” Jaskier murmured, kissing him again and coating his fingers with lube.

Geralt tried his hardest not to jerk himself off here and now, attempting to focus on rubbing Jaskier’s cock while his other arm rested around the man’s neck.

Jaskier teased the rim of his asshole and got a quick return on his investment as Geralt pulled a little harder on his dick, tearing a moan from his lips. He chuckled a bit breathlessly and slid a finger inside Geralt easily. It didn’t take long at all before a second finger joined the first.

“You okay, darling?” Jaskier breathed and Geralt nodded against his cheek.

For a while, they stayed like this, settled against each other, Jaskier slowly fingering him until Geralt couldn’t stop clenching around his fingers and asking for more.

When three fingers curved into him and caressed his prostate, Geralt thought he was going to come undone. “Fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck, Jaskier-,”

“Good?” Jaskier asked a bit worriedly.

“Fuck, yes , good,” Geralt bit in a tone that was halfway between “how the fuck could it be anything but good” and “don’t you fucking dare stop” , making Jaskier laugh again.

“Okay, darling- still love the enthusiasm,” Jaskier said while Geralt whined and begged until finally, fucking finally, Jaskier agreed he was ready. Jaskier slid between his thighs, his strong, well-built arms around Geralt’s middle and Geralt realised it was probably the first time he had been held like this in his entire life.

“Touch yourself for me?” Jaskier asked, his mouth against Geralt’s before Geralt shook his head.

“Can’t- gonna come if I do,” he breathed and Jaskier kissed him again.

“Please?” he asked. “I want to make sure it feels good,” he whispered, holding onto Geralt’s middle tighter.

Geralt complied and before long Jaskier’s hips were rising to meet his body. He felt the tip of Jaskier’s cock slide between his buttcheeks and touch the soft of his ass and he startled, pulling away and pressing back against Jaskier just as fast.

“Fuck,” he swore as Jaskier whined. “Please, Jask,” he moaned as the hand on his cock started shaking. He then felt the tip of Jaskier’s cock against him again, and the steady push of Jaskier’s hips as the head of Jaskier’s cock entered him. He whined as Jaskier pushed further and lowered himself as slow as he could with the lone strength of his thighs and Jaskier’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“Ok?” Jaskier asked breathlessly. A gasp was all Geralt managed. His thoughts were an endless thread of fuck fuck fuck he couldn’t sort out in any order. “Yea- ah,” he broke, “ fuck ,”

“Is it too much?” Jaskier asked, “I can- I can stop, do you need me to stop?”

“ Don’t ,” Geralt moaned, clenching every single muscle in his body to keep Jaskier against him and eliciting a cry from Jaskier. His arms were around Jaskier’s shoulders, his forehead against the man’s temple. Geralt was holding onto him with everything he got.

“I just-” he tried to take a slow long breath thinking about everything he had learned through meditation and managed one ragged breath. “You’re a lot,” he managed in a sigh, clenching around Jaskier despite how much he tried to relax.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat half-way between pleasure and laughter. “I get that all the time,” he said cheekily.

“Don’t- don’t make me laugh,” he said, chuckling breathlessly, and Jaskier joined him, both trying to breathe through the involuntary clenching of Geralt’s inner muscles and the accidental movements of Jaskier’s hips.

They laughed into each other’s mouths as they kissed, mouth open, tongues licking each other’s lips, teeth biting softly, teasingly. When they were both ready, Jaskier pulled himself down as he helped Geralt raise on his knees and they met again, moaning and groaning.

“You ok?” Jaskier whispered again and by then, Geralt had no fucking idea. He had never felt so tense and relaxed at once, uncomfortable but so fucking fantastic. His nerves and his ass were on absolute fire but it was good, it was good, it was so, so-

“So good,” he growled, aware that every part of his body was probably shaking in Jaskier’s arms. “ Ah , don’t stop,” he moaned, and Jaskier, incredible, astonishing, wonderful Jaskier did not stop .

Their hips moved in sync, feeding Geralt with the kind of friction he had never imagined could feel so good.

He let himself relax entirely into Jaskier’s embrace, sliding against the whole length of Jaskier’s body, pressing torso against torso, his forehead against Jaskier’s sweaty fringe, their noises brushing, their mouths breathing the same air.

“Ye-ah?” Jaskier moaned. “You like it? You really- ah , fuck- you- ah , you feel so good, does it feel good, tell me-” he rambled, far, so far from actually needing the reassurance.

Geralt groaned. “ Yes ,” he whined, “I like it, I like it, I like you , please,” and Jaskier whined and then did something- Geralt didn’t know, something, somehow, maybe went harder or faster or different, but he pulled and pushed and Geralt lost his fucking mind. He did it again and again, kissing Geralt, licking his neck, biting on his earlobe, caressing his nipples, bruising his hips in his grasp, pulling on his cock, whispering into his ear and making him whine and moan and shout until Geralt begged to be undone.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier said, “I’ve got you.” Jaskier pulled harder on his hips in a half-broken groan, making Geralt slip towards him a little more.

Geralt arched his back, moaning in delight from the new angle. His neck was left exposed for Jaskier to kiss and lick, and breathe against Geralt’s skin. Every cell in Geralt’s body was burning and electric, and boiling. Everything felt so good and so much and so Jaskier , so he begged, begged again, and again for Jaskier to hold him and kiss him and fill him as he came, and so he did. He came, held, and kissed, and filled, and perfect, and Jaskier came, too, gasping into his mouth as they fell into each other.

For a moment, there was no other sound apart from the unsteady breathing and an occasional moan from the two of them as they slowly, comfortably, came back down to earth. Jaskier moved first, turning his head to kiss Geralt’s cheek, pushing his long white hair away from his face, and Geralt turned his head lazily towards him, leaning into a kiss.

“You ok?” Jaskier whispered, probably for the hundredth time and Geralt, for the thousandth time, hummed and nodded. Soon they would detach from each other, groaning from the discomfort of their sensible muscles, their come-dirtied bellies and lube-stained sheets anything but glamorous.

But for the time being, they laid their heads against each other’s shoulders, eyes closed, content with the feeling of holding and being held.

“Hey,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt hummed questioningly.

“Stay for breakfast?” Jaskier asked. He missed the soft smile that drew on Geralt’s lips.

“Hmm.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #the witcher #bisexual geralt of rivia #bottom geralt of rivia #top jaskier #my writing #mine: no warnings #mine: geraskier #mine: modern au #mine: of fingers tongues and toes series

52 notes · View notes

angelkurenai · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine you and Dean being unable to stand each other, but it’s only because you get often jealous. The unresolved sexual tension makes Sam lock the both of you up until you solve it out.

“I'm gonna kill him.” Dean grumbled, his agitated tone only managing to make you more angry yourself - as if you weren't already on edge.

He was practically glaring daggers at the door and, even though that too seemed to get on your nerves, it was of the least annoying things he could do compared to his constant pacing and grumbling. It felt like his footsteps, the echo in the otherwise silent room, the useless talking and the constant mumbling as Dean could barely hold his frustration after any attempt of opening the locked door had failed miserably, even the constant huffing was a testament to your patience. And after a mostly unsuccessful hunt - or trail of the right monster at least - your patience could only take so much, even if the man didn't do anything you'd still start getting pissed by his mere presence (which wasn't so unheard of as, obviously, the ones who had locked you in the room knew real well). It was probably him not having done much, or having done the exact opposite of what he should, during said case, that had started making your patience slip away and the more you thought back to everything the worse it got.

You tried to keep yourself under control, though, because all the arguing was what had gotten you both in this position in the first place.

“I'm so going to fucking kill.” he repeated, bringing you back to harsh - more like annoying - reality “He's going to come back to life, naturally, and then I'm gonna kill him again.”

“Will you remember where you've put your gun this time or am I gonna have to help you again?” you muttered, mostly to yourself, the bitterness and agitation slipping into your tone - much as you tried to hold it back - and as expected the man caught on it.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown, his head snapping in your direction.

You should back off, you knew it and it really was the best choice in this situation, but with Dean looking at you in that challenging way, his firm jaw clenched, his full lips pursed, his stunning eyes looking at you fiercely, his muscles stiffening and his broad chest puffing out as he held his breath, a vein so much ready as to pop, all of it serving to make him look darker in a way that almost made you think he could easily push you against the wall and just have his way with you already. Almost. Not entirely. Those thoughts were left for when you were left in the silence of your own room, alone, and not fuming at the memories still fresh because of the stubborn man in front of you.

“I don't know Dean.” you pursed your lips, holding his gaze stubbornly so “What do you think? Or maybe it would be better ask the werewolf we almost got- Oh no wait, it turned out to be a vampire! My bad, in the middle of all this I almost forgot.” you glared right back, and his lips parted to speak but you didn't give him the chance to “Just like you forgot you part of this team that almost became vamp snacks because you were busy doing Chuck-knows-what with that bi-” but you stopped yourself before you could indulge. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction to let him know, even so suspect, how his nightly adventures had you feeling. You huffed, straightening “Just shut up and sit down. Stay quiet, for once in your damn life Winchester do the right thing and listen to me, so we can get out of this mess the soonest possible. I have no plans to stay locked in here for more than a few hours.”

“First time I'll agree with you.” he grumbled, taking a sit on the bed with a heavy sigh “And for that, I apologized to Sam. It's not my fault you can't seem to accept a simple apology like any other person. I got a bit carried away, yes, but you had it mostly under control!”

“Mostly, key word, thanks for saying that! Because it very clearly states how we nearly died because of you and you-” you scoffed a bitter laugh “Apologize is all you do and think everything's fine all of a sudden! You can have things your way whenever you want, like throwing yourself in danger's way, going for the monster however you like, banging that waitress in that bar, bring them over in the hotel room, stay out till late at night and all that while Sam and I do the work and suddenly when you realize you messed up - because you do mess up, every single time - you apologize and everything, magically just like that, is ok. Well, guess what, Dean? It's not ok! But you were always used to having it that way, that now that I am here and finally someone calls you out on your shit, it is annoying or even worse I'm not able to accept an apology. I am on the wrong, talk about some real bs there.” you huffed at last, satisfied to get it out of your chest but only temporarily because you knew the man could very easily and very fast find new ways to torture you.

He laughed, but it was angry just like his eyes. His entire body held so much frustration that you could see him practically struggling to hold back “Well, it ain't me that starts every damn fight, is it? If you could just leave me be, do my thing, then we'd both be much happier. I honestly don't even understand what you get out of all this fighting. If getting off on me being pissed 24/7 or having my mood ruined the whole day is not included that is. And now to top it all of, here we are. Locked in a fucking room like we're a pair of kids, to learn to get along or whatever Sam meant to say. I hope you're freaking happy with the result, cause I'm damn sure you're suffering too.”

“And who's to blame for that too?” you snapped back, eyes going hard because of his attitude “I am not the alone in these arguments you see. You certainly don't miss a chance to snap back, Winchester. Honestly, the mere fact that you want to blame this all on me when I clearly had every right to be angry shows just how unbearable you are. Maybe if you, for once, decided to act with that's between your ears instead of what's between your legs everything would be so much better and my days so more calm!”

Dean himself let out a sarcastic laugh “Because you help so much in that.” he mumbled, though you had a hard time understanding what he really meant, and after a few seconds of thinking he obviously decided to not comment on it any further “Whatever, there is no point in arguing. It will only earn us more time locked in here. And I for one don't want that. If it's peace Sam wants from us, we have to be convincing.”

You only scoffed, raising an eyebrow at him, more agitated by him now “It takes locking you up to come to your senses after all? What's next, being tied down to act like a rational human being for once too?”

“Oh sweetheart-” he smirked but it wasn't coy or easy, if anything the dark look in his eyes was there much as it could be considered very distracted “You have no idea what I'd do while being tied. In fact-” his pride only seemed to grow more “Few women have had the pleasure. They consider themselves lucky, trust me.”

“Lucky about which aspect, Winchester?” you smirk grew, challenging in a way that was far, very far, from the first time and in a way that one could only describe as full of meaning and sexual tension but you'd beg to differ, thank you very much. You added “Being lucky that it all ends within five minutes or that they won't get to experience such a thing ever again? Oh oh or maybe nearly dying of laughter? I get it, life is hard, we all need a good laugh once in a while.”

“Why yes, all the while seeing stars.” he shrugged, still too smug “But I guess you can go ahead and make up whatever little story you, it's impossible to get a real answer from them.”

“Oh how so? Was that easy to forget? I wonder what desperate measures all of them must have gone to forget such an experience.”

“Cute.” he laughed, short, sharp, bitter or was it tense? There was something more to those eyes, the way he was looking at you that made you shift in your place and your smile, as much as you tried to keep it up, to flatter a bit. “But no. They're simply still unable to speak. Not like there are no words that could describe it. Ore in bed in general.” he shrugged, going back to casually sassy.

His posture changed, though the look in his eyes didn't and that was what made you frown.

“One would beg to differ but I suppose there are enough women desperate enough out there. Hell, why would a woman fall for the 'Boy, this coffee's hot. Just like-'” you mimicked him, pointing at him with a wink as he'd done to the waitress, before rolling your eyes “If not out of desperation or boredom. How can any of that be attractive or even enough to promise a remotely goo night? Maybe they even take pity on you.” you shrugged and he laughed, but it was dark and much deeper, a hidden tension coming through.

“You know, some women can use their imagination.” his voice was deep

“That must be quiet a wild imagination right there, let me tell you. And then, of course, the harsh reality comes crashing down on them and they see you don't live up to their expectations.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.” he chuckled darkly, getting up to make his way to the liquor he kept in his room “Sure, go ahead. Since it seems like it's the only thing you do.”

“Wouldn't that sound ideal to you?” you actually laughed “But no, not quiet. Sleep and the barman from Illinois is what I've been doing.”

If you had known that those were the key words to get a reaction out of the man then you surely wouldn't have held them back. Dean's entire body stiffened, you could clearly see his muscle freeze and harder even as he had his back to you. And if all that wasn't indication enough, the silence that followed after your words was a clear indication to the impact they had on him.

He slowly turned to look at you, his jaw clenched so tightly you were scared he might break it or pop a vain, or both. His eyes however quickly drew your attention to them, effectively making any hint of a smug smile fade from your face at having achieved a small victory in pissing him off. Shivers ran down your spine at the piercing look he gave you, making you feel and want to be exposed in a way that wasn't normal.

“You did what?” his voice was so deep and rough, you felt your breath get caught in your throat.

“I-” why had your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? That drink he was holding seemed appealing, so you got up to make your way to him- no, to the drink and get a glass of your own “You know-” you shrugged “One would assume after that punch from you and you all but pulling a gun on him that the guy wouldn't even want to be near me but some men do risk it all, defy all odds, and keep pursuing. Unlike some I know, he wasn't one to back down and quiet frankly he was even more adorable after that. So I suppose I can say...” you paused “Kiss it better is what I did? That and so much-”

But you didn't get the opportunity to complete your sentence, or even get your glass of whiskey as it slipped from your grasp the moment Dean took firm hold of your arm, forcing you to face him, all in a split second as he pressed you against the wall and held you there firmly yet not anywhere near painfully.

“You slept with him?” he still asked though you were sure he wasn't expecting a direct answer. You even didn't know if you wanted to give one, not sure of what his reaction would be or maybe fearing it wouldn't be the one you deep down hoped it would be.

You shouldn't push for it, you knew it. And yet you did.

“You mean did I fuck him?” you narrowed your eyes at him and watched both as his eyes hardened and felt as he pushed you harder against the wall, as a response.

And you pushed again more.

“I'm sorry, you're just making it hard for me to understand you Dean. You have to be a bit more specific. Did I let him push me against the hall and have his way with me, you mean?”

“Quit playing around, (Y/n). Answer my fucking question. Did you really do it?”

“Why, Dean? Why does it even matter to you? What difference does it make?” you hissed “Isn't that what you do all the time? Am I somehow not allowed to do the same? Why? Because you did all that? Because you do what you simply do to me? You can piss me off all you want, you can try to get me back for all the fights, ruing my days and damn you... you can have that effect on me all you want but I will not let it-”

“And you?” he growled, loud and angrily enough to cut you off effectively “Do you know what you do to me? Do you have any freaking idea what you're doing to me, (Y/n)? You ruin everything for me, that's what you do. You've ruined every fucking woman for me. I try to pick 'em up and all I think about is you. I try to and I always end up comparing them to you. I pick 'em up and when I am lucky enough, they will look at least a little bit like you but then again? I always go for the ones that look like you. When I am really lucky enough to go on without you in my mind, hell if that's hard, I wake up to realize I had been dreaming about you too. And that waitress?” he scoffed a laugh, pressing you harder against the wall “I called her by your name. Yeah, fucking great, isn't it?”

His words did earn a gasp from you but he didn't let you say a word, instead kept going, as if his words hadn't already turned everything upside down as it was “Of course, I didn't realize it or the fact that it wasn't actually you until she slapped me. It hurt, but hell it didn't even match up to your punch. Sometimes I feel like I want to argue with you just to make you angry enough so you can punch me again. What a fucking masochist I've become huh? Don't you think? That's what you do to me and fuck if that doesn't make me want you more.” it was only when you felt his hips push yours against the wall that you realized he had his entire body caging yours and you couldn't lie, not to yourself at least, that you liked the feeling more than you ever imagined you would. And imagined you had. Plenty of times.

“So there.” he huffed, as if a big weight was lifted off his chest – not all of it but most – but he was still very tense, his gruff voice proof that the proximity had more than one kind of effects on him; he rested his forehead against yours “You have it. You see what you do to me. You see the effect you've had in me ever since I met you. Take pleasure in it all you want. And now-” he took in a deep breath “Tell me to get away. Push me back. Scream at me and start an argument.”

“Why?” you finally breathed out, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“Why? Because it's all I'll ever get from you.” he scoffed a laugh, bitter but filled with tension just like every other word “Tell me to back off, (Y/n). Push me back or else, I swear, I don't know what I will do.”

“Then-” you leaned closer, as if there was even any significant distance between you to begin with “Why don't you try and figure it out big boy? I'd like to see if it's better than your arguing.”

And you needn't say another word before you felt like he was pushed off the edge and his lips crashed to yours, no longer holding back.

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot

459 notes · View notes

hellflame-for-a-reason · 3 years ago

Text

Private tutoring

Lesson one: The safety check

"I'm sorry if I've done anything wrong ma'am, I hope everything's alright." Tenya Iida carefully approached the desk.

The r-rated pro hero Midnight was sitting in the chair behind the desk, looking at him. "You're not in trouble sweetie, just sit down, rest those pretty little legs of yours."

Tenya was used to people commenting on his legs so he didn't pay any mind to it, taking a seat behind one of the student desks. "What did you want to speak with me about then Ms Kayama?"

"Ugh," she shuddered, "don't be so formal Tenya! You've known me since you were little, what happened to calling me 'miss nemu'?"

"You're a teacher, I'm merely showing my respect."

"Ok well this conversation isn't part of my job so you don't have to respect me; it's either Midnight or Miss Nemu out of school hours, alright Tenya?"

"Yes ma'am," Tenya sighed, bowing his head in respect, "so what is the topic of this conver then? If not school?"

Midnight smirked at that, leaning back and putting her feet up on the desk. Tenya suddenly felt an urge to lecture her but bit it back, knowing that she might not want to be treated like a teacher, he should still show her some respect. "That boy in your class; the green haired one, you like him don't you?"

Oh no, Tenya could feel his face heating up, and clearly it had turned a certain colour too if Midnight's reaction had anything to do with it. She laughed and whooped, "I knew it! Ha! You act the exact same way Tensei does when he's got a crush."

"I…" he stood, the light glinting off his glasses and hiding his eyes, "I have to object! This line of questioning is extremely inappropriate, I must ask you to stop."

"Calm down Tenya, sit down." She sighed, waving a hand dismissively, "I'm not going to say anything about your personal choices, and I won't say anything judgemental about your taste in men out loud. I just want to give you some advice in approaching him, alright?"

A sigh, "alright Midnight, what should I do?' Tenya didn't think he could argue with her much more than he already had, so he just sat down and shut up. Maybe her advice would be helpful, although considering her status, he doubted it.

"Well the first thing you need to figure out is how much do you like him? Are you thinking long term or just a fling?"

Tenya hadn't actually considered that, he knew that he had a rather large crush but he had never really allowed himself to fantasize too much. "I'm not sure ma'am, I never really thought about it."

Midnight sighed at that for a second time, "well I can work with that I suppose, it might be a little more difficult but not to worry, you're speaking to an expert." She picked up some chalk and began to write on the board, "phase one," she spoke as she wrote it down, "finding out if he likes guys and making him think about you more often."

Oh, so they were treating this like an extra subject? Ok then, Tenya could handle this. He took out a notebook, always good for studying, and found an empty page, copying down what Midnight had written. She continued to speak and he took notes in bullet points, "taking notes? Okay great. Now I don't know much about how to tell if someone's gay but personally I think your best course of action is to start the conversation in a group, I don't mean you have to come out. Like… maybe ask a group of people in the common area if they think anyone in the class is gay?"

"But Midnight?" Tenya had spotted an issue with that plan almost instantly, "what if he's in the closet? He might not want to say anything."

"Hm, you have a point there, I suppose you could go the celebrity crush route; get him alone or around people he trusts in a casual conversation and bring up the idea of celebrity crushes, asking him about his. It's probably best to say something yourself at that point, to at least make him aware of your persuasion."

Tenya nodded, that sounded like a really good idea. Obviously he was a little nervous about trying it out but Midnight was an expert so he definitely wasn't going to challenge her authority. He quickly made his notes, wondering if it would seem out of character for him to ask about that kind of thing. "How would I make him think about me then?"

"Show him that you think about him. Send him pictures of animals or flowers or clouds that remind you of him, if you see something in a shop that makes you think of him, buy it for him. Just anything you can do to ensure that his first instinct when he thinks of you is fondness."

He very quickly noted that down, very grateful for her advice, "that makes sense, thank you ma'am. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I don't think so, no, you may go back to your dorms now. Good luck Tenya." Midnight smiled at him and opened the door for him to leave, she watched as he gathered his things to leave and hummed in thought, "how is your brother by the way? I haven't spoken to Tensei since before his...ah, *early retirement.*"

Tenya froze at that last part, sighing and adjusting his glasses, "Tensei is well, his recovery went well. Thank you for your concern."

"Does he still have the same number?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Great!" She clapped her hands together, "you have fun, good luck. I'm going to go try out some of my own advice." Midnight chuckled as she pushed him out the door, one hand already reaching for the phone on her desk.

"Thank you ma'am," he sighed, leaning against the door after she'd shut it, he sighed. Great, Midnight was off to hit on his brother whilst Tenya was tasked with doing the same to Midoriya, and heaven knows she's got a lot more experience and skills than him. He's definitely going to need all the luck he can get.

After school finished, Tenya slowly made his way back to the dorms. He sat himself down on the sofa after grabbing a glass of orange juice, allowing himself to relax. Midoriya sat next to him, with Todoroki on the other side of him, "how are you doing Iida? You've been a bit on edge since lunch."

"Ah? Oh yeah, yeah I'm fine… don't worry about it, Midoriya, I'm fine." He sighs, offering a gentle smile, "just thinking about my studies, didn't realise I was behaving strangely." In truth, Tenya was simply nervous about this first step, he didn't know if this would work, but he was definitely risking his own safety to do this. He just hoped it would work, and that if it did work, that it worked in his favour. Sadly he just sat there in silence for an hour, going over the pros and cons of bringing this up. One on hand people would automatically assume he was a homosexual, and correctly so, but that could be dangerous, but on the other hand it might not be. Even if Midoriya was of that persuasion, there was no guarantee he'd say anything, or that he'd like Tenya.

The fear was almost enough to prevent him from saying anything, but he didn't want to disappoint Midnight, so he had to. He glanced over the scene before him; Bakugo and Midoriya were bickering over some stupid thing, probably about All Might, Uraraka and Todoroki were playing noughts and crosses whilst Ashido did Tsu's nails on the floor, Kaminari's nails were currently drying and Kaminari was next in line. It was a lovely scene, not often did their friend groups merge like this and Tenya was almost scared to disturb it. He cleared his throat regardless and didn't meet any of their eyes, "I can't help but to wonder," he paused for a moment, realising that what he was about to say would come out of left field for them, so maybe he should have tried to soften the blow, "do you think anyone in our class is of a different persuasion?"

"Eh?"

"He means gay Bakubro," Kirishima spoke up, leaning back against the beanbag, "I mean, I think I am, yeah I'm probably gay." He shrugged, clearly not believing this to be that big of a deal.

"Why the hell didn't you just say gay then? Stupid fuckin' shitty glasses," Bakugo huffs, crossing his arms and glaring up at Tenya, "well I'm not telling you anything, it's none of your business."

Mina huffed at that, "oh don't be such a dick," she proceeded to smile up at Tenya sweetly, "I'm bi!"

"Same!" Came a chorus from Uraraka, Kaminari and, most importantly: Midoriya. Tenya knew was bi meant, it meant bisexual, a persuasion in which one is attracted to more then one gender. This was a good thing, it meant that he did have a chance with Midoriya, but it didn't necessarily mean he was his type, so obviously more research would be needed.

"I'm a lesbian! Ribbit." Tsu spoke up, smiling and licking her lips before continuing to watch Mina paint her nails a lovely shade of green, with a different pattern on her thumbs.

Todoroki peered over, staring at Tenya with the kind of inquisitive look that almost scared him, "and I'm a homosexual, what about you, Iida? What's your persuasion?"

"For fucks sake! Just say sexuality! God damn, do all rich people talk like this?!" Bakugo didn't seem to enjoy this discussion, and Tenya couldn't blame him; although he was the one who had brought it up, he was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. It seemed Midnight had been wrong, this plan would push him into telling his friends his sexuality, but he couldn't feel hurt by that, as that was what he had asked them.

"Mine?" He queried, pushing back having to answer for another second, unsure how to word it, "oh, yes of course… my persuasion…" oh he really didn't want to answer this question, so he continued to stall.

"Yeah, if you asked us that question you gotta answer it too," Kirishima spoke up, still very casual, Mina on the other hand, looked more empathic, smiling softly.

"Iida… do you-"

"I," he interrupted her, not on purpose but he just wasn't registering that she had spoken, "I personally happen to be an, uh… homosexual?" One hand went to the side of his neck whilst the other adjusted his glasses, still not meeting any of their eyes. He wasn't sure how speaking this truth made him feel, he was more then scared of their reactions, despite knowing they were the same.

"Ooohh!" Uraraka piped up, "is that why you started this conversation? Because you wanted to tell us?" She looked so pleased, even proud of him and Tenya felt a little guilty about his less then pure motives for doing such. Although the more he actually thought about it, the more it shook him to his core that he did indeed just officially come out to his classmates.

Oh god.

"I… I suppose so…" he looked at her, head lowered slightly, "I hope you aren't too mad?"

"Why would we be mad, Iida? It's perfectly fine, I think it was quite clever of you to test the waters first." She reached over both Todoroki and Midoriya to pat him gently on the shoulder, he smiled at her in response, glad that everything was fine.

Midoriya beamed at him, "I hope you're proud of yourself, Iida, cause that must have been hard to say."

"It, it was," he nodded, smiling in return. Tenya felt the butterflies that everyone spoke about and he felt fuzzy all over, Midoriya had such an adorable smile and it was almost fatal. This boy would be the death of him.

#iida tenya #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #bakugo katsuki #todoroki shōto #mha midnight #mina ashido #tsu asui #tsuyu asui #kirishma #kaminari denki #iideku

9 notes · View notes

spaceskam · 4 years ago

Text

The Road You Didn’t Take (7/7)

day 7 of @michaelguerinweek : “I’m only here to establish an... ali-bi.”

Happy bi visibility day!

ao3

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Michael woke up to the feeling of fingers on his jaw, tilting his head towards a pair of lips that kissed his nose and his cheek and eventually his lips when he made a noise to show he was awake.

Alex’s tongue slipped past his lips, bringing him to life nice and slow. If he woke up every morning like this, it would truly be heaven. Alex’s hand dragged over his side and pulled him as close as he could as he kissed him. Michael pressed against him and wanted to never move.

“You gotta get up,” Alex murmured as he broke the kiss. Michael whined, reluctantly opening his eyes. Alex was right there and looking all too beautiful for just having woken up. “You’ve got an interview. Go shower and make yourself look nice, I ordered food.”

“Can’t I just stay here?” Michael pleaded. Alex hummed, his thumb dragging over his bottom lip.

“No,” he said simply, “You need to get ready.”

“You’re a tease,” he complained.

“Mmm, is it teasing if we both know I’ll deliver later?” Alex asked. Michael nearly melted which only earned him two more kisses before Alex patted his hip. "Get up."

It took a lot more effort than he would ever imagine, but he managed to get out of bed and not fall over when he did so. Alex got out of bed much easier and stretched in all his half-naked glory. Yeah, this couldn't be real. There was no fucking way.

"Stop staring and go take a shower!" Alex laughed, "You gotta impress these people so you can get buff like you so desperately want."

Michael dragged himself to the bathroom and found himself smiling so wide that it hurt for no goddamn reason. Well, there was a reason. Because apparently he got to hook up with Alex now. That was something he could do. He didn't know what exactly that meant in the long run or if this was something they were going to keep doing, but he knew Alex promised more and he had an interview and he was on top of the world.

He'd been wanting something better for so long and finally he was getting that something better.

He came out of the shower as quick as possible, still drying himself off as he walked out. Alex was sitting on the desk, sipping coffee and looking at his phone. Michael hadn't seen him have a phone since the moment he stepped in his car on Friday.

"Look, see," Alex said, showing his phone to Michael as he came close. It was an instagram post on a Fever Dream fan account saying that Alex was seen in Mississippi. "Told you."

"That only has, like, 200 likes, did you search your name or something?" Michael laughed.

"I gotta know where they think I am so my band doesn't try to track me down," Alex said, " I left a note saying they could keep the name and their share of the royalties, but I'm not coming back.i still don't trust them to not make it harder."

"I'll keep you hidden," Michael promised. Alex smiled, leaning over to kiss his damp cheek.

"Thank you, but it'll come out eventually. I just need more time, you know?" he said. Michael nodded.

The delivery girl came as Michael texted Isobel good morning and a short promise to tell her about what happened. She sent back a series of emojis that seemed to show how scandalized she was. He just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Alex. He rested his head on his shoulder they ate, refusing to sacrifice any semblance of closeness. Alex didn't seem to mind.

It was easy to be comfortable with him despite it being so new. Very new. He technically just met him two days ago and already he wanted to glue himself to his side. He'd never met anyone that made him feel like that. He refused to give it back.

"You know, if I get this job, I bet they'd be okay with you staying with me," Michael suggested casually. Alex laughed.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I should get an apartment," Alex said. Michael sort of felt like that was a rejection, but he tried really hard not to. "Let's date first."

"Date," Michael repeated, "Going on a date with Alex Manes.That sounds like something teenage me manifested."

"But last night wasn't?" Alex laughed. Michael lifted his head.

"I was never bold enough to ever even consider that might happen. Still processing."

"Let me help you process some more," Alex offered, his fingers pressing into Michael's jaw to pull him in for a kiss. It was more than welcome.

They sat and kissed for a long time, just making out like they had all the time in the world. In some way, they kind of did have all the time in the world. Wasn't that something?

"Alright, let's go so you're not late," Alex said.

They made their way towards the front desk and that same kid was back for his night shift. He paled a little when he saw Alex again, but Alex just smiled slyly and walked right up him.

"We're gonna check out," Alex said. The kid nodded and started to pull up the paper they needed to sign.

"So, where are y'all headed?" he kid asked.

"Florida," Alex answered easily. Michael didn't question him, choosing to stay quiet until they got into the car

"Florida?" Michael asked.

"I'm only here to establish an alibi," Alex stated with a sigh. Michael smiled and shook his head.

"Fair enough."

Alex took his hand again as they followed the GPS directions towards the farm. The closer they got, the more neevous Michael felt, but he tried to hide it as best as he could. He just needed to stay calm. Alex was going to wait at a coffee shop that was a few miles away and look online for an actual hotel to stay at until he found an apartment. They were going to start a life here. A new one where they were happy and unbothered. Or that was the plan.

"You're going to do incredible," Alex promised as the got to the coffee shop. Michael was too nervous to make a comment on whether he believed that or not. Alex grabbed his face and kissed him enough to take away some of it. "Call me when you're done?"

A stupid, giddy smile found Michael's face. "I don't have your phone number."

"Whoops," Alex laughed. He took his phone though and typed it in before giving it back. He gave him another kiss before getting out of the car and going inside. Michael took a deep breath before heading towards the farm.

He was greeted by an older couple who were immediately welcoming. They explained that the heavy lifting was getting a little more difficult in their old age and their son was leaving for college and didn't have plans on coming back to the farm, so they needed someone to help out. He promised he was down for anything and they liked the sound of that. They showed him to the little airstream that was on the far end of the property that even had its own driveway towards the main road. It was small, but it was enough and it would be the first time he had his own space. He wondered if he and Alex could fit in the bed.

They showed him around the farm, the different barns, the different fields, and introduced him to the animals. Anything he wasn't sure how to do, he promised he could learn. Which he could. He'd always been a fast learner. He found himself getting giddy as he pet the cows and got a look at the tractor. It all was so appealing to him. Why hadn't he done this before? He remembered being so deadset on being an agricultural engineer that it hadn't even crossed his mind to do something similar. This felt similar.

Not only did it feel similar, it felt like the start of something new. It felt like he was finally going to be able to be himself. Truly and purely and he was excited.

Damn, it felt good to be excited.

"So when can you start?"

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #rnm fic #my fic

56 notes · View notes

izukubuns · 4 years ago

Note

hello could you do headcannos for how the 1A boys of how they act around there male s/o that is very girly but dosent care of other people opions evne the hero costume is girly. how would they react

a/n: im honestly really glad that i’ve gotten requests for male s/o’s !! ive always thought lgbt+ boys need more representation on these kinds of blogs :’) sorry if this is bad, but i’d be more than willing to write more on this concept !!

midoriya:

disaster bi

you’d fluster him very much, especially if you flirted with him

“y-you’re pretty.. h-handsome? w-whichever you’d prefer, i-”

when he first saw your hero costume, oh boy

he wouldn’t even get close to you

sure, he sees you in the locker room, but something about you in your hero costume does something to him

especially if you have a skirt, he’d definitely see up your skirt on “accident” and blush about it for the rest of the day

deku’s a nasty, nasty boy, but that’s for another day

once you’re comfortable though, he’d have no problem ogling you as much as he wants

he’d be envious of your confidence, and be proud of you at the same time

you’d slowly help him grow more confident by telling him he’s hot, gorgeous, smart, etc

it makes his heart go waPOW

if someone said something about you he’d immediately rush to your comfort, being the worry wart he is, even though you’ve told him plenty times that people’s words don’t get to you

he’d give the person that said something to you angry-frustrated glares from then on

bakugou:

lowkey always thought you were hot, will never admit it though

confidence is very attractive to katsuki, and the fact that you strutted your stuff for the world to see got his attention very quickly

tries to pretend like you’re annoying, but it becomes playful banter very quickly

as playful as bakugou can get

when it comes to your hero costume, it doesn’t bother him much until he actually sees you in action

you’re a badass and you look hot as fuck in that skirt?

he trains with you a lot

you two are definitely a power couple

shamelessly lifts up the skirts/dresses that you wear when the two of you are alone

“nice ass.” “you have 5 seconds before i fucking sock you.”

he’s definitely more upset than you at what people may say

“tch, fucking piece of shit extra thinks they have the right to say anything about you? have they even seen you fight?”

is more than willing to teach them a lesson, but of course you stop him before he can

you honestly have to beg him not to get in arguments for your sake

you make him promise to keep his cool as best as he can when you’re not there to calm him

“pretty please?” “...you’re damn annoying. whatever.”

translation: i cant say no to you

todoroki:

another power couple

todoroki being todoroki, pays no mind to you at first

although, you are competition to him once he realizes how strong you are

he didn’t treat the girls any differently, so why should he treat you differently?

he’ll ask you to spar with him, during which you proceed to flirt with him

todoroki being todoroki, does not notice

this will either frustrate you intensely, or encourage you to keep trying

he does not once doubt your power, so your sessions get pretty intense

you’ll have to beat the shit outta him and ask him out while you stand with one foot his chest

seeing your tight costume/up your skirt from that angle flustered him so much that he didn’t even hear you ask him out

“(y/n), t-this position-”

“i didn’t think i’d have to beat it into you for you to realize.” “...realize?”

your eye would twitch

“so you’re telling me you want a second round?

once you two finally got together though, all was good and well

when people said things about you, he’d always check in with you first

of course he didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t get mad unless you did

he’d still reassure you always that you’re amazing and he loved you for who you were

kirishima:

fuck yeah

kiri would love that shit

if your costume exposed your body, he’d love it even more

you two could be borderline naked together!

of course he’d think you’re hot, but that didn’t matter as much to him at all

you were so strong and confident and amazing and made his heart go doki doki boom boom

he’d be the one pining after you

you could beat his ass and he’d cheer you on as if you’d taken down a villain

“that was fucking awesome. you’re so fucking manly.”

even though he loved that you didn’t care what others said about you, kiri would get defensive

he’s the type to pout about it and give you a bunch of affection later

you’re just like ???? and he just “i love you. very much. let me kiss you please”

kiri would definitely be up for trying on a skirt himself

he’d smash in ur hero costume

sero:

the dumb half of dumb and dumber

he’s very friendly and would approach you first

you would warm up to him pretty quickly

he’s honestly the easiest to develop a crush on

sero would casually compliment you on your fighting and your outfit all the time

he 100% knows what he’s doing

though he doesn’t even have to compliment you for you to know that

hype man all the way

he’d confess when you two were studying together cause he was staring at you the whole time

“you’re really pretty, ya know.” “wh- t-the lesson, sero.” “let’s go on a date”. “...not if you fail this test again.”

would like you to model your hero costume for him if ya know what i mean

and other cute clothes as well

he’s ready to fight whoever disrespected you in the slightest

sero would offer to tape the mouths of anyone who talked shit about you

or tape them to a wall til they apologized

you’d say no of course, but he can’t make any promises

kaminari:

dumber

another disaster bi

you two would meet because he’d mistake you for a girl

you were talking to someone else and you had your back turned

whether it was your hair, your clothes, or your posture, denki thought you were another baddie to flirt with

which you were, just not the type of baddie he thought

“hey girl, what��s your name?”

you didn’t let it get to you because this happened all the time, and you thought he was just another asshole, so you simply turned around to correct him

“i’m a guy.” “hey boy, what’s your name?”

while midoriya is the shy disaster bi, denki is the chaotic one

“if you ever need help putting on your hero costume, you can call m-” he doesn’t finish before you sock him in his shit

he’d do ridiculous things to get your attention, though you can’t help but find it cute

you’re gorgeous to him, through and through. your confidence, your looks, you’re like a movie star in his eyes

plus you’re badass

he’d want you to beat him up

will fight just about anybody for you

“hey kaminari, why don’t you take notes from your girlfriend?” “hes my fucking boyfriend, you shit stain”

let anybody misgender you, denki will go off

if you’re not with him he will start a fight

he loves you so much and will always try to fight for your honor

146 notes · View notes

xfandomwritingsx · 4 years ago

Text

His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 1

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Post Snap. Angst. Self-Hate. Pining. Daddy kink. Slightest briefest illusion to choking kink. No smut yet. A small hint of fluff if you squint.

Approx. Word Count: 7,000

A/N: This took on a mind of its own. I’m sorry. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as it usually happens with me, I’ve written this part and am just at a standstill. So to boost my motivation, I’m posting what I’ve got. I hope you guys like it. There will be smut in the next part. Just as soon as I write it.

You hate how cliché it is. Really, you do. If you could stop it, you would. If you could stop the ache inside of you yearning for your best friend left in the galaxy and simply go back to the overwhelming sadness, the mourning for your lost boyfriend, you would do it in a heartbeat. Because at least the sadness felt right. It belonged. It was valid.

The aching flame of desire that’s been building, growing steadily inside of you is not. It’s out of place in this world and it’s just wrong. It feels like betrayal and tastes like bitter poison with the potential to destroy you.

It’s so damn clichéd to say he’s an addiction, but fuck it if you just can’t bring yourself to leave him behind. You tried once. You stopped answering his calls and his texts. You took a vacation away from everyone, but it felt like a torture just as bad as indulging in what you have to admit is much more than a crush. You’d been back in town less than twenty-four hours before he showed up at your apartment to greet you and just seeing him made you feel light and airy and you knew you were hopeless. So you stopped trying.

The worst part about all of it? You know he feels the same way about you. For most, knowing the person you want to be with also wants to be with you would be a blessing. Instead, it’s a cruel twist of the knife in the back of the man you love.

Loved?

No. Love. Loves. There are some days you need to remind yourself. Bucky is gone, but your love is not, cannot, and will not be gone. Which is why the way Steve’s watching you from across the table sends both a blush to your cheeks and drop kick to your gut.

He’s different now, hardened over the last three years since the snap. Maybe that’s why it’s only now that you’ve drawn such an attraction to him. He had been too soft for you before, too morally white and good. He’d slipped into the role of supportive friend and colleague so easily that there was no room for anything else. And when you grew close to and eventually fell head over heels for Bucky? Any chance of a spark was stomped out. With that Steve at least. But this one? This Steve opened a new door that you aren’t sure can be shut. This Steve is rough around the edges and takes what he wants. This Steve is watching you instead of the holographic conference call you’re on, propping his elbow on his armrest, two fingers resting on his cheek while he gently bites down on the tip of his ring finger and his pinky plays along his bottom lip, all with an absolutely sinful look in his eyes.

Old Steve never would have done that.

You struggle to listen to what everyone else is saying. The meeting is boring to say the least, a bi-weekly check in that didn’t really need to be done but everyone participated in our of habit. It’s just you and Steve physically in the room since Natasha had left earlier in the day to travel to a nearby town that needed aid. You wonder briefly if the rest of your colleagues notice the way he’s looking at you or the way you shift in your seat across the wide spacing circular table, but you don’t really care. You realize you’re biting your lower lip and his eyes are drawn to where your teeth sink in gently.

Someone calls your name with the tone of having already called it at least twice and you snap your eyes back up to the blue holograms in front of you. Carol is raising a single eyebrow at you and Rhodey is wearing the smallest smirk. You push down the embarrassment and sit further up in your chair, straightening your back and forcing yourself not to look at Steve who you know is chuckling at your lack of composure.

“Nothing new to report here,” you say after clearing your throat. “Nat’s on her way now to help some cleanup efforts and nothing major has come up recently. Afraid to say it, but things might actually, finally be cooling down.” You chance a look across the table and Steve has his own eyebrow raised in a much less annoyed way than Carol had. His is teasing, suggestive. Things may have been cooling down for the rest of the world, but boy is it getting hot in this room.

Fucking clichés again. It sounded ridiculous even in your own cloudy head.

The call ends quickly after that. One by one all of their images dissolve in front of you and you’re left with no one else to look at except Steve. He removes his hand from his face, thank god, and folds them both into his lap as he casually leans back.

“Plans this afternoon?” he inquires. You mirror his posture, leaning back in your own chair.

“I should do those reports,” you groan, letting your head flop backwards onto the edge of the chair’s back. You hear him chuckle lightly before he responds in an apologetic way.

“You know no one reads them anyways.” You snap your head back to squint your eyes at him.

“You used to be all about paperwork, you know. What happened to organization keeps us going like a well-oiled machine or whatever it was you spewed at us?” you tease. He cracks a smile.

“Less people makes keeping up with briefings a lot simpler.” There’s a bitter sadness behind the look on bright side undertone to his words and it threatens to ruin the mood. You tilt your head lazily and push past it.

“Did you have something else in mind?” You don’t really have many plans today. The place could use a cleaning, but that’s not exactly high up on your want-to-do list. He shrugs and locks your eyes.

“We haven’t sparred together for a while.” The suggestion sends a cold chill down your spine, a twist in your gut, and a tingling warmth between your legs, all of which leaves you feeling like you might float up out of your seat. He watches you carefully, just like always. Looking and waiting for the rejection, the polite decline on his invite.

“I’ll meet you in the gym in ten?” You’ve never said no. Like the cliché goes; it’s a fucking addiction.

Sparring has become your dirty little secret. You’d done it before, sure. But back then it was strict and with purpose and Old Steve corrected your form with precision. Now you only did it when you were alone and it was a whole different game.

It starts friendly, a light warmup and practice drills both of you could do in your sleep by now. Some friendly banter. A couple of unexpected moves to throw the other off balance. His corrections no longer have that precision they once had. Instead his hands linger on you and he presses a little closer. Your focus has now shifted from besting the great Captain America to instead figuring out if you can get him to pin you down in a way that isn’t completely obvious.

There’s times it’s slow and drawn out, a lot of dancing around and eyeing each other before a takedown. Other times it’s hard and fast with barely any warning before one of you is on top of the other. Sometimes it gets rough; a shove into a wall or a takedown that knocks your breath out completely. It was rough a lot the first year after The Snap. Neither of you ever willing to admit you needed the pain to fee alive. You’ve moved past that now and the roughness is for the sheer pleasure of it all.

And then occasionally, when you haven’t been around each other enough and there’s something pent up inside both of you, it gets dirty; innuendos whispered against the shell of an ear, his leg between yours and a slight grind of his hips when he has you against the wall, an accidental slip of your hand up the inside of his thigh. The dirty was rare and taboo, but you couldn’t help but want it more often than you got it.

No matter the type, at the end of it, you’re always breathing heavily and worn out, a mixture of aching to do it again and feeling completely satisfied coursing through you. You don’t like admitting it’s your version of sex, but it is. And the only reason you’re not slipping your hand into your panties every night after you do it is because you’re just too damn tired. Besides, you do that plenty of other nights. But that, and the overwhelming self-hate that comes with it, is a different story.

You make quick work of changing into the black leggings, sports bra, and simple tank top you’ve made a habit of keeping in your room at The Haven. The place is your second home and there are some weeks you’re here more than you are your apartment, but you’ve thinned out the wardrobe you keep in an effort to keep yourself from lingering too long. As empty as it has become, the whole building holds an air of depression that’s seeped right into the grey walls. It’s also why you all stopped calling it The Compound and renamed it The Haven. It was a nice attempt to bring a warm feeling back to the place, even if it didn’t always work.

You’re almost out of your bedroom door when you see the red sweater, his red sweater, resting on the chair in the corner. It gives you pause and that punch of guilt comes crashing over you in a wave. Leaving him in your room to go fuck his best friend.

Stop.

It’s not what you’re doing. He’s not in your room. He’s gone. Gone. And you’re not fucking anyone.

You slip backwards out the door and watch that sweater until it’s just a sliver between the door and the frame. And then it’s gone, trapped behind a heavy wood door to stop taunting you. You breathe a weighted sigh and pry your hand from the door handle. Steve is waiting for you.

---

“Feisty today, aren’t you?” he hisses after your elbow in his ribs puts some space between you. You’ve been at it for a little over twenty minutes.

“Can’t handle me?” You swipe your arm over your forehead to slick away sweat. “You’re getting slow, old man.”

“Age jokes?” There’s a smirk on his lips that should have warned you that he was about to make a move, but you’re completely unprepared. “What’s next?” he grunts as he manipulates you to twist your arm behind your back and presses his chest to your shoulder blades. His other hand ghosts around your neck, never doing more than cradling it in his palm. “You gonna start calling me Daddy?”

Your sharp gasp is audible and there’s not a chance in the entire galaxy that he didn’t feel the way you shuddered and melted back against him. There’s a small chuckle against your hair just behind your ear that confirms it.

Did he know? Had Bucky told him about your little secret kink that was rarely indulged upon? Fuck. Did he know all of your kinks? How much did they share with each other? Best friends.

“Yield?” His voice is clearer, hands already loosening around you in preparation of letting you go. You recognize the tone. Something triggered his own guilt, prompting him to step back. You can let him go or you can keep him close, continue your game and push the boundaries. You want to so badly.

You hesitate and breath catches in your throat as you fight internally with yourself before finally whispering, “Yield,” back to him. He’s gone in an instant, cold air filling the empty space behind you and you instantly regret it.

There is no right answer.

---

You have a reoccurring dream that’s somewhere between ecstasy and terror. You’re sharing a bed with Steve, in your childhood bedroom for a reason you can never figure out. It’s dark in the room and he’s pressed up behind you, a large hand over your hip and a clear hardness rubbing against your ass. Neither of you speak, but you push back into him, aching to feel that hardness between your legs.

You grind against each other, soft moans the only sounds you hear. Then it’s not enough and that ache becomes too strong. Clothes are gone, dissolved off your bodies like they were never there as he scoops his arm behind your knees, bringing them to your chest as he sits up. He keeps you on your side as he gets to his knees, one hand on your ass, the other keeping your legs together and towards your chest. He lines himself up and your body is begging him to push inside of you. You bite down on your lip so hard, you swear you could feel the pain of it in the morning when you wake. All you want is for him to press his hips forward and put his dick inside of you.

He obliges, but slowly. He eases in, just an inch at a time, slowing spreading you open for him and pleasure coursing through you. You moan and grip your pillow tighter. He feels only barely inside of you when there’s a sound outside the door, footsteps of someone coming closer.

You hope and plead that they won’t enter, but they do. Steve bunches the comforter around his waist, shielding you from the unwanted eyes of the intruder, but stays inside of you. You want the person to go away, want Steve to push all the way inside of you, to fuck you like you’ve been craving, but it doesn’t happen. Steve withdraws and in a fit of anger about the feeling of emptiness between your legs, you sit up and are faced with the betrayal in Bucky’s eyes as he stands at the foot of your bed.

You don’t remember much after that. Sometimes there is more, but when you wake you can never quite piece together the blurry memories. Sometimes you just wake up right there, unsure if you’re left horny or distraught; your constant inner turmoil. Usually, you kick the covers off yourself to cool your sweaty body and bury your face into your pillow, willing yourself back to sleep.

---

You still remember the first time you realized how you felt about Steve. It happened unexpectedly and very suddenly. You’d both been in the study of what once was the Avengers Tower, but now was more of an empty, cursed castle. It was only eight months after The Snap. It didn’t feel like that long. As you both sat there in silence, a record playing softly to fill the void, you looked down into your newly empty glass and just felt defeated.

A song started and from the very first bar, you recognized it. It was the slow, entrancing voice of Doris Day singing a song that had become very, very dear to your heart. Tears welled up, but you pushed them away with the back of your hand.

“He used to say that if we ever got married, this was the song he wanted to dance to,” you told Steve, voice surprisingly clear for how you were feeling. He looked up from his own drink. You knew the alcohol didn’t have the same effect on his body as it did you and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing for him right then. He looked at you apologetically and nodded.

“I know a thing or two about being owed a dance you’ll never get.” It may not be the same exact situation, but he understood how you felt, how just a song could send you down a path in your mind that hurt so badly. He waited for a moment before downing the rest of his glass and standing up. He walked over to the record player and with a delicate ease, started the song over. Walking over to where you sat with a confused, sad look, he held out his hand. “I’m not Bucky, but I’m not too bad of a dancer.” You couldn’t help but smile at him and his attempt to ease the sorrow.

“Well I’m not Peggy,” you said, slipping your hand into his. He gave a gentle pull to bring you to your feet. “And I will probably step on your toes,” you joke. It brought a smile to his face wider than you’d seen in a long time and it made you feel truly happy that you’d been the one to put it there.

The song itself is only about a minute and a half long so he made quick work of placing his hand politely at your hip and holding your hand out to the side, swooping you into a small, slow step. He led with a grace you didn’t quite expect and it was easy to follow him, to get lost in the sway of the simple piano in the song.

You found yourself leaning in closer, turning your head and pressed your cheek to his shoulder, eyes closed and face practically buried into the comfort of his neck. He laid his head carefully against yours and you suspect he also had closed his eyes to lose himself. You expected yourself to think of nothing but Bucky, to be imagining it was his arms you were in. Instead, you melted into Steve and the only thing you could think of, was how safe you were in his arms.

You’d leaned heavily on each other in those first few months. Tears, hugs, shoulder bumps, squeezing hands, grounding looks from across the room. Anything and everything to keep your heads above water. He’d always been one of your best friends since the moment he came into your life and now you feared he may have actually been the last person on the planet that you could trust with everything you had.

As the song faded down, you pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eyes and that’s when it hit you. Like a ton of bricks, as they say. Something came over you and you just wanted to pull him down and kiss him. There was a look you couldn’t quite place in his eyes. They were soft, an internal conflict reflected in them as he glanced down to your lips in a slow blink. His hand closed around yours, a palpable change from the gentlemanly way he had cradled it through the dance. His lips parted a fraction and your stomach started twisting in an anxious sort of pleasure.

But then a new song came on, something more upbeat and the spell was broken. You both backed away from each other and you thanked him for the dance. You chocked it up to grief and craving safety and familiarity in such desolate and chaotic times. You expected it to fade, to wither away and never come back.

But all it did was grow.

---

You’re sitting in the main office with Steve, work long since forgotten. You’re sitting at what has officially become Nat’s desk, but with her gone on another will-be dead end hunt for Clint, you’ve made yourself comfortable in her chair. Steve sits across from you and though he won’t say it, he’s relieved he’s not in charge anymore. He’s content on the other side of the desk, riding out the storm instead of trying to tame it.

It’s gotten late, the room growing dark with patches of yellow light from the lamps gently placed around the room. Everyone had silently agreed the overhead lights were too harsh for nighttime. They were too white. Too happy. Too fake. A soft, warming color from the lamps fit the air of night much better. It also helps to shadow your face after you swallow the rest of your drink. Your hair, growing a little longer than usual, provides a curtain that helps to give you courage for the question burning at the tip of your tongue. There’s been flirtations passed between you and the way his eyes roam over your body as you lean back only encourages you.

“So be honest,” You don’t look at him as you ask, but instead at the empty glass you place on the desk. “Did he tell you?” When he responds with silence, you look up through your lashes to see a genuine look of confusion. You sigh, not wanting to elaborate. “The… daddy thing.” You cringe saying it. It’s been at least a month since Steve said it, but it still lingers in your mind all the time. His look of confusion lessens, but you can tell even more elaboration is still needed. “I don’t know how much guys share about that kind of stuff. I didn’t know if Bucky ever told you… about that.” Your foggy mind can’t find a tactful way to phrase Daddy Kink, but the look of realization dawns on his features. He licks his lips quickly before literally biting back a smile while he looks down. Your cheeks are absolutely burning in a blush right now.

“Uhh,” he stutters and clears his throat. “He did not.” You let out an embarrassed groan and throw your face into your hands which draws a chuckle from him. ��

“I thought for sure he had to have and you were screwing with me.” Your voice is muffled through your fingers, but still clear enough to understand. “Instead I just confess a kink for no reason.” Another groan from you and another chuckle from him.

“Buck was a private guy. He didn’t share much about what went on behind closed doors.” Why did you open your mouth? Steve hadn’t brought it up. You could have continued your lives without him knowing and without tossing yourself into a pit of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, starting to melt your hands away from your face, but sinking down further into your chair. “You didn’t need to know that about me. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He’s still biting his lower lip, trying not to laugh at you and you’re not sure if you want to disintegrate or laugh along with him.

“If it helps,” he starts, the sly smile on his lips tempting to turn into a seductive smirk. “Even though he didn’t tell me, it was pretty clear by the way you… reacted.” You can’t help it. It’s a tortured groan that comes out as you sink as low as you possibly can, butt sliding off the chair entirely, your lower back now supporting your weight. “Hey!” he calls to you, patting his palm against the wooden desk to cut through your groan. “It’s not that bad. Get back up here.” He’s still trying not to laugh.

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble, but push yourself back up in your seat. “I need another drink.” You reach out to pour yourself another and Steve picks up his beer bottle.

“You can just count it as another thing you and I have in common.” You stop pouring. He says it so simply, takes a swig of his beer so casually and yet there’s a glimmer in his eye that reflects the dirty place he sends your mind spiraling into.

You thought he’d been teasing you, pushing your buttons. You never once thought it might be something he also liked. And if he didn’t know about your dirty little secret kink when he said it, had he said it for his own pleasure? Your stomach starts knotting inside of you and it’s getting uncomfortably warm.

“That’s… good to know.” It’s not a good response, but your mind can’t come up with anything else. The tension between you is thick and light as a fucking marshmallow and you swear it tastes just as sweet.

Neither of you speak for a time and neither of you look away. His eyes hold yours, dare you to make a move, to cross the line. You stare back, but barely seeing him as your mind runs wild imagining just how he would react if you called him Daddy and desperately trying to figure out how you can slip that into any future interactions.

He can clearly see you’re daydreaming, but he still says nothing. He just watches as your eyes come and go, enjoying the way your tongue occasionally darts out to wet your lips and the flush that’s forming near your collarbone. You take a deep, slow breath to refocus yourself and calm your heart that you didn’t realize is pounding in your chest.

He rests his fist under his chin, turns it so he can run his pinky finger over his bottom lip, making you wonder just how soft his lips would be and how roughly he’d press them to you. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but you’ll never know what because the buzzing of his phone vibrating on the desk breaks the spell. He looks at it and then regretfully back at you.

“I have to take this,” he admits. You wave your hand and shake your head a little too wildly.

“Go, go!” He swipes the phone from the desk and has it to his ear before he’s out of his chair and leaving the room. Everything comes crashing back down on you and the lustful heat just feels like sticky sweat now.

You swallow your drink in one gulp and retire to your room before he gets back.

---

Your hands are buried in the dirt, trying to dig a hole deep enough for the damned blueberry bush, but every time you think you’ve found the right spot, you hit giant rocks. Who the hell decided giant rocks should litter the ground where you would unexpectedly be trying to plant things? Try to do some good in the world you told yourself. It’ll be fun you told yourself.

“You better fucking grow after this ordeal,” you hiss at the bush. Although it wasn’t even a bush yet. It’s a stem and roots that’ll take over a year to produce berries. Stupid damn garden.

You’d started it two years ago. There was a patch of land in back of your apartment building that was getting overgrown and you were at the point where you needed a project, something to do. Growing some vegetables and herbs and flowers seemed like a good idea. Get into the dirt with your hands and make something. Grow something. Share something. Of course, you had no idea what in the hell you were doing so it took over a year for you to produce a vegetable that was larger than your finger. It’s a pain in the ass and plants are finicky as fuck, but despite your moaning and complaining, it works. It feels good.

“If you don’t grow, I’m going to rip you apart with my hands and then find a chipper to run you through,” you threaten as you pick it up to gently place it in its hole.

“I thought gardening was supposed to be soothing,” Steve’s voice comes from behind you. “Kind of like yoga or something.” You turn your head to pass him a glare.

“Maybe intimidating plants is soothing to me.” You turn back to your bush and fill the hole in with dirt before pushing up off your knees and standing. “What are you doing here?”

“What? Can’t visit my friend?” he teases. You take off your gardening gloves, hot hands feeling a rush of cool when they hit fresh air. You toss the gloves into your bag of tools on the ground and cock your hip out.

“You never come see me in the garden unless it’s important or unless you want more cucumbers,” you call him out. “And seeing as how you just got a batch of cucumbers from me, I don’t think that’s what you’re here for.” You bring your hand to your forehead to shade your eyes so you can stop squinting at the setting sun and see him a little better. He’s leaning his shoulder up against the brick wall of the building, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“I’ve got to cancel this weekend,” he says with a hint of regret. You can feel yourself start to deflate a little. “There’s an older gentleman in the support group who needs an escort upstate. I won’t be back until late Sunday.”

“You would abandon me for something noble,” you accuse in a teasing manner. Lowering your hand from your face, you take a few steps towards him.

This weekend was your annual ice cream fest, as you affectionately called it. Once a year, you gather as much ice cream as you can both handle and devour it like children at a sleepover. It had originated from early on; a drunken night in which you needed consoling. Steve thought ice cream seemed the perfect thing to help you out and it kind of just stuck. It’s something you look forward to every year now.

“When are you leaving?” you ask.

“Tonight,” he says, confirming there’s no hope for salvaging the weekend.

“Well, shit.” You manage to say it in a somewhat humorous tone, trying to make it clear you aren’t angry with him for canceling.

“We can binge next weekend,” he offers quickly. A couple more steps and you find yourself next to him, leaning your back up against the same wall, using his shadow as a shield from the sun as the rough brick scratches into your shoulders.

“I don’t know if that’s going to cut it, Rogers,” you tease. “My broken heart isn’t so easily mended.” He cracks a smile and leans in closer to you.

“What ever can I do to make it up to you?” he inquires in jest. He slips his hands out of his pockets and pushes his shoulder off the wall, coming into your personal space. You make a show of biting your lip and him-hawing as you roll your eyes upwards to look at the sky in mock thought. “You tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He’s using that tone suddenly; the dark and dirty one that threatens to undo you. He shifts so he’s in front of you, places each of his palms on the brick, one on each side of your waist. “Anything you want, babygirl.”

Your eyes snap back to his and that lip bite you’ve been doing loses its falsity. Your pelvis inches off the wall, gravitating to him and causing you to actively pull it back. You’re so focused on your hips that you don’t catch your hand reaching out for him and taking hold of his sweater in the middle of his chest. You play it off with a laugh and unfurl your fingers free of the fabric, instead giving him a pat.

“That’s just mean,” you chuckle. “Playing on a girl’s fantasy like that.” His lips tilt upwards and he leans ever so slightly into your touch when you don’t take it away immediately.

“Well maybe one day we won’t be just playing with it.” You catch the look of longing in his eyes as your throat closes up and nearly chokes you on air. It’s taking everything you have not to melt into a fleshy puddle at his feet. You want to say yes, fucking beg him to make good on that, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. He reaches up with one hand and twists a small bundle of your stray hair around his fingers. “I miss you when I’m gone,” he says softly, the dirty tone gliding away and making way for something softer.

“I miss you too.” Your voice is dry, a stark contrast to the way the skin on your throat is wet with sweat and heated with a blush. You swallow and try to speak a little more clearly, but he beats you to it.

“We deserve to be happy too, you know.” It’s what he tells his support groups, the same line he’s been using for at least the last year and a half in order to help people move forward. And yet, it doesn’t sound rehearsed. You slip your hand from his chest up to his shoulder.

“Do you really believe that?” There’s hesitation. A struggle. He sighs and it’s ragged. He twirls your hair a little more, distracted.

“I’m trying to,” is his honest reply. It’s such an easy thing to tell other people, but to convince yourself when you were the ones fighting the battle, when you’re the ones who lost? The ones who got your best friends, your loved ones turned to ash? Not as easy to believe. “I want to believe it.” He leans down, rests his forehead on yours. “I’m ready to try at least.”

It’s hard to focus. The setting sun is beating down on half your face, heating your skin and nearly blinding one of your eyes. The twirl of his fingers pulls so gently on your hair that it could practically lull you to sleep. At some point your hand had slipped up towards the back of his neck and you can feel the ends of the hair on the nape of his neck on your fingertips. Your hand itches to slide up over his head and pull him down to you. But when you close your eyes, you see Bucky’s disappointed face reflecting back to you.

“Do you think he’d want us to be happy?” you whisper. Do you think he’d give his blessing for us to fuck? But no, that isn’t right. It’s more than that, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be a hookup. It wouldn’t be a one-time thing. It would be real. Is that supposed to make it better? There’s a long pause before he answers.

“Does it really matter anymore?” A bitter and defeated chuckle follows his words. He’s tired. You can see it in his eyes. Tired of worrying about right and wrong. Tired of wanting and not having. Tired of not letting himself be happy. He’s so close and you want to give in, want to pull him down and press your lips to his and tell him to hell with everyone and everything. But you just can’t shake Bucky’s image from your mind.

“Steve,” you pause, voice cracking. “I-”

“I know,” he cuts you off gently and sighs pulling his head off of yours. He’s disappointed, but not surprised. “But if and when you’re ready, just know I’m here.” As he steps back, he lets his hand graze over your hip and it leaves a tingle in its wake. He leaves you with a smile and a promise to be back soon and it takes you quite a few minutes to get yourself off that brick wall and back to work.

Tears silently fall down your face tonight, every molecule of you feeling torn. He’d broached the line, held out his hand and offered for you to go with him. If you’re honest, you never actually thought the day would come. Sure, you’d dreamed of it, yearned for it, but it was always so unreachable. And now he’d just… offered it to you. Yet he did it in such a way that you could ignore it. You could pretend it never happened and just stay as you are. The question is; do you want to?

---

It’s weeks later and you’ve barely seen him. A mixture of work, personal responsibilities, and exhaustion making your schedules clash against each other. There’s been a couple phone calls, a few texts, and brief meetings with fellow teammates, but no one-on-one time appropriate to broach his proposal.

It hasn’t stopped you from thinking about it, dreaming about it and then tearing yourself apart for doing so. Honestly though, your self-depreciation is starting to feel a little forced. There’s the smallest shift from feeling guilty for wanting Steve to feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. It still leaves the black hole in your stomach in the morning, but it’s different.

You’re shuffling papers around in the office because, yes, paperwork does still matter, when Natasha comes in. You give her a smile as she sheds her jacket and comes to stand across from you, leaning her hands on the back of a chair.

“Doing okay today?” she asks tentatively. You don’t even look up from the report you’re trying to read.

“Yeah, but could someone teach Rocket some penmanship if he’s going to make notes on these?” It’s only partially a joke. You’re turning the paper in your hands and squinting your eyes trying to make sense of his chicken scratch. When you glance up, you expect to see a smile on her face, but there isn’t even a trace of one and her eyes are analyzing you. “Are you okay?” you question back.

“Yeah,” There’s a look of subtle surprise on her face with a simple raise of her eyebrows as she straightens up and crosses her arms over her chest. “I guess I’m still just tiptoeing around some things. I thought today would be hard for you.” Your brow knits together. Today? Why would today be hard? Hell, what is today? It’s Wednesday. It’s summertime. It’s… Fuck. Your face drops. “You forgot, didn’t you?” It’s gentle and nonjudgmental. “That’s actually good,” she tries to reassure. “Moving on and whatnot.”

You throw your face into your hands, dropping the reports on the table. You’re honestly not sure what you’re feeling. You forgot your anniversary. Your anniversary! You’d forgotten it plenty of times before and it wasn’t like it was your real anniversary either. You and Bucky had just picked a random date out of obligatory social construct after realizing you had no idea when you’d actually gotten together. After The Snap it hit you a little differently though with the last couple stinging you sharply and causing bad days. Not this year apparently.

“I’m an awful girlfriend,” you groan through your palms.

“Sweetie, I hate to break it to you,” Natasha offers softly, but with a small sense of humor hidden in her voice. “You’re not his girlfriend anymore.”

You take a deep breath and it shakes. When you squeeze your eyes shut behind your hands, you can feel tears make their way through you. You use the heels of your palms to rub them away. She watches it hit you; the emotions, the guilt, the tearing apart and she walks around the table to put her hand on your shoulder. It’s a small touch but it’s friendly and grounding and it makes you feel more comfortable.

“Maybe it’s time to let him go. Let them all go,” she suggests. “It’s been more than three years now.” Some days it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. You bring your hands back to the papers on the table and pretend to watch them. “No one would blame you for moving on.” She gives your shoulder a squeeze before shifting away and leaning her lower back onto the table edge next to you. There’s a brief hesitation before she speaks again. “No one would judge you for who you moved on to either.” You look up sharply at her and she averts her eyes to the floor.

“Are you implying something?” you sound a little angrier than you are. No one’s ever acknowledged this thing between you and Steve before, so the instinctive defense kicks in.

“Look, it’s not like you two are subtle with the constant flirting.” She’s doing that thing she does where she’s giving you the answers straight, but her voice is soft. It works to help dissolve the anger. “Hell, there’s a bet going around on when you’ll finally hook up.” You’re not sure if you’re more embarrassed or humored by that piece of information.

“Where’s Rocket’s bet at?” you ask, deciding to go with the humor. “I can’t let that little bastard win.” Natasha cracks a smile at you.

“He’s running the betting pool so he actually wins it all if you don’t hook up.” She chuckles as you groan and lean back in your chair.

“Well shit,” you say. “I guess I have to sleep with Steve now.” You both take a moment to laugh at the notion, letting any remaining tension about the conversation float away. When the smiles and the laughs settle, you give a small sigh. “I just feel like the worst person in the world,” you admit. “What kind of woman falls for the supposed love of her life’s best friend?”

“There are worse things that a woman could do. Trust me.” Her words are true, but don’t do much to dull your pain. “It’s not fair to hold yourself to past commitments. We’ve gone through an unprecedented event. There’s not a rule book on what’s right and wrong here.” You peek up at her with a tilt of your head.

“You sound like Steve at his support groups.” She squints her eyes and then cringes, bringing her shoulders up to her ears.

“Oh god, I do, don’t I?” You both laugh again. “Alright, take out all the sentimental therapy bullshit,” she retracts with a smile as she drops her arms and pushes herself away from the table. “Just let yourself be happy.” She walks back around the table to grab her jacket off the chair. “Besides,” she adds before leaving. “Can’t let that raccoon win.”

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine

97 notes · View notes

feelingfredly · 4 years ago

Text

Sometimes Not Seeing Is Believing

Bam, bam, bam. The loft door rattled in its track.

“Come on, dude… open the door.” Stiles yelled; frustration lanced through the words, but Derek didn’t move.

“I know you’re home,” more rustling, Stiles's hands were full of something, “and if you wanted to pretend you weren’t home, you shouldn’t have left the Camaro out front. Now open the damn door or I’m going to drop all this shit and the place is going to stink of l’eau de wolfsbane for weeks.”

Derek listened as Stiles juggled things from hand to hand and sighed. Which was worse, Stiles or wolfsbane? Stiles or… Yeah, he’d take the wolfsbane. It would hurt less.

He waited, listening as the bags shifted again, and rolled his eyes when he heard keys clinking together as Stiles finally gave up on him and unlocked the door for himself. The very same door whose locks he had just changed for the fourth time. In six months. He wondered if there was a spell Stiles used to copy his keys. He was too much of a spaz to be such a successful pickpocket.

“I’m not in the mood, Stiles.”

Long limbs flailed their way across the living room until Stiles finally coasted to a stop at the table, dumping bags and boxes on the surface, the smell of Thai mixing with wolfsbane and cinnamon and lightning. It shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was, but this was Stiles and for some reason rules didn’t apply to Stiles.

“You’re never in the mood, Sourwolf,” he snarked, a pink lip curled up in a grin that was half-mocking half serious. “If I didn’t know Braedon better, I’d recommend you get the hardware checked out, but clearly it’s a software problem, or you wouldn’t be such an asshole about it all the time.”

Derek refused to get angry; it had stopped keeping the younger man away a long time ago, and it was exhausting. “You know a lot about assholes?”

Stiles gave him a carefully casual look, his eyes just a little bigger than usual, but Derek could hear the stutter in his heartbeat as he responded. “Assholes? If you mean the coffeeshop kind or the grocery store kind, then yeah, I run into them all the time. But, like real assholes? Hardware kinds of assholes? I know as much as the next sexually curious bi-guy, but if you’re looking for something deeper—Oh my God, I just said deeper about your asshole��shit. No.” He scrubbed a hand through the long mop of hair that insisted on flopping over his forehead. “Assholes, right. Because if you do have an actual hardware problem, I could probably track down one of Deaton’s contacts and we could get you…”

Derek watched as the chaos unfolded in front of him, the blush that tinged the tips of Stiles's ears, and the way his voice dropped and graveled out as he spoke.

“They say,” he said, a little louder than usual, “if you run into an asshole in the morning, you run into an asshole.” Derek’s tone cut straight through the babble, and Stiles stared at him, surprised and confused at the conversational hijacking.

“Dude, that’s like Tautology 101, right?”

Amber eyes fixed on him, now curious and waiting for what would come next, and Derek forced himself to hold the gaze.

“Right, right, but it’s the next part that’s important.”

Stiles leaned forward, his chest a little out over the edge of the counter, and Derek noticed the way his nipples pressed against the fabric of his thin shirt, how the stretched-out neck showed the shadow along his clavicle, how it framed the hummingbird beating of the pulse point at the base of his throat.

“Okay,” he said. “Go on.”

“So, if you run into an asshole in the morning, you run into an asshole. But if you run into assholes all day—like at the coffee shop or the grocery or my apartment—then then you’re the asshole.”

Derek could see the wheels turning and felt a burst of satisfaction when Stiles froze as the penny dropped.

“Oh my God, Dude. You’re such an asshole.” Amber eyes disappeared in crinkled laugh lines, shoulders shaking, and floppy hair… flopping, and Derek couldn’t help the tightness that squeezed his lungs, his breath short and his heart kicking up a beat.

“And there’s my point made.” Derek rested a hip on the edge of the table, forcing himself back to blasé, and looked at the mess. “What is all this?”

Stiles was still staring at him stunned, his jaw now slack, pink lips parted, and Derek fought the urge to reach over and snap it shut or thumb it further open. He wanted to thrust the callused pad of his finger against Stiles's tongue and teeth, to hold his mouth captive and revel in its wet heat. He wanted to… well, he just wanted.

A moment passed, and then another, and suddenly Stiles was back with him, laughter gone and the full force of his attention a heavy weight in the echoing space between them.

“Well this,” he indicated the plastic bags full of takeout, “is dinner from that new place over on 4th. Peter mentioned that you’d been there and liked it, so I figured it was a suitable bribe for the rest of it.”

Thanks Peter, Derek thought tiredly. Peter and Stiles had been spending time together since the nogitsune was killed. He’d wondered about it in the beginning, half-afraid that Stiles was going to try to commit suicide by werewolf, but it made a strange kind of sense. Peter knew what it was like to be helplessly trapped in his own body, and although neither of them liked to admit it, they were people who lived their lives hyperaware of the chessboard that stretched out around them. They spent their days evaluating other people for their strengths and weaknesses and cataloging the weaknesses for the next time someone needed to be taken out of the game. As the Hale Pack’s Left Hand, Peter had been trained to ruthlessness from childhood. He espoused the belief that everything was a weapon if you knew how to wield it, and then the fire had stripped away any of his remaining hesitance to wield those weapons to their greatest destruction; the nogitsune had burned away Stiles's. They were predators and they recognized themselves in each other, and instead of fear or awkwardness they found companionship.

The world should be terrified; Derek was. He was also more than a little jealous of their closeness, but that was an entirely different problem.

“The rest of it? Including whichever one of these things reeks of wolfsbane? I’m not sure Thai is enough of a bribe for me to let you poison me.”

Stiles gave him a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t poison you, Der.” His grin turned sharp and sharklike. “At least not much. I just need to test it on you to make sure it will work on other weres.”

Derek snorted. “And you didn’t think Peter would be a better target for your experiments?”

That got him a shrugged shoulder. “He offered, but I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Peter offered? To let Stiles poison him?

“Okay,” he looked at the younger man suspiciously, “you’ve got my attention. That requires an explanation. Or two. Uncle Peter—my Uncle Peter—offered to let you poison him? And you turned him down? I don’t follow.”

Stiles's grin softened a little, the shark-teeth disappearing behind pink lips, but the sharpness was still there in his smile. It was always there. Derek dreamed of that smile. Of those sharp eyes and teeth. “I know, I know. It seems too good to be true, but really, it isn’t a good idea.”

“And poisoning me is?” Derek poked the Gordian knot of Stiles's words harder. When Stiles danced around something like this it was never a good thing. Better to get it all out in the open and work backwards from no.

“Now don’t get your knickers in a knot, Grumpywolf. This isn’t like normally poisoning someone. I mean it is poisonous, but then so is water in the right situation. Or the wrong situation? You know, drowning, water intoxication, all that jazz?”

“No, Stiles,” Derek sighed. He sighed a lot these days. It was a bad habit he picked up from having been around too many teenagers over the past few years. “I don’t know what you mean by all that jazz. Enlighten me.”

Stiles nodded, and somehow having been given permission to spew data, instead his brain settled down and focused. “Poisoning is when any substance interferes with normal body functions after it is swallowed, inhaled, injected, or absorbed, lots of things can be poisons. Technically. So, I’ve managed to cobble together a combination of wolfsbane, kanima skin—don’t ask how I got it, you don’t want to know—and a few other wonders of the botanical and magical world and have created an incredibly potentially poisonous invisibility potion.”

Derek stiffened. “An invisibility potion?”

Stiles laughed a little shakily, waving his hands around, long fingers wiggling in his best abracadabra kind of motion. “I know right? Harry Potter eat your heart out. But really… it worked for me—mostly—but because it’s got a fairly massive amount of aconite in it, I’m worried about using it on any of our moon-affected family and friends. Plus, I don’t think Peter really needs the temptation of being able to turn invisible whenever he wants to. I mean, he’s hard enough to keep track of when I can see him. He doesn’t need any help creeping.”

An invisible Peter. Derek shuddered. Now that was a terrifying thought. Actually, an invisible Stiles was almost as terrifying. There was no telling what he’d get into and Derek wouldn’t be able to see him, to protect him, to… hang on a second. He said it worked for him. That meant that he--

“Are you insane?” Derek’s voice cracked under the strain of not yelling, the racing train of his thoughts running through all the ways that could’ve gone wrong, and he wouldn’t even have known that Stiles was in danger. His heart tried to beat its way out of his chest, and he felt his claws dig into the wooden tabletop. “Making something that dangerous without telling anyone?”

“Hey now, hold up, Sourwolf,” Stiles grabbed his hand, pulling Derek back to himself in a rush. “No need to get all growly. We’re in total agreement: no superpowers for Peter.”

Derek sucked in a breath, the heat of Stiles's hand on his drawing his focus, and he flashed his eyes angrily. “Kind of missing the point here, genius.” He forced himself to breathe. “I’m upset that you drank something poisonous. Superpowers for Peter would be better than you being dead.” His wolf howled in the back of his mind, protective and frustrated and helpless. So damn helpless when it came to Stiles. Didn’t the man have any sense of self-preservation? “So, before I call the Sheriff and start telling him things you would really rather he not know, you’d better start explaining. Now.”

He smelled the surprise rolling off the younger man, Derek’s reaction clearly unexpected, and he felt a stab of remorse. Over the years that Stiles ran with the pack his health and safety had often been an afterthought rather than a priority. He’d sacrificed his body time and again without appreciation or recognition. Derek was the first to admit that he had been a lousy Alpha to the human in the pack, and later, after he’d lost his Alpha spark, he’d abandoned Beacon Hills and everyone in it. Derek had wandered the world with Cora and Braedon finding himself, picking up the pieces of his own life, but he’d never been there to help pick up the pieces of Stiles's, never been there to help or hold or heal him, and now, for his sins, he couldn’t change the dynamic no matter how he ached to.

“Huh.” The hand resting on his pulled away finally and he watched it as Stiles pushed it shakily through his hair. “First off, I guess, I was never in any danger, so pulling the Dad card is totally unnecessary, dude. My, uh, my spark has gotten strong enough that I can pretty much burn out any poison in my system if I know what it is and that it’s there, so my testing the potion for its poison factor was a non-thing. Not a nothing, because the test was definitely a something, but it wasn’t a thing thing. Like a capital T thing. And as you can see, I didn’t turn into an ever-loving, blue-eyed Thing—although Peter’s eyes are blue and he’d probably love that comparison. He’d probably turn it into some sort of sex stamina reference and then we’d never hear the end of it.—the”

“Stiles.” Derek rubbed his eyes and sighed. Again. “Focus.”

Pink tinged Stiles's cheeks and he could hear the skip-skip-pause of his heart as the younger man wound down and refocused on the subject at hand.

“Yeah. Right. So, the point was there was no danger for the Stiles and no need to include the Sheriff—which is still a low blow, even if he does know about the monthly fur-and-fang-a-thon—but still superpowers for Peter would be a tick in the bad column, so I’m here with Thai and potentially poisonous potions for you to consume. If you’re willing.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think my having superpowers would be a bad thing?”

Stiles snorted. “Dude. You having superpowers would be awesome! You’d be like Thor to Peter’s Loki. Iron Man to his Ultron. Superman to his Lex Luthor.”

“Batman to his Ra’s al Ghul?”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him way too seriously. “All the points for knowing the pairing, but no. You’re never going to be Batman.”

Derek snorted. “Let me guess. Because you’re Batman?” Stiles shook his head.

“Wrong again, my wolfy friend.” Derek watched as long fingers pulled a bag across the table, rattling the vials and jars inside. “The Bat’s a loner that’s given up on relationships. He has like two people at a time that he lets in his world—that’s all he has room for, and all he wants. More than he wants, sometimes. No, you’re not Batman because even though someone killed your family, they didn’t kill your hope. The world may kick your ass over and over again, but you just keep getting back up and putting the Jenga-tower of your life back together, and every time it’s a little better, taller, stronger, sometimes with new pieces you find and adopt along the way. It ain’t pretty, but it’s pretty awesome.”

Stiles's eyes glowed a little around their amber irises and Derek didn’t hear a single hiccup in his heartbeat. The faith he had… it took his breath away. Was there anything he wouldn’t be willing to do for this man? Probably not. He just had to hope that no one figured that out—especially Stiles.

“Whatever,” Derek said, pushing away from the table and grabbing the bag of Thai with a forced eye roll, and moving it to the other counter. “But I’m not eating until afterwards. Throwing up when the potion goes wrong would suck.”

Stiles nodded and grabbed his things, settling on a stool at the table. “Sounds reasonable to me, which doesn’t mean much but hey! It’s better than sounding unreasonable, which is where most of our plans start.”

There was no point in arguing. It was true.

“So, this potion… I’m assuming that you have more of the wolfsbane you used in it to burn and dose me if it goes wrong.”

Stiles nodded as he pulled one of the jars from the bag and shook it before setting it out with the other assorting jars lined up in front of him. “I’ve actually already burned a couple of blooms and have them ready to go. I’m pretty positive that you won’t feel anything from the aconite—it should be completely neutralized now that it’s bonded with the other ingredients—but I’ve been absolutely positive about things that have gone sideways before, as Scott can attest.”

“Hell, I can attest to that.” Derek crossed his arms across his chest. “Remember the harpy repellant?”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something—probably to argue again that anyone that wasn’t an expert in medieval Latin could have mixed up the recipes for a repellant and an attractant, again—but the words faded as his gaze lingered on his biceps a little longer than usual. Derek’s wolf stretched and sniffed with interest at the faint spike of arousal that wove through the Spark’s scent, and he forced himself not to move, not to lean across the table and reel him in, not to cage him with the muscles that the younger man seemed to like so much. Once Derek crossed that line there would be no going back for him, and he wouldn’t let his wolf push him into grabbing something that would never satisfy.

He wanted all of Stiles or nothing, and he knew he’d probably never have all of him. Knowledge, though, did nothing to stop the yearning.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. But you have to admit that once we knew what I’d actually made instead of what I thought I was making, that it worked like fuck. I mean we had harpies for days. It was like a Best of Runescape monster farming mission. I swear Isaac leveled up three times that week.”

Derek shook his head. “You have the strangest way of looking at things.”

Stiles raised a shoulder rose in an unusually graceful shrug. “Silver linings, dude. You should embrace them.”

Derek didn’t say that he embraced the silver lining of having Stiles in the pack every day, regardless of how it tormented his wolf.

“Werewolves and silver don’t mix.” Stiles rolled his eyes and Derek gave him a half-hearted glare. “And don’t call me dude.”

“It’s Beacon Hills, Sourwolf,” he said. “The silver lining is the only thing that keeps me going.”

There was a stutter in Stiles's heartbeat, and Derek cast a sidelong glance at the Spark. It made sense that there was something important that kept him going, but it was strange that he felt the need to hide it. Derek respected secrets, though. He had more than enough of his own.

“Whatever works.” He let the subject drop and turned his attention back to the pile of magical detritus on the table. “So, are we going to do this or not?”

Stiles let out a breathless laugh. “Masochist. Can’t even wait for me to poison you.”

“Not a masochist,” he said, spreading his hands expansively. “More of a control freak. Peter isn’t the only one who likes to be in control of things you know.”

“Yeeeaaaahhh.” The word sounded like it had been stretched on a rack until it was just a breathless hiss. “Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”

Derek let the corner of his mouth twitch, grabbing the opportunity to tease a little. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it, Stiles. It’s like the boxers/briefs question you were obsessed with back in high school. The logical next step would be who’s a top and who’s,” he paused to let the words land between them, “not.”

The younger man shook his head, like the motion would dislodge the thoughts inside, and frowned. “Nope. Nope. Nope. Not playing that game with you, Sourwolf.”

The ‘wolf leaned in infinitesimally, enjoying watching the other man shift on his stool. “So, there’s another game you’d prefer to play. All you had to do was say something.”

The pink on Stiles's cheeks ripened to rose and the mottled edge of embarrassment spread beneath the collar of his shirt. The burnt cinnamon and ozone that was his constant scent deepened with musk and salt and the sticky iron scent of blood rushing close to the surface of moon-pale skin. Derek’s mouth watered, and he could feel the itch of his canines threatening to drop with his need to bite, to mark, to claim and keep.

Dark eyes, gleaming and liquid, fixed on him and he could feel the air thicken and slow around them, time bending around them, like a river passing over rocks.

“Keep that up and I’m not going to feel bad if this experiment goes badly.” Stiles's voice was rough, and Derek’s wolf howled with satisfaction knowing that he wasn’t the only one affected.

He considered teasing more, drawling something suggestive about experimentation or making sure Stiles never felt bad again, but he backed off instead. This was prey he couldn’t afford to spook.

“Well,” he said, rocking back on his heels to give the younger man breathing room, “I can’t have that. I am putting myself in your hands after all.”

It was more truth than he usually shared, but there was enough camouflage for it to look harmless.

Stiles stared, the heat of his blush still radiating even as the color faded, and Derek waited. His wolf wouldn’t let him drop his eyes, but he didn’t push beyond that challenge.

“Okay.” There was a world in the word, and he watched as the tightness slowly leached out of Stiles's shoulders as he sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s get this party started.”

Back in his safety zone, Stiles pushed the first of three vials across the table, keeping the larger jars of ash and herbs—and was that charcoal?—to the side, before tapping it with a long finger.

“This is the actual invisibility part of things. It doesn’t taste too bad, or at least it didn’t to my human taste buds. There’s no guarantee that you won’t smell or taste something I can’t, but it shouldn’t be too noxious. I measured the dose to give you about fifteen minutes of full activation. You’re bigger than I am, and this much lasted about twenty-five minutes for me.”

Derek picked up the vial. “Just drink it?”

“Yeah, dude, just knock it back like a bad wolfbane shot at one of the betas’ parties. It should have less aftertaste than the stuff they add to their liquor.”

“And instead of drunk I end up invisible.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back a little laugh. “That is the hope.”

Derek tilted the test tube and watched the silvery liquid run back and forth. “And the other ones?”

Stiles jerked a little, pulling his eyes away from where he’d been watching Derek’s hands, almost hypnotized. “Well, that’s the thing. For a human, making someone invisible is huge, but for weres there are other issues.”

Derek nodded. “Like heartbeat or scent.”

“Exactly.” Stiles held up a test tube of thick purple liquid. “This is my best attempt so far at something that will muffle the bio-sounds—breathing, heartbeat, joints popping, all that stuff. The other one,” he picked up the third, gently waving it, the shimmery rose gold liquid coating the glass, “masks scent. It’s going to be the hardest to test because scent isn’t a thing for me like it is for you, so I guess I could take it—”

“No.” Derek cut him off. The thought of not being able to smell Stiles's scent made him grit his teeth and fight back a growl. “It’d be better if we tested that with another were.”

“But I was thinking that as Alpha your senses are better than any of the betas, so if you can’t—”

“No, Stiles,” he refused. “I’ll try it later. We’re already pushing the parameters of a reasonable test with two senses.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly ready to argue the points, but he backed down, probably realizing that he was lucky to be getting cooperation with as much as he was.

“I guess that’s okay,” he said, slipping the rose gold potion back into his bag, and Derek reached out and touched his hand.

“We’ll do it later. I would just be more comfortable doing this in stages.”

Something thoughtful moved behind Stiles's eyes and Derek watched as he came to some conclusion before he accepted everything.

“Sure, Sourwolf. It’s got to be a little weird for you, messing with the wolf senses and all. We’ll put the stealth potion back, too, for now.”

Derek wondered what Stiles would think if he knew just how much he messed with his wolf without the help of any potions, and how the wolf wanted more, not less.

“Probably a good idea. Isn’t like you’re the best judge of stealth either—I’ve seen twelve-year-olds on roller-skates sneak up on you.”

Long limbs flailed a little, like he could fend off the words that way.

“I was focused, Der. Focused.” Stiles huffed for a moment and then shrugged. “But to be fair, true enough. I should probably let you test those out against Peter. I’ve noticed that even though he doesn’t have the whole Alpha-upgrade anymore, he seems to be more aware of his surroundings than everyone else.”

Derek made a dismissive noise. His wolf didn’t like the careless praise of another’s skills. “Born not bitten. He’s had longer to get used to it; he doesn’t have to re-frame things when he notices them.”

He watched Stiles's face as the tumblers turned in the Spark’s head and could almost hear it when they clicked into place and another thought was unlocked.

“That actually makes a lot of sense. Kind of like learning a new language. In the beginning you’re doing that English to whatever translation in your head until one day it just sort of snaps into place and suddenly you’re thinking in Urdu.”

“Well, I’ve never studied Urdu…” He spread his fingers out on the tabletop and let the comment just hang, smothering a grin as he watched the man across the table’s eyes grow large in disbelief.

“Look who’s found his sense of humor finally!” The disbelief faded from Stiles's expression and was replaced by something that in the dark, when he was alone, Derek might call affection.

In that same dark, Derek might admit he wanted to see it again.

They sat there for a minute, the quiet stretching between them until it started to curl at the edges, and Derek knew he had to steer things away from the rocks just beneath the surface of his emotions.

He cleared his throat and uncorked the vial, the time for discussion past. He raised an eyebrow and Stiles raised one of his own in reply and that was it. He knocked back the few tablespoons of liquid, the scent of wolfsbane sharp but not overwhelming, and waited as the younger man watched him swallow.

Stiles's eyes followed the movement of his throat and when his forehead creased into a frown Derek thought the potion must have failed, but then a slow smile spread across the Spark’s face. He reached out, long fingers almost touching Derek’s hand on the table, but then pulled back at the last moment.

“Moonlight disappears down the hills, mountains vanish into fog, and Sourwolf vanishes not into poetry, but into thin air.” Stiles's voice was soft, almost somber. “Still with me, Der?”

Derek looked at his hands. He could still see them, so apparently the potion didn’t affect his view of himself, just how others perceived him. “Still here. Nothing actually looks different from my side of the equation.”

Stiles nodded. “That’s the way it’s supposed to work. No good being invisible if you misjudge your reach and knock shit over while you’re trying to be all sneaky. I know that’s probably more a me thing than a wolf thing, but still seemed like the better choice of action.”

Derek nodded and then realized how stupid that was. Stiles couldn’t see him. “I’m sure there are a few of the pack that would benefit from it as well. I know Isaac still doubts his senses sometimes.”

Amber eyes widened a little. “This is so freaky. I can hear you, but I can’t see you. Like, if I closed my eyes I could reach out and find you by touch, but just to look… you’re not there.”

Something about that image—Stiles reaching for him with his eyes closed—pleased Derek’s wolf. “Try it. See if you can find me with your eyes closed.”

He shifted his weight and moved a step to the left of where he’d been standing, but he left his hands trailing on the tabletop. Stiles tilted his head slightly and closed his eyes, listening, but Derek had been practicing stealth since he was a pup playing hide and seek in the Preserve.

A moment passed and he could almost hear Stiles's heartbeat in the silence. Another. And another. Suddenly a hand shot out and before he could move there were long fingers around his wrist, their grip tight and dry and slightly callused from wear.

“Caught you.”

The words were breathless and hoarse, and Derek froze at the sound. Then, he moved.

A twist and a quick levering of his arm had him free and he took two large steps to the side and then two forward, landing silently behind Stiles, ready to move again if he needed to.

“So,” the words, this time, came with a twist of a grin, “you want to play, hmm?”

Derek’s wolf pranced and pawed at the ground, wanting to nip and tug and pull and pin, but the man simply watched and waited as the Spark cocked his head to the side once more and listened.

He wasn’t sure what Stiles was listening to; he was holding his breath, and was standing stock still, no movement or sound of clothing to give him away, but somehow, he was fairly certain Stiles knew exactly where he was.

The Spark shifted his weight and pulled his hand closer to his body before spinning, his hand swinging out in an arc that ended with those damnable fingers wrapped around Derek’s arm just above his elbow.

“Caught you again, Sourwolf.”

His grin spread, taking over his face, and Derek found himself caught in the wild joy that gleamed in his eyes. Then, Stiles's face changed, the eyes focusing on him in a way they hadn’t, and he figured the potion had worn off.

“There you are!” The almost-fondness was back, and Derek couldn’t stop his answering smile.

“Here I am.” He looked down at the hand still gripping his arm. “I have to say, you’re a better hunter when you’re blind than I gave you credit for.”

Stiles let go slowly, fingers dragging over warm skin, until he’d pulled back completely, and all Derek could feel was the echo of his touch.

“It was strange. I couldn’t see you with my eyes, but I could feel where you were and could almost see where you were going to be.”

That was different. Stiles was a lot of things but tuned into his surroundings wasn’t one of them.

“Do you think you might have some connection to the potion because you made it? You could feel me through the magic?”

Stiles paused and looked at him, long and slow, and Derek realized he was looking at him with his spark and not with his eyes. He wondered what his wolf looked like.

“I suppose. Won’t know until we try it on someone else.”

There was a hesitance in his voice and Derek sighed. “Uncle Peter gets superpowers?”

Stiles grabbed the Thai and put it back on the table between them, dragging cartons and cutlery out before nodding reluctantly. “Looks that way, dude. At least this will give us a chance to test all the potions at once, now that we know that the potentially poisonous one isn’t actually, you know…” he waved his hand, “poisonous.”

Derek grabbed his Gka Prow Gai, frowning down into the carton thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. “Silver lining, I guess. And don’t call me dude.”

***

After five years you’d think he’d have lost the impulse to kill his uncle, but you’d be wrong. Very wrong.

“Darling,” Peter gushed, looking at the array of potion vials in his hand, “this is simply amazing. Let me take you away from here, Beacon Hills has nothing to offer you. We can go to Paris—I’m sure Chris would open the little pied-à-terre on the Rue de Ponthieu for us, and there’s a magick shop just down further along the Champs-Élysées that--”

Derek growled and Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. “No, Peter. We talked about this.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but that was before I truly grasped the depth and breadth of your talent. This,” he waved the invisibility potion back and forth dramatically, “this changes things.”

Stiles rolled his eyes hard enough that Derek could hear it. “Nothing has changed, Peter. Nothing. Back off. No means no. Consent is sexy. All those things. Write them on your hand if you need help remembering.”

“I’d be happy to help. I could carve them into the back of his hand with one of Chris’s wolfsbane blades,” Derek said, sotto voce. Peter, of course, heard him as if he’d shouted. Which was what he intended, so it all worked out.

“I just think that you’re undervaluing yourself, Stiles,” the older were said, ignoring Derek’s comment and lounging against the side of Stiles's jeep until he looked like an ad for one of those terrible smelling colognes that humans seemed to love. “With skills like these, you could take the world by storm.”

Stiles snorted. “You mean you could take the world by storm if you had constant and controlling access to skills like these, and I’ve told you before, I don’t need a manager, a gigolo, or an overgrown juvenile delinquent to help me prove my value.”

Derek smothered a grin. With his v-necks and his perfect tan Uncle Peter would make an excellent gigolo. Maybe they should set up a Craigslist ad for him. He’d have to suggest it to Stiles the next time Peter was being particularly annoying.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Peter shook his head, clearly dismayed at Stiles's short-sightedness. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind for when Beacon Hills finally loses its charm.”

The idea of Stiles wanting to leave made him itch, like his skin didn’t fit right. “I’m sure that Stiles could find a better offer if he decided that he didn’t want to be here anymore, Uncle Peter. He doesn’t have to settle for hauling his personal zombie plague around with him.”

He caught a flash of amber eyes, wide and surprised, and gritted his teeth. Stiles could have the world on a string. He should know Peter was never his best option.

“Be that as it may, nephew, Stiles isn’t foolish enough—”

“Can we get back to the testing?” Impatience, thy name is Stilinski. “I mean, all this back and forth about leaving is pointless because A) I’m not leaving Beacon Hills. I like it here. All my favorite people are here. And B) It isn’t like I’m going to take your advice anyway, Peter. The last time I did I ended up having to offer a favor to that skeevey ghoul guy that works for the FBI. Not something I want a repeat performance of, thanks.”

Derek jerked around and glared at his uncle. “You got him involved with a ghoul? Are you crazy?” He let out a huff of breath. “Don’t bother answering that. Of course, you’re crazy—we already knew that. Now we know that Stiles is crazy, too, because he’s definitely not stupid, and yet he lets you talk him into this crap.”

That got him an unrepentant grin. “It’s called plausible deniability, Sourwolf. Peter’s got broad shoulders—perfect for taking the blame for some of my less, ah, judicious decisions.”

Peter preened. “See Derek? Stiles needs me.”

It was going to take another five years to not want to kill him, at this rate. At least.

“What Stiles needs,” he said, trying not to think about Stiles's interest in his uncle’s shoulders, “is a guinea pig, and you are a pig. So, drink the damn potion, already. I’m going to sit over here and hope you get a rash from the wolfsbane. Who knows? The Universe might decide that today is my lucky day, and you’ll actually keel over from aconite poisoning.”

Stiles shifted his weight slightly, a chagrined look on his face. “Actually, Der, I was thinking about it, and I think that you should take the invisibility potion, and the other two this time, too, and Peter can do the whole Where’s Wolfie thing and see if he can sense you. It’s a better plan than you using your super-alpha senses to find him, because odds are good that we won’t be using this stuff to hide from alphas, just betas and omegas and puny little humans, so we need to see how a beta would fare against it.”

It made sense, but it still rankled. His wolf didn’t like allowing the older man to effectively hunt him. He wasn’t prey; he especially wasn’t Peter’s prey. It was what Stiles wanted, though, so he soothed the wolf with thoughts of satisfying his mate. It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use all his advantages against the other wolf, though.

“That’s why I wanted to do this out here in the Preserve. Once the potions have kicked in, it should be a good road test for how it might be used in a fight situation.”

Peter stopped lounging. “So, you really have made this work? He was completely invisible?”

Stiles nodded. “Completely. There was some magical bleed through, I think. A vibration. I could almost feel where he was, but he hadn’t taken the sound dampener or the scent blocker, so those may solve the problem.”

Derek watched as the two of them discussed the finer points of the potions and he waited until they’d ironed out all the parameters for the experiment, and then braced himself for the terrible taste of wolfsbane and knocked back the three potions.

It was strange how similar Peter and Stiles's expressions were, until suddenly, they really, really weren’t the same at all. Peter’s eyes were wide and disbelieving, and Stiles's were bright, the amber lit with mischief and happiness as the invisibility kicked in.

“Told you, Zombiewolf. Now… you tell me what you can sense.” Stiles sounded smug, but honestly he deserved to be smug about this.

“Well,” Peter said, finally, “clearly I can’t see him. And I can’t hear his heartbeat or hear him breathing.”

Stiles nodded. “Good. Still just standing there, Der?”

A terrible, no good, very bad thought took root. He didn’t have to play along nicely, so he wasn’t going to. Screw Peter. He moved lightly to the side, circling a little towards the older wolf.

“Derek?” Stiles asked again, but Derek didn’t reply. The potion wasn’t supposed to block intentional communication, but he could play that off for a while.

“Huh, I wonder if the potion silenced his speech.”

Peter was scanning the area but still wasn’t focused on where he was standing. “It isn’t like we’d be missing much. My dear nephew isn’t exactly loquacious.”

“He talks when he needs to,” Stiles said, a slightly far-away look on his face as he turned and looked directly at where Derek was standing, “and when he does it’s worth listening to. Unlike a few others I can name.”

Peter cocked his head to one side and smirked. “Don’t let the bullies get you down, sweetheart. Your non-stop prattle is simply an idiosyncrasy of genius.”

“And yours is an idiosyncrasy of ego,” Derek muttered the words right next to Peter’s ear and raked his semi-sheathed claws down his uncle’s back before leaping away. Peter jumped in surprise and then crouched, facing the direction that the attack had come from, but he clearly still had no idea of where his attacker was.

Derek froze, trying not to let the grass under his feet rustle, and his uncle frowned. “Now that wasn’t very nice, nephew.” The words carried an edge and it pleased his wolf that the older man was flustered.

“Not nice, but still awesome,” Stiles crowed. “He totally snuck up on you.”

That praise pleased his wolf even more.

“I underestimated the efficacy of the muffling potions. I can’t hear him at all.” Peter scanned the area, panning back and forth over the clearing.

Derek didn’t move. He was fairly certain that Peter would quickly clue in on listening to the sounds his footsteps left behind, and he didn’t want to give himself away too soon. Hunting Peter was fun. Peter had never truly been prey, even when he killed him. Watching him, hackles raised and eyes tight, was very satisfying.

“And you can’t see him? Or feel him?” Stiles looked a little confused, but more curious than anything. He’d been watching Peter, but then, inexplicably, he twisted his head quickly and was staring straight at Derek—again.

“I can’t see him any more than you can, darling. I can’t smell him, either. It’s most… disconcerting.”

A minute passed and while Peter was facing the opposite direction, focused on a sound a little farther into the trees, Derek jumped away, landing as softly as he could, and Stiles's gaze never left him. It was as if he was completely visible to the Spark.

“Weird.” The word was quiet, but it got Peter’s attention.

“What’s weird, sweetheart?” He never stopped scanning the area, but he noticed that Stiles was staring at something. “Did you see something?”

A pause. “No, I can’t see anything. I just thought of something. Do you think emissary bonds might affect this?”

A gust of wind blew through and Derek took the opportunity to move again, the rustling of trees and grass giving him extra cover, but Stiles still tracked him.

“That would imply that you think your emissary bond might be affecting things, and that would further imply that you see something that I don’t.” Sometimes he hated it when Peter was smart, but there was no flaw in that logic. There was definitely something affecting the Spark.

“No,” Stiles denied frustratedly, “I can’t see anything, I can’t hear anything, and I certainly can’t smell anything, but... there’s just…”

Peter was careful about telegraphing his movements, but Derek could see when he’d triangulated on the position Stiles was staring at. He dodged before Peter pounced, but not fast enough to completely prevent contact.

“How interesting,” Peter practically purred the word, eyes fierce and bright as he shot a look back at Stiles. He tracked that amber gaze again and jumped faster than a cat, forcing Derek to give up on trying to minimize the sound of his feet in the grass.

Stiles realized what was happening and snapped his gaze to the older wolf, preventing him from being able to use him as a homing signal.

“Aw sweetheart, I almost caught him. Show me where he is again.” Fangs dropped and blue eyes flashed. “I owe him a pat on the back after all.”

Derek darted in and swiped a hand across Peter’s neck, just managing to avoid the temptation to actually rake his claws across the exposed stretch of skin, and then danced away again, growling. “And I owe you absolutely nothing, Uncle Peter. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m impressed, Derek.” A mean smile taunted him, even though Peter clearly still couldn’t track him without help. “This is the longest you’ve lasted in a fight against me in forever. Maybe I should cancel those remedial MMA lessons I bought you for Christmas—” He tutted and then sighed. “Oh, never mind. The invisibility isn’t permanent. Unfortunately.”

Derek’s wolf howled at the insubordination, his need to put the beta in his place thrumming through him, but this wasn’t the time or the place for that. Stiles wouldn’t approve, even though he’d probably understand if the thunderous look on his face meant anything.

“Alright Peter, that’s enough,” he said, all his playful snark gone. “I think the experiment has shown us everything it can at this point.”

Peter turned his ice blue gaze on the Spark. “Don’t stop us now. We were just starting to have fun.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You were just starting to get your ass kicked, now shut up before Derek stops being a gentleman and finishes.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s my ass he’s concerned with.” Derek wanted to knock the smarmy smirk from his uncle’s face. “But for your sake, Stiles, I’ll be big.”

Derek couldn’t smother a surprised laugh when Stiles muttered, “A big pain in the neck, and no I’m not making the mistake of saying you’re a pain in my ass again, either, jerkface, and yes I know you can hear me, but I don’t fucking care. I so don’t fucking care, Creeperwolf. Just…”

“Stiles,” Peter said with a laugh of his own, his earlier bloodlust fading, “calm down. Everything’s fine, and look, Derek has rejoined us, just in time for post-game analysis and commentary.”

Stiles settled his gaze on him, his mad muttering temporarily stopped, and gave Derek a half-hearted smile. “Welcome back, Der. Any side effects? Your senses still super-mega-alpha-awesome?”

Derek made a mental run through and found no problems. “Everything seems to be in working order. I didn’t lose anything while the potions were in effect either. Sound and smell stayed the same.”

That got him a satisfied nod. “Excellent. So, basically all the benefits with none of the drawbacks. I was afraid there at the beginning that it was muffling all your sounds, but you were just fucking with him, right?”

He let himself smirk, looking at Peter as he agreed. “Guilty as charged.”

Peter fumed for a moment—he hated being the butt of jokes, especially Derek’s jokes—but then refocused and stared at Stiles. “So, are you going to explain how you could track him when I couldn’t?”

Stiles just shook his head. “You have to have the most fragile ego I have ever seen. No, I don’t have any skills that you don’t, oh great shaggy hunter. It’s my spark, I guess. I made the potion so something about my magick clings to him and I can sense it. I can’t think of any other reason why I can track him, and you can’t. The next test will have to be another magick user trying to track him while he’s invisible. That will let us know if there’s a weakness that witches can exploit against us, or if it’s just something about me.”

Peter cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s another possibility…”

Stiles frowned. “What do you mean ‘another possibility’? You mean you think it’s being caused by something other than spark residue?”

There was something flickering behind Peter’s eyes that Derek didn’t like. He looked nervous, but he smelled almost… hurt? Disappointed?

The older wolf moved across the clearing to the spot where they’d dropped their gear and picked up Stiles's bag for him, ever the gentleman. “So, I suppose you’ll make another batch of the invisibility potion, and call someone—Maryam, maybe? She’s only a minor Spark, but her magick is similar enough to yours to be able to sense the residue if anyone could.”

Stiles took a minute to follow, still looking at Derek curiously, before finally heading over towards his uncle. “No, I’ve made enough that we don’t have to wait—thank the moon, that potion takes at least two lunar cycles—but Maryam might be a good idea… hey. Stay out of that! Peter!”

Derek watched as Peter reached into the bag and lunged for the older wolf as soon as he realized what was happening, but he was too far away to stop him before he’d managed to pull out another vial of silver liquid and swallow the contents faster than an underaged frat boy at his first party.

“Peter! You absolute fuckbucket,” Stiles snarled, staring at the space where his uncle had been standing. “I know you were miffed because you wanted to try it, but this is not the way to get me to cooperate. See what happens the next time you want some obscure tantric text translated. Your Sanskrit sucks, dude, and after that stunt I am so not feeling the love, so neither will you. Sneaky blue-eyed bastard.”

Derek crouched, waiting for an attack. “Where is he Stiles?” he asked around fangs that had already dropped. He scanned the clearing reflexively and then stopped, trying to focus on Peter’s heartbeat. It took him a moment to find it, but once he did, it was easy to track the other wolf. “Never mind,” he growled and then pounced, claws out.

Peter spun away, but Derek’s claws showed red when he pulled them back. “You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you, Uncle Peter.” He paused, recentering himself on Peter’s heartbeat. “You’ve never appreciated the things you’re given. I told Stiles you’d fuck up. I just didn’t think you’d be this obvious about it.”

A rough laugh cut through the empty space. “I wouldn’t be this obvious, nephew. This was a calculated risk. Stiles?” Peter called to the Spark. “Can you track me through your magick, sweetheart? Can you sense where I am?”

There was something almost hopeful in the question, like he wanted Stiles to be able to track him.

“No,” Stiles's reply was soft and perplexed, his eyes large and liquid as his brain ran through all the possible reasons. “I can’t sense you at all.”

Peter sighed, and before Derek could take another swipe at him, he’d picked up Stiles's bag where he’d dropped it on the turf, letting the bag floating in mid-air clearly mark his location. “So, the connection between you and my lump of a nephew isn’t connected to your magick, or the potion, at all. I’d wager,” he sounded rueful, “that you’d be able to find him blindfolded as well.”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, hesitance sitting awkwardly on his typically confident frame. “So, it is the emissary bond that’s allowing me to follow him?”

“No, dear boy,” Peter slipped the bag over Stiles's shoulder. Derek watched the flannel wrinkle where his uncle was resting his hand and he growled lowly, unhappy at the contact. “If it were an emissary bond, you’d still be able to track me as Derek’s second. No.” The wrinkles disappeared, and he could hear Peter’s retreating footsteps. “It’s something else. I’m sure you two can figure it out. But I think I’m going to take this opportunity to stretch my legs. My wolf and I could use a little time.”

Suddenly there was a pile of abandoned clothes on the ground, and Derek could hear Peter’s heartbeat fade as he ran towards the deepest part of the Preserve, apparently in wolf form.

“Well, that answers the question about whether the things on someone using the potion stay invisible if they come off.” Stiles mumbled, gathering the fabric up and looking a little bereft. It made something in his chest hurt.

“You okay?” His wolf was whining, and he strangled his instinct to rush over and put his hands on the smaller man, to physically check that there was nothing wrong, to comfort him however he was allowed. He wanted to bury his nose in the divot behind Stiles's ear where his scent pooled; he wanted to soothe his mate. “Peter’s fine. He smelled a little upset, but his chemosignals read more like when he’s pouting than when he’s getting ready to go on a killing spree.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice a little rough around the edges, “not so worried about the killing spree thing. Peter likes his life right now, more or less; he won’t jeopardize it over not getting something he wants.”

He wants you. The words spun through Derek’s head and he gritted his teeth against speaking them. “Good. I’d hate to have to kill him again. Repetition is so boring.”

Stiles gave him a half-hearted grin and hiked his bag higher on his shoulder. “I know how you hate to be bored.”

Derek shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

They turned and started walking towards where they’d left their cars. “You going to tell me what Peter was talking about back there?”

He had a suspicion. Lots of people misjudged Derek’s intelligence over the years, assuming that because he didn’t say much he didn’t think much, but he wasn’t stupid. Whatever was bothering Stiles was more than just the theft of a potion. If it were anyone else, he’d just let it ride, but this was Stiles.

Peter had emphasized that it wasn’t an emissary bond. There weren’t many bonds that affected wolves, and pack bonds and emissary bonds were the most common. There was an Alpha’s bond with their betas, and of course, there were mate bonds. Mates had a connection that no other could supersede; not even an Alpha could break it without stealing all the memories the couple shared. His wolf had decided that Stiles was his mate years ago. Derek knew his heartbeat and scent better than he knew his own. He could pick the younger man out of a crowd—yes, even blindfolded—but Peter was intimating that Stiles was connected to him, and that… well, that didn’t seem possible.

Stiles was stalking towards his Jeep muttering, cursing under his breath about stupid Peter and his big fucking mouth and never doing another favor for the fucking asshole since he can’t stay out of other peoples’ business, until Derek’s suspicions had started to choke him.

What if Peter was right?

He reached out and snagged the strap of Stiles's bag, spinning him until they were face to face with the open bag between them. Several more vials clanked in the depths and Derek reached in and grabbed a handful.

“You know,” he said, voice rough, “it isn’t fair that I’ve been the only one running around being chased all the time.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “What does that mean? I told you that I tested the stuff before I ever brought it over to you.”

Derek nodded, rolling the test tubes slowly between his fingers. “True. But I never got to see it. I mean, I believe you when you say it worked, but maybe we should test to see if my super-mega-alpha senses can track you.”

He stepped close and could hear the click in Stiles's throat as he swallowed. “You think that would make a difference? You couldn’t track Peter.”

“Peter said there was something else connecting us,” he lifted a shoulder in a careful shrug, “we should test it and see.”

Wheels within wheels were spinning. If it was a mate bond. If Stiles had chosen him for a mate without telling him. The bond wouldn’t be stopped by the potions. He’d still be able to find his mate.

Find. Keep. Mark. Mate.

He held the three potions out on his open palm. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

Stiles stared at him, whiskey-bright eyes wide, and he reached for the vials slowly, almost like he wasn’t in control of himself. At Derek’s last words, though, he jerked back to himself and snorted. “Yeah, no. I’m not running off into the Preserve with you chasing after me. I don’t care if I’m invisible to everything and everyone, I’d still manage to trip over a tree root and kill myself. If you’re that set on me trying it, I’ll play along, but I can pretty much promise that you won’t be able to sense me any more than you could Peter. Whatever theory he was contemplating, I think he was way off base.”

He opened the corks and downed the potions with a grace and economy of movement that seemed completely out of place on the flailing body Derek was familiar with, and then, just like with Peter, Stiles was gone.

It took a moment for the rest of the changes to register. The electricity and spice scent was gone, as was the hummingbird heartbeat, and for a gut-wrenching instant Derek grieved their loss, a hole in his world that seemed to echo with emptiness.

“You okay there, Sourwolf?” The empty air spoke, and his wolf stopped howling, clinging to the sound of Stiles's voice.

“Fine,” he said, and he would be. It might just take him a minute. “I’m assuming from where I heard your voice that you haven’t moved yet?”

A hum of agreement sounded. “It’s weird knowing you can’t see me.”

Derek smirked. “That doesn’t mean you should make faces at me or flip me off.”

Stiles squawked indignantly. “You sure you can’t see me?” He huffed. “It isn’t fair if you lie, you know.”

He smiled. “I don’t have to see you to know what you’re going to do, Stiles. I’ve known you long enough to predict things pretty well.”

As far as teasing went, it was pretty tame for them, but Stiles didn’t usually have this kind of protection to hide behind when they were playing around.

Derek stood very still and took a moment to block out the sounds of his own heart and breathing, focusing on the grass and the breeze, trying to see if he could hear Stiles shifting position, but there was something niggling at the edge of his awareness, a quiet little tug that was pulling his attention to the left.

There.

He didn’t see anything, or hear anything, but he knew as surely as he was breathing that Stiles was standing right there. He didn’t think, he didn’t wait—he pounced, wrapping his arms tightly around the Spark and grinning wildly.

“Caught you.”

Stiles wriggled in his arms, and Derek could feel the heat of his skin wherever they touched. “Not fair! You said you couldn’t see me!”

He released the squirming man and stepped back. “I can’t. You’re totally invisible.”

A huff hung in the air. “Then how did you catch me?”

Derek waited a few seconds before responding, feeling as Stiles shifted position again. He didn’t turn to look at where he knew the Spark was standing. “I could just tell.”

That got him a frustrated growl that was ridiculously appealing to his wolf. “Not fair. Invisibility should give me at least a hope of dodging your wolfitudinousness.”

He moved more quickly, trying to come up behind Derek, apparently looking to surprise him with an attack of his own, but that wasn’t happening. At the last second, Derek turned and grabbed the invisible man with both hands, pulling him into a full-body hold. “What is it they say?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “All’s fair in love and war?”

Stiles's face was pressed into the skin of his neck and he shivered at the angry little snap of teeth he felt ghosting over the tendon there. “Last I knew we weren’t at war, Der.”

Derek slid his hand up Stiles's back, pressing him more firmly into the cradle of his neck and shoulder, as he whispered. “Who said I meant war?”

And just like that he knew, just like Peter had known, there was only one reason he and Stiles could sense each other, only one reason they could find each other no matter how many potions they took or how many senses they sacrificed. They were mates; they would always find each other.

The body in his arms had stiffened as he spoke. “This isn’t a game, Sourwolf. Let me go.”

Derek sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

The Spark made an angry sound deep in his throat as he thrashed around helplessly trying to get loose. “And I’d rather not be mocked, if it’s all the same to you!”

“I’m not mocking you, Stiles.” Derek tried not to sound angry, but his mate was doubting him, and it made him want to just sweep the Spark into his arms and carry him off to his den so he could keep him there until his mate was boneless and sated and convinced they belonged together forever. “I’m just saying that this isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having with an invisible man that I’m halfway certain is going to run off into the woods the minute I let go instead of staying here and talking to me, calmly and rationally. At least if I hold on to you, I’m guaranteed I won’t just be talking to myself.”

Stiles stopped wriggling, and Derek couldn’t decide if he was happy or sad about it. “I’m assuming you’ve figured out what Peter was alluding to? About the bond?”

The Spark sounded so small and defeated; it made his heart hurt. “He meant a mate bond, didn’t he?”

Derek felt a hank of floppy hair rub against his cheek as Stiles nodded whispering like he was afraid of what would happen if he spoke the words too loudly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen. Honestly, I don’t know how it did happen, it’s not supposed to be something one person can trigger by themselves, but I’m sure I can find a way to control it. I’d never…” he swallowed thickly, hiding his face in Derek’s stubble. “I never intended to force anything on you. Never, Der. I swear. I’ll figure it out. I can fix this.”

And then, between one breath and the next, Stiles was visible there in the circle of his arms, whiskey-bright eyes wet with emotion. Derek raised a finger and gently traced the white-marble camber of his cheek, following an imaginary line connecting his moles in a dreamy dot-to-dot where the only picture brought into focus was how he wanted to touch that skin even more.

“There’s just one problem with that idea, Stiles,” he said, letting the smaller man step back from the cage of his arms, sensing that he needed the breathing room.

“Just one?” he asked. The question was accompanied by a wet laugh, self-deprecating snark back in full force, and Derek nodded. “Yes.”

There wasn’t much height difference between them anymore, but it felt like Stiles had folded in on himself in an attempt to hide somehow. He felt the smaller man brace himself against whatever emotional blow was coming next.

“What’s the problem, then?” He stood there, embattled and beautiful, wrapped in a wisp of defiance and refusing to meet Derek’s gaze. The wolf lifted his mate’s chin with a finger, forcing their eyes to meet, and shook his head slightly. “You can’t fix what isn’t broken.”

Stiles froze for an instant and then his eyes widened, the amber taken over by pupils shot wide in surprise, a deep breath sucked in reflexively against the suffocating panic. “It isn’t broken?”

Derek shook his head again. “Not unless I’ve been broken—my wolf’s been broken—for years now.”

The air between them shuddered with static electricity and Derek wondered wildly for a moment whether making love to the Spark would feel like being struck by lightning. He didn’t care if he burned, though. He’d burn happily if it meant Stiles was in his arms and in his bed and in his heart.

“So,” long fingers splayed over his heart and he knew that Stiles was wishing he could hear heartbeats, could hear lies, “you’ve felt this way? For years?”

It was time. “My wolf chose you as his mate before I chose you as my Emissary.” He wrapped his fingers around Stiles's. “You were an obnoxious kid, but even then, I knew you were smart and loyal. I respected that, even if you annoyed the crap out of me. My wolf paid attention to you, though. Then with the nogitsune, and Mexico, Boyd and Erica, and everyone leaving for school or parts unknown… We were both learning how to live. My wolf missed you terribly, and after a while I realized that so did I.”

Stiles struggled over a laugh. “That’s hard to believe. When I came back after working with Maryam and the other Sparks I was convinced you hated me.”

“Never!” The word came out more forcefully than he intended, but he didn’t apologize. “I didn’t know what to do with you. You’d… changed.”

Taller, broader, more confident, talented, powerful, and so, so sexy. He didn’t know how to explain without sounding like a stalker.

“You’d changed, too.” Stiles looked up at him. “After I came back, I mean. For the first time I felt like you weren’t staring constantly into the past. You’d decided that you were going to actually try to live. To try for a future. You’d let people in.”

Derek supposed that was true. He’d settled into his never-wanted but accidentally regained Alpha-dom and Peter and Cora had filled his need for Pack. Isaac had forgiven him for driving him away and had come back every few months to strengthen their connection. He’d taken a job at the library and spent his evenings writing his own stories, the outlet giving him a place to organize his thoughts without anyone judging him, and then Stiles showed back up, and he knew what he wanted for the first time in a very long time.

And now it looked like he was going to get it.

“I was jealous.” Stiles's voice was quiet, but strong. Derek heard no lie in the words. “I saw you one day at the library. A couple of kids, fresh out of high school and feeling their oats, were standing across the counter from you and you were laughing and teasing them, and you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen Lydia Martin naked, so that’s saying something.”

“You’ve seen Lydia naked?” The words were out before he could stop them, but it was surprising. After all those years pining, if he’d gotten as far as having Lydia naked, it was hard to believe Stiles wouldn’t still be chasing the Banshee.

“Yes, we got to naked times, and yes, she’s beautiful, and yes I still think she’s amazing and I love her, but I realized a long time ago that there was something missing in the equation of Lydia plus Stiles equals forever, and it was never going to work.”

Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What? What was missing?”

Stiles rested his head against Derek’s shoulder, the soft warmth of his breath teasing along the bare skin. “Lydia, at her core, lives to break things down. She is control and dissection and understanding and death and destruction. She takes people apart so she can see how they work, and then puts them back together. She loves people, don’t get me wrong, but she loves them after she understands them. I needed someone who loved me even though they didn’t understand me. I’m a Spark. I’m not a genie with infinite cosmic power and an itty-bitty living space, but my magick is all about belief and circumventing the impossible. I need someone who believes in me, even when—maybe especially when—I don’t make sense.”

Derek rubbed their faces together, blatantly scenting everything he could reach, a rumble of pleasure rolling deep in his chest at finally having his mate so close. “I’ve never thought you made sense, but that never stopped me from believing in you.”

He expected a snort and a snarky answer, but Stiles never did the expected.

“Good,” he said, eyes dark and serious for once as they lingered on his wolf’s face, “because I never stopped believing in you, either.”

The distance between them was only inches but it felt like miles, and Derek couldn’t stand it. He wrapped his hand around Stiles's nape and pulled him up, angling his head so that their mouths met halfway. Derek groaned, finally tracing the pink lips that had taunted him for so long. They were soft and pliant under his tongue, opening with a slick wet sound that cut straight through him, and he cursed his need for breath because it meant he had to pull away for air.

“God, Der,” Stiles moaned against his mouth, sucking in a desperate breath of his own, his hands hot and greedy as they trailed up and down over Derek’s chest, “wanted you for so long. Can’t believe I get to have you. Finally get to have you.”

Derek took advantage of his gasp and slipped the tip of his tongue into Stiles's mouth, first teasingly shallow, tracing the inside of Stiles's pouting lower lip, and then deeper, searching the corners for all his secrets. He breathed in the spiced ozone of his scent, dizzy with everything. “Yours. Been yours forever. Believe it. Please, please believe it.”

Stiles laughed, a joyous bubble of a thing that set his wolf dancing, and cupped Derek’s face with his hands. He stood there, staring, the amber of his eyes glowing molten gold in the afternoon light and said, “I’ll never doubt it again. Never doubt us again.”

And he didn’t.

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #spark stiles #bamf stiles #magic stiles #poor peter #derek deserves nice things #stiles is a nice thing #HEA #tooth-rotting fluff #late to the party #don't know how this happened #teen wolf

91 notes · View notes

iamtrebleclefstories · 4 years ago

Text

Everything They Say is True

Jo and Alex don't really broadcast their relationship to everyone. Sure, they are excited to be together, but it's no one's business but theirs. For those who don't know about their relationship status, things can get awkward very quickly.

-or-

A fic that takes place within Grey's Anatomy canon

Hi guys! This surprise fic was born out of a dream I had last night and I wrote the majority of it while on my lunch break lol. I hope you guys enjoy this little piece of jolex fluff before I post chapter 9 of Didn't Think.

-Takes place during early season 10-

“God, is being outrageously hot a requirement to be hired as an attending at this hospital?” Gia Holt whispered to the young woman sitting beside her.

Anna Vargas looked over at the group of attending surgeons sitting together at a lunch table and chuckled softly, “It would seem so. I mean look at them. If one of them asked me to open my legs, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Same here,” Gia replied. “And I have absolutely no shame in saying that.”

“You know I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s a balancing act,” Anna said.

Gia furrowed her brow, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Anna started. “Being a surgical intern is hell. We are run ragged on a daily basis. So it would be unjust if we were expected to do all this work without some sort of compensation. So, the hospital gods blessed us with eye candy.”

Gia laughed amused at her friend’s deduction, “I like how you think, Anna. But, I would hardly consider eye candy as enough to make up for the hardship of being an intern. You know we’re always on someone’s service, doing scut and everything that can’t be bothered to do. If we’re serving them on a daily basis, it would only be fair that they serviced us.”

Anna’s eyes widened as she processed her friend’s words, “Gia!”

“What? I’m being honest. How nice would it be to be taught new skills by our attendings outside of the OR?”

“You are something else, Gi.” Anna shook her head.

“Come on,” Gia huffed. “You have to have at least thought about it. I mean, you’re bi so you have your pick of whoever you want.”

“Very true,” Anna nodded. “But I don’t think I’d actually do it. Maybe a resident, but an attending? I don’t think I have the guts to do that. If you want to though, go for it. Maybe you’ll get lucky and get a surgery or two out of sleeping with one of them.”

“So which one should I make a pass at?”

Anna scrunched her face in thought, “Well first, you should probably figure out who isn’t married and go from there. I know Shepherd and Grey are hitched so hot neurosurgeon is off the table.”

“That’s a shame,” Gia sighed. “I wonder if Avery and that resident Edwards are together. I saw them making out in the hallway a few months ago. If they are I can’t blame her. I mean, look at those eyes.”

Anna hummed in agreeance, “Every time I’ve had to work with him I try not to look into his eyes so that he doesn’t see that I’m secretly melting internally. He’s definitely pretty, but I don’t think he’s what you’re looking for. He doesn’t strike me for the guy who would let you in on a surgery because you gave him some ass.”

“True,” Gia said thoughtfully. “I feel like he’s the type to give you a really nice gift after sex, but not to let you scrub in. Not that I’m looking to have sex with an attending so that I can scrub in. I’m a good doctor. I can get in on a surgery by my own merit. I just really want some hot sex with a hot guy and the guys in our class don't seem… up for the task.”

“Ooh!” Anna exclaimed. “What about Karev? The peds attending? He’s stupid hot and great with kids.”

Gia gasped, “You know what, I heard that he slept with basically all the female interns from last year’s class--some of the nurses too--so he’s not above it. From what I’ve heard, he’s really good at it too. He’s hot, got a stellar reputation in the sack, and he’s good with kids. Not that I want kids right now, but it says a lot about your character if kids like you.”

“I agree,” Anna nodded as they continued to finish their lunch. They made casual conversation before receiving pages to the pit from their resident. “You just get a page from Wilson?”

“Yeah to the pit. I wonder what happened that she had to page both of us. Did something big happen?” Gia threw her garbage away as she and Anna started running down towards the ER.

Anna shrugged, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything. I sure hope it’s something good. I would really love to get to see the inside of an OR today.”

*****

Jo Wilson had hoped for a light day today. It had started off as a pretty quiet day. She and Alex started their morning in the shower with some hot shower sex and then stopped for breakfast at their favorite donut shop. When they got to work, she did rounds, assigned her interns to their posts and then proceeded to perform an appy on a seventeen year old. She had just scrubbed out when she decided to go down to the pit to answer any surgery consults. She spent a few hours down in the ER when she got pulled aside into any empty linen closet. She smiled widely when she realized who it was and turned to kiss Alex.

"Hey, how's Micky? I heard you're trying to find an alternative treatment option for his Wilms tumor."

"Yeah, we couldn't get the entire thing the first time around so I'm hoping with a little bit of chemo we'll be able to shrink it enough to get good margins. And since—as of ten minutes ago—you're on my service for the next two weeks, you'll be scrubbing in with me on that and any other cool thing that comes our way." Alex grinned widely at his girlfriend.

Jo's eyes widened in glee, "Really? Wait, why am I on your service for two weeks? You didn't request me just because I let you in my pants on a daily basis?"

Alex scoffed, "Please. My friends own the hospital, I can put whoever I want on my service. But to answer your question, no it's not because you are a great lay or because I love you. It's because you're an amazing doctor and are going to become a really damn good surgeon one day. Maybe even a peds surgeon. And I don't let just anyone work on peds. Peds is hardcore. I'm not gonna let just anyone hack up a kid. I'm gonna let the best, and you are the best."

Jo grinned before kissing him again, "You are the best boyfriend and attending ever."

"I know," Alex smirked. "Okay I'm going to get lunch. Want to join me?"

"I wish I could but I just started some sutures on a lady in bed 4."

"Get one of your interns to do it. That's what they're here for."

"I would but they are currently having lunch and I'm almost done anyway. I'll come eat when I'm finished."

Alex looked at her skeptically. Knowing his girlfriend, Jo would probably forget to eat and then later in the evening he'd end up having to buy her one of everything off the menu at Joe's. "Alright, I'll see you later."

About fifteen minutes later, Jo had finally discharged the woman she had been suturing. She was about to make her way to the cafeteria when a nurse called out to her, "Dr. Wilson! There is a rig about three minutes out with a five year old girl that received trauma to the lower ribcage, upper abdomen after falling from a tree at school. There don't seem to be any breaks but paramedics are concerned with a possible collapsed lung and fluid build up in the abdomen."

" Okay, page Dr. Karev and my interns, Holt and Vargas. And have cardio on standby. "

" Right away, Doctor Wilson."

Jo sighed before gowning up and going to the ambulance bay to wait for the rig, "So much for going to lunch," She muttered to herself. Seconds later, she heard footsteps walking behind her. Turning to see her interns now gowned up she gives them a small smile before filling them in on the situation. "Vargas, go prepare trauma two and get a portable ultrasound and x-ray ready. Holt, make sure we have a peds cart ready and a chest tray for a suspected pneumothorax. I'll retrieve the patient. The ambulance is one minute out so please be quick."

The two young women nodded at their resident and ran to prepare for the little girl about to come in. When the paramedics arrived, Jo hurried and ushered the small child into the trauma room that had been prepared. She was taking the young girls vitals when Alex walked into the room.

“You paged me? What do we got?”

“Lizzie Graham, five years old. She fell fifteen feet out of a tree at recess. She’s got a pneumothorax and fluid build up in the abdomen. There isn't any evidence of fractures, just some nasty bruising. We just took her x-rays and are about to perform an ultrasound,” Jo sighed. “Her O2 levels are low and she’s got unequal breath sounds. She needs a chest tube.”

Alex furrowed his brows. He always hated this part. Chest tubes hurt like a bitch--he knew that from experience. He looked over to the two interns in the room, “Did someone contact her parents yet?”

“Yes,” Holt replied. “They are on their way to the hospital as we speak. One of her teachers is out in the waiting room.”

"Good," Alex looked over to Jo who had prepared the chest tube. Crouching down by the whimpering child, he smoothed down her hair in a comforting manner. "Hey Lizzie. My name is Dr. Alex. I heard that you took a fall today. We're gonna try our best to help you feel better. But in order to feel better, you're going to feel some pain first. The pain is going to help you breathe, so I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that? Can you be brave?"

Lizzie nodded tearfully, "Hold my hand?"

Jo's heart broke at the little girl's request, "Hey Lizzie, my name is Dr. Jo. Dr. Alex needs both of his hands in order to help you breathe but you can hold mine and squeeze as tight as you want."

They got the tube in and proceeded to perform the ultrasound, "Looks like a ruptured spleen and appendix. She might have a liver lac, but we won't know until we get in there. Holt, book an OR and prep Lizzie. Vargas, stay out here and let me know as soon as her parents arrive. Be sure to keep an eye on my pre and post-ops while Wilson and I are in surgery."

The interns nodded, "Yes Dr. Karev."

*****

The surgery went well. They ended up having to remove both Lizzie's spleen and appendix, but Alex was confident that Lizzie would make a full recovery. They were on their way out to speak to the young girl’s parents who had arrived at the hospital twenty minutes after they went in for surgery. Alex went up to the pair and motioned for Jo to follow him while the interns stood a couple feet off to the side, “Hi my name is Doctor Karev. You must be Lizzie’s parents."

The couple sprung up from their seats frantically, “Yes! How is she? How is our daughter?”

“She is doing just fine. She came in with a ruptured spleen and appendix. Doctor Wilson and I were able to remove both the spleen and appendix. Thankfully, she did not break any bones during the fall so her recovery will last about four to six weeks. I’d like to keep her here in the hospital for about a week for observation, but if everything goes well, she’ll be good to go home when the time is over.” Alex replied to the parents.

“Can we see her?” Mrs. Graham asked.

“Lizzie is in recovery right now, but I can have one of my interns take you to her room to wait for her to arrive. She will be groggy and possibly in a bit of pain, but all of that is completely normal. We will come in to check on her in about an hour to two hours to ensure everything is okay.” Jo smiled at the worried pair. She turned over to her interns, “Holt, you take the Graham’s up to Lizzie’s room? Vargas, make sure to continue to keep an eye on Doctor Karev’s pre and post ops. Both of you keep us posted if anything changes.” Both interns left to do their tasks.

“You did great in there today,” Alex complimented as he and Jo walked down the hall.

Jo grinned cheekily, “Thank you. You were a wonderful teacher as always. So, do we have any more surgeries scheduled for the day?”

"Just a hernia repair in about an hour. Shouldn't take more than 45 minutes to do. And I've been thinking, I might let you take the lead on this one."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You know how we do things; see one, do one, teach one. You've seen hernia repairs done before, and you've assisted with them, so today you lead and I'll assist."

Jo grabbed Alex’s hand and pulled him into the empty on-call room down the hall and smiled, “You sir, are doing a very good job if your goal was to get into my pants for the second time today.”

“Am I?” Alex feigned innocence. He kissed her deeply before speaking again, “Lock the door.”

*****

Laying in the afterglow had become one of Jo’s favorite parts of sex with Alex. She had never experienced such security and love as she did when she was in his arms. She snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Alex was caressing her back when her stomach growled loudly, ruining the moment.

“Dude, I thought I told you to eat lunch,” Alex chastised.

“I was going to… but then Lizzie came into the ER and I got pulled into a 4 hour surgery.”

“Jo, all you’ve had all day is a powdered sugar donut and a medium coffee. You’re a doctor, you of all people should know that’s not healthy.”

“Wow, you’re one to talk. If I can recall correctly, not too long ago I was the one getting on your ass about eating right,” Jo reminded.

“Shut up,” Alex glared playfully. “Come on. Let’s get something for you to eat. We got the hernia repair in fifteen minutes.”

They each bought a snack and went to check in on their patient before getting ready for surgery. After assuring the nervous parents, Alex looked over to the interns, “Hey, Holt and Vargas! Wilson is going to be performing the hernia removal today and I think it would be good for you to observe your resident performing a procedure. You’ll both scrub in and take turns holding the retractor and observing. We’ll meet you in the OR.”

“You know, before I was an intern, you would have never been so eager to teach. I think dating a resident has made you soft,” Jo teased as the two of them entered the scrub room.

Alex rolled his eyes as he scrubbed. They walked into the operating room and looked down at the young patient; eleven year old Hunter Miller. The interns were ready and standing around the OR table. Alex nodded reassuringly as Jo took a deep stabilizing breath, “Alright Jo. The floor is yours. You’ve got this. Don’t second-guess or underestimate yourself. Remember what I always say--”

“You wouldn’t let me hack into a kid just because you like me. You let me in on a surgery because I’m good,” Jo finished.

“Exactly,” he smiled through his mask. “Now, just walk me through everything and take the time to teach your interns about what is going on.”

She nodded and began. They were about halfway through the hernia repair when Alex felt confident enough in Jo’s abilities to begin a conversation, “So Mer wants us to go to Joe’s bar tonight. Something about Yang’s birthday and tequila shots. Doesn’t want to make a huge deal about it, but thought it would be fun to invite a whole bunch of people for shots.”

Jo looked up from her work skeptically, “Did Grey really invite me or did she invite you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters. Grey hates me.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Yes she does.”

“Jo, Mer does not hate you. She likes you, trust me. You know, one time she even told me she thinks you're a badass.”

Jo snorted, “Well she sure has a funny way of showing it.”

“She told me to invite you. And you won’t be the only resident. She’s inviting Ross and Edwards too so you’ll have friends. Besides, you live with Cristina so it would look really bad if you didn’t show up to her birthday shots and she saw you lounging in your sweats on the couch with a beer and a tub of popcorn,” Alex said.

“You live with Dr. Yang?” Vargas asked.

Jo and Alex looked over at the intern in surprise, almost forgetting that they were not alone, “Yeah we live in the same house. We both crash with Alex. I’m surprised he hasn’t kicked us out yet.”

“Shut up… I need the rent check."

“Wait, so you all live in one house together?” Holt asked.

“I like to lovingly refer to it as the frat house. Everyone has lived there at some point,” Jo replied.

“It used to be Grey’s house. A lot of the attendings have lived there at some point. Shepherd, Kepner, Avery, and some people who aren’t around anymore. It was always open for anyone who needed a place to stay,” Alex shared. “I bought it from her last year and kept up the tradition.”

Jo laughed, "I really don't know why you think Yang would notice if I’m there or not. It’s not like we’re close.”

“Look, I’d rather be lounging on the couch in my sweats watching old reruns of Friends or Modern Family, drinking beer too but if I have to go, you have to go.”

“They’re your best friends, though!”

“Come on Jo,” Alex pleaded. “If you go and decide to leave early then I’ll have an excuse to leave because we came in the same car this morning. Also, don’t forget you’re on my service for the next few weeks. I can make your life hell.”

“Woah,” Jo looked up from the patient. “That sounds a bit like coercion.”

Alex gave her an unimpressed look, “Please. I’m begging here. And you know I don’t beg. I can’t handle another night of hearing about Mer’s McDreamy issues and Cristina’s weird arrangement with her not-husband.”

Jo exhaled, “Okay. Fine I’ll go. But you’re buying everything.”

“Deal.”

The rest of the surgery goes extremely well. Jo completed the repair perfectly. The four doctors are in the process of scrubbing out when Alex spoke up again, “You know, Holt and Vargas, you should meet us at Joe’s to celebrate. Your resident just performed a hernia repair on her own on a peds patient and you both assisted. So drinks are on me tonight!’

The interns nodded in excitement and confirmed that they would be at the bar that night at seven o’clock. Alex sent them off to do a couple tasks while he and Jo went to check on Lizzie and a few of his other patients.

*****

“Can you believe it? Karev invited us out for drinks later!” Gia screeched excitedly. “This might be easier than I thought.”

“It is exciting,” Anna agreed. “We hardly ever get to spend time with everyone outside the hospital. So who knows, maybe even I will get laid tonight. You might want to wait before you make a movie on Karev, though. I am trying to figure out though, if Wilson and Karev are sleeping together.”

“Why would you think that?” Gia asked.

“Wilson is only a second year resident living with two attendings. There’s no way she could’ve moved in with them as an intern unless she was already friends with one of them, and from the conversation in the OR, I can tell that she’s not close to Yang. Her and Karev seem really close, but I can’t tell if they’re just friends or if she’s sleeping with him. I mean, he just let her take point on a surgery. Karev is known for being horrible to interns and residents. So I’m wondering if they’re friends with benefits.”

Gia tilted her head to the side, “You make a good point there. She may have already beat me to him… either way I think I’ll still try. Maybe they are sleeping together, maybe they aren’t exclusive, maybe they’re just friends. I don’t know, but Karev is hot and so am I, and we could have some really hot sex, so I’m gonna make a move. The worst he can say is no.”

They walked into the bar and saw Wilson sitting with Ross and Edwards at the bar. Off to the side, Karev was standing at a table with Yang and Grey, rolling his eyes at something they said. Doctor Grey gets the attention of the surrounding doctors before speaking, “Alright as many of you may know, today is Cristina’s birthday so we’re going to do some shots! If you are a doctor at Grey-Sloan, then please make your way over to the bar as we toast to everyone’s favorite cardiothoracic surgeon.”

A string of laughter and teasing could be heard as everyone took hold of their tequila shots and lifted them up, “To Doctor Yang.”

“To Doctor Yang!”

The atmosphere lightened up a bit and distinctions between superiors and subordinates blurred as the alcohol made its way around the room. Alex left his friends and made his wave over to where Jo was sitting at the bar and waved over Holt and Vargas. He looked over to the bartender and began to order some drinks, “Hey man. Can I get a beer for me, a vodka and coke for Jo, I don’t know what those two want but it’s on me.”

“I’ll take a martini and Anna will have a cosmopolitan,” Gia answered.

After each receiving their drinks, Alex raised his glass, “To a great day of saving tiny humans. It’s not everyday that you treat a kid that’s gonna make it, but today we did.”

The group cheered and downed their drinks. About an hour had passed, and everyone was starting to feel some of the effects of the alcohol. Alex became more flirty than usual. His statements were suggestive and oftentimes. Jo was a giggler. She found everything mildly hilarious and more often than not, lost an item or two of clothes in the process. So far, she had shed the cardigan she’d been wearing. Interns on the other hand, became more bold when drinking alcohol. Gia especially, had her inhibitions lowered and decided that she would finally make her move on Karev.

“So Karev, when was the last time you picked someone up in the bar?” Gia asked.

Alex laughed, “Honestly, I don’t remember.”

“Oh please,” Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you remember. It couldn’t have been that long ago. You’d come here every other day with Avery while I was dating Jason and couldn’t hang out with you.”

“I’m serious,” Alex swore. “The last time I came to the bar and tried to pick someone up was last year before Mer, and everyone bought the hospital. I’m out of practice.”

“There’s no way,” Jo shook her head in disbelief. “You did not go that long without a bar hookup.”

“But I did,” Alex nodded.

Sensing that this might finally be her moment, Gia exchanged a glance with an equally tipsy Anna and turned to Alex, “Well, we have to fix that don’t we?”

“Huh?” Alex scrunched his face at the intern.

Jo--who had understood what was going on--burst out into laughter. She considered saying something and staking her claim on Alex, but decided to let him suffer and see what his reaction would be.

Gia smiled flirtily and placed her hand on Alex’s arm, “You said you’re out of practice, so how about I help you break your dry streak?”

Alex’s eyes widened comically as he finally caught on to what the young woman was suggesting. His eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth in shock, closing it dumbly when words failed to come out. He looked over to Jo for assistance, only to find that she was laughing so hard that tears were trailing down her cheeks. Alex laughed awkward and attempted to say something again, “Um… I’m good, thanks.”

“Oh come on, there’s no need to be shy,” Gia winked. “I know you aren’t. Your reputation speaks for itself, and I for one would not mind finding out if all they say is true.”

Alex looked at Jo with desperation in his eyes. Finally deciding to have mercy on him, she turned to her intern with an amused look on her face, “Alex won’t be going home with you tonight.”

“Why not?” Gia asked, seeming mildly offended.

“Because, tonight, Alex will be going home with me,” Jo supplied. “Just like he does every night, because I’m his girlfriend and he no longer needs to pick up random women in bars.”

Both Gia and Anna’s faces paled at Jo’s confession. Gia began to stutter her apologies to her resident when Jo interrupted her, “Holt. Relax. I get it, trust me. He’s hot.”

Alex, who had been observing the scene, felt his ears get hot, “Jo…”

“I’m serious,” Jo grinned. “No hard feelings. You didn’t know. But now you do, so if I see or hear of you making another pass at my boyfriend, you will be drowning in scut.”

Gia nodded and buried her face in her hands in embarrassment. Anna placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I guess I was right, huh?”

“I’m thinking I should’ve listened to you when you suggested that they might be a thing,” Gia cringed.

Deciding it was time to leave and allow the poor intern to wallow in her embarrassment, Alex pulled Jo up and started to guide her out the door. Just as the two of them were about to walk out the door, Jo stopped and gave Gia sly smirk, “Oh and just so you know, everything they say about him is true.”

28 notes · View notes

dilfdoctordoom · 4 years ago

Note

👀 give me all your thoughts I know you have them

Bette Kane

How I feel about this character: She is my everything. I love nobody as much as I love her. I am at all times thinking about Bette Kane

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Dawn, Hank, Charley, Barbara, Helena, Artemis, Donna & I think she & Luke Fox dated for a little bit in high school before deciding to be just friends

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Gar!!! Her & Gar are best friends & they shouldn’t be romantic

My unpopular opinion about this character: Don’t know if she’s known enough to have any unpopular opinions, but bitchy Bette Kane should be brought back. They defanged her a lot & I don’t like it, let her be the worst it was really funny

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I really wish that in the N52 Batwoman series, the Kate&Bette dynamic was changed so while Kate had all her military training & was older, Bette had more vigilante experience & they had to learn to work together & learn from each other

my OTP: Hank/Dawn/Bette has a special place in my heart, I’m an eternal sucker for ArtyBette, but when it comes down to it... Bettenelli is simply superior

my cross over ship: *looking pointedly at my drafts* well gee I guess I think her & Danny Rand would have a fun dynamic. Also, Betty Brant for that good ole hero/reporter dynamic

a headcanon fact: she’s bisexual, she is, it’s a fact

Danny Rand

How I feel about this character: I’ve only recently gotten into Iron Fist comics but listen. LISTEN. He’s the love of my life, okay? Got it? I would die for this dumbass idiot disaster man

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Luke, Luke&Jess, Misty, Brenda because I thought they were just funny, Matt, I read a surprisingly good Peter fic so hm. Something there

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Colleen. I know they’re the main romance of the Netflix series, I know they had a thing for a little bit in the comics, but shut up, she’s his exhausted best friend

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s not annoying. After Netflix, I think that’s an unpopular opinion

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish his TV show didn’t suck balls. I wish that The Living Weapon wasn’t canon (but Pei & Brenda stick around). I wish Marvel would pull the trigger & admit that he & Luke are in love

my OTP: Danny/Misty because they’re cute okay shut up Danny really loves her!!! & obviously Jess/Luke/Danny but in that specific order. Jess & Danny are both dating Luke but they aren’t dating each other, they’re just bffs

my cross over ship: The one mentioned above but also, in whatever universe where DC & Marvel are co-existing, I think he had a fling with Oliver Queen before Ollie went to the island

a headcanon fact: He’s Asian-American. Fuck Marvel

Felicia Hardy

How I feel about this character: My mean wife. I would let her murder me without any hesitation she’s so pretty

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Peter, MJ & Cindy. Matt is allowed but only if it’s a disaster. Danny Rand has a crush on her which she thinks is adorable

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Johnny!!!! They’re funny little shits & they should be allowed to get in more hijinks together. All the Marvel Divas, I like Felicia having friends

My unpopular opinion about this character: Plot twist assholes she was in love with Peter Parker the entire goddamn time re: everyone who keeps trying to insist that Felicia has only ever loved Spider-Man. Shut up, they’re the same goddamn person & Felicia loves him

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish Dan Slott had never come anywhere near her

my OTP: PeterFelicia is cute, okay. SilkCat is where it’s at though. Cindy & Felicia... soulmates

my cross over ship: Jessica Cruz or Dick Grayson because she likes dorks but only if they’re pretty

a headcanon fact: I was gonna put that she’s bi, but that is canon & Marvel has just ignored it so. Hm. Dan Slott never happened to her, this lady was never the queen pin of crime

MJ Watson

How I feel about this character: I love her so much... angel... sweetie... darling...

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Peter, Felicia & Gwen, some goddamn respect

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Harry

My unpopular opinion about this character: All opinions about MJ are inherently unpopular (as she would want) but Marvel should stop moving her away from the arts re: her being a reporter in PS4, that weird nightclub thing, etc. I’d say TAMJ was a step in the right direction except I hate that book so :/

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish she was still married to Peter. Also, that she’d get her own MJ-As-Spider-Woman AU. Or MJ as a superhero in general

my OTP: GwenMJ & PeterMJ & especially PeterGwenMJ

my cross over ship: MJ Waston date Koriand’r challenge

a headcanon fact: She is not straight. Or cis, for that matter

Peter Parker

How I feel about this character: Look at the little bastard man off to do his little bastard things... will he make good choices? No! Will I continue to support him regardless? Yes!

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Okay, here we go, damn: Johnny, MJ, Gwen, Harry, Flash, Ned in the MCU shut up we all know why it isn’t popular (see: racism), he’s definitely at least made out with Bobby, more that I can’t think of right now, Felicia Hardy

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Matt Murdock. No, shut up, their friendship is important to me specifically, they just love each other a lot, okay? And it’s unconditional &nstupid & they’re dumb & I love them. Jessica Jones, too, because I think the idea of her having a crush on him in high school & local hoe Peter Parker not noticing is funny

My unpopular opinion about this character: The only consistently good Spider-Man series in the past, like, decade is FNSM

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: In a very specific thing, I wish that Peter had picked up the phone & called Matt in the Sins Rising arc because Daredevil was such an important part of that original arc & I dunno, it just doesn’t work & it would’ve been really interesting to put Matt back in the role he played in the original story especially with where Matt is in her own series, ya know?

my OTP: SpideyTorch & PeterMJ

my cross over ship: okay, concept here: Kyle Rayner & Peter Parker

a headcanon fact: bider-man, bider-man, does whatever a bi spider can...

Elektra Natchios

How I feel about this character: Murder wife, has never done anything wrong in her entire life

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Matt & Nat

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Logan!!! They’re best friends

My unpopular opinion about this character: @ Daredevil tv series fans please just say you’re racist & leave

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish she never met Frank Castle. I wish she had female friends for a change

my OTP: Nat/Elektra. Love Matt but he & Elektra aren’t endgame even though it kills me violently to admit that

my cross over ship: Talia Al Ghul. I will not elaborate

a headcanon fact: aside from the obvious ‘she’s bi’, I think Elektra has a dog

Matt Murdock

How I feel about this character: Himbo idiot love of my life make a good decision I love you

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Elektra, Foggy, Danny, Luke, Kirsten & Mila

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Peter (see: above), Luke, Nat, Jessica, I think it’s very funny when you put him in the same room as Moon Knight & Felicia

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s disabled, you idiots, that actually does affect his day-to-day life

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish he’d go to therapy, no, Matthew, confession does not count

my OTP: Matt/Elektra, Matt/Foggy & Matt/Kirsten

my cross over ship: I wanna say Hal Jordan... specifically after the Spectre I think that’d be funny, if Hal just casually drops that literal, actual god was basically his boss for a while

a headcanon fact: he gets mistaken for Scott Summers a lot

15 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

Text

Jake Reviews Stuff: Star Vs: Friendenemies

Happy pride all. I’m getting ahead of this one for a number of reasons: 1) It’s pride month and this episode is one of the most shiptastic things i’ve seen with two male characters since Robochris from bravest warriors. I mean it dosen’t quite reach “Creating a skull robot of your best friend because he won’t touch you a lot to make him jealous enough to do that” levels of romantic tension but it tries.

2) My good friend @jess-the-vampire is a tomco shipper, and with things being rough for her I figure she could use this sooner rather than later. 3) Shows are actually coming back with Amphibia emerging from it’s year long odinsleep the same week Close Enough finally escapes from it’s dumpster after 10,000 years to conquer earth before it gets put back in there then escapes again and marries lord zedd.. I lost the metaphor the point is I want to keep Tom train, and other star arcs I have planned, moving at a steady clip.

So with all of that yeah, i’m ready to go. No real exposition to dump again, come on let’s go after the cut!

We open with Marco at his laptop nervous about something and Star coming into his room tangled in christmas lights... so normal day at Casa Diaz. Anyways Marco can’t help star out of her latest self made prison because he’s preording tickets to a Mackie Hand Film Festival. Mackie Hand is Marco’s faviorite martial artist and movie star, who died performing a stunt on himself.. accidentally.. did he give himself a death punch? Is this the same universe as regular show.. please say yes. Anyway as is natural for Marco in the first two seasons as god apparently hates him, the tickets sell out instantly and he dosen’t get them, banging his head against his laptop as Star TRIES to comfort him , saying he might still be able to get them. Marco also says “Good things don’t happen to me”

I mean just look at Season 3. Anyways tom comes in licking a rainbow snowcone for no explained reason other than they wanted to make it obvious this was the Tomco episode. Tom asks to hang out and after Star, understandably at this point given you know, the horrible date where he tried to murder her best friend and the gaslighting a few weeks back, tells him a million times no, Tom explains he’s not here for her.. he’s here for Marco. Marco, given tom’s threatned to kill him twice now and tried to at least once, isn’t biting. Tom naturally has tickets to the festival as a trump card, and assumes that time he kidnapped marco and played him in ping pong for his freedom counts as a friend hang out, and geuinely apologizes for his behavior promising not to get angry. Really while as you probalby know we DO get the reveal later he was partly doing this whole thing to finish his anger managment... I do get the sense this apology, and a lot of this is GENUINE. We’ll get more into the why in a bit, but he does seem to genuinely want to bury the hatchet. Marco pulls star aside and, given the last two times he saw Tom, the boy had some horrible scheme up his ripped sleeves, he understandably, and as it turns out correctly, thinks Tom is once again up to some sort of scheme, star is fully on board. I have. mixed feelings about this. On the one hand STar did forgive tom for the previous episodes mess and Ponyhead for much worse and it does set up the tiny plot curnel of corn that would grow into an entire corn field of her still having some friendly feelings toward tom. But it just feels weird, even with how cahotic star can be to have her flip flop from “Stop calling me” To “You should totlaly go on a date with the guy who harassed me and tried to kill you twice now. “. Especially since next time she has an episode with Tom, She’s fully resentful of him and a bit snarky and spends and episode, in part thanks to aformentioned magical severed ponyhead, suspicious of him playing games with her head again. We’ll get there soon obviously, i’m just saying it feels mildly off.

So Marco decides, much like bart simpson that getting where he’s going’s worth it even if he has to ride with the devil himself and reluctantly agrees. We see the inside of Tom’s carriage for the first time, and see my good personal friend dead horse again on the outside, and it’s really nice.. lit by torches because mood lighting, but similar to his room it’s plushly decorated and even has two serious speakers and according to Tom 6 flatscreens. Damn I wish I had one of those.. that and I wouldn’t have to drive since I can’t due to my anxiety. Plus who wouldn’t want a firey horse skelton sidekick? Anyways Tom offers Marco cold cereal and Marco is frank with tom, pointing out he’s suddenly being nice to Marco after never being nice to him before and understandably isn’t sure he’s even a mackie hand fan but a bit of banter and trivia shows Marco that no, Tom really seems to be telling the truth. Tom then confides in marco that he gets why Marco didn’t belivie him: Most people dont’ get past their preconcived perceptions of him. And here the series does flesh tom out a bit: Tom admits to not having many friends.. which frames the previous two episodes in a diffrent light. Sure his actions to Star are still very much not okay... but you at least see WHY he was so obessive about her: She was probably the first real friend he had that wasn’t a casual aquantince, his own family member, or a pet. Most Mewman kids his age probably weren’t too keen to hang out with what to them was a monster, rich or not, little raicst shits. And in the underworld most people probably just did whatever he asked because they were afraid of his temper or his parents fury, even if his parents are the nicest people in the underworld. So when he lost her, Tom didn’t know how to properly react and while his first attempt to win star back was genuine, it was marred by his refusal to adress his anger or control issues that likely lead to Star dumping him in the first place. While Star’s forgivness HERE is a bit werid, her willingness to give him another shot wasn’t: Tom was SEEMINGLY genuinely trying. He was in therapy, he’d been anger free for several days and most glowingly, when a stranger karate chopped his hand off in a misguided attempt to protect star.. he got upset but instnatlly went into his coping mechanisms. The problem was as I covered in that review.. Tom didn’t WANT to change. That’s the thing about changing: you need to both know there is a problem and WANT to fix it. And even then, as we’ll see sometimes i’ts hard. I know, i’ve had my own personal issues i’ve had to change up as years went on. It’s a slippery slope you have to constnatly climb up. And BMB era tom.. just didn’t WANT to change he just wanted to do what he thought star wanted that would get her to take him back, and couldn’t understnad why she wouldn’t just listen to him and obey, two things not in star’s vocabulary for anyone much less her ex.

So , much like I did, rather than blame himself for screwing things up, he just saw it as Marco being in the way and tried to fix that. And so he sunk to rock bottom.. but it didn’t fix their relationship and it took Marco having an honest conversation, as someone who was also very close to her and knew her well, to get him to see that Star wasn’t going to take him back unless she wanted it.. what he was doing was selfish and self destructive.. and Tom probably realized in that moment he had to stop. He let her go, and thus as I put al ot of emphasis on last time, made his first step to being better. And to me that’s why this makes sense as his next step: While it’s partly to fufill a checklist... you get the sense he really DOES like marco on some level. They hung out, which I do feel tom did genuinely feel was like friends hanging out instead of you know the second highest stakes game of ping pong i’ve ever seen.

The first if your curious. So while part of this is Tom just wanting to get through anger managment for likely his parent’s sake, part of it is also him genuinely wanting to be somebody’s buddy, anybody but a bumbling butler. It’s just being Tom, he dosen’t know HOW to make friends or get them to see past who he is surface wise; a spoiled angry boy and see the inside, a nice kid who just has no idea how to talk to people beyond a surface level or understand them and we’ll see that more both in this episode and as we go. Speaking of going back in the episode proper, two bros drive up and insult Tom’s carriage also wondering if he’s going to his grandpa’s funeral. Fuck you both.. both on general principal and becaause his grandpapapapapapaaaaaaaaaaaa is alive and magnificent.

Satan bless you Relicor. Anyways, Tom is naturally pissed at this and Marco challenges them to a race.. but eases tom off actually following them as, since this isn’t a fast and the furious movie, the police immidelty arest them and we get the blessed image above. Let’s see that again.

NOGODWHY

Not right but it’ll have to do I fear what may happen if I try again. ONE BALLON DICK GIRAFFE LATER, our boys are on a high, as Tom finds there are things more fun than obletarating people. #tomhaskilledmultiplepeopleandisstillthebestboy. Marco is reminded of a song from his faviorite band Love Sentence, and Tom, suprisingy given his My Chemical Romance with a splash of metal astetic, is not only a huge fan but has a giant Helga Patiaki esque shrine to them complete with a cd player with shuffle. Fancy.

We then get a wonderful, shiptastic montage of the two just hanging out, hanging out with a white tiger. Having themselves a party. And given the song itself, sung by 98 Degrees and horrible realtiy show Newleywed’s alumnus Nick Lachey, even says “we used to be enimies but now we have chemistry” yeah I think this is intentional and they are a good ship. Are they my prefered ships for the characters? No tha’ts kelly and flame princess... the last one was recent and I love a good crossover ship sue me. But I do headcanon both as still Bi and still find the ship great, it’s just not my main one.

However the good times can’t last as it is film time... but Tom refuses to let marco leave befor eblowing his top off... dude that’s not how you build a suppportive relationship, you know this by now. Turns out the white tiger I haven’t mentioned to now is actually Brian, vocied my boy Stephen Root who apparently just.. lives at DIsney’s animation studios now as he has a tendency to show up in every other animated disney show. You may know him from Gravity Falls as Bud Gleeful, THe Mayor from Amphibia, or , in non disney voice work, Bill Dautrive. Turns out as I haven’t even tried to hide, Tom was in the final stage of his anger managment class and to get out of it had had to spend 3 hours with the person he hated most. As I said I do think part of it was GENUINE on tom’s part, that he was trying to be what he thought friends were... it’s just he didn’t get that Marco, if grumblinignly, probably STILL would’ve agreed if he were honest. However.. it’s still a step up. While i’ts still a scheme, and his LAST on the show.. it’s more benign after the last two; Instead of being harmful his scheme this time is just “Bribe my worst enemy into hanging out with me and get out of anger managment” it’s still not quite right, but compared to the things he’s done with star, it’s an improvment and a sign he is changing despite himself. He could’ve just kidnapped marco again and forced him to spend the three hours.. granted this might’ve just been Brian saying, obviously no tha tdosen’t count, but still, instead he tried being nice and giving an apology. Even if it was for personal gain on some level, Marco’s words clearly got to him and he’s now trying genuinely unselfish tactics. It’s also notable since he spent the three hours with marco, and at least half an hour of awkarndess before it got all fun, WITHOUT getting angry or falling back on old stratgies and only beefing it at the end because, as i’ve established, he dosen’t get people. So naturally tom gets mad.. while it is a sign he’s getting better he dosen’t do his trademark horrifying demonic EXPLOSION of rage... he’s still being petulant and sore over his failure is mad at marco for pritoritzing the tickets nad destroys them. Marco naturally calls him out, angry over him manipulating him to get some badge , as he puts it, calls him a jerk and a liar, accurate and the worst part to marco? “I WAS DUMB ENOUGH TO FALL FOR IT”

Credit where it’s due while I may not LIKE adam mcarthur as a person...as a voice actor he is excellent and his delivery here is perfect as you do get the pain in Marco’s voice as he genuinely ahd grown to care for tom. Wethere it was friendship or wanting to make out... probably wanting to make out, you get the pain in his voice. Tom admits the love sentence hting wasn’t a lie.. but too little too late.. whcih is marco’s second faviorite love sentence song and leads to another moment of shippy goodness. Seriously I see why this ship exploded in popularity after this. Also I will say both Adam and Rider have damn pretty voices. So Tom does what any romantic lead faced with a third act breakup would do.. say a demonic chant and bring Mackie Hand back from the dead. This is also the first time we see just how fucking powerful tom is. Before we’ve seen him summon his carriage and immolate some stuff and easily reattach a hand.. but this is the first time that we see he’s every pit as powerful as star, who probably could raise the dead she just dosen’t want to. Granted I don’t know why this sort of undead stuff hasn’t been used on say, Moons assitnated mother, but presumibly anti-monster stigma combined with the fact that we don’t know HOW she died or how much was left, and are probably better off that way solve that. It goes a long way to explain why Tom’s family are allies instead of the conquered like most monsters: They have equal , if far diffrent and spookier, magic power and are the only kingdom with this trump card besides the butterfly kingdom.

So as we close Marco tries to use Mackie to get in, the usher dosen’t buy it and a fight insues, but Marco and Tom patch things up, Tom becoming a fan of Mackie now he’s seen what the guy can do and Marco forgiving tom since, evne if his actions were still a bit greasy, he immidetly did his best to try and fix what he broke. The two are friends again despite them both saying they hate each other... but they clearly mean it playfully. The End. Final Thoughts: After the Slog that was last episode this one is a fan faviorite for a reason... well okay 2 reasons. One...

youtube

And two.. it’s excellent. I feel bad it took me years to see this one, but it’s one of season 2′s finest. It’s funny, has great character stuff for both boys, introduces a new ship that’s fantastic and a great new dynamic between Tom and Marco that would carry for the rest of the show. It also beliviebly advances Tom’s character arc: He’s TRYING a bit but he’s still got a bit of the scheming and selfishness that defined his earlier outings, but it’s telling that after this episode, and hurting marco, he stops. This episode REALLY gets him to change that and for the better. Sadly Tom would only make one more apperance this season in Naysaya, an episode I will cover when I cover Jackie and Marco at some point, but has him show up for a cameo when it turns out the episodes antagonist, a curse that takes the form of a sentient head that spills the target’s worst secrets and insecurities when they try to ask someone they like out, is Tom’s fault from back when he was a baddie, and Tom genuinely apologizes and tells him how to vanquish it, if ribs marco a bit since he cast that curse presumibly sometime between BMB and MCC and is delighed and suprised that Marco seriously hadn’t asked anyone out in that time. But it’s a nice bit that shows their not only still friends but Tom is genuinely sorry for some of his earlier behavior. We’ll see more of that as we go and more of tom trying to be better.. he’s made up with Marco, next time we come back to tomtrospective, we’ll see how it goes with Star.

Coming up besides the obvious, as Pride Winds down I’ll have my first steven unvierse coverage, one of the first openly gay couples in western animation, and some asexula pride as we take our first look at Bojack Horseman..’s loveable rommate todd. Until we meet again, stay safe, black lives matter and later days.

#star vs the forces of evil #tomco #marco diaz #tom lucitor #tomtrospective #freindenmies #brian #star butterfly #98 degrees #newlyweeds #love sentence #mackie hand #martial arts #pride month #lbgtq+

51 notes · View notes