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silvfyre-writings · 2 years ago

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Tell me a Story, Ranpo-kun Pt. 3 (BSD Fanfic)

Hello, firstly, I'd like to apologize for the obscene length that is this chapter. It uh… ran away from me a bit. Just a bit.

Secondly, I'm adjusting Dazai's age (I will go back and fix that wherever its mentioned in previous chapters). He is a few years older than Ranpo in this fic (honestly, picture him however old you want, really).

Thirdly, I hope you enjoy this chapter and all the fluff I crammed into it! Feel free to like, comment, or reblog if you enjoyed! (Also, this is the first romance I've properly written, so I hope I did okay!)

“Poe-san, how come you’ve never published any of your stories?” Ranpo asks as Poe slowly leads him around his room, helping him to exercise his unused muscles after spending so long lying in bed. It’s only been a few days since the end of the trial, and he’d very much rather be in bed and resting right now—he’d felt drained since the second lap—but Poe had proven to be the more stubborn of the two of them; ignoring Ranpo’s whines and whispering words of encouragement with each successful step that he took.

“Well, um, they aren’t that good?” Poe responds, his words sounding more like he’s asking Ranpo rather than telling him. The nurse ducks his head, but Ranpo’s short enough that it does nothing but show him more of Poe’s slowly reddening face; Poe’s embarrassed, the way he always is whenever he receives praise, almost as if he doesn’t believe he deserves it. It has Ranpo wondering just what kind of life his friend had led if just him commenting on his stories like this is enough to get this kind of reaction.

Ranpo raises an eyebrow and comes to a stop, forcing Poe to do the same. “All the kids that you read to would disagree, as would I. You need to have some more faith in your skills, Poe-san! Your stories are actually worth reading, unlike every other book I’ve tried to read.”

“Uh… thanks? I think.”

“You’re welcome, so, why haven’t you published anything yet?” Ranpo asks again, determined to get to the bottom of this little ‘mystery’ he’s found himself recently involved in. The mystery being that of Poe the writer whose currently studying to be a nurse rather than attempting to put his stories out into the world. Stories that have captured the attention of anyone fortunate enough to hear them. Ranpo firmly believes that if Poe wanted to, he could write for a living, but for some reason he doesn’t and that’s enough to get Ranpo curious about why that is.

Poe sighs, not before tugging Ranpo forwards to coax him into walking again. “I just never gave it much thought. I always enjoyed writing my stories, but I’ve never let anyone read them until I came to Yokohama.”

“How come?”

“N-No reason i-in particular.” Poe says, his voice going quiet, and this time it’s him that stops walking. Ranpo frowns, not liking the way Poe refuses to look at him and hunches in on himself. He can feel the way Poe’s arms tremble underneath his own grip, and Ranpo’s not an idiot to not understand that his friend is getting scared, but he’s not entirely sure why. Ranpo can guess, sure—in fact, he’s pretty confident he’d be able to guess correctly—but does he really want to do that if it ends up making Poe feel worse?

No, he doesn’t.

“Forget it. You don’t need to tell me.” Ranpo squeezes his hands around Poe’s arms gently, and his friend lifts his eyes to look at him, a relieved look on his face. “But if you do ever decide to publish, I want to know, because I’ll be the first one to buy your book! That’s a promise.”

Poe smiles and gives a quiet laugh before he finally takes mercy on Ranpo and guides him back to the bed, helping him get back into it like he always does. “I appreciate the thought, but who knows if I’ll ever do that. But… if you’d like… when I finish writing my next novel, I’ll let you be the first to read it?”

“Really?” Ranpo lights up, excitement filling him at the idea of reading yet another one of Poe’s longer works; stories that don’t often get to see the light of day, or completion.

“Really, Ranpo-san.” A pause. “I’ll take you to lunch when I do and give it to you then.”

“Okay! You better finish it then, because I’m holding you to that promise!”

Both their faces are tinted pink when Poe excuses himself and leaves.

Ranpo’s felt better than he has in months and while there’s still lingering regret clinging to him about dropping out of the trial, he still thinks he’s done the right thing in doing so. The first week after dropping out, he’d done nothing much other than sleep. It had almost been as if his body had realized it didn’t have to fight anymore, and had promptly just… stopped. His joints hadn’t burnt, his stomach hadn’t rolled, and his head had been quiet. The only thing that had remained was the exhaustion, but after sleeping almost nonstop for two days, even that had begun to leave him.

The first week, he hadn’t been left alone either; partially because of the things he’d said during his breakdown, and partially because those closest to him were worried about him. Fukuzawa and Dazai had commandeered the chair and bed respectively, being just the quiet company that Ranpo appreciated. They didn’t speak to him unless he spoke first, which he only did when he knew they’d been sitting there for hours; telling them to get out and actually go outside before they ended up in beds themselves. Yosano and Poe were equally as present as well; Yosano checking in on him every few hours, and Poe coming by every time he was on break, reading his newest story to him, or just telling him something exciting that had happened on his shift. Even Nakahara swung by occasionally, but that was usually to make sure Dazai was actually still alive, or to talk to Ranpo about his feelings.

Yeah, he hadn’t been overly fond of that.

Normally, Ranpo would’ve felt smothered in such a situation—had in previous ones—but this time he didn’t. Sure, having people by his side constantly was a little irritating, but these were people that cared for him, that had dropped everything to make sure he was alright during the times he very much, was not. These were people that had been equally as stressed and scared as he was during these past few months, and if sitting by his bedside was what it took to soothe and reassure them, Ranpo wasn’t going to complain. Audibly at least.

The start of the second week was where the world started turning again.

Of all the things he’d been expecting, Ranpo hadn’t expected Fitzgerald to come into his room and apologize. The man had gone full throttle, kneeling on the ground, and bowing towards Ranpo as he apologized for the way he’d treated him during the trial. Ranpo had been on edge the entire time as the doctor explained himself—all the while saying it was not an excuse for his actions, but the reason why they occurred in the first place… which Ranpo did appreciate, and said as such. In no way, shape, or form, did Ranpo forgive Fitzgerald—he probably never would—but he did accept the apology, and Fitzgerald had left as quick as he’d come.

He hadn’t seen the man since.

“Ranpo? Are you alright?” He’s drawn out of his memories by Fukuzawa’s arrival. His guardian is standing in the doorway, a bag in hand that smells absolutely delicious. Oh, that’s right. Fukuzawa had mentioned something about having lunch together when he’d last visited. Ranpo sits up in the bed and makes space so that Fukuzawa can sit across from him.

“Just thinking.” Ranpo says, patting the space in front of him. Fukuzawa walks over and sits on the bed, placing the bag in between them. Ranpo’s quick to open it, and his eyes light up upon seeing that Fukuzawa’s brought him his favorite dish from the café. He goes to take the container, only to have his hands slapped away.

“Patience.” Fukuzawa says, pulling everything out of the bag before flattening it to use as a makeshift table. Only then, does he let Ranpo take the food and begin eating. “What were you thinking about?”

“Fitzgerald-san’s apology. I still don’t know how to really feel about it.” Ranpo answers as he shovels food into his mouth. It’s been far too long since he’s been allowed to eat something that isn’t hospital food, or sanctioned by Yosano, so to finally be able to taste Fukuzawa’s cooking; he’s going to treasure this moment for the rest of time. “Does Yosano-sensei know you brought me food?”

“Yes, she does. I thought him apologizing was a good thing?” Fukuzawa asks, eating his own meal at a much slower pace. He looks only mildly disgusted with how fast Ranpo is eating.

“Well, yeah, it is, I guess.” Ranpo stops eating to think it over, putting the words together in his head before he says them out loud. “He did something wrong, so he apologized. I just… why didn’t he notice? Yosano-sensei always notices, so why didn’t he?”

“Why didn’t you tell him you weren’t ready in the first place?” Fukuzawa raises a brow at him. From anyone else, the question could be found rude or harsh, but coming from Fukuzawa, it was just a gentle inquiry; his guardian had always been that way, never judging and never getting upset when he fails to understand Ranpo’s thoughts. All he’s ever done was try and understand. “Fitzgerald-sensei has not known you for as long as Yosano-sensei has.”

“I—” Ranpo hesitates, and he picks at his food with his chopsticks to avoid meeting Fukuzawa’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You do, you—”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Ranpo interrupts before the conversation can delve into territory he’s not familiar with. He should’ve realized that Fukuzawa would try to question him eventually, that it was inevitable. The man had avoided asking his own questions for weeks now—more focused on being there when Ranpo needed the support—so it had only been a matter of time before they finally broke free of the cage they’d been locked in. That doesn’t mean Ranpo’s going to avoid it for as long as he can.

Which, of course, means that Fukuzawa is also not going to let up on it. Not this time. “We have to talk about it, Ranpo. You’ve avoided the topic for three years now, we need to talk about it. I don’t mind how long it takes, but this is something we should’ve spoken about much sooner, because, Ranpo, you are not a burden on anyone.”

But I am… Ranpo fidgets restlessly, still avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t think he can—and hears Fukuzawa sigh into the silence; it’s not a sigh of frustration or anger, it’s one of quiet acceptance, that shows that Fukuzawa understands Ranpo doesn’t believe his words even though he’s heard them said thousands of times.

“Do you remember the day you came into my care?” Fukuzawa asks suddenly, and Ranpo finally looks up, a questioning look on his face. He shakes his head slowly—the only thing he remembers from the day Fukuzawa is talking about, is waking up in hospital to learn his parents had just died and that some random man he didn’t know was going to take care of him—uncertain why his guardian is bringing that day up now of all times. Fukuzawa continues, “I was in the ER for a kitchen mishap when you were rushed past me, barely breathing—dying.”

Ranpo listens carefully. This is something he’s never heard before.

“There was an argument between the doctors because they weren’t sure whether it was worth trying to operate or not considering the condition you were in.” Fukuzawa pauses and frowns, his hands clutched together tightly at the memory. “I didn’t know about your illness beforehand, so I couldn’t understand why they were even arguing in the first place. You, a child, was bleeding out, and no one was doing anything. There should never have been any question about whether you were worth saving or not.”

“What did you do?” Ranpo whispers, his own eyes wide at the story.

Fukuzawa gives him a look as if the answer is obvious—which it is, but still—and answers him anyway. “I couldn’t just sit by and watch. It wasn’t like everyone in the ER wasn’t already listening to them anyway, so I went up to the doctors and asked them what the problem was. They told me you needed surgery, but survival chances were low, so what was the point? You could feel the tension in the room when they said that. I got mad at that point, accused them of being terrible doctors, and that this was a child’s life they were arguing over.

They tried to argue back that the damage was too great, that you’d already been admitted to the hospital the prior week—not good enough reasons to just let someone die if you ask me. Then they brought up your parents, saying that if they operated and you did survive, there would be no one to take care of you because they’d died in the accident. They tried to justify letting you die as a merciful death. I refused. I had no reason to do so, but I told the doctors that you did have someone; you had me, and I’d take responsibility. They weren’t happy, but they did operate.”

“I—what—why?” Ranpo sputters out once Fukuzawa finishes his story. He’d known there’d been a disagreement back then, but no one had ever told him what it was about; he’d thought it’d been about the cost of the surgery that had saved him this whole time. To learn that Fukuzawa, who’d just happened to be in the hospital that day, had seen him, not even known him or his history, and still take responsibility for him was incomprehensible. “Why did you do that? You didn’t even know me.”

“It didn’t matter. You were a boy that needed help, that needed someone to advocate for you, and no one else seemed inclined to do so.” Fukuzawa reached over and gently held one of Ranpo’s hands in his own, bigger ones. “I have never regretted my actions that day, Ranpo.”

“But what about now?” Ranpo asks.

“What do you mean?”

“The—the bills! All these hospital visits and treatments, and—and just the cost of caring for someone like me. All I’ve ever done is take your money and your time, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give that back.” He can’t stop the tears from forming, but he does scrub at his eyes to prevent them from falling. “All I do is worry and burden the people around me. I don’t understand why they bother, why they care—”

“Because you’re worth it, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa interrupts, moving the remains of their meal off the bed so that he can shift closer and draw Ranpo into a hug. His guardian drops his head to rest on top of Ranpo’s own. “Yes, it is hard at times, when back-to-back visits build up the bills, but they are nothing compared to the utter relief it is when you are being given the care you need and deserve. Seeing you able to smile and be happy brings me more joy than money ever could.”

Ranpo lets out a sob and buries his face into Fukuzawa’s chest.

Fukuzawa draws him closer, and whispers into his hair. “You’ve never been a burden, Ranpo, and you never will be. Just be you, and let the adults worry about everything else.”

“I’ll—I’ll pay you back one day.” Ranpo says through his tears. “For everything.”

“If you feel you must. But know, that I don’t expect you to.”

Ranpo is in a light doze against Fukuzawa’s chest when Yosano comes into the room, tired out from crying. He jerks when his doctor clears her throat, alert and awake as he blinks the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. As he lets out a yawn, he studies Yosano carefully; she’d already been by that morning to check on his condition, so he’s not entirely sure why she’s here. His heart speeds up momentarily, as the thought that his latest test results have caught a problem, crosses his mind.

“Relax, Ranpo, nothings wrong.” Yosano smiles at him as she takes a seat in the chair, glancing down at her clipboard as she thinks over her next words. It’s only a few seconds before she looks up again. “I came to talk to you and Fukuzawa about what the plan is from here on out. Nakahara finally gave me the all clear to actually do that now.”

“You aren’t putting Ranpo back on the trial are you?” Fukuzawa asks, and Ranpo can’t help but reach over to grip at the man’s sleeve at his question; he doesn’t have the words in him to express how much he doesn’t want that. He knows that he’s been promised that his wishes have been listened to, that the hospital cannot force him to continue now that he’s dropped out and signed the paperwork for it, but there’s still the lingering fear that they will.

Yosano’s quick to shake her head, and Ranpo relaxes. “No, no, nothing like that. Ranpo’s already told us no, and that’s that. This is about what we need to do so that we can send get him discharged actually. During the trial, we had to change up his meds at times to work around the drug and his flare ups, and I’ve finally had the chance to read over the results we gathered because of that. I believe that with some different medication, we can manage Ranpo’s condition better and keep him out of the hospital for longer.”

Ranpo lets himself feel a little bit of hope at the idea of going home.

“Why hasn’t this been an option before now?” Fukuzawa asks, accepting the information packet that Yosano hands to him and beginning to flip through it. He sounds hesitant about what he’s being told, which makes sense, since if there was a better treatment all this time, why wasn’t Ranpo being given it in the first place?

“Some of the medications listed are hard to get a hold of—” expensive is unsaid, but it’s obvious what Yosano means “—but mostly it was because of Ranpo’s age. But now that he’s what most other countries consider a ‘legal adult,’ he can access them now.”

Yosano looks a bit upset at saying that; it’s a harsh reminder that because of the trial, specifically, when he’d caught that infection from surgery, that Ranpo had missed his eighteenth birthday. Not that Ranpo had cared too much about it; he’d had much bigger problems to deal with at the time, but everyone around him always looked guilty or sad whenever it was brought up. Sure, Ranpo would’ve liked to have celebrated or done something like he had for his seventeenth birthday, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It was just a birthday; they could do something bigger and better for his next one if it really mattered.

“Okay, so… I get new meds, and if they do the same as the old ones… I go home?” Ranpo asks. “What if they don’t work? Do I not get to leave?”

“You’ll still get to go home regardless of whether the new meds work or not. The new ones have better management qualities in those with chronic illness.” Yosano explains. “For example, whenever you go through those pain flare ups, sometimes the old meds don’t work and you have to be brought in, right?”

Ranpo nods.

“Well, these new ones would work in a way to bring the pain down to a level that you could stay at home and deal with it rather than be brought in. Instead of a week of pain, you’d be dealing with… a few days. That’s the theory at least.”

“Is that all they’d do? Just manage the pain when it comes?” Ranpo would ideally like no problems at all, but he thinks that dealing with a few days of his joints and muscles screaming at him instead of however long the episodes usually last, is still the better option.

“Not just that. They’ll help strengthen your immune system, and combat that fatigue we’ve never really been able to get a handle on.” Yosano leans closer, the smile on her face growing. “You’d still need to be careful, but you’d be able to go outside, Ranpo. You’d be able to do things.”

“I could… do things?” Ranpo says slowly, turning the words over in his mind as well as speaking them aloud. It sounds like a dream come true, and he’d wear all the masks and jackets in the world if what Yosano was offering him was to actually become his new reality. All he’d ever wanted as a chance to live a somewhat normal life; as much as jokes about calling the hospital his second home, he’d really like to not return to it.

“Yes, you could do things. And when the drug we were trialling goes onto the market—which it will, because I know it will; we’ll switch you over to it, and then you wouldn’t have to come back to hospital at all unless you had severe episode.” Yosano says, pushing herself up from the chair and straightening her coat out with a few brushes. “I’ll send Poe by later with the paperwork you’ll need to sign approving the changes, Fukuzawa-san, and if it all goes well, Ranpo should be good to leave in a few days.”

Fukuzawa hums, still reading, so Ranpo takes it upon himself to respond. “Thank you, Yosano-sensei.”

“No need to thank me. Just do your part in staying out of this hospital, okay?” Yosano says. Ranpo nods and Yosano ruffles his hair the way she always has when she’s feeling good about his situation before leaving, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“Oh.”

“What is it?” Ranpo looks up, and upon seeing Fukuzawa’s wide eyes, he tries to see just what his guardian has read. “What? Is it bad?”

“No, no, it’s not bad. In fact, it’s good.” Fukuzawa folds the paper up and tucks it into his pocket, away from Ranpo’s prying eyes. The man looks down at him and smiles, his eyes going soft. “You have a good friend looking out for you, that’s all.”

The day of Ranpo’s discharge came sooner than he thought it would, and after one final check-up from Yosano, he was free to leave and go home. And while he was glad to finally be leaving, he was also a little sad, and scared. It’d been months since he’d set foot in Fukuzawa’s café, and he was a little worried it wouldn’t be the same as it had been the last time he’d been there; he knew it wouldn’t because he would’ve been told of any changes, but it was still a thought that he couldn’t stop from crossing his mind. It was also hard, to be leaving behind the people that had been a constant presence in his life for those months as well; he’d see Fukuzawa and Dazai obviously, and by extension, Nakahara, but as for Yosano, he’d probably only see her if he needed to come back to hospital. As for Poe… well, Ranpo was a bit unsure on that front.

He wanted to see Poe again; they were friends after all, but would he? Poe had promised him lunch when he finished writing his next story, Ranpo knew that and very much remembered it, but who knew how long that would take. And what if Poe never finished it? Over the past months, Ranpo had born witness to several of Poe’s unfinished works; stories that were never finished because they were scribbled in a quick break between patients, or because their creator had lost inspiration halfway through and gone on to write something else. If that happened, then there was a very good chance that he wouldn’t see Poe for some time.

That couldn’t happen.

“Poe-kun, give me your number!” Ranpo shouts the moment Poe walks into his room, ignoring the stunned look he’s given in exchange for grabbing onto Poe’s hands and dragging him further inside it. “They’re discharging me today, so I have to have a way to make sure you keep your promise of letting me read your next novel!”

Poe stares at him for a moment. Then. “Poe-kun?”

“Ugh, that’s what you’re caught up on? Yes, Poe-kun. Because we’re friends after all!”

“So… Ranpo…k-kun?” Poe stumbles over the honorific, clearly uncertain as to whether or not it’s okay for him to actually be using it in regards to him. Ranpo nods. “And Ranpo-kun… wants my number?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. You took your time getting to that conclusion. You’re slacking” Ranpo rolls his eyes and practically shoves his phone into Poe’s chest, Poe only just managing to prevent himself from dropping the device.

“I am not, I was just surprised.” Poe says defensively, punching in his details into Ranpo’s phone anyway. Once he’s finished, he hands the phone back to Ranpo and suddenly looks nervous. “I was going to give you my number before you left anyway, and uh, ask if you w-wanted to get l-lunch next weekend? If y-you feel well enough that is.” Poe pauses and takes a breathe, some of his nervousness disappearing. “I know I said I’d take you when I finished my novel, but I don’t know when that’ll be, and, well, we’re friends, so we should see each other more often don’t you think?”

Now it’s Ranpo’s turn to be surprised, and he’s pretty sure his face is starting to turn red if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by. “Yes, of course. Next weekend sounds good. Definitely. It’ll be fun.”

“Only if you feel well enough.”

“Only if I feel well enough.”

An awkward silence follows Ranpo’s words, before Poe coughs. “A-Anyway, I came to let you know that Fukuzawa-san’s on his way, and that once he’s here, you’re free to go home. Do you—do you need help packing your belongings?”

Ranpo gestures towards the bag that’s sitting on his bed, already packed, and ready to go. He’d packed up everything the moment Yosano had come by and told him the news, admittedly, a little excited at the prospect of going home. “I’m ready to go, but you’re welcome to stay if you want. I was just going to play a game while I waited.”

Poe doesn’t say anything, only makes his way over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, patting the spot beside him. Ranpo can’t help but grin as he hops up beside him, console in hand as he starts chattering about the new game he’s just started; Poe looked more and more confused the more Ranpo talked, but still leans over to see the screen and watch him play, asking the occasional question about the plot or one of the characters.

It’s reminiscent of all the times that Ranpo had sat on this very bed and listened as Poe told him a story, only this time, it’s the opposite and it’s Ranpo telling the story—well, part of it at least. There is a bit of a difference between a novel and a video game when it comes to story and the way that books and games tell those stories, but fundamentally, both still end up following the same rules. Ranpo definitely prefers the storytelling of the few games he’s been able to play over books—sans Poe’s books, of course—because he’s always found it easier to follow along when the characters are in front of him doing the actions he needs to visualize himself whenever he reads a book.

As far as he knows, Poe’s the opposite; preferring books over anything else, finding joy in using that amazing mind of his to spin the narrative together with characters and scenes that only he could see. Poe had explained it to him once, that reading a book was much like watching a movie to him; he was able to visualize the characters and the actions they took within the story, in his mind. It was fascinating, and Ranpo was in awe of such a skill; he certainly couldn’t do that. Maybe he’d be more inclined to read books if he could.

The two of them sit in silence until Fukuzawa comes by to collect Ranpo, and then Ranpo is giving Poe a hug, promising that he’ll make sure he’s well enough to meet up the following weekend, and then he’s finally walking out of the hospital to go home.

And hopefully, it’ll be a long time before he sets foot in there.

-----

Ranpo’s excited to be home, and he makes it known by greeting Atsushi and Kyouka with a massive grin on his face, and by also greeting each of the cats—from a respectable distance of course—but he’s mostly feeling excited by his newfound freedom. Already, he’s making internal plans of what he can do and what he wants to do. Lunch with Poe is at the top of the list, but he’d also like to visit the graves of his parents as well. It’s been a long time since he’s made the trip out to his hometown, and it’s never an easy one to make; Fukuzawa has to come with him, since Ranpo has no idea where he’s going otherwise, and they usually have to shut the café for a day longer than it usually is—meaning unhappy customers and lost money.

But he thinks that just this once, it’ll be okay if he asks that of his guardian.

For now though, Ranpo wanders his room, emptying his bags and putting his belongings back where they were supposed to go. It doesn’t take long on account of Ranpo not having had a lot of things with him when he’d entered the hospital, so he ends up occupying some time by just rearranging things, but that doesn’t hold his interest for long, and that’s when he decides to reread Poe’s novel; finding it doesn’t take long to find it, and soon he’s stretched out on his bed with the book in front of him, reading over words he’d already read once before.

He's barely a few pages in when his eyes slip shut and his head falls to pillow against the book, sleep coming for him now that the excitement’s wearing off.

Just before he slips off into slumber, he hears a quiet knock that gets aborted halfway through, followed by equally quiet footsteps. He feels a blanket get pulled over him, and the book is replaced with an actual pillow.

Ranpo lets out a content sigh, and sleeps.

“Is Poe-san coming here, or am I dropping you off at the meeting place?” Fukuzawa asks him when the weekend he’s supposed to meet with Poe comes around after what felt like the longest week in Ranpo’s life.

Ranpo shakes his head from the chair he’s sitting on, next to where Fukuzawa’s busy making coffee for his customers, so that they can converse without needing to shout across the room at each other. Which has happened before. Many times. “Poe-kun’s coming here. Apparently where we’re going is close by, so we’ll just walk.”

Fukuzawa hums, calling out an order; it’s the last one of the rush, and the café falls into a peaceful silence. The man wipes his hands against his apron before facing Ranpo. “The weather’s getting colder now, so make sure you have a jacket. And a mask. And did—”

“I took my meds already at breakfast.” Ranpo interrupts before his guardian can get started on what Ranpo likes to call the ‘worrying parent’ tangent. He holds up the thick jacket that’s almost as big as he is that he’d dug out of his closet that morning as well. “I’ve got this, plus all the other layers I’m wearing, so stop stressing so much, Fukuzawa. It’s just lunch, I’ll be fine. And if, by some chance, I’m not, then Poe-kun will be there.”

Fukuzawa sighs and closes his eyes, thinking hard about something before he opens them again, looking less stressed than before. “I’ll always worry, Ranpo, but you are right—"

“I always am.” Ranpo grins and ignores the unimpressed look he’s given as Fukuzawa continues.

“—just be careful, alright? And have a good time.”

This time, Ranpo lets himself smile gently; it’s his way of showing Fukuzawa that he appreciates what he’s being told, even if he thinks it’s stupid. “I will.”

The bell above the door jingles at the moment, and Ranpo swivels his head towards the noise, along with everyone else that’s been conditioned to do so. Poe stands frozen in the doorway as several sets of eyes land on him, and hunches in on himself in just a few seconds; yet he doesn’t move from the doorway. Ranpo recognizes the behaviour it for what it is—fear, because Poe, despite working in a field where he has to deal with people on a daily basis, fears the spotlight. And Ranpo knows that if he doesn’t do something to make Poe snap out of it, then there’s a very high chance that they wouldn’t be going to lunch at all.

“Poe-kun! You’re letting the cold air in! Come here!” Ranpo waves, and just like that, the eyes disappear as they return to what they were previously doing, and Poe relaxes before striding over to stand beside him; the writer dressed up nicely in denim pants and black jacket. Poe’s hair covers his face like it always does, but he’s taken the time to somewhat tame it so that at least one of his eyes his visible.

Ranpo likes it.

“You look well, Ranpo-kun. Are you ready to go?” Poe asks him with a nervous smile, hands fidgeting within his pockets.

Ranpo nods and pretty much throws himself off the chair, threading his arm through Poe’s own and dragging the older man out the door behind him. “Of course I am! Let’s go! Bye Fukuzawa, see you later!”

A farewell is called after them as the door shuts.

“Ah, R-Ranpo-kun! Wait! This isn’t the way we’re supposed to go!” Poe manages to free his arm and grabs onto Ranpo’s hand instead, pulling the both to a halt in the middle of the street. Ranpo watches as Poe takes a minute to catch his breath, his friend pointing in the opposite direction that they’d been heading. “Lunch is that way.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Ranpo gives a sheepish grin, turning on his heel and walking in the correct direction despite not actually knowing where it was they were going to eat.

“You didn’t give me a chance to.” Poe sighs as he follows along, his long legs allowing him to quickly overtake Ranpo and take the lead. He can feel Poe’s eyes on him as they walk, and it only takes a moment for the writer to say what’s on his mind. “Don’t you have a mask?”

Ranpo groans, reluctantly pulling one from his pocket and placing it over his face. He’s really looking forward to the day where he no longer has to worry about wearing one, and also having people badger him about wearing one. There’s a lot he hates about them, from the material used to the way it feels like there’s a hand covering his mouth. But there’s also things he likes, such as how they are sometimes the only thing that keeps him from catching a cold in the middle of winter when everyone around him has sniffly noses and hacking coughs. There’s also the added bonus of them scaring people away—nobody wants to approach someone that’s sick after all.

“Where are we going, anyway, Poe-kun?” Ranpo asks after they’ve walked down a few streets. “You said it wasn’t far.”

“It’s not.” Poe reassures him, his phone held in front of him with its trusty maps app open and handy. “Just two more streets, promise.”

As it turns out, Poe has an amazing taste in restaurants; he’s picked a quiet place that looks far too fancy for Ranpo to ever be able to afford—he’s starting to think Poe’s rich or something—yet also somehow not. If it weren’t for the menu taped to the front door showing the high prices, Ranpo would’ve just assumed it was like every other food place in this neighbourhood; tacky, with equally as tacky food to go with it. Ranpo had opened his mouth when they’d arrived to say something, only to have Poe cover it with his hand, stopping him from saying.

“Let us get inside before you start judging.” Poe had told him, and had then proceeded to hold the door open for him like the gentleman that he was. Ranpo was just glad that his jacket’s collar was high enough that he could duck his head to hide the growing blush on his face at the gesture, but from the knowing look on Poe’s face, he’d failed spectacularly.

The inside of the restaurant is much more impressive compared to the outside, and Ranpo lets his mouth drop open in surprise. The inside was massive compared to the entrance; a short hallway opening up into a massive room that was already bustling with people. And then Ranpo looked up and saw the extravagant glassware that adorned the ceiling and he just about felt himself pass away on the spot. “Poe-kun, where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Poe says, looking just as surprised as Ranpo. “Nakahara-san recommended it to me when I asked about places for lunch. I didn’t expect something so… fancy.”

“And the menu on the front door gave nothing away?”

“I… did not see a menu.” Poe says just as a staff member approaches them, a welcoming look on their face. Ranpo ducks behind Poe to hide, more than content to let the older deal with conversing with the staff; he’d probably offend them and get them kicked out if he was allowed to speak. He can already see how, despite the smile on the waiter’s face, that they look like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hi! Do you have a booking? I’m afraid we’re all booked out if you don’t.” The waiter says, sliding behind the counter and pulling out a ledger that looks heavier than any book he’s seen in his life.

“Uh, y-yes, we do.” Poe stumbles over his words. “Under Poe… I think.”

“You think?” Ranpo whispers harshly. He swears that if Poe’s brought them both to a place neither of them know and didn’t make a booking, he’s going to abandon the man and run home. Well, speed walk, really. He didn’t sign up to do a walk of shame, not today.

Poe frowns at Ranpo’s tone, but doesn’t look at him as he whispers back. “Nakahara-san said he’d deal with it. He just gave me a time, an address, and a vaguely threatening message that I better show up.”

Of course he did, that’s what Nakahara does. Ranpo thinks just as the waiter seems to find what he’s looking for, glancing up from the ledger. “Edgar Poe?”

“Yes?” Poe squeaks, his attention returning to the person in front of them. It only takes a second for him to regain what little composure he had to begin with to stand tall and confident. “That’s me.”

“Right this way then, Poe-san.” The waiter comes to stand in front of them and bows before turning on his heel and walking into the dining room. Poe stands there, frozen, and it’s not until Ranpo gives him a light shove that the man actually begins to move.

Ranpo takes the chance to look around as they follow the waiter, and notices that while he and Poe are dressed nicely, the other people dining are dressed much nicer, and he’s seriously questioning just what kind of place Nakahara’s sent them to if this is the standard. Ranpo vows to hound Dazai about it later; his friend no doubt knowing just what kind of tastes Nakahara has in places he eats out at.

A few of the guests glance up as they walk past, but most of them go right back to their conversations; a couple openly stare at Ranpo specifically with uneasy looks that make him shift a bit closer towards Poe who seems to sense Ranpo’s unease and allows him to walk in front, hiding him from prying eyes with his massive height. Ranpo knows why they are staring of course; he may be in good health now, but there’s never been any hiding the fact he’s sick. Pale skin and thin limbs, and the mask on his face, all point towards signs of him being ill. But, Ranpo stands tall regardless, refusing to let the opinions of strangers bother him. He’s here to have a good time, and that’s what he’ll do.

“Here we are.” The waiter says, and suddenly it makes sense why Nakahara had made the booking on Poe’s behalf. They’ve been led to what Ranpo had first thought was just a decorative wall at the back of the restaurant, but is actually a series of booths hidden behind sliding doors. Privacy, for the two people that dislike being under scrutiny by strangers.

Screw hounding Dazai, Ranpo’s going straight to Nakahara and interrogating him about this place.

“Thank you.” Poe says, and it’s his turn to push at Ranpo’s back to get him to sit down. “Um… how does this place work…?”

“I’ll bring you guys some water and then come around in about ten minutes time to take your orders if you are ready.” The waiter explains. They gesture towards a button against the wall. “If you are ready to order before I get back, then just press the buzzer and someone will come to take care of you.”

“Thank you.” Poe says and the waiter leaves them alone, sliding the door shut behind them.

“Next time,” Ranpo begins as he begins to flick through one of the menus, “we’ll look for somewhere to eat ourselves rather than rely on Nakahara.”

“Agreed.” Poe sighs, and he looks at the menu. “Ah.”

“Is something wrong?” Ranpo looks up and sees his friend frowning at the menu. He looks back down at the menu himself to try and see just what it is that’s got Poe looking the way he is, but can’t see a problem.

“The menu is in Kanji.”

Oh. Now he knew what was bothering Poe. Ranpo grins from behind the menu. “I distinctly remember someone telling me over a year ago about how they had no problems reading Japanese. Was that a lie, Poe-kun?”

Poe glares at him from across the table, although he’s not genuinely mad; it’s merely an automatic response to Ranpo’s teasing tone. “I learnt the basics, Ranpo-kun. Nowhere in my studies did it tell me I’d be eating at a high-end restaurant that has only obscure Kanji on the menu. Everywhere else I’ve been uses Hiragana or Katakana. Or English.”

“Well maybe if you ask the waiter nicely, he’ll find an English menu for you.” Ranpo suggests, only half-joking, but before he’s even finished speaking, Poe’s leaning over and pushing the buzzer, a look of sheer determination on his face. “I was joking.”

“I know, but it’s a good idea. Most places this expensive will have a menu for foreigners, even if they don’t advertise it.” The door slides open at that moment, and the waiter pokes their head into the room. Poe’s determination fades into a sheepish look. “Uh, sorry, but do you have a menu in English? Or uh… something that’s not… Kanji?”

The waiter frowns, thinking hard before their face brightens and they nod. “We do, in fact. I’ll bring one right over.”

“Thank you.” Poe breathes, relieved, and Ranpo lets out a laugh, which gets him a gentle kick in the shin from under the table.

The waiter returns with a new menu, and the water as they’d promised earlier, before leaving again. With a new menu in hand, Poe begins to read, eyes reading at a much faster pace than they had been before. Ranpo stares for just a moment; there’s no way he could ever read that fast, before he drags his gaze back down the menu, finally taking the time to properly read it.

And gawks at the prices.

“Is Nakahara trying to bankrupt us?” Ranpo asks, a little worried on how he’s meant to pay for his lunch. The beef ramen alone—one of the simplest dishes on the menu—easily costs twice as much as the one Fukuzawa makes at his own place. That beef better be from a golden cow for that price.

Poe frowns, leaning over to see what Ranpo’s looking at before finding it on his own menu. “It’s not that bad. It’s probably got some high-quality ingredients. I’ve certainly seen pricier than this.”

“Pricier? Just where are you eating that beef ramen costs over twelve thousand yen?”

“There’s a restaurant in America that has ramen for over twenty thousand yen.” Poe says, as if twenty thousand yen is just pocket change for him, which Ranpo’s starting to think it is. Poe has a confused look on his face, like he can’t quite understand why Ranpo’s so horrified at the cost of what is a simple meal in his home country.

“You know that’s basically robbery right?” Ranpo says. “Most places that sell ramen, don’t sell it for more than two thousand yen. Just how rich are you, Poe-kun?”

Poe’s face begins to turn read, and the man fumbles with his words before he inevitably hides behind the menu, and mumbles around it. “I suppose when you think about it… I could be considered… wealthy.”

“I’ll say, if you’re eating twenty-thousand-yen ramen on a regular basis.” Ranpo says as he continues to find something he’d like to eat. He’s doing his best to ignore the prices, somewhat hoping that Poe will pay for this, and he can pay the man back at a later date. “Next, you’ll be telling me you live in a big mansion back in America with a bunch of servants that take care of everything.”

Poe doesn’t say anything.

“Oh my God, you do.” Ranpo drops his menu and openly stares at Poe in shock; Poe’s shoulders rise up and the menu in his hands moves up to hide his face completely from view. Ranpo can see that Poe’s starting to get embarrassed, but he’s too curious to stop himself from asking, “is it a big mansion? How many servants? What do you do all day? How did you get so rich—”

“Ranpo-kun.”

“—what’s it even like, being that rich? Is it like all those movies with lots of arrogant people and dances? Or is it dinner parties? Oh wait, don’t rich people have—”

“Ranpo-kun!” Poe doesn’t shout—he’s never shouted—but his voice is raised as he interrupts Ranpo’s rambling, strained, and it’s enough to stop Ranpo immediately as he looks over at his friend. “P-Please, stop. I-I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ranpo takes a moment to study Poe, how tense his body is, and the way he his knuckles are white as he grips the menu. He can’t see Poe’s face, but he doesn’t need to, to know that it’ll be red and pinched in distress. It reminds him of that time in the hospital when Ranpo had asked his friend about why he never published anything, and he feels a twinge of guilt at the thought of scaring Poe like that for a second time. Ranpo leans over and taps a finger against the back of Poe’s hand until his friend peeks over at him. “Alright, it’s dropped.”

And just like that, the tension vanishes from Poe’s shoulders and he looks much happier. “Have you d-decided on what you want, y-yet? There’s, uh, lots of choices here.”

“Half of these I’ve never eaten before.” Ranpo says with a frown. There’s plenty of foods on the menu he’d be more than happy to eat, the main issue he’s facing in picking something that his body is going to agree with—and that he likes.

“I’m sure Nakahara-san wouldn’t have recommended this place if you couldn’t eat anything here.” Poe responds as if he’d read Ranpo’s mind. He leans over the table to look at Ranpo’s own menu and points at the ramen that had started their conversation earlier. “Why not just get that if you aren’t sure? It’s something you know, and something you can eat.”

Ranpo hums, considering it. But… “It’s expensive.”

Poe just raises his eyebrows at him, as if Ranpo’s just said something stupid. “Ranpo-kun, I’m paying.”

“Oh, well, okay then!”

This is nice. Ranpo thinks while they eat their respective meals. In the end, he had gone for the ramen as Poe had suggested, while Poe had chosen something Ranpo had never heard of before. He would’ve asked when the dish came out, but he’d taken one look at it and decided it was best he remain ignorant. It looked like a pancake in a bowl to him, and that was as much as he was willing to figure out.

But he would remain curious nonetheless.

They eat in silence, taking the time to enjoy their meals and each other’s company; Ranpo’s never understood why people talk while they eat when there’s plenty of time to do so before and after eating. No one wants to see half-chewed food in someone’s mouth as they chatter at you—even though Ranpo knows that he, himself, is guilty of such an act.

At some point while they are eating, a waiter comes by and asks if they need anything else, and Ranpo’s about to say no, when Poe asks for a glass of something—Ranpo doesn’t recognize the word—and he frowns, his confusion lessening when the waiter asks for some identification. It has to be some sort of alcoholic beverage then, and Ranpo just watches in silence as Poe fishes a card out of his wallet and slides it towards the waiter.

The waiter takes a single look at it and slides it back before promising to return, and he and Poe are left in silence once again. But not for long. Ranpo waits approximately ten seconds before he asks, “What’s Cognac?” The word is foreign on his tongue, since he’s going off the way that Poe had said it, but he thinks he’s said it right.

“Hm?” Poe looks over at him. “Oh, it’s brandy.”

Ranpo just stares blankly.

“Alcohol?”

“Well, duh, I figured that much.” Ranpo huffs. “I didn’t take you for someone who drinks.”

“I don’t.” Poe says before he explains. “Japan’s age requirement is lower than America’s, and I saw they had it on the menu, so I wanted to try it. My family drank it quite often.”

Ranpo blinks as Poe’s words register in his brain. “Wait… how old are you?” He knows Poe’s older than he is, but apparently Ranpo’s sense of time is even more skewed than he thought, because he could’ve sworn that Poe wasn’t yet twenty.

There’s an understanding look on Poe’s face as he answers. “Twenty—almost twenty-one.”

“Wha—when?”

“Uh, um… in a couple of weeks actually.”

Ranpo drops his chopsticks and watches them roll off the table as his eyes widen at this new information. He leans down to pick them up. “A couple of weeks? Poe-kun, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Poe shrugs, not looking all that bothered by the fact his birthday is coming up soon. “I’ve never really celebrated it, to be honest. It’s always just been a day to me.”

“Not good enough! We’re celebrating this time!” Ranpo declares, his mind already running through potential plans and gift ideas were what they can do. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but Poe must recognize the expression on his face, because his friend is quick to become frantic.

“W-Wait, Ranpo-kun! I’m not as fond of big outings as you are.” Poe rushes to say. “I don’t mind not doing anything, really, I’ve alw—”

“Dinner then.” Ranpo interrupts, refusing to let Poe not celebrate his birthday at least once while he’s in Japan. “At Fukuzawa’s place. It’ll be quiet and definitely not extravagant—not like that time you and the others took me to the arcade—it’s perfect for an introvert like you.”

Poe still looks uncertain, but he’s not outright refusing Ranpo now; in fact, he looks a little intrigued by the idea. “Who would be there?”

“Whoever you feel comfortable with having there.” Ranpo says, a grin growing on his face. He just knows that Poe’ll accept his idea in the end; his friend has always had trouble saying no he’s learnt. Sure, it’s probably wrong of him to use that trait against him, but it’s a quiet celebration; what could go wrong? “It can be just you and me, or we can invite some people you work with if you’d like.”

The minutes pass by as Poe sits in his seat and thinks, and Ranpo goes about finishing the remainder of his meal while he waits for Poe to get his thoughts in order. Finally, Poe nods once. “Alright. Promise it’ll be quiet?”

“I promise on my failing health!” Ranpo places a hand over his heart, excitement filling him at actually being allowed to plan a little celebration for his friend, something he hasn’t been able to do before. He’s already got some ideas in mind, and he hopes that Poe will like the end result.

“Ranpo-kun, that’s… uh…”

“Well, I can’t promise on good health now, can I?”

Poe sighs. “No, I suppose not.”

------

The next two weeks become the busiest of Ranpo’s life as he planned Poe’s birthday—not really, but they are the busiest, positive weeks he’s had. First, he goes to Fukuzawa and throws on his best pleading expression as he asks the man if he’d be willing to make a nice dinner for Poe’s birthday. Fukuzawa makes an act of it, leering down at Ranpo with his best emotionless face as Ranpo slowly falls apart the longer he’s stared at; face turning bright red as he tries to justify why it’s a good idea and why he wants to do this for Poe. Fukuzawa lets him suffer for a grand total of four minutes and twenty-one seconds before his face breaks, and he laughs, agreeing to help out; all he asks of Ranpo is a list of acceptable foods.

The next challenge comes in figuring out who to invite since aside from Ranpo himself, he’s never seen or heard of Poe willingly hanging out with another human being. In the end, he asks Yosano when he’s next at the hospital—to get a refill on his meds—and she tells him she’ll let him know what she finds out, which is fine, but until he hears from her, he’ll put down those that came to the arcade as guests until he’s certain; they may have been Ranpo’s friends, and well, family, but Poe hadn’t seemed to mind going out with them, so it seemed like a safe bet. There was still time to change things after all.

The biggest challenge comes in the form of finding Poe an acceptable birthday gift, because Ranpo has no clue what to get his friend, and doesn’t want to get him something mediocre. It’s the first time Poe’s celebrating his birthday, so the gift needs to be special. He’d first considered buying a few books for Poe—writer’s love to read, don’t they?—but then he’d remembered that Poe could probably buy all the books he wanted, and threw that idea into the trash.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Fukuzawa asks as he walks up the stairs and spots Ranpo slouched over the coffee table in the living room. It’s a Sunday, which means that his guardian has just finished his weekly clean of the café.

Ranpo sighs, but doesn’t move. “I don’t know what to get Poe-kun for his birthday…”

“I see. Well, he enjoys writing doesn’t he?” Fukuzawa asks as he comes to sit on the floor across from Ranpo. Ranpo scrunches his nose up at the strong smell of cleaning chemicals that linger on Fukuzawa’s clothes.

“I already thought about buying him books.”

“What about notebooks? I’d imagine with all the writing he does, he’d go through quite a lot of them.”

“Boring.” Ranpo sighs, throwing himself backwards to spread out on the floor. He finds himself staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks that he can see without moving his head. “He doesn’t celebrate his birthday, so I wanted to get him something special. You know, like how he had that book made up for me.”

Fukuzawa nods and glances over at the clock in the kitchen. “There’s still time, so why don’t we go into town and see if we can’t find something for him? Even if we don’t, it might help to give you an idea.”

It’s not a bad idea, and Ranpo wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for a bit, but he’s hesitant. It’s only a few days until the planned dinner, and he doesn’t want to risk making himself sick, not when he’s been good this whole time. He didn’t want to organize all this and not be able to follow through on it; and it would just make Poe feel guilty, something Ranpo refused to let happen. But… it’s just one outing, Ranpo thinks, I can’t keep living in fear. With that thought in mind, he nods. “Okay!”

The shopping district is busy, and the sheer amount of people here leaves Ranpo regretting his decision to leave the comfort of his own home. There are people his age laughing and running around as they spend what money that have on frivolous things, businessmen—and women—lounging around, enjoying the last of their weekend before they have to inevitably return to work. And of course, there are the weekend workers, most of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. It’s those workers, that Ranpo feels the most; he’s only been walking for maybe half an hour, and he already wants to sleep for a week.

It's a comfort though, to see that Fukuzawa looks just as drained as him; his guardian is quite the loner after all, much preferring the company of Ranpo and his cats than other people. Ranpo’s always found it odd that the older had decided to run a café of all things, where talking to people and being friendly was a requirement. But there was a difference, he figured, in talking to the regular customers that came through, and dealing with a massive crowd of strangers.

Yeah, now that Ranpo thought about it, there was quite a big difference between the two.

The crowds were the only bad thing, really, and Ranpo was actually having a good time, moving from shop window to shop window, seeing what kind of goods lay inside the stores, and whether or not anything in them would be acceptable to give as a gift. So far, he hadn’t found anything, but he had seen plenty of interesting places; from antique stores filled with a variety of stuff, to a plant store that also doubled as a café. Then there were the thousands of clothing stores, but Ranpo didn’t care for those, so he just walked past them as if they didn’t even exist.

Of course, in his excitement of being out and about, Ranpo’s forgotten one key detail; his body. While he might be content to roam around and explore for a few hours, his body is very much not keen on doing the same, at least not without breaks to give it a chance to rest, and it’s while he and Fukuzawa are hiking up a set of stairs to an upper street, that Ranpo’s legs give out on him and he falls against the stairs, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Fukuzawa, who’d only been a few steps ahead, turns around and spots him. Quickly, his guardian returns to his side and wraps an arm around him and guides him out of the path of other people using the stairs. Ranpo leans against the wall once Fukuzawa lets him go, and just breathes.

“Are you alright?” Fukuzawa watches with a worried look. Ranpo can see him thinking that this was a bad idea and already forming a plan of getting the two of them home, and quickly nods. He doesn’t want to leave not just yet. He’s fine, he’d just forgotten to take a break, that’s all.

“Yeah, I will be.” Ranpo flashes Fukuzawa a reassuring look. “I just need to rest a moment, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?” Fukuzawa asks, still a little uncertain, but less worried than a few moments ago.

“Positive. Just let me catch my breath and we can go.”

Fukuzawa nods and stands as a barrier between Ranpo and the rest of the population; some glance at the two of them, and one even asks if they need help—Ranpo’s quick to shoo them away because he is fine—and it only takes a few minutes before Ranpo feels like he’s ready to continue and drags himself upright. He can feel Fukuzawa hovering behind him as he slowly climbs the remaining stairs, and doesn’t say anything, but he does bounce away the moment they reach the top, his eye having been caught by the candy store he’s spotted.

“Ranpo!”

“C’mon, Fukuzawa! Let’s get some sweets, that’ll boost my energy!” There’s a sigh from behind him that Ranpo ignores, but he does wait for Fukuzawa to join him before he starts ordering a bunch of sweets from the worker; he’s stopped after ordering only five things, which he pouts and whines about, but Fukuzawa threatens to buy nothing, so he quickly stops. Ranpo munches on his chosen sweets while they walk, eyes still searching for a store that contains the right gift.

Ranpo suddenly stops, his eyes catching on a store he’s never seen before and makes his way over towards the window. It’s a toy store, which isn’t odd in itself—the odd part comes from the fact that the sign on the window says that all the toys are handmade, which isn’t as common in the big city as it would be out in the countryside. In the window are a few stuffed animals; an elephant, a dog, and a bird, along with a few others. But they aren’t what Ranpo’s looking at. He’s looking at the small stuffed raccoon that’s overshadowed by its companions.

It kinda looks like Poe.

“I want to get that.” Ranpo points at the raccoon when Fukuzawa comes to stand beside him.

To his credit, Fukuzawa doesn’t sound surprised in the slightest as he asks, “Why the raccoon?”

“Reminds me of Poe-kun. I think he’ll like it.”

Silence follows his words, but Fukuzawa moves to open the door of the store anyway.

They leave with the raccoon in hand, a pretty violet bow tied around its neck.

The raccoon is a nice gift, but it’s not enough in Ranpo’s mind, not special enough to give to someone who’d quickly wormed his way into Ranpo’s extremely tiny circle of friendship. So, after another break where they both have something for lunch, Ranpo sets off again, trying to find the perfect gift. After nearly an hour of searching though, he finally finds the one; the store that holds all the answers to his gift-giving problems.

It’s a stationary store, but not just any old stationary store.

It’s a personalized stationary store.

Without a word, Ranpo reaches over and grabs Fukuzawa’s hand, dragging the man behind him and into the store. It’s quiet inside, with only a couple of customers browsing, and compared to the other stores that they’d looked in, it’s a little dimmer, easier on the eyes. But it’s filled with pens and notebooks and whatever else one could need in an office—or in this case, everything a writer could possibly need.

A worker approaches them. “Can I help you?”

“I’m trying to find a birthday gift. For a writer.” Ranpo explains. “He, uh, likes… notebooks?”

The worker looks amused, but leads him over to where the notebooks are kept. “We have a wide variety, from your basic ones—” she gestures to where there are notebooks that students would use, “—to your fancier options.” She points at others that are bound in leather or decorated in fancy patterns.

Ranpo’s not really impressed with any of the options.

“Are these all the notebooks you have.” Fukuzawa asks, picking up one of the nicer looking ones and studying it. “The person in question as a fondness for personalized things.”

“We have some leather-style ones that we can personalize, but they tend to be on the more expensive side, and take a few days to get ready.” The worker explains. “I’m more than happy to show you what we have though.”

Fukuzawa looks down at Ranpo, leaving the decision up to him. Ranpo ponders over it; he likes the idea, and he knows Poe would like it too, but the idea of finding the perfect gift is so he can gift to it to Poe on his birthday, not days afterwards. Although… he does have the raccoon he bought, which would make an acceptable gift, and he could always explain to Poe that he had something else coming if the notebook wasn’t finished in time. After all, Poe doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d be mad at being given a late gift.

“Show me.” Ranpo says in the end, and the worker takes him to the other side of the shop and explains how it all works. He can pick a design, and a message to put on the cover of the notebook, and then the worker’ll get it all set up and give him a call when it’s done. She explains that it’ll only take a few days and reassures Ranpo that it should be done by the time he actually needs it.

“Write what you want on this piece of paper and pick a design, and then come find me.” The worker says before ambling away to go help another customer.

Ranpo stares at the paper blankly. He knows what he wants to put on the cover—he wants to put Poe’s name on the cover since it’s nice and simple, and just what Poe would like—but he has no idea how to write his name. Ranpo turns to Fukuzawa. “Can you write in English?”

“I know the basics of the language.” Fukuzawa says. “But I’ve never been fluent in it. Why?”

“I don’t know how to write Poe-kun’s name.”

“Ah, I can do that.” Fukuzawa takes the pen from Ranpo’s hand and makes sure that he’s watching before he begins to write. Ranpo focuses on the way each letter forms underneath the pen and commits them to memory; at this point he really should learn English.

Wait…

“How much English do you know?” Ranpo asks.

“I know enough to get by whenever someone comes through the café.”

“Do you know the characters they use?”

Fukuzawa stops writing and gives Ranpo a suspicious look, like he’s trying to discern just what it is that Ranpo wants from him. Which is stupid really, because isn’t it obvious what it is that he’s asking? “It’s called the alphabet and I do know it. Why?”

“Can you teach it to me?”

“I can, but why me? Why not ask Poe-san to teach you though? He’ll know more than me.”

“Because,” Ranpo stresses on the word, “I want to surprise him.”

“With what?” Fukuzawa finishes writing out Poe’s name on the paper, and pulls the little flipbook of potential designs towards the two of them.

“Well, that defeats the purpose of it being a surprise, doesn’t it?”

The notebook ends up being ready the day of Poe’s birthday, and Fukuzawa goes to pick it up during his lunch break—all that walking had left Ranpo with an ache in his bones that made him unwilling to leave his bed—and when his guardian returns, Ranpo holes up in his room to add the finishing touches to the gift, which, thanks to Fukuzawa’s rapid English lessons about the language, is possible.

The plan is to write a message to Poe, thanking him for his kindness and his friendship, in his native language on the first page of the notebook. Ranpo isn’t sure how it’ll turn out since he’s never done something like this before, but he’s going to do his best. So, he takes the pen, sets the notebook on the floor, and begins to write, going slow and referring to his notes to make sure he’s using the right letters.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed until a bandaged arm reaches down and snatches the notebook from Ranpo’s hands. “What’s this? Confessing your undying love for Poe-san, are we? Oh, and in English too. How romantic~”

“Shut up, Dazai, I am not!” Ranpo snatches the book back, cheeks burning red at his friends comments. He only as one more sentence to write, and quickly scribbles it down before he closes the book. The words he’s written are for Poe’s eyes alone, and while he doesn’t know if Dazai can read English, he wouldn’t be surprised if he could. “Pass me the paper.”

Dazai does as asked, also grabbing the ribbon that had been sat on top of the paper before passing them over to Ranpo. The bandaged man watches as Ranpo begins to wrap the present. The silence between the two of them lasts for only a minute before Dazai opens his mouth, unable to ever sit in silence. “You know, I was surprised when I heard you were planning a party for Poe-san.”

“It’s not a party, just a dinner.” Ranpo mutters. “Why are you even here?”

“Ouch. And after I went to all that effort to bring your boyfriend here, too.” Dazai collapses dramatically, hands clutching at his heart.

“Poe-kun’s here? Already?” Ranpo brightens, and then blushes completely when the rest of what Dazai had said dawns on him. “Wait, what? He’s my friend, Dazai! Not—not—ugh!”

Dazai gives him a sly look, one that promises nothing but trouble in Ranpo’s future. “Sure, sure, whatever you say, Ranpo. But yes, he’s here. Along with everyone else. Fukuzawa-san sent me up to come get you, so hurry it up!”

“Help me up.” Ranpo says, groaning as Dazai pulls him to his feet; his muscles protesting the movement. He mustn’t’ve moved in longer than he’d originally thought. He leans down to grab the notebook and also the raccoon that’d been carefully wrapped the night before, before heading down the stairs with his friend following close behind.

Poe barely has any time to react for Ranpo practically flies towards him. “R-Ranpo-kun!”

“Poe-kun! Happy birthday!” Ranpo grins up at his friend, and then shoves the gifts he’d bought at him. “Here!”

“Oh, uh, y-you didn’t have to.” Poe says quietly, and Ranpo can see the tips of his ears turning red—he’s certain the rest of Poe’s face is red, but the writer has his hair down so that his bangs are completely obscuring his face from view. “Is it—is it okay if I open them later?”

“Sure!”

As it turns out, Poe had actually invited Dazai to come—along with Yosano and Nakahara—and it’s just like that night they spent at the arcade, but this time, they are all here to celebrate Poe’s birthday. Just like Poe had requested, it’s a quiet affair, with everyone—even Dazai—stay quiet and well out of Poe’s personal space, and Ranpo watches as the writer quietly talks to everyone, accepting the gifts they give him with an unsure smile and thankful words. Unlike with Ranpo’s own gifts, Poe opens the others as they are given to him, and it seems that everyone was just as unaware as he was of what to actually get Poe, because he gets quite a variety of gifts.

Yosano gives Poe a thick jacket—apparently he’d been coming to work in one that was inappropriate for the weather.

Nakahara and Dazai had combined their gifts; and Poe receives some fancy pens to use in his writing adventures.

Even Fukuzawa had gotten Poe a gift, although when he’d done that, Ranpo has no clue. Poe gives Fukuzawa a thankful look as he holds a very old looking mystery novel close to his chest.

Once Poe’s opened his gifts, Fukuzawa disappears to finish off dinner, and brings it out to the tables that have been pushes together just for tonight’s occasion. All day, Ranpo has been able to smell something delicious cooking and had been curious about just what it was that was being cooked; he’d tried to find out in the morning, but Fukuzawa had barred him from the kitchen, not wanting another kitchen accident.

It's not Ranpo’s fault that kitchens are so flammable.

But it’s worth the wait to see Poe’s face light up as Fukuzawa brings out several shareable dishes of American cuisine. They all look delicious, even if Ranpo has absolutely no clue what they are, but he’s more focused on the way Poe’s practically brimming with happiness, telling Fukuzawa that he didn’t need to go to such lengths, but thanking him nonetheless. Ranpo smiles, enjoying the sight. He just knows that he’s succeeded in giving Poe an enjoyable birthday.

Everyone sits around the table and talks quietly while they eat—mostly about hospital gossip since half of them actually work at the hospital, but they do talk about what each of them has been doing in their spare time; Ranpo takes the time to berate Nakahara for sending him and Poe to such a fancy restaurant.

Nakahara just smirks in response.

Eventually, they end up on the topic of America, and begin to ask Poe questions about what it’s like over there; what there is to do, what the weather’s like, what the people are like, those kinds of questions. Poe doesn’t answer all of the questions, and they quickly rush to a different one at the slightest look of discomfort that crosses his face. Poe’s telling them about Thanksgiving right now, and how this little dinner reminds him of the last time he was able to celebrate it.

Which gives Ranpo a brilliant idea.

“Hey, Poe-kun, have you gone to see the cherry blossoms since you’ve been here?” Ranpo asks once Poe’s finished speaking.

“No, I can’t say I have.” Poe frowns. “That’s when the trees all flower, right? Friends and family get together to watch it?”

“It’s been a tradition over here for centuries.” Dazai says, that sly grin of his returning as his eyes meet Ranpo’s own. “Ranpo and I went once before he got really sick. We were going to go this year. You should come with us, Poe-san.”

This is the first Ranpo’s hearing of it and he narrows his eyes at Dazai; his friend is planning something and Ranpo can’t help but be worried about just what it is. But he does want to go see the cherry blossoms—it’s been a while after all—and he certainly would love it if Poe came with them.

“We could all get together and celebrate.” Yosano says before Ranpo can even make the offer. “A bunch of us from the hospital went last year and had a good time, so I know some good spots that aren’t too crowded if we go at the right time.”

“What if we went at night? They’ll have the lanterns strung up at some of the parks.” Dazai suggests, with a grin. He’s still looking at Ranpo, and Ranpo wants to punch his friend in the face, because he understands what it is that Dazai’s getting at now, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

His saviour comes when Nakahara leans over and smacks Dazai across the back of the head. “You idiot, you’ve got people with shitty immune systems here. They’d end up in hospital if we went at night.”

“What a-about sunset then?” It’s Poe that suggests the idea, and an odd silence follows his words. The writer ducks his head as everyone stares at him. “It’d s-still be on the cool side, but I-I think it’d be nice. I’d l-like to go, that is.”

Yosano claps her hands together, and everyone jumps in their seats. “Well, that settles it. We’re going to see the cherry blossoms this year.” She points at Ranpo. “That means you need to keep yourself out of trouble until then, got it?”

Ranpo rolls his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you for tonight, Ranpo-kun. It was nice.” Poe says as he sits on the living room floor with Ranpo’s yet unopened gifts. It’s just him and Poe now, the others having left not long after dinner, all wishing Poe a wonderful night as they filed out. All in all, a quiet, little celebration, just like what Poe had asked for.

“See, I told you it’d be fine! I’m never wrong about these things!” Ranpo grins from where he sits beside Poe. He’s excited to see if Poe likes what he got him, especially since he seemed happy—surprised, but happy—at the other gifts he’d been given.

Poe rolls his eyes and unwraps the first gift, revealing the raccoon toy, and Ranpo watches as Poe’s face softens, his hands feeling over the soft fur. “Did you get me this because I remind you of a raccoon?”

Ranpo smiles sheepishly at being seen through immediately. “Maybe.” And then with a bit of hesitation, “do you… not like it?”

“I think it’s adorable.” Poe says, holding the raccoon close to him. “I shall name him Karl.”

“Karl? Why?” Ranpo asks.

“Well, he just looks like one, don’t you think? And everything deserves to have a name.” Poe places the raccoon—Karl—into Ranpo’s arms, and he looks down at the stuffed toy, giving it a few squeezes. He can’t really see what Poe means, but he nods anyway. If Poe thinks the raccoon looks like a Karl, then it’s a Karl from now on.

“Open the other one now.” Ranpo urges, keeping hold of the stuffed toy so that Poe’s hands remain free to open. He inches closer, his arm brushing against Poe’s from the close proximity. This is the gift he’s hoping Poe will like the most, so he wants to be close so he can see Poe’s reaction.

Poe takes his time in unwrapping the second gift, and Ranpo waits anxiously as the cover of the notebook is revealed to him. Poe’s eyes widen and he lifts the notebook from the paper, one hand running down the cover, fingers feeling over the pattern that Ranpo had gone with in the end. It’s a simple pattern, just a rope-like border with a rose carved into one of the corners, and Poe’s full name on the cover. Poe just stares at the notebook for a while, before he flicks it open and Ranpo suddenly feels self-conscious when it opens to the page that has the message he’d written for Poe.

He watches as Poe reads, watches the way his lips mouth the words he’d reading, and the way his brow furrows at times when he comes across a word he’s not sure on. Ranpo knows that he’s probably misspelled a bunch of words, and probably even used the wrong ones at times, but he’s always been told that people appreciate the effort that goes into handmade things, so he’s hoping that that’s the case right now.

An arm wraps around Ranpo’s shoulder and he’s pulled closer as Poe embraces him, and there’s lips pressed against his hair, “Thank you, Ranpo-kun.” Poe breathes before he lets go and suddenly, Ranpo is missing the warmth that was there when Poe held him. He wants it back, but he sits there, just a little stunned, with a smile on his face.

“You’re welcome, Poe-kun. Next year, I’ll do even better.”

“As long as it’s still quiet, go ahead.”

-----

After Poe’s birthday, it’s like a switch as been flipped, and suddenly, Ranpo is seeing more of his friend than he has before. Not that he’s complaining; it brings a smile to his face whenever Poe stops by the café after his shift at the hospital, or whenever he’s on his lunch break. Most of the time they’ll spend time together upstairs, either in the living room or in Ranpo’s room, or Poe will take him out somewhere and they’ll just enjoy each other’s company.

There are times where they don’t even do anything; Ranpo will work his way through the schoolwork he still has to complete so he can graduate—the trial had put a halt to that part of his life for a bit, so he’s playing the extreme catch up game—and Poe will lay beside him on the floor, studying his own textbooks. Although, it’s not uncommon for Ranpo to look up after finishing his work and find Poe passed out on the floor.

Ranpo always uses that as an excuse that he too, can stop working, and will often go to sleep as well, and he always wakes up to find that blankets have been draped over the two of them—no doubt, by Fukuzawa’s hands.

But Ranpo’s favorite times is when Poe comes and visits him when he’s having a bad day, and reads him the newest story that he’s written. Ranpo’s bad days don’t happen often—Yosano’s new treatment plan working well—but when they do, Ranpo is miserable, and Poe seems to understand that more than anyone; it doesn’t matter if he’s already worked that day, he’ll come the moment he hears Ranpo’s hurting, and sit on the bed with him, allowing Ranpo to use him as a pillow while he reads.

It makes him even happier to see that the stories he’s being read have been written in the notebook he’d gifted Poe.

“You’re growing quite close to Poe-san, aren’t you?” Fukuzawa had asked him once when Poe had come over and fallen asleep on their couch.

Ranpo had frowned. “We’re friends. Are friends not supposed to be close?”

Fukuzawa had merely hummed, leaving the two of them alone; Poe oblivious to the conversation entirely, and Ranpo confused about just what his guardian was talking about.

It’s a week before they are due to meet up to go and see the cherry blossoms together, and Poe’s invited Ranpo out to lunch because he’d finally finished writing that novel he’s been working on for months now; and he’d promised to take Ranpo out to lunch over it before he’d been discharged from the hospital, which Ranpo’s glad hadn’t been forgotten.

It’s also the first time Poe hasn’t come to pick Ranpo up and take him to wherever it is they were meeting, so Ranpo makes Fukuzawa draw him a very elaborate map so that he knows how to get there, because Ranpo’s always been incompetent when it comes to navigation, and he absolutely doesn’t care. Why bother learning where things are when everyone around him knows already? It leaves room in his brain for the information that’s actually interesting to him.

Fukuzawa had offered to drive him, but Ranpo refused; he and Poe are meeting in the middle of what would be the lunch rush, so he doesn’t want to pull his guardian from his work just to be taxied, when he’s more than capable of doing this. He’s technically an adult now, he’s going to have to start doing things on his own more often from now on, although he had appreciated the offer.

So, Ranpo makes his way towards the café that Poe had chosen, conferring with his map on several occasions so that he doesn’t get lost. It doesn’t take all that long for him to find it, on account of Poe choosing a place that’s easy to spot. It’s one of those cafes that has outdoor seating, and it’s at one of those tables that Poe is sitting, hair pulled back into a ponytail, and scribbling into the notebook in his hands. Ranpo can’t help but smile as he approaches, able to see the way his friend is furiously scribbling across the paper with an intense look on his face. He must have gotten an idea. Ranpo thinks, quietly sliding into the seat across from Poe. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Poe continues to remain oblivious to him, writing away. The manuscript that Poe had intended to give him is sitting on the table, beside a glass of half-drunk water, and held together with a clip. Ranpo reaches over to grab it, and it’s that motion that finally startles Poe out of his focus.

“Ranpo-kun!” Poe says, surprised as he quickly slams his notebook shut, almost crushing the pen—and his fingers—inside of it. “I, uh, I didn’t notice you. My apologies.”

“It’s fine, Poe-kun.” Ranpo waves away the apologies as they come out of Poe’s mouth. He’s not bothered at all by being ignored, but only this once. Being treated to the sight of Poe focusing on what he loves is well worth it in his opinion. “You were focused, and I knew you’d look up eventually. Did ya get hit with an idea or something while you were waiting?”

Poe’s cheeks flush a deeper red. “I did. I wanted to write the idea down before I forgot.” Poe’s eyes land on the manuscript in Ranpo’s hands. “Ah, I see you’ve already started reading?”

“Not yet. I was going to, but then you noticed I was here.” Ranpo says. “It’s a mystery novel, right?”

“Yes, although, it is a first draft, so I, uh, can’t promise it’s any good…”

“Poe-kun, how many times do I need to tell you to have faith in yourself? Your stories are always good to read.” Ranpo rolls his eyes and flips the cover page over so that he can start to read. He won’t read all of it, not while Poe’s taken time out of his packed schedule to spend some time with him; he’ll just read the first couple of pages to get a general idea of the story.

“What do you think?” Poe asks him as he places the manuscript back on the table.

“It’s good. I’ll pick it apart more when I read more, and let you know.” Ranpo says, looking around for a waiter; he’s starting to get hungry and he’s surprised that Poe hasn’t ordered anything yet.

But of course, Poe is one step ahead of him in that regard. “I’ve already ordered, Ranpo-kun.” And before Ranpo can thank him, Poe continues. “How are you feeling, by the way? Fukuzawa-san was worried when you fell ill suddenly like that.”

“Oh, that?” Poe is, of course, talking about the prior week, when Ranpo had woken up feeling like he’d been hit by a truck and left under the blazing sun in the middle of nowhere. It’d been the first time since his time in the hospital that he’d felt that bad, and Fukuzawa hadn’t hesitated to call Yosano about it, who’d come around on her lunch break and diagnosed him with a cold of all things. A cold. “It was just a cold. A bad one because it’s me, but nothing to worry about. Fukuzawa worries a lot, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have.” Poe sighs. “I am glad that you are alright, though.”

Ranpo hums, and leans against the table, resting his chin on his hand. “And what about you, Poe-kun? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

It’s not a lie, and now that Ranpo’s had the time to sit and study Poe carefully, he can see the tired slouch to his posture and the way his body trembles just barely, with eye bags so heavy he’s actually beginning to look like that raccoon plush he owns. “What, are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” Poe says, and smiles like that’s enough to dissuade Ranpo—it’s not.

“Oh yeah, sure, I know I’m fine when I look like the wind could carry me off.” Ranpo’s frowning now. If Poe wasn’t feeling well, he should’ve stayed home. Sure, Ranpo wanted to read his book, but not at the cost of Poe’s wellbeing.

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe reaches across the table and grabs his hand, squeezing it firmly. “I am fine. Just tired, I promise.”

Ranpo doesn’t believe Poe in the slightest, but he’s distracted by a staff member bringing their drinks out to them; a hot chocolate for Ranpo and some kind of juice for Poe. He scrunches up his nose at the sight of it—it’s green and looks like it shouldn’t be something a human drinks—but he doesn’t say anything when Poe happily sips at it.

He’s further distracted when Poe starts talking to him, updating him on how the trial’s going, well apparently, and tells Ranpo that Yosano thinks the drug should be on the market in a year or two if it continues to go smoothly. It’s good news, and Ranpo’s pleased to hear it; he knows how much being on this trial means to Poe. He listens further, as Poe deviates from the trial to talking about how his work and his studies have been going, and makes sure to speak in the gaps that Poe leaves for him to butt into.

Ranpo knows what Poe’s doing; he’s trying to get Ranpo to forget about his health, his anxious eyes giving everything away despite the joy on his face. It would fool most people, but not Ranpo, who has spent so much time watching Poe and the way everything around him affects him. So, he lets Poe think he’s fooled Ranpo into forgetting, and slowly that anxious look fades, and is soon replaced with a genuine look of calm and joy.

And Ranpo forgets.

Poe’s walking him home when it happens.

One minute Poe’s walking right beside him, listening as Ranpo chatters about the progress he’s made in his newest game, and the next, Poe’s legs give out and Ranpo can do nothing but watch in horror as his friend collapses into a heap beside him. Five seconds pass… fifteen… thirty, and then the switch is flipped inside Ranpo’s mind and he panics.

“Poe-kun? Poe!” Ranpo drops to his knees beside Poe and shakes the man’s shoulder, but Poe does not stir. Not one bit. Still, he continues to call Poe’s name in some vain hope that it’ll be enough to rouse him.

Ranpo’s afraid.

He doesn’t know what to do, not when it’s usually him in need of help.

Breathe, you won’t help Poe by panicking. Ranpo tells himself. There’s no one around them right now, so he can’t ask a stranger for help, so he grabs his phone and calls someone who can help, ignoring the way his hands shake as he pushes the buttons. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, st—

“Ranpo?” Fukuzawa picks up the phone are only a couple of rings, and Ranpo can hear the sounds of the café fading into the background as his guardian steps away to give him his full attention. There must be something that gives away Ranpo’s panicked state, because Fukuzawa’s voice is calm and firm like it always is when there is a crisis. “What’s happened?”

Ranpo just barely stops himself from sobbing into the phone. Tears won’t help anyone right now. He needs to be strong, and help Poe, just like the way that Poe’s always been there to help him. He breathes. “Poe-kun collapsed. I don’t know what to do.”

“Collapsed?” There’s a brief pause. Ranpo’s heart pounds as he waits. “Is he breathing?”

Ranpo scrambles to place his hand in front of Poe’s mouth, and is relieved when he feels faint puffs of hair against his skin. “Yes.”

“Okay. Where—”

“He seemed sick when we met up, but he refused to let me ask him about it.” The words break free from Ranpo before he can stop them. “I thought he was embarrassed when I teased him, but it was probably a fever, I’m not sure. But aside from that, he was pale, but he’s always pale so I didn’t think much of it. He looked tired too, like he does after long nights, and—and he was trembling. Fukuzawa, I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

“Call an ambulance, Ranpo.” The order comes through clear and concise. “See if they’ll let you ride with him and I’ll meet you at the hospital. If they don’t, send me your location.”

“Okay.”

“And wear—”

“I’m already wearing a mask. Poe-kun made sure I was.” Ranpo says hurriedly. “I’ll text you.”

“He’ll be alright, Ranpo. Just keep yourself calm.”

Ranpo says a rapid goodbye before hanging up and dialling the number for emergency services, much calmer now that he has an idea of what it is that he should be doing. The phone call with the operator on the other end is much less panicked, and the lady on the other end promises that help is on the way and soon all Ranpo can do is wait. He sits beside Poe’s head and runs a hand through the writer’s messy hair, much like what Poe used to do for him when he was trapped in the midst of one of his flare ups.

He hopes it brings some comfort to Poe.

The ambulance doesn’t take long to arrive, and paramedics rush towards them, asking a bunch of questions that Ranpo tries his best to answer. Are you family? How old is he? What was he like before he collapsed? Any health problems?

No, I’m a friend. He’s twenty-one. He was tired. I don’t know. Can I go with him? The paramedics had glanced between each other at his question after they’d placed Poe on the stretcher. He saw one of them look over him, taking in Ranpo’s own frail appearance, and the way he was layered when it wasn’t even that cold; Ranpo’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the beginnings of a refusal forming. He begs. “Please. Let me come.”

“Alright.” The second paramedic says. “Hop in. But you’ll have to wait in the waiting room since you aren’t family.”

Ranpo nods. He can deal with that. Fukuzawa’ll be meeting him at the hospital anyway.

The drive to the hospital is fast, but Ranpo barely remembers any of it, far too focused on watching Poe, and watching as one of the paramedics hook him up to machinery that monitor’s his vital signs. Poe’s given an IV, and an oxygen mask as well, and the entire time this is happening, the paramedic talks to Poe, trying to coax him back to consciousness.

Poe doesn’t stir, doesn’t even flinch.

Just as quickly as the ambulance had arrived, it pulls into the hospital, and the paramedics rush Poe out and through the doors, leaving Ranpo behind in the waiting bay with no idea of where it is he needs to go. The hospital may have been his second home, but he’s never been on this side of it, and the last thing he wants to do is wander into an area he’s not supposed to be in—although he’s confident he could talk himself out of trouble if he needed to.

“Edogawa-san.” Ranpo spins around and just about collapses himself as Nakahara approaches him, a confused look on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Poe-kun collapsed.” He says for what feels like the millionth time that day. It’s only three though, he’s been subconsciously counting. “They told me I couldn’t go with him ‘cause I’m not family, but I don’t know where the waiting room is.”

“Does Fukuzawa-san know you’re here?” Nakahara asks, placing a hand on the small of Ranpo’s back and guiding him around the outside of the building.

Ranpo nods. “I called him first. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Alright. I’ll see what I can find out for you. Just be patient a little longer.”

Nakahara takes him straight to the waiting room, and sits beside Ranpo when it turns out that Fukuzawa hadn’t yet arrived. They don’t talk, except for the one-time Ranpo fails to get the man to leave him alone and return to his job, and the silence is just stressful. Ranpo ends up clutching his bag that houses Poe’s precious manuscript in it while his legs bounce as he waits, time ticking by slower than it ever has. Nakahara nudges his leg with his own after a while, and Ranpo looks up to see Fukuzawa walking into the waiting room.

His guardian makes a beeline straight for him, and Ranpo rises to meet him, falling into the embrace that comes for him. It’s then that he lets the tears fall, ones born from the stress of the situation, and Fukuzawa wraps him up in his arms, hiding him from the world and letting him cry. Ranpo doesn’t understand where it all went wrong; he and Poe were having a good time, nothing was wrong, and then suddenly, everything was wrong. Poe-kun said he was tired. He said he was fine. But he’s not. What happened?

“Ranpo,” Fukuzawa’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade, “come sit.”

Ranpo’s guided back to his seat, but ends up sitting in Fukuzawa’s lap, soaking up all the comfort he’s being offered. He knows he’s too old to be doing this, and that the other people in the waiting room are staring at him, but he doesn’t care. Fukuzawa gives him strength, and that’s what he needs right now; everyone else can just mind their own business. And if Fukuzawa truly cared, he’d tell Ranpo to get off, but he doesn’t; he just holds Ranpo gently.

He’s coming out of a doze when he hears voices around him, and he tries to tune in to hear what’s being said.

“—sick, sick.” Ranpo recognizes Yosano’s voice, worried and quiet. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Is he awake?” That’s Fukuzawa’s voice, and Ranpo thinks they are talking about him at first—that somehow he must’ve landed himself in the hospital again, and tries to think back to what could’ve caused him to relapse after a few months of surprisingly decent health.

Then it rushes back, and his eyes are flying open, and he just about falls off from Fukuzawa’s lap in his haste in sitting up properly. “Poe-kun!” He turns towards Yosano with frantic eyes. “Is he alright?”

Yosano crouches down and looks up at Ranpo with a soft, but sad smile on her face. Ranpo knows that look, he’s seen it far too many times to not be able to. It’s the look that he’s seen on everyone’s faces when they worry about whether or not he’s going to make it through an infection or illness.

Ranpo stops breathing.

“Poe-san is fine.” Fukuzawa says, drawing Ranpo’s attention to him. The man gives him a look of reassurance and Ranpo feels he can breathe again. “He’s just a little sick right now.”

“A little… sick?” Ranpo says slowly before he turns to look back at Yosano, the sadness gone from her face. “But, you looked sad—”

“Ah, that’s because I, as one of Poe’s supervisors, should’ve seen the signs that he was unwell before it came to this. Poe will be fine, Ranpo, I—I promise. He just needs rest.” Yosano says.

They are lying to you.

They are hiding something from you.

Ranpo may be clueless when it comes to directions or basic life skills at times; things that most other people know and he doesn’t, but he’s not an idiot. He knows when people are keeping things from him and this is one such time. He’s not quite sure what information they’re withholding from him, but he can tell it’s important. He can also tell that the decision isn’t theirs; it’s obvious in the way Yosano and Fukuzawa keep sharing glances when they think he isn’t looking that they want to tell him. The only thing stopping them is that it’s Poe himself that doesn’t want Ranpo to know whatever it is.

And that hurts.

For now, though, Ranpo brushes his hurt aside. There’s time to deal with that later… at least, he hopes so. “Can I see him?”

“Of course, hon, that’s why I came to get you.” Yosano smiles and stands, and waits for Ranpo to stand before leading him through the many hallways of the hospital. He’s glad that he’d never really had the strength to leave his room whenever he stayed here in the past, because there would’ve been no hope of him ever finding his way, especially when they all look the same.

Yosano stops outside a room and gestures for Ranpo to wait while she pokes her head into the room. A second later she pulls back. “He regained consciousness not long after he was brought in, but he’s asleep right now. Try not to disturb him. You know what to do if you need anything while you’re here.”

Ranpo nods and steps into the room while Fukuzawa pulls Yosano aside to talk to her outside the room. He quietly makes his way over towards Poe’s beside and sits in the chair that’s been placed by his bedside. His eyes slide over Poe, taking in the slow beeping of the heart monitor, the IV in his hand, and the cannula on his face; the scene reminds him strongly of the time when his and Poe’s positions were reversed.

It’s not right, to see Poe being the one in the hospital bed.

He’s at a bit of a loss for what to do; it’s the first time he’s had to sit by someone’s bedside instead of having people sit by his own and he’s not sure what’s appropriate. It makes him question how Fukuzawa had done it for all these years, because it’s actually quite boring, sitting in a chair watching someone sleep. But Ranpo doesn’t move, doesn’t tear his eyes away, because he fears that if he does, Poe will simply wither away in front of him.

For a man as tall as Poe is, he looks amazingly small in the hospital bed, and the hospital gown he’s now wearing makes him look even sicker than he had when he and Ranpo had first met up that morning. It makes Ranpo feel guilty, for not pushing the issue when he’d noticed it and let Poe dance around the issue himself. He should’ve pushed; done the one thing he’s been good at, but no, instead he’d let himself be pulled astray and ended up in this mess.

A quiet groan pulls Ranpo from his thoughts, and he looks up, hoping that the sound is a sign that Poe’s waking up, but Poe only shifts a little in the bed and falls still. Ranpo notices that Poe’s brow is furrows—he’s dreaming, and it doesn’t seem like it’s a good one.

Ranpo chews on the inside of his mouth before he stands, kicking off his shoes, and carefully climbing onto the bed, carefully avoiding the important wires that are carefully monitoring his friend. He lays beside Poe, and throws his arm across Poe’s chest as he tries to get comfortable while also not falling off the bed. As it turns out, it’s a little harder to share a bed with someone whose taking up the middle of it, but he manages. It’s still a little awkward, but it’s worth it when the furrow smooths out and Poe relaxes.

Ranpo closes his own eyes, knowing that Poe will wake him when he wakes up, or someone else will wake him if they want him to move.

He’s tired, and wants to pretend that everything’s alright for just a little longer.

“—ake up, Ranpo-kun.” Ranpo’s eyes blink open some time later, and he’s greeted by the sight of tired, violet eyes; Poe’s tired eyes. Poe blinks at him slowly, but doesn’t say anything. He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“You’re awake.” Ranpo says, also not quite knowing what to say. There are things he wants to say, and ask, but he also doesn’t want to overwhelm Poe when it looks like his friend could fall right back to sleep any second.

Poe hums, closing his eyes again. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and Ranpo begins to think he’s gone back to sleep, when his eyes open again. “Are you alright?” Poe asks him, and Ranpo wants to laugh. Trust Poe to be more worried about Ranpo’s wellbeing rather than his own.

“I’m fine. You—you scared me when you fell.” Ranpo whispers. “Are you alright?”

Silence follows his question, and Ranpo carefully watches the way Poe thinks before answering him, each word calculated and carefully thought out. “It appears that I overworked myself. I will be fine.”

“You’re lying.” Ranpo says before he can stop himself, and he regrets the words immediately when he feels Poe stiffen against him. He can hear the heart monitor pick up speed in the background. “I know you’re keeping something from me, and I want to know, I really do, but… I won’t push. Although it’ll kill me not to.”

The monitor slows back to normal.

“Thank you, Ranpo-kun. I appreciate it.” Poe murmurs, shifting in the bed so that he’s on his side; his arm coming to lay across Ranpo’s waist. Ranpo inches closer in response and Poe moves to bury his face into Ranpo’s chest; Ranpo’s heart beats faster as he does so. “I think I’ll go back to sleep if that’s alright.”

“You’ll tell me one day, though, won’t you?” Ranpo asks, running a hand through Poe’s hair and watching as the man melts into his arms. The motion leaves Ranpo with a strange feeling in his chest, but he continues to do it, only because Poe seems to thoroughly enjoy it.

“One day…” Poe’s voice trails off and he slips back into slumber.

It takes two whole days for Poe to recover enough to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time, and Ranpo is relieved when he walks into Poe’s room to find him sitting upright and slowly writing away in a notebook—it’s not one of his own, which means Poe’s probably conned one of the staff into getting him one from the gift shop. Poe still looks pale and ready to fall over at any given moment, but he’s alert, which is much better than he’d been previously.

“Poe-kun!” Ranpo greets, plonking himself into the chair. “I bring gifts!”

Poe eyes him and the bag Ranpo’s brought with him suspiciously, eyes narrowing as he slowly asks, “What do you have?”

Ranpo merely grins and shoves his hand into the bag before bring out—

“Karl!” Poe’s suspicion disappears and he reaches over to take the stuffed raccoon out of Ranpo’s hands, holding it tight. It’s like a child on Christmas, Ranpo realizes, never letting go of their favorite present. Poe’s eyes are brighter upon the raccoon’s presence, which is what Ranpo had been going for when he’d badgered Yosano into giving him Poe’s address so he could go and get the toy in the first place. Poe seems to realize this before the earlier suspicion returns.

Ranpo beats Poe to the punch. “I asked Yosano-sensei for your address. She was gonna go anyway and get you some things, so I offered instead.”

“Why did I expect anything different of you?” Poe says, eyeing the bag that’s sitting at Ranpo’s feet. “Did you at least get me everything I asked for? Since you bullied the person I actually asked into not doing it.”

“Duh, of course I did.” Ranpo picks the bag up and places it on the bed where Poe can easily reach it. “I found most of it, but if somethings not right in your apartment when you get out of here, that’s not my fault.”

“You snooped, didn’t you?”

“Do I look like the kind of person that would go snooping?” Ranpo asks, clasping the front of his shirt dramatically in mock offense.

Poe gives him the most unimpressed look. “Yes.”

“I’m wounded, Poe-kun. How could you think so little of me?”

“Ranpo-kun…” Poe raises an eyebrow, and Ranpo realizes he’s walked into whatever Poe’s about to say to him. “I’ve literally watched you bribe Dazai-san into getting information on this hospitals private affairs.”

Ranpo has nothing to say to that—because it’s the truth—so he changes the subject entirely like any smart person would do. Because he’s smart. Definitely smart. “So, Poe-kun, why’d you ask for a change of clothes on that list of yours anyway? Going somewhere?”

He’s given a surprised look in response. “We had plans to go see the cherry blossoms? I need clothes to do that.”

Now it’s Ranpo’s turn to look surprised. “You still want to go? Even though you’re sick?”

“I’m getting better, and I want to go.” Poe blushes, and fidgets with the blankets covering his legs. “I’d like to go with you and the others. You are all the first proper friends I’ve made… and it’d be… nice, to see the flowers with you all.”

“Look at you go, coming out of your turtle shell and admitting that you actually have friends.” Ranpo teases, laughing at the way Poe sputters at him. “Good luck convincing Yosano-sensei to let you leave, though.”

“I convinced her to let you go to the arcade, I think I can do it again.” Poe looks determined, and Ranpo hates to burst his bubble, but he knows—from experience—that it’s not going to be that easy.

“Yeah, and I had a flare up the next day. She’s going to be thinking about that when you ask her.”

“I’ll convince her.” Poe says again, and strangely enough, Ranpo believes him.

The next time Ranpo comes to visit, it’s the day they had all agreed to meet up for the flower viewing, and also, to an argument from within Poe’s room. He stops outside the partially shut door and listens in.

“Absolutely not.” Yosano says with finality. “You are not nearly well enough to be galivanting about outside in the cold. You’ll just make yourself sicker.”

“I’m already sick. It’s not going to get worse because I spend one day outdoors.” Poe argues back, sounding tired yet determined. “I’m not like Ranpo-kun, and I know you know that.”

There’s silence from within the room. Then, “I wish you were. It’d be easier to convince you to stay in bed then.”

Ranpo’s more than confused by this point, and it feels like he’s intruding on something he’s not supposed to be hearing—which, he’s not, and he should probably leave and come back later, but his feet have rooted themselves to the spot. He only hopes that Poe will forgive him for eavesdropping later.

“You all tell Ranpo-kun to stop being afraid of living his own life when he’s at more risk than I am by going to see the cherry blossoms, so why won’t you grant me the same courtesy?”

Yosano sighs. “Fine, you can go. But, you will not be walking anywhere, and you will not refuse our assistance when we offer it. Those are my conditions for letting you leave, understood?”

Ranpo doesn’t hear Poe’s response, if he even gives one, only the sound of Yosano approaching the door, and Ranpo frantically tries to make it look like he’s only just arrived, instead of just standing outside the door, clearly doing something he’s not supposed to be. The door slides fully open just as Ranpo walks away from it and he spins on his heel and gives Yosano a grin. “Yosano-sensei, hi!”

“Do not.” Yosano points at him. Ranpo shuts up quick as his doctor scans him from head to toe. “You’ve taken your meds today?”

“Of course I have.”

“You have the appropriate clothing?”

“Yes? Why are you—”

“A mask?” Yosano pushes through his question like it hadn’t ever existed in the first place.

Ranpo frowns. “I do. Why?”

“Because, so help me, if this fun little event we planned—to have a good time, mind you—ends up with you in the hospital again.”

Ranpo’s frown deepens. He’s not sure why Yosano’s so angsty about this now, when she hasn’t been the other times he’s gone out in public since leaving the hospital, when it dawns on him that she’s probably remembering the last time they all went out and had a good time; when that event had left Ranpo unable to move. “It’s not going to be like the arcade. I’ll be fine. And so will Poe-kun.”

Yosano stares at him with an unreadable look on her face before she nods, and her usual smile adorns her face once again. “You’re a strong one, Ranpo. Don’t ever forget that.” She turns on her heel and disappears down the hallway, and Ranpo quickly ducks into Poe’s room; he’s not quite sure what that interaction as all about, so he’d rather forget it as quickly as possible.

“I see you managed to convince her.” Ranpo says in lieu of a greeting.

Poe sighs from the bed, looking exhausted. Still, he shifts over so that Ranpo can climb up on the bed bedside him; their new routine that neither of them seems to mind. “I asked her about it after you went home last time you were here. And it’s taken till now for her to agree.”

“I heard the conditions she gave you.” Ranpo admits as he curls up as close as he can get, sighing softly when Poe’s arm comes to rest around him.

“I think Yosano-sensei’s being a bit harsh in her requirements, but she’s letting me go which is the main thing.” Poe says, looking towards Ranpo. “Is everyone ready for tonight?”

“Fukuzawa’s going to drive us there, along with Yosano-sensei. Nakahara and Dazai will meet us there. Apparently, Yosano’s already told them where to find the best spot.” Ranpo says, and then waits a minute or so before he continues. “You know, we can always go when you’re feeling better. The flowers bloom for a couple of weeks still.”

Poe shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. “It’s best to see them when they start, don’t you think?”

“Hmm, if you say so. You know what you should do while we wait, though?”

“What?” Poe asks.

“Read me that story you’ve been working on since you’ve been cooped up in here.” Ranpo grins up at his friend.

Poe gives him an incredulous look. “I gave you my manuscript to read—”

“I finished it already. But I haven’t picked it apart yet. Besides, if you’re well enough to go see cherry blossoms, you’re well enough to read me that story.”

“Fine, but you better not interrupt me this time.” Poe sighs as he grabs the notebook from the space between the mattress and bed railing—an interesting and smart place to store a flat object in Ranpo’s opinion. He stores that information away just in case he ever needs it in the future.

“No promises.” He says, settling down to listen to as Poe begins to read.

It’s maybe an hour or so until sunset, when Yosano returns with a wheelchair in hand and Fukuzawa trailing behind. Both Ranpo and Poe stare at the chair distastefully—for different reasons—but a single glare from Yosano is enough to stop either of them complaining as Poe—dressed in as many layers as Ranpo is—moves from the bed to the chair. Poe looks a little upset at literally being pushed around, so Ranpo takes the blanket and bag that Fukuzawa’s carrying and dumps it on Poe’s lap.

“Wha—” The writer looks stunned as he grabs the items so they don’t fall.

“Since you don’t have to walk, you can carry the bags! It’s only fair after all.” Ranpo grins. Poe’s sour expression disappears and the man smiles, which is good enough for Ranpo and he takes the handles of the chair from Yosano and dashes out the door with Poe in tow. “Let’s go! We’ve got flowers to see, and fun to have!”

Yosano goes to say something, with an arm outstretched as if to stop them, only to have Fukuzawa’s hand come to rest on her shoulder. She turns to see the older man looking after Ranpo and Poe with a fond expression on his face. He begins to walk after them. “Let them have their fun.”

Yosano sighs, but acquiesces, quietly following after Fukuzawa.

Ranpo watches Poe carefully as they approach the cherry blossoms, trying to see what Poe’s reaction is while he pushes him up the hill. He wants to curse Yosano for picking a spot that requires him to actually exercise, and he knows he very much could’ve avoided it—both Yosano and Fukuzawa had offered to take over before he’d started climbing—but he wants to do this. It’s a way to prove to himself that he is capable, and even if it leaves him a wheezing mess at the top, he knows he’ll feel accomplished.

And indeed, he is a wheezing mess once he and Poe reach the top of the hill, Ranpo leaning against the back of Poe’s chair as he sucks air into his lungs. He feels a hand gently pat his head a few times and he lifts his eyes to see Poe with relaxed eyes, no sign of stress or anxiety anywhere on his face, and Ranpo is almost certain that underneath the mask that is on Poe’s face, there’s a smile to match.

“It’s beautiful, Ranpo-kun.” Poe says quietly. “I can see why everyone enjoys coming to see them.”

Ranpo’s still doing his best to breathe, so he nods and follows Poe’s gaze so he can see just what it is that his friend is seeing, and, wow, he’s not wrong. It is beautiful. The hill that they’ve chosen to sit on provides them with enough height that they are overlooking the rest of the cherry blossoms trees that have already flowered, the pink and white flowers stretching onwards for days until they blur with the horizon. Below them, it’s easy to see people walk around; friends, families, couples, all enjoying the beauty and tranquillity that the cherry blossoms have to offer. It’s peaceful.

“Ranpo! Poe-san!” Ranpo looks up to see Dazai waving his arms at them as he bounces over, in a not so subtle way, to take control of Poe’s chair. “We’ve already been waiting hours for you all to get here. I feel like I’m about to waste away!”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Ranpo huffs as he follows his friend. “You can’t have been here for longer than two hours.”

“Why do you say that?” Dazai asks, slinking back to his spot on the blanket that’s been spread out. He’s sitting next to Nakahara, who’s leaning against the trunk of a tree, his ever present hat tilted to hide his face from view.

Ranpo studies the man for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s actually sleeping—unlikely—or just trying to avoid talking to Dazai—very likely. “Why? Because you haven’t complained about how cold it is yet.”

“Touché.” Dazai gives both Ranpo and Poe a massive grin, and Ranpo can spot the sparkle in the man’s eyes that promise nothing but teasing to come. He hears Poe sigh from beside him. “I doubt the cold will be a problem for either of you though, all rugged up like little eskimo’s. But don’t worry, we brought extra blankets just in case.” Dazai’s grin grows even wider. “Although, I suppose the two of you—"

“Stop causing trouble, Dazai.” Yosano interrupts as she and Fukuzawa finally make it to the blanket, bringing with them the food that Fukuzawa had cooked for the occasion. Her eyes land on Nakahara’s unmoving form. “Is he actually asleep right now?”

Dazai hums, rolling onto his stomach so he can kick his feet in the air like the overgrown child that he is. “Chibi fell asleep an hour ago. Apparently claiming the perfect spot is such tiring work, even though all he did was put down the blanket. I was supposed to wake him when you all got here, but I think it’ll be fun to see how long it takes him to wake up instead. Don’t you agree?”

“One day, Dazai, he’s going to throw you out of that apartment.” Ranpo says as he steals one of the extra blankets, laying it out so that they all have a bigger area to sit and stretch out on, before helping Poe down to sit beside him.

“Nah, Chuuya loves me too much to do that.”

“I thought the two of you hated each other?” Poe asks, a frown on his face, and Ranpo can’t help but laugh at the sight of the expression; Poe hasn’t known Dazai for nearly as long as Ranpo and everyone else has, yet he’s already grasped the basics of whatever it is that intertwines Dazai and Nakahara with each other.

“That’s the million dollar question, Poe-kun, that we’ll never get an answer for.” Ranpo grins, letting himself fall to the side so that he’s draped over Poe’s lap; the writer does nothing except start playing with Ranpo’s hair like it’s a subconscious habit, which at this point, it might as well be for how often it happens.

He’s not complaining, he loves it every time it happens.

“Like you two are ones to talk, with—hey, Chuuya!” Whatever Dazai had been about to say is abruptly cut off by Nakahara jerking awake suddenly, and putting together the situation in about two seconds flat; he jumps to his feet and shoves Dazai hard.

“You asshole! You were supposed to wake me when everyone got here!”

“Aww, but Chuuya, you looked just like Sleeping Beauty did after she ate the apple—”

“That’s Snow White, you fucking moron, not Sleeping Beauty! If you’re going to compare me to a fairy tale, at least make sure it’s the god damn, right one!”

“Well, now you’re just the Big Bad Wolf! Interrupting my monologue.” Dazai huffs, looking much like a petulant child that’s just been told Christmas has been cancelled.

“You can take your monologue and shove it up your ass.” Nakahara growls, and then, like a switch, all the anger is gone and he greets everyone like he hadn’t just been screeching at the top of his lungs seconds earlier.

Not one of them is surprised.

After Dazai finishes sulking, they truly begin to enjoy the evening. The sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the cherry blossoms, turning pink and white flowers into a beautiful orange colour. It’s almost as if the sun itself resides in each of the flowers, and everyone gets comfortable to watch the sun set, a calm silence emanating from all of them.

Ranpo sits between Poe’s legs, leaning against the elder’s chest; Poe had moved to lean against the blossom tree they’re sitting under when Nakahara had left it open, and Ranpo had been quick to join him. It’s comforting, to feel Poe’s heart beating beneath his head, the way he moves with every breath that Poe takes, and the warmth of his arms as they lay, loosely wrapped around Ranpo’s waist. He can feel Poe’s head resting on top of his own, and in that moment, everything feels as it should. It feels right, to be sitting like this with Poe, just like how it feels right to lay next to each other in the hospital beds talking about stories and other nonsense that their brains conjure up in the middle of the night when neither of them can sleep.

Ranpo doesn’t know what this feeling is.

But it feels right.

The sun sets, and the lanterns turn on, and Fukuzawa brings out the food he’s cooked; simple snacks that everyone can eat and enjoy, and a quiet chatter fills the night. It doesn’t last long though, because Dazai pulls out a bottle of sake from somewhere—which has Nakahara fuming because he swears Dazai hadn’t had it when they left the apartment—and raised noises fill the night once more; thankfully, a little quieter than earlier.

“Ranpo is not of legal age, Dazai.” Fukuzawa grinds out as Dazai tries to give Ranpo a taste of the drink. “And he should not be drinking in the first place!”

“One drink—and it doesn’t even have to be a full shot—Fukuzawa-san, and then I promise on my soul that I won’t give anymore.” Dazai gives Fukuzawa the biggest puppy eyes Ranpo has ever seen on a person, and wonders briefly if this is what he looks like whenever he has to beg Fukuzawa for something.

The two stare at each other, everyone else watching in apprehension. Nakahara and Yosano already have drinks in hand, and Poe had politely declined to try the drink; all of them staying out of the conversation entirely. It’s a well-known fact that it’s best to just butt out of these kinds of conversations, lest they want to be dragged into them and forced to pick a side. Ranpo dutifully avoids making eye contact with either person, content to let the winner of this conversation determine whether is first taste of alcohol is going to be now or when he’s of the legal age to actually do so. He, personally, doesn’t care for the outcome; he’s curious about the taste, but could care less really.

Fukuzawa wavers.

Dazai dials up the puppy eyes.

A sigh. “Ranpo, would you like to try some?”

“I’ll just have a sip.” He may be curious, but he has no desire to drink a full serving of the staff. Dazai lets out a cheer before passing Ranpo just enough of the liquid that he’ll be able to taste it. Ranpo scrunches up his nose at the smell. “People willingly drink this?”

“Just try it already, before Fukuzawa-san changes his mind.” Dazai urges, and Ranpo takes a sip.

And nearly spits it out.

“Blergh, that’s gross. You people actually like this stuff?”

“It’s a bit of an acquired taste, Ranpo.” Yosano says, knocking back her own glass. “But it’s not for everyone.”

“Ranpo-kun, come for a walk with me?” Poe asks after everyone’s eaten and had a few drinks. His words are quiet, meant for Ranpo’s ears only.

“Where to?” Ranpo asks, already climbing to his feet and helping Poe get to his own. He goes to guide Poe to the wheelchair, ready to help, but Poe is quick to stop him, hand gripping Ranpo’s wrist firmly. “Poe-kun—”

“Just to the bottom. There’s a bench we can sit on.”

Ranpo nods, and together, the two of them make their way down the hill, away from the eyes of the others. They walk slow, both of them cautious of where they place their feet, because the last thing either of them wants is to fall. While they walk, Ranpo thinks. Thinks of why Poe wants to take a walk with just him when they’d all planned to walk through the trees together before heading home for the night; the sun is long gone at this point, but the lanterns provide more than enough light and atmosphere for the blossoms to be enjoyed still.

He's still thinking as they reach the bottom of the hill, Poe slowly leaning his weight on Ranpo as his legs tremble, and Ranpo only wheezing a little from the walk. The bench is a welcome relief as they both collapse into it, the silence growing between them as they let themselves recover.

Yeah, they aren’t getting back up that hill without help; Ranpo refuses to make that hike a second time, and he’s positive Poe feels the same.

Ranpo tilts his head back, staring up at the night sky that’s bordered by cherry blossoms and lanterns, and he smiles. It’s been a good night, and he’s grateful that he’s been able to spend it with those in his life that he treasures. He’s hopeful that they’ll be able to do this again next year—wants to do this again next year.

A hand intertwines with his own, long fingers resting beside his own as if they were always meant to. “Ranpo-kun—” He turns towards Poe when he speaks, and—

Poe’s kissing him.

Ranpo’s mind stops working, stops thinking, at the feeling of Poe’s lips against his own. Poe’s lips are rough where he’s chewed at them, but that doesn’t stop Ranpo from enjoying the way they feel, the way they slot naturally against his. Ranpo’s never been kissed before, never really understood the feelings that go into liking someone enough to want to be kissed by them, but like everything else with Poe; it feels right.

The kiss is as short as it is sweet, and as cool air brushes where Poe’s lips had just been, Ranpo’s brain begins to start working and he finds himself sitting there, stunned, and staring at Poe with wide eyes. Poe himself looks a little shocked, despite being the one that initiated the kiss in the first place. His cheeks are bright red, and Ranpo’s quick to turn just as red.

“I, uh, um—” Poe fumbles over his words, and his grip on Ranpo’s hand tightens. “I—I—I—"

“Breathe, Poe-kun.” Ranpo leans over and rests his head against Poe’s shoulder, giving Poe’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I liked it.”

“You—you did?”

“Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” Ranpo tilts his head up, staring into Poe’s violet eyes that are looking so terrified, it tugs at his heartstrings. He’s not sure what Poe’s scared of, and he doesn’t think Poe would tell him outright if he asked, so he settles for pressing himself close to his friend, confident that his presence will show him there’s nothing to be afraid of, that Ranpo isn’t going to up and ditch him just because he kissed him.

He feels Poe relax against him.

“Why did you kiss me?” Ranpo asks after a few moments of silence.

“I’m—I’m not sure.” Poe sighs. “I guess… it just… felt right? Did it feel right to you as well?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo closes his eyes, a soft smile on his face. “It did.”

-----

Neither Ranpo or Poe bring up the kiss in the days that follow the cherry blossoms; although when they’d finally dragged themselves back up the hill, they’d been given knowing looks from the others. In fact, nothing changes between them, and Ranpo’s a little confused. He’s seen it in movies before, where the love interests kiss and then their entire world changes, and all they can think about is each other.

But that doesn’t happen to Ranpo.

They still see each other almost every other day, and Ranpo still climbs into bed with Poe and curls up beside him; sometimes Poe will tell him a story, and others, Poe will look over Ranpo’s shoulder while he plays a game. And, sure, if Poe kissed him again, he wouldn’t complain—in fact, he thinks he’d rather like it—but Poe doesn’t. That could be because he’s still recovering from whatever it is that ails him, but why would he have kissed Ranpo in the first place if he didn’t want to do it again?

Ranpo doesn’t understand.

In the end he goes to Fukuzawa for help, since his guardian always seems to know the answer to every problem that comes Ranpo’s way. He waits for the café to be shut, and for it to just be him and Fukuzawa, before he sits on one of the stools, watching Fukuzawa work as he finds his words.

Eventually, he does.

“Poe-kun kissed me.” He says. He doesn’t say anything more, not that there isn’t much more for him to say really. Poe kissed him, that’s the fact, and nothing more happened afterwards.

Fukuzawa doesn’t look surprised at his statement either, but he pause in wiping down the coffee machine to look at him. “Does it bother you that he did?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “No. I liked it. But I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“It… well…” Ranpo struggles to find his words, glaring at the floor if that’s the cause of his sudden struggle. Eventually, he settles on, “nothing changed.”

Fukuzawa hums and comes to stand beside him. His guardian has a look that somehow manages to be both sympathetic and thoughtful. “Did you want things to change after he kissed you?”

Ranpo shrugs. “I dunno. Isn’t that how it goes in movies?”

“Well, life’s not a movie, so it doesn’t have to follow the script if you don’t want it to.” Fukuzawa returns to closing down the machine. “My advice would be to talk to Poe-san and figure out what it is you both want.”

It’s Ranpo’s turn to hum as he thinks. “He said he kissed me ‘cause it felt right. And it did—it felt right, but so does everything else that we do.”

“Another way you could look at it is this way. Would you kiss Dazai?” Ranpo takes a moment to think about kissing his best friend and it takes not even a second before he’s scrunching up his face at the idea. The last thing he wants to do is kiss Dazai; no offense to Dazai of course, but he’d rather die than lock lips with him. Fukuzawa chuckles at the expression on his face. “If you ask me, you and Poe-san have a special kind of relationship, and it’s okay not to know what that is right now. You don’t have to label it if you don’t want to.”

“But I should still talk to him, is what you’re saying?”

Fukuzawa gives a singular nod. “Talking will help you both.”

Ranpo takes Fukuzawa’s advice to heart and brings it up the next time he visits Poe in the hospital. Poe’s doing a lot better now, no longer hooked up to all the machinery and everything else; apparently Yosano’s keeping him for an extra couple of days just to make sure he’s a hundred percent before discharging him. Ranpo can understand it, on account of having it done to him so many times in the past, but he can tell when he walks into Poe’s room, that Poe is getting frustrated at being bedridden for so long.

“Poe-kun.” Ranpo sits on the edge of Poe’s bed instead of curling up beside the man like he usually does, although he’s still close enough that he can grab Poe’s hand and intertwine their fingers like they had the night under the cherry blossoms. Poe looks at him. “Will you kiss me again?”

There’s a beat of silence before Poe’s leaning forward and capturing Ranpo’s lips in their second kiss. Ranpo’s more prepared this time, and he closes his eyes and kisses back, uncertain, unsure that he’s doing it right. He feels Poe squeeze his hand gently—a reassurance that he is doing it right—and he relaxes, unaware that he’d been tensing up in the first place. Poe’s other hand comes up to cup Ranpo’s cheek, and Ranpo responds by burying his free hand into Poe’s hair and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Poe’s lips are smoother this time—he hasn’t been chewing them lately—and there’s the faint hint of fruit on them. It still feels right to be doing this—kissing Poe that is.

Poe’s thumb brushes over Ranpo’s cheek, and then the two of them pull apart, foreheads resting against each other. “Was that okay?” Poe asks.

“Yeah.” Ranpo breathes. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Of what?”

“That it still felt right.”

Poe nods, understanding what Ranpo means without him needing to elaborate. That’s the thing about Poe; he just gets Ranpo, without Ranpo having to ever explain himself or his choice in words, and it’s an actual relief to have someone like that in his life. It gets tiring, when he has to explain himself because he says something that confuses those around him.

But not Poe.

Never Poe.

Ranpo shifts so that he can lay beside Poe, and pulls the man to do the same, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of something shifting, but it feels like they’re more closely intertwined than usual when they do this, even though nothing has really changed. Their faces are nothing but an inch apart, their legs, tangled underneath the blanket that Poe throws over the both of them, and both of them have at least one hand clutching at the others.

“What are we, Ranpo-kun?” Poe asks before Ranpo can, and it’s just another way that the two are in tune with each other.

“I don’t know.” Ranpo admits. “Definitely friends. Something more? I’m not sure. This is unfamiliar territory. But…” He trails off.

“But what?”

“Fukuzawa said we didn’t have to put a label on it if we didn’t want to, so… we’re… us? We can keep doing what feels right, and we’ll make sure to talk about it if we aren’t sure.”

Poe nods and seems satisfied with Ranpo’s answer. Then the look fades and his replaced with a worried look and Ranpo too, grows worried. “What is it, Poe-kun?”

“If… if you had to wait for me, would you, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo’s heart pounds. He doesn’t like the words the moment they fall out of Poe’s mouth. Of course, life couldn’t cut him a break and let him be happy for a change. He can see it, in the way Poe is now tense and afraid, and in the way he’s hesitating when he clearly has something to tell him. Would you wait for me; words only spoken when one has to leave for an indefinite amount of time, and Ranpo closes his eyes. He doesn’t want Poe to leave him, not when they’d finally started to figure things out. But… he also knows that if Poe’s leaving, it’s for a reason, and he finds that, yes, he’s willing to wait.

He'd wait forever if he had to.

“Yes.” He says in the end, and the tension leaves Poe’s body.

It doesn’t leave Ranpo’s.

He feels lips brush against his forehead as Poe whispers to him. “I have to go back to America to finish my studies. I’ll be gone a year, two at the most. But I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”

Ranpo can’t help but whine. “That’s so long.”

“You have my number.” Poe reassures him. “We won’t be like those people in the movies that lose contact for years or decades and forget each other. We aren’t a movie, Ranpo-kun. We’re us.”

Ranpo’s heart still aches at the idea of being apart from Poe for so long, but Poe’s words reassure him that everything will be fine. Poe’s right; they aren’t a movie. They’ll talk as much as they are able to, send emails, letters, whatever it takes to stay in contact. They’re both stubborn like that. “We’re us.” Ranpo whispers back. Us. We’re us, and nothing will stop us from being us.

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe says suddenly.

Ranpo hums to show he’s listening.

“Will you call me Edgar when I return?”

Ranpo smiles. “Only if you drop the ‘kun’, Poe-kun.”

Poe smiles back at him. “It’s a promise then.”

The day Poe leaves is a quiet day, with only Ranpo and Fukuzawa bidding him farewell. Poe doesn’t seem to mind, and hugs the both of them before repeating his promise to return in two years’ time.

Ranpo doesn’t cry, not as Poe boards his plane.

Ranpo doesn’t cry, not as the plane lifts into the air.

Ranpo does cry, when he gets in the car to go home.

Love truly is a complicated emotion.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fic #bungo stray dogs fic #ranpoe #edogawa ranpo #edgar allan poe #writing #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fluff #romance #first kiss

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saintlike78 · 4 years ago

Text

Tough love [Poly Marauders]

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on my previous poly Marauders, it really means a lot! I’ve just been obsessing over poly Marauders fics recently and it had inspired me so much, so I really hope you love this as much as I do. Feedback is always appreciated!

Pairings: Poly! Marauders x Fem! Non-Gryffindor! Reader

Words: 3.3k

Summary: Your “newly” established poly relationship with the three Marauders has you feeling many emotions. Sirius has always been one for though love and doesn’t often let his emotions show. In the start of your relationship, you have a hard time reading him and you think he doesn’t really like you and only is in the relationship because he wants to be the two other Marauders and you’re the catch/con that comes along.

Warnings: NSFW 16+, vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, mention of cum, praise kink, degradation, one singular spank, polyamorous relationship, soft dom! Remus, soft dom! James, dom! Sirius, Sirius being mean, mention of food, light angst to fluff, as always let me know if I missed anything.'

The sun was shining brightly through the windows of the great hall. You were sitting at the Gryffindor table with your three new boyfriends. Remus and Sirius were across from you and James beside you, with a hand on your thigh, never wanting to not be touching you. Your right foot was between Remus’, him also not wanting to not be touching you. You had let your left foot be free so you could be touching Sirius as well, but he didn’t take. Looking under the table, being as subtle as possible, you saw James’ shoe-covered feet, one of them touching the side of Remus’ foot and the other one between Sirius’ but moved in a way so yours wouldn’t reach his. You looked up at the table again and saw that Sirius was holding Remus’ hand on top of the table.

Your three boys were laughing and talking, as they normally did, and you tried to keep a smile on your face and keep up with the conversation, but you couldn’t help the way your stomach dropped slightly at the thought that Sirius didn’t want to touch you.

“What do you think, Bunny?” Remus asked, all of their eyes suddenly on you.

You looked up and looked between their faces.

“Huh?”

Remus let out a small laugh, “I just said that because the weather is so nice, we could go to the lake after class and asked what you thought about the idea, but you were too busy being in bunny world huh?”

“Oh yeah, that sounds nice,” you answered with a small smile. You looked down at your plate again and started to pick at your food, not feeling particularly hungry anymore.

Remus looked at you in a confused manner and looked between James and Sirius, who both shrugged their shoulders.

“Alright, lake after class it is,” James announced with a grin.

______________________________

Holding onto Remus’ hand, you were all making your way towards the castle entrance, after having enjoyed all of the late afternoon at the lake, getting as much sun as possible.

Making your way up the stairs towards Gryffindor tower and Remus not letting go of your hand indicated that they wanted you to join them in their dorm room, which you did with no complaints.

As you made it to their room the door was shut firmly behind all of you and the boys didn’t waste time finding one of their beds to place you on and make hasty work of removing the minimal amount of clothes you were wearing.

You could feel arousal starting to churn in your belly as James kneeled at the foot of the bed and removed your lace panties. Remus had moved behind you and laid you on his chest as he removed your bra. He didn’t waste any time placing his hands on your breasts, as soon as they were freed, kneading them and making you let out a needy whine.

“A desperate little thing, aren’t you?” Sirius asked rhetorically as he ran a finger through your soaked folds.

James placed a finger at your entrance, slowly circling it, gathering your arousal before slowly letting it enter you. You let out a small gasp at the intrusion.

“Such a good girl,” James cooed, thrusting his finger in and out of you slowly before adding a second finger.

You moaned and grabbed Remus’ right wrist as he moved it to your throat.

“She’s no good girl... she’s just a desperate whore who’s only good for one thing, but not even that,” Sirius scoffed out as his thumb started to circle your clit.

Your eyes snapped up to look at his face, your stomach dropped, and you could feel light tears starting to gather in your eyes at the mean comment.

You wanted to be good for him and for him to like you as much as James and Remus did, but you felt like an imposter of some kind and that Sirius just wanted the part with you to be over.

Sirius felt your stare and removed his gaze from your clit which he was working his finger on. As soon as he met your eye you looked back at James, scared that Sirius would be annoyed at you for looking at him.

James picked up the speed of his fingers. The lewd squelching sounds filling the room, causing you to blush.

“Aww, are you feeling shy? You’re absolutely pathetic,” Sirius mocked, the first part faking pity and the second almost like you were being scolded.

James removed his fingers and stood at the foot of the bed.

“Alright darling, up you get,” he said and helped you up on your knees in front of him.

He leaned down and kissed you while cradling the back of your neck to keep you in place. Your hands found their way to his t-shirt covered chest and slowly worked their way up in his hair.

After some time, you pulled apart and looked behind you to observe your two other lovers.

Remus’ clothes had been removed and Sirius was lying beside him as they lazily made out. Sirius had Remus’ cock in hand and stroked it slowly, causing you to whine at the sight.

James chuckled slightly at your small whine, “what’s wrong darling? You want to be a part of it?”

You turned your head back towards James and nodded. He chuckled again and helped you turn your body fully towards the two boys.

Behind you, James made haste work of removing his own clothes and cleared his throat to gain the attention of the two others.

“Our darling is feeling a little left out,” James said as the two boys broke apart and looked towards you, “what is it you want to do pretty girl?”

You looked at Sirius who just rolled his eyes, so you quickly looked over to Remus. James had placed his hands on your shoulders for encouragement.

“Uhm... can I pl-please suck your cocks sirs?” You said almost in a whisper, your cheeks burning red with embarrassment from the question you had asked.

“Of course, you can, bunny, especially when you ask so nicely,” Remus replied and motioned for you to come closer to him in his seated form.

You settled between his legs and slowly took over for Sirius by grabbing Remus at his base and stroking just like Sirius had.

You leaned down and took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue. Just as you were about to take more, a harsh slap was landed on your ass causing you to jolt forward and gag around Remus.

“Come on, get to it!” Sirius said as he sat down beside Remus again.

You quickly recovered and started bobbing your head up and down on Remus’ cock, not wanting Sirius to be more dissatisfied with you.

As you were working your mouth on Remus, you felt James rub his tip through your folds before slowly pushing in.

You moaned around Remus at the stretch and Remus groaned as he feels the vibrations on him.

James set a steady rhythm while holding your hips in a bruising grip.

You could tell by Remus’ increased breathing and the small twitch of his cock in your mouth that he was close. Probably due to Sirius having worked him up prior to you sucking him off.

“That’s it bunny, take it all,” Remus groaned out as he emptied himself in your mouth. You kept sucking, making sure to get every last drop.

You pulled off of him and out of instinct let your tongue fall out of your mouth to show that you had indeed swallowed everything.

“There’s a good bunny,” Remus said while caressing your cheek, making you lean more into his touch as your mouth hung open and moans spilling out.

Remus and Sirius maneuvered so Sirius could sit in front of you and get his turn.

You didn’t wait for instruction you simply put your head down towards his bright red cock and put it in your mouth. You could taste the salty pre-cum and used your tongue to spread it down his shaft.

Behind you, you could feel James’ thrusts picking up speed and becoming sloppier, which meant he was close. James found your clit with one hand and drew fast circles on it, wanting you to finish before him.

You moaned loudly at the feeling and gagged slightly when you felt Sirius’ head meet the back of your throat.

Sirius scoffed, “come on we’ve taught you better than that, you really are useless.”

“Sirius,” Remus said firmly, almost as a warning, him knowing that you weren’t so good at degradation if it wasn’t paired with praise.

“What? She just needs to learn, it’s not that hard,” Sirius fired back, talking like you weren’t even there.

You could feel your orgasm building, the burn in your stomach also starting to gather from trying to hold it until you were told otherwise.

“You’re doing so well darling, cum for us,” James said between grunts as his own orgasm approached.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your orgasm hit you, making you shake slightly and gag around Sirius again.

Your cunt squeezed and fluttered around James, prompting his own release.

You felt the warmth of his cum painting your insides and he rode it out slowly thrusting in you.

You grabbed Sirius’ thigh to ground yourself, but it was quickly slapped off.

“Did I say you could touch me with anything other than your mouth?” Sirius said, his tone feigning anger, but you took it as real anger and withdrew your hand back on the mattress and opted for the sheets to grab.

James pulled out and you could feel your mixed releases slowly run down your thighs.

Not long after Sirius started to grunt and moan softly. His release hit your tongue with no warning, but you still swallowed despite the slight gag you produced from it hitting the back of your throat.

Remus pulled you off of Sirius and wrapped his arms around you.

“You did so well, taking us all so well,” Remus said lowly in your ear.

“I’m going to lay you here and I’ll be right back to clean you up, alright?” Remus asked, even though it was more of a statement than a question.

You just nodded and were placed down on the mattress again as Remus got up to get his wand and a glass of water.

James went to gather clothes for all of you.

Remus returned and muttered a cleaning charm on all of you and handed you a glass of water, which you chugged and handed the glass back to Remus, who looked at you adoringly.

James returned with four shirts, three pairs of boxers, and a pair of clean panties that you had left with them for these situations.

You all quickly got dressed and you laid back down beside Sirius looking at him.

You didn’t actually meet his eyes and therefore missed the loving way he was staring at you, absolutely enchanted by you.

Out of instinct, you reached a hand up to caress his cheek, which you would normally do with James and Remus, but before you could make it to his face your hand halted and slightly twitched as you brought it back towards your chest.

You sat up quickly, not wanting to be in Sirius’ personal space.

“Uhm I just realized I forgot my wand in my own dorm, so I’ll just go get it and be right back,” you said quickly as you got out of bed and put back on the trousers you had been wearing to the lake.

“You don’t just want to get it tomorrow?” Sirius asked. You still didn’t meet his eye, not wanting to anger him.

“No, I’ll just get it now, that way I’ll also let you get a bit of a breather,” you said and dashed out of the room before any one of them could say anything more.

The three boys were left confused, and all looked between each other and the door you just left through.

“What the hell did she mean by that?” Sirius asked, sitting up on the bed.

“I’m not sure... maybe she needs a break from us?” James suggested.

“No, she usually wants to be close to us when we’re done and she said she would give us a break from her,” Remus pointed out, his brows knit together in confusion.

“You were quite mean towards her today, Pads,” Remus continued.

“She can handle it; she knows I don’t mean it,” Sirius replied.

“But does she really? You’ve been teasing her lately by not being affectionate towards her, what if she’s taking it as you being serious,” Remus stated.

“How long have you been doing this to her?” James asked all the attention now on Sirius.

“I don’t know, maybe a week or two, but it’s just because she gets all clingy when she’s needy and I want her to cling to me,” Sirius answered like he had been collecting data.

“But it hasn’t been working obviously, since she’s been clinging to James and me... Sirius, she probably thinks you’re mad at her or something,” Remus said with a sigh.

“She doesn’t know that this is your way of asking for affection! She needs reassurance,” James scolded lightly.

Sirius looked down at his hands, guilt bubbled up from deep inside.

“Well, I didn’t know, I thought she would tell me if it got to be too much,” Sirius said with a sad sigh.

“If she thinks you’re mad at her, I don’t think she’ll come back tonight... let’s check the map,” Remus said, already getting the map from his bedside table.

He set the map on the bed in front of Sirius and sat beside him, James on the other side.

Sirius muttered, “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”

The map revealed itself and they all searched for you around the castle.

You weren’t in or near your own common room, neither were you close to Gryffindor tower.

“There!” James nearly shouted and pointed to your name in the astronomy tower.

“Alright let’s go,” Remus said, and the three boys left their room forgetting that they were only in boxers and a t-shirt.

You hadn’t forgotten your wand in your common room, it was tucked away in your bag that lay on the floor of the boy’s dorm.

You sat and looked at the view of the grounds as you sat with your legs dangling off the edge of the astronomy tower. You often came here to think or to just clear your head, it was peaceful.

You couldn’t help but think about what you were going to do. You obviously loved all three boys, but it broke your heart to think that maybe Sirius didn’t feel the same and you didn’t want to force him to be with you just because you wanted to be with him and the two others as well. You hadn’t noticed the tears until you felt one hit your hands. You especially hadn’t noticed the rushed footsteps that echoed up the stairwell, too lost in your thoughts.

The three boys stopped at the top of the stairs and looked out your figure sitting on the edge. You hadn’t turned around, so they knew you hadn’t heard them, even though they were panting and weren’t being particularly quiet.

“Puppy, are you okay?” Sirius’ voice startled you and you quickly tried to wipe away your tears with your hands.

The three boys made their way over to you. You thought that they would sit beside you, but instead, Sirius hooked his hands under your arms lifting you up and making you stand. You didn’t turn around like he expected you to, so he gripped both your arms and turned you around.

Sirius’ heart dropped when he noticed your red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek and caressing it softly and angling your face, so you were forced to look at his face.

“Why didn’t you come back to the room, pup?” He asked softly giving you a gentle smile.

Your heart fluttered at the gentleness and care he was showing, but you didn’t want to get too excited and having it ripped away from you.

“Oh, uhm I just thought that maybe you needed some space and just wanted to be you, boys, alone,” you said quietly looking between the three of them as James and Remus came to stand on either side of you.

“Why would we need space from you? We love spending time with you,” James asked, the confused tone evident in his voice.

Your cheeks were burning red with embarrassment, not wanting to air out your insecurities.

“What’s wrong, puppy? You can tell us,” Sirius urged.

You let out a nervous breath and tried to avoid his eyes, but when you looked away from Sirius you would be looking at either James or Remus, so there was nowhere to look but down.

“I-I just feel l-like that I’m in the way of you guys’ relationship,” you breathed out, still looking down, “I know you want to be with Remus and James and that I’m kinda just there as well, but I don’t want to force you to be with me as well if you don’t want to,” you mumbled the last part quietly aimed towards Sirius, but the three boys heard you loud and clear.

Sirius was quick to grab your face and make you look up into his eyes.

“That is absolute nonsense, of course, I want to be with you! What would make you think that I wouldn’t?” Sirius rushed out, not letting go of your face.

“Uhm… you don’t really like touching me and you haven’t really talked to me for about two weeks, and you call me pathetic and useless,” you say quietly, your voice breaking as tears start forming in your eyes.

“oh puppy,” Sirius said sadly as he realized how much his teasing had affected you.

“I’m so sorry, I love you so much and I want to be with you just as much as I want to be with these two idiots,” Sirius said, which earned him a swat at the back of his head by Remus and a swat on his arm from James.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want to be with you… I just wanted to tease you so you would be clingier towards me,” Sirius admitted.

You cocked your head to the side slightly, confused by his statement.

“Yeah… Sirius has a weird way of showing affection and an even weirder way of letting us know that he wants affection,” Remus said with a light chuckle. “But we all love you and we all want to be with you, puppy,” you had never seen Sirius look so… well…serious, about anything ever.

You leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, a small part of you still afraid he would turn away. Your concerns were soon gone when he met you halfway and connected your lips in a loving kiss. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss and wrap your arms around Sirius’ torso, him doing the same and holding your body close to his.

You broke the kiss and giggled when Sirius followed your lips whining for another kiss. You turned your head and kissed both Remus and James as well as you could, still in Sirius’ arms as he refused to ease his grip on you.

“Again, I’m so sorry, our beautiful girl, I’ll never ever make you doubt my love for you again,” Sirius stated and reconnected your lips.

#poly marauders #marauders smut #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders angst #marauders fluff #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #marauders

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pinkteapotwriting · 4 years ago

Note

I’ve been thinking. I see a lot of dom!marauders or them being experienced. But what if it was the opposite? Like y/n is experienced and perhaps a dom, while the boys are virgins (or just had little experience)? it makes me all soft 🥺. Like Y/N could be their best friend/fifth marauder (whichever you choose), and they like ask her to be their first time and it’s all blushy for the boys (them being subs, a few tears of pain for them) go crazy! It’s been on my mind for weeks!

Marauders x Fem!reader

Warning : unprotected sex, cursing, Dom!reader, pretty chill I think, you know, for smut

Word count : 1830

Thanks for being so patient, I hope you like it cause it took me forever to do this. It's a bit heavy on the dialogue but oh well

---

Surprise, surprise.

It was raining at Hogwarts. The Scottish countryside is taking on its usual demeanor of moisture in this season. Not that you minded, that just meant you got to spend the day with all of your favourite boys. You Sirius and James were giggling away in the corner while Remus was trying his best to ignore you all and read, but you figured you could peak his interest.

“Okay Pads, what’s your body count?”

“I’ve never killed anybody, but trust me Snivelus has come close.”

“No you dork, how many people have you slept with?”

“I’m not answering that!”

“I’m not gonna slut shame you Sirius.”

“He’s definitely not worried about being slut shamed Y/N” James snorted.

“Like you’re any better off than I am you prick.”

“Cut it out, there’s no need to call each other names. Are you both virgins then?”

“Well, yeah I guess.”

James was much more embarrassed than he needed to be.

“What about you Remmy, have you done anything at all?”

“Ask Sirius.”

“I already did ask Sirius!”

“Ask Sirius.”

“Oh my god why are you all so embarrassed there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m just surprised is all. You guys are all really attractive and kind people so I never thought you’d be inexperienced and you’ve dated plenty of girls.”

Remus shut his book.

“Not that it’s any of your business Y/N but i’ve at least given or received a hand job or two before.”

“Why’d you tell me to ask Siri- ooooooooh.”

Sirius had his face in his palms.

“Can we change the subject please.”

James patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s okay Pads. It’s not like the opportunity never arose, we were all just waiting for the right person.”

“Aw well I hope you find them soon, I care about you all so much and you deserve the world.”

Sirius was still groaning into his hands.

“She’s so fucking oblivious.”

Remus chuckled.

“Quite.”

Quite what? Confused definitely.

“I don’t understand.”

The room’s silence was overwhelming, until James took a deep breath and all eyes were drawn to him.

“Sirius and Remus obviously like each other and I’m not going to deny my attraction to either of them.”

“Then why don’t you-”

“It doesn’t feel complete. See we already found that someone, it’s you Y/N.”

“Really? You guys want me that way?”

James shrugged meekly.

“If you’ll have us.”

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I just never wanted to risk our friendship, but if you feel the same then I’d love to.”

Sirius’s head popped out.

“Right now?”

“Ha ha, no we don’t have to right now.”

“Well what are we waiting for, to get to know each other. I know James too well actually.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to probably the most level headed one, but Remus was giving you puppy eyes. You were so drawn to him you walked across the room and cupped his face with your right hand.

“What’s wrong honey?”

“Waited so long already, love. Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

“Jamie, do you want this too?”

“Yes please.”

“Such good manners baby, so I have everyone’s consent then?”

“Very much so.”

“Enthusiastic consent.”

“If you don’t do something I’m going to combust.”

You smirked at Sirius’s comment.

“You don’t get to combust until I say you do, understand?”

“Ooo scary.”

“So be it.”

You took hold of Remus’s hands and placed them on your hips.

“I know you’ll be a good boy for me Remus, won’t you?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I’ll be good for you Y/N.”

“I know you will Jamie. It’s Siri I’m worried about. Why don’t we show him what he’s missing out on? Lie back against the pillows for me, both of you.”

“What about me?”

“You can watch for now, learn how to follow their example.”

He huffed.

“Suit yourself.”

You knew your usual roles in the bedroom, so you were trying your best not to be too stern. But still, you needed to teach Sirius his place.

You lifted up the bottom of James' shirt and kissed his hip bone delicately. He got more and more ansty as you drifted your direction to the middle and down, and down, and down.

You very happily undid his belt and pulled off his pants. The state of his arousal was much more noticeable now.

“Can I suck your cock Jamie? Would you like that?”

“Yes please.”

“Good boy, Remmy can you spit on my hand please?”

You held your palm up to his mouth expectantly, but he seemed hesitant.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed sweetie, never for doing what I ask.”

He nodded and did what he was told and immediately you felt your clit throb. Having control over these three boys was certainly a power trip. Knowing you were the first person to make James tremble like this as you engulfed his cock expertly was definitely a turn on. As you bobbed up and down on James’ impressive cock, you rubbed the bulge in Remus’s trousers. The whines the two boys were making was truly music to your ears. You lifted with a pop.

“Alright Siri, are you ready to be good now?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Did you like what you were seeing?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you wanna try and make Remmy feel good?”

“I’ve never sucked-”

“I know, but I’m here to help you baby.”

You’ve never seen Sirius so nervous, so quiet.

“What I’m gonna get you to do first is what you do when you jerk Remmy off, Okay? Just spit on his cock and move your hand up and down alright?”

Remus shuddered as he watched Sirius in his submissive state.

“Good job Siri, look how happy you’re making Remmy. Now you can start by sucking the head, like this.”

James whimpered, and soon Remus was making the same noises. You placed your palm on Remus’s stomach to keep him from bucking his hips. Much to James disappointment you pulled away from him again.

“Okay Sirius, don’t forget to breathe through your nose and make sure you keep your teeth tucked behind your lips, there we go that’s it. Hollow your cheeks now too. How does that feel Remus?”

“F-feels good.”

“Yeah? Sirius is being such a good boy now. Is Siri gonna make you cum?

“Y-yes.”

You grabbed hold of Sirius’s curly locks and pushed him down farther, making him gag and tear up. The vibrations making Remus cum instantly. You pulled Sirius off once Remus started squirming at the uncomfortable feeling of overstimulation.

“Did you swallow? Show Remmy.”

Remus groaned when he saw Sirius stick out his tongue, and you did too.

“Y/N”

James' voice was raspy.

“Yes baby?”

“Wanna make you feel good, wanna fuck you.”

“Want me to Ride you Jamie?”

“Please.”

“Okay, but since this is your first time you might not last that long alright?”

“That’s okay, Sirius can take over after me.”

“Alright well you lie back and I’ll take care of you. Sirius, you wait like a good boy and I’ll help you out in a second. If you want you can get Remus to suck you off while you wait. Teach him like I taught you.”

You were suddenly aware of how you were still wearing all of your clothes so you hopped off the bed to quickly strip them off and you found yourself smirking at the expression of pure need and desire on James’ face.

You straddled his waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek before aligning his cock with your entrance. Inch by inch you and down on him as he clutched the sheets below him.

“This alright Jamie?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Perfect, can I move now?”

“Yes please.”

You raised your hips up, but before you could bring them back down James snapped his hips up to yours.

“James, fuck.”

But he didn’t seem to care, with one hand resting on your hip and one fondling your breast he kept his steady rhythm that was taking your breath away. Sirius and Remus were no longer enjoying their own pleasure, but enjoying the sight of yours. You reached down to rub your clit, but Sirius pulled your hand away and replaced it with his own.

“Like this Y/N?”

“Just like that baby, doing so good for me.”

Remus squeezed in between James and Sirius to suck on the tit that James wasn’t occupying.

“Boys- I’m gonna cum fuck-”

It’s funny how in public James could be such a little shit, but now all you saw was this wide eyed trembling figure that you got to take care of and fuck it sure was enticing especially when he said things like this.

“Please cum, wanna make you feel good Mommy please please please.”

“Fuck-”

As soon as you clenched around him as you hit your high James was spurting white hot cum into the depths of your pussy. Thank god for wizard contraceptives.

You didn’t really get to bask in the moment however, since Sirius was pulling you from James out of his own desperation. He had you lying on your back.

“I need you”

“I know I’ve kept you waiting for quite some time, go ahead love.”

Not that Sirius was significantly smaller than James, but he had an easier time going inside after you had come already. Your legs found their home wrapped around his waist as soon as he found his pace.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

“That’s okay love, this is about you. Be a good boy for me and cum whenever you need.”

“It’s kinda embarrassing though.”

You cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips to meet yours.

“No need to be embarrassed- Doing such a good job Siri your cock feels so good inside of me.”

He falls down to hold his weight on his forearms, moving even faster than before.

“M’close Y/N”

“Go on and cum baby, feels so good.”

He whimpered into your neck and you soothed him by stroking his hair. Eventually he did roll off from you, unfortunately.

“You guys never told me you were subs.”

“When I’m with Remus I’m a dom.”

“Makes sense, I’d quite like to see that actually.”

Remus cleared his throat.

“Does that mean we get to do this again cause I never actually got to-”

“Of course Remmy, it just kind of makes sense doesn’t it.”

Sirius chuckled.

“Yeah, I mean it didn’t take long for James to be calling you Mommy.”

“It’s kinda sweet though, has Remus ever called you Daddy?”

“Not yet, but I feel like we’re on the brink of something big here.”

Now Remus and James were looking at each other like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

You personally did not have any complaints; Sirius however would probably have some when you reminded him he couldn’t dom you though.

He’d have to learn the hard way.

---

@sunny-bunnny @quindolyn @midnightgremlin @weasleyposts @bluemoonyblurbs @emmaev @agalandhermarvelobsession

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slothgiirl · 3 years ago

Text

the spy part 1(keith x reader)

8k. explicit content. while on medical leave reader meets the red paladin of voltron during the war against Zarkon.

The corridors are well lit. It’s like being in a brand new hospital, this ship in the rebel fleet.

People hustle around, landing, taking off in smaller ships to distant planets. Your hand goes to your arm. The medic had given you a movement’s leave, so you were resting for now on this ever moving ship.

Outside the widows, you spy an assortment of ships, each one’s origins clear from the design. So many planets, so many peoples banding together against Zarkon. You’d win the war.

It was what you kept telling yourself.

You would.

It was just a matter of time.

You round the corner, stretching your arm across your chest, a simple form of physical therapy in deep space. You hadn’t seen earth since being deployed. The galaxy garrison seemed like a dream from another life. You had been on track for the chemistry department, long term missions to mars to analyze soil and dust, not this, not a war. You take a breath.

And spot the Red Paladin.

He’s one of the most recognizable people in the universe, and his grungy hair and distinctive outfit does him no favors. You’d never seen him before, not in the flesh. Sure. Voltron had saved your ass a handful of times. You wouldn’t have survived the assault on Arrakis if Voltron hadn’t rammed the shield. Trapped. Piloting a fighter craft that was closer to a mosquito irritating the Galra then pushing them back.

But you hardly knew him.

He’s gripping the railing tightly, trying to camouflage into the wall as an alien with crystalline blue skin and hair like saturated indigo leans into him.

The line of his shoulders is taut, brittle.

You don’t even think.

“There you are,” you force yourself to be synthetically cheerful as you smile easily at the paladin, who you realize quickly you don’t know his name but you know what he is and that must be an awful feeling, being so recognizable without being known. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” you lied, elbowing the blue alien out of the way. You could never tell much from a single glance at themis species despite their largely humanoid appearance.

You put your hand on his arm loosely, “come on, we’re late enough and you know how annoyed the others get.” Good, that seemed convincing enough.

The red paladin’s eyes go wide, his mouth a grimace and it’s then that you notice the feverish flush to his skin.

But he doesn’t pull away or argue.

You ignore the alien and decide small talk was the way to go until you put some distance, “I’m kind of hurt you didn’t come visit me while I was healing,” you stick close to the truth, “but since it only took an hour? a varga? for me to heal I won’t hold it against you.” He’s too warm.

Maybe the space flu?

Was that even a thing?

You weren't sure.

Mostly, you snuck into work camps and blew up strategic targets using whatever you could get your hands on to make a bomb. The chemistry came in handy.

He sways as he walks, looking like your roommate at the garrison after a few too many hits after an exam. “Do I know you?”

You flush, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just,” you look back, but the alien’s been left a couple turns back, “you looked uncomfortable.” You take a step back, letting go of him. “Are you okay?”

His expression furrows, mouth a pinched line as he goes from suspicious to annoyed, takes a u-turn back to suspicious as he studies you, before relaxing. “Yeah. yeah. . .who are you?”

You introduce yourself, taking on the meaningless garrison designation at the end, “technically second year member, though I’ve been with the runners mostly.” No designation more than a number.

“You do look human,” he replies simply, moving to get a look at your ears, “not many of those out here.”

“And yet somehow the sentries always look the other way,” you muse, “not very bright. I’m almost convinced the Empire’s in it’s failing bureaucracy days.”

He winces, before deadpanning, “eh, I don’t know how useful a lion is against the DMV.”

You laugh.

He takes slow deliberate breaths, steadying himself, “I’m Keith.”

“Seriously though, do you need to see a medic?” He looked in serious need of a tylenol. The ships were usually crisp, you wore a jacket most of the time to stave off the permanent chill.

Keith shakes his head, chewing his lip before meeting your gaze with an intense concentration in his violet eyes, as if he was gauging how much titrant he could add before hitting the endpoint and if half a drop was worth the risk. “I’m just. . .going through something.”

“Anyone I can call for you?” You weren't about to abandon him here. Sure, he was a paladin and could probably look after himself. But you couldn’t in good conscience walk away.

He swallows, looking down for a moment and you are startled to find how much you miss his attention boring into you with the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen.

“No,” Keith replies mulishly as he jerks away from you. “I’m fine.”

Which was a total lie. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well but you weren’t about to get on his case. You were sure he had people for that. He wasn’t some random soldier in arms with you that you watched out for and hoped not to have to watch die.

You swallow the bitter thought away, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leaning back against the hall, you watch evenly as Keith stumbles, catching himself on the wall. His mouth is a drawn line of determination.

You didn’t understand why.

There was aid here. It wasn’t the same as crawling through cramped mining tunnels and swallowing back pain forcing yourself to work through it until the mission was accomplished.

“Do you need help,” you ask.

“No.” He leans a hand against the wall.

You raise a brow, wondering if he would pass out for whatever weird space flu he had clearly caught and you could only hope it was nothing like the infections that ran rampant in the work camps, or if he would give in and accept your offer of help. The former seemed more likely.

You don’t ditch him though, focusing your attention on the porthole to the stars.

There was no rush: no reason to help him by force. People didn’t learn if you babied them you’d caught on quick back on earth during your tutoring hours. You had to let them fall and smash their face in sometimes.

So you stay, watching the stars.

Keith makes no move to take another step.

It still got you, looking out into the vastness of space and realizing this really was your life now, you were out here, further than you’d ever dreamed. Everywhere you looked, novel stars, distant planets teaming with life. You could have done without the war, but it was what it was.

“And here I thought Mars would be the furthest I’d go,” you comment more to yourself than Keith.

The red paladin makes a small sound of acknowledgement.

“Earth’s, or was, at the beginning of our space age. People had barely begun to live on the research bases on Mars,” you watch him out of the corner of your eye in case he really does pass out, “so no Star Trek for me but now I’m here.”

“There’s a war going on.”

You turn over to look at him, sort of annoyed because yeah you got that, spent enough time in the trenches without a fancy lion spaceship, but the bubbling annoyance dissipates when you see the upturned corners of his mouth. Keith was teasing you.

Shifting your weight, you add, “yeah well, instead of being a footnote in a Mars base’s history I’ll be a footnote in this war instead.” Gallows humor. You needed a lot of that when regularly infiltrating camps and posing as a slave, as a prisoner, the bottom of the barrel that wouldn’t get a second glance from the Galra soldiers.

He frowns. “I don't think anyone’s just a footnote.”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.” Keith looks away.

You feel bad. “It’s probably better not to be so cynical,” you muse, “but it’s like the vice president thing, no one remembers them unless the president gets assassinated.” God you couldn’t help how dark your humor could veer even when trying to be positive.

He looks over at you, head tilted, considering. Despite being standoffish, Keith was easy to read unlike the slick space pirates you’d encountered.

You meet his gaze head on.

“I might need some help,” he allows.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. “If you’re sure,” you utter, regarding him carefully and unable to keep the teasing from your voice. You shouldn’t. You barely knew him and what little you’d learned made it clear he wouldn’t take well to your teasing.

War made quick brothers out of everyone.

But Keith held himself afar.

A questioning glance danced in his uniquely violet eyes as he tried to get a read on you. “I am.”

You nod, stepping besides him and wrapping an arm around his waist. You were always caught by surprise by how heavy a grown adult could be. And depending on the alien. . .

He takes a step, still holding himself afar from you, barely resting any weight on you. His muscles were stiff under your touch, back rigid that matched the uncomfortable look on his chiselled features.

You follow his lead.

At Keith’s sedate pace, it would take quite a while before you dropped him off where you needed to go. Being personable was part of being a leader or it’d lead to mutiny. Not that you had ever gotten that far. The Galaxy Garrison had slapped the graduation badge on your uniform and sent you into space.

You scrabble for familiar territory, earth and the garrison. The Black Paladin was a Garrison member returned from the grave. Rumor had it all the paladins were garrison deserters.

Veronica McCain did share a familiar resemblance with the blue paladin. It was probably true.

“I attended the Garrison campus at Guiana,” you offer. “I was hoping for Texas or Florida to be closer to home, but I didn’t test into pilot or engineer.”

Keith makes a sound in the back of his throat.

Even through the fabric of his uniform, he felt warm. How anybody could be warm in such cold halls was anybody’s guess. A permanent chill had sunk its way into your bones. You missed the humid heat of Guiana.

“It was nice though. The jungle was pretty close and it was always hot,” you tell him. “I thought I wouldn’t miss the humidity, step outside and it was like having just showered but I do. These ships have to be at 15 C.”

“Texas is hot too.” Keith utters quietly.

“Isn’t the desert cold at night though,” you ask, already knowing the answer. It had been basic earth science.

“Yeah. It is.” There’s longing in his voice. You wish he’d say more just to hear him speak.

Warmth spreads, an embarrassing tell, through your cheeks.

“I did miss the snow while there,” you continue, “it didn’t snow much up in Vancouver but it was never as hot as Guiana, and the rain was warm!” You had never gotten over that. The rain would spot and start throughout the day but the sun would keep on shining.

“What were you,” Keith asks bluntly.

“Chemisist, more the physical and inorganic type,” you admit, “it was fun doing wet labs.” That had gotten you hooked back in regular school. “Then got shunted to command track after a few too many volunteering opportunities. Guess the lesson there’s to not try too hard.”

That gets a laugh out of him.

“You,” you ask him as he shifts more of his weight onto you, finally accepting the help he asked for. Stubborn guy.

“Pilot.”

You look over at him, his wild hair brushing against your cheek and the simple action shouldn’t excite you but it does. He was hot with sharp features offset by a certain enthralling earnestness but he could run a comb through his hair.

Keith didn’t seem the pilot type: arrogant, loud, generally strong personalities.

“You any good,” you ask though you’ve heard about Voltron so he has to be pretty fucking good to be part of them. How did Voltron choose its pilots?

He smirks easily, close to a smile at the mere mention of piloting and you knew that moment he loved it: didn’t matter if he was good at it or not. You swallow hard as anticipation buzzes under your skin for no good reason.

Get your head out of the gutter, you tell yourself.

“I’m a pretty good pilot,” Keith answers, somehow managing to sound like he’s stating a fact instead of bragging.

“Just pretty good?” You smile at him, letting him know you were only joking around as you both round another corner, finally making it to the transient quarters. People were always dropping in and out of mobile spaceports like these.

He snorts. “Better than most.” Keith shrugs, smiling over at you.

“Don’t be modest on my account,” you utter, looking away, not sure what to do about the growing heat in your body that had nothing to do with temperature controls.

“It’s true,” he says simply.

Honesty was a hard thing to come by. You were finding more and more reasons to like the red paladin as you reach his current room. No special treatment here.

Or maybe it was politics and optics, making sure everyone knew Voltron was of the people and not aiming to replace Zarkon as rulers of the universe.

Keith places a hand against the door, putting space between you both.

You swallow, glancing away, feeling some of the tension ease.

“You sure you don’t want me to send a medic,” you ask him, looking over at his striking eyes. The heat under your skin is a live wire: you curl your toes in your shoes. People usually didn’t affect you this much. Even the smell of him was so distinct, drawing you in.

It was an unprecedented reaction.

He must feel it too.

Keith studies you with an enraptured fascination shining in his wide eyes, mouth parted on the verge of answering. Both your bodies sway towards each other like branches in the wind: sunflowers orienting towards the sun.

You shift your weight from one foot to another.

It relieves enough tension for you to shift away.

“No. No medic,” Keith finally answers.

“Right then.” But you don’t make a move to leave.

He says nothing.

The silence is broken by the hum of the ship's engines under your feet. People move about and you can hear their footsteps echoing on the metal floors.

Supposedly quintessence powered ships smelled like ozone.

This one was powered by crystals and some Olkari engine. You wouldn't know the specifics, they were beyond you. And not your job.

You look back at him, ready to leave. The space between you could so easily tilt to awkward and you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you found yourself so entranced by Keith. You barely knew him. You didn’t want to be one of the soldiers with a photograph in your pocket and a farflung hope that you’d-

He’s looking at you, cautious, movements slow and deliberate as if he’s caught between thinking and simply doing.

Then Keith’s demeanour becomes determined: deciding to take the leap without looking down. He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you.

For a second you’re baffled, trying to figure out how you got to point B when this wasn’t a bar and you had no agenda, before you shrug and kiss him back. Keith was undeniably attractive. He was even a bit taller than you which was compelling, you were on the tall side for a girl.

It’s not some unsolvable thought experiment, you kiss him back.

And a current of static electricity runs through your core. Heat pools after only just a kiss that steals your breath away.

You can’t get enough, his hands warm against your skin, igniting a delicious sensation in your very core. You want more. You kiss him harder, your mouth against his, sucking on his bottom lip.

Your hands clutch at the fabric of his shift.

Keith kisses you back, matching your frenzied energy, his mouth parting against yours and pulling you flush against his chest.

It does nothing to dissolve the tension, the charged energy between you spikes. Like a fire fed by wood it grew.

It was a heady feeling, his hands caressing your cheeks as Keith kissed you with a vigor you thought only existed in soapy dramas. Heat pools in your belly like a sinking stone: you liked his intensity.

Keith pulls away, catching his breath, resting his forehead against yours.

Some of the muddled list clears from your head, now completely in the gutter as you press Keith against the door to his room.

Oh. . .were you really doing this?

Keith looks a fuckable mess, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. Still, he hesitates.

You can feel the question linger in the air, can feel it in the featherlight touch of his hands ghosting over your cheeks as he makes to pull away, to let you go if you want to turn back now. But you don’t.

You want to run your hands through his hair. You’re practically burning up wondering how Keith would look splayed on the bed between your thighs. . .how he would feel.

Would he be just as intense in bed as he fucked you?

“You feel it too,” he asks quietly.

You furrow your brows, thrown. There were a lot of intense emotions coursing through you all narrowed down to feeling horny as a teenager back on earth. Masturbation only went so far.

You swallow, trying to rack your brain cells together and say something. Yeah. It was a bit. . .much. Space much. But that didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t taken any drinks from strangers.

The connection was too strong to discount the possibility of space weirdness affecting both of you.

“Yeah,” you reply, sounding more whiny than you’d like to. The apex of your thighs throbbed with want. Anticipation had built up and he was right there; Keith

s breath fanned over you, his forehead against yours like a touchpoint.

Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt.

In the hall.

Where anyone could see.

“So what now,” you ask, “medic?”

Keith snorts, “No. I just-do you want to come inside?”

You smirk. Everyone knew what that meant. There were so many variations with the same outcome.

“Yeah. Okay.” You put a pin in any alien space nonsense and slip inside Keith’s assigned quarters for however long Voltron was here for.

The lights are off. You don’t bother to study the room when Keith crushes his mouth against yours. You stumble around in the dark, feeling emboldened now that he’d voiced an invitation, he wanted this as much as you did, and run your hands up his chest. He was lean and lithe. Keith leans into your touch, a shiver running down his spine when you run your fingers through his hair and run your tongue over his bottom lip.

Keith moans, the sound scratchy from the back of his throat excites you.

It was thrilling to know you could elicit such a response from someone. You liked feeling hot and sexy. And from a guy like Keith who you were vibing with. . .

He finds the jagged hem of your cut tank top, which had doubled as a bandage, and slides his hands under your shirt. His fingers are calloused, skin hot against yours and there was always something so carnal about skin on skin touch. Keith clutches at your sides and leads you backwards.

You trust that he knows the layout.

Your mind has boiled down to simple desires.

“Keith,” you mumble against his mouth as he guides your hips against his and you feel his cock beneath the fabric. It goes straight to your ego: straight to your pussy.

More heat. It’s unbearable how much your body throbs and you moan against him, against his lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

“Mhm,” he asks, just as overcome with lust as you were. Keith tilts his head up, and you kiss his jaw, kiss the side of his throat, nipping at the flesh and enjoying the breathy moans he makes as your knees hit the bed.

You want more.

You move your hands to his shoulders, “let's get this off,” you utter softly, pushing at his jacket.

“Okay,” he replies, crowding you against his bed until you have no choice but to sit down. Keith discards his jacket, and pulls his shirt over his head.

Your breath hitches in your throat. It’s dark. You can’t see him well. You still react like a charged electron.

“Now you,” Keith states simply, not exactly a command. It was nice, the lack of mind games and subterfuge.

You scoot up further on the bed, shrugging your bomber jacket off.

He’s watching.

Awkwardness creeps up on you. There was no sexy way to take off a sports bra.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. Then you peel off your sports bra. The elastic worked too well.

Keith’s sitting up on his knees.

“You’re beautiful,” he states.

“Come here,” you utter, inviting him closer.

He complies readily, cupping your cheek and kissing your mouth eagerly, closer to a lover than a random encounter.

You grab his other hand, guiding him up to your chest, to your breast. Keith runs his thumb over your nipple, gooseflesh rises on your skin. He trails bruising kisses down your throat.

Your breath catches in your throat. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you, savoring the feel of his chest against yours.

“Fuck,” you groan as Keith bites down hard at the crook of your neck, harder than you’d expected.

He stills. “I’m-I,” making to pull away.

“No,” you reach for him, tilting his head up as you move to straddle his waist, “it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

“I won’t do it again,” he stammers out.

“I didn't say I didn't like it.” You push him down against the bed, topping him. “Just warn a girl.”

Keith wraps his hands around your hips, tugging at the waistband of your trousers. “These are kind of in the way.”

Laughing, you reply, “could say the same to you.” Your hands pop the button of his jeans.

It’s a fumble to pull your trousers down. Neither of you care, eager to get on with it. He shoves his jeans down his legs along with his boxers.

You straddle Keith, completely naked and lean down to capture his lips against yours. His cock twitches against your thigh and your toes curl up. His tongue runs over your top lip, you part your mouth, letting him in.

You cup his cheeks between your hands, your hips rolling against his.

He thrusts feverishly against you. His fingers dig into your bare hips, skin against skin.

“Come here,” Keith utters hoarsely, “I wanna fuck you.”

“Think I’d rather ride you,” you reply back breathlessly.

“You can do that after,” he whines, a rumble emanating from his chest but your head is too fucked up to make sense of it.

You sit up, hands on his chest. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

Keith grins, wrapping his hands around your wrists, and rolls you over so he’s on top. “Is it,” he asks rhetorically as his hand reaches between your thighs, ghosting over the wetness of your pussy, “when you’re this wet?”

You moan, canting your hips, cashing the feel of his hand, wanting relief. It was a mounting pressure in your belly, a forest fire under your skin and you needed Keith. “Okay. yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes when Keith bent his head and licked a stripe from your nipple to your collarbone. You whimper, lost in the sensation.

“Tell me what you want,” Keith asks.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you utter, you hands clutchinf at his shoulders, bringing him flush agaisnt you.

Keith aquieses.

You bend your knees, spreading your legs as he positions his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Keith mutters as he pushes into you.

Fuck indeed. You moan his name without thought, closing your eyes and laying your head back against the bed. His cock fills you up, sliding into your pussy with ease given how turned on you were.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he stretches you out.

“God, yes,” you utter dazed.

Keith moves his hips. You roll your hips up to meet him. He nips at your collarbone as he thrusts into you with favour.

As promised he fucks you.

Keith captures your mouth in a kiss that catches the moans you make as he reaches between you and runs his thumb over your clit. His pace, the way he was kissing you madly. . .the heat that had been building since you’d met him comes crashing down.

You come.

Leaving you boneless.

“Keith,” you whimper.

“Sh,” he tells you, kissing the shell of your ear, “let me make you feel good.”

“You..sort of already did,” you utter completely fucked out.

“Turn over.” Keith says even as he’s already helping you move, his arms supporting your weight. He presses his lips on the back of your neck, as he grabs a pillow and sets it under you.

You bring up your knees, laying on your legs, “thought I was going to go next,” you tease, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair.

He stills, “if you. . .”

“No. No,” you shrug, “I did ask you to fuck me.”

Keith runs his hands over your shoulders, sliding down your sides. He squeezes your ass with his hands.

“Best two out of three,” you offer, half joking half serious because while you were still blissed out from having just orgasmed, you could already feel your pussy clench with anticipation. Seriously, the effect he had on you-

You can feel his smile against your skin, “If you think you can handle it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you reply, arching your back into him, titling your head back, and pulling his hair so you could kiss him. It was sloppy, and the angle was awkward, but none of it mattered when Keith stroked your pussy with his fingers, dipping into your wet folds.

Already stimulated, you shudder with pleasure.

Your tongue strokes his in an open mouthed kiss. He tastes as good as he smells, Keith filling up your senses like an incense stick wafting through a room.

He wraps an arm around your chest, his hand caressing your breast, pulling you against his chest, both of you melding together. Keith thrusts his cock into you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hand fisting the sheets of his bed, moaning into his mouth.

It was a combination of his cock in you, his thumb rolling your nipple in his hand, that set you aflame.

You couldn’t get enough, your hips jerking back, up to meet his. Keith fucks you against the bed.

He palms your breast in his hand, pulling you up to him, keeping you close as he plants a kiss at the juncture of your ear and jaw, on the side of your neck whilst nipping the skin and you moan, his cock hitting just the right spot as he slams into you.

First he grows comfortable, pulling almost entirely out before thrusting hard as he finds a pace that leaves you both a mess.

“Right there, right there,” you utter.

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, his fingers draw a circle around your clit without giving you the satisfaction you desperately seek, already building up to another climax.

You nod jerkily. “So fucking good Keith. Your cock feels so fucking good,” you manage to reply.

He speeds up, faster, deeper, at your words. The bedframe, bolted down into the floor, creaks.

“Just like that.” You moan wantonly. “Right there.”

He responds to your words, pulling out to the head of his cock, teasing your entrance just so before slamming back in.

You shut your eyes and whimper, over sensitive to your very marrow. It was too much. Keith was trailing kisses down your spine, his breath warm, his cock twitching inside your filling every inch of your pussy up.

With a shudder, you come, stars behind your eyelids and short circuiting. You never knew sex could be this amazing. Not in real life.

You got what people meant about the right partner.

The right sexual energy to match.

You collapse, a puppet with its strings cut. Keith’s hand across your chest is the only thing keeping you from melding into the mattress like a blob. His hips thrust against your ass mindlessly, chasing his own climax.

With another couple of thrusts, his hips snapping against you, Keith moans your name and comes undone behind you.

He comes inside you, hot and sticky.

His hand grasps the back of your neck, holding you in place as he comes inside you. It’s unexpectedly hot. You didn’t know you could like this in bed.

You didn’t know how much you liked an obstinate expression with wide eyes until you met Keith. He had the type of soulful eyes you could drown in.

He had drawn out something in you that you hadn’t even been aware of.

Your thoughts center on him as he finishes inside you.

“You take my dick so good,” he says with a surprising amount of softness for what amounts to a one night stand and a pang strikes your chest, wishing you had met him under better circumstances where there might be-

Keith gets off you, slumping next to you on the bed.

There’s a thrum of satisfaction running through you as you look at his face in profile. The insane idea that you might just stay and cuddle plants itself.

That was impossible.

It was time to cut and run.

Sure, he’d fucked you. But he was also still half a stranger. No matter how jumbled your thoughts were, you refused to give into the pull he had on you.

You wanted to lay there with him.

Keith blinks slowly, looking as blissed out as you feel, reaching out a hand towards you, but stopping himself halfway.

You feel a little disappointed, but say nothing. It was just a one off thing you remind yourself, no matter how you felt.

Now that you can think a little more clearly, though the sensation remains like a lump in your throat that starts there no matter how much you swallow, you glance around the dark room. Only the barest red lights on the floor illuminate enough to cast shadows.

Keith’s own eyes reflect the light like a cat. Just a glimmer of traffic sign yellow.

But you’re too tired to think, so you file it away in your head under the nebulous details you’ve learned about the red paladin.

You blink, grimancing as Keith’s come runs down your thigh onto the sheets. At least they weren’t yours.

He closes his eyes.

“I’d say sorry about the mess,” you break the easy silence lulling you into staying there, “but it's your fault,” you tease way too familiarly.

Keith sounds embarrassed when he utters, “sorry about that. I can get carried away.”

You smile softly, tracing over his shadowed form with your eyes but resisting the urge to reach out. That part was over. “It was good.”

“You did mention.”

So he could joke.

You giggle in the darkness that envelopes the room. You were good at being friendly and taking charge but you understood the hesitancy to open up to people you just met.

Keith’s chest makes a rumbling sound akin to a cheetah purring.

You try and hold onto the thought, sure it means something, but the sound draws you in and you lose the battle against yourself, curling up into his side.

He takes this as the permission it is, and tangles his limbs with yours.

A thrum of warmth surges where Keith’s skin touches you and you’re not sure if its his running warm or if it's all in your head or-

your eyes drift closed.

He’s purring.

You know Keith would be embarrassed if you pointed it out.

So you say nothing.

Everything seemed so intangible anyhow. The world had been turned down a notch. The post orgasm glow remained unrivalled.

Even a hit from a bong didn’t measure up.

Your first time had been a real embarrassment (you hadn’t managed to get the boy’s cock in you), this was just a weird quirk of his, and it was soothing.

You close your eyes.

Keith’s breathing is deep and steady, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but don’t feel pressured to check.

It was nice, not scurrying off, not being more than a little drunk. War was exhausting. Earth had only been in it for less than three years. No wonder some aliens were in such shit moods.

You exhale.

There’s no way to mark the passage of time.

The bed shifts under you. Keith runs the back of his hand gently over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open.

“So would this be round two or three,” you ask lightly.

Keith smiles lightly, “you did say…”

“I did,” you laugh easily, blushing, the flush creeping from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

You swing a leg over his waist, straddling him, but not without feeling the start of a soreness in your legs. It doesn’t deter you.

Keith lays back, watching you through his lashes as you sit up. He looks lovely.

You lean down and kiss his mouth, reaching for his cock with your hands. He was already half hard when you wrap your hand around his shaft.

His breath hitches in his throat as you move your hand. It’s been a moment since you’d jerk anyone, but it’s not rocket science. You press kisses down his throat, moving your hand firmly up and down his length until he’s completely hard. You nip at his collarbone, marking him the way he’d left bruising kiss all over you.

His cock twitches in your hand, Keith’s hips thrusting up into you.

Anticipation builds in your belly, but you want to set the pace, stay in charge. So you still your movements.

Keith whines under you, his hands holding your waist.

“Be a good boy for me,” you tell him. “Can you do that?”

“Mm.”

“Use your words.”

“Yeah,” he manages hoarsely, “I can be good.”

You smile, lining him up against your entrance. You shift your hips, teasing his cock against your wet folds, closing your eyes as you moan at the feeling.

Keith thrusts up, trying to get more friction.

You still wanting to drag it out. Though your thighs ached and your pussy throbbed and you wondering if you should just-

You rub his cockhead against your pussy, “oooOH,” you moan. Your nails scratch his chest lightly, trying to steady yourself. Your heart raced, back arching down to him.

“Come here,” Keith groans, his fingers trailing up, asking for more, his hand on the small of your back.

You give in, sinking down onto his cock.

He moans your name, shutting his eyes.

It’s pornographic, the way Keith rises up to meet you, hips bucking against yours, the expanse of his pale throat.

You roll your hips slowly, fucking yourself on his cock. At this angle, the way he filled you-

“Fuck,” Keith moans, “you feel so good.”

“I could say the same,” you reply, sliding against his hips, picking up speed. You hold yourself up, hand on his chest.

You suck in a breath as his cock thrusts into you. Static filled your head as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him. You tilt your head back, moaning his name, everything but Keith becoming background noise.

He palms your breast.

Your breath hitches when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Ah,” you sigh.

Your stomach was taunt.

He doesn’t go further. You sort of wish he would. You trusted Keith not to hurt you. . .too badly.

The idea excites you, as he wraps his hand around your throat.

You match him, curling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, “look at me,” you try and order but your voice is a whine. You’re too hot and heavy to think.

His cock twitches inside you, filling you up and fuck it felt good to be streched out.

Keith’s thumb strokes the side of your throat, his grip firm. “Do you like this,” he asks, his gaze heavy on you. He was entirely concentrated on you. It was like being worshipped.

It sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“I wouldn’t mind if you got rougher,” you admit, finding it easy to trust him.

He looks away.

You falter. Had you read things wrong?

Keith bucks his hips up against you and you let the thought go, sinking onto his cock and groaning, “Keith…”

It was easy to let go when it felt this good. His hand around your throat, fingers digging into your hips, you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. Not that anyone would be able to tell from over your uniform.

A shudder runs down your spine, you squirm on his cock mindlessly, thinking about bruises in the shape of his hands, about the marks on your neck you could already feel blooming on your skin. Heat surges in your chest, something primal as your thoughts linger there.

You nails run down his chest, leaving shallow scratches as you try and get a better hold, desperately grinding against Keith, down on the bed, his cock ramming into you. “Fuck,” you think, “fuck. . .Keith. . .”

You can’t stand it.

The pressure in your stomach, the heat scorching your pussy, the sound of Keith’s whines and moans, your name tumbling out of his mouth like a hymn that raised your heart beat, blood pounding in your ears.

Keith squeezes your neck, your throat bobs under his fingers and fuck-

You come.

Your legs tremble, unable to support you any longer as you collapse, a quivering mess on Keith. His hands move down to grip your thighs, pulling you down flush against him, down to the hilt of his cock as he comes, moaning erotically.

The thread of heat doesn’t dissipate entirely as you rest on his chest, boneless and sticky with sweat, but it relaxes and you breath the scent of him in instead of pulling away entirely.

Keith strokes a hand down your spine, an afterthought, “that was. . .”

“Yeah.” You’re exhausted.

You close your eyes, listening to the inhuman rumble of Keith’s chest as it rises and falls with every breath you take.

You end up slipping out. The halls are in the light cycle, but no one bothers you as you walk.

Getting up the next morning is hell.

Your legs are sore, and that’s not even mentioning how much your pussy hurts when you take a step. You take a dose of painkillers still remaining from your injury and check your messages.

Nothing from earth.

That was expected.

The meager universal communications were taken up by the war effort. You still sent your family messages, even if it was just one way. It was a way to keep in touch. It felt like watching starlight and knowing it was millions of years old, a form of time travel.

You shower.

Keith’s come was a mess on the inside of your thighs and the thought is not as gross as it should be, your skin warming up, zapped by static. You run your fingers over your clit and fuck yourself in the shower thinking of the red paladin and his come.

You get out, brushing your hair out, not looking in the mirror at the purple hickies spread out like a constellation on your chest, and realize how weird you were being.

Come was gross.

You hated swallowing so you never did. The tentative relationships at the garrison had been short, you had all been teenagers, and now anything that happened was a one off thing sometimes involving aliens.

You swallow, gripping the counter of your sink. You were horny again.

No.

Not going there.

No space weirdness this morning.

Because you’re on leave for the space equivalent of 6 or 5 days, you don’t have much to do. You get food. It had taken getting used to, and figuring out which brightly colored pastel goo thing was good, but there was a variety. You still had no clue what was plants or animals up in space.

The more liberated planets, the more supplies trickled in. Pirates loved to take a cut.

You eat as soldiers stop by to refuel, fill up on supplies. Despite the stress, you missed being out on the front. Being out of the action sucked.

Sitting around on a spaceship was boring.

It wasn’t like they had shops or movie theaters. Walking around too much ended up with you being in the way.

You clench your jaw, feeling feverish.

And you had just been getting better. . .

You shove the thought away.

You end up watching space TV: reality TV shows like Galra Ninja Warrior and nature docu series on plants, some you’ve been on, before finally sliding your hand under the waistband of your trousers and rubbing your clit.

It takes the edge off, but the heat’s still there, pressed up in the pit of your stomach, cheeks flushes and you sigh, unsatisfied as you click to something other than the marine biomes of Kmeolsuahr. For aliens larger than a schoolbus, they were peaceful creatures. Since they were filter feeders, agriculture had never developed a hold on their planet, but water generators were plentiful.

Yet another show starring Galra. It was the most common type of show in the Empire. Hijacking communications had given this traveling spaceship TV. You were glad for it now.

You curl up, the communicator snug around your wrist translating everything instantaneously. It was the part in the soap where there has to be a duel for honor. What a load of crap.

The two Galra circle each other, close ups of their face like a mexican stand-off. Through TV you got to know the Glara in the empire as more than just soldiers. Spending time in the camps taught you that even Galra citizens could be arrested for treasonous statements against Zarkon.

They make growling alien sounds, something between a jaguar and a sound not found on earth, an underlying clicking that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You connect the dots.

The glowing eyes, the purrs and rumbles, and whatever weird alien thing was going on: the red paladin was part Galra.

Only that made no sense.

He was from Earth.

First contact had been what, when the paladins had disappeared? When the Kerberos mission had been abducted, and boy had that made fringe conspiracy theorists happy. . .how could he be part Galra?

Was it even your problem?

Surely this would go away. . .

You were leaving in a little over five days.

You curl up and watch TV until you fall asleep, determined to enjoy the rest while it lasted and your weren’t trudging through waist deep mud.

“Read through the debrief,” a commander with a nebulous rank above you asks. In your line of work, so much was redacted. Information gathering was a fancy way of saying spy. It was why you worked so closely with the rebels.

You don’t even blink at the slight pale easter egg yellow alien, ears that resembled hair, long and droopy like a rabbit: there were four of them. You’d met stranger. “Yeah. Long mission.”

You were not looking forward to being on a planet with an inhospitable surface. A sun close enough that set the surface on fire with it’s rays, no thanks.

Still, it was your assignment.

“It is vital.”

They always said that.

It seemed to be extracting some key players. Who they were remained unknown until you had to know. It was a lot of flying blind to keep information from leaking to the wrong ears. Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz.

“I’ll treat it that way,” you nod, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It would be fun flying a hijacked Galra fighter ship. The planet was pretty deep in Empire controlled space.

“And,” the alien looks you up and down like a Garrison RA finding a stain on your uniform during morning inspection, “get rid of that scent.”

“What,” you ask plainly, “scent.”

The alien raises a hairless muscle over its eye. The gesture is human enough. “Voltron has docked here.”

It was subterfuge. Both of you were in the same line of work, you could do this dance in your sleep. “As far as I know, yes.” You are careful to keep your expression neutral, feeling stupid for not having used negating get. It wasn’t even rationed, but used pretty widely. There were many aliens who relied primarily on scent, and those whose sense of smell was far sharper than yours.

“Mm.”

You hold their gaze.

You weren’t one to waver.

“Any further questions?”

“None.”

“Good.”

You walk blithely back to your room, intending to shower, again, and probably take care of the warmth in your gut. The heat was like an uncomfortable itch under your skin that stubbornly remained no matter how much you ignored it.

How was it even possible that Keith was any part alien let alone Galra? You were pretty sure the entire planet would have known if the Galra arrived on the planet.

It was intriguing.

Your mind drew up the details you knew, trying to make them fit. It was half mental exercise, half the urge to actually get to the bottom of this. Keith didn’t look half Glara like Prince Lotor and his gang of misfits. . .quarter, one sixteenth. . .

Occam's Razor.

The mystery occupied your mind as you made it back to your quarters.

Keith is pacing outside your door.

How did he even know where your quarters were?

“Did you sniff your way here,” you ask, genuinely curious. Maybe the traits might not be apparent. . .just how Galra was the red paladin. You were reminded again how little you actually knew him.

Understanding fills his eyes; he knew you knew. Keith looks over at you for a second before ducking his head dejectedly, a straw dog expecting to be run off.

Your heart ached.

How a paladin of Voltron could be so self conscious despite going toe to toe with the Empire on a daily basis. . .you didn’t know. They were only flesh and blood after all.

You take pity on him, “so is this going to be a thing,” the corners of your mouth lift into a small smile. You were still a little sore. You wouldn’t mind going another few rounds. . .

But you needed to clear some things up first.

Just how much of this between you was space Galra funkiness?

Keith snorts, looking up, meeting your searching gaze. His shoulders were still tense, unsure that you weren’t about to tell him to shove off. Not the loner type entirely by choice then, his innate awkwardness must have made it hard to connect.

It wasn’t a problem you’d ever had, rushing into everything headfirst, taking charge.

“Not like there’s a lot of humans to choose from up here,” he says self-deprecatingly.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m down for some alien funkiness,” you answer evenly, taking a step towards him. He inhales sharply, looking away again, this time in thought.

The lines of his face increase, clearly uncomfortable, frowning.

“I can’t usually,” Keith admits in a tense voice, “smell this well. . .though I can smell better than Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

“The black paladin,” he explains, surprised he has to explain at all.

You answer his unvoiced question, “everyone tends to focus on the color of the lion rather than the pilot inside.”

“Oh. That’s dumb.” He looks a little relieved at the anonymity that grants.

“Is it just me then,” you ask, getting to the bottom of things.

He nods, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking of fucking you,” he says without ceremony.

You find yourself blushing. The connection went both ways, the very alien connection. “Don’t hate me but I think we should go to the medic.”

Keith frowns. “Or we could just fuck.”

“That horny,” you tease, raising a brow, “or was I just that good?”

Keith cusps a hand against your cheek, his thumb running over your lips.

Your mouth parts, the tip of your tongue grazing his thumb.

“So you don’t want to fuck,” Keith asks, a playful smirk on his lips.

You swallow, the urge to say yes right there as his touch on you entranced you, sending desire cascading through your body down to your toes. “This isn’t just alien weirdness is it?” You wanted it to be more.

“No,” he shakes his head, his breath mingling with yours. “That’s-I’m not that impulsive.”

“Good,” you mutter, pressing your body against his, and opening the door to your room.

#keith kogane #vld keith #keith x reader #keith kogane imagine #mine #smut #surprisingly soft for being esentially a take on the whole galra heat thing in fanon #part 2 will b just sex lol #feedback much appreciated (as a motivator too)

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miraculouscontent · 3 years ago

Note

After reading that, I think it's safe to say that Miraculous Ladybug is more of a horror/psychological thriller than romance/comedy. And now I want an AU where Marinette takes the earrings off and realizes that they're messing with head

Marinette felt strange, and after getting used to the feeling of being on the Startrain, she knew it wasn't the cause. She felt lighter - less restricted - somehow, and while a part of her had expected that due to handing off the ladybug miraculous, it wasn't in the way she'd expected.

Once she was done sending Alya all the Ladybug tips, Marinette had figured they'd start talking about Adrien or what their next scheme would be once she got back, but she ended up finding the idea tiring. It was odd in the way that finding something in her room just slightly out of place would be (at least before the kwami began living there).

Everything she'd thought she might feel - anxiety over what could go wrong while she was gone, concern over how the kwami were doing in her absence, and longing for who she'd pictured as the love of her life - wasn't there. It felt completely unlike her, just as it felt unlike Alya to not reply to her messages considering how much she liked to be on her phone.

Abandoning the idea of texting Alya for now, she closed their conversation and idly started browsing her phone. Even still, the weird feeling didn't cease and her hero senses were going off.

Something was wrong, or... maybe right? It wasn't as if she was feeling anything bad, but she felt entirely different than when she was in Paris. It was hard to get a gauge on exactly how she should take it.

Marinette glanced at her parents, catching herself frowning before they could glance back. She looked at her phone, acting like nothing was wrong and idly scrolling through her various apps so as to look busy. In the process, she stumbled upon her gallery, finding her mass of Adrien images inside. It took up a majority of her pictures, and she found herself blushing in embarrassment rather than fondness.

Did she really have this many normally? How much time had she taken getting them?

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, thrown off by just how different she felt. The reaction to seeing Adrien that she'd normally have where she'd lose all focus had virtually disappeared, and the only reason she'd missed it at all was because it gave her an absurd amount of mental clarity concerning how she'd be acting otherwise.

Clarity...

The word brought a particular face to her mind: pink lips, blue eyes, and black hair highlighted blue at the tips. Marinette ran her fingers through her own hair, ruffling it as she tried to piece out how she was feeling. All she knew was that - whatever it was - it was significant and she didn't have Tikki to vent to.

Though perhaps she wouldn’t had much to provide anyway.

A mix of trepidation and curiosity filling her. Switching away from her gallery, she went back to her conversations and pulled up her texts with Luka. Despite her confusion over whatever was happening to her at the moment, she managed a smile at Luka's contact image staring fondly at her.

After a moment of consideration, she typed out:

Hey. Sorry if you're busy. Thought we could talk?

That done, she navigated back to her gallery to look at all her Adrien pictures. She shifted in her seat again, as if it would change things or help her mind adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn't like looking at Adrien didn't make her feel anything at all, but that feeling could only be described as "normal," like the way she saw him before he'd given her that umbrella.

Before she officially became a ladybug holder who agreed to protect the people of Paris...

Her lips twitched in hesitant thought, her thumb brushing against her screen as she skimmed through the assortment of Adrien pictures. Her brain registered a feeling - or rather, lack thereof - and the foreign emotions encouraged her to act.

She tapped the garbage can icon experimentally, a notification popping up accordingly and asking her if she'd like to delete the picture. She brought the phone closer to her chest, like she felt she was doing something wrong, yet there was only a second of pause before she confirmed the decision.

She watched as Adrien disappeared, a message indicating that the picture had been trashed.

Marinette blinked at the message until it had timed out, bringing her back to the gallery. She was frozen in place, her fingers twitching against the side of the phone as she processed what she'd just done.

Then, she did it again. She tapped on another picture of Adrien, a weird mix of eagerness and interest urging her thumb along as she pressed the garbage can icon again, confirming the decision just as quickly.

Just before the image disappeared, a stray thought said aloud in her mind: black hair and blue eyes would've worked better for an outfit like that.

This time, her body finally moved, a shudder going up her spine as she took in a breath. Her eyes darted over to her parents, knowing how strange this must look to them, but they weren't watching her anyway, meaning the moment was kept firmly in her own personal bubble. It was so odd; normally, someone would've seen her acting off, or laughed and made muttering comments about it.

But nothing was happening, and she didn't know whether to question it or not.

Marinette glanced back at her phone, almost challenging herself as she started to run through the assorted Adrien pictures. She could've thrown them in the metaphorical bin all at once, but instead, she went one-by-one. She waited for something to break, either a sense of regret to settle in over the deletion or for her heart to start fawning over the face on screen, but neither happened.

She was in control, and it felt good. Really, really good.

Part of her felt like she was being ridiculous. The idea of getting some kind of emotional high out of deleting a few pictures sounded stupid, and yet she felt powerful. It was like a veil had been lifted and suddenly she had choices.

If her parents saw her visibly vibrating in her seat, she didn't hear them make mention of it.

The only thing that made her snap out of her rapid thumb movements was a text notification at the top of her screen, and only due to the flash of black, blue, and white. Her lips curved into a smile, originally being pressed together in focus, and she clicked to open her text messages with Luka.

Hey, Marinette. I'm not busy at all. What's up?

She felt warm, knowing that the guy who always made her feel comfortable and happy was on the other line. it was such a shame that they hadn't been able to work it out because of Adrien.

Marinette paused just as she went to reply, those thoughts catching up to her as she remembered that day with Luka underneath the bridge. She'd been so sure that she'd had to break up with him because of Adrien, but as she purposefully tried to recall the memory, something registered like a mental fog clearing in her mind.

Hadn't it actually been her responsibilities as Ladybug that had done it? In fact, that added up alongside all of the other memories of his akumatization; she hadn't been ditching him during their dates out of discomfort or her crush on Adrien, but because of akuma and sentimonsters.

How could she have forgotten? Or rather, how could she have remembered otherwise?

Marinette just barely managed to snap herself out of her trance, her phone having dimmed from inactivity and the sight of her furrowed brows and worried frown staring back at her from the blackened screen. She blinked rapidly, then shook her head to clear herself of the unnerving thoughts.

Lighting her phone back up, she hurriedly typed back as she realized she'd left Luka on read, trying to ignore the way her thumbs shook.

Nothing much.

She hesitated, already seeing him typing back. Guilt burrowed around in her stomach, knowing very well that it was not "nothing" but being unable to properly convey what was going on to him when she didn't even understand it herself.

She typed again, his own typing ceasing to let her add to her comment.

Actually, I've been thinking a bit lately. I'm going to be in London for a while and I'm on the train ride there right now. It's given me some time to myself and it's... weird.

I'm sorry, I know that doesn't make sense.

Even though he hadn't replied, she knew he was taking her seriously as he was typing back.

It makes sense. Background music doesn't work for everyone.

Marinette realized that her shoulders had been tense when they relaxed at his message. She pressed her lips together, feeling vaguely like she didn't deserve him and pushing down the thoughts just as quickly. He'd never approve of that kind of talk.

My head's just been a bit of a mess. Or... not a mess? Things were really foggy but I didn't realize that they were? It's like I'm thinking clearer but I don't know if I like everything that came with that.

What was the phrase? Ignorance is bliss? She had no idea where these changes were coming from, but something had indeed changed and she didn't know the significance of it. She was indeed happy that she felt so in control now over her thoughts on Adrien, but why now? What caused it, and what about her memories?

Would it go away?

Marinette shuddered at the idea, but tried to focus on her conversation with Luka. Having a crisis wasn't going to do her any good, and he was there with her, even if only through text.

I can't know what you're going through, but I think I get it.

You do?

Yeah. Do you remember my birthday, when everyone heard about my dad being Jagged Stone?

He already continued typing, so she just nodded even if he couldn't see it. She'd only been with Juleka when the reveal had happened, but she imagined it'd been just as much of a shock for her as it'd been for them. She couldn't even imagine when Luka could've learned about it.

Wait--no, she'd already known, actually, hadn't she? He'd been akumatized and had gone after Jagged, and she'd been there when he forced Jagged to tell him the truth about being his father.

Marinette winced at the filling of a gap in her memory that she hadn't realized had been there. Once again, she'd remembered something that she couldn't fathom having forgotten or misremembered, even with how spotty her memory could be under normal circumstances.

She turned towards the back of her seat and the window, trying to isolate herself so it felt like just her, her phone, and Luka. She desperately needed his texts as a distraction.

I'd wanted to know who my dad was for so long, but learning that it was my favorite musician all this time was a lot. I had to redo all the notes I’ve ever written about him, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it for a while.

He kept typing after that, and she merely stroked the side of the phone with her thumb as some form of support, even knowing that he couldn't know about it.

But I'm glad I knew in the end. He's doing his best to make up for all the lost time, and I don't have to go on never knowing what that song would've sounded like.

Their situations weren't exactly the same, but it was enough to reach her deep down. Whatever her situation was, if it really did mean something, she'd rather know it was there than go on never knowing. She hated the idea of being left in the dark, just as she hated being lied to.

As she took a calming breath, she found it in herself to type back.

I'm glad you know too. You deserve people who make you happy, Luka.

Thank you, Marinette. You do too, and I hope that whatever you're going through goes at least as well as it did for me.

Thanks.

She bit her lower lip at her reply, which felt clipped in tone even though she hadn't meant it that way. She just had too much on her mind and it was hard to think about what emotion was coming across when she was typing to him.

She tapped away at the on-screen keyboard, hopefully before he could think anything in particular about it.

Sorry.

Though she wanted to explain further, she wavered, her legs bending as she curled further in on herself. The conversation had already been so deep and she didn't want to make it worse.

But just as she debated on dismissing her feelings and insisting that he not worry about her, the memories that had been cleared up from before came back to her, reminding her of a warm hug on top of a bridge.

"When you're ready, I'll be here, Marinette."

She inhaled shakily, but steadied herself immediately afterwards, letting the warmth of the words calm her. Luka was there for her and she trusted him.

She was ready.

...I'm scared, Luka. I thought I had my clarity, but I don't. Something's wrong.

Then, almost on cue, the train screeched to a halt, jostling her out of her seat as the lights went off. The simultaneous sound of phones ringing followed soon after.

—————

Marinette held her breath, crouched down in the restroom while she listened closely for the sound of her parents' footsteps. Her throat let out a whine, but she managed to keep it silent enough to where she was sure that no one on the other side of the door would hear it. She'd have to leave eventually or risk being cornered, courtesy of the power being off and the restroom's lock being electronic, but she felt safe enough to pull out her phone.

She also set it on vibrate just in case.

There was a reasonable concern at first that Luka's texts would indicate that he'd fallen victim to the akuma, but what she found when she checked their conversation reassured her.

Marinette!

Is everything okay?

Did the akuma's power reach you? Did they call you too?

Marinette?

The panic in simple letters on a screen made her feel noticed and loved. Keeping enough of her focus on potential footsteps approaching outside the door, she typed out a reply:

Sorry. I had to run from my parents.

I'm okay. What about you?

You're alright. I'm so glad.

I'm okay too. I hid somewhere and I doubt anyone can find me.

That's good. Be careful.

You too.

She took another breath, certain she'd be captured soon if the akuma wasn't taken care of. The train was limited and there weren't many places to go, so unless she could find a blunt object to smash her parents' phones, she was at a loss.

Regardless, Luka was there, her phone vibrating as he added onto his previous text:

I know this isn't the time, and I hate that the akuma cut into the song we were writing, but I'm here for you, Marinette. Whatever's going on, I'll help you figure it out as long as you want me with you.

Her heart fluttered pleasantly, a pink blush even tinting her cheeks. She welcomed it, unlike the fear that'd come with the changed memories. Feeling the way she did for Luka was too natural to be afraid in any way.

Thank you, so much. You're the only one I could trust with something like this.

She meant it. She'd trusted Alya with her identity in a moment of weakness, and even passed the ladybug earrings to her, yet that somehow paled in comparison to the emotions she was choosing to share. Luka would take her seriously, she was sure, even if she came up with the craziest theory in the world for why her feelings and memories were the way they were. He wouldn't doubt her, or laugh, or dismiss her as "Marinette being Marinette."

And as she sat there, completely without a miraculous or any way to get back to Paris without help, she reached up with her free hand and tugged at her earlobe, processing what she could with the information she had as one such theory started to form in her head. The fear from before never quite went away, but the idea of figuring things out with Luka brought her a sense of comfort.

Though perhaps, when she got back to Paris, she would take back her miraculous with a sense of hesitance that she hadn't had before, and there would be some testing that followed after the fact, because there were two things she refused to give up from her experience on the train.

Her sense of freedom and choice, and the feelings for Luka that she can't believe she ever questioned.

Or, if her working theory was correct, that her miraculous had her question.

#MC's Writing #writing: story #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #category: salt #episode: Hack San #other: ask and answer #((tbh depending on how much Marinette explains it to him))#((poor boi's gonna have one hell of a revelation in ''Wishmaker''))#((suddenly the Adrien crush influence she explained is gonna make sense))#((and he feels bad for ever supporting it even if he had no way of knowing.))

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

almost. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost, right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, baby angst, smut word count. 6.4k warnings. two idiots!!, pining, masturbation (m. and f.), use of vibrator, accidental voyeurism?, more feelings come to light!! summary. jungkook tries to be the best wingman he could be in your new venture after your breakup. he could do it, right? note. part two of not yet, some more feelings are exposed, please don’t hate oc she is but a pendeja that doesn’t see the obvious feelings jungkook has but she has good intentions i promise<3 there will most likely be a final part,,if you guys are into it lmao okie bye

The cool summer breeze flows around you as you’re sitting under the shade, eyes focused on the chaos of runny yolk and hashbrowns that is your breakfast. Jungkook on the other hand, is focused on you. His signature yellow shades block out the sun reflecting from passing cars, concealing his eyes just enough for you to not see him blatantly staring at you while you stuff your face.

The charmed smile he has falters slightly when you look directly at him, hashbrown lingering by your lip as you repeat his name. “Sorry, what?”

Your brows come together as you smile at his zoned out state, something you had grown fond of in the years of knowing him, always enjoying the small dazed look that graced his face whenever he was lost in his thoughts. His lips push out slightly in question, curious eyes wondering just what you could have been asking him.

“I was saying that I think I’m giving up on crushes and love.” You say it so easily, mind made up as you grin at him before continuing to shovel hashbrowns into your mouth, only pausing to take a sip of your iced coffee.

Jungkook tries his best to seem unaffected, nodding along in interest as he takes a steady bite of his own food. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a look around at the people surrounding you: friends having breakfast together and snapping photos, couples feeding each other food with smiles on their faces, a lone man with his dog perched on the seat across from his while he worked on his computer. You briefly wonder if all of them, even the dog, have better luck with love than you do.

“I think I’m cursed,” you continue. “All of my exes have been assholes, and I’ve always been too blind to see it until it’s over and I’m left crying over Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.”

“Maybe you’re just looking for love in the wrong places,” Jungkook shrugs, internally screaming because he’s who you should be looking at if you wanted love.

Not to toot his own horn, but Jungkook liked to think he was a good guy, a great boyfriend even. His previous track record of relationships could attest to that, all of them ending on mutual terms, still friendly and civil with each other. He’s almost certain if there was a Yelp page for him it would be at least 4.5 stars with comments raving about how great he is, even little anecdotal touches about how he always gave away his hoodies or offered to cook breakfast.

He was a god damn catch, why couldn’t you see that?

“Maybe prince charming is a lot closer than you think,” he grumbles out, stabbing his omelette with a little more force than necessary, fork clanking against the plate. And when you gasp in realization he freezes, slowly looking back up at you and seeing the way your eyes widen.

“Wait, maybe you’re right!” Your hand shoots across the table, gripping onto his forearm and it sends a shock throughout him, skin tingling at your touch. “You know that coffee shop below our building? That cute barista always puts a heart next to my name. Do you think I should ask for his number?”

Jungkook blinks once, slowly twirls his fork in his hand and blinks again before staring up at the sky, mentally asking why he couldn’t just go out and say it. “Hm, I don’t think you should.“

With a defeated sigh you retract your hand, slumping back into your seat and grabbing your iced coffee once more, stirring the straw and ice around as you nod. “True. What if he feels obligated to give it to me just because he doesn’t want to get fired in case I go all Karen on his ass.”

That wasn’t why Jungkook had said not to, but sure, that works too, so he hums along.

“I bet he draws hearts on all the other girls cups too.” You huff, playfully wiping a tear under your eye with a smile.

“I’ve actually—“

“You know what I—“

You both freeze mid sentence, Jungkook’s cheeks tinted a light pink as he stutters on his words, wide eyes staring at you as if he had caught himself before you cut him off. But as you’re about to tell him to go on, he waves you off and urges you to speak first.

“I was just gonna say that maybe I should go through that wild phase people usually go through after breakups.”

He sets his silverware down on the plate and sips his water, giving you an odd look. “Wild phase? Like you wanna dye your hair red and get bangs?”

“No,” you cackle, ruffling a hand through your own hair as you picture yourself with that combination. “I should just go out and hook up with people. I feel like I’ve either been in a relationship or entirely single, so it could be fun right?”

“Uh, maybe...” he trails off, rolling his lips together in thought, not exactly fond of hearing you say that when he had felt the confession about to roll off his tongue. He takes a slow breath, trying to see this from a neutral point, the point of a supportive friend wanting to help you get over a breakup.

“How do you go about it?”

“Me?” he chokes, pointing at his chest as if there was magically some other person you could be addressing.

“Yes, you. Need I remind you, we share a wall between our beds.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face shows that you’re speaking of this lightly, not entirely annoyed by the fact that you had heard Jungkook during his own fair share of hook ups.

He’s not ashamed of it, but considering he never really brought up being able to hear you, he thought you’d pretend to never hear him. It wasn’t too often that he had a girl over, the number of hookups only increasing after you got with Hajoon and loosely cut ties with Jungkook. But from what you had heard—and seen thanks to your nosey self looking through peep holes once they left—it was very rarely the same girl.

So to you, Jungkook was a pro at the art of hookups.

“Right, sorry,” he grimaces, a sheepish smile on his lips as he wonders just how many times his activities kept you up at night.

“It’s fine, consider us even.” A teasing laugh follows your statement, enjoying the flustered look on his face, how his cheeks get even darker in embarrassment. Jungkook was used to the two of you talking like this, neither of you having a filter especially when it came to sexual aspects, but he hadn’t had a conversation like this since before you got with Hajoon. It would take some getting used to again.

“So, give me the tips. Where do you find people?”

Jungkook leans back into his chair, arms stretching out on either side of him, short sleeves of his black tee bunching up and revealing more of his tattoos and the rippling of his muscles. With a small laugh he rakes his hand through his fluffy hair, giving you a small smile. “Honestly? Anywhere. I’ve gotten girl’s numbers at the gym and at coffee shops, but bars are the best bet for something quick.”

“Ugh, fuck you and your pretty privilege.”

“What?” he guffaws, smiling wide and showing you his adorable smile as he laughs loudly, not caring about the attention he draws to your table. He doesn’t even realize how the table full of girls is now trying to discreetly stare at him, because his eyes are on you. You see it though, and it further proves your point. “What the hell is pretty privilege?”

Your wild hands gesture towards him, a look of disbelief on your face as you do so. “You! Of course girls line up to hand you their number, have you seen yourself? Pretty privilege,” you jab your fork at him in time with your final words, a smirk on your glossy lips.

Jungkook feels his confidence grow at your casual compliment, tongue prodding at his cheek as he stares down at his food, trying not to smile too hard. You thought he was pretty, that was a win in his book.

“C’mon,” he teases, foot gently nudging your leg underneath the table. “You could totally score someone's number. Plus there's always apps if you just wanna test the water.”

You give your plate a contemplated stare, “Sure, how hard could it be?”

Admittedly, the answer to that question was: not hard at all. You had met all your previous boyfriends in person, through mutual friends or shared classes back in college, never once dipping your toe into the world of Tinder or Bumble. Who knew all it would take was a couple of selfies and the strategic body shot to have boys circling around you like some new-age, slightly filthier version of rapunzel.

Jungkook knew though, not at all shocked by how quickly you get a match the following day when he’s at your place. His eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, helping you beat a level in your favorite game that you had been stuck on. But the second you gasp as if you’ve won the lottery, he pauses the game entirely and gives you an odd look.

“What?”

His answer comes in the form of your phone thrusted in his direction, lit up screen displaying your profile picture and the one of the boy you had just matched with. Jung Hoseok. Jungkook’s eyes narrow as he reads the name, trying to remember it in case he somehow had a friend in common that knew all the dirt on him.

He has a similar pair of yellow shades on his own head, thicker black rims around them and a charming smile on his face. Jungkook chuckles to himself. Yellow shades? How original.

“What do I say?” you question, eyes looking nervous as you wiggle the phone in his face. The small white bar beneath your match urges you to start a conversation, and coming up with the right words to say makes you overthink it all.

“Just say hi and tack on some cute emoji. It’s not that hard,” he laughs, pushing the phone back at you. Jungkook knew you could start the message off any way you wanted and this Jung Hoseok would eat it right up. How could he not, the alluring smile in your profile photo would draw anyone in.

“Okay, I did it.” Your phone is instantly locked and chucked aside in an attempt to be forgotten, choosing to grab the remote out of Jungkook’s hands for another distraction. It only lasts a brief second before you’re killed by the boss Jungkook was trying to defeat.

“Really?” Jungkook huffs, yanking the remote back into his hands, needing a distraction himself. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were searching for a fuck buddy while he sat beside you. How crazy would it be if he suggested being your fuck buddy, offered to help you through this so called wild phase you were searching for.

No. That’s not what he wants.

Would he enjoy it? Sure. But he could already imagine how much worse his heart would hurt if his feelings came to light and yours were non-existent. That is if you’d even agree to it.

“Relax, he’s probably thinking of what to reply.”

You make a noise of disagreement, fingers itching to unlock your device to see if it was true, slowly inching towards it until you finally grab it and go back onto the app. Jungkook just chuckles as he goes back to helping you with your game, not wanting to look at you as you giggle at your device. He could already imagine what this guy was telling you for you to turn into a giddy mess not even two minutes in.

He tunes it all out, eyes focused on the screen, fingers gripping the remote with a little more force than needed. His concentration helps him though, finally passing the level you’ve been stuck on for the past two weeks.

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, making a show of stretching out and sending you a smile, having it falter slightly when he sees your eyes still focused on the screen of your phone. With a frown he looks back at the television, saving the game before turning it off altogether.

Once he gets up from the couch, making his way over to the media console to store the remotes, is when you look up at him. “You’re right, this is easy!”

Jungkook doesn’t feel the usual pride that comes with being right, but the cheerful look on your face prevents him from feeling salty. Coming back towards the couch, he sits beside you once more, facing you as he rests his elbow on the back cushion to lean on. “Told you so.”

He keeps that same smile on his face as you mention how quick Hoseok was to ask you out on a date, even as you bring up the fact that this date would be at his place, and Jungkook could decipher netflix and chill any way some greasy boy tried to conceal it.

“I hope he knows I don’t want anything serious,” you mumble, chewing on your fingernail as you scroll through the messages.

Jungkook could almost laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of the piranha infested water that was the great sea of Tinder. Of course this yellow sunglass wearing wannabe version of him knows you don’t want anything serious, why else would he be so quick to invite you over with the cheeky excuse to watch movies.

All he can do is shrug as he stares at you, lips pressed together in an effort to not say something that would totally ruin everything. Instead, Jungkook does everything he can to be the best version of a wingman you could get. He tells you the ins and outs of hookups, how you should definitely not text him the minute you leave his place and tell him you had fun, don’t talk about anything super personal involving family or your work, and if he doesn’t offer to go down on you but expects a blowjob he’s a loser.

It’s solid advice that you mentally jot down, subjecting him to further questions your mind comes up with and even asking him for help on an outfit via text the night of your hangout with Jung Hoseok.

Jungkook stares at the photos for a little too long if he’s being honest. They weren’t spectacular selfies that you had taken much effort for, their sole purpose being showing off the outfit, but the way you look so focused as you snapped the shot had him zooming into your face and smiling like an idiot. When you double text him with a long line of question marks he snaps out of it, deciding on the second option you picked of mom jeans and a cropped shirt. Cute and casual, and definitely something Jungkook preferred, but he’d never tell you that.

When you finally text him a thumbs up and tell him you’re on your way out he just hearts the message before locking his device and trudging to the living room. It’s not often that he wallows in self pity, spacing those days out so far he barely remembers them. But they usually went exactly like this, ordering a large meat lovers pizza with extra cheese, drinking far too many Mike’s hard lemonade—because despite how much they made his stomach hurt they were tasty so he didn’t care—and binge watching his comfort show: Modern Family.

But even as he sulks on his couch, practically sinking into the cushions with horrible posture and a slice of pizza resting on his chest, he can’t find it in himself to chuckle at Cam and Mitch’s usual banter. He’s too busy thinking about which movie you’re currently watching, if you were watching it. Who’s Jungkook kidding though, you were totally getting your guts rearranged right now.

Taking an aggressive bite out of the crust he frowns and raises the volume up on his television, attempting to drown the mocking voice in his head calling him a loser for not admitting to his feelings. He knew this, knew he should have said something when he wanted to at breakfast, but Jungkook was afraid that if he confessed as you were talking about hooking up, that you’d see him as taking advantage of a situation instead of being genuine. I mean who wouldn’t? You say you want something casual and suddenly he’s spilling his heart out and you’re supposed to believe he’s not some pig trying to butter you up. He didn’t want to get labeled as a creepy neighbor after the good times you’ve had.

“So stupid,” he grumbles to himself as he takes another swig, the last drops of the alcohol hitting his tongue with a tangy aftertaste. As he sits up to place the empty bottle onto his coffee table his muscles ache, neck stiff from the unfortunate position it had been subjected to for the last three hours. With a small huff he’s rolling his shoulders, reaching for his discarded phone to see the time—and also check if you’d sent him some SOS text—but he finds nothing besides the bright numbers indicating that it was nearing midnight.

In true pity party day fashion, he doesn’t even bother cleaning up after his mess, just tossing the dirty dishes into the sink to be washed tomorrow when he would force himself to be in a better mood. Instead, he grabs a water and his phone and waddles into his bedroom.

The moonlight illuminates the space enough for him to keep the light switch off, undressing from his crumb covered sweats and shirt, choosing to remain in his boxers as he slipped under the cold duvet. The sheets feel fresh against his hot cheeks, flush from the alcohol, cooling him down and making his body relax.

Jungkook knows he should sleep, needing to be up early tomorrow for work, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. His buzzed brain has no qualms imagining exactly what you were doing right now, wondering if you’d be the type to act shy at a guy’s house for the first time, if you’d initiate the first move or not. Jungkook had only seen it up close once under the flash of strobe lights and the haze of alcohol, but he can still picture the soft smile on your face before you go in for a kiss, and he grumbles under his breath when he realizes that he wouldn’t be the one kissing you tonight.

What he doesn’t know, is that you wouldn’t be the one getting kissed tonight either. The Jung Hoseok you had perceived through Tinder, assuming he was all casual and DTF with his netflix and chill suggestion, had been anything but. What you thought would be a steamy night, ended up becoming a nice dinner and comedy watched, morphing into some version of game night where you discovered he was a little too competitive than you were used to. The only action you got was a kiss to your cheek as he walked you to your car and a promise for another date. A promise you would not be keeping.

So as Jungkook lays in bed while his thoughts turn into some fantasy of you moaning out his name, you shuffle into your bedroom and slip into your pajamas with a defeated sigh. You had already texted your best friend telling her what a bust tonight had been, deciding to just tell Jungkook all about it tomorrow because you knew he was most likely fast asleep now. And as you settle under your own covers, inches away from Jungkook with only a wall seperating you, you decide to just call it a night and pretend it never happened.

Just as you shut your eyes, nuzzling into your pillow, you hear the first moan come from behind the wall. A small cry of despair escapes you as you bury your face into your sheets, tugging them up and over your head to block the sound of Jungkook getting some action the same night you had been left high and dry. Of course he would, assuming you’d be getting the same treatment at your date's place, why wouldn’t he take advantage of your absence and not have to muffle his partner’s moans the way he usually did.

You’re just going to ignore it, until you hear a moan that sounds strangely like your own name. Maybe it's wishful thinking on your part, your horny brain deciding to pretend that Jungkook was calling for you instead of whoever he was with. It might be a little wrong for you to have that fantasy of your neighbor, but you aren’t blind. He’s hot, and adorably sweet, the perfect package for any girl he tried to swoon. And judging by the cries you’ve heard of lucky girls prior, you know he was good in bed.

You’re just desperate now. That’s the excuse you tell yourself as you slowly settle onto your back, feeling your body warm up when you focus on his muffled groans, desperate and needy. As your hand slowly slides down your shirt, you shut your eyes, biting down onto your lip to muffle any sound you could make when your fingers slip underneath your pants and past your underwear.

Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t care about his volume. His boxers are tugged down his thighs, knees bent as he slowly ruts into his sticky palm. His hand is tacky with the lube he had messily squirted on, thick cock glistening in the light coming in from his window. He can’t look away from it, mouth dropped open as he groans, imagining it was your hand tightly wrapped around him, your spit covering his cock instead of that strawberry flavored lube.

“Ah fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back onto his soft pillows when his thumb rubs along his slit. It continues to leak beads of precum, quickly wiped away to join the mess on his cock when his hand slides back down and squeezes along his base.

You hear that loud and clear, and when the female voice you’re expecting never follows, you realize he must be taking care of himself. It makes you feel a little less guilty now as your fingers trail along your slit, collecting the slick coating your folds before you softly circle your clit. A choked gasp fills the air at the small sensation, your body already wired after having expected to get some action tonight; it totally had nothing to do with your hot neighbor jacking off inches away from you.

With your eyes fluttering shut, you strain your ears to make out any other noise, muffling your own groans with a hand pressed against your mouth. The bed creaks lightly underneath you as you roll your hips into your hand, getting into a smooth rhythm that makes your body buzz.

Slowly, your imagination runs wild, and you wonder just what Jungkook was thinking of as he did this. Was he watching some porn as he did it, using his own filthy thoughts to push himself to ecstacy, or was this just something he needed to do to be able to sleep?

“Shit, so good,” he groans out, voice raspy, but you can sense his desperation through the drywall. It’s what has you sinking a single digit into your drenched entrance, biting down onto your lower lip when you feel the glide of your walls as you start to thrust into yourself, easing in another and mewling at the slight stretch.

Jungkook would absolutely give his left leg to know what your pussy felt like, he didn’t even care how disgusting he sounded by admitting that to himself, it was true. Blame it on the hard lemonade that made his stomach ache and his mind unfiltered, but he could almost visualize how you’d look above him, could practically feel the warmth of your core wrapped around him, dripping down his length as he fucked into you.

He knows you’re loud in bed, never being one to conceal your cries of pleasure and he would die happy to hear his name come out of your mouth as you creamed his cock. But for now, his hand would have to do.

His lids feel too heavy, jaw slack as the pleasure flows through his body. The wet squelch of his palm fills the room, mingling with his pants and groans, air growing thick around him. It’s been a while since Jungkook had jacked off, and even longer since he’d been able to do it shamelessly in bed without the fear of you hearing him, but now that he thought you were gone he can’t find it in himself to cover his mouth or groan into his pillows like he usually did.

The pent up frustration fogs up his mind, cranks the lust up to 11 until his free hand is gripping his sheets beside him, bed frame creaking as his thrusts speed up. The thuds of his headboard hitting the wall come from behind you, a choked moan blending in with it, and it has you scrambling for your bedside drawer.

The pajamas you wear get yanked off your legs and tossed aside after you grab your trusty vibrator, settling onto your back once more with huff. All it takes is a press of a button for the device to come to life, buzzing in your hand as you trail it up your thighs. A gasp escapes you when you pass it over your mound, brushing against your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Oh my god,” you whimper when you finally press the vibrating head directly onto your sensitive clit, legs spreading further apart as you increase the intensity. You could clearly hear the raise in Jungkook’s moans, and that's when the first irrational thought pops into your mind.

How easy would it be for you to head over to his place and deal with both of your problems. Surely Jungkook wouldn’t have an issue with you offering to suck his dick, wouldn’t mind letting you sink down onto him if it was just a friendly favor.

The little devil on your shoulder tells you it would be mutually beneficial, urging you to get up and walk to Jungkook’s with the vibrator still in your hand, but you can’t. This alone felt like enough of a dirty secret, a secret you’d have absolutely no problem keeping because although you feel slightly ashamed, you couldn’t deny how turned on you are.

The flashes of all the times you’ve heard Jungkook with other people play in your mind, the screams of his name that he tried to muffle, pleas for him to go faster, the resounding smack of his palm on flesh that always left you wide eyed when you heard it. And you start to wonder if maybe you’d be into that, the feeling of his large tattooed hand connecting with your ass, gently tapping against your cheek for you to open up for his cock.

That fantasy is like the first ember needed to start the fire inside of you, spreading uncontrollably until you’re bucking into your vibrator, teeth biting down on your lip to keep any potential moans of his name from slipping out.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, the same fire burning within him. Maybe your minds are linked telepathically, his thoughts gravitating to the same filthy fantasy you had. Jungkook was very much an ass man, knowing very well how good your butt looked in jeans from how often he stared at it, he could only imagine how good it would look as he fucked you from behind. Picturing the way it would bounce back from the force of his thrusts, eyes glued to the way you’d soak his cock, mimicking the tightness of your walls with a firm grip of his palm.

Jungkook can sense his orgasm approaching, leaves his chest feeling tight as he pants, legs gliding along his sheets for leverage to continue fucking into his hand. You’re not far off either, vibrator set to the highest setting you can practically feel your bones rattling, free hand slipped under your shirt as you pinch at your pebbled nipples. You’re both on the brink of falling over the edge, the same question playing in your mind: where would you want Jungkook to cum?

As his moans get breathier, whiny in a way you’d never imagine them to be, you mentally decide that you’d want him to cum inside of you, wanting to see the way his cute face would twist up in pleasure as he filled you up. Jungkook hopes you would, throwing all responsible thinking aside for that sweet moment of ecstasy and the mental picture is enough to finally push him over.

“Ah shit, baby,” he cries out in his room—thankfully having half the mind to not cry out your name as he came—eyes rolling back as his cock twitches in his palm, ribbons of cum splashing onto his stomach and chest. The warmth hits his skin, more droplets continuing to leak out as his palm milks his orgasm, stomach hiccuping and back arching from the stimulation.

The choked moan is what has your own orgasm washing over you, your palm slapping over your mouth so hard you know you’ll feel the ache later but you don’t care. A muffled gasp blends with the buzzing of your toy, thighs tensing up as your body tingles and writhes around on your sheets.

The only thing you can think of is Jungkook, the charming smile he’d give you when he listened to you rant about anything, his annoying habit of rolling up his sleeves to show off his muscles, the cute scowl on his face whenever you managed to beat him at Mario Kart, and the soft feeling of his alcohol coated lips on yours. It leaves you feeling warm as your orgasm flows through you, lying limp on the bed as you mewl at the sensitivity.

When you realize your thoughts have strayed from ‘pure sexy Jungkook fantasyland’, and switched over to ‘Jeon Jungkook your adorable neighbor’, your eyes go wide, finger immediately going to turn off the vibrator. In your haste to shut it off, you click the wrong button, changing the pulsing settings and nearly screaming when the device starts to buzz erratically against your overly sensitive clit.

With a strained gasp you yank it away from yourself, turn it off and throw it aside, horribly miscalculating the size of your bed and watching in horror as it lands on the floor with a loud thud. The complete silence from both sides makes the noise sound deafening, and all you can do is sit on your bed, half naked, and hope Jungkook is still too busy basking in his post orgasm bliss to hear the bang.

Although the blood is still pumping in his ears, he heard the thud clearly. His heart stops in his chest as he lays there, too scared to breathe in case he’d somehow make too much noise, suddenly afraid of being too loud after he had just made a show of himself. Jungkook slowly sits himself up, grimacing at the stickiness on his stomach before pressing his ear against his headboard to try to hear anything else.

All you want to do is yank the covers over yourself and go to sleep, pretend your horrendous date and your dirty thoughts about your friend never happened. The sobering mentality that comes after an orgasm settles into you, leaving you staring at the floor with a crease between your brows as you wonder what the hell came over you.

When Jungkook hears nothing else, he sighs in relief, hauling himself out of bed to grab another pair of underwear before entering his bathroom to clean up. As he stares at his own reflection in the mirror, he frowns at how pathetic he feels. The throbbing headache of his earlier drinks is already starting to kick in, body now sweaty from exertion, stomach covered in his cum.

“Such a loser,” he grumbles out, grabbing a wad of tissues to wipe away the mess on his skin before walking back out. Here he was, getting off to the thought of you, while you were out having your post-breakup wild phase.

His hands grab his phone as he reaches his nightstand, flopping back onto the bed and unlocking the device. It’s now one in the morning, and you still hadn’t text him, which either meant you were having the time of your life, or Jungkook had to track down this Jung Hoseok. The slightly protective side of him won’t allow him to sleep until he hears back from you, fingers already typing out a message and hitting send.

Jungkook 1:23am : you safe or am i gonna have to go all Liam Neeson on this guy?

When your phone vibrates on your nightstand you gasp, grabbing it before it could make any more noise. Seeing Jungkook’s name flash on the screen makes your blood run cold, already imagining what the text could be: calling you dirty for getting off on him, making fun of you, telling you to come ove—no stop that.

Finally mustering up the courage, you open it up, a small laugh spilling out as you read his message, relief flooding through you as you realize that meant he thought you were still with Hoseok.

Y/N 1:26am : oh yeah, you gonna show him your very particular set of skills? lol

Y/N 1:26am : i just got home though

Y/N 1:26am : like right now

Y/N 1:26am : still sitting in my living room

Y/N 1:27am : haha

He laughs at your string of texts, something you hear as he settles into bed. Jungkook ebbs away the small feeling of jealousy in his chest, trying to see the silver lining of this. You weren’t rushing to tell him anything about your date which meant it either went so good you wanted to keep it to yourself, or it was subpar and you wouldn’t be seeing this yellow sunglass wearing copycat again.

Jungkook 1:29am : glad you got home safe, goodnight y/n!

Sending back a goodnight text, you lock your phone and slide deeper into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin as you stare at the ceiling. You already know the only thing you’ll be dreaming about is your cute neighbor with a bunny smile and body proportions that contradicted it. And as Jungkook lays in bed, wondering if he’ll have to push the crush aside, you’re barely coming to terms with the fact that the small glowing feeling that came with being around him might be something else.

Every single one of your interactions gets rewinded and played back like a seamless montage, remembering just how many almost moments there was between you. The way his eyes would flash down to your lips whenever you playfully argued on your couch, hands yanking the remotes from his in a game of tug of war that left you way too close in the heat of the moment. How he’d let you braid his hair anytime you found a new youtube tutorial, his starry eyes staring at you with so much adoration it made your stomach flip, brushing it off as love for a friend.

Then came the jokes from your friends, constantly teasing you about Jungkook, playfully saying they would try to sleep with him just because they liked the scowl on your face, and how quickly you tried to play it off. How the sweet old lady from the convenience store downstairs always assumed you were dating when you came in together, the low jab she sent when you walked in with Hajoon and she said she preferred you with Jungkook. That argument had been one of the ones that left him bolting out of your apartment with a nasty slam of the door, spewing nasty words at you, calling you blind for not seeing it and dumb for acting like you had no idea what he was talking about.

And for the first time, you come to the sudden realization that Hajoon was right. His deep set insecurities about Jungkook had stemmed from scraps of the truth, not just from him but from you too. The amount of times you’d find a way to slide Jungkook’s name into a conversation about anything, telling him funny stories about him, too lost in thought to see that while you were giggling as you reminisce, he was staring at you in disbelief.

The final thought that makes you want a blackhole to swallow you up, comes in the form of you, grabbing Jungkook’s face before planting a kiss on his unsuspecting lips at the club. You want to scream into your pillow as you recall it, how he had almost leaned back in to kiss you again before you had sobered him up with your dumb question rooted in revenge.

“Oh my god, I’m such a bitch.” you whimper. Subjecting Jungkook to be your wingman, jokingly telling him he should be your fake boyfriend more often, asking him for tips with hook ups. If everyone else could see it but you, he probably thought you were purposely friendzoning him.

The guilt piles on top of you as you start to piece together every moment that flew over your head, only making you bury yourself deeper into your sheets. It makes your heart twist, taking note of how Jungkook was always so quick to put a smile on his face despite how naive you were to it all, wondering if maybe it was too late to try to make something of this now. How many times could you call Jungkook ‘bro’ and treat him like you didn’t see him romantically, before he decided there was no hope for him anymore.

So as you force yourself to sleep, nerves and uncertainty weighing heavy on your mind, Jungkook snores away as he dreams of the almost moments that could have been.

#heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #ficswithluv #btscreatorscorner #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #bts fics #new

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randomshyperson · 4 years ago

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - I bet i love you

Gif if not mine, but i swear she looks prettier every time i look at her.

Summary: Prompt based from @ecruzsalaz: The one where Wanda is popular, and Reader is a nerd. The popular kids do a bet that Reader will fall in love with Wanda. Everything will be reveal after their trip.

Warnings: Light angst, kissing, teasing, underage drinking, lies, Vision being an idiot completely out of canon.

Words: 13.446 k /// Read on AO3

Notes: I don’t even know what happen here. I’m been busy and this took a lot of days to be done, but it’s finally here, hope @ecruzsalaz will be satisfied haha. Good reading everyone and apologies for any typo, it sucks to translate so many words. There are a few pop culture references, i wonder if anyone will catch those.

Marks (if i forgot your name tell me i’m lost): @mionemymind @abimess

In your last year of high school, you just wish things would be peaceful.

The previous years hadn't exactly been ideal, since you were surrounded by assholes, but you are optimistic.

Your small, select group of friends, consisting of exactly two people, who you could swear were probably the only decent human beings left in West View High School, were currently the only reason you still wanted to go to high school.

Right now, for example, you were sitting in the outer cafeteria, a book of historical fiction to escape reality plus headphones with some old rock music that you weren't really listening to, since you were so focused on the story you were reading. And then someone pulled on your headphones, and you looked up ready to complain, but the mischievous smile of your best friend Bruce Banner was all you could find.

- I've been calling you for five minutes. - He said, sitting down on the stool in front of you. You smiled, apologizing, and put your cell phone on the table. - No problem, you always do that.

You laughed awkwardly, closing the book while Bruce put his backpack on the table.

- Where is Mon? I haven't seen her today. - You tell him, but Bruce shrugs.

- Maybe her mother changed shifts again. - He comments, and you make a noise with your mouth of agreement. Whenever Maria, your friend Monica's mother, switched shifts at work, she would be late for first periods. It has been like this since primary school.

- You still haven't let me see your schedule. - You told Bruce with a slight frown, and he laughed, going through his pockets. Then he took out his cell phone, fiddled with the screen for a few seconds, and then handed it to you. You read the attached class schedule with a frown. - Bruce! You didn't sign up for half the classes you took last year?

He shrugged, running his hands through his hair.

- Yeah, I think I'll focus more on what I want for college. - He explained a little shyly. - I was getting too anxious about all that stuff. And honestly, you should have done the same.

You made a grumbling sound with your mouth, and started biting your thumbnail as you finished looking at the schedule. You would barely have any classes together. And then you handed the cell phone back to your friend.

- I would do it if I had any idea what I wanted to major in. - You tell him. - It's better to have several interests on the curriculum, so I'll have more course options.

- You can also develop burnot. - He remarked with mild irony, and you laughed, looking away.

The bell for the first class then rang, and the two of you exchanged a look before getting up. Bruce kissed you on the cheek before heading in the opposite direction, and you grumbled lightly as you picked up your book and walked to the chemistry labs.

In the hallway of the main building, a few meters before the entrance to the lab, someone bumped into you. It was one of the boys from the team, who was laughing at something his colleague said. Your notebooks fell to the floor, and the boy looked at you with contempt.

- Watch where you're going weirdo. - He warned and you rolled your eyes.

- You're the one who bumped into me, you brute. - You grumbled angrily. The boy just laughed and walked away.

After picking your books, you stood up. The athletes at your school were jerks, but you didn't blame only them for their arrogance. The rest of the school, including the faculty, treated them as gods, so they behaved as such.

Sighing with impatience, you entered the chemistry labs, wishing that the day wasn't long.

Darcy Lewis had been your chemistry partner for three years. You smiled as you greeted her and sat down next to her. You were not friends, but she was very kind and extremely intelligent. You really thought you were very lucky to have her as your partner, and then, as if the universe would like to laugh at you, Professor Nakia announced that she was switching partners.

The whole class let out a chorus of dissatisfaction, and one student asked aloud.

- Please, Professor Nakia, we have been working with the same people for three years. Why change now?

- Excellent question, Miss Quinn. - Nakia said, smiling. She was at her desk, finishing putting her materials on top. - Three years is more than enough time for you to create tricks to cheat on my exams.

The room exchanged complicit and guilty looks, and the teacher kept a serious posture.

- The school board found evidence to indicate this. - She explains. - I was very disappointed to learn that there were students cheating on the evaluation method not only in this class, but in several others. You will notice that all teachers with fixed groups will rotate them from now on. This was a decision made by the principal.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that you would lose your amazing partner and were running the chance of ending up with someone irresponsible or slacker, just because some kids were careless at cheating. The room let out a chorus of understanding, and everyone began to move around as the teacher indicated the new groups. You ended up sitting with a guy named Vision, who you didn't really know, but you knew was quite popular because he was class speaker, and head of the fencing club.

- Hello, dear. - He greeted you as he sat down, putting his coat on the chair. Vision dressed very well; he was part of the group your classmates called "preps”, even if he was usually hanging out with jocks.

You made a noise with your mouth in greeting, but he didn't seem to mind your lack of sociability.

Fortunately, Vision was a decent chemistry partner. Although he was bossy, and had a habit of interrupting or explaining as if you were stupid, he was intelligent and knew how to do the experiments. You thought that was enough, since you would only have to put up with him in this class.

Feeling a glance at you, you raised your eyes from the notebook, and were slightly startled to notice Vision looking at you with amusement and curiosity, you frowned ready to ask what's wrong, but then he let out a dry laugh.

- I knew I knew you! - he declared. - You're the Presley freak!

Vision laughed lightly nostalgically, and you felt your face flush, turning your attention back to your notebook. He was talking about the Halloween party in freshman year, where you dressed up as Elvis Presley and the track team decided to nickname you "Presley Freak" for the next whole year. The teasing died down after a while, but Vision brought it back as if it were a good memory.

Fortunately he just shook his head with amusement, and didn't mention it again. When class was over, he didn't say goodbye on his way out, but you didn't care.

//-//

The story that all the teachers followed the new norm of switching partners was true. In History, you lost your partner Bucky Barnes to sit with Natasha Romanoff, equally quiet and intelligent. For the most part, you are satisfied with the partners you got.

But then in fourth period, biology class, you ended up partnering with someone you never imagined.

Wanda Maximoff was one of the most popular girls in school. You didn't really know her. You were classmates during elementary school, and you even became friends with her twin brother in elementary school, Pietro Maximoff, before he became a complete idiot. But other than that, you didn't know much about her. Although you had a strange sympathy for the girl. Unlike the group of girls she hung out with, Wanda never tormented you at school. Or your friends. She was probably fake and sneaky like the others, but she left you alone, so you had nothing against her.

You were pulling your biology book out of your backpack as the teacher announced the new pairs, and you stopped in mid-motion when she said Maximoff and your name.

Wanda sat down beside you the next moment, smiling politely. You shook your head slightly, dropping your backpack on the floor.

Wanda was surprisingly nice. You didn't talk about anything unrelated to the subject, but she was quick enough to catch your ironic glances when Professor Darkholme made an inappropriate comment or a funny remark, and match it with a smile or a look.

As the class came to an end, Wanda nodded slightly at you, and you smiled back before gathering your materials.

It had been four months since classes had started, and you were already used to your new partners in class.

Vision was inconvenient in many comments, as if he took pleasure in recalling your most embarrassing moments in high school, but you learned to change the subject quickly whenever this happened. All you had to do was pretend you didn't know about some subject he mastered, only to hear him explain it to you in the most arrogant manner possible for the next few minutes, effectively distracting him.

Natasha Romanoff was exceptionally sarcastic and ironic, and you sometimes you felt that she was a more aggressive female version of your former partner Bucky Barnes. She was quite individualistic, and you had to make an effort not to get left behind, or you had to constantly remind her that you were a duo, but otherwise she was a good partner, and you were happy to invite her to lunch with you, which eventually became a habit after a week.

And then you had Wanda Maximoff. You weren't friends, but you had a strange kind of complicity as biology partners. You never would have guessed that Wanda would have a sense of humor so similar to yours. Two classes in a row, and you already had inside jokes about the way Ms. Darkholme caught the attention of her students. Two weeks in, and you two knew how to cheat your way through assignments. You didn't know how to make friends, and judging by the history of who Wanda was hanging out with, you had the impression that she wouldn't want to develop any kind of relationship with you. And honestly, this was your last year, you wouldn't see these people again, so you were more than satisfied to have just one good lab partner.

With the mid-winter vacations approaching, you were looking forward to getting some rest.

Non-Reader Pov

- God, Wanda, why are you talking about that weirdo again? - interrupted Vision impatiently. His girlfriend blinked in confusion, looking away awkwardly.

- I'm just commenting on a joke we…

- Really, Wanda? - He interrupted again with an accusing look. - It seems like all you do lately is "comment" on your little jokes in class. - He sneers as he settles down on the sofa. The two of them stand together outside the school, their group of friends watching the discussion with amusement. - I don't know why you talk to her at all. She is so silent and awkward with me in chemistry class.

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, looking forward.

- I think your girlfriend has a girl crush. - Tony Stark sneered next, making everyone laugh. Wanda frowned, feeling her heart race.

- You are an idiot. - She grumbled impatiently, crossing her arms. Vision looked at her curiously.

- Honey, don't tell me that you actually appreciate that girl? - he asks ironically, and Wanda rolls her eyes without looking at him. Vision laughs.

And then Tony is holding out a craft-paper covered bottle to Vision, and he takes a sip, coughing slightly afterwards. Wanda frowns at the scene, but none of her friends seem concerned that they are drinking during school hours, as the bottle continues to pass in everyone's hand.

- You know, I think it's sweet that you have sympathy for that freak. - Tony comments a moment later and Wanda tells him to fuck off, making him laugh.

- I think we are witnessing a beautiful love story. - Mocks Pepper, Tony's girlfriend, approaching the three of them as she sits on Stark's lap. Wanda rolls her eyes, as the group laughs. And then Vision has a thoughtful expression.

- I have an idea. - He says slightly drunk, as he throws his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. - Let's make a bet.

Tony and Pepper let out excited exclamations, while Wanda frowns.

- What kind of bet?

- Well, you guys remember when the weirdo dressed up as Presley for Halloween, right? - he asked, and Tony and Pepper laughed, agreeing. - And then Pietro saw her kissing that girl who hang with the bikers, Jones something.

- Jessica. - Pepper clarified before taking another sip of her drink.

- Then we know she's a dyke. - Vision says, but Tony frowns.

- Wasn't she dating that guy with the long hair and the angry face?

- Barnes? - Vision asked and Tony nodded. - I don't think so. Anyway, she is into girls. - he said and the group nodded in agreement. - I mean the bet is this: I can prove that she is just like everyone else in this school. Give her a bit of our attention, and she will be completely obsessed.

- Vis, what are you talking about? - Wanda asked, and Vision laughed ironically.

- It's very simple, love. - He says. - You are hot. Everyone knows that, and even someone like her, who pretends not to be part of the social circles of this school, can see that. - He clarifies, and the group looks at him intently. Wanda doesn't say that she doesn't like being objectified, swallowing the bitter feeling in her stomach. - So my bet is that you win her over. It should take what, one or two dates for her to be completely in love with you.

The friends laugh in irony and Wanda thinks she should follow, but only a forced laugh escapes. Because of the alcohol, no one notices.

- This is ridiculous. - Wanda comments and then Vision looks at her with irony.

- Unless you're getting attached to the girl, dear. - He sneers, and the group laughs. Wanda swallows dryly, shaking her head in denial. - So, what's the problem? You'll just prove me right. And you will realize that there is nothing special about her.

- I think we can make this even more fun. - says Tony with a wicked smile. - I bet you a hundred bucks that Wanda will fall in love too.

Tony sneers and the group laughs with irony.

- As if anyone would even like that girl. - Vision declares, accepting another drink.

- How do we make sure it's working? - Tony asks and Vision bites his lip thoughtfully. Then he lets out an exclamation.

- Our trip! - he says, and then turns to Wanda. - Love, invite the weirdo to the cabin! We can watch you work.

Wanda frowns, but then the group is suggesting ideas of conquest, and laughing, and debauchery, and she hates it. But she smiles, and nods in agreement, accepting the liquor as the bottle comes into her hand.

Reader Pov

You intended to study during the winter vacations. And maybe get out of the room a little if Bruce or Monica visited. Your surprise was genuine when in your last biology term, Wanda Maximoff started talking to you about something other than the subject.

- Hey, are you doing anything this holiday? - she comments amiably. You didn't notice the looks Tony Stark was giving you two from the front seat.

- Huh... No?

- Are you asking me? - She replies with a smile. You blush, looking away at your notebook. Wanda bites her cheek, and it takes a moment for her to speak again. - I wanted to invite you to something.

You blink in surprise, looking at Wanda. She looks away from the board for a moment, as she wiggles her fingers against her own thigh.

- My friends and I are spending the holiday in a cabin. - She clarifies. - There's all this winter activities, you know. Skiing and stuff like that. I'd like you to come.

- Why? - The question slips out a little harshly, but you can't help it. Wanda looks away, and you almost apologize. But then Wanda smiles, shrugging.

- I'd like to get to know you better, I guess. - She says. - I think it would be fun if we could be friends outside of class.

You look at her suspiciously for a few seconds. But then you sigh, looking down at the notebooks.

- Alright, Wanda. - you say after a moment, ignoring the growing anxiety in your stomach. - Is it okay if I bring a friend?

- Of course! - She confirms excitedly. - You can take whoever you want, it's a big place.

The teacher gives a warning for side conversations next, and you shut up. You blush when Wanda approaches you to write down her phone number in her notebook. You are distracted enough not to notice her blushing slightly when Tony Stark gives her a mischievous look.

//-//

- So you actually said yes? - Bruce asked with surprise when you told him about the biology class, while you were having lunch together in the cafeteria. Monica had the same expression.

- Yes, and I would love it if you would go with me, because I think I am close to completely freak out. - You ask with mild desperation and your friends laugh. And then Monica is looking behind you.

- Look, I would be too. They are so... - She starts and you turn around, looking at the group of Wanda's friends a few meters away. The kids are sitting at the table, making noise with their loud laughter. One of them was throwing a football up in the air. A short boy walked past them and was pushed slightly. - I can't even define them.

You let out a grumble, laying your head on your arms on the table.

- This was a bad idea, wasn't it, guys? - you ask. - They're going to eat me alive.

- Why the long faces, nerds? - Natasha asked as she came over to the table, placing the tray of food next to Monica, staring at you.

And then your friends explained it to her, and you groaned in dissatisfaction when she started laughing.

- You've lost your mind, haven't you? - she asked wryly. - It's a trap, I'm sure.

- There's no reason for it. - You retorted, trying to eat a little. - Besides, it was Wanda who invited me. She said she'd like us to be friends.

- Look, I know that Maximoff is the least worst of the bunch. - Nat began as she opened her soda. - But she still hangs around with those idiots.

- Yeah, I know. - You agree with a sigh. And then you remember your classes. - I just... She has been surprisingly nice, you know? I think she was being sincere. It's just a trip, it's not the end of the world.

- Good to know you think that. - said Bruce. - Because I won't be able to go.

- What? - You then exclaim.

- I applied for an internship at S.H.I.E.L.D. Labs. - He remarks and you let out a grumble, remembering.

- Shit, it's true. - You say. - I completely forgot about it.

- Girl, I can't go either. - Informs Monica with a guilty expression, and you let out an exclamation. - I'm going to spend the holiday with my father.

You bury your face in your hands. And then you risk a glance at Natasha, and she laughs wryly.

- Don't even try. - She says. - Even if you paid me I wouldn't travel with Tony Stark.

- I'll pay you.

Nat laughs at your desperation, and stops eating, looking at you with surprising kindness.

- You, girl, are adorable and kind. A nerdy cute dork, and I'm sure that if that's not enough for those idiots, they're the problem, not you. - She assures you, and you smile wryly. - Don't worry about pleasing any of them, you're going to become friends with Wanda, aren't you? Try to enjoy the trip, and if anything happens, call me and I'll finish them all off.

You laugh, nodding slightly. You don't want to think so much about this trip, but you know it's going to be the only thing on your mind for the next few days.

The week ended quickly. And you were very anxious when the weekend arrived, and you received a text message from Wanda saying that she would pick you up at home on Saturday morning. You would spend the holiday at the Stark family's winter cottage, a property big enough to fit the whole group. Wanda said it was somewhere with mountains, near a lake, and you bit your lip, wondering if you should bring a bathing suit. Since it was snowing, you figured you wouldn't try to swim anywhere.

On Saturday you were up bright and early, your bags packed. You kissed your parents and your younger brother on the cheek before you left, finding a pickup truck parked in front of your house.

Wanda hugged you when you said good morning to her, and to the boys. Vision and Pietro were in this car, and she said that Tony was in the second car, and had gone for gas.

Vision drove towards the cabin next, and he tried a little small talk before shutting up. Wanda was in the passenger seat, and Vision let his hand rest on her thigh, and you didn't understand the bitter feeling in your stomach.

- God, put on some decent music! - asked Pietro, scrambling up on the seat beside you to reach for the radio.

- Leave it, Pietro! - complained Vision pushing the boy backwards. - You only want to play that emo shit!

Pietro laughed, not insisting. And Vision looked at you through the rearview mirror.

- Let's let our guest choose the music. - he said with a smile. You cleared your throat.

- Okay. - You agreed, pulling your cell phone out of your pocket. You turned on Spotify next, and when Vision asked if it would be any longer, you bit the inside of your cheek. And then you put on some pop rock.

Nobody said anything, and you thought that somehow you had just passed some kind of test. But then your set list started, and when the classic rock song from the 50's started playing, Vision burst out laughing.

- They don't call you Presley Freak for nothing. - He scoffs, switching to the radio next.

- I like it. - Wanda comments surprising you, but neither Vision nor her brother change their debauched posture.

- Yes, yes, your taste is terrible too. - He replies with irony. You bite your lips as you watch Wanda roll her eyes and look away to the window. Vision lets Pietro choose the music next.

The cabin was really very big.

You guys met Tony's car on the way, but he didn't stop. It didn't take long for you to arrive. You smiled in appreciation at Pietro when he carried your bags inside.

You looked at the structure impressed. Tony Stark really was very rich. Hugging your arms lightly after feeling the cool breeze, you smiled politely at Wanda's other friends as they greeted you.

- I am Pepper Potts, and this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. - says the blonde girl cheerfully, as she waves to the other boys. - You must have met Tony by now.

- I think I've seen all of you at school. - You say feeling out of place, but they smile as they walk into the cabin. Tony hands the bags to the other boys, and then is throwing an arm around your shoulders, and you want to push him away for the inappropriate contact.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, sweetie. - He says, and you blink when you feel the alcohol. - Who knew that nerds hid pretty girls with them?

The joke makes the group laugh, and you look around uncomfortably. Tony then releases you as you enter.

Pepper is the one who shares the rooms, and you are happy to know that you won't be sharing with anyone.

While you are unpacking upstairs on your bed, Wanda joins you.

- Hey. - She greets me as she enters and closes the door. You're folding your clothes.

- Hi, Wanda.

- Is everything okay? - she asks and you nod in agreement. - They can be a bit much sometimes, and I don't want you to get uncomfortable and... Do you like "Bewitched"?

The sudden question startles you and you blink in confusion. Wanda nods at the item in your hands. The T-shirt you are folding has the logo of the old sitcom you used to watch with your parents.

- Oh yes. - You sigh in agreement. - It is one of my favorite shows actually.

Wanda laughs in surprise, crossing her arms.

- Wow, I didn't know that. - She says. - I love this stuff. Vision thinks the jokes are stupid, so don't tell him I'm talking about it.

She jokes and you let out a wry exclamation.

- Why would I tell Vision anything? - You ask and Wanda hesitates slightly, but then smiles.

- No, it was just a figure of speech. - She clarifies as you fold your shirt.

- Right. - You say, not really understanding this conversation. - If you want, we can watch it together anytime. I think we'll have time to do it here.

Wanda looks at you with surprise and excitement.

- Really? I'd love to. - She confirms, and you smile as you finish packing.

The redhead clears her throat afterwards.

- I just wanted to check on you anyway. - she says. - I think Steve is cooking dinner tonight, so join us when you' re ready.

- Okay, Wanda. - You say. - Thanks.

She smiles before leaving. You stare at the Bewitched's T-shirt on your bed for a few moments before you leave.

Steve tries to cook some chicken breast. And he almost burns the kitchen down. So you are on your feet, investigating the cupboards, and although cooking is not your favorite activity, you don't mind making some chili for everyone.

- I love Mexican food. - Wanda comments excitedly as she stands next to you and watches you cook. The rest of the group is in the living room, the boys being very noisy as they throw a soccer ball around the room. You smile at the redhead next to you.

- God, did you see the picture that Tabitha Smith posted on instagram? - Pepper asked aloud, staring at her cell phone. She was sitting on the kitchen counter, a look of disgust on her face. Wanda approached her and quickly looked at the screen. - She put on silicone, I'm sure of it.

Wanda made a noise of agreement, exchanging a quick glance with you, clearly not caring one bit about the topic, and you smiled, turning your attention back to the pot. Pepper didn't notice and continued making comments about her classmates' social media posts.

- It's ready. - You announce. Your breath catches in your throat as Wanda puts her hand on your waist, leaning behind your back to taste the food. She lets out a satisfied groan, and you feel her cheeks flush.

But then she walks away next, and you struggle to disguise yourself as the boys are joining you, announcing that they are starving.

- Wow, this is delicious. - said Pepper as soon as you sat down at the table and started to eat. The group agreed, and you blushed with embarrassment. Soon they started talking among themselves, and you tried to keep up as best you could, but the topics weren't really of interest to you.

When you got back to the room, Tony proposed that you all play a game, and then he went through the storage room and came back carrying monopoly.

At first you thought it would be innocent fun, then there were drinks and gambling.

- It's a four! - shouted Tony excitedly. - That's my property, Wilson!

Sam let out a grumble of dissatisfaction as he moved his figure around the board. Tony laughed mischievously.

- So, how do you want me to pay the rent? - Sam asked and Tony made a thoughtful face.

- With a question. - Tony announces maliciously. - Among the people in this room, tell me who would you have sex with?

Sam laughs in surprise, as the group gives a chorus of excitement. You swallow dryly, uncomfortable with the direction of the questions. So far, the questions and challenges had been innocent and slightly awkward, but after a few beers, the group was clearly getting more excited in other respects.

- Careful with your answer, friend. - Vision warned, putting his arm possessively around Wanda's shoulders. You looked away to the board.

- That might be shocking for a straight guy, Vis. - Sam remarked with mild debauchery. - But not all of us are looking at the girls.

The group laughs in surprise, and Vision rolls his eyes.

- I would do Steve Rogers for sure. - Sam declares the next moment, and the group lets out a celebratory chorus. Steve laughs too, slightly surprised. Sam just smiles playfully, shrugging his shoulders. Then Steve steps forward, amusing himself by pretending to kiss him, and the group laughs. You smile awkwardly, not really understanding what everyone thinks is funny.

The game continues, and you are doing very well. You laugh when Pepper has to tell you all about the worst sexual experience she has ever had, but you are slightly uncomfortable when Steve has to demonstrate on a pillow his first time. A few rounds later, you grumble in dissatisfaction when you take a five and end up in jail.

- Whoa, that's has a punishment. - Tony announces when he sees your move. You look at him, and he looks excited. - Finally, Presley, your moment has come.

- Tony. - Wanda scolds him for his nickname, but Tony doesn't listen.

- Let me think about it. - He continues with a thoughtful expression, and then a mischievous gleam takes over his gaze. - Have you ever heard that shy girls are the biggest freaks in the room?

You swallow dryly, feeling your face heat up as the group lets out a laugh.

- I will not...

- Don't even start. - Tony interrupts your denial with a smile. - Don't spoil the fun. I'll give you a simple challenge.

You bite the inside of your cheek, frowning as you fight the urge to get up.

- Your sentence of freedom will be to give a hickey to the person who gets a six on the dice. - He declares, and the group lets out a chorus of excitement.

And then everyone is rushing to throw the dice and you cross your arms, feeling your face hot.

- If more than one person gets six, you'll give them both a hickey and win immunity for a round! - Tony laughs as he makes up the rules.

Pepper is the first to play, and lets out a despondent sigh when she draws two. And then Steve plays next, and complains when the die lands on four. Sam and Tony don't get six either. You hold your breath when Wanda rolls, and feel your heart race when the die stops.

- This should be interesting. - Vision comments with mild irony and mischief as he takes his arm off Wanda's shoulders, picking up the die stopped at six. Tony laughs and you can't keep your eyes on the redhead.

Vision gets a four. And then Pietro gets a six, and you grumble.

- I can't believe you're going to get both of the Maximoffs! - Wilson comments with amusement and you swallow dryly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

- Finally some action. - Pietro jokes as he approaches. He kneels in front of you, and you take a deep breath. - Come on, Y/N, it's just a silly challenge.

He tries to reassure you with a smile, and you try to ignore the staring eyes on the two of you. You think the boys are laughing as you bring your face closer to Pietro's outstretched neck, and land your lips on his skin. He smells like aftershave lotion, but it's just embarrassing to be so close. Pietro lets out a breathless chuckle as you begin to suck on his skin, and he clenches the support of the couch.

You stop quickly, and he pulls away. The red skin glows on his neck. He flashes you the seductive smile, and you look away, listening to the group celebrating.

- Next, please! - Tony says clearly intoxicated. You feel your racing heart echoing in your ears. Wanda gets up from the couch, and unlike her brother, she completely short-circuits your brain when she sits on your lap. You think someone whistled.

- Wanda, what are you doing? - You mumble clumsily, and she just smiles as she puts her hands on your shoulders.

- Don't you like this position? - she asks and you swallow dryly.

- Come on, girls! - Tony tells you between laughs. Someone knocks over the vodka bottle on the floor, making a mess. You think the group is barely paying attention to you, fighting among themselves to save the rest of the board and Tony's expensive rug, but you're not really taking in anything other than the girl on your lap.

You move forward, sinking your face into her neck and inhaling Wanda's scent. When you let out your breath, she trembles and squeezes your shoulder lightly, making you swallow dryly.

You let your lips kiss her skin, watching Wanda's chest rise and fall, indicating her unregulated breathing. And then you lick her skin, and she chokes. When you suck on her skin, she bites her lips hard, stopping herself from moaning. And then you let go.

Ignoring the urge to kiss the red dot again, you throw your back against the armchair, moving away. Wanda lets out a breath, and before you can say anything, Tony is complaining that the game is over because the board has been ruined, and she rushes off your lap.

Your face is very hot when Sam makes a snide remark to you, and then you are all saying goodnight. You don't have the courage to look at Wanda when you go up to your room.

//-//

The next day you go skiing.

You absolutely suck at it, but so does everybody else, so nobody really cares.

You don't want to think so much about Wanda's hands on your waist when she teaches you how to do it.

You also don't want to be so annoyed when Vision insists on getting a kiss from her while you are walking back to the cabin.

During the afternoon, you are distracted by a video game with Pietro, extremely surprised that he has invited you to do something. After dinner you go back to your room to read a little, and are astonished when Wanda appears at your door a few minutes after you have gone upstairs.

- How about we watch a sitcom together? - She invites you in, and you shrug as you smile, making space for her to enter your room. She giggles when she notices the open book on your bed. - Of course you brought a book.

You laugh awkwardly as you close the door. Wanda throws herself on your bed, opening the laptop she has brought with her. You take the book out and place it closed on the dresser, before joining her, trying to keep a respectable distance.

She ends up putting on Bewitched, and you are distracted enough by the program.

- Wow, that's kind of wrong. - You comment between giggles. And Wanda laughs lightly, turning the program's attention to you.

- What?

- The joke. - You clarify. - The way they imply that it's okay for boys to behave like that.

- Yeah, I know. - She agrees, turning her attention back to the screen. - But we're still laughing.

- Yeah. - You agree, laughing. - I guess it's okay as long as we don't find it funny in real life.

Wanda makes a noise of agreement with her mouth and then you are silent again.

Two episodes later, Wanda suggests that you eat something. Then you go downstairs to the kitchen, and find the room empty.

- Pietro had called the boys to play soccer. - She says. - And I think Pepper and Tony are in their room.

You nod in understanding, following her around the kitchen. Wanda starts preparing a snack for you two.

- What is it? - You ask as you observe her choice of ingredients. She smiles mischievously.

- My masterpiece. - She says. - Just trust me, you'll like it.

You laugh, nodding. When she warms the bread rolls, and starts to pour oregano on top you let out an exclamation.

- Wanda, are you sure you know what you're doing?

She laughs, shaking her head slightly.

- Trust me on this. - She asks with a smile, starting to cut tomatoes. You cross your arms, not believing that you are actually going to eat that.

And then the sandwich is ready, and Wanda assumes a cheerful posture. She puts the bread on a plate and turns to you, leaving the object on the counter beside you.

You take a piece while she takes another, and together you taste the sandwich while Wanda looks at you expectantly.

It's surprisingly good, and you blink in amazement when you feel the taste, looking away from her to the food.

- Wow, that's good. - You comment before taking another bite. Wanda smiles.

- Really? I'm glad you like it. Vision doesn't like it very much, he says it tastes strange.

You grumble lightly, continuing to eat. Wanda pours you two some soda. You are silent for a moment and when she leaves the phone on the countertop to wash the dishes, your gaze runs quickly across the screen as you reach for your glass.

- Hey, are you into poetry? - you ask as you look at the open Instagram post.

Wanda smiles, nodding.

- That's cool, I think we follow the same page. - You comment quickly pointing to her unlocked cell phone. Wanda looks surprised.

When she finishes washing the dishes, she asks to borrow your cell phone. You spend the next thirty minutes laughing and joking as you compare your Instagram feeds and follower list. You don't want to overthink on how many common interests you have with Wanda.

//-//

On the penultimate day you want to build a snowman.

There is a Hockey game on TV, and everyone seems excited to watch. So you just walk out of the cabin while Tony hands out snacks and drinks to everyone.

You are just finishing assembling the body when you hear footsteps.

- You are very antisocial. - Wanda jokes as she approaches, hands in her pockets. You don't want to think about how adorable she looks.

- Yeah, I know. - You comment with your attention on the snowman. - It's not your friends' fault, by the way, I'm just not a big sports fan.

- All right, I don't see what's so funny about it either. - She says as she stops beside you. - Can I help you with him?

- Let me see your hands. - You ask, and she looks at you in confusion, taking her hands out of her pockets. You deny it. - No gloves, no playing. I don't want you to get hypothermia.

She laughs lightly, putting her hands back in her pockets. You turn your attention back to the snowman.

- We can go for a walk. - You suggest after a moment. - Since we're not going to watch the game.

Wanda smiles, looking away to the cabin.

- Okay.

You finish your snowman in silence. It's decent you think.

- I used to do it all the time. - You tell her as you stand up, putting your hands in your pockets. Wanda looks at you curiously. - But then I grew up and my parents thought it was a kid thing.

- Yeah, I know how that is. - She agrees as you stare at the snowman. - One birthday is all it takes for the treatment to change completely.

You nod in agreement, and then you look at her, signaling for you to go the other way.

You walk side by side in the opposite direction of the cabin.

After spending the whole way talking about the most random subjects, you end up at a small pier, at the edge of the lake that covers the entire back stretch of the cabin. You and Wanda sit side by side on the wood cross-legged.

- We should have brought something hot to drink. - You comment with a smile, hugging your arms for a moment. Wanda nods.

- So, are you enjoying the trip? - Wanda asks and you look away, smiling at the lake.

- I suppose so.

- You suppose? - She replies with amusement, making you laugh.

You clear your throat before speaking again.

- I enjoyed the time I spent with you. - You confess, looking forward. Wanda wiggles her fingers nervously, looking away from you to face the lake as well. - Don't get me wrong, Wanda. Your friends are... nice I guess. But they're not the reason I'm here.

You look at Wanda, and she nods frantically. Your heart is racing, but playing games isn't exactly your thing. You want to know what's going on.

- And you? - you ask, studying her face. - Did you enjoy the time I was here?

- Yes. - Wanda confesses breathlessly, her face flushing slightly.

Swallowing hard, you look away to the lake again. And then you slowly move your hand against the wood, reaching for Wanda's hand next. You give it enough time for her to move away, or to strike you, and she does neither. Feeling your heart soar, you intertwine your hands, holding back a sigh at how good it feels even when wearing gloves.

Several minutes later, you let out an excited exclamation when you hear a noise in the nearby forest. Turning your head, you confirm your suspicions. A small white fox is looking at you curiously.

You help Wanda to get up quietly and slowly so as not to startle the animal.

- Hey. - You say softly to the animal, walking towards it. The fox looks at you wide-eyed, but your posture doesn't frighten him. You smile when he lets you pet him.

- He is so cute. - Wanda comments softly, kneeling down beside you. The fox lies down on the grass as the redhead strokes his head.

He tires of the attention quickly however, and the next moment he gives you a look before running back into the forest. You and Wanda laugh lightly as you two stand up.

You walk back to the cabin in silence, a tension in the air that makes your stomach turn. You don't hold hands, but you walk very close together.

When you are almost to the cabin area, you stand in front of Wanda, pushing her by the waist against a tree. You both sigh breathlessly, but you lose the courage. It's not right, not yet. Resting your forehead on hers, resisting the urge to kiss her, you close your eyes.

- Leave him. - You say and Wanda squeezes her hands in your arms.

Wanda lets out a sigh, closing her eyes like you did, and your faces come closer together.

- I won't share you, Wanda. - You whisper against her lips. - Either you're with me, or you're not.

Resisting the urge to close the distance, you sigh and turn away. Wanda's pupils are dilated as she looks at you. You lock your jaw, putting your hands in your pockets. And then you turn around, and disguise it nicely when Pepper comes out of the cabin, asking where you were, and you just smile and say you went for a walk.

//-//

Vision and Wanda argue on the last day at the cabin.

You frown as your awakened by the volume of the argument. But you decide not to pry, and when Pepper signals for you to join her on her morning walk, you agree.

- You know, you are surprisingly nice. - She comments as you two take a break for some water.

- Thanks, I guess. - You mumble, and she laughs.

- What I mean is that nerds are usually know-it-all types and not at all sociable. - She explains. - You're quiet, but you're fun.

- Who says I'm not a know-it-all. - You retort with amusement, and Pepper laughs as you walk back.

- I'm just saying that it turned out to be nice to invite you over despite everything.

- Despite everything what?

Pepper laughs awkwardly, shaking her head.

- The differences between our groups I say. - She quickly clarifies. You don't perceive the lie. - Maybe there is a chance for us to remain friends after here.

- Why wouldn't we? - you ask confused. Pepper seems to be talking as if it is impossible for you to continue talking to each other after the trip is over, and you don't understand why.

Pepper blinks in embarrassment, and then pats your arm, hurrying her steps.

- It's nothing, I'm just overthinking it. - she says. - I'm sure it will all work out.

You don't ask any more questions because she's walking too fast, and exercise isn't really your thing. You're struggling to keep up.

//-//

After your walk with Pepper, you agreed to let Steve teach you how to play a bit of hockey. And then you all had lunch together, and Wanda avoided all your attempts to start a conversation with her. You figured she was upset with her boyfriend, so you didn't press her.

Later in the afternoon, after you played snowball wars with everyone, and perhaps laughed more than appropriate when Wanda kept hitting Vision in the face, Steve made a fire in the backyard area and everyone gathered around.

- Let's tell some horror stories, please? - Pietro asked as he sat down, and Tony slapped him on the head, laughing.

- You are such a baby. - he sneered, holding out a bottle of whiskey to Steve. You rolled your eyes, impatient with Stark's annoying mania for proving his maturity.

Then he began to share sex stories, and the group seemed happy to join in. The bottle swirled around, and you let it pass you by without taking a sip. It stopped at Wanda, and she drank much more than anyone else.

- And you, Y/N, don't you have any sinful stories to share with the group? - teased Tony ironically, and you rolled your eyes.

- I prefer to be silent.

Tony laughed at her hostility.

- Now all that's left is for you to say you're a virgin! - he sneered, causing the group to laugh. You exchanged a quick glance with Wanda, who didn't even seem to be listening, the whiskey bottle still in her hands.

- I'm not, but if I were that wouldn't be your business - You retort impatiently. Tony whistles impressed.

- Tell us how it was! - he asks excitedly. - I bet it was Jessica Jones who fucked the weirdo!

You stand up abruptly as the group laughs.

- You're drunk, and you're talking shit. - you say angrily. - But if you ever annoy me again, I will punch you right in the face!

Tony seems slightly impressed by your attitude, but he is clearly drunk so he shrugs his shoulders. You then leave, returning to your room.

Non-Reader Povs

- What is your problem? - Pietro complained as soon as Y/N entered the cabin. Tony blinked surprised and alcoholic.

- It was just a joke, it's not my fault she's weird. - He retorted with a wry laugh.

Pietro let out an irritated exclamation.

- You know what? - He spoke angrily, looking at everyone. - What we're doing is wrong.

- What was that? - Vision sneered, but Pietro looked at him seriously.

- You heard me. - he said, getting up. - She's a nice girl and she's been fun to be with. That bet was stupid.

The teens exchange guilty glances, but then Tony and Vision are laughing.

- One hickey and you're in love, Maximoff? - Vision sneered and stood up, as Pietro clenched his jaw.

- You're an asshole.

- Oh, I'm an asshole? - Vision retorted ironically. - This little scene of yours is absurd, treating your friends as if we were the villains of the story. - he says laughing. - The girl is a weirdo who must be absolutely fascinated that people like us even talk to her!

Pietro looks at him impatiently, but Vision does not lose his debauched posture.

- Shut up. - Wanda's drunken speech startles the group. Vision turns to her in surprise, but then he laughs.

- That's excellent. - He says. - Both Maximoffs teaming up against the group.

- You're full of shit. - Wanda exclaimed angrily, getting up, and Vision shook her head. - She's not...

- She's not what dear? - He interrupted. - You know I'm right. In fact, I bet if you go up to her room right now, you won't even need to ask twice and she'll fuck you.

- Vision! - Pietro exclaims angrily, but he stares only at the redhead, who has her jaw clenched.

- Everyone just wants to fuck you, Wandy. - He says. - There's nothing worthwhile beyond that.

Wanda holds back the tears in her eyes, bumping into Vision as she leaves, and the boy laughs, shouting between giggles that he was only joking, but the redhead doesn't turn around.

- That was cruel. - Potts then said, and Vision let out a wry laugh.

- It was just a joke. - He says and sits back down. - You girls are so sentimental.

Pietro then leaves, and Vision rolls his eyes. Steve and Sam exchange a look with Pepper.

- You can't really think it's okay to say something like that to your girlfriend. - Steve said annoyed. Vision laughs, incredulous at Steve's insinuation. - What is it, people? - he replies. - I just said she's hot, how is that a bad thing?

- You know, Pietro is right. - Steve said as he got up. - This whole story is absurd. - Steve, come on. - No, he is right. - Sam then agreed. And then Pepper stood up, exchanging a look with Tony. - Good, then. - Vision exclaims angrily. - Be my guests! I suppose you'll start hanging out with the school's weirdos on Monday then. You guys are a joke. Hypocrites. Vision grumbles before exiting angrily, walking towards the trail. The group exchanged a guilty look.

Reader Pov

You had just finished showering and putting on your pajamas when Wanda came into your room. You frowned in surprise, and let out an exclamation when she pushed you onto the bed and sat you on your lap.

- What are you doing? - you asked, and Wanda just grumbled, trying to unbutton your pajamas, but clearly too drunk to do so. - Wanda, stop. Wanda!

- That's what you want, isn't it? - She retorts with irritation, but her eyes are filled with tears. - Everyone wants to fuck the hot girl.

- Wanda, what are you talking about?

But then she's crying, falling against you. You let your arms go around her, trying to calm her down. She only stops crying when she falls asleep.

You don't know what has happened, but you feel your heart clench. Moving to the bed, you lay Wanda down on the mattress, then cover her with the blanket.

When you consider going to sleep in the living room, she takes your hand and whispers "stay," and you obey her.

//-//

You wake up with Wanda entwined with you. It is warm and comforting, and you smile shyly at the sensation.

The redhead starts to wake up next, grumbling as she buries her face in your neck, making you smile.

- We have to get up. - You whisper to her. - We're leaving.

- In a minute.

She says and it really only takes a moment for her to open her eyes, and be startled by the position. She awkwardly pulls away from your embrace, but still lies there. You turn on the bed to look at her, resting your face on your hand.

- I'm sorry about last night. - She says embarrassed, looking down.

- No problem. - You say. - But what was that about anyway?

Wanda sighs, running her hands through her hair as she stares at the ceiling, her back on the mattress.

- Vision told me some stupid things, and well, I believed him. - She says and you look at her curiously. With your silence, she clarifies. - It was just some comments he used to make about my body, okay? Things like, people are only interested in me because I'm hot.

You frown, surprised and annoyed.

- That's bullshit.

Wanda looks at you, surprised that you said something. You look into her eyes as you speak again.

- Your boyfriend is an insecure scumbag who uses your body insecurities against you. It's sick. - You tell her seriously. - You, Wanda Maximoff, are completely passionate for a thousand reasons other than your looks. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

You smile at Wanda's surprised expression, letting your fingers wander across her features.

- Do you really mean that? - she asks insecurely, and you give her a tender look.

- You're sweet. - You start, letting your fingers caress her cheek. - Smart and sincere. You have this different energy, like you never fit anywhere and you're absolutely magnetic. - You tell her. - And of course, you also laugh at my jokes, which suggests that you are as sarcastic and perceptive as I am.

Wanda smiles and closes her eyes for a second, and then looks at you with almost guilt.

- Can I ask you a random question?

- Sure.

- If someone needed to apologize to you, what would be the best way?

- This is a very specific question, Wanda. Should I be concerned? - You retort with mild amusement, and Wanda quickly denies it.

- Come on, answer me. - She asks, and you giggle.

- I don't know, Wanda. - You say laughing, and roll your eyes slightly. - I guess it would depend on what the person did. - You explain, and Wanda looks at you with a frown. - What's that face, what would your answer be then?

- Food. - She says and you look at her with confusion. - The person would only have to buy me food and apologize and I would forgive them.

You let out a laugh, and Wanda follows. And then you assume a thoughtful posture.

- Honestly, I don't think if there is a right way. - You tell her. - I would like the person to be honest with me, and explain to me what happened. - You say, and Wanda nods with a serious expression. - That, or a really cheesy apology act.

- What? - Wanda asks with amusement.

- Yes, like in those old movies. - You clarify with a slight laugh. - If someone apologizes in the rain, or with a serenade at my window, I would probably forgive that person for the shame they are going through for me.

You and Wanda laugh and then your alarm clock starts to ring, signaling that it was already time for everyone to get up and go home. You sigh slightly.

As you sit up in bed, throwing your feet out, Wanda hugs your back, surprising you.

- Thank you. - She says against your ear. - Don't give up on me yet, okay?

You frown in confusion, laughing without understanding Wanda's seriousness. You squeeze your hands together, but then she lets go.

- Is everything all right? - you ask as she turns around on the bed and stands up in front of you. Wanda swallows dryly, nodding. She smiles before she leaves, and you ignore the strange feeling that has settled on the pit of your stomach as you stand up toward the bathroom.

//-//

The way back to your house is strangely silent. It seems that all of Wanda's friends have changed their personalities overnight. Pietro gives you a quick hug across the shoulders as you get out of the car, and Wanda kisses your cheek. Vision doesn't look at you.

You call your friends as soon as you finish packing your things in your room. And everyone is extremely surprised when you share what has happened in the last few days.

When you return to school the next day, you are feeling excited.

Your first class is Biology, which means that you would have some time alone with Wanda, and while you wait for the starting bell, sitting on the benches outside with your friends, Wanda's group passes you by.

You frown as you notice Vision with his arm around Wanda, and she quickly looks away when she notices you watching. You clench your jaw at the childish attitude, and then you are getting up and walking toward the table they have chosen.

- Can I talk to you? - You ask the redhead directly, who seems to have trouble keeping her gaze on you. Her friends also look awkward, as if they are almost embarrassed, and none of them look at you for very long. Completely unlike Vision, who has a smug posture and a wry smile.

- Leave my girlfriend alone, freak. - He then says, and you blink in surprise.

- What is your problem? - You retort in irritation and Vision lets out a wry laugh.

- What is your problem? - He repeats, getting up and facing you. You don't hesitate, but you don't understand why everyone just stares at you. - What did you think was going to happen, huh? That you would start hanging out with the cool kids?

You look at him in confusion, and then he crosses his arms.

- I just want to talk to Wanda.

Vision laughed, looking mocking.

- You're so stupid. - He accused and you took a step back. - The bet is off girl, Wanda has nothing to say.

You blink in confusion, and the redhead is getting up, pulling on her boyfriend's forearm, but you look at them feeling your heart racing.

- What are you talking about?

Vision laughs, releasing Wanda's grip. You think she whispered "Please don't," but you are trying to understand what is going on.

- Oh, your dear friend didn't tell you? - he asks debauchedly. - We had a bet. I was sure you'd be completely obsessed with Wanda by the end of the holiday, and look at you! Here you are. I don't blame you though, Wanda is hot.

You choke in surprise, taking another step back. You risk a glance at the rest of the group, and they have their heads down, guilty looks on their faces. And then you look at Wanda, eyes watering as she clenches her fists. Feeling your heart break, and your stomach clench, you nod.

- Y/N, I can explain. - Wanda starts and you laugh, running your hands through your hair.

- I've always defended you. - You say, putting your hands in your pockets. - When people told me you were false and deceitful, I defended you. I really thought you were different from them.

- I....

- I can't believe I trusted you. - You say. - Never speak to me again, Wanda Maximoff.

You turned around walking away, ignoring the times the redhead called your name as you held back your tears.

//-//

Your mother told the school that you were sick.

That's how you felt anyway.

It had been three days since you had left your room. Bruce, Monica and Natasha were sending you all the school content you were missing, and you struggled to keep your focus on that and not on the heartbreak that seemed to take over your whole body.

The weekend arrived again, and you decided to get some fresh air. You were on your balcony, sipping hot chocolate when Nat came into your yard.

- Hey, stranger. - She greets you with a smile, sitting down on the seat in front of you. You give her a sad smile.

- Hi, Nat.

- How are you?

You shrug, and she sighs.

- It will pass, I promise. - She says and you drink some of your chocolate. - By the way, I'm suspended.

- What? - You ask in surprise, and she giggles, showing you the bandage on the fingers of her right hand.

- I punched Vision in the nose shortly after you left the cafeteria. - She tells you, and you widen your eyes in surprise. - I didn't say anything before because I didn't want you to feel guilty.

- Nat! - you exclaim, slightly upset, looking at her hand. - You didn't have to do that.

- I know. - she says with a slight laugh. - But you are my friend, and he is an idiot. You're a dork who doesn't have the strength to hurt a fly, but I have a feeling you'd do the same for me.

You laugh, nodding.

- I would probably get beat up in reality.

Nat laughs in agreement.

You are silent for a moment, until Nat speaks again.

- I hate to see you like this. - She comments, and you sigh, leaving the coffee mug on the table.

- I hate feeling like this too.

Nat sighs, opening her arms. You accept her invitation to hug her, and sit down next to her on the bench, letting her wrap you in a side hug.

- You'll come out of this, dear. - She starts to say as she strokes your hair. - Next year you'll be in college, with so many people wanting to get into your pants that you won't even remember who Wanda Maximoff was.

You laugh shyly.

- I hope you are right. - You grumble, closing your eyes.

- I always am.

//-//

You go back to school the following week.

Your body always seems to notice that Wanda is in the same room as you, even though she is meters away, but you learn to deal with the feeling.

You talked to the biology teacher on Monday morning. Apparently, the news quickly spread throughout the school, and she did not refuse to change your partner.

It wasn't an ideal scenario knowing that everyone in the school was feeling sorry for you, but at least you wouldn't have to talk to Wanda in class.

And so two weeks passed.

You were almost getting used to the feeling as you walked towards the main building, after stopping by the library and returning the physics books you were using, when you heard a commotion in the courtyard.

There was already a circle of students around, and you were considering turning around, because fights are not really your thing, but you had a feeling you should check it out.

As you slipped in among the students, you let out a surprised exclamation.

- Bruce! - You shouted as you threw the bag on the ground and lunged forward, but the boy who was fighting with your friend just turned around when you jumped at him, breaking free of your grip and laughing with irony and anger. He slapped you in the face that drew a surprised chorus from the crowd. You staggered back with the impact, feeling your face burn. But you stepped forward again, but he gave you a hard shove that knocked you to the ground. As you got up to go forward again, someone grabbed you around the waist. - Pietro, let me go! Help him!

You let out another exclamation when the boy punched Bruce in the face, but Pietro pushed you away from the fight, and Steve held you by the arms in the crowd. Pietro lunged at the boy next, while Bruce fell unconscious.

You broke free of Steve's grip and ran to your friend, and then there were teachers all around you, and you were all being led into the principal's office.

The counselor motioned for you to sit in one of the chairs to wait your turn, and you used this moment to send messages to your friends. Monica told you that she heard about the fight, but that she was in the history room when it happened. Natasha didn't answer, and when she appeared in front of you, you frowned.

- Nat, Bruce he...

- I know. - She interrupted seriously with an almost tearful expression. - He was fighting for me.

- For you? What?

Nat shook her head, looking toward the direction door.

- I told him not to get involved, but he is stubborn. - She says and then takes a deep breath. - That boy over there, his name is Clint. He's my ex. He... he hit me.

- Whoa, what?

- I know, it's too much to explain. - She says. - Me and Bruce, we... we've been going out for a few weeks now. And Clint wasn't happy when he found out. I told Bruce not to get involved but…

- Hey, Nat breathes. - You interrupt by seeing her eyes filled with tears. - This is not your fault.

You hug your friend, trying to calm her down. It doesn't take long for Monica to reach you two.

Soon the director calls you to give your side of the story, and you just tell him that you arrived in the middle of the fight. As you leave, the principal asks you to go to the infirmary and only then you remember that you were beaten.

You give up the idea of getting a bandage when you find Pietro and the group of friends, including Wanda, in the infirmary, but as soon as the nurse lays eyes on you, she pulls you in, sitting you down on one of the free beds.

She starts grumbling that the students have decided to behave like savages as she rushes over with the first aid kits to attend to all the students who were in the infirmary. You don't quite understand what happened, but it seemed that some kids had made a mess in the pesticide gardening class, so there were several students with red spots on their arms complaining of pain.

- It's okay, I can do it. - You tell the nurse as soon as she approaches you with the first aid kit. She looks at you suspiciously, but then a student at your back lets out a complaint and she sighs, handing the items to you as she leaves. You get up to look in the small mirror on the edge of the bed. There is a small cut on your cheek. That guy really hit hard.

While you were preparing the alcohol swab, Wanda walked over to you. You stared at her reflection in the mirror.

- I can help you with this. - She said about the bandage.

- I don't need your help. - You retorted harshly. Wanda looked at the floor.

- I am sorry.

You blinked in surprise, and turned away in irritation.

- No. - You warned, and Wanda swallowed hard. She looked at you, ready to start talking again, but then you shook your head. - Don't you dare.

- Please…

But you left right away, bumping into her shoulder.

Almost four weeks, and your chest still hurts just the same.

You think the nurse has called you, but you keep walking towards the exit.

When you reached the outer courtyard, you collapsed.

Sitting on the floor, and trying to control your breathing and your crying, you were startled when someone touched your shoulders. Monica didn't ask questions, she just hugged you.

- I can't do it, Mon. - You said between sobs. - I love her so much it feels like I'm going to suffocate.

- Shh, it's okay. - Monica tried to calm you down as she ran her hands down your back.

- Why can't I move on? She hurt me, why can't I stop loving her? - you asked in desperation. Monica just kept calming you.

- I know it feels like the end of the world now. - Monica says. - But I promise it will pass.

You cried for a few more minutes, trying to push or smother the pain away. It wasn't fair the way Wanda had your broken heart in her hand.

//-//

Bruce did not suffer any serious injuries.

You visited him in the infirmary as soon as he was released from the principal's office. He was worried about your swollen crying eyes, but you assured him that everything was fine.

And then he told you that he was in love with Natasha, and that Clint had been expelled. You shook his hand, saying that everything would be all right now. Soon Nat was in the room with you, hugging Bruce, while you went out with Monica to get something to eat.

The week passed quietly after this.

Your friends started the "Moving on squad", and they did everything to keep you distracted and well cared for. It was sweet and caring, and it was enough to keep your feelings well under control.

A few days after that mess, you needed to buy tomato sauce for your mother and found Pietro Maximoff in the supermarket checkout line.

- Hey. - He greeted you politely. You felt your heart race at the possibility that he was with his sister.

- Hi, Pietro. - You answered in the same tone.

You were checking around for signs of the redhead, but Pietro was alone. He said something about the prices, and you just grumbled in agreement, and then it was your turn.

In the parking lot, while you were unlocking your bike, he approached you again.

- I want to apologize to you. - He announced as he approached, and you let out a sigh.

- Look Pietro...

- No. - He interrupts with a quick smile. - I meant it. I'm really sorry. You're a nice girl, and we were idiots.

You stare at him for a moment, then go back to picking the lock.

- Is that all?

- Yes. - He confirms with a wry smile. But when he turns around, you call out to him.

- I... Thank you for that day. - You say. - You pulled me out of the fight. I probably would have got hurt if... what I mean is...

- It's all right.- He interrupts with a smile. - It was nothing.

You nodded and he smiled, turning again and walking away. You finished unlocking the lock and got on your bike.

//-//

The next week you were surprised to find a box of chocolate in your closet.

Nat exchanged a mischievous look with you, and you rolled your eyes absentmindedly, opening the package. It didn't have a name on it, and only said "you are cute".

- I can't believe you have a secret admirer. - Monica commented excitedly when you told her during lunch. Bruce and Natasha were sitting next to you, laughing lightly as they talked among themselves.

- Neither do I. - You comment with humor. - But the chocolates were good at least.

- I think it’s sweet. - She comments with a smile, and you shrug, blushing.

- It's weird. - You say with a slight laugh, and Monica squeezes your red cheeks lightly, saying that you're adorable, making you laugh. - Damn, I'm terrible at these things.

You start talking about the upcoming exams after that, and then the break ends.

It is in the last period of PE that you speak with Pietro again several days after you saw him last.

- Hey. - He greets you with an excited nod. You smile politely as you tie your shoelaces.

- Hi. - You say as he joins you.

- Are you going to the game on Saturday? - he asks, causing you to frown.

- I'm not...

- My god this guy never gives up. - He interrupts with a scowl, looking at something behind you. You turn your head to see what it is, and notice Vision talking to Wanda several feet ahead, near the bleachers. The redhead looks impatient, and you feel your heart ache just by looking directly at her. Shifting your gaze back to Pietro, you notice that he is still grimacing. - They've been broken up for over a month and he still keeps insisting.

You blink in surprise and Pietro looks back at you.

- They broke up?

- I thought you knew. - He quips, slightly surprised, and then shrugs his shoulders. - They broke up that day in the yard. Wanda slapped him in the face in front of the whole school, everyone talked about it for weeks.

- I'm not really into school gossip. - You comment and Pietro laughs.

- Of course not.

You stand up next, your gaze quickly shifting to Wanda, but you disguise it by looking at Pietro, who has an expectant expression on his face. Then you remember the question and let out an exclamation, running your hands through your hair.

- I'm not into sports, Pietro. - You tell him and he nods in understanding, looking upset. - But I like the food. And Natasha loves the games, so maybe I'll show up with my friends there.

Pietro lets out an excited exclamation, and gives you a pat on the shoulder, saying he hopes you can make it, before heading out onto the court.

You ignore the nervous feeling in your stomach when your gaze meets Wanda's on the other side of the court, and you quickly turn away, starting to do your exercises for class.

//-//

You were slightly surprised by Natasha's outfit. She was covered head to toe in school colors, down to a commemorative hat and matching socks. You looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but she just smiled as she pulled you by the hand to Monica's truck.

- How is the story about the secret admirer going? - Nat asked as you sat in the back seat, and Monica drove to school and Bruce fiddled with the radio.

- I received flowers on Wednesday. - You tell with a smile. - And a collection of special gift vouchers.

- What are these? - She asked curiously, and Monica laughed lightly as you felt your cheeks flush.

- It's a special kind of ... eh ... vouchers for hugs, kisses, that sort of thing. - You mumbled clumsily and Natasha laughed.

- My goodness, look at your face! - She laughed. - You are loving how corny this is.

You grumbled with a hot face, turning your gaze to the window. Bruce chose a very good song next, and your friends started singing along. It didn't take long before you joined them.

//-//

The school stadium was quite crowded. Senior year games always had scouts from universities, so you weren't surprised by family members, and well-dressed strangers in the stands, as well as faculty.

- Wow, Mom is going to have fun today. - Monica commented as two you walked to the bleachers. She was looking at her cell phone, and showed you a picture of two glasses of wine that Maria had sent her. - She has a date.

- Have you met them? - you asked curiously, and Monica made a noise with her mouth of agreement.

- She's from the Air Force. Very pretty and fun, and she treated me very well. - She told you with a smile. - I hope everything works out between them, Mom deserves to be happy.

You nod in agreement and then you find empty chairs. Bruce and Natasha join you many moments later, carrying the food.

- Yay, fries. - Monica says excitedly as Natasha distributes the food among you.

The band then enters the stadium. And the crowd seems excited, you and Monica laugh at Natasha's excitement.

As soon as the band makes their formation, the cheerleaders enter the field and the crowd cheers. You try not to look at Wanda so immediately, but that is exactly what you do. When they are all in the center, and finish the performance with lots of applause, the director gets up on the stage and starts announcing the game.

- And without further ado, West View High let's...

The principal is interrupted abruptly by one of the students. You and the audience watch intently as Pepper nudges the principal on the shoulder, and he turns around confused and surprised. She smiles innocently as she quickly takes the microphone from his hand.

- We had a slight change of plans, West View. - she announces, smiling. And then the band is moving on, and you recognize the music quickly. It was an old rock song. The audience sings along excitedly, surprised and in shock, but still happy with the music.

As the music plays, Pepper turns back to the director, and they discuss something. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, and she gives an excited little jump, and then is joining the cheering team again.

When the song ends, it is not Pepper who comes up to the podium with the microphone, but Wanda, which generates a lot of comments from the audience.

- Is that? - Natasha starts and you feel your stomach turn.

- Yep.

- Hello West View. - Wanda begins looking nervous, the audience looks at her in anticipation. - Many of you must think me a complete bitch after the rumors that surfaced a few weeks ago.

- Oh my God. - You mumble clumsily, feeling the stares of some people on you.

- I think I should explain what happened. - Wanda says tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and ignoring the comments from the audience, she continues talking. - My ex-boyfriend and my best friends decided to make a bet. - She explains, and you clench your jaw. - He bet my friends that if I gave even the slightest bit of attention to our colleague, Y/N Y/L/N, she would become obsessed with me in one weekend. - The audience seems shocked by the confessions, but Wanda was looking at you. - The funny thing is, it was the exact opposite. Y/N is this amazing girl, sweet and caring, and I can't stop thinking about her. It must be because I am completely in love with her. - She confessed, and you felt your eyes fill with tears. - But I blew it. I was mean and cruel, and I'm sorry. I'm here to apologize to you Y/N, and you don't even have to forgive me. I just wanted you to know.

The audience erupted in murmurs at the confession, and you were in shock to react. Wanda was also teary-eyed.

A mixture of "forgive her" and " start the game" and various other comments began to grow louder, and then Director Fury was approaching Wanda, and asking for the microphone back. She took one last look at you, before bowing her head and walking off the field. The audience let out a mixed chorus of celebration and sadness, and then Monica was pushing you slightly, and you waved frantically as you hurried to catch up to Wanda.

- I can't believe you did that! - You shout at her as soon as you reach her in the gymnasium hallway, the noise of the game starting muffled by the distance.

Wanda turns around in surprise, wiping away tears.

- I just...

- When I said the perfect apology would be like a cliché, I can't believe you took it seriously. - You comment as you approach laughing lightly. Wanda looks surprised at your friendly posture. - You are such a dork.

And then you kiss her as you bring your hands to her waist, and she sighs in astonishment, but responds the next second, trembling as your tongues touch.

You push her against the wall of the hallway, and she slips her arms around your shoulders, melting into the kiss. You separate your mouths for breath.

- I'm sorry. - She asks again with her eyes closed. - I'm really sorry.

- I know. - You agree breathlessly. - Just... don't ever do anything like that again.

She nods in agreement, kissing you again. It's delicious the way your tongues feel together, making your head spin. You are blushing because Wanda is sighing and making a warm tightness rise in the pit of your stomach.

- I love you too, Wands. - You confess against her lips and she opens her eyes in surprise, you look at her with a smile. - I guess ever since you laughed at my joke in biology class.

Wanda lets out a short laugh, her eyes sparkling with joy.

- I love you. - She answers by kissing you quickly. - I love you. - She repeats and starts depositing kisses all over your face, making you laugh. She repeats and repeats until you kiss her again, intensely this time.

You stay like this for several minutes. Exchanging not-so-innocent kisses against the gymnasium wall. Until the first half of the game is over, and you hear the sound of the players returning to the locker room, and then Pietro is reaching for you, making a false threatening posture when he notices your swollen lips, and Wanda's lipstick on your face.

- Please get a room. - He then jokes, continuing on his way to the locker room.

You and Wanda agree to leave the stadium, wanting to enjoy some time together without the stares of the audience on you.

You two end up in the back of Monica's truck, staring up at the stars, your hands entwined.

- So it was you who sent the presents. - You conclude by looking at Wanda quickly, to catch her blushing cheeks.

- I was trying to find a way to talk to you. - She explained, turning to you, releasing her hand only to stroke your cheek. - That's why I made the voucher “worth a conversation”.

You laughed lightly, looking at her fondly.

- I liked the kiss coupon. - You say with amusement and she raises her eyebrow, smiling.

- Yeah? - She replies, bringing your faces together and stealing a lingering kiss from you.

- Best one.

Wanda laughs, pulling away a little. You swallow dryly, watching her carefully.

- What happens now? - you ask, and Wanda looks into your eyes.

- I don't know. - She says. - But I hope we'll be together in the end.

You smile, nodding.

- We will. - You assure her before adjusting your position to embrace her. Wanda snuggles against you, enjoying your warmth.

#wanda maximoff #wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wandamaximoff x reader #wandamaximoffxreader #wanda maximoffxreader #marvel imagines #high school au

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

fall from grace

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?”

“Your name.”

REQUEST/WARNINGS. (royal au, mutual pining, praise kink ) fake dating au, mirror sex, slight manhandling, fingering, body marking, prejudice, mentions of abuse, injustice, and inequality + unedited (I’m so lazy to edit tbh, I’m so sorry, just bear with me if there are typos or grammatical errors)

NOTES. I LOVE AND HATE THIS STORY

WC. 7k+

SONG INSPO. Ashes (Celine Dion)

The prince himself lifted his chin up higher; long, slender fingers deftly grazing against the pad of your knuckles that were pressed on his chest.

The tips of your ears burned at the sight of people pausing from their conversations all to witness the scene – one that was so rare to have come from the infamous Crown Prince known to have bedded more women than he could count.

“Your Highness,” you pinched your brows together, leaning closer into him to bring you the least bit of comfort. The dress you had to wear today had nothing but itchy lace; albeit elegant, you preferred the loose materials of your dance clothes, painted red lips fighting back a grimace. “Must we really do this in public?”

The Crown Prince laughs, his white hair fluttering against the soft kisses of the wind. Beautiful, you think, beautiful, you are reminded, prompting you to dig your free hand deeper into the flesh of your thighs.

“What would be the point of our ruse if we are not a little flashy, My Lady?”

You frowned at his words, head ducked down as you avoided everyone’s prying eyes. You supposed you should be used to this – you are a performer, after all – but the attention was terribly unwelcomed yet expected from your previous agreements.

The said agreement, however, did not affect your standing as a person, something you had to remind the happy-go-lucky Prince. “I am not of that title.”

“People regard you of it,” he commented at an off-beat, his crystalline eyes sweeping over the crowd with a chilling command, a slight bite of a challenge that asked his people to dare him. When they shifted away, scurrying behind fluffed up skirts and pressed down suits, the Crown Prince snickered, smiling down at you with a flash of his pearly whites. “You are, after all, hanging prettily off my arm.”

“Because you asked me to, Your Highness.”

“Ah, are you forgetting already?” he paused, his long and elegant stature towering over yours. “I’m doing this for the both of us. The agreement was clear – you steered me away from my arranged marriage, redeem my nettling reputation, and in turn, I shall pick you up from where you’ve fallen,” your lips parted in protest, finger raised to correct that no, you had not fallen, that was not the situation at all, but he silenced you when he leaned down close enough that his eyes twinkled before you, lips turned at the side arrogantly. “In fact, I am more than capable of providing you more than that.”

“I am well aware of that, Your Highness. I truly am indebted to you.”

Should you be humiliated? Forming an agreement with the Crown Prince would be the last thing that would ever arrive even in your craziest dreams, yet there you were, in the middle of the town square, leisurely strolling with the Kingdom’s heir as if it was but a daily occurrence.

Thoughts running back to your latest predicament – which he just had to bear witness to – you winced, swallowing the resigned sigh that threatened to spill.

You did not have enough shame in you to be humiliated, not when he was right. It was a mutually beneficial agreement.

“You do not have to be,” Prince Satoru blinked at you, gray lashes fluttered against the pads of his cheeks. “I take extreme pleasure in saving a damsel in distress,” Your lips puckered out, tireless with the need to tell him it wasn’t like that, and the Prince easily read through you, tugging you back into his arm as he laughed. “Even when I know you are not. Still, it does feel nice to take a walk in this fine day, don’t you think?”

You snorted at the heavy sarcasm under his sweet tone, “It feels a little embarrassing.”

“You feel embarrassed that you’re with me?”

“Yes,” you gritted at your teeth, the lace of your gloves digging into your flesh. You wanted nothing more than to rip it off, the material a silent reminder of the requirement that must be met to fool the crowd. “You’re a prince and I am—”

“I thought we already established titles mean nothing when we both mutually benefit from one another,” he cut you off, hands coming up to caress at your cheeks. You immediately froze at his touch, the iciness behind those eyes doing nothing to soothe you until he spoke, the Prince’s words oddly gentle and warm like the sun that shone down on you that fine day. “Worry not about that. I do not care what people think of you. All I care is that you do well and I shall do my part gracefully in return,” he declared for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

Back then, you never believed that people had power just because they were born with it. Power had to be manifested, trained, earned – yet Prince Satoru wielded it with his lips so effortlessly that in that moment, you believed magic really wasn’t a myth.

“Kiss me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Everyone is looking,” his eyes darted over the on looking crowd, his bare hand still caressing your warm cheeks, hot enough that it put the sun to shame. “Lest you want this plan to fail, I suggest you kiss me, darling. Passionately.”

The Crown Prince was right. Everyone was looking.

Your body’s response was instantaneous. A hiss of a breath, muscles tensed and fingers curled into a fist at your side; you could feel bile rising from your throat out of panic.

Then Prince Satoru leaned forwards, eyes snapped shut and his lips colliding with yours. The single touch had all the tension flooding away as you kissed the Prince, his lips tasting of cinnamon and sugar, vanilla and spice wafting off of him delicately that you had to fist at the collar of his shirt to prevent yourself from gobbling him up whole.

He would find that rather displeasing, claiming that you had little to no table manners, so you forced yourself to relax as he breathed air into your mouth, large hands cradled around your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled between kisses, the mere scent of royalty and forbidden elegance dripping off of him making you fearful to open your eyes. It felt illegal to touch the most wanted bachelor in your Kingdom this way, felt wrong to have his hands roaming down the slopes of your body while everyone looked at your shameless public display of faux romance. But if it was wrong, then why did he hold you so tenderly, not moving to push you away even as you nipped at his lips once more?

“You’re alright – I’ve got you.”

It was not easy being a no-name ballerina. You’ve crafted your skill for what seemed like your whole life, yet getting even a step closer to your dreams proved to be a daunting task. Even as your toes bruised and your muscles ached, pants heaved from your chest while you bended your body at will, you couldn’t stop thinking about how no one told you it was never easy to reach your dreams.

The fairytales had lied to you. They made it seem to easy to grab a star, never really explaining on how to be a star.

It felt so far away – the galaxy and universe you’d longer your entire life to be a part of – yet the Crown Prince stood at the corner of your studio, eyes dark as he watched you sway to the music.

A few weeks prior to your spontaneous arrangement, you were foolish enough to believe you could become that star easily. You were the lowest of ranks when it came to other girls; orphaned, no-named, broke, and loveless.

Unlike your peers that were bred of the finest titles and fed with silver spoons, nannies and courts running after them in their growing years, you had to survive on scraps, taking three jobs at the young age of thirteen just to get into dance school and afford the fees.

You believed title or ranking shouldn’t have had to do anything with talent and worth, but then again, you were foolish beyond your years.

The moment you heard you were chosen to be the Black Swan of this season, allowing you to debut, you squealed behind your skirt, training day and night to the point you’ve skipped your meals just to perfect your routine.

That was until your classmates’ parents had come inside the school, twirling their moustaches behind soft fingers that had never known a day’s worth of work, belly round with cupcakes and all the delicacies only they were privileged enough to eat, the nervous laughter of your ballet master enough to let you know what it all meant.

Your classmate – the prettiest and the richest one – came rushing past you as she giggled over the announcement that she would be the Black Swan.

She was far many years younger than you, spoiled and with an attitude that tasted as bad as your leftovers, and definitely not skilled enough to debut – but of course, nothing was ever impossible enough with money, right? Before you could even defend yourself, your ballet master had cleaned out your quarters, your skirts and shoes thrown onto the muddy dirt while you cried under the rain, begging for another chance.

Second chances? You wanted to laugh.

Only people who did wrong should ask for it, and yet you sat there on your knees, hands clasped in a prayer that should only be reserved for wish bearers, desperate pleads of please don’t do this to me echoing into the empty night.

Was it fate then that the Crown Prince was half drunk inside his vehicle, shades slipping off his nose as he turned your way, your cries rudely interrupting the music blaring inside his car?

Perhaps it was – a cruel or a wonderful fate; no one could tell – the only thing that mattered now was that the Crown Prince had yet again found interest in a woman.

Only this time he didn’t lust after their body, wished nothing to do with their hands on his, completely sober around your presence as he watched you train endlessly in your studio, your sweat making your clothes stick like a second skin.

Prince Satoru leaned back against the walls then.

He should’ve brought a drink with him. Had he known that watching you dance sensually with such a blissed out expression he was mostly familiar with when he had his legs wrapped around another warm body would set his body alight, sober, then he would’ve left long ago.

Still, the Prince is rendered frozen at the edge, eyes trailing over your graceful form as you bended, legs flying out into the air while you arms dipped and curved into the most graceful of arcs and bows that put his combat figures into shame.

You weren’t even trying to seduce him and yet he was wholly captivated.

He wants to say that the woman he saw that rainy night and the woman stood before him now, figure bathed in the small slivers of sunlight that peeked through the blinds and stockings hugging each and every curve and dip of your body were entirely two different people, but the longer he looked, there was no mistaking it was still the same person. The passion burned through your eyes, the soft melodious tunes of the music guiding you – or rather you guiding the beat before you fluttered to another.

Prince Satoru smiled.

It first came off as a joke that he wanted to know more about you – his pretend lover – because everyone knew the Crown Prince was too frivolous to ever settle down and find interest in a woman beyond her looks. The confused pout you gave him as he followed you inside your studio burned at the back of his brain, a silent warning that you were different; that you were not someone he could touch lest he wished to burn and break you, though that would be a lie, it seemed.

For every strong ripple of your muscles and flowy movement of your body as you completely delved into the space of your own home and comfort, the Prince knew – you were not someone he could crush into the palm of his hands.

He came here out of boredom.

He left the studio with a confused heart, cheeks resting on his palm as he asked his chauffer, when is the next show?

The birds chirped above you, your fingers stretched out as you peeked from under it, lips pressed into a flat line. You were in the royal garden after persistent invitation from the Crown Prince himself. Speaking of, said Crown Prince had his limbs sprawled out beneath you, the edges of his hands slightly playing with the frills of your dress as he took his afternoon nap, a youthful smile on his face.

“Your Highness,” you huffed out, “What are we doing here? No one is looking. There is no need for us to continue our act.”

“I know,” he cheered a little too brightly for someone that looked to be deep in dreamland, “I just wanted to hang out with you without worrying about others. Not that I ever did, but it’s nice to be alone with you every once in a while. The prying eyes can get a bit too much.”

You hummed at the thought; he did have a point. This arrangement turned out to be a lot smoother than expected. The Crown Prince wasn’t lying about his intentions and not once had he laid a hand on you – without your permission, anyway – and he turned out to be…a lot more docile and easy going than what you originally thought of him. Not that you had much thoughts to begin with anyway, the Prince was a celebrity and therefore not someone that concerned you.

In your mind, he was merely your leader, more often than a not a name spoken between hushed whispers and dreamy moans.

This side of him was different, and all the time you’d spent him with was filled with nothing but ridiculed stares and taunts. The Crown Prince was a hilarious man who never feared trying out new things, always happy and eager to try exotic foods with you in the night markets or joining you in your spontaneous dancing during midnight ‘dates.’

He was the closest you could consider as a friend, and you relaxed against him, laying down on the flowery fields right next to him as you sighed in content. “I will miss this, Your Highness.”

“Miss what?”

“You and I – hanging out,” you mumbled a little dreamily, “I have a strong feeling things will finally get better for me. When I get scouted by a better company, I won’t be able to hang out with you anymore,” Silence befell the both upon you, the rustling of the wind against the flowers sounding like a far off memory. Soon, it would be. “I will miss this.”

“You could always call me. Or who knows, maybe I’d even drop by to watch your performances sometime.”

You snapped your eyes open, chuckling when the Prince had now sat up halfway, his regal face cradled in his hands while his elbow laid flat under him. He blinked innocently at you, and that’s when you realized – he was serious. That had you bursting into laughter, hands clutched at your stomach. “Please, you? You do not even enjoy ballerina!”

“I enjoy watching you,” he confessed in a heartbeat, his gaze falling from your crinkled eyes and all the way down to the silhouette of your body. “There’s something about the way you move that’s just so graceful and...phenomenal.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his heated gaze, the mere trails of his sight enough to warm your entire skin despite the cool wind. This was the Prince concerned though, and you had to guard your heart, eyes narrowed playfully at him while you desperately ignored the need to rub your thighs together.

“Are you flirting with me, Your Highness?”

The Prince snorted, “Flirt with you? My pretend girlfriend?” he clutched a hand at his chest as if the assumption offended him, “What makes you come to that conclusion?”

You chucked your handkerchief at him, still a little in disbelief that you were greeted by his laughter when it hit him right in the face.

You would miss this indeed.

Your gaze softened as you sat up, thighs pressed to your chest as you directed your gaze up in the sky. Prince Satoru may not always be around when the time came, but at least you still had the sky to remind you of this brazen and unexpected friendship that helped you grow.

“Thank you, though,” you squished your cheeks onto your knees, a lilted smile plastered on your face. “Dancing has always been a passion of mine. I can’t ever imagine a time of my life where I wasn’t moving with music. It almost feels as if I was destined with it; it speaks to me and deeper than the recesses of my bones, guides me until I’m one and entangled with it,” you ended with a dreamy sigh, turning your head to the side to look His Highness in the eye, stilling for a moment when you’re met with his solemn gaze.

Your throat parched dry. “Have you ever fallen in love with something like that before?”

“I don’t think so,” one of his shoulders lifted up in a lame shrug, voice turning deep and husky as he asked, “How do you know when you lack something or not?”

“If it comes to love...” you tapped your chin with a finger, “I think a life lived without one would feel quite empty. Hollow, I would say, and the skies would just be a plain blue instead of a calming yet mesmerizing one,” the courage that soared within you was an unexpected one, but it was enough to let you look him in the eye, form vulnerable and words slipping past your lips before you could control them. “If I were incapable of love, I’d say your eyes are nothing but gleams of sapphire.”

“And if you were capable of it? What would my eyes be?”

“Like cerulean galaxies crashing against one another,” you whispered, “Stardust sprinkled and heavens birthed out of passion and the desire to be something more. You’d be azure and brazen instead of crestfallen; the magnificence of the universe’s creation attesting to itself that it is wholly capable of designing divine beings.”

“Hmm,” he tipped his head to the side as he mulled over your words. His jacket was discarded somewhere along the grass, top three buttons of his shirt left opened and hair rustling with the wind. Beautiful, the image etched into your skin. “Are you sure you are a dancer and not a poet?”

“People say all sorts of beautiful things when they’re in love.”

The Prince straightened up, lips pursed. For a moment, you grew fearful, your heart frantically thumping in your chest as you thought, this is it – this is when he pushes you away. He does nothing of this as he scoots closer to you, using his rough thumb to tilt your chin until you were looking up at him, wide eyes sparkling – the sight of you vulnerable like this making the Crown Prince lick his lips.

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?” You shivered as his thumb moved up to graze at your bottom lip, almost prompting it to jut out, to which you happily complied with a shaky breath. “What would you say then?”

“Your name.”

The Prince smiled to himself at your hearty answer. To hide both of your nervous chuckles, the Prince took it upon himself to ease both your worries as he kissed you, nothing but the warmth and fluttering of butterflies rampaging in your stomach mixing at his sweet taste.

Beautiful, you hummed into his mouth. You could fall for as long as you wanted, but would the Prince ever fall from grace as he moaned into your mouth, tugging you until you were situated in his lap, arms wrapped tight enough around you in refusal to let you go? Maybe, your mind sighed, hands tugging at his hair when the Prince kissed you fervently, murmuring one word that made you melt right then and there.

Beautiful, he finds you.

Both your loud laughter echoed in his training grounds, the horses’ hooves padding against the firm earth. “Not fast enough, my Lady,” he taunts, his smile bright and wide as he sat perched atop his white stallion. “How would you catch my heart if you cannot ride faster?”

“I will catch up to you, just wait and see! Not everyone grew up riding horses, you know?”

“I bet a fine coin you do ride well, though, my Lady,” he remarked with a wink, his statement enough to tap the sides of your feet harder against your horse to catch after him.

“Your Highness!”

As you two chased around each other the wide field, carefree laughter and clothes swaying against the wind, skin warm from the flush of the sun, the Crown Prince’s servants stood at the side.

A particular woman – the servant that had been loyal long before the Prince was born – remained under a parasol, her wrinkled face tight with a frown.

“How nauseating,” she scrunched her nose, arms crossed on her chest. “To think I dedicated my life into raising the little prince to be a fine king someday, and his future would be tainted by a lowly performer who cannot even make a name for herself,” turning to one of the young boy servants, she narrowed her eyes at you. “Where does she work again? Is she of name?”

“She is an orphan, Madam, taken in at a young age in a dance school before she had to pay the fees herself, if the rumors are correct. I heard that she and His Highness met when she was kicked out by her own ballet master due to her stealing the original Black Swan spot for this season’s show.”

His old nanny’s face grew more gruesome. “Wasn’t the Black Swan supposed to be one of the Earl’s daughters?”

“Yes. Rumours had it that His Highness’ new plaything seized the spot to prove herself. Look at how that plan backfired.”

“How repulsive,” she spat out, venom laced in her tongue.

The roles had reversed, the Crown Prince insistent in catching you this time around, and you rode after him with panicked laughter, hands clutched tight on the reins. Although you’d only swished past the small group of servants that always seemed to be around, you’d heard enough.

“We must protect His Highness at all costs before this wretched woman rips his future away from him. The fate of the kingdom lies on his shoulders; we cannot afford him making mistakes.”

“Indeed, Madam.”

You stopped in your tracks until the horse slowed down with confused huffs, your Prince following behind you not long afterwards. Looking back at him again, you were no longer able to smile at him genuinely, not when discomfort, and most of all shame, had to be forced down deep into your system. Beautiful, you resigned, he was too beautiful.

His servants were right. Maybe you really were ruining everything for him. His reputation was frowned upon to begin with for his less than infamous sexual endeavors, that he was more often sighted in casinos and bars instead of his study room.

The barrack guards had grown tired and weary of trying to stop the Crown Prince from leaving the royal grounds. No matter what they did, he always found a way to escape.

The only difference this time around was that their Prince no longer frequented such sinful places and met with women of all titles and backgrounds. No, this time, the Prince leapt from the tall walls that had never been much of a challenge considering his tall frame, not bothering to get a car or even a horse as he dashed straight to your studio.

Sweat dripped down from your face as you slammed a fist on the floor, tears about to erupt. You couldn’t complete this routine that you were so close into perfecting.

Your mind was simply just in a mess.

There was a conflicting war inside you – one with your heart that yearned to stay longer in His Highness’ presence out of mere selfishness, and one with your mind that told you it was dishnoroubale to taint his name like this. The last thing you wanted was to destroy and push both of you even further into falling from grace; both reputations and name already tarnished.

You’d truly be heartless if you kept going on.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were feeling comfortable with him, having found home in the Crown Prince’s warm arms and spontaneous kisses of all places.

Was it absurd? Undoubtedly so.

Could it be helped? You certainly could try.

And you’d been doing a great job so far; quite a daunting task you patted yourself in the back for. Avoiding the Prince when he’d made it clear he also enjoyed your company proved a lot harder than reaching your dreams, but you pushed through, locking yourself in the unused studio and training day and night.

It wasn’t working well – not on your part, anyway. You’d been here for hours, your clothes uncomfortably sticking to your skin and your water bottles were all emptied.

You’d never felt this tired.

You fell on your knees, palms flat on the floor and sweat salty as it trailed down to your lips. With a groan, you untied your shoes off and stared at the bruised and blued toes, a witness to the countless years of hard work. Your lip quivered as you massaged the sore muscles, tears about to spill as you remembered the Prince.

Beautiful, he was, flawless and porcelain in each movement and breath.

But you? You were battered, scarred, broken and bruised – why would he want you of all people? It was clear he’s had multiple lovers before you. No, scratch that, you were never a lover to begin with. It was all a sham, an agreement formed out of lame survival. There was no beauty in a lie.

The music playing from your stereo kept repeating on loop, this time the tune no longer unrecognizable as your soft cries echoed around the studio. You weren’t beautiful – not enough for him, at least – everyone made that very clear to you.

Just as you wiped your tears away at the back of your hand, standing up to continue another set as you refused to come back home without completing one perfect routine, the doors slammed open. Heavy breathing entered afterwards and you scowled – you worked tooth and bone to claim this place as yours, who dared enter? “This studio is private—” your words fell dry on your skin when a tuft of white hair trudged over to you, his usual placid face replaced with a firm sneer. “Y-Your Highness?”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

His voice was nothing but demanding, the authority behind them only natural and befitting for someone like him. Each step he took forwards equated to a step backward until your back hit the mirrors, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Your voice came out weak. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” he pointed a finger at you, then scoffed, hands running through the soft locks of his air while he shook his head. You stood there grasping at your tights; having never seen the Prince lose his composure before. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. Every time I try to contact you, you never respond. When I ask your friends where you’ve been, they all tell me you’re busy practicing.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice again, tone heavy and biting. “I am busy practicing, do you not see that?”

“It’s not the only thing you’re occupied with. Clearly, you are quite determined to stay away from me too,” he bellowed, his loud voice bouncing back from the emptiness of the room. The booming sound must’ve snapped him back to consciousness because Prince Satoru sighed, stepping closer until his warm hand cupped your cheek, starry blue eyes filled with worry and anguish. Had you caused this?

Beautiful, you frowned, that even in his demise he managed to look like fine art. “Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?” he softened, breath warm on your lips. “If yes, then tell me and I’ll do everything it takes to make up for it.”

You fisted his shirt; cheek faced his way because you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. There was no way you’d let him see you cry.

“I don’t understand you, Your Highness,” you murmured, “You’re about to be King – why do you bother yourself with someone like me? I’m nothing compared to you, and I detest being compared to you for I am more than worthy despite not being born of a high ranking like yours.”

Prince Satoru froze. “Is this what this is about? My title bothers you?”

“We should stop whatever we’re doing,” was all you said, pushing him away as gently as you could, ignoring the gnawing pain that grew inside of you when your palms landed on his chest. “It is lowly of me to take advantage of the Crown Prince’s kindness anyway. My success should be paved out of my own hard work and not because of my lame connections to the Crown Prince.”

“Lame connections? Is that all I am to you?”

“You are my Crown Prince, Your Highness,” you reminded him of the stark difference firmly, “You mean a lot to your people, but I do not mean anything to you. I am just another nameless performer lost in the crowd of a thousand other girls who wish to reach their dreams, even if such a star is far beyond our reach,” Tears had now fallen until they formed into crystals on your cheeks, and he blinked back, unsure of what to do. “Could you ever understand what that feels like? To yearn for something you know you could never have but hope for anyway?”

“It would be a lie if I said I did,” he admitted quietly, “But I think I’m beginning to understand. It would make sense to me now – if you keep pushing me away, that is.”

You shook your head begrudgingly. “Your Highness...we shouldn’t.”

“And why not? Who said we couldn’t?”

You don’t stop him this time when he stepped closer once more, trapping you between his arms until you clutched desperately at his shirt, his erratic heartbeat pulsing under your touch. “It’s just you and I – neither a prince nor a performer – simply man and woman who crave each other’s touch. What could be so wrong into giving into one’s desires?” you gasped when his lips fell at the juncture of your neck, your head immediately tilting to the side as you allowed him to ravage you. “You still haven’t given me the chance to let you know what I feel,” he cradled your jaw, caressing your skin as he breathed you’re your ear, voice low and sultry, begging even, “Would you really deny me the pleasure of showing you how beautiful you are to me right now?”

“Satoru,” you keened at his teeth tugging at your skin, fists clenched on shirt. “Touch me.”

“That’s all I ever wanted to do, darling.”

Satoru swept down to capture your lips in his, his grip firm on the swell of your ass he kept you close to him, pressed hip to hip and his hardened front grazing your core through the tights. He pulled a moan from you as he flipped your body over, lips finding home in your neck while his large hand cupped your breast, the other trailing down to finger at your clothed, damp pussy.

In this angle, you could see the despondent way you easily spread your legs for him, your pants like music to ears.

“Do you still not believe me when I say you are worth more than a pound of gold? Look at you – your dripping cunt shines harder than the diamonds I keep in my room,” the both of you groaned when he pushed a finger through your hole, your tights stretching and sucked in by your walls enough to outline the arousal that seeped through. “Maybe I should keep you instead, hmm, don’t you think? You’d be a far grander treasure than all those riches.”

“I am a woman,” you tugged at his hair, panting heavily as he kept fingering into you, his thumb grazing at the sensitive bundle of nerves that swelled under your tight clothes. “I am not to be reduced to a possession you acquire.”

“No, of course not. Nothing could ever replace you in this world,” he growled, harsh in his movements as he tore your clothes with minimal effort.

You yelped when your precious tights had been ripped to the sides, a hole revealing your core and your breasts barely covered with the flimsy fabric. Satoru shuffled his pants down before placing you right on his cock, swallowing your moans with each inch of his length that slid inside you.

Hands dug painfully into his hair, Satoru hissed at the pain, grinning to himself at how wet you were through just light touches and a sloppy kiss. You’ve been good for him, though, you were always good for him that he had to reward you, show you how beautiful you were, and he spread his legs apart, relishing in the sight of you being fucked onto his cock.

“Nothing feels better than your tight pussy, huh? Take a good look at yourself, you’re so fucking precious, taking me so well,” you could only moan in response, unable to take your eyes off the way his length disappeared inside you, a shiver chilling your spine when he grasped at your breasts, nipples tweaked between his fingers. “Nothing, nothing, nothing could compare to this. You feel like heaven, taste like bliss and forgiveness,” he licked at the salty sweat that drowned your body, one of his hands now rolling your clit between his fingers. You screamed, bouncing yourself harder on him with your nails dug deep into his thighs. “You will be the redemption of my darkened soul, are you not?”

“Maybe I will be,” you cried out, head lolled onto his shoulder.

Satoru hummed, his eyes dark and coated with lust when your breasts bounced in front of the mirror. Thanks to years of dancing, you barely felt a stretch when Satoru suddenly lifted your legs up until your thighs were embarrassingly squished against your chest. You knew why he did this; it wasn’t that hard to understand why when he narrowed his focus on the way your juices slipped down his cock, the sounds of your pussy squelching drowning out the operatic music.

Satoru kissed your cheeks to wipe your previous tears away, his hands nothing but grabby and possessive as he gripped the flesh of your thigh. “You already are, sweet thing.”

Pleasure had completely taken over you at this point, that familiar heat building up in your stomach until it snapped into two. Pupils blown wide open, you gasped as you came all over him, your cum creaming down onto his cock until it lined with a thick ring of cum.

It was filthy to say the least, and your body burned at the thought that you were disrespecting him, defiling him with the mess you’ve made. But the Prince only fucked into you harder, his teeth grazing at your already abused skin with relentless and merciless thrusts. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d show you how beautiful he found you, going hell and beyond because you felt nothing but worshipped when he kissed you feverishly, his moans romantic as he came. “S-Satoru!”

“That’s right,” he slipped a finger, the stretch adding a slight tinge of pain that had your hips rutting out in sensitivity, your hole clenching around his everything. “Cum for me. Come on, I know you can do it for me. You’re so good, sweetheart, come for me.”

You were mindlessly babbling his name as both of you came down from your highs. Satoru doesn’t stop once from running hands everywhere, gripping your hips, flicking your nipples, rubbing your clit, and running a finger down your slit to wipe your juices everywhere. It had become too much that you had to push his hand away, legs locking around his arms that refused to stop cupping your pussy.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he cooed, shameless and teasing when he brought his hands up to your face, fingers stretched to show the webbing of your arousal between them. “We made such a mess,” he chuckled, his kisses a lot softer now on your neck.

Beautiful, you whimpered internally as you fluttered around nothing.

Satoru must’ve grown an addiction to kissing your lips for he dived in one last time, murmuring the word you always tied him with until they felt printed, tattooed, on your skin. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in this, your kisses slow and sensual as you both enjoyed this serene moment.

He came to this studio to prove you something.

He left the studio with a swelling heart, cheeks resting on your breast as he wrapped his arms around you in the comfort of your worn-out mattress as he asked, can I stay here longer with you?

The cheers and applause directed your way were deafening, the spotlight blinding as you bowed. You gasped for air, every muscle in your body screaming both with delight and exhaustion.

You could barely fathom the crowd hidden in darkness before you, the sight like a black sea, but instead of feeling like you were drowning, you don’t think you’d ever been able to breathe this well before. The smile on your face was bright – brighter than the star you’ve become and bigger than the galaxy and universe you’ve made for yourself – and you waved your arm gracefully, toes pointed outwards while the roses and flowers thrown your way came flooding like a waterfall.

You’d made it.

And through the crowd, at the back where someone the likes of him wasn’t supposed to be, His Majesty’s white hair stuck out like a sore thumb. His draperies were replaced with finer ornaments of gold embroidery, those large hands that had grown accustomed to holding yours and marking handprints on your delicate skin covered with gloves as he applauded, following the crowd from where they all stood.

Your smile directed him was nothing less of a beam, the stars he’d hung for you reflecting back in your eyes. Tears blurred the vision of him for a moment until you saw him again – crystal clear – his expression both proud and longing.

The memory of you and him had been a beautiful one, but it was distant and with each passing day, it blurred until it became nothing like swirls of I love you’s and good luck’s whispered onto one another’s skin. Your heart still soared and broke each time at the sight of him, the majestic Queen hanging off the arm that was locked with yours just years ago a painful reminder that there would always be an invisible divide between you and the Prince you’d fallen in love with.

There was no regret, however, in where things had led. You knew he loved his kind wife as much as he loved you, and he knew you loved him as much as you loved your career, and things were simply just…meant to be this way, you concluded.

It was never supposed to be a great love story that told of breaking traditions. Not all stories were meant to go against the odds; some were told to show that people could be capable of change without having to change anything. You were thankful, still so extremely grateful you met your beloved Prince even as he left the theatre before people crowded around him, leaving you to your devices until you retired back into the changing room, a set of rare flowers only a certain person could afford.

Beautiful, you cried as you picked up the card, his once messy scrawls improved into a neater cursive befitting for the new King.

And so it was that you parted ways, with him leading his country into further prosperity while you moved away and stole people’s hearts with each phenomenal show, one after the other.

Your summer rendezvous with the Prince was not meant to be a love story that went against all odds; you were there to save each other from reaching damnation, loving one another as passionately as your souls were able to until you picked each other back up.

Once the other stood firm, tall, and ready to take on the world with their bare hands, you pushed one another in your respective directions.

Beautiful, you smiled as you clutched at his present close to your heart where he’d built a garden out of itself, that we’d saved each other from falling from grace.

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