#it’s in the awkward shoulder length phase where it just flips up no matter what I do

[of-mutts-and-men]

Oh the struggle of wanting to shave my head again for ultimate comfort but also wanting to look like an elven prince with waist long hair. 😮‍💨😤

[themoonlitsojourner]

Chapter 7: Uncertainty and Exploration

Through starry nights and music lessons, Wanda and Vision rediscover themselves. And begin to discover each other.

Despite the early hour and the fog clouding her brain since she found herself alone in this world, Wanda knows immediately who waits outside her room. Taking a deep breath, she prays for the energy to face this day. She opens the door.

“Good morning.” Her attempt at a smile barely counts, but at least it’s friendly. Anything to soothe her visitor’s nervousness.

“Would you care for a morning beverage?” Vision asks at the exact same moment, his words colliding with hers. He winces, and she’s sure he would blush if he could. “P-pardon me. Good morning.”

Focusing on the mugs in his hands, Vision starts again. “It is customary to consume a heated, caffeinated beverage in the morning. This seems like a practice that would appeal to you, so I have secured two options. I- I am not aware of your preference.” His blue eyes flick to hers. They are skittish, like the eyes of a deer. “Would you prefer green tea or filtered coffee? Or a different product, perhaps?”

“No, no, the coffee is fine.” She wraps her fingers around the warm ceramic and Vision shifts his hand away as soon as she has a secure grip. He is so careful to keep his fingers from brushing against hers. So careful to avoid making contact.

If it were anyone else, Wanda would think it was because of her, a fear of the storm of red that boils just below the surface of her hands. But she has seen inside his head. He is not afraid of her. He is the only one in this building who isn’t.

No, Vision is avoiding human touch, just as he does in the hallways, entering them only when there are fewer people who might brush against him. And the entire time, he keeps his shoulders curled forward, as if to make himself as small as possible.

Why does he avoid even the chance of contact? Why does he fear it so?

Wanda focuses on the mug in her hands, soaking in the heat and the familiar comfort it provides. Steam rises to her nose, but it does not carry the rich, dark scent of fresh coffee. Instead, a burnt and bitter odor greets her. Feeling Vision’s gaze on her, she dares to take a cautious sip.

If Vision made this himself, she knows the first thing they’ll work on.

Wanda’s wrinkled nose must give away her disgust. Vision rushes to assure her, “I have also procured cream and sugar for you to add, if you so wish.” He ducks into the library down the hall, returning with a wooden serving tray.

Wanda pours most of the cream from the little pitcher into her mug, stirring it with the teaspoon he holds out. “Did you get all this yourself?” Her second sip, at least, doesn’t make her cringe. She might have outgrown watered-down coffee years ago, but the cream makes this drink halfway palatable. And if nothing else, the cup will keep her hands warm.

“I retrieved the tray and its implements from the breakfast bar in the dining hall. The teaspoon I selected from the kitchen drawer. The spoons that had been set out for beverage use were not of the proper sort,” Vision explains, expression solemn. “A pot of coffee had already been brewed, but perhaps I should have prepared a new one…” He falls silent, brow furrowed as he watches her sip from the mug.

“It is good,” Wanda lies, and Vision’s shoulders drop in relief. He nods and turns to set the tray down. His golden cape, reaching almost to the floor, ripples around his boots with every step. Wanda follows its lines up his shoulders, frowning at the metal collar joining it to the tight fabric of his suit. None of it looks very comfortable, especially for more than a couple hours.

She looks down into her coffee, idly stirring the pale liquid in slow circles. “You still want my help, yes?” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Vision turn around slowly.

“Yes.” The river of his thoughts speeds up, tumbling and rushing like rapids over rocks. Anxious. About what, exactly?

Wanda realizes her intrusion and pulls back from his mind, refocusing. “Okay. So...” She takes a deep breath. “Um... the outfit. It is fine for fighting and such, but otherwise you might want something more… relaxed?”

Brow furrowing again, Vision peers down at his clothing. “I must always stand ready to defend.” The phrase is flat. Automatic. Scripted, maybe? His eyes meet hers as he speaks his next words urgently, striving to convince her. Or himself. “It is my purpose and honor to defend and serve.”

Did Stark decide that for him? Is it something S.H.I.E.L.D. told him?

Wanda nods slowly. “It is admirable of you to think that. But there is more than one purpose in life. And things change. Always.” Suddenly, she cannot watch him any longer. Staring down into her coffee, she wills her blurred sight to clear. She has cried enough. “And when they do, there is no other option but to adapt.”

Vision watches her solemnly, eyes soft with sympathy.

Wanda takes a deep breath and forces herself to try another smile. “So. Daily clothing.” The mundane topic is awkward and alien on her tongue. There wasn’t much talk in the last few years about anything other than matters of life, death, and survival. The normal and the everyday belong in her memories. In another lifetime.

Nodding thoughtfully, Vision stares past the wall, irises swirling from one direction to the next.

Is he considering his options? Searching the internet, maybe?

“What would you suggest?” he asks.

Wanda purses her lips. Where in the tower could they find extra clothes… There is nothing she can remember seeing during her brief tour, but she remembers little of that first day. We could ask the Captain. She clenches her sweatshirt sleeves in her fists at the thought of venturing into the floors below.

Then suddenly her musings are swept away. Wanda blinks, brain scrambling to comprehend what she sees as Vision’s clothing seems to ripple and shift, both in style and color. Soon, a loose, plain cotton T-shirt and dark jeans drape his tall form. Not a trace of the suit or cape remains.

Her mouth falls open in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

“I am equipped with a thin layer of nanobots, easily controlled through a mental-cellular interface. I assume their purpose is the formation of clothing.” He holds his arms out to the side. “Do you think this attire will suffice?”

Wanda frowns. Vision’s old-fashioned, formal speech looks jarring alongside the modern style, and his perfect posture disrupts the loose fit. If anything, he stands even stiffer than when he wore the battle suit.

She tilts her head. “Is it… comfortable for you?”

“It is casual, is it not?”

“But are you comfortable? Do you like it?”

The corner of his mouth curves down. “Not… strictly speaking.”

Wanda nods. “Try something else, then. You will want it to fit you.”

Vision’s irises begin twirling, starting with the opposite direction this time. When he does that, what exactly goes on behind those blue eyes? She’s sorely tempted to look.

A moment later, his clothing shifts again.

Wanda examines the dark gray vest and tie over a long-sleeved white shirt with neatly buttoned cuffs. Pressed charcoal slacks and black dress shoes complete the simple, yet elegant outfit.

Vision looks to her, waiting

Wanda bites her lip. Maybe he should loosen the tie. Then again, he is obviously more comfortable dressed formally. His body language alone speaks loudly to that. She nods once. “This is good.”

“Good,” Vision repeats. She wonders if he’s aware that he mimics her nod and tone almost exactly. “Excellent.”

----------

During those first weeks after Pietro’s death, the intensity of the searing, screaming pain had not surprised Wanda. Neither had the crushing cloud of grief, or the red haze of anger that fogged her mind and numbed her senses during those dark nights she spent alone, hiding in the Bartons’ spare room.

Wanda has been through it all before. She knows loss well.

But now the grip of those feelings has started to fade, and what does surprise her is the boredom. The restless, irritable energy, the listless lack of focus. Every day is just the day before, completely identical in every way. Get up, train, meals, train, sleep.

There is no purpose. No drive. No one to hunt down and make pay for her brother’s death. No revenge to lie awake and plan.

She already ripped out the killer’s heart, but it was too late to save her own.

Not even the intense combat training, progressing as rapidly as she can handle, holds her attention. No matter how hard she throws herself into it, how carefully she blocks out everything but the red in her hands, she cannot lose herself in the movements. All the fighting does is bring the memories of her last battle rushing to the surface. Pietro’s last battle. And when each session finishes, it leaves her fighting to hide her pounding heart and the shaking that spreads from her hands.

There is no forgetting for her. No distraction.

Fortunately, Vision seems to have found some direction, or at least something to fill his time with. He must have read every book in the library on their floor once, if not twice, and frequently he phases through the floor with an armful pilfered from elsewhere in the building. Made-up stories, real stories, textbooks, manuals, encyclopedias, he reads them all. His desire to learn is insatiable.

If only Wanda could muster even half that enthusiasm for something. Anything.

Today, the late afternoon sun seeps through the library’s full-length window, illuminating the book in Vision’s lap. Wanda flips through the channels on the TV in the corner, jaw clenched in frustration.

It is Monday, the fifth (or maybe sixth) afternoon in a row they’ve spent in this room, and by far the quietest. They train every morning and evening except for Sunday, but the hours between are their “free time.” It’s a good thing the time is “free” because she has done nothing but waste it.

Wanda drums her fingers petulantly on the arm of her chair, restlessness coiling in her chest. She jabs the remote buttons again.

There is nothing on TV. Even worse, there is nothing to do, and she needs to do something. With a growl, Wanda hits the power button and tosses the remote to the table.

“Did you know mantis shrimp are equipped with sixteen different kinds of cones?” Vision suddenly says.

Wanda turns to look at him.

“That’s thirteen more than humans possess,” he remarks thoughtfully, eyes still tracing the page of the encyclopedia.

This was another new thing, his habit of sharing random facts. There is an unspoken understanding between them that they spend the afternoons here in their library because neither dares venture into the mob of noisy people and hectic thoughts that awaits them downstairs.

Wanda could take the solitude a step farther and stay in her room. Completely cut herself off from the noise. But somehow her room is too quiet. Too empty.

She wonders if he feels the same about his.

So they end up here, sharing each other’s company but rarely speaking. Not knowing what to say is another thing they have in common. Vision wants to talk, though. She can see it in the way he glances up from his book every once in a while, eyes darting to her, just briefly. And she tries to start the conversation sometimes, she really does. But it is frightening to realize how little she remembers of how. This is why Vision breaks the silence and she does her best to keep the conversation rolling.

Wanda tilts her head. “Cones? What cones?”

Vision straightens. “Oh, pardon me for the lack of context. I see this topic requires a little elaboration.” Enthusiasm brightens his eyes as he ponders how best to explain. He really does have nice eyes.

“The organic eye perceives light and color due to a thin layer of neurons and receptors covering its posterior wall. This layer is called the retina. The superficial layer of the retina is composed of photoreceptors, which come in two different varieties, cones and rods.”

Most of the words fly over her head, but Wanda cannot hide an amused smile as Vision adds his hands to his demonstration.

“The rods line the distal edges of the retina, providing sharp vision, while the cones cluster in the middle and supply color vision. Humans have three types of cones, each perceiving a different wavelength of light. Mantis shrimp, on the other hand, have sixteen different varieties.”

“So they see more colors?”

Vision purses his lips. “Oddly enough, no. They can see ultraviolet light, however, and a property of light called polarization. The latter is sort of the orientation of the light waves.” He holds his hands up side by side, first vertically, then horizontally.

“Hmm.” Wanda considers this, searching for a good question to ask. Her mind remains blank. It’s harder to think now that Pietro is gone, like trudging through knee deep snow with every thought.

After a few moments without a reply from Wanda, one corner of Vision’s mouth lifts. The other remains stubbornly flat, allowing him to offer her only an awkward half-smile before he ducks his head and returns to his book. It is the one expression he hasn’t figured out yet, likely because he always seems so unsure about it. As if he’s afraid to commit and show the wrong reaction.

Wanda bites her lip as silence returns to the room.

“It is quieter than usual.” She glances toward the hallway. Normally they can hear the murmur of activity floors below, but today there is an uncanny stillness. It is far quieter than even the weekend, which is only minimally less hectic than the rest of the week.

“Today is President Washington’s Birthday, a federal holiday,” Vision promptly replies.

Wanda stares at him.

He lifts his gaze and clears his throat, a little sheepish. “By which I mean no one except Agent Romanoff is working today.”

“No one else.”

“Correct.”

Wanda fiddles with her sleeves, tentatively reaching across the compound to confirm this. The only minds besides theirs are those of the security guards.

“Would… you be interested in exploring?” Vision traces the cover of his book, stealing a quick glance at Wanda’s face. “I haven’t had the chance to investigate most of the ground floor.”

Wanda looks around the library. There is nothing to do here. And the building is completely empty…

She shrugs. “I guess.”

Vision nods and stands, wiping his hands on his slacks. Despite the formality of the outfit, he looks comfortable in his vest and dress shirt. Still, he does not seem to completely grasp the idea of clothing. He hasn’t switched outfits since picking this one, choosing instead to just change the color every morning.

The moment they step from the elevator into the huge, empty lobby, Vision tenses. His eyes dart across the abandoned floor without seeming to actually see it.

“Let’s, um… Let’s go this direction.” Wanda tips her head toward the right, and Vision nods, blinking a couple times. They walk without talking, resisting the urge to tiptoe as their footsteps echo off the walls.

Most of the doors on the ground floor lead to bland offices, and the two floors above aren’t much better. The rooms are either locked, more offices, or storage.

Her flicker of anticipation for this journey has long died out and Wanda is about to give up, when they stumble across yet another storage room.

Vision examines the label on the door. “Prop storage.”

Wanda lifts an eyebrow. “Props for what?”

With a shrug, Vision opens the door, gesturing for her to enter first. The room isn’t nearly as large as some they’ve found, but it’s stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes, totes, and assorted junk all the same. For a building only recently built and occupied, the Avengers wasted no time filling it.

Seeing only junk, Wanda turns to exit. But when she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her, she glances over her shoulder to see Vision wandering deeper inside. With a sigh, she follows, fingers trailing idly over the shelving units.

“Theatre props is the first possibility that comes to mind, but I can see no logic in it,” Vision muses, still stuck on the room name.

Smooth leather meets Wanda’s fingertips, and she stops.

Is this…?

Reaching into the shelf, she slides out a black case and sets it on the floor. Her hands find the latch by memory, and she can’t hide the triumphant smile that crosses her face as the lid opens to reveal an acoustic guitar.

“Do you play?” Vision asks, peering over her shoulder.

“I did.” Wanda traces the wooden grain and gives the steel strings a gentle pluck or two. Glancing up, she catches Vision watching her expectantly. “What?”

“Are… Are you going to play it now?” Curiosity gleams in his eyes.

Her arms ache to hold it, her fingers to slot the notes and strum the strings. The need to play it winds together with another familiar ache, just as strong. The memory of her instructor. Her mama.

“No.” Wanda shuts the case.

“Oh.” Vision frowns. “Are you sure? I don’t think anyone would mind.” He glances around the empty room.

Wanda lifts the case and slides it back onto the shelf. “I’m sure.” Her curt tone keeps away any questions.

A few minutes later, they return to the library. But Wanda’s thoughts linger in the cramped props room all day.

The next morning, she is greeted by a black leather case outside her door. Frowning, Wanda eyes the case and searches for Vision’s mind. His thoughts echo from downstairs. Wanda shakes her head and sighs. She told him she wasn’t going to play.

For a moment longer, she stares at the smooth leather, picturing the instrument inside. She bites her lip. Kneeling beside the case, she flips open the lid. The guitar lies there quietly. Inviting. Promising. A soft brush of her fingers breaks the silence with a low hum. It needs to be tuned. Wanda pulls the case into her room and closes the door behind her. Before she can change her mind, she lifts the instrument into her arms.

The guitar is lighter than she expected, than she remembered. Yet it feels just as right. The strings are strong and familiar under her fingers and the ring of the notes resounds in her chest. The ache, the itch to play becomes louder than the need to avoid digging up old grief.

This floor really does belong to her and Vision, so no one will hear if she plays a few chords. None of the other rooms have ever been used, not even the offices, and not a single employee dares journey up here. Wanda feels the frantic spikes of fear in their minds on the rare occasions she enters their domain downstairs; it doesn’t take much to put two and two together and realize she has been isolated on purpose.

Normally, it would anger her. Normally, she would give them a piece of her mind. But she’s tired, and she is grateful for the solitude. For the quiet.

Especially today, when there is no one to hear her and ask questions, such as who taught her to play, or what the song is, or why she chose such a “sad” chord.

Wanda frets a D minor. She strums the waiting strings.

And finally the world fades away as she falls into the music.

----------

If the days are long and suffocating, the nights are worse. Darkness falls and Wanda lies awake, sleeping fitfully or not at all. The nightmares are fewer, but still she can’t sleep. Insomnia, Vision calls it.

But she avoids the subject, because she can’t talk about how her sleeping mind seeks out the comfort of his, diving into the ocean of gold when the nightmares start. Or how even her few good dreams take place on the seashore now. It’s too much, too close. Too personal to put into words.

There’s something about Vision. Wanda doesn’t understand it, but his mind and soul glow brighter than any she’s ever seen before. And somehow he and she are connected.

Yet every morning, she wakes and reminds herself she can’t lean on the comfort and reassurance he so willingly offers. What if she grows to need it? What if she begins to need him, and like everyone else in her life, he is taken away? She’ll be left behind again. Left alone.

She always is.

Wanda stares at the ceiling, her own breath too loud in her ears, nearly as loud as the thoughts burning in her mind. Flinging the covers aside, she slips from bed. There will be no sleep tonight.

The digital clock reads 2:11 AM. She walks just to move, to do something. She can’t outrun her own mind. But she can try.

Wanda tiptoes down the darkened hallway. The elevator looms ahead, and she stops. Down? No. The last thing she wants is to run into an obsessive employee working late into the night.

So up, then.

The doors open onto the rooftop and Wanda steps blinking from the harshly lit elevator. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the gentler light of the night. One by one, like frightened children, stars surface in the sky above, outlining a figure stationed at the building’s edge. His cape swirls softly in the brisk February wind.

She does not have to guess who it is.

Always, she and Vision end up together. In the library. Here. Are they really so similar that they seek the same places? Or did she search for him subconsciously? (She suspects it wouldn’t be the first time.) Or was it the invisible thread pulling them, a connection she can’t comprehend born from the moment she looked into his mind as he lay dreaming in the cradle. Part of him was still Ultron then. But Vision was there. She felt it.

Wanda steps quietly across the concrete. She stops just behind Vision, unwilling to disturb him but reluctant to go inside.

“I was disappointed to hear the New Avengers team would not be based at Stark Tower,” Vision says suddenly.

Stark. Wanda bites back a scoff. His disappointment is not mutual.

“It has nothing to do with Mr. Stark,” Vision continues, guessing her thoughts. “It is only that I have a certain… fondness for his view of the city lights.” He stares out over the dark countryside and she joins him, standing a couple feet from the edge. “They represent the life of the city, spread across the streets below. Still bright despite the hour, shining on both those awake and those peacefully slumbering. Pushing back the night like guardian angels. Providing a sense of comfort and safety.”

Vision’s words have the rhythm of poetry. His eyes glow softly like the light he paints such a reverent picture of. Wanda watches the serene blue spill over his pensive expression. In his light, she sees comfort. Safety. Just as he says. She looks away.

“There are more stars here, though.” Wanda nods toward the sky above. “You can’t see them in the city.”

Vision cranes his neck, searching the galaxies spread across the darkness. “But they’re so very far away,” he whispers. Curling his long legs beneath him, he sinks to the concrete, his head still tilted back to stare above.

Wanda stands in silence. She doesn’t know how to answer. Why his expression is so sorrowful or how to fix it. She doesn’t understand the source of his pain. But the ache of watching stars at night… This she understands. No matter how brightly, how beautifully they shine, they always burn out.

Wanda traces a meteor as it streaks across the sky and disappears from view.

Some stars even fall.

After a moment, Wanda sits beside Vision and pulls her knees to her chest.

The brilliant, glimmering show of the galaxies unfolds above them, millions of light years away. They watch until it melts before the threat of the morning light. Until every trace fades as if it were never there.

They do not say anything.

----------

Knock knock.

Stifling a groan, Wanda rolls out of bed and stumbles to the door.

“Hello.” Vision offers her a smile and a mug of coffee. The smile is as tentative as always, lifting only half his mouth. But a new light in his eyes makes up for it. “Good morning, Miss Maximoff.”

“Wanda,” she reminds him, accepting the steaming cup. She barely remembers to mumble her thanks before taking a long drink. Vision, as it turns out, is a much better coffee brewer than whoever made the burnt, bitter monstrosity.

Vision nods his acknowledgement. Is it just her grogginess, or does he hold his shoulders higher? Not with tension but with… confidence. He meets her eyes eagerly, boldly. As if he truly wants to be here. With her.

But maybe it’s just her imagination.

Vision’s gaze flickers past Wanda and into her room, just briefly. A sudden twinge of guilt twists in her chest. She didn’t join him in the library yesterday. In fact, after he delivered her morning coffee, she didn’t see him at all until nighttime. When they met on the rooftop under the stars.

She had spent all her time with the guitar, letting it pull her in and awaken an all-consuming desire to relearn the sound of the notes and the feel of the rhythm. To reclaim a piece of herself. And to be honest, she has no desire to share something so personal with anyone else. But Vision brought her the instrument. He gave her the push she needed to actually play it. It is only fair she let him hear a little.

Wanda takes another sip of her coffee to hide a sudden smile. With eyes as lively and curious as his, how could she say no? Lowering her mug, she clears her throat. “Also, thank you. For the guitar. I would not have gone back for it myself.”

“You are most welcome.”

She shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous. “Would you… want to hear it?”

“Oh, yes please! If you don’t mind.” Those blue eyes Wanda can’t stop noticing glimmer with childish enthusiasm, and some of her hesitancy fades. She opens the door a bit wider and returns to her seat on the bed. Vision follows, gaze darting across the room, hands wringing. He stops just inside the doorway.

Breathing deeply, Wanda bends her head and focuses on her breathing. With each inhale and exhale, another piece of the world around her fades. Vision’s presence, the hum of activity floors below, the heater’s droning buzz. Her fingers slide down the polished fret. The strings bite into her sore fingertips, but the notes she plucks are clean and crisp.

They ring slowly and distinctly at first, each with a bold and individual voice. After a few measures the melody begins to grow, building and expanding beat by beat. Notes find their places, melding with their harmonies in a tune mounting in complexity. The volume, the tension builds until all the notes weave together, their voices joining in a single resounding chord that ends the song.

Wanda smiles to herself. The hours spent perfecting that piece and her red, aching fingertips are well worth it. Glancing up, she falters at the sight of Vision’s face. His eyes are wide and awestruck, as if she just performed a baffling magic trick. Though quite proud of herself, she must admit the tune isn’t particularly difficult or beautiful. But Vision’s expression says he thinks otherwise.

His gaze leaps from her, to the guitar, and back. “How did you do that?”

“I just… press my fingers here...” Surely he knows how guitars work.

“No, how did your hands move with such swiftness and precision? And in perfect coordination with each other?”

Her face reddens. “It wasn’t perfect.”

He stares at her hands. “It was entrancing.”

Wanda fidgets with the tuning pegs, embarrassed by his unabashed honesty and admiration. “Anyone could learn that.” The image of Vision poring over encyclopedias and old novels jumps to the front of her mind. “You could.”

His eyes snap to hers. “Oh, I truly don’t think so...”

“Would you like to try?”

“I-I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Giving him an encouraging smile, Wanda nods toward the bedspread next to her. The guitar looks small and delicate in Vision’s large hands as he carefully accepts it from her, propping it against his knee in an imitation of her posture. Awkward and uncertain, he looks to Wanda for guidance.

“Alright. The basics are mostly form and knowledge of the notes. The first string is an ‘E.’” She nods to him. He finds and plucks it. “Good. By holding the string against the board there at the top of the neck, you will make another note.” The “F” Vision plucks twangs brassy and flat. “You’ll have to press harder.”

He nods, brow furrowing as he applies more pressure and tries again. The note rings clear and musical.

“Good. To make a chord, press with more than one finger. The E minor is your second and third fingers on the second fret, fifth and fourth strings.” Her fingers curve around the empty air, miming the placement.

It takes her a moment to notice the wide-eyed look he gives her.

Wanda’s about to suggest they stick with single notes for now, when Vision cranes his neck and stares at the fretboard. “Second and third fingers,” he whispers to himself. His long, elegant fingers are strangely clumsy on the strings, fumbling to find the position.

“Second fret,” Wanda reminds him. She bites her lip as she watches him struggle. “Here.” She reaches for his hand. And just a moment too late, she remembers his aversion to touch.

Her fingers brush his and he jumps as if struck by electricity, the instrument nearly slipping from his grasp as he yanks his hand away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Wanda apologizes, face flushing bright red. Vision set a boundary through his careful actions, and she crossed it. It’s no way to repay someone who has been nothing but overwhelmingly kind to her. I didn’t mean to, I am so sorry-

“No, no, I must apologize. I honestly didn’t mean to respond in such a manner.” Guilt and horror at his own reaction chases the shock from Vision’s face. He looks just as sorry as she feels.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault. I should have asked.” Her entire face burns. He’s so new and inexperienced, more frightened and unsure than she probably knows.

“You only surprised me. I-” Vision stares down at the instrument in his hands. He takes a deep breath and his shoulders loosen downward a fraction of an inch. “I actually would like you to show me. The chord, that is.”

Glancing nervously toward his hands, Wanda bites her lip again. “M-may I?”

Vision’s irises rotate just once. She sees the moment he chooses to trust her. “Yes.”

His fingers are rigid and cold as she gently nudges them in the right direction, trying to keep her own hands from shaking as she explains how the notes fit together. He follows her guidance as best he can, the stiffness never leaving his hands. When Wanda checks out the corner of her eye, his jaw is just as tense as his arms. But then he glances at her, just briefly. And his eyes are soft and open. Longing, almost.

There is so much she does not understand about him. His sorrow the night before, his fear of people and touch. The hidden shame she’s just starting to hear behind his words. But there are some things that make sense now. There are some things she knows.

He trusts her. The realization startles Wanda in how sudden and obvious it is. He talks about his interests to her, lets her see the nervous and scared parts of him. He lets her guide his hand across the strings, despite the measures he takes to avoid even casual contact in the hallway.

Vision trusts her. But he doesn’t trust anyone else, and she knows exactly why. The few instances she’s seen him interact with others flash through her mind. Yes, he chooses to keep his distance, even during conversations, and never once has she seen him shake someone’s hand. But now that she thinks about it, she’s also never seen anyone offer him a handshake.

The people of Sokovia had avoided touching urchins such as Wanda and Pietro like they carried a disease. And isn’t Vision just like they were? Isn’t he new, and uncertain, and afraid, just like a child? Sent into the world alone just like an orphan?

Anger burns in her chest. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to take care of Vision, but they handed him off. Dropped him at the doorstep of the compound, where he is ignored and avoided by every employee. Where he is nothing to the Avengers but another recruit to whip into shape.

Wanda may not know them well, but she is certain the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. would not abandon a child. No, if a child was placed in their care, they would guide and nurture him, providing whatever he needed as he struggled to learn and develop. As he tried to discover who he was. And if they could not provide this, they would place him with someone who could. They would not fail a child the way they have failed Vision.

Do they really not see him?

“Perhaps I am capable of learning to play an instrument,” -Vision’s voice pushes Wanda’s thoughts aside, pulling her back to the present- “But I think I shall leave the music to one with more skill.” He gives her the half-smile, and her heart breaks a little.

She shakes her head slowly, trying to refocus. “You are not so bad.”

Vision passes the guitar to her. “Could I hear another song?” He asks so shyly, and a soft affection fills her heart.

Wanda shrugs, settling the guitar in her lap. “I guess it is not yet time for training. One more.” Her fingers move almost on their own as a flurry of thoughts continues to tumble through her mind. She feels Vision watching her contentedly, open admiration written across his face.

He is so young, so eager and afraid all at once. So desperate to make a connection and find something to hold onto. He needs more than someone to ask questions of and tell unusual facts. He needs direction, to be introduced to experiences and the world outside this building, just as he so strongly desires.

The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have failed him, completely. Forgotten him.

Wanda will not.

[chloca-cola]

(Un)Corruptible Chapter 2

TW: None other than heavy nsfw near the end.

Word count: 2,159 ish

@minteyeddemon took so long to get the first chapter up, I already have the second ready haha!

~~~~

While Dante was in the shower, it dawned on Meande that Nero and Vergil were probably downstairs and she cursed, hopping up from the bed and rushing down to the lobby. Nero was standing awkwardly by the door as if debating if he should just leave or continue waiting, and Vergil sat in Dante’s desk chair, just staring at Nero. Meande looked between the two, remembering Nero told her that Vergil is his father and she felt an envious pit open in her stomach. How she wished she could have a second chance with either one of her parents. She inhaled deeply before shaking her head and approaching Nero.

    “Hey...I want to thank you for, you know, being here for me. I know I’ve been rather...difficult the past few months.” She began, scratching the shaved side of her head, smiling sheepishly. Nero blinked at her, eyes darting a few times to Vergil, who seemed to be silently judging them, causing them both to feel more awkward than needed. 

    “It’s not a problem, even though you were a pain in my ass a lot.” He teased her and she laughed, punching his arm playfully. 

    “It’s the only kinda pain I know how to be towards you.” She shrugged, giving him a lopsided smile.

    “Ok, well, if you’re good, I'm gonna head back home. You good, pain?” She shoved him.

    “Yeah, get outta here ya punk.” He smirked at her, shoving her back.

    “Call if you need anything.”

    “Yeah, no, for sure!” He looked at Vergil again before giving her a quick hug and waved goodbye. Meande sighed, placing her hands on her hips, steeling herself to turn and face Vergil. She spun around, and there he sat, still silently judging and she cleared her throat. “So...you are the infamous Vergil.” She accused, moving towards him, bending at the waist getting really close to his face before smiling. “You don’t much look like Dante,do ya?” Vergil leaned back deeper into the chair, her closeness making him uncomfortable and he grunted lowly as a response. “Sorry for ya know, screaming at ya earlier, but you were just...ya know...there.” She emphasized by standing up straighter and miming his poise when standing.

    “You are the infamous Meande.” He stated matter-of-factly back to her and she scoffed, plopping on the edge of Dante’s desk, shaking her head.

    “Nice try, bucko, Nero explained everything to me and I know my super good friend V is in there somewhere, so you know me already.” Vergil seemed to grimace at her words, and she gave him a mischievous grin.

    “So, Dante is the one who told you of me?” She chewed on her bottom lip before shrugging and folding her arms over her chest. One night after she had gotten more settled into her new environment, she and Dante had been ‘bonding’ aka drinking, when she stumbled upon an old photo album, flipping through it she found a picture of Sparda and who she assumed to be Eva. Her mother had told her the story of Sparda finding Eva and falling helplessly for her. From what her mother explained, Eva was not only beautiful but pure of heart and soul. It was that night Dante told her about what happened to his family.

    “Yeah, but not in any big details. I didn’t pry or anything, figured he’d tell me everything when he was ready.” She divulged, giving him a soft smile, before tapping his shin with her bare foot, confusing the elder Sparda, and he looked down at her feet. “How’s about I show you to a room? I’m assuming you’re gonna be our new roomie!” Meande never knew you could hear someone cringe, but the noise Vergil made had to be close.

    “You’re just like him, aren’t you?” Meande laughed at his tone, shaking her head as she hopped off the desk.

    “No,” she began waving for him to follow. “But...no one is like Dante.”

~~

    “So, like, how did you two come back anyway?” Meande inquired as she fought with the fitted sheets beside Vergil, who just watched her struggling, smirking at her, his chin tucked behind his collar. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, obviously, but you know, Nero made it sound like you guys were never coming back.” She continued, trying to tuck a corner of the sheet. “I fucking hate fitted sheets.” She growled lowly, ripping it from the bed again.

    “I’m unsure.” Vergil confessed, causing Meande to pause and give him a skeptical look, puffing air from her mouth, blowing her bangs from her eyes.

    “You serious?”

    “Always.” He responded, giving her a smirk and her eyes narrowed at him.

    “Did...was that a joke?” She asked, and Vergil shrugged, moving to finally help her with the sheet.

    “Attempted.” She giggled at him, as they finally got the sheet right and made the bed. “In all seriousness though. A portal just opened to us and lead us here.”

    “Hmm...that’s curious…” She mused, humming a tune to herself as she smoothed out the comforter, straightening to her full height, admiring her work. “I’ll go get you some towels for the bathroom.” She stated, absently, leaving the room for a few moments, coming back with some fluffy towels, looking around for a place to set them, but just handed them to Vergil. “Night.” She smiled at him again, turning to leave the room, but Vergil cleared his throat and she turned expectantly towards him.

    “Thank you.” She blinked at him, a strange look crossing her face and she shrugged.

    “You’re welcome...they're just towels though.” She gave him a small wave before walking out, closing the door behind her, unknowing that he was thanking her for not judging him.

    Meande barely got the door closed when she was hoisted up off the ground, causing her to squeak, phasing slightly from the scare, but strong hands kept her from teleporting away. She blinked as she was tossed over a still damp shoulder, looking down at a muscular ass she recognized.

    “Dante!” She chastised, swatting at his back as he laughed, carrying her back towards her own room. It was fake anger though, because they both know she loves being man-handled by him.

    “Not my fault you’re compact for easy transport, Squirt.” She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she dangled from him.

    “Why you walking around naked? Vergil lives here now too.” She pointed out, trying to change the subject, but it ended in a squeak as he all but tossed her on her back onto the bed.

    “Hey, I know how much you love looking at all this perfection.” He said smugly, striking a bunch of goofy poses, causing her to giggle at him. “Just like I know that your pretty little pussy is already soaked for me, isn’t it?” The giggles caught in her throat, and she blushed heavily at being called out like that, and an arrogant smirk painted his face. “I know you too well, babycakes.” The husky edge in his tone sent waves of heat to her core as she watched him give his girthy length a few languid pumps. An aroused sigh escaped her parted lips, as she sat up and crawled to the edge of the bed where he was waiting for her.

    Meande took over for his hand, her fingers not able to make a full circle around his shaft, and Dante made a contented noise in his throat as she worked his length, leaning towards him and teasing her tongue around his head, tasting the precum that began to weep.

    “You do not know how much I missed this.” He growled through his teeth as she took more of his cock into her mouth. Bobbing her head in tandem with her hand, her tongue running firmly along the underside of his shaft. “That’s such a beautiful sight.” He praised, causing her to moan, hallowing her cheeks, taking in more of his cock with enthusiasm, until she gagged on him, honey eyes locking with his blue ones as tears strung her own.

    Meande released him with an obscene pop, a string of saliva still connecting them, and he leaned down to her, roughing cupping her face, devouring her lips and she moaned wantonly into the caverns of his mouth. After he intimately acquainted himself with every corner of her mouth, Dante pulled back, lifting Meande’s tank top over her head, tossing it somewhere in the room. She quickly wiggled out of her shorts at panties, and they too ended up in some random spot in the room.

    Man-handling her again, Dante tossed her onto her pillows, spreading her legs, she sat up on her elbows as he laid between her thighs. Giving her a cocky smirk, he teased his slick folds with his fingers, causing her to gasp and buck involuntarily.

    “Of course you’re already this wet.” She gave him a snarky sardonic look, before slapping his shoulder and he laughed.

    “Don’t be such an assh-ahhh!” Her insult cut off as his warm mouth found her throbbing clit, working his tongue in the sinful ways he knew she liked. She keened out loudly, gripping fistfuls of the sheets beneath her as she felt one of his large fingers slip into her tight hole and slowly began to pump, sending her hurtling towards an orgasm, which he denied her, causing her to cry out.

    “Been too long, huh?” He teased between kisses to her inner thighs and she whimpered.

    “Dante...please.” She whined, her head lulling back, rolling her hips, trying to get him to move his finger.

    “Please what, babe?” He asked, innocently, as he added a second finger, pumping again slowly, causing her back to bow, and he scissored his fingers. Truth was it had been a while. Since the night before they went to face “Urizen”.

    “Please...I need you.” She begged, brazenly panting as his fingers pumped faster, his breath teasingly fanning over her cunt, sending shivers through her body.

    “How can I say no when you beg so well?” Dante removed his fingers, sitting up on his knees, cupping her own to drag her down to him, and he canted her hips up. Holding onto her hip with one hand, he used his other to teasingly rub his cock over her slick folds and she growled.

    “Dante, if you don't hurry up and fu-” He thrust into her entrance, causing her head to push back onto her pillows and she cursed way too loudly. It had been so long since she felt him filling and stretching her that she nearly came already.

    “You were saying?” He asked, smirking, as he gave her a few long deep stroking, feeling her muscles twitching as she adjusted to his girth. He leaned down to hover over her. “Eyes on me, Meande.” Her honey eyes popped open to be met with his gorgeous blue orbs as he began to move in earnest, drawing whimpers and mewls from the girl beneath him. His name fell from her lips like an unholy prayer as she held onto his shoulders for dear life, her hips rolling to meet his.

    He dipped down, capturing her lips again in a passionate kiss, a blaring contrast to his hungry pace. Her hands moved from his shoulders to find home in his soft white hair, her walls fluttering around him. Dante flexed his hips just right, and her orgasm hit so hard blinding white stars filled her vision, and her screams were swallowed by his mouth. He pumped through her heat a few more times before he bottomed out, following her over the edge, filling her with  his warmth, growling into her mouth at the intensity of his release.

    “Dammit, I forgot just how tight you are, Squirt.” He panted, laying his head on her breasts causing her to let out a breathy laugh, and she stroked his hair. He surprised her by lifting his head and looking deeply into her eyes. “Marry me.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if he had just asked her if she wanted a cookie, and she scoffed, brushing it off.

    “Be serious, Dante.” When he didn't laugh, she moved her head to where she could look at him more clearly, was this man seriously asking her to marry him while he was buried to the hilt in her cunt? The glint in his eyes caused a warmth to pool in her abdomen. “R-really?”

    “Yeah, really. Marry me, Meande.” He dipped down, punctuating his proposal with a kiss, and she melted. Was it romantic? No it was not. Was it totally something only Dante could get away with? Yes, yes it was.

    “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” He grinned at her, kissing her deeply, before unceremoniously pulling out of her, and she cried at the sudden empty feeling. Where the hell was he going? She wondered to herself, before laughing.

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

Heeding Luhan’s advice, you implemented an arm’s length away rule with the boys. You just didn’t tell them about it.

Often you would sidestep or inch away while trying not to be noticeable. Unfortunately, you were about as subtle as the town crier. Furrowed eyebrows and confused looks were thrown your way at your actions, but you left them unanswered.

It’d been about four days since your new guest’s arrival. Sehun practically refused to leave Luhan’s side, asking all kinds of questions about the outside world and what it would be like for all of them to live among normal people. Unfortunately, Luhan didn’t have too many answers as he volunteered to stay at the rehabilitation center and help others transition. He often ventured out for small errands or to get fresh air, but he didn’t know what exactly an “ordinary life” consisted of.

To your own dissatisfaction, Luhan didn’t have anymore information on who was ordering and paying for the experimentation of super soldiers than Marcus did. Whoever was in charge of discovering that information was not passing it on to everyone else involved.

It was frustrating. Your life revolved around getting answers. That’s what research was all about: getting answers. But here you were, no real data, no possible hypothesis, no results. You didn’t know where to start.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

Sighing, you lowered your book to find Baekhyun standing at your feet on the other end of the couch in nothing but a towel.

You nearly fell off of your seat. “Holy crap, Baekhyun! What are you doing?”

He pouted. “I was going to take a shower, but there’s no hot water.”

Closing your book after dog-earing the page, you shifted up to a sitting position. “I’m sure it just needs to replenish from the previous shower if you give it some time.”

Shaking his head, Baekhyun held onto the top of his only covering. “I asked around. No one else has taken a shower yet today. I let it run a bit to warm up, but, no matter the setting, it still comes out icy.”

Great. You weren’t exactly handy with home appliances. Back at your apartment, you were on a first name basis with the maintenance man.

“Um,” you scratched the back your head anxiously. “Okay, I’ll go take a look at it.” Maybe if you stared at it long enough it’ll fix itself. What a miracle that would be.

“I’ll help you.”

Chanyeol stepped into the living room, volunteering his time. You hadn’t been alone with him since your almost kiss. It made you nervous. But you couldn’t come up with a valid reason to reject his offer.

“Okay,” you sighed. Standing up, you headed to the stairs to the basement. Chanyeol was close behind, his footsteps heavy against the wooden floor.

You found the water heater easily tucked into the far right corner, kneeled down, and opened up the panel. Everything seemed fine; no wires were obviously loose, nothing appeared to be out of place or non-functioning. You were dumbfounded as to what could be the issue.

Turning to Chanyeol, you huffed. “Any idea?”

He pursed his lips and reached into the open area, moving things around to get a better look.

“Careful,” you cautioned him. He just gave you a look that said “puh-lease”. Blowing air through your pursed lips, you mumbled, “You’re not superman, you know.”

He scoffed. “Please, I’m more like Deadpool.”

“You’re not that funny,” you deadpanned.

A pout formed on his lips, getting a laugh out of you.

He chuckled as well, before shaking his head. “Nothing looks out of place. Granted, I haven’t exactly seen one of these before.”

Running a hand through your hair, you fell back onto your butt, completely giving up. “I think a cold shower would do Baekhyun some good.”

“You have no idea,” Chanyeol snorted, joining you in your new position. His hand was a mere centimeter from yours and you were hyper aware of his body heat so close to yours. The proximity was awkward only to you. Chanyeol seemed to be basking in it.

Turning serious, Chanyeol looked at you. “Do you think that we’ll be here much longer?”

You shrugged. “I have no idea. Luhan is still waiting on the all clear. EXO will be looking for all of us relentlessly. You all are too valuable to them. They’ve put a lot of money and resources into the experiments performed on you guys. I’m just glad that we got you out of there before-”

You stopped, cursing yourself.

“Before they what?”

Shaking your head, you looked away, chewing on your bottom lip.

Chanyeol scooted closer to you, he cupped your jaw and gently forced you to look at him.

“What were they going to do to us?”

Swallowing, you felt water build up in your eyes. The idea of what they were trying to do still made your heart tighten. It was the most inhumane thing you could think of out of all the humiliating things they put the boys through. Should they know what was in store for them? Should you tell him the truth?

Chanyeol’s voice dropped several octaves as he asked, “(y/n), what were they going to do to us?”

You wiped away the tears before they could fall. “The last tests they were running, the last trial phase… was mind control. They were trying to find away to be able to control all of you. I don’t think they got very far in the process.” Trying to even out your breathing, you lied down on your back.

Shifting his weight, Chanyeol hovered over you, a hand resting on either side of your head.

“Thank you,” he whispered, minimising the space between the two of you. “Freedom of the mind was the only thing we had left. Thank you for helping us keep.”

“I couldn’t…,” you paused. “It was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.” You laughed. “I’m the worst therapist.”

Chanyeol frowned. “How so?”

Shrugging, you folded your hands on your stomach, ignoring the lack of room between the two of you. “Real therapists aren’t supposed to get emotionally involved with their patients. I got way too attached to you guys.”

“Maybe you were meant to be?”

Funny. Junmyeon said something very similar. His face filled your mine and you suddenly felt very guilty about the position you were in, though there wasn’t a real reason to be.

“Or maybe life just doesn’t want to give me a break-” You stopped. Break? Shooting up to a sitting position, you shoved Chanyeol away. “Breaker!”

You jumped up, feeling like an idiot. Wasn't the breaker the first thing your maintenance man always checked before moving on down the list of possibilities?

Chanyeol was left confused on the floor while you ran over to the breaker, throwing the panel open.

“Ah-ha!” There it was. The switch labeled “water heater” had somehow been flipped. You pushed it back into the on position A satisfying hum started in the background. You smirked down at the giant. “I think I just fixed it.”

He laughed, getting up onto his feet. “I think you did.”

“Let’s go tell the brat the good news.”

Before you could make it up a few steps, Chanyeol grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. The look in his eyes said it all.

“(y/n)-”

“Chanyeol,” you sighed, stopping him. “I think, for now, we need to focus on getting to safety. Maybe,” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, definitely feeling guilty now as you lied to him, “maybe we can revisit this in the future. Okay?”

Your response disappointed him, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” Released from his grip, you went up the stairs the rest of the way.

Baekhyun was still sitting on the couch in just a towel, waiting for you.

“You couldn’t at least put on pants in the meantime?” you complained, crossing your arms over your chest.

Baekhyun stood up, laughing. “Too lazy. Did you fix it?”

“I think so,” you replied. “Something tripped the breaker, but I flipped it back so I’d give it a few minutes and then try running the water again.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I don’t understand about half of what you just said, but okay!”

Running out of the living room, he held onto his towel as he bolted up the stairs before anyone else could jumped into the bathroom.

“(y/n)?”

Luhan stepped into the living room, cell phone in hand. Sensing the need for privacy, Chanyeol ducked out of the room. Luhan sent you a knowing look.

“Don’t,” you warned. “Just don’t.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Holding the phone out to you, the screen showed a text message made up of a single word: Tuesday.

“What does that mean?” you asked. “Tuesday? What’s happening on Tuesday?”

“That’s when we move out,” he explained.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious? We’re finally getting out?”

Luhan grinned. “Yes, we are. The all clear’s been given.”

Doubt started setting in. You knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed it would be. “Why? Why now?”

The empath just lifted his shoulders and then let them fall. “Your guess is as good as mine. The only thing I can think of is that EXO is looking somewhere else in the country and not looking around the area.”

“Is the headquarters far?” To try and keep your mind off of any bad scenario that could happen, you started picking at a string on your shorts.

“A good distance, but we should make it in less than a day.”

“Good.”

Finishing up the conversation with a promise to get the guys together soon to let them know, you left Luhan and went up to your room. The sound of water hitting tile told you Baekhyun was still in the shower. All the bedroom doors were closed, but you didn’t know where the rest of the group was at.

Shutting the door behind you, you crossed your room to your bed, sitting down on the freshly cleaned comforter. You placed your head in your hands, trying to think of the best way to get everyone out of here safe. The SUV had plenty of gas thanks to the canisters stored in the trunk. The only problem was that you still didn’t know where the headquarters was located.

A soft knock came from your door.

“Come in,” you called out just as softly.

Junmyeon appeared after the door cracked open. He shut it behind him with a quiet click.

“Luhan told me,” he whispered.

You stood up, meeting him halfway. “That’s good. I think everyone will be happy to be out of here. One step closer to true freedom.”

He nodded, not looking at you and hands in his pockets. “What happens once we get there?”

You pulled your eyebrows together, not understanding. “You guys will go through some sessions to teach you about the outside world. You’ll get a fresh identity. You’ll be able to live the life you should have always had.”

Junmyeon shook his head. Removing his hands from his jeans, the fingers of his right hand found yours and held them in his grip. “No, I know that already. I meant,” he let out a hefty sigh. “I meant what happens to you?”

You were shocked. “Me? Well, I’ll get a new identity, too.”

This time he nodded. “And then?”

“And then,” you continued, “Marcus had said that I’d be allowed to stay with you guys. Watch over you. I guess we could all stay close together. Lord knows everyone will need constant help. I can already see Jongdae struggling to use a phone.”

That got a chuckle out of Junmyeon, whose gaze was still locked onto your joined hands. The joyful sound died out and a look of deep thinking took over his features.

“What is it?” you pried.

“Do you think-” he stopped. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” you urged, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He let go of your hand, bringing his now empty fingers up to your face and cupping your jaw. “Do you think that maybe… you could see yourself… with me? In your future?”

“With you?” you echoed. Your mind was fogging up, slowing down and unable to create coherent thoughts. This was the kind of situation you were trying to avoid. For now, at least. But with him being so open and vulnerable in front of you, so honest, you could help but let it continue on.

Junmyeon nodded. “Yes. I just-” he swallowed. “Ever since you walked into my cell, you’ve given me hope. You are my hope. You make me feel human, fully human. I just want to stay with you, hold you and keep you safe. Do you… feel the same way?”

Your heart was pounding at a thousand miles an hour, bruising your sternum. If you lied to him now or pushed him away, you feared you might lose him for good. There was no denying the electricity you felt with his skin against yours. He calmed you down, made you feel worth something again. From the moment he told you his name in that accursed room, you were a goner.  

“Junmyeon….” You brought your hand up and covered his. “I want that. I want to stay with you.”

A smile grew on his face, big enough to crinkle his eyes and nose. The look was so opposite of the hostile one he’d given you when you first met that you couldn’t help but laugh. He brought up his other hand, trapping your face in his grip. Inch by inch he closed the gap that kept you separated and you closed your eyes.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Without Words

Prompt: Can I please have some Bucky flirting with Tony almost all the time, and Tony who isn't aware at all? :)

Two projections are hurtling straight at him. Bucky raises the practise gun and takes them out in two clean shots without breaking a sweat. From the corner of his eye he spots a third racing up beside him. He grabs the rubber knife from his side, flips it, and brings it down hard through the projection. The fake enemy flickers and dies. Bucky stands and turns. He’s got the attention of the rest of the fake projection enemies. They hover in the air, create a formation, and then charge towards him across the room. Bucky smirks to himself and strides towards them, his focus intense. The formation breaks and tries to flank him, but he anticipates this. It’ll take more than that to catch him off guard. His body moves on instinct, all power and grace, and in a matter of seconds, every projected enemy is offline.

For a second, there is silence, and then Tony’s voice cuts across the open training room. “Oh. My. God.” He says, almost in disbelief.

Bucky turns and looks straight at him, and winks. “I aim to impress, doll.”

“I’m digging the murder strut. I mean that right there? Seeing you coming towards them like that, that’s enough to make the bad guys run back to their holes. Better than a Jericho ever was.”

“Murder strut?” Bucky asks, cocking an eyebrow and sauntering across the room towards Tony and the others.

“Yeah, you know. That thing you do. Your scary power walk. The one that says ‘head up I’m gunning for you.”

“I don’t murder strut,” Bucky says in mock horror.

“Yeah, you kind of do,” Steve agrees, setting his shield down. “But it works.”

(Watch out for the break!)

Bucky rolls his eyes, and luckily Tony moves on. “How’s the arm with the new tweaks?”  he asks.

“Much better. Response time is improved. Tac gear could use some work, though. It’s still a little restrictive,” he says, stretching out his shoulder. “I like a little restriction, but I can think of other places it’s better for than the battlefield.”  He gives Tony a look, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice. He just nods, and his fingers twitch a little like he’s looking for a console.

“Right. Come down to the workshop, we’ll try some new things. Wanted your feedback on some other things while we’re at it.”

Tony turns and walks away, muttering to himself, and Bucky can’t help but to just stare after him in bewilderment.

<hr/>

Okay, so he hadn’t meant to start flirting with Tony. Not really anyway. It had just kind of.. happened. Early on in his recovery, when Steve had been telling him stories of when they were younger, of their life before the war,  Steve had told him that he’d had a way with people, that he’d been ‘a bit of a charmer.’ Bucky hadn’t exactly believed it, not for a long time. Not until the day that they’d walked into a coffee shop and Bucky had left with a barista’s number on the side of his cup, a stunned look on his face, and a Steve that didn’t stop laughing for three blocks. So yeah, okay, he could be charming. But he really hadn’t set out to flirt with Tony. But Tony was funny, he was smart, charming himself, gorgeous, snarky. The flirting had evolved right alongside his crush, and by the time he’d realised that either was a thing, he’d gone and fallen head over heels for Tony.

Tony, who seemed completely oblivious that Bucky was flirting with him — which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Bucky was exactly trying be subtle.

He was still shaking his head over it as he headed down to Tony’s workshop, freshly showered after training, sporting his favourite sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt. Tony waved him over as he entered, but didn’t take his eyes off the screen in front of him.

“Buckaroo. Come, take a seat. Tell me what’s wrong with your gear.”

Bucky pulls up a stool right beside Tony where he can easily peer over at whatever it is that Tony is working on.     

“The gear’s actually fine for the most part. I mean the new material you’re using is perfect.”

“But you were complaining about it,” Tony frowns.

“I just need it refitted, that’s all. I bulked up since we took measurements,” Bucky explains. Tony pauses and looks at him — really looks at him, studying the breadth of his shoulders and the muscle definition in his arms, eyes lingering. Bucky can’t help but flex a little. For half a second, he swears that he sees a hint of a flush on Tony’s cheeks, but the moment passes quickly and Tony turns and stares pointedly at his screens. Bucky can’t help but half rolls his eyes to himself.

Maybe this being ‘naturally charming’ as Steve calls him is working against him. There’s a chance that Tony thinks that this is just how he acts with everyone. Of course, there’s always the chance that Tony isn’t interested in him. But, he’s not willing to give up yet. Maybe it’s time to step up his game and make sure that Tony knows that he is the sole object of Bucky’s flirting.

He’ll find a way to get his point across.

<hr/>

It starts with the coffee.

He convinces JARVIS to be his co-conspirator. Whenever Tony is working down in the shop, Bucky has JARVIS alert him when Tony is starting to run low on coffee and starts grumbling about  wanting more. JARVIS gives him enough time to jump into action, scrambling to the kitchen to make sure there is always a fresh pot started just as Tony comes upstairs. More often than not, Bucky will strategically place himself in the kitchen or the common room so that he can see when Tony arrives, and casually start a conversation with him.

After the third day, he looks up from his spot reading on the couch to find Natasha looming over him.

“Just tell him, James.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response.

The coffee and kitchen chatter end up going over well, so he moves on to phase two of his plan — the workshop.

It’s Tony’s space. It’s where he’s the most…  Tony . And it’s where Bucky first fell in love with him.

If Bucky’s being honest with himself — which is hard still, some days — he fell for Tony very early on after coming to the tower. Tony was something solid at a time that he was in turmoil, when Bucky wasn’t sure where he stood with himself, when he was trying to figure out where he stood with Steve, and when he had no idea what his place in the world was after HYDRA. But there was Tony. Tony, who was always straight with him. Who always said what he meant, who wasn’t afraid to crack jokes, to prod at him to see where the lines and the edges were. He had needed that.

By the time that Bucky had put himself back together again, Tony had become a fixture in his life. One afternoon when Tony had been finishing off the last of the fine tuning on his arm, Bucky had made a comment about putting himself back together. For the rest of the afternoon, Tony had called him ‘Humpty Dumpty’ until Bucky had pointed out that wasn’t the whole point, that Humpty Dumpty couldn’t be put back together. And he was doing much better than that, thank you very much Tony.

It had been the first time that Bucky had snarked back at him, and it had caught Tony off guard for half a moment before he burst out laughing and conceded the point that Bucky was clearly way better than Humpty Dumpty.

After that, something clicked between them, and they’d become fast friends in a way that neither of them could have anticipated.

A friend that Bucky fell harder for the more that he found himself.

So here he is, back in the workshop where everything arguably began, trying to make it clear that he is interested in more without coming right out and saying it. Words are a lot harder than actions, and Tony isn’t always the best at communicating either.

No. This is better. And at least this way, there’s less chance of him making things awkward between them by just coming right out and saying how he feels. What he needs is to communicate in way that Tony understands.

Tony has told him he’s always welcome to come down and hang out, so Bucky starts taking advantage of that more, and more. At first he tries to cover himself with stupid excuses — he has a question, he needs to fix something, he wants to visit DUM-E — until Tony calls him out on it.

“What, my company isn’t reason enough for you?” he asks one day after yet another excuse to come into Tony’s space. “I told you ages ago you could come down whenever you want. I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat and he takes this as a good sign. With a playful smile, he swaggers across the room. It’s not quite the ‘murder strut’ as Tony calls it, but he pours that same self assured smoothness into every step until he’s right up in Tony’s space. “Your company is always enough for me, doll,” he purrs, brushing his fingers along Tony’s arm. Tony stares up at him for a moment, wide eyed before he leans into the touch, almost without realising he’s doing it. Bucky almost leans in right then and there to kiss him. Their eyes meet, and his drop briefly to Tony’s lips, full and perfect. There is no way that Tony doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but before Bucky can make up his mind, the moment passes.

Probably for the best. For now. Not until he’s certain.

<hr/>

He’s down in the workshop every day now, at the very least long enough to pop in and say hi to Tony. It becomes so much a part of his routine that he still ends up going down even when Tony is away for a few days for meetings at the SI facility in California. After barely the first day, Natasha tells him off for moping around like a moody teenager, and Steve just looks at him sadly without saying anything. To hell with them both, at least DUM-E is nice to him.

On the first evening, he sends Tony a photo of him and DUM-E building a ‘sculpture’ out of spare bits of wire and metal.

Part way through the second day, he has JARVIS send Tony a video of Bucky handing DUM-E and Butterfingers lengths of foam and teaching them about jousting. Less than five minutes later, Bucky’s phone is ringing, and at the other end, Tony sounds like he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“I. Hate. You.” he says without an ounce of venom in his voice. “I just had to try and explain to a group of shareholders and investors that the reason I burst out laughing in the middle of a Q and A is because someone was teaching my robots how to joust.”

“Robot fights are legit Tony. I saw it on YouTube,” Bucky says as he flops himself down on the couch in the shop.

“Let me save you some time. DUM-E isn’t going to do well on that career path.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” Bucky says.

“Jousting.” Tony repeats.

“We’re bored.” Bucky tells him. “You’re not here to entertain us.”

“If I promise to come back soon and save you, will you promise not to teach my bots any more bad habits?”

Bucky pretends to consider this for a moment, and then responds with a cheerful, “Nope. No promises.”

“You’re impossible. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“I’ll tell DUM-E to finish his art project.”

Bucky hangs up the phone feeling significantly better and more hopeful. Maybe when Tony comes home, he’ll think about actually talking to him.

<hr/>

He throws that plan out the window almost as soon as Tony arrives back. He’s in the common area with Steve, Natasha, Sam, Bruce, and Rhodey who has popped by for a visit. Once Tony has dropped his bags and jacket and heads in to join them, Bucky is there to greet him. He leans into Tony’s space and bumps shoulders with him and Tony smiles at him, but there is something pinched there.

Maybe he’s just tired, Bucky rationalizes.

Later, when the group of them are settled in to watch a movie, Tony deliberately takes the seat on the couch next to Bucky, and Bucky nudges him gently, trying to make it clear that he’s okay with Tony being close in his space, but Tony doesn’t take him up on it. The entire movie, Tony is close enough that Bucky can feel his warmth, but they never touch, and Tony doesn’t make any move to lean in closer to him.  Bucky refuses to read into that.

Except that it doesn’t stop there.

Arguably, nothing between them has changed, they still spend all their time together, they’re still bantering and trading jokes, but there’s something off about it. Tony’s a physical and tactile guy, Bucky’s observed that about him. He constantly fidgeting, he has no qualms about being in people’s space. He’s always grabbing peoples arms or patting shoulders when he’s talking.

Except with Bucky.

Why hasn’t he noticed it before now?

Well okay. That makes it pretty damn clear. Tony is trying to make a point, that he doesn’t want what Bucky is offering, and he’s trying to be nice about it so things don’t get awkward. Bucky can take a hint. It stings, but he can deal. He’ll get over it.

It just might take some time.

The day he realises what’s happening, he doesn’t go to the shop at all.

<hr/>

He doesn’t want to lose the friendship that he’s developed with Tony, he values it and Tony far too much for that, but over the following few days, he can’t quite figure out how to conduct himself. He hasn’t realised just how much he’s been flirting with Tony until he tries to stop it. He catches himself all the time, giving Tony a look, or about to make an inappropriate joke. He doesn’t realise how much he touches Tony until he has to reign himself in. Tony has never pulled away from Bucky’s touches, or made any indication that he’s uncomfortable with them, but Bucky’s not going to be the guy. Tony’s not interested, enough said.

But it’s so damn hard. He can’t help but spend less time around Tony, and rationalise it to himself as being better, at least for now. At least until he can get his feelings under control.

It works. Right up until Tony decides it doesn’t.

“Alright what is it?” Tony says one evening after an awkward, stilted few minutes in the shop. He can’t just stop going to the shop all together, it’s too important to him, and to their friendship, which he’s trying to keep intact, god help him.

“What’s what?” Bucky asks, confused.

“All of this,” Tony says waving his hand at nothing in particular.

“You just gestured to all of me,” Bucky said flatly, barely feeling the joke.

“Yeah, exactly my point. You’ve been acting—” he makes some other kind of gesture that shouldn’t really make sense, but which Bucky understands. “Look, just tell me what I did wrong. Please Bucky.”

“What?” Bucky responds in surprise, “What you did? What, no. Tony. It’s nothing. You didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve been acting weird. And distant. So clearly I did something, and I just want to know what so I can fix it.”

No. No, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Bucky has been trying so damn hard  to not ruin what they have, and now he’s gone and done it anyway. He’d hoped they wouldn’t have to have this terrible, awkward conversation, but it looks like they’re going to have to after all. Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Tony cuts him off, realisation dawning on him.

“Look, Bucky, I get that you’re not into me, okay? That’s fine. I swear, it’s fine. I get it, message received. So can we just forget this happened and go back to how things were? Please?”

Tony looks at him, vulnerable and pleading, and Bucky wants  to say something comforting, but his brain just short circuited and is rebooting.

“Wait what?” he asks, feeling like he missed something important. “You said-”

“Yeah I know what I said, can we forget about it?”  Tony snaps.

“No. No we can not.” Bucky informs him, moving quickly across the shop. Tony’s face twists into something distorted, and he looks like he’s about to spit out something vicious, as he does when he’s trying to protect himself.

“You said I’m not into you,” Bucky states, seeking clarification.

“Well, you’re not,” Tony shrugs.

“What the hell gave you the idea that I wasn’t?”  Bucky asks.

“Why would you be?”

“Why— why would I be? Tony, why the hell wouldn’t I be?” Bucky can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “Have you completely missed the part where I have been trying to flirt with you and get your attention for weeks now?”  

“What?” Tony asks, his turn to be confused now. “No you haven’t. You’re just… you. You’re just being you.”

“Right. Because I always show off in training, for just anyone. And I always spend all my free time with everyone. And I always mope around the tower, and make art, and teach everyone’s robots how to joust because I miss them.”

“Well… when you put it like that,” Tony says, taken aback. “So, this entire time I’ve been so busy trying to hide the fact that I want you take you to dinner, and have lots and lots of sex all night, and spend the whole morning laying in bed together, that I completely missed the part where—”

“-- where I want the same thing?” Bucky asks. “Yeah. I guess so.”

He steps up right into Tony’s space and drops his hands to hold Tony’s hips, holding gently, but firmly. “Let me make this clear. Hey Tony, wanna go out with me?”

Tony stares at him in disbelief for half a moment, then cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t know. It’s possible you just mean going out as friends you know.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes, and leans in close enough that they’re nearly breathing the same air. He lets his eyes roam all over Tony, down the length of his body and back up. He makes a very pleased noise in the back of his throat so it’s completely unmistakable what he’s thinking, and says. “Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?”

For a moment, there is total silence between them, and then an instant later they both burst out laughing. Tony drops his head to Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky presses his cheek to the side of Tony’s head, smiling.

“Okay, okay,” Tony manages between breaths. “Point made. Yes. Definitely yes. To both.”

[iatethepomegranate]

DickTiger Week Day 6: Love Letter

I’m so tired help

Masterlist (including AO3 links)

Title: Scrapbook

Rating: Teen

Length: 2.3k

Summary: Dick and Tiger leave each other letters whenever they're apart.

Notes: Spoilers for the end of the Grayson comic.

Scrapbook

Neither Dick nor Tiger could remember who left the first letter, but it soon became a habit. Whenever one would be absent for a time, they would leave a note. They both left them for each other when on separate missions and Tiger would leave them when he rose early to pray.

Dick started collecting them, though he hadn't told Tiger. After Spyral, they were all Dick had to remember him by while Tiger took over the organisation and flew across the world on missions that required his personal touch.

This stretched on for months. Dick returned to Gotham, to Nightwing, to his family. But early every morning, no matter how tired he was, he would jolt awake as if expecting Tiger to be there, getting out of bed to pray.

He wasn't there, and now Dick couldn't sleep. One morning, exhausted and fed up, Dick found the file he kept Tiger's notes in. He'd managed to snag it while leaving his quarters at Spyral after the fight was over, having left it behind when the pair of them went on the run. They had left each other short notes on the backs of wrappers while going against Spyral, but most of those had ended up stashed in Tiger's vest pouches.

Dick laid the notes he did have out on the floor and began to sort them into chronological order, relieved that Tiger had dated every single one. Maybe he knew Dick wanted to keep them, even if fraternisation had technically been against the rules.

The first one Dick could find, though he was fairly certain there had been a few before, was dated for a mission Tiger undertook while Dick was recovering from a broken rib.

Do not break anything else while I am gone.

Tiger hadn't signed that one. That came later. He had still been too awkward about their relationship at this time, closer to frenemies-with-benefits than romance.

Go back to sleep. I will return soon.

Written the first time they had spent the whole night together, and Tiger briefly left to pray in the early hours of the morning.

Dick separated the morning prayer notes from the mission notes, and soon his bedroom floor was covered with papers. A physical representation of their time together.

Then he found another of the go back to sleep notes, a few months after the first. The one that made things all too real.

Prayer. Go back to sleep. I love you.

It was the first time Tiger had said those words in any form, and he didn't return to bed that morning. Dick had given him a few hours of space before sliding a note beneath his bedroom door for him to find later. Dick didn't have that one, but it had been short and simple and easy to remember:

I love you, too.

Dick missed him. Terribly.

He sorted the notes in an exhausted daze, and then ate three bowls of cereal. That ate up the time until stores began to open, so Dick threw on some clothes and headed down the street fuelled by coffee and loneliness.

He needed a scrapbook. Now.

Tiger had finally carved out some time to leave Spyral. He did not trust his agents to survive without him for long, but they had improved in the months since he had taken over. Long enough that he could visit Gotham for a few days.

Batman and his associates changed their communicator frequencies often, so Dick had not bothered to give him that. Instead, he gave a piece of advice: watch the batsignal.

So Tiger settled on a building close to the GCPD, but not close enough to raise alarm, and watched through binoculars every time the signal hit the sky. Batman arrived on the roof with Robin, a grumpy young teenager whose legs were growing faster than the rest of him. Nightwing joined them moments later. Perfect.

He tracked Nightwing's progress as he separated from the pair, flying south through the use of his grapnel launcher. Tiger followed, close enough that Nightwing would notice him, but not so close that he would be alarmed.

Nightwing landed on the roof of an apartment complex, leaning against the fire escape railing. Tiger dropped beside him.

“I thought it was you,” Nightwing replied. “Already radioed the fam. I'm free for the night.”

“Did you tell them why?”

“I told them I had a last-minute meeting with the new head of Spyral.” Nightwing started down the fire escape, beckoning Tiger to follow. “Pretty sure Red Robin has me figured out, but he won't say anything.”

They climbed down a set of stairs and Nightwing pressed a short code into a keypad on the nearest windowsill. There was a soft click, and he slid the window open.

By the time Tiger joined him in what appeared to be the bedroom, Dick had switched on the bedside lamp and discarded his mask, gloves and boots. He reached past Tiger to shut the window and remained close, turning his back.

“Unzip me?”

“Do you always get help undressing?” Tiger asked, dragging the zipper down from Dick's neck to his waist, letting himself stroke the exposed skin with the backs of his fingers.

Dick stepped out of his uniform and tossed it aside, standing in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts that Tiger couldn't believe had actually fit under his uniform. “No. But you were right there.” He slid Tiger's backpack off his shoulders and tossed it on the bed. “You hungry? I've got some leftover noodles in the fridge with our names on them.”

“Are you going to put clothes on?”

“Wasn't planning to.” Dick led Tiger out of the bedroom and sat him on the couch. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Dick's living room was only a few feet long, housing a couch, television and a coffee table buried under piles of... everything.

On top of the pile sat a photo album or scrapbook. The title read: Love Letters. Tiger knew Dick had taken his file of letters home with him, but if he had really put in the effort to preserve them like this...

Tiger picked up the book and brought it into the kitchen. “Is this what I think it is?”

Dick turned away from the microwave, eyes widening as he took in what was in Tiger's hands. “Uh, probably? Open it.”

Tiger set the book on the tiny card table and pulled back the cover. The front page held the title again, surrounded by pictures of various birds.

“Damian was going through a bird phase with his art,” Dick explained, staring into the microwave. “He only complained a tiny bit when I asked him to draw me something. Whatever he wanted. Spot the robin.”

A small robin red-breast was perched in the bottom-right corner. “Does he know what this is for?”

“No. He probably just assumed I was making a dorky gift for Barbara or something. I thought asking him to draw a tiger would be too much.”

Tiger turned the page, and came face-to-face with the first letter Dick had kept: Do not break anything else while I am gone. It was the most affectionate thing Tiger could manage when their relationship was new. A badly-drawn broken bone occupied a spot of honour beside it.

“Did you draw this?”

Dick looked over his shoulder and snorted. “Yep. Can you tell?”

“Sadly, yes.”

Dick shrugged. “I tried.” The microwave beeped and he pulled out a bowl of noodles. “Here. Take all this into the living room. I'll be there in a minute.” He shoved a second bowl into the microwave and turned it on. “Go on.”

Tiger sat on the couch and balanced the scrapbook on the one bare section of the coffee table. He barely touched his noodles, staring at his handwriting telling the story of their relationship... of Tiger becoming more comfortable with the concept of a relationship at all.

Prayer. Go back to sleep. I love you.

Tiger remembered being embarrassed as he wrote it, of avoiding Dick all day afterwards. He still had Dick's response, tucked into his backpack with all the other notes he had kept. He left his noodles balanced carefully on the couch and hurried back to the bedroom, where he dug a book of his own out of the bag.

Dick was on the couch with his own noodles when Tiger returned. “Ooh, what's that?”

“Why did you put my notes in a scrapbook?” Tiger asked.

“Couldn't sleep one morning,” Dick replied. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He rested the book on Dick's bare legs. “I did not draw anything. Sorry.”

Dick patted the couch. “Don't be sorry. You saw how bad my art was.”

Tiger sat back down and ate several mouthfuls of noodles while Dick paged through the book. Dick was always fun to watch, but especially now as his smile grew bigger and bigger with every letter he reread.

“Remember this one?” Dick asked, tapping one that just read: I love you too.

Tiger nodded, his throat suddenly too tight for speech. He had found it in his room the evening he spent the whole day avoiding Dick. For some reason, he had not expected Dick to say it back.

“I still love you, by the way,” Dick said.

“I love you too.” The words came more easily now than ever.

Dick kept flipping through the book. “Aw, you kept our candy wrapper notes. I'd hoped you hadn't lost them.” He smoothed down the wrinkled corner of one Tiger had written: I love you but please stop singing. Dick had written one in response: Please don't make me choose between the two greatest loves of my life.

Tiger's response to that had been short and to the point: You disgust me. He had meant it in jest, obviously.

“Being on the run was exhausting,” Dick said, “but I had a great time with you.”

“I feel the same.”

“Glad you didn't kill Helena and ruin everything?”

Tiger rolled his eyes, but still said yes. He had not wanted to kill her, but that had been the only option at the time.

“And look! We're together again.” Dick nudged him. “We should keep up the notes, you know. I like looking back on them.”

Tiger liked that, too.

Then they kissed, and he never wanted to leave again.

Their relationship continued in fits and starts and stolen moments for the next few years, until one day Tiger passed Dick an envelope after they'd spent their first night together in months... again.

“What's this?”

“Open it.” Tiger grabbed a fistful of the bedsheets to fight the nerves, relieved that Dick was focused on the envelope rather than him.

Dick pulled Tiger's note out, and a pair of rings fell onto the sheets. “No way.” He opened the letter so quickly that he almost tore it.

“Read it aloud?” Tiger requested.

Dick was already grinning wider than Tiger had ever seen. “Sure, babe. Dear, Richard. I apologise for the formality, but it seemed appropriate. We have spent so much of our time apart and it has given me time to think about our relationship. I have grown tired of seeing you once every few weeks at best. I want to see you every day. I want to wake up to your sleeping face, even when you drool on the pillow and talk in your sleep. I want to eat breakfast with you and watch your eyes slowly wake as the caffeine hits your system. I want to hear your praise your family whenever they achieve their goals, and I want to watch you reach your own. I want to spent the rest of my life with...” Dick trailed off, blinking rapidly towards the ceiling.

Tiger had spent so much time agonising over what to write that knew the letter by heart, so he kept talking, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you more than anything else in the world—and I really wish you were still reading this because I am embarrassing myself.”

“Shut up,” Dick said thickly. “Keep going.”

“I cannot do both at once.”

Dick elbowed him. “Fine. I'll do it. Richard Grayson, will you marry me?” He dropped the letter. “Of course I will, Tiger.” Then he leaned over and threw a second envelope into Tiger's lap. “Great minds think alike, huh? Shame I hadn't finished writing the letter, damn you.”

Tiger shook out a second pair of rings, and they laughed together.

Dick finished his letter and proposed to Tiger the following afternoon. Those letters became their wedding vows.

They reread their love letter scrapbooks every anniversary, and Tiger pretended he wasn't crying each time. Dick never teased him for it.

Years later, they still wrote little notes for each other and pasted them into a new, shared scrapbook. From the mundane to the just plain strange—from gone out to get milk to sorry babe had to rescue seventeen cats from the same tree—every note had its own little position of honour.

Every time they fought, every time they missed each other, they could look back on those notes and remember why they were sharing a life together. Even though they bought each other plenty of gifts over the years, from new plates to the world's ugliest shirt to an orange kitten they called Tony, nothing could ever compare to the gift they had given each other right at the beginning.

Neither Dick nor Tiger could remember who had written the first note, but that person had been a genius.

[hijoonie]

Rye & Lies | 2

Part 1

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Rating: Explicit Genre: Smut, Angst & Slight fluff? Word count: 7,562

Summary: You’re all kinds of perfect and he wants to get close to you, whether it be physically or emotionally.

Preferably both. 

The coffee maker gurgles and puffs steam, brewing a fresh pot of dark roast that’s ready before Dongmin emerges from the bedroom. The bread in the toaster crisps and pops by the time he seats himself in his usual chair at the head of the table and when you have it buttered and set before him with his mug, he’s already engrossed in the morning news articles on his phone.

This is routine, or at least it is when he’s home in the mornings, and you robotically go through the steps for the half hour before he leaves for work.

There’s rarely any conversation, but when there is it’s mostly from your end, only ever garnering a grunt or curt response from your husband. He’s always too preoccupied to give you much of his attention and quite frankly you’ve grown used to it, so it no longer phases you.

Today, however, you are caught off guard when he clears his throat and stares over at you until you’re peeking up at him with confused yet curious eyes, mind racing with thoughts about what he could possibly have to say.

“My cousin is in town,” he takes a sip of his coffee “My father wants the family to gather for dinner to welcome him back, so make sure to clear your schedule next Friday.”

You think about it briefly, trying to recall which cousin he’s talking about and if you’d ever met him.

“Is this the cousin who wasn’t able to attend our wedding?” You ask.

Dongmin nods “Mhm,” He glances back down at his phone, takes one last bite of his food and pushes out of the chair “I have to go.” 

“Okay.”

Nothing more is said about the matter. What Dongmin says, goes. Especially so when it’s a relayed request from his father.

You know by now not to put up a stink about doing this and that; attending galas or awkward and unnecessary ‘family dinners’ that always end up with more than one person’s feathers ruffled. You can’t say you dislike it completely though because these gatherings are the only times when Dongmin shows you the slightest affection; placing kisses upon your lips, holding your hand and on the rare occasion, letting an ‘I love you’ slip.

It’s all bittersweet. For the briefest of moments, you can fool yourself into thinking his actions and endearing words hold some truth, yet the wiser side of you knows it’s all just for show.

When the two of you are not under watch by unsuspecting family and friends, all affection halts. It hurt at first when Dongmin would call you ‘sweetheart’ and kiss your forehead, only to flip a switch and act as though you’re nothing more than a nuisance while in the confines of your home, away from prying eyes.

Correction: Dongmin’s home.  

But after the one year mark of marriage rolled around, that wretched sting of heartbreak and rejection withered into a faint ache and a hollowness replaced it; vast and lonely.

Dongmin leaves the dishes behind and the food barely touched, fixes his hair in the hallway mirror and puts on his shoes once in the entryway. You mindlessly follow him, grabbing his briefcase and holding it out to your husband while he slips into his suit jacket.

“I’m working late tonight, so don’t bother waiting up.” You drop the handle into his outstretched hand as he pulls open the door.

You clench your teeth and give a stiff nod, irked by his lie but remaining silent.

As he’s about to shut the door behind himself, leaving you standing there dumbly, he pops his head back in and looks you over for a moment.

“Wear that purple dress you have. It matches nicely with your complexion.” 

And then he’s gone.  

You furrow your brows at nothing but rich mahogany, feeling annoyed by the faint flattery that has your heart jumping only the slightest from his compliment, when in fact you should be boiling over with anger about him meeting her for the fourth night in a row.

You inhale deeply, then exhale – repeat twice – trying to rid yourself of any and all feelings towards him. If you let the good ones linger, you’ll feel even more like a fool than you already do, and if you stew in the bad ones, you’ll upset yourself and end up ruining your day.

Either way, you lose, so it’s better to steel yourself and shut out all emotions, even if it makes you feel lifeless.

“Purple dress?” You mutter to yourself as you head to your shared bedroom, yanking open your closet where you rummage around for said item. You pull out a burgundy cocktail dress – the closest thing to purple that you own – and look it over before hanging it back in the closet with a sour taste in your mouth.

It’s the same dress you wore to your engagement party.

An olive coloured garment catches your eye before you turn to leave, the material half hanging over the edge of the shelf where you had tossed it a few nights prior. You don’t hesitate to pull it down and into your hands, looking it over and smiling shyly to yourself as your fingers run along the length of your broken strap.

Thoughts of your encounter with Hoseok replay in your mind vividly, so much so that it has you groaning. There is no trace of guilt in your heart for the things you had done with him and you firmly believe that it would forever be a fond, playful memory that you will keep hidden in the safest parts of your mind.

Fucking Hoseok has been one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

You seat yourself on the edge of your bed, large enough so that you and Dongmin can stretch out fully and still not touch one another, and bring the dress close to your face. Maybe you were crazy, but you swear you can still smell Hoseok’s cologne clinging to the material.

After the two of you had left the club that night, Hoseok had brought you to his home where he made you both a cup of tea and even offered you a sweater to wear.

As promised, you had expressed to him your ordeal at home - what Dongmin has been doing for longer than you’d care to admit, how your marriage came about in a more traditional way than modern days. You gave him just enough information to explain but not enough to air out all your dirty laundry. You kept Dongmin’s name a secret and even both your family names. You chose not to tell him what your husband did for a living, though you did reassure Hoseok that you had no children.

Thankfully Hosoek was not the prying type and took what information he was given about the matter, asking for nothing more. He had smiled at you so sad that it made your stomach hurt, but he didn’t call you ridiculous nor pitied you. 

He just simply said: ‘You deserve to be happy.’

Although you don’t know anything about him other than his name, Hoseok felt right – familiar and comforting in a way that has you praying to the heavens that when you’d wake up the next morning, it would be Hoseok at your side, rather than Dongmin.

You sigh deeply and get up from your spot, shoving the dress back onto the shelf. 

Out of sight and out of mind.

Naturally, you don’t expect to ever encounter Hoseok again. The likelihood of meeting someone you know in such a big city is rare, let alone someone you have only met once. Truth be told, you aren’t even sure if he will recognize you, or you him, if he ever passes you in the streets or sits near you in a restaurant.

But life, and its companion fate – if there really was such a thing – seem to always have other plans in mind.

So when you cross paths with Hoseok, only a few days after your night at the club, you find yourself in a state of surprise; eyes wide and mouth agape.  Or perhaps it was caused by the swarm of high speed oranges rolling right your way.

Either way, you can’t believe your eyes as you watch Hoseok jog after the fruit, trying desperately to scoop them into his arms, only to fumble with them and cause an even bigger mess only a few steps away from you.

A feeling of amusement washes over you as you watch him gather up the oranges, this time successfully, and place them back on their stand, profusely apologizing to the employee who scowls at him. You take a step forward with no real destination in mind, the toe of your shoe bumping into something sturdy and you peek down to see two big, round oranges at your feet. You smile fondly and pick them up, heading towards Hoseok who is still placing the fruit back into the pile one by one with cautious movements.

You clear your throat and speak softly when you come up behind the man.

“Excuse me,”

Hoseok puts the last two down and peeks over his shoulder at you, flinching slightly with surprise as recognition washes over him.

“It seems like you’re missing two, Hoseok” You laugh lightly and hold them outwards for him to grab.

“I- oh. Y/N? T-thanks,” Hoseok flushes as he takes them from you and puts them back in their rightful place before turning to face you completely “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping, like everyone else,” You quip, lifting your basket up just a tad so that his attention is drawn to the items inside “I assume you are too unless it’s a hobby of yours to wreak havoc in the supermarket by bullying the produce.”

Hoseok snorts, rubbing his neck “More like they’re bullying me. I only picked up one and the entire mountain came crashing down. This happens almost every time.” He shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. I swear the oranges have it out for me.”

You share a brief laugh but the silence is quick to follow, leaving the two of you standing in the middle of the produce section staring at one another awkwardly.

“Right. Well,” You start but are given no time to finish before Hoseok is jumping in.

“Do you want to grab some coffee with me?” Hoseok hesitates a bit “I-I mean if you’re not busy. There’s a place I know about a block from here. Makes the best lattes in the city, I swear.”

You take a moment to think it over, unsure of if it’s a good idea. What if it’s awkward? Sure, the chemistry was there that night at the club, but that was a matter of sex. Who’s to say that things would spark so well when it came to a more casual setting?

Regardless of the possibility of a forced conversation and an awkward atmosphere, you agree to it. You figure there’s no harm in it. If things really are awful you can easily make an excuse to leave and hope that you never meet him again, though you have your doubts that it will come to that.

Hoseok tells you he will wait for you out front while you finish up your shopping and so when he leaves, you make a point to hurry things up by whizzing in and out of the aisles, grabbing what’s necessary and not bothering with your usual dallying.

When you find him outside, he kindly offers to take your bags, carrying them to your car where he places them in the trunk. Thankfully it’s a nice enough day and the weather isn’t too hot, so you both agree to walk to the coffee shop instead of drive.

“Two medium-“

“Small, please”

“One medium and one small latte, please.” Hoseok smiles and you swear you see the barista swoon a bit, and you can’t blame her. He’s handsome, charming and so sweet that even you yourself can’t help but melt every time he looks at you. 

And you have to admit, he looks even better in daylight.

“So,” Hoseok slides your latte across the table towards you when you both sit down, lucky enough to nab a seat near the window “How have you been?”

You almost want to laugh at the way he asks as if you are longtime friends catching up over a cup of coffee with miles of history between you both.  

“I’ve been,” You pause, wondering whether or not it’s best to lie, or to be honest “Good. I’ve been good. You?” You hate the act of lying, but it seems like lately, you’ve picked up the bad habit.

“Oh, great! It’s nice to be back home after so long,” He smiles around the rim of his mug before taking a sip of his coffee. When you look at him in question, he senses an explanation is in order “I’ve been travelling for almost two years now.”

“Oh?” You cool your drink by blowing on it gently “Have you been travelling for work?”

“Not work, just for pleasure. I’ve always wanted to see the world, y’know? There are so many beautiful places and interesting people.”

“So you don’t have a job? How can you afford to travel?” You suddenly snap your mouth shut, realizing that you may have come off a bit rude “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up money.” It’s not that the topic was unheard of and hush hush, rather, it wasn’t exactly a polite topic of choice while getting to know someone for the first time.

Hoseok waves his hand in the air, dismissing your apology “Nah, you’re fine. I don’t mind. After I graduated from university I went to work for my father’s company. About… two and a half years? Yeah, about that. After two and half years of working for the business, I grew restless and knew it wasn’t what I wanted or where I should be. Not now at least,” He rests his chin in his hand “If I’m being honest, I’ll probably never want to be cooped up in an office wearing a stiff suit and conversing with miserable old men.”

“But anyways, I managed to save up a bit of money for travel. My father wasn’t too pleased with my decision, but with the support of my mother and a bit of persuasion on my end, I stepped out of my position with the company and began planning. I stayed close to home at first, visiting Japan and Thailand. With the generosity of my parents, I was able to go even further, reaching as far as Greenland!”

You find a great deal of relief in the fact that the conversation is flowing so effortlessly. Hoseok is quite an open person from the sounds of it, spilling his story with a sense of ease and comfort. That comfort is magnetic and soon you find yourself settling in a bit more; feeling less rigid and nervous than you had not long before. 

Something about him has you captivated as he speaks, leaning over the table just the slightest as if to submerge yourself in his presence all the more. He’s great at eye contact and at first, you shied away, but as he drawls on about himself you almost get lost in the deep brown of his eyes that are just as expressive as his face.

By the time Hoseok finishes his story, your coffee is cold but you don’t mind whatsoever because you’re too caught up in the man - intrigued by his life and wanting to know all of his stories. You led a much more boring life in comparison to Hoseok, so you wanted to live vicariously through him but before you can even ask for more, he’s leaning back in his chair and looking you over with a soft smile.

“What about you, Y/N. What stories do you have to tell?”

The question is innocent, expected really, but it still makes you uncomfortable. Hoseok knows a bit about your situation already and you aren’t about to go into detail about it, so what can you really say? That you’re a lonely, sad woman in love with a man who wronged you so much you can’t even count the times on your fingers and toes? That there isn’t one moment in your life where you got to choose what you truly wanted to do? Whether that be marriage, school or any other thing in and between.

“There’s… really nothing interesting to tell,” You mutter, shrugging your shoulders. To put it simply - you’re boring.

“I don’t believe that. You think up something to tell me, while I go get us some muffins.” Hoseok pushes out of his chair and scampers off to the counter to order before you have a chance to say anything.

So, you think and think. You don’t want to come off as sounding pathetic or disinteresting. You want Hoseok to like you, though you’re not sure why. Perhaps, as sad as it is, there’s a need for approval festering in your heart and since you can’t find it in your husband, Hoseok may be able to give it to you instead.

You don’t get far with your thoughts before Hoseok is back, handing you a muffin and settling into his seat while unwrapping his own “It’s blueberry,” he states, pointing to the baked good in your hand.

Funny. Blueberry is your favourite.

You pop a piece into your mouth and chew away, directing your gaze out the window as a means to avoid Hoseok’s. He’s waiting for you to say something and things are beginning to feel a bit weird, at least on your end, so you tell yourself to stop being so silly and finally start speaking.

“Uhm, well… I graduated university, then I-“

“What did you study?” He interrupts.

“International business.”

“Oh! That’s interesting.”

“I guess so…”

Hoseok frowns “You don’t like it?”

“Not really. My parents wanted me to study it. It was never an interest of mine.” Hoseok hums at your answer, nodding slowly while thinking. He says nothing more and just waits for you to continue. It seems as though you won’t be able to get away with skimming the details.

“Anyways, I majored in international business. Like you, my family owns a company so they wanted me to become a helpful asset to the business. I also don’t have any siblings, so it’ll all be passed down to me one day. From the moment I turned nineteen, I’ve been groomed to one day take over from my father. That is until I got married.”

“But none of that’s really important,” You wave your hand in front of your face as if airing out the negativity that lingers on that story. Maybe one day, if you and Hoseok were to ever become… something more than acquaintances, you’d tell him the details. But now was not the time. “I, uhm… that’s about it really. I’m basically just a housewife so there’s really nothing exciting to tell you.”

Hoseok swallows his bite of muffin and waits for you to eat some as well before bombarding you with more questions.  

“What about your interests? Hobbies?”

“Hmm... I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh,”

He laughs immediately at your words, but shuts up quickly when you narrow your eyes, raising his hands in defence and muttering ‘okay, okay’.

“I really like botany. It’s something I’ve always been interested in, even as a young kid.”

Hoesok doesn’t laugh and you’re happy with this. When Dongmin found out, he laughed and rebuked your interest, saying it sounded stupid and boring. But Hoseok? He just smiles brightly, looking thrilled by your confession.

“That’s so interesting! I don’t know much about plants, but I can only imagine how many things you can learn about and from them”

You heave a relieved sigh, feeling more weightless than before. It was sad how such kindness and normalcy is something so foreign to you.

The two of you talk on and on, alternating between Hoseok’s enthusiasm about travel and dance (his ultimate love) and your timid reveals about plants and the entirety of nature itself. The two of you are opposite in terms of your interests and your history, but somehow you fit together well.

But there is one topic of conversation that you both seem apprehensive to approach, even though it weighs heavily on your minds. It isn’t until a lull in the conversation that Hoseok finally speaks up about it.

“So, I wanted to ask you… about the other night?”

You stiffen in your chair, feeling embarrassment and shyness pool in your stomach. You know the conversation needs to happen, but you’re unsure as to what there’s really to be said.

“How are you… feeling about it? Are you alright? I just ask because you’re,” He glances around as if people are listening, though of course even if someone was, there’s nothing that could give away what you were talking about “Well, you’re married and all. I just hope what happened between us hasn’t been troubling you or anything.”

His concern is appreciated, truly. But you can’t help but wonder if maybe it was troubling him, instead of you.

“No, Hoseok. I’m fine, really. I was the one that initiated things. I knew what I was doing. If I’m being honest… I’m really glad what happened, happened,” You suddenly flush and look away, focusing on the baristas working at the front “God, I sound awful, don’t I?”

“No, no!” Hoseok tries to hide his pleased smile, but you can see it pulling at the corners of his mouth against his efforts. “Was it, uh, was it a one time only thing or –“

“Oh shoot!” You gasp when you spot the time on your watch. It was nearing six o’clock and Dongmin would be home soon, and you had promised dinner would be ready for him when he returned from the office.

You get to your feet and Hoseok does the same, albeit flustered and confused.

“I have to go. This was really nice Hoseok, really.” You dig around in your purse, pulling out a pen and leaning down to scribble your number onto a napkin “Here,” You hand it to him “Text me sometime and we can grab coffee again. I want to hear more about your travels and dance. Everything, really.” You smile at him and give a small wave, feeling a bit guilty for having to leave so abruptly.

“O-okay, see you, Y/N,” He looks almost sad when you turn to leave and a funny little twist in your stomach makes you clutch it uncomfortably.

A huge sigh of relief leaves your chest because what Hoseok was about to ask, you really had no answer for. Not right now.

A marriage tainted by adultery and lies from Dongmin is one thing, but from you as well? You aren’t sure if you’re willing to suffer the consequences you’d face if you’re to weave your own web of lies.  

You don’t hear from Hoseok after your coffee date and you wonder why. Had it been something you said? Or your avoidance of the conversation about your… relationship, whatever it may be. Or perhaps it was as simple as the fact that you were married and Hoseok was a good man, not wanting to come between something like that, even if he knew it wouldn’t matter. Either way, the rest of the week went by slowly and painfully because you couldn’t help yourself from wanting to hear from him. If only you had gotten his number instead of giving yours.

So by the time Friday rolls around, you feel almost relieved for the distraction. Almost. Because you still have to face Dongmin’s family, who are not the best company, and deal with your husband’s façade.

Once dressed and ready to go, both you and your Dongmin head off for dinner, seated in the uncomfortable silence of the car and suffering the presence of one another. More so on his end, rather than yours.

Dongmin’s family home put others to shame. It’s large enough to be considered a mansion, perched at the end of a long stretch of road, surrounded by other homes that are not nearly as impressive in structure and size. Your favourite part of the house is the backyard. Your husband’s family is one of few lucky enough to have some land with their home and at the rear of the house is immaculate gardens full of flowers and shrubs. When standing in the middle of it all, you can almost imagine you’re in the countryside, but the constant noise of traffic and city hustle and bustle always reminds you exactly where you are.

“May I take your coat, Miss Y/N?” a young man asks with a welcoming smile the moment you step into the home.

You don’t make an effort to get to know the staff in the house, not because you feel above them in status, but because the likelihood that they will be there the next time you visit is slim to none. Dongmin’s father frequently changes staff for one reason or other. You never bother to ask why.

Shrugging out of your coat, you let the man take it from you, thanking him politely (a stark difference in comparison to Dongmin’s aloof silence) and follow by Dongmin’s side, heading for the sitting room.

Just before you round the corner, he reaches out and wraps his arm around your waist. It’s a weak hold, one that can easily be shrugged off and although you’re tempted to do so, you don’t.

His family is all seated around the sitting room, conversing over hot drinks and fruit. There are seven people in total, not including yourself and Dongmin. His father, mother and two brothers sit comfortably on an overly large Chesterfield, while opposite them sits two people whom you recall are his aunt and uncle, though it’s a vague recollection because you have not seen them since the wedding.

It’s the seventh person that has you sucking in a sharp breath, heart stuttering and abruptly digging your heels into the hardwood, making Dongmin look over at you with narrow, questioning eyes.

“Ah, you’re here!” Dongmin’s mother jumps up from her seat and smiles brightly. She has always been the kindest in the family and the one that welcomed you the most. She always fawns over the two of you and often compliments how perfect of a match you and Dongmin are.

If only she knew the truth.

Dongmin nudges you with his palm and you hesitantly continue your journey until the two of you are seated on the loveseat after hugging his mother hello.

Your hands clam up and you swallow hard, mind racing with a thousand and one thoughts, the biggest shouting ‘This can’t be happening!’, while the others are telling you to calm down and keep your composure.

Because on your left, seated next to Dongmin’s aunt and uncle, is his cousin.

Seated on your left, is Hoseok.

Everyone is chatting, though you and Hoseok are excluded. The two of you both sit in an uncomfortable silence, equally shocked and equally lost in thought.

Every now and again Hoseok glances your way, trying to catch your eyes but you don’t dare let it happen. You fear that if you do, the secret you two hold will suddenly spill out into the air and everyone will become aware. Of course, this is not possible unless either of you is to actually say the words aloud, but the thought alone still makes you sweat.

Dongmin leans into you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear so that he can whisper.

“What’s wrong with you?”

From the outside, it looks as though he’s cooing sweet nothings, but in fact, his words are sharp and cold to the point where you squirm away and mutter softly that it’s nothing. You’re fine.

Hoseok, on the other hand, finds it increasingly hard to bite his tongue. He’s confused and angry. Upset at himself for not putting two and two together when he first heard your name and the ordeal of an arranged marriage. He had never met you before recently, but he knew of you.

Being close with his cousin, Dongmin would often call him up while he was travelling to talk about life and work, complain about his marriage – about you – and Hoseok would always laugh and give him advice. Tell him that, although he had no personal experience, marriage was difficult and that he should be less hard on you.

‘It takes lots of work and communication.’ He’d say ‘Love her wholeheartedly and put in the effort. It will work out.’

He wants to smack Dongmin upside the head and call him out for all the wrong he’s done. He never once suspected his cousin was the kind of man you had revealed him to be. 

Hoseok has so much to say to you. So many questions, explaining and even more concerns.

He itches with the temptation to push his cousin’s hand off your shoulder where he squeezes a little too tight, and draw you into his own side.

“Y/N,” Dongmin’s father calls out your name and everyone falls silent. “I don’t believe you’ve met Dongmin’s cousin, Hoseok.”

“N-no, sir, I haven’t.” You force yourself to turn to Hoseok, a weak smile on your face as you reach out a trembling hand “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Hoseok.”

He grabs hold of your hand and only you notice the way he holds onto it for longer than normal.

“You as well, Y/N.” He speaks so softly and immediately the familiarity of his voice sends a wave of calm throughout your body.

“Shall we head in for dinner?” Dongmin’s mother asks, drawing both you and Hoseok out of whatever kind of moment you are sharing, both of your hands breaking apart and falling into your laps.

Everyone makes their way to the dining room, taking whichever seat around the table. Dongmin is across from you, at the end, and there’s an empty seat to your right. You expect Hoseok’s mother or father to sit there but to your surprise, Hoseok takes the seat himself.

Your heart jumps and you lick your suddenly dry lips. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that lingers on your dress and the one that intoxicated you while you rode him in the backseat of his car. The fleeting thought makes you clench your fist in your lap.

It’s all so surreal. A cruel trick life is playing on you. How could you not have known that Hoseok was Dongmin’s cousin?

As dinner is served, the table breaks out into chatter. The topic is mostly about Hoseok’s travels and you find yourself calming even more with each passing minute, just listening to him speak. Some of the stories you’ve already heard, but he has many other interesting ones to tell: funny stories about when a monkey once stole his sunglasses. Scary ones about bungee jumping off a cliff (though that one was only scary in Hoseok’s mind. Everyone else laughed at his re-enactment of the event.)

You are so engrossed in the conversation, sipping wine and giggling around a fork full of food that when gentle fingertips tickle against your bare knee, you nearly yelp in surprise.

Hoseok looks to you out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment before going back to his current story. He holds no expression that would give away the action of his fingers caressing your skin, inching higher and higher up your thigh. All hidden under a tacky satin tablecloth. 

You want to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. You never agreed that day on doing anything more than what has already happened, but at the same time, you don’t want him to stop either.

You can no longer focus on the conversation, instead, you turn all your energy and thoughts towards steadying your breathing and maintaining your poker face. Though you nearly choke on a bite of salmon when he dares to push further, dipping his hand between your thighs and grazing the material of your panties.

An unmistakable heat swells inside the pits of your stomach, a dampness between your legs becoming more and more apparent each time Hoseok ghosts his fingers across the sensitive skin of your thighs, over your core hidden only by thin lace. 

He taps you three times and at first, you don’t understand what he wants from you until he tries to coax your thighs apart and then it all clicks and you voluntarily let your legs fall apart just enough.

“So how was Burma?” Dongmin asks though it sounds distant in your ears.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! You all should go one day. Yoongi and I-“

You can’t focus on Hoseok’s words because the way he presses your clit, slowly circling the sensitive bud, has your head spinning and legs trembling. You stuff another bite of food in your mouth to muffle the moan that bubbles up in your throat.

Hoseok’s pace is slow yet ruthless. Teasing you to a point where you can’t help but let your legs fall apart even more. He takes full advantage of this, hooking his thumb around the edge of your panties and pulling it to the opposite side so that he can slide his index and ring finger along your now bare core, slipping between the folds.

You had never guessed he was so bold.

You catch him smirking just the slightest when his fingers press at your entrance, causing you to jolt and you play it off like it’s a hiccup, politely saying ‘Excuse me’ when Dongmin gives you a weird look.

You desperately want Hoseok to stop. The teasing is unbearable and to do something so sinful at a dinner table with his family, your husband is a whole other issue. But it feels good and naughty, the way he slides the tips of his fingers inside of you, toying with your heat deliciously and using the heel of his hand to rub against your clit. 

You have to bit down on your tongue to hide another moan, eyes fluttering and glazing over.

It takes every ounce of strength within you not to rock yourself on his fingers so you can take his fingers deeper inside you. 

Or better yet, bend over the table and beg him to fuck you, right there in front of everyone.

He’s good at maintaining the conversation and keeping everyone distracted. Even better with his hands that toy with you to the point that you’re trembling so badly and against your wishes, you drop a hand to your lap and grip on to his wrist – a silent plea for him to stop because you do not want to moan his name at the dinner table.

Without even looking your way, Hoseok obliges, slowly dragging his fingers out from between your legs in a way that has you inaudibly groaning, and discretely wiping them off on his napkin.

You reach into the pocket of your dress and pull out your phone. You need to excuse yourself for more than one reason and so you lean over the table towards Dongmin.

“My mother is calling; I’ll be right back.” You lie your husband.

He only gives you a jerk of the chin, half listening and not caring all that much. You excuse yourself from the table, bringing your phone up to your ear as if answering a call before leaving the room.

You find your way upstairs and into the bathroom. Once inside you drop your phone back into your pocket and lean against the counter, letting out a frustrated sigh. You’re worked up and sticky and you stand there debating with yourself whether you should finish yourself off or let the feeling pass.  

All of this is too confusing and too fucked up. Just the other day Hoseok was a stranger whom you chose to have a one night stand with, then he was barely anything more than an acquaintance who helped you with your groceries and treated you to coffee. And now? Now he was your husband’s cousin who pleased you under the dinner table at your in-law’s house.

Not even five minutes pass of being alone before the door opens and shuts quietly, making you whip around and stare over at Hoseok with wide eyes.

“Hoseok? What are you-“

He rushes over to your side and slides one hand into your hair, the other around your waist and pulls you tight against his chest. His lips cut you off, hot and hungry, eating up whatever words you have to say.

His tongue pushes past your lips and slides into your mouth, tasting the bitter white wine you were sipping on earlier. You whine openly, letting him press you into the edge of the counter while his tongue curls around your own.

There was so much to be said. So much to be explained, but in this moment neither of you want nor cared to lay it all out on the table. Not now.

“Jump up,” He says when he parts from you just the slightest so that he can nibble on your bottom lip.

You waste no time in doing as you’re told, hopping up onto the surface of the counter with Hoseok’s hands on the backs of your thighs helping you. The sink faucet presses into your lower back but you don’t have the time to care because he’s pushing your dress up while unbuckling his belt. There’s no time for complaints and no time to turn back because you’re both too desperate and you can’t be missing together for too long before suspicions grow.

The moment Hoseok frees himself from his jeans, he reaches between your legs and pulls your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off, and holds the material out of the way so that he can press inside of you.

You’re still wet and slightly stretched from his fingers, but the thickness of his cock is still something you’re not used to, so through your groan, you beg him to pause and give you time.

A minute passes. “Now?” His tone is husky but the question still comes out sweet.

“Okay, now.”

He pulls himself back out until only the tip of his cock remains inside you before he snaps his hips and presses back in, bottoming out completely. You throw your head back, knocking it against the mirror with a moan.

Hoseok pulls you forwards so that your ass is on the edge of the counter and grasps your hips tightly. As much as you, and Hoseok, would like to pace yourselves and take as many moments to appreciate one another – to make this last because god knows you do – there’s just no possible way right now.

So instead, he fucks you fast and deep, switching between watching his cock disappear inside of you and staring at the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“H-Hoseok, ah! Fuck!” Your arms fly out to wrap around his shoulders tightly, pressing yourself closer and rocking your hips as best as you can to take him deeper. You lose all sense of decency and cry out, uncaring in this moment about your volume but Hoseok is there to remind you, slapping a hand over your mouth and quieting you.

You mewl from behind his palm when he snaps his hips harder, his cock stroking repeatedly against your g-spot. It’s mind blowing and messy. All kinds of wrong, yet oh so perfect. Your eyes flutter shut and you tighten your legs around his hips, focusing on reaching your high.

Hoseok grunts and groans against your neck, licking at the soft flesh but begrudgingly refraining from marking you. He never intended to do this. Not because he didn’t want to –he really wanted to – but because it was all kinds of fucked up in this particular situation, but when he saw you? Fuck. He couldn’t resist. You look so perfect in your dress with bright eyes and a beautiful smile. He just had to touch you. Has been craving it since the night in his car.

He can’t deny that ever since that night, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind. It grew even worse after spending time with you at the coffee shop and seeing you again today threw him over the edge completely. You’re all kinds of perfect and he wants to get close to you, whether it be physically or emotionally. Preferably both.

“Are you close, baby?” The pet name comes out of nowhere and the way it sends a shiver down your spine doesn’t go unnoticed by Hoseok.

You pant against his palm, nodding exaggeratingly and the expression on your face makes Hoseok let out a guttural moan. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he slams into you, working hard to keep his pace and you have to remind yourself to breathe.  

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you cum, moaning a garbled mix of his name and a curse, legs trembling from around his hips and growing weak. Your body jolts and jerks against his and you become caged in when he falls forward with a strangled moan, both hands slapping against the glass of the mirror behind you when he finally reaches his own climax.

His hips stutter in their pace, rolling and slowing as he tries to catch his breath. When he stops altogether, he lifts his head from where it hangs, looking up at you before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips and then to your forehead.

Hoseok helps you down from the counter after pulling out, grabbing tissues and wiping the cum that dribbles down your inner thighs.

“You- you ruined my panties,” You state, laughing a little breathlessly.

They’re stretched from where he had pulled them out of his way, sticky and damp and more than a little uncomfortable to be wearing.

“I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck after fixing his pants and doing up his buckle “I’ll buy you new ones.” He winks and you snort, swatting at his arm.

“Yeah, okay.”

It isn’t until you’re both standing there, chests still heaving slightly and now decently dressed, that the thought of what just happened and what has happened before, hits.

“I think we need to talk about things,” He finally speaks up, looking at you with a small, nervous smile “We never got the chance the other day.”

“I agree.” You reach for your phone that had fallen into the sink, bringing up the contacts “Put your number in. I know you have mine but just put yours in anyways. We can meet for coffee again, or something, and talk about things in a more… convenient situation.”

When he’s done putting in his number, Hoseok hesitates just the slightest before leaning in and pecking you on the lips “If it means anything, I don’t regret this,” he waves a hand between the two of you “Whatever this may be, or has been?” He doesn’t want to sound hopeful but there’s a strong desire for this to happen again. A strong desire for anything with you, even if it isn’t sex.

Hoseok knows it’s wrong of him to have these thoughts, to lust after his own cousin’s wife, but he doesn’t care. Hoseok is a go-getter and when he sees something he wants in his life; he just has to try and go for it.

Dongmin doesn’t deserve you and maybe he didn’t either, who knows. All he does know is that he wants to see you again, even if that future meeting is one where you agree to stop whatever this may be (but he sure hopes that’s not the case).

“You go first. I’ll follow in a few minutes,” You tell him and again, before he leaves, Hoseok kisses you once more.

He leaves you in the bathroom with a fluttery feeling in your chest that you dare say is excitement, caused by what has just happened and what might come.

By the time you make it downstairs, you’re startled to find everyone in the foyer saying their goodbyes. Had you really been that long upstairs?

“Are we leaving?” You ask Dongmin, pulling on your coat and thanking the young man from earlier.

“Yes? Dinner is over, Y/N,” He talks to you as though you’re brainless and perhaps maybe you are a little in this moment. You should know by now that Dongmin’s family is never one to stretch events out for longer than necessary.

You are sadder than you should be, knowing you will have to say goodbye to Hoseok. He’s good company and to know that you’ll have to go home to a lonely, cold space where no real conversation is shared, is really putting a damper on your mood.

You say goodbye to everyone, hugging the women and bowing to the men. You save Hoseok for last, sweetly telling him goodnight and sharing an all-too-telling look that no one else sees.

Counting down the days until you hear from Hoseok again, or hopefully see him, will be more than agonizing.  

[dork-in-a-trenchcoat]

~How to MAN~

((Trimmed from here))

@missfesterworth

'Pfft!’ The noise of amusement had escaped her before she could control it, but she tried to cover it with a cough. She shot a look at her friend which clearly said, did you REALLY call him a goat’s behind? Ha!

She did her best to rearrange her features in an innocent expression as the Angel sighed in resignation. 'Oh goody! I’m SO glad you’re agreeing to go with us on our little outing!’

She jumped up to pat him on the arm. 'A MAN-icure involves having your nails,’ here she waved her fingertips in front of him, 'filed into a pleasing shape, a manly, square shape, of course, and then painted with bright colours with special paint! And they rub your hands with lovely scented cream as well, and there are warm towels to relax you. It’s not painful, and you’ll be SO happy you did when you’re one of the boys!’

She turned to reach for her handbag. 'I know just the place!’

She led them to a nail bar just down the street from her house. It was mid-afternoon, and quiet. The three of them would be the only ones there.

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@ask-flip-frost

Flip rested a hand on her Heart and widened her eyes in a practiced expression of surprise. Anyone who did not know better would swear that she was genuinely quite embarrassed by such a mistake.

“Good grief. My apologies!” she winced. “I was trying to write in the proposition to GO TO somewhere so we could put any bad blood BEHIND us. My Enochian is a bit rusty at best. Never really have much of a chance to practice, you understand. Angels are difficult to come by on a day to day basis.”

The Fairy gave a small squeak of excitement when he agreed to go, and then proceeded to rummage through her satchel to find a small phial of glowing potion. She yanked the cork out with her sharp little teeth and downed it in one go. While it was easy enough to just rearrange her physical form in order to attain a Human appearance, lacing the spell into a potion gave her a boost of calories to maintain it for a couple of hours without having to eat. She now appeared at just under six feet tall with medium length auburn hair and sun kissed olive skin. Her eyes still stood out as somewhat unnaturally blue, but people usually assumed that she wore corrective lenses and dismissed it. Even so, she opted to adopt a pair of sunglasses for now.

One arm looped into Jil’s, and the other gently tugged at Castiel’s forearm.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had my nails done. Paint doesn’t settle well on my talons, but Human bodies take to it perfectly.” she smiled, nudging the Angel with her shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy this, Cas. I’m thinking of getting some sort of hombre paint job. What about you, Jilly bean?”

Just before crossing the threshold of the establishment, Flip pressed a hand against his chest to stop him going inside. She fished in her pocket and pulled out a small container of fleshy looking ointment.

“Hm. I’d forgotten the scent. It’s a bit strong for my senses. Gives me a headache. Just a moment.” Flip sighed.

She took a small amount from the container and dabbed it over her upper lip. It vanished entirely. Flip held it out to both Jil and Castiel to offer relief from the chemicals inside. It completely neutralized outside odor when worn and replaced it with a very subtle scent of rainy days. Whether or not they took some was up to them, but it certainly helped her.

Afterward, she strolled inside to the tune of Madonna’s Vogue and requested chairs for the three of them.

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Castiel gave Jil an awkward pat on the back, as if to attempt to dislodge whatever she might be choking on to promote the cough. He looked down at his nails in confusion, not fully comprehending what about them was lacking. It didn’t matter in the long run. At least the Fairy had made her apologies. Honest mistake. Not everyone was fluent in ancient Angelic language.

Though he was not remotely frightened of a little pain, it was a relief that he would not have to endure it. There was a nagging twinge in the back of his mind which warned that perhaps he should inquire of Metatron the legitimancy of the situation. However, there was no time to do so. Before he could process what was happening, the Angel was being pulled down the street.

“Are you certain about this?” he grunted, leveling Jilomena with an intense glance.

His eyes were not accusing, but more-so pleading for a glimmer of truth. When Flip paused him at the door, he furrowed his dark brows and squinted at the substance in her hands. Castiel was used to the smell of blood and filth to the point where it barely phased him. Chemicals such as these wafting through the doors were a little overwhelming, though, he would admit. His eyes flashed, scanning the cream for anything inappropriate. It seemed fine, so he accepted some to mask the intense scent of the nail products, then crossed the threshold of the salon with the two ladies in tow.

“I have no idea what’s happening...” he muttered quietly.