#like how can you be sweet one moment and borderline horrible the next

[lucky-whispers]

That moment when you realize your friends are still teenage boys <<<

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

[handsomelyhiddleston]

Smitten - Tom Hiddleston x Curvy Reader

Filming sex scenes wasn’t the easiest task. There are weird nude undergarments or socks or tape or sometimes just a nude co-star…With Tom, though? There were nerves and feelings and a deep down hope that he couldn’t tell that you were incredibly turned on as he mimed fucking you twelve ways to Sunday.

“Cut! That’s a wrap on today. Great work guys!” the director called.

Tom collapsed onto your chest, laughing as the tension left his body. “These never get easier.”

“I don’t know” you teased, playing with his hair as everyone left the set so you two could leave the bed with some of your dignity. “It’s a lot easier with you.”

Tom held himself up on his elbows. “Don’t tell me your past romantic co-stars have been less than gentlemanly.”

“Not all of them.” You shrugged. Being a ‘larger than the Hollywood standard’ actress had put you in some…not very flattering roles in the start of your career. Sure, now you were the romantic lead with a conventionally attractive male actor, but lets just say you’ve dealt with a lot to get here.

“Well, I hope you know you deserved better.” Tom kissed the back of one of your hands, rolling off of you.

“Coming from you, I may actually believe it.” You laughed, gathering the sheet around you as you left the bed, grabbed your robe, and started walking towards your trailer.

The two of you filmed the movie…Where you’d usually fall asleep in one of your two trailers watching other movies…

The two of you attended interviews…Where Tom would almost always defer to you and even stuck up for you when a few interviewers were borderline sexist or would comment on your appearance…

The two of you even walked a few red carpets together…Tom’s hand always placed at your middle or  on your hip or in one of your hands...

He invited you out to eat with him before or after any shindig the two of you went to…

He’d walk you to your hotel rooms with kisses left on your cheeks…

He’d even tried to convince you to spend the week before the premiere in London with him…

In your mind, Tom was just too nice. He was nice to everybody. It all seemed very friendly…Until…

You hadn’t been watching the interviews as they’d been posted. Some interviews you did together with Tom and others you’d been split up and put with other actors from the movie.

Your phone pinged…

*best friend* - HAVE YOU SEEN TOM ON FALLON?!?

Before you could reply, your phone started blowing up.

You scrolled through the texts until you saw Tom’s

Tom – Darling, I hope you know how much you mean to me. Regardless of what your answer is, I’d never want to lose your friendship. It’s not every day you get to work with one so incredibly kind and thoughtful and talented and beautiful and…every moment I’ve spent with you has been a privilege. Please put me out of my misery and let me know you’ll at least let me see you again.

“What the fuck?” you asked yourself, opening your laptop and googling “Tom Hiddleston and Jimmy Fallon”

You saw that the Fallon YouTube channel had just posted Tom’s segment of tonight’s episode…

“How are you doing, buddy?” Fallon asked, pulling Tom into a tight hug.

“I’m doing incredibly well at the moment, actually.” Tom answered, sharing that the movie you two had filmed together had done extremely well on its opening weekend just a few days earlier.

“I know! It was amazing. I’ve seen it twice!” Fallon replied, always enthusiastic.

“I’m so glad you liked it. Y/n is incredible, right?” Tom turned to the audience, loving that they cheered when he brought you up.

“Oh my god, you two are so good together. I kind of thought maybe you two were…you know…” Fallon waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tom threw his head back laughing, fidgeting with his tie and avoiding looking into the audience.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you two don’t have SOME sort of real chemistry. I saw the movie.” Fallon gave Tom a look like *Don’t lie*

“Well, perhaps we’re just incredible actors and you’re simply complimenting our craft.” Tom shrugged, trying to look anywhere but at Jimmy.

“Well, yes. The acting in the movie is amazing, but I don’t think that accounts for this.” Jimmy turned and pointed to the screen. It was a series of clips pulled from Tom’s interviews where all he did was gush about you.

“I missed being home, but it’s hard for anyone to stay upset when they’re around Y/n. She just lifts the mood in any room she’s in. You could say she makes anywhere feel a bit like home.” Tom had answered when a woman asked him if it was hard being on site away from home for 5 months.

When another interviewer asked Tom what his favorite line in the movie was, he answered, quoting one of your lines. “When she delivered it for the first time, it kind of took my breath away. I felt very unprofessional. I had to apologize and ask to start over. I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to say next. She tends to have that effect on me.” Tom laughed, a slight blush on his cheeks.

The final clip was one of an interviewer simply asking Tom how his day had gone. “I feel all out of sorts, if I’m being honest. Y/n isn’t here today because she woke up not feeling the best and with Covid still being an issue, she didn’t want to risk getting anyone else sick.” Tom answered with a sad smile on his face. When the interviewer shared that they hoped you would be okay and feel better soon, Tom answered with “I’ll make sure to pass on your sentiments when I bring her food later on.”

“COME ON!” Fallon laughed, throwing his arms up.

“I know, I know. I’m not very good at hiding how I feel, I guess.” Tom admitted, leaning back against the couch and laying his arm across the top. The crowd went wild.

“So, you admit it! Are you two together?!” Fallon asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Unfortunately, not.” Tom answered, ducking his head as his cheeks flushed.

“Why?!” Jimmy asked. “You’re clearly smitten!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Tom rebutted, looking to the audience for support. “I’ve tried!”

“Aww, now I feel bad for bringing it up.” Fallon chuckled and looked at the audience as they collectively ‘aww’ed. “How could anyone turn down this?!” He gestured towards Tom as the audience cheered.

“Well, if I’m to be completely honest I guess I haven’t actually TOLD her how I feel.” Tom confessed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Jimmy paused.

“Well, I thought she’d catch on. I assume she has.” Tom laughed, fidgeting in his seat. “I’m pretty sure everyone else that knows the two of us can tell I’ve fallen completely head over heels for her.”

“Tom, Tom, Tom.” Jimmy shook his head.

“What?” Tom asked, nervous about what the answer would be.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I think you may just be horrible at flirting.” Fallon said with a straight face, the audience busting up laughing after.

“Do you think?” Tom replied, eyes gone wide in exaggerated surprise.

“I mean, I think you’re just so nice.” Jimmy laughed, trying to stay serious…“that everyone thinks you’re flirting with them…Which means, when you’re trying to flirt it just blends in.”  

“Well, how would you suggest I stand out then?” Tom asked, putting his elbow on his knee and leaning his chin on his fist like he was really paying attention.

“I mean…” Fallon slowly pointed towards the camera. “You gotta shoot your shot, right?”

The audience went wild at the suggestion. “Oh, dear.”

“I can scrap this and we can just talk about the movie.” Jimmy offered, making sure Tom knew that none of this had to go on the air.

“I mean, if it’s truly that obvious to everyone what have I got to lose, right?” Tom answered.

“That’s what we like to hear!” Jimmy cheered with the audience.

“Well…Y/n.” Tom paused, a soft smile on his face. “I don’t quite know where to start. I feel as though I may have been remiss by not just telling you how I feel. The consequence of such is that now I’m doing it in front of all of these people *gestures to the audience*…and I’m sure you’re laughing at how red I’ve gone and how flustered I am so I’m going to get to the point. Darling, you’re an incredible woman. I could list a million reasons why, but hopefully later you’ll give me the time to tell you them in person. What I really want to tell you now is that you make me happy. You inspire me. You make me want to be the best version of myself and you even make me believe I can achieve it. I’d be honored if you’d give me a chance.”

Fallon had tears in his eyes and most of the audience did, as well. “I…That was so beautiful. I think we need to go to a commercial break.” He was all choked up and stood to give Tom a hug.

You pulled up Tom’s text, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Are you still in New York?” you text him. The two of you were there for interviews. You were even staying in the same hotel.

“I am.” He text back, but the ‘typing’ bubble stayed. “Did you watch it?”

“I did.” You answered. “Come over?”

You saw the ‘typing’ bubble pop up and then disappear a few times. Instead of a text, you heard a knock at your hotel door.

“So?” Tom asked when you opened the door. He looked nervous, a look you didn’t often see from him. He had his glasses on and his hair was an adorable mess. He was even already dressed in his night clothes.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped forward and placed your hands on each side of his face, pulling his lips gently to yours. He quickly reciprocated, his hands finding your hips as he walked you backwards into your hotel room.

“And to think, I could have been doing that for a whole year already.” You teased him, connecting your lips again.

“Don’t worry, my sweet.” Tom answered, pressing kisses across your cheek and down your neck. His lips paused at the shell of your ear and his voice dropped. “It just means we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

[raayllum]

Dragons I'm so distressed how could you make me want to read about a world where my LEAST favorite character adopts my FAVORITE character. Like I was so caught up in the euphoria of childhood friends shenanigans and the ripple effect that for a moment I lived in a world where Viren's skewed worldviews wouldn't mesh horribly with Rayla's. How do u even do these things. Btw loving all the metas as usual!! -queenofthesurfacestreets

listen getting people suckered into borderline despicable and/or incredibly niche and difficult yet compelling things is, pray tell, my specialty. there's a reason i have a few fics with character relationships where i am like, the only one in that ao3 tag, and this is no exception!

The way characters can be so changed by their circumstances but still retain their cores (outlined here) is one of my favourite things about writing canon divergences in particular, even over AUs!

A lot of this was brought on by thinking about the similarities between Viren and Rayla - the paranoia, the obsessive tendencies, the martyrdom, the offhanded shortness/impatient streak - and how, quite frankly, Rayla never gives up. And then that in contrast to Claudia and Soren and their more overtly silly personalities, I started to think of how in a lot of ways, Rayla - personality wise and pre-series moral wise - would've been the perfect kid for Viren. Determined, unrelenting, talented, running straight at perpetuating the cycle with a seriousness and intention Claudia and Soren never had (until Soren switched sides, arguably), but she does not (and would never, I think) have quite the moral code required. Leaving Rayla to be a perfect yet strange (elven) fixture on paper but yet another failure in practice. Thus, "Viren adopts Rayla" AU was born - although I'm watering at the mouth to talk a bit more about how I think her relationship with the princes would change next and honestly, how sweet a lot of their dynamic would be.

[andromedasstarship]

i could not choose between 77-80 so i overbearingly ask u to use each of them with spencer reid if u wish 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

80. “Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.” + 77- “If you want to leave, we can leave.”

send a prompt + character from this list! 

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings - stress?? mostly fluff 

a/n - tysm kenna for requesting this i love you and i loved writing this. i also went overboard on this one bye! ive also never posted something this long in an ask reply before so if this looks weird BYE!

Your car had long gone cold, but you still couldn’t find the energy to pull yourself out yet. It was futile to try and wrestle your emotions into a tightly sealed box; as soon as you crossed the threshold of the town-home you shared with Spencer, you knew he’d be able to read you like a book. Damn genius profiler skills.

Taking a quick look at the time you knew you had to suck it up and go inside; you were pushing how ‘late’ you could be without him worrying something had happened on your commute home. With a deep sigh, you grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and exited the car; taking your sweet time with locking the car behind you and digging your house keys out of the bottom of your bag.

To put it simply, it had been a difficult year. It was the final year of your Phd. program and while- all things considered- you had had an amazing time, the past few months had been both physically and mentally draining. What was once your lifelong passion had suddenly started to feel like a chore; a chore you felt you weren’t even good at anymore. Almost every day was spent either in your own classes or teaching undergrads. Almost every night was spent on the final edits of your thesis or grading work from your students. The few moments of freedom you found were spent doing the boring parts of adult life: housekeeping, getting your car fixed, calling elderly family members, etc.

Neither of you had formerly addressed it, but you knew it was taking a toll on your relationship. Spencer being busy was a constant, but it was normally balanced out by your typical 9-5 schedule. But recently, even on the nights he was home you’d be too wrapped up in your own work to even sit down and eat dinner with him. By the time you crawled into bed he’d be long asleep and in the mornings you’d been leaving for work earlier and earlier in order to get research time in at the university library. It felt like the two of you hadn’t even been awake in the same room for weeks, let alone do anything relationship-y.

Tonight was supposed to change that. Kind of. His team was having a fancy dinner to celebrate some major milestone that you couldn’t remember. It’d been on the books for months, but kept getting pushed back by surprise cases. It felt like everyone held their breath this week, waiting for a case to pop up, but instead everyone was left pleasantly surprised when no such thing happened. It was going to be a great night: classic Rossi pasta dish, all partners and kids invited. Even though the two of you wouldn’t be alone, it’d still be a perfectly good excuse to get out, put on some nice outfits and have a fun evening with friends.

Spencer had been particularly excited. The past week, you felt as if it was the only thing he ever talked about. Not that the two of you were having extensive conversations. He kept talking about how great it would be to get out of the house and how much he was looking forward to having a totally work free evening. His excitement warmed your heart.

Which is why you were taking so long to find your keys. Today had been one of the hardest day you’d experienced in a long time. The thesis meeting you had with your advisor- that you’d been staying up late every night editing for- had gone horribly; it was as if everything you prepared was wrong. Almost every student in the class you taught scored poorly on the latest assessment- on a unit you considered yourself an expert on-, something you viewed as a failure of your ability to convey the info. And to top it all off, even though you felt as if you’d spent hours upon hours working yourself to the bone the past week- in order to clear space for tonight-, you still felt as if you had piles of work to catch up on.

You knew the stress and tension of the day would read clear on your body as soon as Spencer got a look at you. And with how excited he’d been, you absolutely didn’t want to ruin the dinner. You’d hate for him to feel as if you were being selfish or that you couldn’t even prioritize him in your schedule.

You took one last deep breath, before going to put the key into the doorknob. Just as you touched the handle, the door swung open from the other side.

“Jesus!” You exclaimed, one hand clutching your chest as you nearly jumped out of your skin. In front of you was Spencer, smiling down at you with that irresistible grin of his.

“Did I scare you? Sorry. I thought I heard you car pull up earlier and when you didn’t come in I thought maybe something was wrong so I wanted to come check-”

You quickly cut him off- even though you did find his worrying a bit endearing- by pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“A good song came on just as I pulled in, couldn’t just get out.” You lied, adding a small laugh for effect. It was an on brand situation for you, something certainly believable. If Spencer had any doubts, he didn’t question you, simply moved out of the doorframe so you could step in.

Inside the house, you set your bag down by the front door like you always did. While kicking your shoes off, you pulled your jacket off, smiling when Spencer had his hands already open to hang it on the rack. You knew he had that ridiculous memory- and you had a pretty set routine-, but it still made your heart swell every time he anticipated your next move and went the extra mile to be helpful.

“So, how was your day?" Spencer asked, as the two of you made your way to the kitchen area. “What’d Professor Addams have to say in your meeting?”

You clenched at the handle of the fridge, grinding your teeth before pulling the door open. When you turned to look at Spencer, you saw he made himself comfortable on one of the countertop stools.

“Went well. They gave me some uh, um, some comprehensive revisions.” You said flatly, turning back to face the fridge; missing the skeptical look Spencer was throwing you.

“That’s good?” He said slowly, before adding, “well how was class? You just wrapped up the last unit didn’t you?” You both knew he knew the answer, but was just attempting to further the conversation. Had it been any other day you would’ve found it endearing, but today just wasn’t that day.

You slammed the fridge door shut, just hard enough to be cause for concern. “I thought tonight was absolutely no shop talk. Huh? Why don’t we just start that rule now.” You said, a slight edge to your voice. It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault.

“Are you okay-”

“Yes! I just don’t-”

“If there’s something wrong, you know you can tell-”

“There’s nothing wrong-”

“Do you need to stay-”

“Stop!” You exclaimed, bringing an end to the constant cutting each other off. “Everything is fine. Okay?” You said, unable to maintain eye contact.

Spencer slowly nodded, though you could tell he didn’t believe an ounce of what you had just said. Luckily for you, he seemed to let it go, falling back in his seat.

“I’m gonna go shower and get ready and then we can leave, alright?” You asked rhetorically. When he just nodded again, you very quickly walked up to him and pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

---

The ride to Rossi’s was silent, something that normally wouldn’t have bothered either of you had it not been for the borderline argument you had in the kitchen. As you pulled up a few cars down from the house, you caught Spencer staring at you from the passenger seat, a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Stop doing that.” You huffed out, but there was no real bite in your voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked gently, reaching out to push a piece of your hair away from your face. God that was sweet.

You quickly nodded and threw a very forced smile his way, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. I promise, come on.” You said, killing the engine and pushing open your car door.

Before you could fully open the door, Spencer’s arm shot out across your body and pulled the door back shut with a bang.

“Spencer!” You yelped, startled by his sudden movement. You turned and gave him a bewildered look.

“You always look over my head when you lie.” Spencer stated.

“Oh I do not-” You started, but letting the sentence fall flat as soon as you realized you currently were looking over his head.

“Your favorite song came on the radio, twice, on the drive here and you didn’t react at all either times.” He said. When you still didn’t say anything he continued. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me.”

The look he was giving you was making you feel all sorts of guilty. Of course he cared, that’s why you loved him so much. You just didn’t want to ruin something that’d been in the works for so long, all because you had a bad day.

“Spencer,” you started, giving him a very pointed look and making sure to hold eye contact, “I’m fine. Can we just go in?”

Spencer shook his head, externally searching your face for more clues while also internally thinking back to any clues from your kitchen fight. “We aren’t going anywhere, until you talk to me.” He urged.

It probably wasn’t the best move on his part, seeing as you both were incredibly stubborn. The two of you were unrelenting, both staring blankly at the other; hoping the other one would break first. After nearly 5 minutes of silence, it became very clear that neither of you were standing down anytime soon.

Spencer reached his hand out again, gently cupping your cheek; internally you cursed your body’s natural reaction to lean into his touch. “What’s going on?” He asked, voice much softer than earlier.

You were internally screaming over how caring he was. Damn him! You cursed yourself for not being able to just play the role of perfect partner for one night.

“I’m exhausted.” You said, voice quiet. “My meeting went horrible day. I absolutely failed at teaching my students the last unit. I’ve been bringing so much work back to the house I haven’t even been able to give you a second of attention. And now we have this dinner that you’ve been looking forward to for months and I don’t want to ruin-”

This time, it was Spencer that quickly cut off your rambles with a kiss.

“Do you want to leave?” He asked, as if it were the most simple thing ever

You gave him a shocked look. “Spencer, you’ve been talking about this dinner for weeks. I, I can’t ask you to put this off, you and the team rarely get time to-”

“If you want to leave, we can leave.” He said. His voice was so sincere it made the whole thing that much more difficult. He was too good.

“Spencer, no.” You said, putting special emphasis on the ‘no’. “We haven’t even walked in the door, there’s nothing to leave yet. I’m not going to ruin the dinner we’ve all been planning on for months. I’ll be fine for a couple hours.”

He didn’t answer, instead pulled his phone out and quickly started to type out a text.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Rossi, I’m gonna tell him you aren’t feeling well and we can’t come anymore.”

“We’re outside his house! It’s not a big deal-!

“Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner!” Spencer cut you off, giving you a very pointed look. You weren’t sure your heart could take the swelling much longer.

“Spencer, you’ve been planning-”

“I don’t want to hear it-”

“You’ve wanted to get out of the house for so long!” You stressed, giving him a ‘duh’ look.

“We can go do something else!” He replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just us, no pressure to be ‘on’ in front of anyone else.” That did sound good- No!

“I’m not gonna be the one who keeps their boyfriend away from his friends-”

“I see them every day. Every day. One dinner means nothing.” Spencer said confidently, clasping your hand tightly between his.

You contemplated for what seemed like hours; though it couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.” Spencer said, giving you a very mock serious look; you couldn’t help but laugh at that. “There you are.” He said, smiling to match yours.

You turned the car on, clicking your seatbelt back into place. “So, where to pretty boy?” You asked.

“Well, I heard of this new ice cream place that just opened up. Their ‘claim to fame’ is they make over 50 flavors in store every single day. Did you know on average it takes nearly three hours from start to finish to make a single batch of ice cream? Or that when ice cream-”

You shook your head in amusement, chancing a couple glances in his direction as you were driving. You loved his excited ramblings and animated hand motions as he further explained the history of ice cream; as well as all the random facts about the place he was directing you to. As you got closer to your new destination, all you could think about was how lucky you were to, to be loved by someone who always knew just what to say.

---

permanent tags - @sunflowersandotherthings

[reidswritings]

times they were just too cute

word count; 1.5k

warnings; nothing i think... nothing but horribly written fluff

authors note; i am the WORST at writing fluff. so i hope this is as good as i think it is. this will be a series,,, and right now i have five for sure planned but depending on how well it does, i might do some more!! so i hope y'all enjoy!!

one; spencer reid gives a very sleepy Y/N a piggyback ride through a farmers market. 

Spencer’s warm hand held a slightly cooler, smaller one, as he and his girl walked through the outdoor market. They marveled at each and every tent, smiled at all the fruit and vegetables that they passed. They passed the small, little rooms filled with different knickknacks and toys. It was nearing the holidays— Halloween, both Spencer and Y/N’s favorite. She, all day, picked up numerous seasoned figurines and handed them over to her Sweet Boy and he would laugh and kiss her head before placing it back down where she found it, swearing up and down that they had enough little things in their house (and that was true, the small nicknacks littered the small apartment. so much so, that it was borderline obsessive). 

His Pretty Girl had suggested that they go and pick up some pumpkins to carve later in the week and squash to cook for dinner that night as well as fruits to snack on, while they watched the list of movies they had created to get them in the Halloween spirit. Spencer, being the homebody he is (but if we’re being honest, he wanted to stay home because he just wanted to have his girl all to himself. well, that and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend his day with a bunch of random germy people), was on the fence about spending the day with hundreds of other people in a small area— but his girl got the better of him and he ultmetely agreed. Like she had told him, they barely ever got a day off, they should spend it together— not one person out running errands while the other slept the day away.

They had been walking—shopping— for hours, both Spencer and Y/N’s arms filled with too many bags of good food and cute nicknacks, and carve-worthy pumpkins. The Pretty Girl was hoping to carve the pumpkins the following weekend— that is, if there wasn’t another case that desperately needed their attention— don’t mistake it, Y/N (and Spencer) loved their job more than anything (expect, maybe, each other) but sometimes they craved the break from the constant string of dead bodies with the cold eyes. And if there weren’t, she could already imagine her and her Lovely Boy carving silly faces into the orange melon and sipping on flavored coffee and stealing quick kisses— even in her fantasies, it was perfect. 

They were both exhausted— Y/N more than her Genius Boy, of course. The tired girl was moping next to him, feet dragging beneath her. Her bags were falling to the bottom part of her arms, only inches away from the dirt covered ground. 

“Spencer,” she whined, dragging out his name. Spencer laughed to himself shaking his head, feigning annoyance. He knew this would happen. He knew that she would be too tired to continue on and that he would end up carrying all of the things— not that he minded, he loved the time spent with his favorite girl. No matter the cost, he’d move mountains just to be near her.

“No, no. No, you can carry your own bags— I have enough.” He joked; he knew that sooner rather than later, he’d be holding all the bags. And that was true, he was carrying most of their bags. Y/N had tried to carry more but Spencer was too much of a stubborn gentleman and refused to let her carry more than three. Not that she hadn’t tried, because she had, Spencer was just too stubborn— a trait he more likely than not learned from their good friend, Derek. She knew that he had given the innocent boy some tips when they were first going out. Much to Y/N’s surprise, too; she was glad he had done this, she was sure that with out the help, Spencer would’ve been a much different boyfriend— not that it would’ve been bad. It would’ve just taken him longer to let loose, to really be in the moment with her. Though, regardless, she would’ve loved him the same. 

“Spence, I’m sleepy.” Y/N straitened her posture, and shifted the bags to a more comfortable spot. She giggled, tugging on his arm, nudging it with her head before kissing his bicep. She then looked up at him and his heart swelled. He was caving; it was easy, though, when Y/N L/L/N was the person who held his heart in her hands. 

It was a Saturday afternoon— Hotch had given the whole team the weekend off, following a harder case (one involving the small humans— no one’s favorites).

The days were beginning to get cooler and the trees were starting to change color. And it made them happy to see that the world could still be beautiful despite all the darkness they would see in their day to day life. 

The boy laughed again, conceding. “Alright, hand ‘em over. Give me your bags, sweetheart.” 

It warmed her heart— the nickname that Spencer so easily called her. Spencer was not one for pet names or PDA or anything of the sort— but sometimes the love he had for the Pretty Girl got the better of him and he just couldn’t keep his hands off her. 

The sleepy girl perked up, smile wider than normal, warming the boy’s heart for the millionth time that day. She jumped up and down a few times and yipped excitedly (the Genius Boy’s mind compared her reaction to his young godson) and handed him the few bags she had wrapped around her wrists before he could change his mind. 

“Thank you, Pretty Boy!!” she smiled at the boy, who was now blushing and ducking his head, as if to hide the pink on his cheeks. The two had been together for over five years and he still was easily embarrassed and that warmed the young girl’s heart— just knowing that after all these years she still had that affect on the skinny man. 

They walked the long way back to their car, hand in hand, in silence for a few minutes before the tired girl once again groaned— pulling a loud, obnoxious laugh from the genius beside her. 

“What now?” Though the question seemed harsh, Y/N knew that there was no real fire behind the words. She let a laugh pass her lips too, body heavy, “I’m still tired, Spence.” 

As if to prove her point, she stopped, pulling her hand away from her boyfriend’s only to throw her arms out in a very obnoxious manner (another comparison to the young boy he saw so often). She yawned in the loudest possible way she could, her eyes scrunched shut, before she peaked one opened to watch his reaction, arms over her head, stretching.  

The boy had stopped too, bags falling to the ground with a inaudible thud. The Genius giggled and Y/N let her arms drop and she smiled. She loved it when he laughed like that. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it made her swoon for the innocent boy all over again. 

His mouth morphed into a smirk, he knew what she wanted, but he still asked, “What do you need from me?”

She grinned even wider, eyes wilder than any four-year-old being handed candy. “Carry me?” 

He would’ve said no, he would’ve joked and said she had her own two legs to walk on and that he was tired too and that she should carry him, but then he saw the look she was giving him.

She was giving him the look that she knew made him weak in the knees. The look that got her anything she wanted. The look that everyone knew was his soft spot. 

She gave him the look that caused his heart to swell more than it had ever had. 

And so, with his heart three times bigger than normal, he laughed and lowered himself enough that she would be able to jump onto his tall frame. “Get on, but you’re carrying the bags then!”

Ecstatic, Y/N gathered all the bags and jumped onto his back. The boy under her gripped her thighs, refusing to let her fall— no matter how tired he was, he would carry her until he couldn’t anymore. 

And maybe a few miles after that, too. 

Her arms, totes up to her elbows, wrapped—lightly, as to not choke the poor boy—around his neck and she giggled as he began to walk again. 

The boy smiled too and he said, “You know. . .you’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.” She ducked her head into the crook of his neck, bouncing with each and every step he took. She left a few, soft, kisses there, goosebumps raising in response. She felt the boy shiver beneath her. “And, I love you too, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Another giggle and another kiss to his neck and then his cheek.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Kinktober Day 4

Jeff the Killer: Hate Fucking & Against a Wall

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Any tips are greatly appreciated!

It’s been a shitty week

You failed not only one but two missions, managed to make a nice big crack down the front of your phone, and to top it off, you haven’t slept with anyone in way too long and you‘re horribly sexually frustrated

The good thing is that the week‘s finally over, and you have the weekend to recuperate—and until then, a training session could help blow off some steam

So as you make your way down the twisting corridors of the mansion’s basement, your thoughts begin to wander

You end up so caught up in your own head that you don’t notice someone’s footsteps catching up to you

You don’t pay it much mind until a knife is suddenly lodged into the wall next to you, just inches from your face

And you swear to god, your blood boils knowing who’s responsible on the other end

“Just what the fuck is your problem?” you spit, eyes narrowing at the raven haired killer now blocking your path

“Don’t fuckin’ play stupid. You think it’s funny to be a snitch? Hm?”

He doesn’t leave you much time to react as he slams his hands either side of you, forcing you between a rock and a hard place

“Slender’s not letting me kill for the next two fucking weeks because you can’t keep your little fucking mouth shut” he continues, jagged lips curling into a snarl

You ball your fists at your sides, already feeling the anger burning in your system

“Listen, fuckface,” you hiss “Stop trying to pin your problems down on me. I didn’t tell shit—and you’re nowhere near worth that kind of effort anyways. Maybe try getting a fucking grip for once in your goddamn life”

You shove him off as hard as you can, knowing he wouldn't move otherwise

The effort is enough to have him stumbling back before he catches himself, and if looks could kill, his obsidian glare would’ve been more than enough to do you in just about now

But before he can open his mouth again, you spin on your heels and walk away as fast as you can, hoping he’ll get the hint that now really isn’t the time 

Yet, of course, he doesn’t let you escape

His hand yanks at your shoulder as he turns you back to face him, all but slamming you into the wall again so he‘s caging you in

“Don’t you fucking try to run from me,” he sneers “And cut the fucking bullshit for once—we both know damn well you’re more into me than you let on”

Your face burns with anger—or maybe it’s a mix of shame and humiliation

“As if. Your head’s too far up your own ass to realize no one could ever like a crispy, edgy rat’s ass crouton dick of a—“

He doesn’t let you finish before gripping your jaw, squishing your cheeks and forcing your lips up to meet his

His mouth is rough and scarred and tastes of blood with the faintest trace of alcohol

Your brows furrow, face scrunching up, though it admittedly takes you a moment before you shove him off of you

Part of you twinges in regret for not biting him instead

He catches his balance for the second time today and licks his lips, and there’s a wonderfully dark and dangerous look in his eyes that has your stomach doing flips

“God, I fucking hate you” you mutter

And then you’re grabbing his hoodie and pulling him back down again

His teeth clash against yours as he forces your lips to part, cramming his tongue down your throat and making you gasp around it

He shoves you harder against the wall, trapping you beneath his warm, strong build to ravage your mouth as roughly as he likes—leaving you breathless and your thoughts swimming, wholly and utterly consumed by him

A pathetic sound is muffled by him at the back of your throat, and then you’re moving your hands down to his pants, wanting to free him so that he can just fuck you up already

You hate yourself for sinking so low, but you might actually implode if you don’t get dicked down soon

“See? Fucking knew you were desperate for my cock”

It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to punch him in his stupid face

“Will you just shut up for once in your goddamn life and—“

He cuts you off by clamping his teeth down on your neck—hard—and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out for him

“You’re way too fucking cocky for your own good” he threatens 

His hands practically rip at your pants, shoving them down to your ankles before doing the same to your panties

Except that your underwear actually do tear in half, and before you can complain, he’s shoving the fabric into his back pocket, picking you up by your thighs, and slamming you back against the wall so that all that’s supporting you are your legs hooked around his waist

“You fucking prick!” you seethe

“Keep whining and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you”

A hard smack to your ass has you biting back a cuss, and you’ve never wanted to wipe someone’s stupid self-satisfied smirk off more than you do now

“Bratty slut”

He grounds himself between your legs, rocking into you so you can feel his cock twitch and strain through the coarse material of his jeans

The denim presses harshly into your folds, and it has you rubbing yourself harder into him, clenching your jaw so he can’t hear you whining for more

Any other time, you’d be downright embarrassed at the way you’re soaking the front of his pants

But you really couldn’t give less of a shit about his clothes right now, especially after he ruined your underwear 

“Jeff, will you fucking just—“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he slams his hips against you, right into your poor, throbbing little clit

Jolts of arousal spike up your body, making your thighs tighten around him and he grunts at the feeling

“What’s that, little slut?”

You want him

You want him to ruin you before he has you cuming just by grinding against him and it gives him something to make fun of you for

But you’ll be damned if you end up begging for it

“I’m gonna change my fucking mind about this if you don’t fuck me properly right fucking now” you hiss

He scoffs, though you feel him shift to tug himself free

“As if. Stop acting so fucking high and mighty like you don’t want this”

He presses the tip flush to your entrance and you’re already clenching for him

“I’ll fucking enjoy putting you in your place, (y/n)”

One slow, unwavering push of his hips and he’s spreading your walls, his thick length brushing over your most sensitive nerves, sending delightful shivers up your body and coaxing sickly sweet moans from your lips

“You fucking like that, don’t you? You want someone to take you down a peg and treat you like the slut you are, huh?”

“God—j-just shut the fuck up!”

He gives a few short thrusts but alas, patience not being his virtue, it isn’t long before he’s ramming himself into you over and over again

His thrusts are rhythmic and hard and unbearably deep, and they have your cunt making the most obscene noises because of how absolutely drenched you are for him

He’s like a wall of muscle—hard and strong and wonderfully firm as he drags his cock from your cunt before pounding all the way back into you

It takes every ounce of restraint you have not to mewl shamelessly for him like you know he wants you to

Instead, you rake your fingers down his hoodie, and it has him growling into your ear as he works himself in and out your tight, slick heat

Your muffled cries only spur him on to screw you faster and harder until your head’s falling back against the wall and you’re practically seeing stars

Your walls clench tightly—a loud, unrestrained moan slipping from your lips despite your best efforts to quiet it

He grunts, caught up in the euphoria, and roughly thrusts himself into you a few more times until you’re just teetering on the brink of your climax

You whine his name, your breath hitching, adrenaline pumping through your system as a thick knot coils in your gut

“You close, (y/n)? Hm? Little slut gonna cum all over my dick already?”

“F-fuck—yes!~” you gasp

He hits a spot inside of you that has you tensing around him, and all at once, your climax crashes into you in relentless waves of euphoria

Your legs tighten, thighs shuddering around him but he still doesn’t stop, pumping into you until his thrusts dissolve into something sloppy and borderline animalistic

And then he twitches against your clenching walls and cusses, pressing himself as deep as he can so you can feel him releasing his cum deep inside you

His breath is warm and ragged against your neck as he stills inside you, only barely grinding into you while catching his breath

Your body feels like it’s on fire

When he eventually pulls out, you can’t help but flinch, feeling all kinds of pleasantly numb and overstimulated 

But for the sake of your own pride, you order your legs not to give out as he sets you back down

“Meet me in the showers when you’re done training” he grunts as he zips himself back up

You snort

“You? Shower? Don’t make me laugh”

The afterglow of your orgasm has a grin tugging at your lips as he flips you off when he walks away

[hereformcdonaldshonestly]

hey love!! HCs for deku, denki, kirishima and shoto incoming~~ recently, i read a text AU + HCs where the boys forget their S/O at the store, but what if its the other way around ?? btw, make sure to stay hydrated, eat on time, take breaks and wear a mask when you go out!! love you <33

Of course! Remember to do the same! ❤️ I hope you don’t mind if I threw in a place that wasn’t a store!

Fluff 💖

S/O Loses Them While Out

Izuku Midoriya-

This sweet poor boy, you told him you were going to be gone for only a second and he somehow got lost. Here's how it happened, imagine you took your boyfriend to the store with you to help you with your shopping list. Not hard right? Wrong! He didn't know where anything was, bless his heart, but it honestly was shocking to you!

"Okay Deku, I'll be right back okay?" You say, you handed him a part of the list while you had the other. It was simple stuff like food, cleaning supplies, then some other small items. You kissed his cheek and walked off into one of the other aisle. After about ten minutes, you completely got into the zone! You forgot that anybody existed, so there you were checking out and going out to your car. You get in on the driver's side and sit down, starting up the car. "Okay Zuku, you ready to head back?" You asked, there was no response. You basically search the car and that's when you see the green haired boy, running out yelling "WAIT!!" Oh shit, how could you forget him!?

Whenever you both got back to the dorms, you couldn't stop apologizing. Like you were borderline crying before you were so scared he was angry at you, after a few minutes Izuku just laughed. You were confused and he said, "baby, you realize I'm not mad right? That's a story to tell our future kids!" You blushed out of embarrassment and he kissed you. How could you forget your own boyfriend? You'll never understand.

Denki Kaminari-

Denki was a huge airhead! Like everyone could just tell, but you loved him. Now there's pros and cons to this situation, some pros is: 1, it's adorable! 2, it's always a good story to tell! 3, it's never a dull moment! But onto the cons, the main one is; you can easily forget he's like a big child and needs 24 hour surveillance. Now granted, you didn't mind! But you better hope you don't take him into a decently sized shopping mall and him get lost.

Because that's what happen, you were out to find some new clothes. You just wanted something nice for summer and Denki obviously wanted to go because uh, he wanted to get the mood *electric* if you know what I mean. Plus new clothes, who wouldn't want to go!? This time, you told him to look around while you threw away a cup. Yes, just one singular cup. You told him it would be like 5 minutes max, because it was some what crowded. Now Denki decided that he had other plans and was walking around the mall. When you got back, he was no where to be found. You panicked, you tried calling him and then you remember he left his phone at home because he didn't feel like carrying it around. Kind of ironic, huh? Anyways! So you thought he headed out to the car, after you purchased some clothes that's where you were headed. As you got out to the car, you didn't see him in there. So this made you panic even more!

That's when you hear your phone ring, you pull it out immediately and answer. "Hello?" You say, you had a deep, gruff voice on the other end. "Is this (y/n) (y/l)?" The man asks, "yes?" You say, with slight concern. "We have a lost child, well he looks like an young adult almost, but he ended up in the lost child center and told us to call you." You busted out laughing and told him you were be there soon enough. Once you walked into the office, you seen Kaminari sitting there with a lollipop in his mouth. "Hey babe! Look what they gave me!" he exclaims, showing you the bright colored candy. Oh boy, you wanted to walk away on the spot. But you didn't! Instead you took him home, giving him a much needed lecture on stranger danger.

Eijrou Kirishima-

You were usually the one who was glued to Kirishima, not because you were clingy, but because you were forgetful. You both decided to go downtown and do a bit of shopping. You drove since it would take a little while to walk, once you parked, the shopping was on!

You were surrounded by music, stores, food, and even street entertainers! It was.. amazing! You got so caught up with it, that you completely forgot that Kiri was there with you. After an hour or so, you got in the car and drove back. You felt as if you forgot something, but didn't mind and brushed it off. This feeling occurred a lot, but it was never anything too serious. Humming to a song, with your phone connected to the bluetooth system. At a stoplight, you get a call coming through. When you answer it, it completely reminded you of what you were forgetting. "Hello!" You say and that's when Kiri's voice booms throughout the car, "what the hell (y/n)!" He says, your eyes go wide. How could you forget him? "I thought you were in here!" You say, trying to find a spot to where you could turn around. "I was getting us some icecream when you disappeared!" He says, you felt horrible. He did sound slightly angry, which was understandable honestly. As soon as you got back, it was pouring down rain. There he sat, his usually spiky red hair, now drenched and laying down, with him holding two melted icecream cones. He opens the door and sits down, not saying a word. "Kiri? I'm sorry!" You say as you drive back, glancing at him every now and then.

Whenever you arrived back at his dorm, he changed and sat now next to you. "I'm sorry honey." You say quietly, almost tearing up. He couldn't stay mad at you, honestly he wasn't even that mad, he's just upset you forgot about him. After a few moments of silence, he basically tackles you into a bear hug. "You're going to pay for this!" He says, laughing. Oh you did for sure, he ended up getting sick from the rain so you had to take care of him that whole week.

Shoto Todoroki-

Shoto was a pretty chill guy, like I mean honestly. You rarely ever did anything to upset him. Whenever he did get upset, that means it was something major! You were carpooling, you picked him up since you were both heading to the same place. It was a beach party, the class was throwing! Honestly, you couldn't wait! You got to wear a fabulous swimsuit while Todoroki got to admire you.

After you arrived, the party went on for hours! Like there was so much going on at once, it was just hard to take in all at the same time! Forgetting you and Todoroki were carpooling, you got in your car and left. Like I said, you were more worried about getting some aloe on your sunburns so it didn't hurt like hell. Once you got back you checked your messages, your heart dropped. It was Todoroki.

You grabbed your keys and picked him up, he was the only one left. It broke your heart, he didn't look angry but then again you can never tell. He got in the car, sitting down, not looking at you. "Todo? I'm sorry." You say, curling up to him, while you two were on his bed. Once you didn't get a response, the tears were flowing. His eyes widen, "no no! It's okay, I promise. I'm not mad." He says, pulling you in for a hug. He wiped away any of the stray tears, kissing your forehead. The next morning you both decided that you shouldn't be allowed to do carpool ever again. Honestly, you can see why!

This was so fun to write!

I hope you have a great day! :)

[spaceskam]

and as our lives change

Summary: Alex’s dad sold his childhood home without telling him, so Michael decides to do something about it.

Tags: sexual content (literally just the first scene), emotional hurt/comfort, friends with benefits, lack of communication

ao3

Michael watched as Alex’s head fell back, his jaw dropping as he caught his breath.

He swallowed hard, his eyes scanning over Alex’s body where it was perched on top of his in a way that felt like a renaissance painting. He was stunning. And Michael really, really didn’t know what to do about that realization. Or, he didn’t know what to do about the constant revelations he was having when it came to Alex.

Michael was straight and frustrated when this whole thing began. A weird string of events, mostly him whining and Alex being Alex, led to him getting a handjob from Alex on the couch in the apartment he shared with Max. There was no kissing or any kind of romantic shit afterward or during or before. Alex just politely went and washed his hands with a ‘will you be able to focus now?’ and they got back to their work. Michael was absolutely not able to focus.

The first time he was able to convince himself that it was just a thing between bros. No feelings, nothing weird, it was just clinical and casual. But Michael couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t stop having an entire crisis over it.

And yet, the next time he was alone with Alex in the apartment, he found himself with his hand between Alex’s thighs.

It kept happening and escalating. They didn’t talk about it or make rules or establish boundaries‒which was an admittedly bad thing‒but they seemed to both understand that they didn’t kiss, they didn’t do anything that could be perceived as romantic, and they didn’t acknowledge it. It did leave Michael to have his bisexual awakening through a series of borderline panic attacks followed by getting Alex to do whatever to clear his mind. He didn’t know if Alex knew exactly what he was clearing, but it didn’t matter.

Michael was 99.9% sure he wasn’t straight now and 87% sure he wasn’t just gay. Sometimes Alex would do something like stick his fingers inside him and order him to continue reciting his presentation without mistakes and he would consider the idea that maybe he actually was gay and the reason it didn’t feel like this with every girl he’d been with was because he was gay. But then he remembered that it didn’t feel like this with every girl he’d been with because he usually barely knew them.

He knew Alex.

He liked Alex.

It was just… a little confusing on what kind of like. Alex was his best friend and he didn’t want to screw that up. He was sure that if they just kept it like this, then they wouldn’t change anything and they could continue to just be best friends. But then he would find himself staring at Alex when there were other people around and it would make him question if things were actually still normal at all.

“Fuck, you’re getting better at that,” Alex said, pulling off of Michael with an objectively disgusting and yet still horribly enticing sound.

“Honestly, I feel like you did all the work,” Michael said. Alex huffed a laugh and cautiously got off the bed. Standing up, Alex looked even more like a work of art.

“Yeah, but the first few times I still did all the work and you were still lacking.”

“Hey!”

“Just being honest.”

Michael licked his lips and watched as Alex walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he found a rag with practiced ease. His back was muscular and still a bit flexed and Michael’s eyes followed it all the way down to his ass that was, admittedly, quite a mess and still just. There. For Michael to see. And to think he thought he was straight for so long.

They didn’t talk about things like that. Michael knew that was objectively bad, but it felt good. He liked Alex just taking over and doing what he wanted to him. It was just. A little confusing. Because they weren’t dating and this was something that very clearly had a time limit. Things would have to change eventually, just he didn’t know in what direction he wanted them to change in. Or what he was allowed to have them change in.

So he kept his eyes on Alex and watched as he cleaned himself off. When he looked over his shoulder, he caught Michael’s eye and grinned.

“I’m beginning to think you’ve got a staring problem,” Alex said, but then he had the audacity to stretch up. He brought himself to his toes and reached for the ceiling and let out a little moan as his shoulder popped. Michael’s head felt empty.

Alex washed the rag out and then came back to the bed, tossing it onto his stomach before he went to go find his clothes. Michael seemingly had to reboot his brain and couldn’t get himself to clean up until after Alex put his briefs back on.

Yes, things were weird and he didn’t quite understand how he got to this point, but he didn’t really want it to stop either. He wanted Alex to keep doing shit like this and smiling at him and maybe even kissing him if, you know, he felt like it. Michael would be lying if he didn’t think about kissing him more than he thought about sleeping with him.

“Okay, I hate to fuck and kick you out, but I’ve got plans,” Alex said once Michael was done and slowly trying to find his own clothes. That was enough to get Michael’s full attention.

“Plans? It’s already nighttime,” Michael pointed out. Alex just gave that little grin of his and shook his head.

“Sweet little innocent Michael.”

“I don’t think any of the shit we do qualifies as innocent,” Michael shot back. Alex smiled wider.

Michael wasn’t jealous. He didn’t even know what Alex was doing, how could he be jealous of something he didn’t even know anything about? He wasn’t. He just very much did not enjoy the idea of Alex going out with someone else after the sun had gone down. Not for any selfish reason, but for the fact that nothing good happened after the sun went down and he told Alex as much.

“What are you, my grandma?” Alex laughed. He double-checked that Michael had his jeans and boxers on before opening the door which was the real sign that this was actually over for the night.

Ianto, Alex’s kitten‒that technically wasn’t a kitten anymore but Michael would never stop calling him that‒strolled in like she owned the place. Michael grinned as he immediately came to rub against his leg. He didn’t have to look up to know Alex was rolling his eyes.

“Hi, baby,” Michael cooed, reaching down to scratch his head, “Your dad is kicking me out to do secret things.”

“Shut up,” Alex laughed, “I’m not kicking you out. If you wanna stay, you can, but I won’t be here.”

“What are you doing that’s so late, though?” Michael asked, looking up to him. Alex sighed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“I’m just meeting someone,” Alex said. Something twisted in Michael’s gut as he stared at him. Someone.

“Like… a date?” Michael asked. Alex took a deep breath and Michael knew that it was true. He was seeing someone.

Which. Was fine. Michael just thought he had more time. More time to understand what the fuck he was feeling, more time to get good at it, more time for whatever. That was. Okay.

“I mean… Not quite. Just, you know, someone,” Alex said, shrugging and looking away.

The way he spoke about it was almost worse than if he just said that he was trying to date people. Before they started this whole thing, Alex had always been honest about who he was seeing. Michael had a ton of memories and texts of Alex telling him about guys he’d been with. They were friends. But things had changed.

“Okay,” Michael said, standing up and quickly putting on his shirt and grabbing his phone, “Then I’ll leave.”

“Well, don’t be mad,” Alex said. Michael closed his eyes for a moment and then set back into motion to look for his shoes.

“I’m not mad. I just don’t wanna hold you up,” Michael said. Since I clearly couldn’t satisfy you, he didn’t say.

He tried not to let his ego be too bruised. It happened. Alex was the first and only guy Michael had been with. Of course he would want someone more experienced.

“Michael,” Alex said, grabbing his arm. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked a bit lost. “Do you wanna talk about this or something?”

“No,” Michael said simply. They didn’t talk about this. Talking about it now would make it weird.

He pulled out of Alex’s grasp and put his shoes on, giving Ianto a couple more pets before he headed for the door. Alex didn’t try to stop him and that was telling enough. Tomorrow, maybe, Michael would text him or talk to him and they’d go on as normal. It made him feel a little weird, though, thinking about Alex sleeping with other people and not telling him about it. Wasn’t that, like, a rule of casual relationships? You let people know? Was he getting tested?

It didn’t matter. They were friends. This was fine.

-

Michael waited a whole three days without texting Alex first.

He couldn’t say why exactly he was choosing to be pouty and just choosing to let Alex be the one to reach out, but he was and he wasn’t really having much of an internal fight about whether he should reach out or not. He was going to let Alex do that, even if he missed him, because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Well, that and he was a little bit irritated, but he could focus on the not wanting to be clingy thing and feel better about himself afterward.

It was probably normal to get weirdly attached to the first guy you sleep with whether there were romantic feelings or not. He didn’t want to be attached to Alex, at least not like that. He wanted to be friends with him. Friends who slept together sometimes.

Michael just wasn’t sure if he could keep that up much longer.

And yet, when it hit the three day mark, he was tossing and turning and bed and craving Alex in some capacity. They didn’t even have to hook up, he just needed his friend. They could watch movies or do homework or literally anything and they didn’t have to talk. They had never gone this long without at least a meme or two sent between them. Weirdness from the other day aside, this was particularly annoying.

Michael pulled out his phone and let his thumb hover over Alex’s contact. He just had to hit it and ask if Alex wanted to come over. He could do that. Easy. Just hit it.

“What are you doing?” Max asked, breaking Michael’s mental discussion. For the first time, he was a little bit thankful that Max had basically no boundaries when it came to Michael’s personal life. At least it provided a distraction.

“Thinking about inviting Alex over, if that’s okay,” Michael said, tossing his phone onto the couch as he stood up. He needed a break from looking at it anyway. Max nodded his head, looking through the contents of the refrigerator.

“Sure, if he wants to after everything,” Max said. Michael’s eyebrows tugged together.

“What do you mean, after everything?” he wondered, standing up a little bit straighter. Instantly, his brain started filling with thoughts of what could’ve happened, all of which were probably over the top and wrong because if it was something dire like Alex getting hurt, there was no way Max would know before him.

It didn’t stop his mind from racing.

“He didn’t tell you?” Max asked. Michael shook his head and Max shrugged, taking his sweet damn time. “Oh, well, Liz said that his dad apparently sold the house he grew up in back in Roswell without telling him. Got rid of all of his and his brother’s shit without telling them and it’s apparently sold. I don’t know, if I were him, I’d be upset.”

Michael started at the back of his head, momentarily unmoving. His first thought was if he threw out Alex’s mom’s things too or if he kept it. He thought about the closet door that had his height marked alongside his brothers that the four of them secretly kept up after their mom left. He thought about the things Alex always said he was going to go back and get whenever he got his own place in the future, the quiet little admissions Alex only made whenever he was either drunk or one of them did something particularly mindblowing in bed that left them both a little hazy afterward.

Without replying to Max, Michael grabbed his phone and went to go find his shoes. Finally, without hesitation, he called Alex and held the phone to his ear as he fumbled to slide on his shoes. It rang and rang and rang and Michael was pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer, but he still grabbed his keys and went out the door.

Right before it went to voicemail, Alex answered.

“Hello?” he said. His voice was a little flat but otherwise didn’t give anything away about how he was feeling.

“Hey, how are you?” Michael wondered, stepping into his truck and pulling the door closed. He started it up and quickly put on his seatbelt.

“Fine,” Alex said. It didn’t count as an actual response because it was Alex and ‘fine’ didn’t actually mean anything. He’d said he was fine while having a panic attack in the library while trying to write an essay on some dumb book that touched on one too many heavy topics for the both of them.

“Okay, are you at your apartment? Is your roommate there?” Michael asked, backing up probably a little too fast but who cares. He didn’t hit anyone.

“I’m here, but Chris isn’t. Why?” Alex said, skepticism still lingering in his voice.

“I heard about your house,” Michael said. Alex stayed quiet. “Look, have the new people started moving in yet?”

“No,” Alex said softly, “Flint said they close tomorrow at two.”

“Okay. Next question, how do you feel about trespassing?”

-

Michael could feel Alex’s eyes on him as he moved about his kitchen, throwing shit together to make him something better than plain packaged ramen. He was blowing time, waiting for the sun to fall.

“We don’t actually have to,” Alex said. He was in a sweater and sweatpants and his hair was all tousled. Michael could only look at him for a few seconds at a time or he’d lose his mind over how cute he was. So, so not straight. “It’s over an hour away and illegal and we don’t have to.”

“If they haven’t sold it yet, I don’t think it’s illegal and I’m not going to google it because it’s much better if I just say it very convincingly,” Michael insisted, taking a spice bottle out of the cabinet that had the label removed and sniffing it. He coughed a few times, but it smelled like it was probably garlic powder so he threw it into the saucepan.

Ianto was rubbing against Michael’s legs, meowing away at the serious offense that he was taking due to Michael not giving him his full attention. He kept lifting his foot to stroke his back, but that was only so satisfying to a bratty little kitten.

When Michael looked at Alex, he looked like he was about to cry. His eyebrows were drawn together and his eyes were all glassy and he was all but pouting. Michael quickly moved the saucepan to another burner before turning around completely and reaching over the sink to get to Alex’s face since he was sitting at the counter. He held his face between both hands and looked him very seriously in the eye, something he’d do all the time when they were just friends before they made it weird between them.

“Hey, don’t cry, we’re going to see if there’s anything left,” Michael said, squishing his cheeks just a little bit. Alex huffed a laugh and pushed him off carefully.

“I’m not gonna cry and I’m sure as hell not gonna cry over that. My dad’s an asshole, but I should’ve expected him to do something like this,” Alex said. Michael pinched and prodded his cheeks for an extra second for emphasis until he got Alex to smile as he twisted out of his grasp. “Michael.”

“Stop looking so sad then,” Michael said, going back to cooking.

They haven’t mentioned the other day. Michael had no plans to be the one to bring it up.

“I’m fine,” Alex said, “I just hate him.”

“I’ll beat him up for you,” Michael offered before lifting the spoon to his lips. It tasted good enough.

Michael filled a bowl with slightly under-cooked noodles because Alex was fucking weird and spooned his makeshift sauce onto it. He stuck a fork into it and turned around to present it to Alex, giving him a smile. Alex was already giving him that look, the really sweet one he really only gave him out of nowhere and Michael had yet to really pinpoint what caused it.

Still, he liked being looked at like that.

“Thank you,” Alex said, accepting the plate, “You’re a good friend.”

Friend.

“No problem.”

-

Michael had only been to Alex’s childhood home twice and he had never been inside.

Both times were during their freshman year, while Alex was living in a dorm still and needed to go home every once in a while to get clothes or whatever. Michael had driven him and gotten to know him super well in those long car rides together and had also gotten very used to comfortable silences with him.

Now, Alex sat in the passenger seat and had his head against the window. His eyes were closed and he was so very clearly sad. Michael hated seeing him that way. He didn’t know how to fix it. Especially since this situation wasn’t something he could really fix.

“So,” Michael said, trying to lighten the mood, “How was your date?”

Alex was quiet for a moment before he huffed and tilted his head in Michael’s direction. Michael kept his eyes forward after that.

“Seriously?” Alex asked. Michael shrugged. “Now you wanna talk about it?”

“I’m not trying to have a formal talk, just making conversation. You used to tell me about your dates all the time,” Michael said. Before we started hooking up, he didn’t say.

Alex didn’t say anything for a small stretch of time before he eventually said, “It wasn’t a date, I was going to meet up with Kyle but I knew you’d freak out if we were speaking again, so I didn’t say anything.”

Michael felt a rush of emotions at that, blinking a few times as he processed it.

“As in… Valenti?”

“Yeah,” Alex confirmed. Michael couldn’t help the look of disgust that found his face. “Exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“Nah, it’s fine, whatever, I’m not your boss,” Michael said, trying to seem like he didn’t care. There was no reason to care. Alex wasn’t his property.

“Right.”

“I was just asking.”

“And even if it was a date, it’s none of your business,” Alex said, though it had admittedly less of a bite than it sounded like he intended. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Just because we’re, like, hook‒”

“Do I turn left or right up here?” Michael asked, cutting him off. He didn’t want to talk about this. They didn’t talk about it. That would fuck everything up, that would force Michael to think too hard about something he probably already thought too hard about and he just simply wasn’t interested.

Alex took a deep breath and grumbled a ‘right’.

So Michael took a right.

He drove through the middle-class neighborhood, full of white people who had pools in their backyards and fences and an HOA that would probably make Michael cringe if he looked at the rules. Without much thought, he pulled into the little park that was in the middle of the neighborhood and parked his truck. Alex looked at him with a bit of skepticism.

“If I park in the driveway, it’s gonna be kinda obvious that someone is there,” Michael pointed out.

“Okay,” Alex agreed, stepping out of the truck.

The two of them walked side-by-side in the dark, only lit by streetlights. It was entirely possible there was some kind of neighborhood watch or maybe kids coming home from a date or people taking a late-night run, someone that would see them, but Michael didn’t see anything and decided to just act normal.

“It’s up here,” Alex said, voice soft. Whether that was because of the time of night or because of the fact he was seeing his house again, Michael wasn’t sure.

“Do you have a key still?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Can’t hurt to try. Besides, if they haven’t officially closed on it yet, there’s probably a key under a mat somewhere or something,” Michael said. Alex nodded.

As they got closer, Alex didn’t say a single word. They went around back through the unlocked gate and he pulled out his keys, hands shaking a bit as he went to try it. Michael put his hand on the small of his back as a silent way to show his support.

The key fit in and turned with ease.

Alex let out a soft breath as he pushed the door open, blinking as he stared inside. Michael watched his face and waited for him to make the first move. This was for Alex. Michael very specifically chose not to think about why he was willing to go so far for Alex, possibly break the law.

Alex swallowed hard and took a step inside. Michael followed suit.

He stayed quiet as Alex navigated the empty house. There were no pictures or anything furniture left, just a dishwasher and an over and an empty space where a refrigerator was meant to go. Alex dragged his fingers over the countertop and slowly walked into the living area. That was even more empty, the space looking small without anything to fill it.

“The couch that was here had, like, three bloodstains from Clay because he had nosebleeds a lot,” Alex said, gesturing to the area it once was, “I think one of the stains might’ve been mine.”

“We can make new stains,” Michael offered. Alex physically cringed, his nose scrunching up, and laughed softly.

“You’re so fucking gross,” Alex said despite the sweetness of his tone.

“I meant innocent stains, like nosebleeds,” Michael insisted, raising his hands up. Alex rolled his eyes as a smile found his face, holding out his hand.

“Come on, let me show you upstairs.”

Michael accepted his hand and let him lead the way.

The stairs were simple and the hallway was small, jutting out in two different directions from the top of the staircase. It was all only lit by the moon and street lights shining through the window at the end of the hall. Alex tugged on his hand, pulling him to the left that led to two doors. He opened one without hesitation, tugging Michael inside.

The walls were painted an off-white color and the carpet was beige, perfectly standard. Nothing stood out except for the way Alex was holding his breath. Michael squeezed his hand and stepped closer.

“This was your room?” Michael asked. Alex swallowed and nodded, looking in Michael’s direction. Alex looked over his face before they locked eyes, taking a moment to just stare. He looked pretty like this. “Tell me what it looked like.”

“Okay, so,” Alex whispered, still not letting go of his hand as he took him to the far corner, “This is where my desk was. I wrote all my cringey poetry there. Had my first kiss while sitting there.”

“You did? That’s so cute,” Michael cooed, imagining a flustered, teenage Alex after getting his first kiss against his desk.

He knew Alex was actually upset when he didn’t shove him or tell him to shut up. Instead, he just pulled him to another space.

“My dresser was here. I hid shit in my folded pants to try to keep them from my dad,” Alex said, then tugged him a little further, “And my bed was here.”

“Did you do anything fun in that bed?” Michael teased. Alex didn’t bother laughing as he sat on the ground, laying down where his bed would’ve been. Michael laid beside him. “Are you okay?”

“I never wanted to come back here,” Alex whispered. Michael held his breath. “I hate my dad. I hate this place. But… he couldn’t even let me have even the shit I did want. Like, I have my mom’s guitar and, and stuff I use, but the dumb stuff.”

“I get it,” Michael said. And he did, kind of, one some level. Bouncing around and living in  group homes didn’t really present the best opportunity to accumulate dumb stuff, but he cherished the shit he did have.

Alex rolled onto his side and stared at him. Michael stared back. It was completely not the time for it, but Michael wanted to kiss him. Just once, really quick. Just to see what it felt like.

The room was silent as Alex reached across to him, touching his shoulder gently and gliding his fingertips across his neck. Michael watched him closely and waited to see what he was going to do. He didn’t move as Alex touched his jaw or his hair, didn’t flinch when he traced over his ear and his nose, didn’t breathe when he touched his lips.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” Alex whispered, “ I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. What are friends for?” Michael responded. Alex’s eyes flickered between meeting his gaze and going down to another part of his face, wasting a few seconds before he parted his lips to speak again.

“That’s what we are? Just friends?” Alex clarified, “Even after‒”

“When did you want to head back?” Michael asked, really not wanting to ruin the mood by thinking about things. About specifics. About himself.

But unlike every other time he deflected, Alex snatched his hand away from him like he’d been burned. He’d physically moved back a bit and hurt was openly displayed on his face in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen. Micheal was a little speechless.

“Why do you always do that?” Alex asked quietly, “Why do you never want to talk about it? Are you that ashamed of what we do? If you are, I don’t think I can do this anymore. It doesn’t feel good.”

“What? No, Alex, I’m not ashamed,” Michael insisted. And he wasn’t. Overwhelmed was a much better word. “It-It’s just new and I don’t know how to really process what I’m feeling and I don’t want to push it.”

“That’s when you’re supposed to talk. Talking keeps people on the same page and makes things easier. So talk to me. Tell me what you want, tell me boundaries, tell me something. Fucking talk to me,” Alex snapped. Michael blinked, eyes wide as he looked at him.

And for the first time probably ever, his mind went blank.

Every thought and idea he’d ever had regarding Alex Manes went flying out of his mind. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted or any boundaries or literally anything. All he could do was stare. Even as Alex visibly got upset, even as Alex sat up and put his hands behind his head and effectively shielded Michael from seeing his face.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, the only thing that could come to his mind, and debatably the wrong thing.

Alex gripped his hair in his hands tighter.

“You don’t have to like me like that. I don’t care either way. But you not telling me what you want is going to drive me insane. If you just want to be friends or if you just want to keep hooking up, that’s fine, but fucking talk to me!”

Michael opened his mouth to find something to say, literally anything, but instead, he heard a noise.

“What was that?” he whispered. Alex furrowed his eyebrows as he lifted his head. Another sound came, like a door opening.

“Oh, I can’t believe leaving it unlocked worked!” a voice said from downstairs, the emptiness of the house carrying it to their ears. Michael and Alex shared equally panicked looks.

“Well, it is our house,” the other voice said.

“Closet,” Alex hissed and they both quickly and quietly scrambled into the closet, closing the door behind them.

It was small and definitely not a walk-in, but they were able to press on opposite sides of the tiny space and not have to worry about touching. They both stayed as silent as possible, listening to the couple downstairs. Thank fuck he didn’t park his truck in the driveway.

But then the couple wasn’t downstairs, they were running upstairs and laughing and going to the other rooms across the hall. It would’ve been cute and charming if Michael wasn’t scared he was about to get caught and arrested for trespassing. But, considering they didn’t technically own it yet, didn’t they technically count as trespassing as well?

It was hard to really see Alex because of the dark, but, if he focused, he could sort of see his silhouette. He was probably still angry at Michael. Maybe he deserved it. Seriously, how ironic was it that they were stuck in a closet? Maybe they really should talk.

However, that only held his focus for so long when the door to Alex’s bedroom opened. Michael held his breath, listening and hoping they didn’t open the closet door.

“We’re gonna put the crib here,” the woman said as she stepped into Alex’s room, “And we’re going to paint the walls something more fun than this. Like, a purple, maybe.”

Michael kept his eyes locked on Alex’s body in the dark, trying to gauge the body language he couldn’t fucking see. He tentatively reached out, but he only felt air as if Alex had pressed himself so far into the opposite wall that he was trying to become a part of it.

“It’s gonna be perfect,” the man said, a rustle of clothing following his voice, “Our own house, our own little family.”

The woman laughed and the sound of kissing filled the room, loud and happy.

“New, happy memories. Especially once the baby comes,” she said, her voice warm and content. They kissed more, laughing and touching, and, god, this was too much of an invasion of privacy.

But all Michael could think of was Alex.

It probably wasn’t the best thing to be listening to how happy these strangers would be in the house that you found so miserable. A happy, young family, no less. Even Michael felt kind of cynical and jealous about it, though he often did when he saw loving parents.

Michael carefully pushed off the wall and took a silent step forward, hoping not to make any noise as the couple kissed and distracted themselves. He touched Alex’s waist and patted his way up to his face. Alex’s lips were folded in and his cheeks were wet, his breathing dangerously controlled. It was more than a little heartbreaking.

He took a step closer, wrapping his arms around Alex as quietly and slowly as possible so Alex could do something if he didn’t want him to touch him. He’d understand if he didn’t. But Alex didn’t push him away, instead letting his face fall into the crook of Michael’s neck. Michael put his hand on the back of his head and kept his arm around him, keeping him safe. Alex’s fingers clutched his shirt.

And, at that moment, he realized that he never wanted to stop doing that. He really, sincerely, wished to stay right there forever.

“Okay, okay, we should go finish packing,” the woman said and Michael really wished they would go. He weaved his fingers into Alex’s hair and held him a little tighter. 

“One more kiss,” the man said. They laughed and shared another kiss or two before they eventually left the room.

Michael held onto Alex and they stayed silent until they heard the footsteps go down the stairs and out the door. It echoed through the empty house as it closed. Only then did Alex give a small sniffle and took a heavy breath, clutching Michael tighter.

“I’ve got you,” Michael whispered, closing his eyes as he held him, “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed there until Alex stopped crying, until he got his breathing under control, and Michael held him. He took the time to let his thoughts come to him, trying not to overthink anything and just let himself feel. What did he want? What kind of relationship with Alex did he want? What felt right?

And for once that answer came easy.

-

“I don’t want to be just friends.”

“Oh yeah? Took you that long to come to that conclusion?”

Michael rolled his eyes and scooted closer even though there wasn’t much space to eliminate. The drive back Alex’s apartment from his old house had been utterly silent, but Alex had stayed tucked into Michael’s side as if he was meant to be right there. All it did was confirm to him even more what he wanted.

They got into his apartment and Michael didn’t want to leave him alone. Alex, thankfully, didn’t want to be left alone. He was so clearly exhausted and they had pretty much immediately crawled into bed, laying as close as possible and fully clothed. Ianto, the brat he was, had happily decided to lay against his back which had Michael pinned between the cat and Alex.

Michael never wanted to leave.

“No, I’ve known that but that’s scary,” Michael said, shrugging, “And I wasn’t sure if it was just because of the sex or not.”

“Are you sure now?” Alex asked. His eyes were still a little puffy and Michael just adored him.

“I think so,” Michael said, “I know I never want to not be holding you when you’re sad.”

Alex huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, but he nudged his nose into Michael’s.

“I want to talk,” Michael continued, “Which is… terrifying, but I want to. ‘Cause I was kinda mad when I thought you were sleeping with other people. I want to be the only person you’re sleeping with. So, I want to talk and I want to set boundaries. I want… I want to be gross and happy like that stupid couple that broke in.”

Alex smiled slightly, his fingers slipping beneath Michael’s shirt just to rest against his bare skin.

“Okay,” Alex said, “In the morning?”

“Obviously. You need cuddles and sleep right now,” Michael insisted. Alex rolled his eyes again, but he moved forward to lay his head on Michael’s chest. It was a little strange because they’d never actually cuddled like this before.

What the hell had he been wasting all this time for?

“And in the morning,” Michael added, wrapping his arms around Alex, “I’m going to kiss the shit out of you. Like it’s gonna be the best kiss you’ve ever had. I’m gonna blow you away. If you want, I mean.”

Alex laughed, a genuine laugh that Michael hadn’t heard in far too many days. That was a good thing.

“I want it. I can’t wait.”

Neither could Michael.

[twdbegins]

A Little R&R

__

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Some sexual references.

Word Count: 2,110

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.”

__

Nobody has ever said that being a doctor is easy work. As a matter of fact, being in any job in medical field is probably one of the most demanding jobs there can possibly be. However, you had gone through a lot of school to become a doctor and while it was hard work, it was rewarding work. Nothing filled you with more joy than helping others. It was something that made you super passionate. It reminded you that, despite the fall, there’s still good in the world. 

With that being said, there were still times when the workload did sometimes get to be a bit much. At least before, when you were in a legit hospital, you had nurses and other doctors to provide their hands-on help. Now, it was pretty much just you. If you were lucky, Simon or another savior might be able to offer some minimal help, but in an overall sense, you were on your own. Another challenge refers to the more sanitary side of things. Since you weren’t in a hospital, the infirmary wasn’t as sterilized as you wanted it to be. You cleaned the infirmary from ceiling to floor every single day and as often as you could. You always deep cleaned your tools and sterilized them, but at the end of the day there was no way for everything to be completely clean. 

The worst part of it, though, was the fact that you had every single solitary patient. Obviously, if you’re the only doctor, then everyone is going to come to you. Some days you would have one person come in and some days you would have 40 people come in. It just varied from day to day. Your absolute least favorite day was check-up day. After you had been at the Sanctuary for about a year (and Negan realized you were there to stay) he found it necessary for every savior to have an annual checkup. Everyone. On the same day. 

The first year you had to do it was absolute hell. Everyone showed up at random times during the day and there was no order whatsoever. However, the next year, you put a system in order. Every savior would have to come at a specific time, starting with the highest in command to the lowest (this was per Negan’s request). So, Negan always went first, Simon next, and so on and so forth. You usually averaged about one savior every fifteen minutes. Which doesn’t sound that bad, but considering there’s an average of about 150 to 200 saviors, it makes out to be a long day of work. 

It was checkup day, November 11th to be exact. You had made sure to hydrate plenty the day before and get a good night of sleep, because you were not taking any breaks to try and get this over with quicker. Sure enough, you heard Negan’s familiar voice in the doorway at 6:00 A.M. sharp;

“Well, good morning, doc!” He chirped. 

You gave a smile;

“Negan.” You said acknowledging his presence.

Negan always went first because he was indeed highest in command. He also liked to just get it over with so he could still get a useful day of work. He knew the drill. He stripped off his signature leather jacket, setting it on the chair in the corner with his beloved Lucille. He had this rather unsettling smirk on his face. As much as you respected him as a leader, he could be quite disrespectful to you. Not in a “I don’t respect your feelings kind of way”, but he was known as a ladies man (his multiples wives as evidence to that). It didn’t at all offend or bother him to have a woman put her hands on him, in a professional way or not. He sat on the table as you began his checkup exam. He stayed silent for a little while, but you knew it wouldn’t last. As you were listening to his lungs and overall breathing, he spoke;

“You know, if you really want to see how I can handle myself, you can close that door and I’ll just show you.” He prided. 

You hushed him, waving a hand in front of his face. You couldn’t properly hear what you were listening for if he was talking. You stayed quiet as you finished listening to his lungs before you answered. You hung the stethoscope around your neck as you tested his reflexes.

“Now, that’s not a very professional thing to say to your doctor is it?” You said grabbing the reflex hammer off of the counter. 

He shrugged;

“I mean, doctor-patient confidentially, right? Or does that not apply anymore?” He asked. 

“No, it does...depending on who you are,” You said truthfully. 

You tested Negan’s reflexes on his knees, noting that his response was a little slow;

“Reflexes are delayed,” You said taking the back of his hand and checking for dehydration. Nada. “Did you drink last night?”

He nodded as you wrote it down on his chart. He was healthy as a horse. 

“Well, other than the reflexes, you’re good to go,” You said truthfully. 

Negan smiled;

“Sweet,” He said getting off of the table and retrieving his jacket and weapon of choice. 

“Will you send Simon in, please?” You asked.

Negan zipped his jacket;

“As long as you two promise to behave in here.” Negan said approaching the doorway and motioning for Simon who was right outside. 

Simon walked in, Negan giving him a slight glare as he left. Simon raised a brow and looked at you;

“What was that about?” He asked. 

You rolled your eyes;

“Turned him down. Again.” You said referring to his advances. 

That wasn’t at all an uncommon occurrence. Negan was always trying to pick you up and had even thrown a marriage proposal your way before. All to which you denied and continue to deny every time. It was kind of a running joke between you and Simon now;

“Shocker,” He said pulling you to him, “Mornin’, baby.” 

You gave him a quick kiss;

“Hi.” You replied. 

He sat on the exam table, eager to get this over with. He hated going to the doctor, although he was willing to make an exception. You checked his eyes and ears first, both in perfect condition. You checked his lungs and breathing next, as you had done with Negan.

“Take off your shirt, please.” You asked. 

He smirked as he lifted it over his head;

“Yes ma’am.” He set his shirt aside and winced at the cold metal of the stethoscope against his back. 

His hands were on yours hips, rubbing in circles as you listened to his breathing and heart beat. His heart rate was a little elevated, but that was most likely from the fact that he was raking you over. You were asking just some general questions (all of which you knew the answer to) along the way. You had your hands at his neck, feeling for any swollen or tender lymph nodes;

“Have you had skin irritation or any noticeable changes to your body lately?” You asked as you felt his neck gently, his skin sensitive to the feel of your touch.

He groaned;

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.” He said. 

You pulled your hands away and tried not to laugh;

“Sorry. I’m almost done.” You said reaching for a tongue depressor.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” He asked curiously.

You shrugged and gave a questionable look; 

“Late for sure. Open wide,” You instructed, “Maybe midnight?” 

You checked his throat for any signs of inflamed tonsils or strep throat as he attempted to speak a response that was just muffled;

“Huh?” You asked taking the depressor away. 

“I said to come to my room when you do get off. I’ll be up.” He repeated.

You nodded, jotting the final notes on his chart;

“You don’t have to wait up for me.” You kindly said.

“Sure, I do. I want to.” He retorted.

You smiled, and sighed contently when you finished his examination;

“Well, my love, you are in perfectly good health.”

He laughed at your monotonous tone and slipped his shirt back on, before standing back up;

“Do you have any breaks today?” He asked.

“Nope. Straight shot from start to finish.” You replied.

He nodded with a slight grimace. He hated seeing you work yourself too hard. But you wouldn’t do it any other way. He kissed you again before leaving;

“I’ll see you tonight. Don’t work too hard.”

__

The day went by horribly slow. Person after person came through. You repeated the same tests over and over until you felt like you’d freaking pass out. Finally, low and behold, you examined the very last savior at around 12:15 AM. Basically 18 hours of straight work with no breaks. Honestly, it should’ve been longer than that, but some exams didn’t take as long as others. You were exhausted and drained. You cleaned the infirmary as usual, used the shower, and finally were lights out at 12:45. You locked up and straggled to Simon’s room, which felt like miles away. You walked into his room and, sure enough, he was awake and waiting for you. 

You looked tired, to say the least. He offered a comforting smile;

“Hey. All done?” He asked. 

“All done.” You affirmed. 

Your legs and feet had never hurt so bad in your entire life. You quite literally collapsed onto the bed, letting out a sigh of relief that you felt in your soul. He sat on the end of the bed as you just took a moment to mellow out. Your feet were a horrible shade of dark pink, borderline red from the heavy blood flow from being on your feet all day.

“126. 126 saviors came through. That’s a personal record.” You said with a laugh.

Simon shook his head in disbelief;

“I don’t know how you do it. Anybody that you think will kick the bucket this year?” He asked slightly joking but also not. 

You scoffed;

“From a physical health standpoint, no. Mentally though, that new guy Derek might be in for it if he doesn’t change his attitude,” You stated honestly. 

“Oh, yeah. The tall redheaded guy, right? I think Richie got into a tussle with him a few weeks ago.” Simon said recalling the big fight that went down. 

You hummed in affirmation as you watched him trace circles on your leg lazily with his index finger. You groaned and rubbed your face;

“My feet hurt so bad. I feel like I’ve been standing and walking all day.” You growled. 

Simon got up from the bed and laughed;

“That’s because you have,” He grabbed a bottle off of the dresser and sat back down. You suddenly felt a cold presence and rubbing sensation on your leg. You looked down and let out a groan of relief upon realizing Simon was rubbing your legs and feet;

“You are an absolute angel, you know that?”

He smirked;

“I do my best.” 

His hands worked wonders on your aching lower limbs and appendages. You raised a brow;

“Where did you get lotion from?” You asked examining the dark red, label-less bottle. 

His hand gently gripped and slid down from your knee to your ankle;

“I have my ways,” He grinned; “I thought you outta know that by now.”

“You’re still full of surprises. I never know what tricks you have up your sleeve.” You laughed heartily. 

He still grinned;

“Yeah, well, I gotta keep it interesting,” He joked, “No, but I found this last week. I’ve just been meaning to give it to you.” 

The lotion’s scent was so good and so calming. You definitely could’ve fallen asleep right where you were.

“At least I know I’ll sleep good tonight.” You stated. 

“Speaking of, I think it’s time to call it a night.” He said rubbing the last bit of lotion in and returning the bottle to the dresser.

You groaned and rolled over to your side of the bed with him quickly sliding into his side. You rested yourself against his side, immediately feeling like you were about to fall asleep. Before you drifted off, however, he softly said a few last words for the night;

“You really do keep this place running,” He said kissing your head, “I love you. And I’m really proud of you and everything that you do.”

You looked up at him sleepily, kissing him softly before falling asleep in the arms of the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

[fireemblems24]

Flame Emperor Reveal Analysis

This game is all over the place with this. This level delivered some of the most intense and emotional moments so far, but doesn’t always capitalize on character development and conflict. 

I’m playing all four routes in Fire Emblem Three Houses mostly blind. Below is spoilers for all four routes (which I’m learning the names of now). And for the first it’s actually 4! 

Crimson Flower & Silver Snow

I lied. Originally I planned on writing a different analysis for Crimson Flower and Silver Snow, but the build up is the same. Only the fallout is different, and yeah there’s a lot to say about how things played out. 

The Black Eagles routes have the biggest advantage for this scene because your main character is the Flame Emperor. It does not hold back. All of your students, sans Edelgard and Hubert, are terrified, confused, and hurt. None of them grasp fully what’s going on when Edelgard takes her mask off and orders her army to kill anyone who stands against her. The voice actors do a fantastic job here: Dorothea, Caspar, Bernadetta, and others sell the mess of emotions the Black Eagles experience, and Edelgard sounds stone-cold and in-command. Her betrayal is the gut-punch it should be. 

The level presents a no-win scenario. One of your students is willing to kill you and everyone else you’re supposed to protect, and Rhea is out for blood. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, you lose. It’s a heartbreaking, emotional mess of a situation the writing sets up. 

Even prior to all this, the dance between revealing to much or to little about Edelgard’s true intentions is fantastic. Where the Blue Lions basically dumps the answer in your lap and the Golden Deer gives little to no hints at the Flame Emperor’s identity, the Black Eagles is the only route where I do not know if I would’ve guessed correctly or had so few clues that I didn’t bother trying to guess. 

Edelgard drops enough hints to guess correctly if you’re looking for them. She always questions Byleth about his thoughts on the Flame Emperor, trying to drive a wedge between the Emperor and the heinous actions the masked knight is involved in.  Likewise, Edelgard constantly asks Byleth if he’d pick her over the whole world. She also makes alarming declarations that tow the line between reformer and despot. All of these actions make sense in retrospect - she was fishing to see who would and would not side with her regardless of her actions. 

The scene in the Holy Tomb builds up to a crescendo, Edelgard is defeated, and Rhea makes her demand to kill Edelgard. It’s a bit telling Rhea needed to go so extreme in order to make siding with Edelgard believable, but it’s counteracted  by the game going as far as making Edelgard an enemy unit who can and will kill her classmates. Both women resort to extremes. Rhea is emotional, hateful, and screaming for blood. Edelgard is cold, calculated, and resorting to using victims of human experimentation to kill her own friends. These are two driven, passionate women exposing their ugliest sides in an emotional scene ripe for fantastic character development and conflict. 

And then . . . the wrap-up. 

Silver Snow

Should you choose to kill Edelgard, you land in Silver Snow. Rhea’s angry rant against Edelgard is fantastically delivered and makes me anticipate further development from her character. Back in Garreg Mach Monastery, Rhea  juxtaposes her earlier scene for a softer one. She implies a willingness to sacrifice her life to protect her home, and asks Byleth to take her role should something happen to her. Rhea’s plan all along was to put Byleth (who is connected to Sothis, who is connected to Rhea, though the details are still unknown to me) in charge. After hearing Rhea call for blood, it’s a sweet scene between Byleth and the archbishop. The problem with it is that every route gets these scenes sans Crimson Flower. It’s two great scenes for Rhea, but not unique to Silver Snow. 

And here’s the weird part - there is no unique content for Rhea outside of a few initial lines when choosing to kill Edelgard. Instead, we get the Black Eagles upset and unsure about Edelgard’s actions, a few wondering how much she planned all along and how involved she was in every horrible thing that happened during their school year. It’s necessary, but there’s nothing stand-out in anyone’s dialogue to bring home a real gut-punch. 

Seteth gets the best unique content in Silver Snow when he offers the Black Eagles a chance to defect to the Empire should they desire. It’s delivered softly with no threat behind it, showing an earnest desire for the students to feel comfortable even if it means they’re going to turn around and try to slaughter him in thanks. Thankfully, none of the students leave. Cyril and Catherine automatically join your team, and Hilda is now recruitable as well to make up for losing Hubert and Edelgard.   

The fall out for choosing to stand against Edelgard is . . . fine. For such a unique event in Fire Emblem (siding against your lord, possibly losing two units you’ve heavily invested in should you not know what’s coming), I expected a bit more drama and flare and a lot more Rhea. However, this is only the start, and it gave what it needed to give. 

The stage has been well set. Everyone’s in a no-win situation. Should they lose, they and everyone else in Fodlan will suffer an all-out, dragged-out war. They’ll lose their school and have to fight against their home country (sans Petra) where most of their family and friends live. Killing Edelgard ends the conflict, but she is their former friend, classmate, and rightful leader. She gives them no choice - fight for me or die standing against me. Neither option will leave Byleth and the remaining students wholly satisfied, so I foresee more bittersweet confrontations coming, and I look forward to it.

Crimson Flower 

Deciding to protect Edelgard lands you on the Crimson Flower path. I have to say, I’ve read and watched thousands of stories and this one scene stands out among all others. 

Never in my life have I ever seen characters react to a situation in a way that makes less sense. Even more baffling is how much potential gets tossed out the window. Stories thrive on conflict and character development and this scene is ripe with potential, but instead of even letting the fruit grow rancid they just . . . act like it never existed. 

After Byleth picks to guard Edelgard, Rhea loses it and is ready to tear Byleth to pieces before turning into a dragon. The Black Eagles and Edelgard all run away and, not long after, make it back to Enbarr safely. How they escaped a rampaging dragon or successfully fled Garreg Mach is hand-waved away. This is the kind of hand-waving I can forgive. It’s lazy writing, but it doesn’t really impede the story. What I cannot forgive is the hand-waving that comes next. 

Edelgard has a brief scene where she tells her classmates her intentions - she wants to rid Fodlan of the Church of Serios’s control, claims that Rhea and her fellow beasts have secretly ruled humanity and held them back, and is going to declare war. She asks who will join her. Predictably, all of them do - except Flayn. Edelgard mentions that Flayn has opted not to stay with the group. 

Hmmm. I wonder why. Could it be Edelgard’s lackey kidnapped and tortured her for a whole month, preparing her for blood experiments at the hands of an evil group of mages who just happen to be Edelgard’s allies? Maybe that had something to do with it. The fact the game presents this is as some magnanimous act is hilarious. I believe Edelgard would let someone like, say Petra, turn away too, but she deserves no “brownie points” for allowing someone who she allowed to get tortured and set-up for a slow death as a human sacrifice to leave and not decide to attack her the home where her father still lives. I think this aspect of Edelgard’s character would’ve hit home significantly harder if someone who wasn’t so throughly victimized by Edelgard’s actions had fled, or you actually saw Flayn leave. 

No one asks about the Death Knight. No one asks about Flayn’s kidnapping. No one asks about Kostas attempting to kill students. No one asks about the students kidnapped and experimented on or Remire Village or Jeralt. No one asks where the Crest Beasts Edelgard is using came from. No one asks about the fact she just tried to kill all of them, or what she’s going to do with the Crest Stones. No one even mentions the Flame Emperor. No one questions the history she spilled on them, claiming the church was behind the splitting of Fodlan despite not even having enough knights to guard their own monastery and needed students to help out at events. 

I could buy the Black Eagles running away with Edelgard. The scene where Byleth chooses Rhea or Edelgard is highly emotional. Things happen quickly and no one is given much of a chance to process anything. Rhea doesn’t give anyone much of a choice by shifting into a dragon. I wish they didn’t rely so much on “Rhea bad” to make any sense of siding with Edelgard, but it is believable. What I cannot buy is how no one questions anything afterwards. 

It’s like the whole cast just forgot the first eleven chapters. No one even mentions the Flame Emperor’s existence. The moment the mask came off, it ceased to exist. Everyone mindlessly believes everything Edelgard says, and no one even asks any questions - not about Rhea, not about the history of Fodlan, not about the Flame Emperor’s actions. Barely anyone bats an eyelash at the idea of attacking their own school and killing former classmates, teachers, and friends. Everyone comes across borderline brainwashed. Did the writers have so little faith in Edelgard’s position they were afraid to even attempt exploring it? Even worse is the strategy meeting is just Edelgard, Hubert, and Byleth - the Black Eagles are no where to be seen. It makes them come across like mindless puppets rather than anyone remotely rational - like pawns arranged on a board required for gameplay reasons than actual characters.        

Never in my life have I seen a story throw away so much potential character development and conflict. The situation here is intriguing. Edelgard’s stance is fascinating, but everything falls short when all that’s interesting about it is getting tossed out the window because Rhea is secretly evil and nothing Edelgard did beforehand seems to matter anymore. I am seriously concerned about where this route is heading, because despite the massive potential, it seems like it cares less about that and more about making sure Edelgard looks good rather than complex and interesting, even at the cost of logic, character development, and by turning other interesting characters black so Edelgard has someone she can look better than in comparison rather than standing on her own ideals.     

Verdant Wind

Am I correct in assuming the fandom consensus is that Verdant Wind had the least impactful Flame Emperor reveal? Because it did. 

Edelgard had little to no presence in Verdant Wind. Outside of pre and post class vs class battle banter, her only scene consisted of interrogating Claude and getting and giving no answers. Claude has no connection to Edelgard and neither does Byleth or any of the Golden Deer. When the mask comes off and it’s her face behind it, there’s no emotional response. 

The fallout is equally lackluster. Claude demands answers from Edelgard, which she refuses to answer, and she warps away. Afterwards, things play out the same way they do on every route. And that’s the core issue here. Claude and the Golden Deer bring nothing unique to this scene. Elements of surprise that Edelgard is the Flame Emperor, her willingness to kill all your units to get crest stones, and her declaration of war is there on every route. Claude’s character and goals have had no impact on the plot. 

Analyzing this scene has brought to light my main issue with the Verdant Wind route thus far. It’s that Claude and friends have done nothing to move the plot forward. Things just happen; no character is making anything happen. You could argue it’s the same for the Azure Moon route, but Dimitri’s clearly defined goals and emotional connection makes it a streamlined story with a sense of forward progression instead of plot points getting dumped in the player’s lap. 

It’s too bad, because Verdant Wind could’ve approached this differently. Instead of Claude getting nothing done and shouting about every relic that showed up, he and Byleth could’ve solved mysteries together a la Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boy. For all of Claude’s questioning everything, very little attention was paid to unmasking the Flame Emperor. Verdant Wind guided its players to look at the wrong mysteries - mysteries that ultimately got no answers while ignoring the one part one was actually about figuring out, and if this was flipped, Verdant Wind would’ve had a much more impactful Flame Emperor reveal. 

I will give Verdant Wind major bonus points though. It is nice to see a character question Edelgard about her involvement in things. Dimitri’s too caught up in his Duscur trauma (which I don’t believe Edelgard participated in) and neither Silver Snow and especially Crimson Flower question Edelgard’s actions as the Flame Emperor, but Claude throws at her all the questions I wanted to hear: what about Flayn? What about Jeralt? What about Remire? So congrats Claude, you’re the only character and the only route that’s holding Edelgard actually responsible for her actual actions. If only she was the mystery you were investigating instead of one that went exactly no where for eleven straight chapters. 

Azure Moon

What’s interesting here is that the Flame Emperor’s reveal is less about who the mystery person is and more about our protagonist’s, Dimitri’s, reaction to it. And that is core reason behind this scene’s success. 

Multiple users on here told me to play chapter eleven of Blue Lions first, and I’m both glad and upset I listened to them. Glad, because they were all right, this route had by far the best Flame Emperor reveal, but sad because it all went downhill from there. 

The Crimson Flower/Silver Snow routes should’ve had the best Flame Emperor reveal. After all, those are the routes where Edelgard plays the biggest role, but the follow up to the scene is fairly lackluster, especially in Crimson Flower. Azure Moon, on the other hand, did everything Crimson Flower was afraid to - address the elephant in the room.   

Characters in Crimson Flower respond to the situation as if Edelgard didn’t just try to kill all of them, nor do they ask any questions about her actions as the Flame Emperor. Everyone acts as if none of that ever happened, and by not bothering to even mention it, those actions stick out even worse than they would’ve otherwise. 

The opposite is true in Azure Moon. Everyone is unnerved by Dimitri’s violent outburst. Felix jumps at the chance to tell everyone, “I told you so.” No one knows what to do about Dimitri, nor do they really have time to process anything with Edelgard’s war machine knocking on their front door. However, this is the base expectation of a story - that characters respond realistically to what happened prior instead of teleporting to some surreal dimension where Edelgard isn’t working with people who perform human experimentation. 

So what exactly did Azure Moon do to make this reveal so successful? It utilized the route’s unique aspects: Dimitri’s mental instability and desire for revenge, terrible family history, and emotional connection to Edelgard. 

Unlike Verdant Wind, Edelgard has an actual presence and relevance in Azure Moon thanks to her connection to Dimitri. He cares about her like family, which makes her betrayal more personal and automatically more impactful than in Verdant Wind. Even more brilliant here is milking the emotional aspect of what happened. Instead of focusing on “shocking” the reader with Edelgard’s betrayal, it drops hints about her secret identity with all the subtly of a lead brick. 

You know what inevitable, dramatic, and tragic outcome is coming. Edelgard, Dimitri’s only remaining family (outside of an uncle he’s on bad terms with), is working hand-in-hand with the people who caused the deaths of his family which led to the genocide of a race of people and the source all of his trauma.  Dimitri makes it quite clear he’s out for revenge, and that anything related to Duscur triggers his PTSD so bad it seems like a dissociative or psychotic episode. Azure Moon does not build up a mystery, it builds up an emotional conflict - like watching a train wreck that you know is coming and can’t stop. 

And that’s the brilliance of it - this scene isn’t about Edelgard being the Flame Emperor, we already know that, it’s about Dimitri, who this route is about and who the player is emotionally invested in during this version of the story. 

Nor does this game disappoint here. There’s no softening anything to try and make Dimitri look “better.” He has a full-on violent breakdown. It’s devastating. He is succumbing fully to his demons after fighting against it over and over while getting tossed into triggering situations ad nauseam and getting no help in return (after all, therapy, medication, hell even the concept of mental illness simply doesn’t exist). All the signs that the route has built up explode in an emotional scene, and probably thee best cut scene so far with some of the best voice acting in Fire Emblem to carry it out. Every plot thread comes to a head: Dimitri’s lust for revenge, his unstable mental health, the mystery of the Flame Emperor’s identity, etc . . . 

The upcoming battle has more meaning now. It has what is at steak in the other routes - win or lose and the fear of having to kill former classmates - and more. Because it isn’t just about the battle of Edelgard vs the world, but also the battle for Dimitri’s mental health and for his soul. There’s a bit of a catch-22 here, is Edelgard dying really the best ending? Killing her saves many lives, but at the cost of Dimitri’s mental health? What if she dies and he doesn’t kill her, but what if he does? Would he kill himself now that the dead are avenged? Or what if she lives and this drags on longer? No option is good. There isn’t an easy win button by offing Edelgard or taking over the school. Every possible ending is a bad ending. Your lead character is in the middle of a mental breakdown, and giving into his demons and lust for revenge (which is a separate issue exasperated by ill mental health) and the situation only makes it worse and is to dire to properly let anyone deal with said breakdown. The tension, the drama, the sense of foreboding dread, is all so much more here than in all the other routes. 

What makes Azure Moon’s handling of the Flame Emperor so good is that it widely succeeded where the other two routes failed. Verdant Wind didn’t make the reveal relevant to anything Claude was interested in or working towards. Crimson Flower completely and utterly failed to address Edelgard’s actions let alone use that to create compelling tension. Azure Moon did both. It made the Flame Emperor reveal relevant to the route, even made it actually about the main character of the route. Nor is it shying away from conflict and tension, even if it means letting it’s main character fall out of grace and risking the player’s infatuation/admiration/whatever with/of Dimitri by having him succumb to his dark side. Because it’s not protecting him, he’s going to turn out a way better character for it. 

I will admit though, that I think playing all four routes impacted this a bit. It didn’t benefit Azure Moon, but I think this route spoiling who the Flame Emperor is hurt the other routes. Verdant Wind might’ve had at least some tiny smudge of an impact because it’s the only route where there’s very little way to correctly guess who the Flame Emperor is - the only one where it may be truly a surprise. Crimson Flower/Silver Snow does make it a bit more obvious, but doesn’t quite spell it out for you the way Azure Moon does. Here, the player kind of has to be looking for it. Obviously though, you can only learn this once, and good writing could’ve made all the routes impactful with very small tweaks - have Verdant Wind actually focus on the mystery that’s solved at the end of Part 1 (who is the Flame Emperor) and actually have characters react to and get answers about Edelgard’s actions. I also think the choice between Silver Snow and Crimson Flower looses its tension when you go into it knowing you’ll pick both. Azure Moon easily had the best reveal, so I want to ultimately thank everyone who told me to do this one first - you were all very, very right. 

[spiderman-homecomeme]

the cold (hands) never bothered me anyway

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Five

dialogue: “Your hands are freezing!”

❆❆❆

Michelle tiptoes into the apartment with a stealth that could rival any cat burglar. It’s quiet, save for the gentle hum of the heater as it clicks on. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she shrugs her coat off and drapes it over the back of the couch.

Her hands are cold, stiff from the biting December wind outside. No thanks to her cheap gloves—the very same ones she’s had since high school—of course. She flexes her fingers once, then twice, trying to get some sense of feeling back, but to no avail. 

A shiver rolls up her spine, spreading goosebumps over her skin as she walks to the bedroom. And her smile only widens at the sight on her bed; her boyfriend still asleep—and still very much naked—on his stomach, his face smushed into the pillow. The blanket only covers just enough of him to not be too indecent, but it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her eyes immediately drink in the sight of his muscled back, the way the sheet follows the curve of his ass so nicely. 

But then, as he shifts slightly, the sheet drifting just an inch, she gets an idea. 

A horrible, terrible, evil, awful idea.

As quietly as she can, she pulls off her shoes, placing them gently on the floor. She tiptoes to the bed, slowly crawling up to meet her boyfriend’s peaceful face. She lowers herself next to him, careful to keep her hands away, placing a soft, sweet kiss on his cheek. 

Peter stirs, brow furrowing in slight confusion as he grumbles something incoherent. 

She plants another featherlight kiss on his temple. 

This time, he smiles, his eyes still closed. He hums when her lips trail to his forehead, back to his cheek. 

“Mmmm hi,” he mumbles sleepily, his eyes fluttering open. 

MJ lets out a light laugh. “Hey.” 

“How was class?” He asks, voice thick with sleep, one hand reaching up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. 

“Good.” She leans forward, her lips finding his cheek again, trailing to the corner of his mouth before she pulls back. 

There’s a pout on his face when she opens her eyes. “You missed.”

Her grin widens as she closes the distance between them again, her lips pressing to his, deceptively chaste. He twists a little onto his side, giving them both easier access and deepening the kiss. 

But just as he starts to melt into her, just as his hand comes to rest on her cheek…

Hers sneaks down, icy fingers grabbing a handful of his cheek. 

Payback’s certainly a bitch. 

Peter yelps, letting out a comically high-pitched, involuntary giggle as he practically jumps away from her. “MJ! What—”

“My hands are cold,” she half-smirks, half-pouts. 

“God! Your hands are freezing!” 

Her face aches from how much she’s smiling, the very act of breathing like a normal human being almost impossible from how hard she’s laughing. “That’s what you get.”

“For what?” He asks, jaw dropped, backing away to the other side of the mattress when she holds her hands out again. “What did I ever do?”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one that says he knows exactly what he did. What they’ve been doing for the past few weeks. It had started as a perfectly innocent gesture on Peter’s part, offering MJ a neck massage while she’d been stressing over her final paper for Dr. Scuderi, only for her to cower away from his frigid hands. 

It had then spiraled, MJ thinking it wasn’t fair that Peter didn’t experience the sudden surprise, tickling his sides after being outside with no gloves on. Each time they’d up the surprise factor, how cold their hands were. 

A frozen hand on the small of her back when she’d been cooking their dinner. 

An icy touch on his stomach as they’d cuddled on the couch. 

It was only a matter of time before it escalated out of control, a line had been crossed.

It’s a game they play. Albeit, a stupid one. But a game nonetheless. 

“You came in and woke me up to ‘cuddle,’” she huffs, complete with air quotes. “And put your cold hands on my boobs.”

MJ certainly doesn’t cut any corners, watching him expectantly with a raised brow. 

“Fair.” Peter gives a single nod, corners of his lips twitching downward into a contemplative frown. After a moment of just staring at each other challengingly, he breaks the silence, eyes big and hopeful as he holds a hand out. “Truce?”

MJ eyes him carefully for a moment, lips twisting in thought. She huffs, leaning forward and nudging his hand aside. Peter smirks, eyes closing as he leans in to seal it with a kiss, only to yelp out in surprise when MJ’s might-as-well-be-frostbitten hand shoots out to grab his inner thigh. 

“Hey! I thought we were truce-ing!” 

“We were!” MJ insists innocently, sneaking her hand down again, fingers wrapping around him, already half-hard.

Again, Peter yelps, sucking in a breath. “Hey!” He catches her gently by the wrist before intertwining their fingers together. “Your hands are too cold,” he laughs as she tries to grab him with her other hand. “Here—hey!—Lemme warm them up.” 

“That’s what I was trying to do, though.”

“Not on my dick!” Peter snorts, already taking her hands and bringing them to his lips. “It’s not your handwarmer!”

Her heart flutters in her chest as he plants soft kisses on each of her knuckles, the backs of her hands, the insides of her palms. “I dunno, I’d say it’s a pretty good one.” 

Peter’s eyes flit up to hers as he fights back another laugh, folding his hands over hers in an attempt to warm them more as he pulls her to him. His lips capture hers in a heated, borderline bubbly kiss, his arms coiling around her and holding her to his chest. A shiver ripples through him when her hands smooth over his back, his breath hitching as they softly press into his skin. 

There’s a small smile on his lips as he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Hands still cold?” She asks with a faint grin. 

He kisses her again. “Not as bad. But—” He shifts, grabbing the blanket and pulling it around them both. He leans in, his lips soft on her neck, and he smiles at the way she hums in contentment. “—Because of you—”  

She can feel his grin turn wicked against her neck. 

“My dick is kinda cold.”

The sudden burst of laughter from her chest only makes Peter’s smile grow. “Oh, no,” she manages. “My bad.”

Peter’s grip on her tightens, his touch more insistent, needy even, as he pulls back to look at her with a raised brow.

“Warm it up for me?”

[ellewritesathing]

Is It Love?

Summary: Demons don’t fall in love, do they? Especially not with pretty baristas that haven’t any interest in them ... right?

Word-count: 2.3k+

Masterlist

A/N: kinda crazy to think that Infernal is finished for now?? but you guys really love my fluffy clay boi so here’s some straight up fluff that is so sweet you might get a toothache tbh

Demons didn’t fall in love. Depending on who you ask, they didn’t feel emotions at all, but Caliban knew that wasn’t true. Demons felt everything so intensely that they became bored of it. They were volatile, oscillating between highs and lows at the blink of an eye. Demons were Molotov cocktails of emotion, just waiting for something to ignite them. 

And then you fucked everything up. 

No, you said, you wouldn’t go out with him because you had a strict policy against dating bad boys that had been in place since your first year of college. As if you knew anything about how bad he was. He took the rejection and his coffee with a smile, before walking out the door and stealing the first BMW he could find. 

Was it cliche? Yes. 

Did it make some very satisfying groans as the metal wrapped around a tree? Also yes. 

At the time, he didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you’d said no to him. You were human. You weren’t even his type - just a pretty barista at the only cafe he could find that made his coffee strong enough without burning it. Maybe it was because the coffee only tasted right when you made it and he was just projecting. 

Maybe he was just full of shit.

Other than giving you his order, he didn’t say anything else to you for weeks. He was a demon but he wasn’t a prick after all. But one night, he was there later than usual, lost in the pages of his latest book, when you set a large to-go cup on his table. 

“Sorry, angel,” you said with a smile. It didn’t quite reach your tired eyes. “We’re closing now but here’s one to keep you warm out there.” 

“I must have lost track of time,” Caliban said as he closed the book and started to dig the wallet out of his jeans. 

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell my manager if you don’t,” you said, waving him off. Caliban tilted his head to the side and parted his lips to say something clever he had yet to come up with when you beat him to it. “You’re here all the time, Caliban. I think if we used punch cards you would’ve qualified for a free coffee a while ago.” 

“Well,” Caliban said. He had a funny feeling in his chest, and the worst part was that it didn’t make him feel like committing acts of vandalism. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; almost anything made him feel like vandalism. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” This time your smile did reach your eyes and you laughed to yourself before adding, “Literally, I guess.” 

The next time Caliban went to pick up his order, a little handmade punch card was waiting on top of his coffee for him, your handwriting scrawled over the top. Ten ridiculously overpriced cups of coffee later, and it was you and him alone in the coffee shop. He’d waited until the end of your shift, trying to get as close to that chance encounter of last week as he could. 

He held the punchcard between his index and middle finger as he flashed you a devilish smile. Catching your eye, he lowered the card to the counter and slid it across to you. “So what do I win?” 

“A free cup of closing shift coffee,” you said, turning to the machine and dipping your head to the side as you thought about something. “That you can drink here while I clean up, if you want.”

“A conversation with a pretty girl and a cup of coffee or the chilling walk back to my motorcycle.” Caliban pretended to think about it. “Whatever will I choose?”

You laughed from behind the counter and rolled your eyes. “Settle down there, James Dean.” 

Instead of trying to say something witty, Caliban obediently pulled a chair up to the counter. He watched as you worked, not minding the attention he gave you as you did. Hands quick and nimble, relying more on muscle memory than active thought to work the machine. 

Over one very strong, very black coffee, he learned that you’d never left Greendale but you were working at the coffee shop to save enough money to leave one day. You learned that he’d been all over, and your face lit up whenever he answered your questions the way you’d hoped. As you cleaned the machines and he swept the floor, he told you about his favorite books and you told him about yours. You talked about music and the best hypothetical name for an indie band that only wrote songs about caffeinated drinks. 

(The Transient Coffee Beans was your best pick, The Bland Bastards was his.)

The tightening in his chest when you locked up the store made him want to set something on fire. He didn’t like these feelings - they were insufferably human - and he needed to do something explosive to get rid of them, or at least that’s what he told himself when you turned to give him another smile. You let him walk you to your car, cursing the cold but refusing to use the jacket he offered you. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” you groaned, kneeling next to your car. You felt around the deflated-looking tire and pulled out your dust-covered hands after a few minutes. Looking ready to cry, you turned and sat on the parking lot floor, back against the tire and head tilted up to the night sky. 

Caliban didn’t know what to say. Demons weren’t known for their empathetic listening skills, and it wasn’t like he’d ever tried to comfort anyone before. “Do you have a spare tire?” he asked when his horrible feelings started eating at his stomach in the silence. 

“This is my spare tire.” Weeks, maybe months, of seeing you working with the most high-strung customers and borderline incompetent trainees and Caliban had never heard your voice sound so strained. You took a deep breath and looked over at him. “You don’t have to stay here, you know. I can take care of myself.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Caliban said, shooting you a smile that was very carefully lazy and mischievous. It made you laugh. It made him feel gut-punched. “If you want, my motorcycle’s right around the corner. I could take you home and you could fix all this out in the morning light.” 

Your eyes narrowed slightly in a way he’d never seen in the coffee shop. He tried not to seem affected. “What’s in it for you?” 

Caliban shrugged, looking around. “Another fifteen minutes with you.” 

You thought about it for a second before shaking your head and holding your hands up to him to pull you up. You weren’t even a breath away now. “Don’t crash into anything or I’m going to start spitting in your coffee.” 

“Deal.”

You absolutely obliterated Caliban with questions before you’d even take the helmet from him. Nervousness was a cute look on you, as was the slightly lopsided helmet on your head. Caliban’s fingers lingered slightly under your chin after tightening the strap for you, but all you did was smile before climbing on the seat behind him. 

Your arms wrapped hesitantly around his waist, but your grip tightened as soon as he pulled off. Every time he sped up or took a turn, Caliban felt your arms snug around him. It was a dangerous line to drive between reckless enough to keep you close and so reckless that you’d let go and never come back. 

It was pathetic. 

At one of the lights, Caliban stole a moment to look down at your hands. His shirt was wrinkled into bunches around your deathly tight fingers. You consciously relaxed them and sighed behind him, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat. 

Like he was in a goddamned schoolboy fantasy. 

You were shaky as you climbed off the bike, clumsily getting to your feet and fiddling with the strap under your chin. Caliban didn’t say a word as you handed the helmet back to him; he was too busy staring at your helmet hair. The word ‘adorable’ came to mind, as did ‘arson’ and ‘absinthe’. 

“Well, thanks, James Dean,” you exhaled when he took the helmet from you, hands touching on the underside. “I might get flat tires more often.” 

“I do have a name, you know,” Caliban said with a not so carefully crafted smile. 

“I know. Quintuple shot espresso, no flavor shots or cream and, for the love of Mary, don’t ask if he’s sure,” you said, with a not so carefully crafted smile of your own. “At least, that’s what I tell the trainees.” 

“Bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you started taking steps back to your apartment building. “I’ll see you around, Caliban.” 

Demons didn’t fall in love, that’s what everyone in Hell always said. But Caliban had left that life of torment and punishment behind for the mundane life of making art and committing crime. Any sort of thrill to dust off the familiar rush of adrenaline and ignite some sort of emotion. 

And then you fucked everything up. 

Okay, you said one day as you set his coffee in front of him, here was the deal: you’d go out with him, he’d pick you up at seven but if he was even a minute late then the whole thing was off. He said he understood, thanked you for the coffee, and jumped off the first bridge he could find (sure to teleport before crashing into the river below). 

He knew full well why the jumps and petty crime didn’t make him feel better. For one, they were shit coping mechanisms, but, more importantly, the feelings he had for you couldn’t be extinguished like a kitchen fire. 

His feelings were gasoline and you were a raging fire. 

They burnt bright and hot when you held his hand. Red-hot and violent when you kissed him. Sickeningly electric when your fingers traced his scars and told him he was beautiful. If demons didn’t fall in love, then what the fuck was happening to him? 

What was happening when you held him at night when he couldn’t sleep? (Butterflies. Or a heart attack, more likely). What was happening when you hid your face away every time he asked to paint you? (Stubbornness. He painted you anyway). What was happening when you drank a cup of coffee he made you and tried not to spit it up so as not to hurt his feelings? (Laughter. Also a promise to never, ever make another cup of coffee again). 

And what, if you excuse his language, the absolute fuck was happening to him now that you were away, visiting your family for a few days? 

He’d never been this restless in Hell. 

In Hell, he’d build a sandcastle just to smash it to bits if he got riled up. He’d find some poor soul to torment. He would never, ever cut the sleeves off his shirts just to burn the leftover scraps. He wouldn’t spend hours molding the perfect pottery piece just to break it back down to a lump of clay. And he sure as anything would never, ever drink this much coffee and eat this much takeout. 

It was embarrassing. It was unsightly. It was so very human.

And yet none of the dumb yet legal things he did got his mind off missing you - the only solace he got was the nightly video-chat you shared. He was absolutely disgusting. No better than the foolish lovers that washed up on his shores, joined at the wrists and praying for eternity. 

Not that he was thinking about eternity. 

Not that he was thinking about much of anything when he heard the door click open and a duffel bag drag across the floor of your joint apartment. 

Caliban tossed the book to the side as he threw his legs over the sides of the couch. You were complaining as you made your way to him - could he believe the amount of traffic at this time of day? Jesus, he’d think it was the Second Coming with all the fleeing out of the city - but Caliban didn’t care. Messy hair, wrinkled clothes, snarky upper lip; you were perfect. 

And you were home. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and twirled you around the tiny apartment, accidentally knocking the table that marked the entryway in the process. Your arms tightened around his neck as you pressed a kiss to his temple before turning to check that it was only the keys that landed on the floor in his frantic need to be held. 

“Woah, calm down, James Dean,” you laughed when he eased you back down to your feet. “I wasn’t even gone for a full week.” You ran a hand through his matted curls and Caliban could swear he’d never felt more at peace. “Miss me that much, huh?” 

“Hard to find a decent cup of coffee when you’re not around,” Caliban mumbled, lips grazing yours as he leaned his forehead on yours. 

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics but didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved your hands to either side of his neck and pulled him closer. “I missed you too,” you admitted after giving him the kiss he’d spent days thinking about. You took his hand in yours and led him to the kitchen. “Let’s make you that cup of coffee before the world ends.” 

No, Caliban thought to himself as he watched your tired hands work a machine of a job you’d long-ago quit, demons didn’t fall in love. 

Luckily for him, when he was with you, he was something else entirely.

Tag List:  @caliban-is-my-girl  @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @music-movies  @miss--moose​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby​  @foji2000​  @mschfavngz​  @artaxerxesthegreat​  @thxmagic​  @luquincy  @strawberriesandknives​  @xealia​  @hotmessindisguise​  @olivia-west-allen  @sweetrogers​  @reheated-coffee​  @shelby-x​  @perseny-blog​  @millie-753​  @luneerius​  @shizzybarnaclee​  @lettherebelovex​

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Black Cloth and Star Systems- Fusion AU

Ao3,   MasterPost,  More of This AU

Legally speaking this is the second installment in my fusion au, and u should definitely read the first one!! but it is not necessary to understand this one.

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, (briefly) mentioned romantic Royality

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, minor insecurity (it is Logan after all), one (1) kiss, excessive cuddling, Virgil and the Logan/Virgil fusion both have monster-like traits (big teef, pointy ears, nocturnal eyes, etc.), the fusion is also agender because I said so, and seriously lots of flowery descriptions cuz I was really having a good time with this one. Oh, and lack of sleep/unhealthy sleep schedules, brief mention of paranoia (very very minor), and I think I accidentally implied that Virgil has ADHD but that’s par for the course. 

Word Count: 3,797

Logan stared at the ceiling of his room, tired eyes tracing over the patterns etched into it. They were irregular, scrawls and lines that bumped up from the plaster and stretched on and on. If he squinted, they could almost look like maps- charting and directing the reader across a very foreign land, and in addition the reader might not be good with following maps, which would explain why this one seemed so vague. Or maybe it wasn’t showing a place at all. Nowhere real, at the very least. 

Oh, what the fuck was he talking about. The ceiling was a goddamn ceiling, and Logan was exhausted.

Sleeping would be the ideal solution, and it was something he definitely wasn’t opposed to, but by this point it was borderline impossible. Logan could shut his eyes, but he knew all he’d see would be that blinding flash of pink light. He could try and try to relax beneath his blanket, but still he would see double-set of eyes, swirling between emerald green and cinnamon brown, set behind big cutesy-framed glasses. He’d picture those two pairs of arms, that staggering display of height, and the body that was decorated with gold and crimson and sky-blue. 

What he was seeing was beyond understanding, and it was all that he could think about. His friends had fused. Patton and Roman, out of pretty much nowhere, had become one being right before everyone’s eyes. One burly, talkative, and endlessly fascinating being.

Like any person who persistently sought knowledge, Logan had taken to investigating the new creature at once. He’d had questions, burning questions, but Patron- as he’d named himself- had requested some alone time in his new form. It was a perfectly reasonable ask, so Logan resolved to postpone his interviewing until Patron was ready. But then, just as he was looking forward to finding out more about him that next morning, he was back to being two sides. Two sickeningly sweet sides who were way too caught up in their new relationship to answer any of Logan’s questions copacetically (All their answers had been full of purple prose, talking about how fusing was just the most amazing thing, and providing no real insight into it at all). 

Logan, presented with bizarre occurrences and offered no explanation, was understandably restless, abuzz with curiosity, and frustrated. And, if he was being honest, he was interested in the topic beyond what could be considered objective study, as well.

Very interested, in fact. He found himself wondering that… perhaps… Was he also capable of fusion?

Yes, the best way to learn about it would be to experience first-hand, so that would solve that problem. But that was hardly Logan’s entire reason for wanting to try it; Patton had soundly reported that forming Patron helped his and Roman’s communication by miles. Specifically vis a vis their more affectionate emotions, which really ended up being the thesis of the whole ordeal. It was, fundamentally, a very affectionate thing. 

Logan sat up abruptly, shooting a glare at his door from across the room. This was getting ridiculous; it would be a horrible idea to try something as significant as fusing with so little information on it. Just because it seemed self-explanatory didn’t mean that it was, and the results could be unstable and catastrophic!

But. 

But it wouldn’t be. There was the side he knew- the side he trusted- well enough to believe that it wouldn’t really go so awry.

Logan was making excuses.

What was there to be explained verbally that wouldn’t be much easier to just experience? Patron had proved two things: 1, fusing could happen, and 2, fusing could un-happen without issue. Any of the specifics would be figured out best by firsthand experience, that was pretty evident.

So Logan was making a few excuses, and maybe he was a bit scared about the whole thing, but so what? It was a moot point anyway, because Virgil would never want to participate in it, anyway. The idea of fusion would only upset the anxious side, maybe send him spiraling, and that was the last thing Logan wanted. 

With a groan, Logan flopped back down onto his bed, resuming his studious observation of the popcorn-patterned ceiling.

… 

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

Logan dragged himself up yet again, flinging the covers off of his legs harshly. He sat, immobile, glaring down just past the foot of his bed for an uncertain amount of time. He then heaved a very over dramatic sigh, kicked his legs over the side of his mattress, and stood. He set his feet down as though the carpet had personally wronged him, trodding across the room and throwing his door open with the same temperament. 

 The hallway was pitch dark, but Logan barely noticed it. He made his way down the stairs, the map of the Mindpalace splaying out in his head and directing him as well as light would. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, his (moody) stomping ceased, for the time being. He tipped his head to one side, confused, as he listened out. 

There was a perfect silence.

An abrupt perfect silence. The very specific type of quiet that was too clearly manufactured. Such a- a tense hush could only be brought about by someone deliberately holding their breath. 

Logan shuffled his feet, peering into the blackness. Something shifted over by the couch, and the gleam of two reflectively-paneled eyes made themselves apparent. Logan yelped in fright, stumbling over his legs and bumping his back into the wall. 

There was a thump from across the room, a curse of ‘oh, shit’, and another shimmer from those eyes, animalistic and narrow. 

“Logan?” A gravelly voice asked, “Is that you?”

Logan blinked, staring at the dark silhouette that had come to stand before him. Animalistic, perhaps, but very very tall, and very very person-shaped. 

“Virgil?”

A lamp clicked on, washing the room in low and orange light, revealing that the creature was indeed Virgil. He looked considerably more human, now that he could be seen past his imposing outline- and he also looked more tired. 

Somehow, despite all of the other oddities in their situation, Logan found himself preoccupied by the smallest detail.

“Your eyes, Dear,” he drew forward for a closer look,  “How haven’t I noticed? They’re reflective!”

Virgil shrugged impassively, leaning down to let Logan hold his head and examine the unusual feature. 

“You can’t really tell unless it’s very dark out, or if you know what you’re looking for. I guess it just never came up.”

“But you can see in the dark, then?” Logan asked, perfectly aware that he sounded more than a little awed. Virgil just snorted, looking endeared. 

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’, “Is it that big of a surprise?”

Logan turned the question over in his mind, but after a moment he shook his head, no. Virgil already had a multitude of unique attributes- his fangs, his claws, and a few more distinct things that only appeared when he got particularly stressed. (All of the sides had traits like those, actually. Of them, Logan was certainly the most average- the only discrepancy had to be his slightly exaggerated proportions, and even that couldn’t compare to some of the others’.)

Virgil hummed vacantly, shifting his weight a few times over. He kneaded his shoulder, glancing down at Logan with sudden interest. 

“So, what’s up with you? It’s like, three in the morning.” 

Logan stiffened, but tried to disguise the worry. 

“I could ask you the same question,” he deflected, ineffectively. Virgil only smirked in response. 

“I mean, I guess you could: paranoia, pent up energy, general inability to focus- you know, the stuff that keeps me up every night. You, though,” Virgil hovered over him, making him tilt his head back to keep eye-contact with their height difference. Logan felt his face flush, though it was only partially due to embarrassment. “You don’t stay up late, L, like ever.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” he once more evaded. 

“You’re always thinking,” Virgil responded with a laugh, but he stood up straighter and gave Logan his space. Logan glanced up, confused, only to get a shrug by way of reply. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, babe. I’m not gonna, like, interrogate you. I just… wanna make sure you’re okay, is all.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Virgil gestured to the couch, returning the smile.

“Wanna stay up with me? Might help you get your mind off whatever it’s on.”

Logan relaxed at that, nodding a bit sleepily as he followed his partner to the sofa. 

Virgil’s arm was twined around Logan’s waist, holding him into the taller trait’s side as they sat comfortably on the couch. In the near pitch dark, Virgil’s laptop was propped up against the coffee table, the screen lit up by slightly unnerving YouTube animations. 

Truth be told, though, Logan had paid attention to exactly none of them. He had a few reasons for this: one, he was very sleepy. Two, Virgil was warm- much warmer than himself, as Logan had always had strangely cold skin, and the heat was calming. And three, he was still caught up in his own thoughts, albeit less frantic and frightened versions of them by this point.

He knew that Virgil could easily sense his anxiety, but still, Anxiety did not pry. Add that to the many-paged list of reasons why Logan appreciated him as much as he did. 

Appreciate him he did, yes, and he also- he trusted him. Completely. To such a degree that, in the serene partial-silence between the couple, Logan found himself wondering what would happen if he just… told Virgil? If he explained what was on his mind, would it really upset him as much as he feared? The idea of fusing, well, just talking about it couldn’t be too much of a disaster. They were too strong, too stable for that.

“Virge?” Logan didn’t turn to look at him as he spoke. The name was really just a murmur on his lips, uttered noncommittally and with the hope that it might just go unheard.

With a soft click, the video paused, and Virgil shifted. 

“Yeah?”

Oh. He was really doing this.

“Could I ask you about something?” Logan would’ve left it at that, but feeling Virgil tense up beside him, he hurried to elaborate: “It’s nothing bad, my love, I just- it’s what’s been worrying me, this evening.”

“Uh- ask away, I guess..”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate increase concerningly. He was thankful for the lack of light in the room; if the embarrassed heat spreading across his face was any indication, he likely looked just as nervous as he felt.

He exhaled, trying to focus on Virgil’s arm around him instead of the worries. Everything would be alright.

“You remember when Patton and Roman fused, I trust?”

There was an almost subtle intake of breath from Virgil. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t about to forget something like that, L.”

“Right, of course,” Logan found Virgil’s hand and wound their fingers together, fiddling with them. “I just wanted to know your thoughts on the situation.”

There was a beat.

“Um. I’m just relieved that they could get back to normal, I guess. I was sorta worried they’d get stuck- which doesn’t make a lot of sense in hindsight, but with how clingy they both are, I mean…” 

Logan hummed, encouraging him to go on, despite the intelligent side’s swiftly fading hope.

“But, like, now that I know they’re okay, I guess it’s not really any of my business?” Hesitation laced Virgil’s voice, as though he wasn’t sure what he was meant to say. “Other than that, though, I just think it’s kind of weird. Like, the whole idea of it. Fusion.”

“‘Weird’ in a negative sense?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil huffed, “I mean, I’m not a big fan of cartoons but- it’s weird like it’s interesting, weird like I wanna know more. If that makes any sense.”

Oh. That was promising.

“It does make sense,” Logan whispered, desperately emphatic. The glow of Virgil’s eyes turned to him, wide enough that they looked like little full moons.

“Did you-” he stopped short. Inhaled sharply. Then asked it all in a rush: “Are you asking because you wanted to try it? With me?”

Logan stayed silent, gripping too-tight to his boyfriend’s hand. He sounded… surprised? But maybe not upset? 

Oh, who was he kidding, he’d never been able to read tones, really, and it was too dark to try and figure out Virgil’s body language. He’d just have to go blind on this one.

“Yes,” Logan blurted, immediately holding his breath for a response.

Virgil was as stiff as a board. His hand was frozen in place, his gaze boring into Logan. 

“Are you sure?” 

His tone was soft, sweet, and so so careful. Logic blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Virgil, but he knew that it wasn’t something so… gentle.

“I- maybe? It’s not necessary, if you don’t think you’d be comfortable with-”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Virgil interjected, “I wanna know if you’re sure that you want this, not how you think I feel.”

Logan mumbled an apology, feeling oddly chastised. He collected his thoughts and tried again.

“Yes, I’m sure. I- I trust you, Virgil.”

Virgil relaxed considerably, his head dropping to rest in Logan’s hair. 

“Okay. Good.”

And with that, he went quiet again. The show was not unpaused, though. Logan wondered if he was meant to say something, and if so he wondered what it was. But in the end he couldn’t make any sound at all.

Virgil’s hand slipped out of his, instead moving to the back of his neck. Logan instinctively leaned forward with its direction, letting himself be held close. In turn, he wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist, turning sideways into him. He was close enough now to hear the beat of the anxious side’s heart, which was always rather quicker than anyone else's. This time, though, it was like a hummingbird’s, hammering loud and excited.

Logan tilted his head (as much as he could) in confusion. Had the conversation somehow affected Virgil more than it first seemed? Was something about the situation that spiked his anxiety? But that didn’t add up, either, because his breathing was completely even, and he wouldn’t let anyone be this close to him if he really was panicking.

Before Logan could ask what- if anything- was wrong, Virgil nestled his face in his hair, holding him impossibly tighter. And at that point, they were pressed flush together head-to-toe. And that was what made it click. 

Oh, they were doing this now. This- this was Virgil’s way of attempting- 

Logan hooked his ankle around Virgil’s, clumsily attempting to reciprocate the- erm, the Thing That They Were Trying. Heat rose in his cheeks at even the thought of it. 

What was he supposed to do? Was there some way to activate it? Was it enough to simply touch, or was movement required to fuse? What if they couldn’t get it to work at all? That would make plenty of sense, Logan was logic and what was the possibility that he’d follow the same rules as, say, Roman-

“Hey.”

Logan glanced up, his neck straining at the angle. Virgil was gazing down at him, pupils expanded with fondness, his fingers easing through the hairs at the back of Logan’s neck.

“Calm down, okay?” 

Logan might have commented on the irony of that, but Virgil was leaning forward and pressing their lips together oh-so gently, and all his thoughts flew out of the proverbial window as he kissed back. 

It was soft, light, maybe a little clumsy. The touch was barely-there, really, just ghosting. And then it wasn’t there, at all. The feeling faded, as did so many others, but neither of them were moving apart- or at least, they didn’t think that they were. If anything, they seemed to be getting closer, and closer, but-

Closer to what, exactly?

They opened their eyes. Wait, no, they blinked a couple of times- ah, there, they opened all- five?- of their eyes. Not only was it no longer pitch black, but it seemed that lights had been conjured above them, dozens of tiny purple and blue tea lights that cast the living room in a pleasant glow.

Had- had they caused that? Somehow?

Conjuring on accident- how did they manage that? And what else could they do? What couldn’t they do, though, in this new form? Something like them was bound to have limitations.

They stood up sharply, and immediately cracked their head against the ceiling. They yelped in pain, silently amending that standing up straight while indoors was the first limitation to note. They hunched over, managing to keep upright if they just bent their knees and tilted their neck. And that brought on a much more important investigation into themself: their new physical form.

They were obviously very tall, but also sort of- long in general? Their limbs, their fingers, their face, every feature was very narrow, almost spider-like. And, on the topic of spider-like limbs, they had two sets of arms; one in the usual place, but another placed behind that, curving around from just under their shoulder blades. In addition, their fingers, lithe and spindly, were six on each hand. Despite the unordinary length to many of their appendages, though, they were still noticeably muscular. Wide shoulders, a defined abdomen, and sturdy legs.

With a sharp wave of their hand, they conjured a full-body mirror to hang in front of them, promptly leaning over to examine themself.

Their face was made of edges; sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, and blocky glasses that covered all of their eyes but the middle one. They ran their fingers through their shaggy, curled up hair- a good deal of which fluffed forwards past their forehead and into their face. It was mixed colors, swirls of purple and blue blending together in soft, bouncy locks. 

They had interesting features aplenty, but one thing stood out dramatically. One thing that drew their attention at once. 

The mouth.

Their lips were dark- almost black, with hints of color toned under it. They dragged a finger along it, but it didn’t wipe away like makeup. They opened their mouth, revealing long needles of teeth, dozens and dozens of them top and bottom- all except for the upper canines. Those were thick, overly large, and tinted with purple. They ended in dangerous looking points, shoving out past the new side’s lips even when they closed their mouth, appearing much like an arachnid's venomous mandibles. 

They took a step back from the mirror, experimentally poking their big fangs. To their surprise, the teeth moved; just a wiggle, but enough to show that they were mobile, that they could be flexed and retracted. Well, that was...

That was sick as hell.

Now, to investigate their outfit: they were a little monstrous, sure, but also very smartly dressed. They wore a navy blue plaid waistcoat, laid overtop of a pastel purple sweater, which in turn was beneath a plain, black, short-sleeved button-up shirt. Their tie was a simple white with subdued flecks of violet and sapphire, dotted to look intentionally asymmetrical. 

Their lower half also bore a layered aesthetic: sheer lavender leggings beneath strategically ripped black jeans. They also wore a short, tight skirt over it, the color and pattern matching that of their waistcoat. A few chains dangled from the belt loops on their hips, clinking a little as they moved. They had sleek black shoes with small platforms, something vaguely Demonia-style. Altogether, the look was a strange blend of elegant and alternative. Strange, but very, very, very… becoming, to say the least. 

They couldn’t help staring at themself. Actually, ogling might be the more accurate word. They were hot, was that vain to say? If it was, they didn’t particularly care, because it was true. Of all the things they could have been together, confident wasn’t expected, but it was more than welcome. Because- damn.

Five minutes of gawking at their own reflection wound up being enough, in the end, and they forced themself to wave the mirror back out of existence. There were so many more things to consider about themself, after all, and that just couldn’t wait any longer. There were infinite things to know, God, they were a new creature entirely.

It was… it was overwhelming. They had so many questions. They had so many concerns, millions of them, and millions of thoughts that didn’t fit into either of the aforementioned categories, thoughts that existed just to fill up space in a head that suddenly felt overpacked. Too many minds in such a reduced space.

It���s okay, they thought, sucking in a deep, slow breath, One at a time, Dear.

There’s too much. I can’t see it all. I can’t explain all of it.

Which half of them was that? Was it… both? Both of them, comforting and receiving comfort? What an impossible creation they’d become! Wait, no, they had to focus on calming down before they gave that any thought. 

We can’t get to all of it, they agreed with themself, Some of it, though, certainly.

Like what?

They thought for a moment.

We could start with a name?

Oh. That’s probably important.

Yes, just a bit. 

They let their breath out in a laugh, pulling their sleeves past their hands and curling their fingers in the fabric. It took only a second of contemplation before, quite promptly, they knew what they were going to be called from now on. They knew their name, and everything else began to click into place from there.

Livril.

They sighed, contented, and sat back into the corner of the sectional. They didn’t exactly fit, curling up on the couch as they had before, but they were easily flexible enough to find a way. Now that they knew their name, they could really start learning who exactly Livril was.

There was so much they could learn from this, so many things they could enjoy this way. What music did they like? (Probably sad. Most certainly folk punk.) How did they speak? (sharply, they would guess.) How did they move? (Quick, startling, definitely fidgety.)

And that was hardly all, though it was a good start. There was so much more to get to, and they intended to answer all of it as soon as possible.

...But that ‘as soon as possible’ would probably be in the morning, because Livril fell asleep exactly two minutes after their head hit the couch cushion.

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

“ I hate you. ”

Oof, this one made me sad! There’s a lot of angst in this one! 

Masterlist on AO3! 

Arthur’s been in a strange mood for the past few days. He’s hardly been in camp, which is nothing new. This man is constantly running around, doing jobs for people in camp and finding treasures, hunting and trading animals, meeting new people. What’s weird about his recent behavior is that the times he’s been in camp, he’s avoided you. 

You and Arthur have been a couple for nearly a year and you’ve rarely fought. Arthur’s always been thoughtful and sweet, and he knows you better than anyone else. If he asked you to marry him, you’d say yes. A few days back, he’d been in camp and he’d just snipped at everything you seemed to do or say. It was almost like he wanted to start a fight. Worse was that he didn’t seem to want you close to him. You’ve never been an overly touchy person, but he’s the exception. That day, whenever you tried to hold his hand or touch his arm, he’d brush you off. 

Then later that night, he went into your shared tent and found your journal, which you’d left there and forgotten. It was lying open on a page where you’d drawn his face and a small entry that had nothing to do with him. Arthur picked it up and flipped through the pages and found that on almost every single one, he was mentioned or you’d drawn him.

When you came in to go to sleep, he jumped on you. He accused you of being obsessive, even on the edge of being creepy. He said some pretty bad things along with those and you just stood there, not defending yourself. It was a habit of yours from your childhood as your parents constantly yelled at you and if you argued back, they’d get meaner. So you just let Arthur be mad and say those things. You wiped away a tear before he saw and left the tent to sleep elsewhere. 

Were you creepy? Was your habit of focusing on Arthur unhealthy, even borderline stalker? You don’t know, you’ve never been in love before. Not like this anyways. He saved your life a few months before you started dating, there’s no doubt about that. 

Your parents had died a long time ago and they left you in the care of your mother’s sister. She was more of a proper mother than yours ever was and she raised you properly, teaching you how to take care of  yourself. She was your best friend too. But then she got sick and within days was dead. In your grief, you left her home and just wandered, searching for purpose. Sunk in your grief and depression, Hosea found you and brought you to his gang, but it was Arthur who helped you go through your grief. He was the one who took interest in you, who you told about your past, and it was he who helped you go through the motions of grief and he was always the one there to help you stand when you didn’t have the strength. There’s no doubt in your mind that without his help, you would have killed yourself. Arthur saved you. 

You never saw your habits of drawing him or talking about him in your journal was unhealthy. Sure, you stuck to him more than the others, but he was your boyfriend, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? You’d thought your relationship was strong, healthy, but Arthur pointed out the obvious flaws that night. You still remember the way he threw your journal on the ground. 

Over the past couple of days since the fight, Arthur’s hardly been around and he’s avoided you like the plague. You’ve come to a particularly painful decision; it’s time to end the relationship. Arthur clearly wants nothing to do with it, or you for that matter. He strolls in on his big horse and you call him over. You see him roll his eyes a bit and take in a deep breath, but he walks over. 

“What is it?” he says in a cold voice, his hands on his gunbelt. 

“We need to talk, Arthur. Alone.” You walk off into the trees, listening to him follow. When you’re near the river’s edge beneath Horseshoe Overlook, you stop and turn. Your chest is tight and there’s a big lump in your throat. You don’t talk for a while. 

“You gonna say somethin’ or am I free to let my mind wander?” Arthur snaps after waiting a few moments. 

You sigh again. “Sorry. I’m just… trying to decide how to do this.” You bite your lip and then speak up. “Arthur, I think it’s best we stop seeing each other.” 

“Well that ain’t possible, the camp ain’t that big.” 

“You know what I mean, Arthur. I clearly creep you out and I… I don’t want to be with you anymore,” you lie. 

Arthur lowers his brow and looks at you hard. “Fine. That’s just fine.” 

He stalks back up the hill before you have a chance to say anything further. You sink down on a rock and cry. Time passes and when you’re ready to rejoin camp, it’s well into the afternoon. 

The next few days are particularly difficult. Arthur comes around camp more often now that you’re not dating, but whenever you’re in ear shot, you swear you hear him make some kind of snide remark. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that you broke up, but he doesn’t go boasting about it either. At least he has the decency to do that. Whenever he goes to greet the girls and make sure they’re doing fine, he pointedly ignores you. 

Four days of this go by and you’re not sure how much longer you can take it. You feel yourself sinking into that familiar pit that Arthur helped you climb out of. 

One afternoon, you’re standing at Pearson’s wagon, making the last parts of tonight’s stew. Arthur walks past without throwing you a glance, but then Abigail walks up to him. 

“How you doin’, Arthur? I hear you went and saw that Mary again.” 

Arthur just chuckles and hides his eyes beneath his hat, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Yes, but I just helped her with a favor.” 

“I always did like her,” Abigail says. You know she’d never say this in front of you, but she clearly hasn’t noticed you. “You two sweet on each other again? Sure it’d be a change for you.” 

Arthur huffs a bit. “Nah, like I said, just helpin’ her with a favor.” He peaks over Abigail’s shoulder and spots you. “Was nice bein’ with a woman who at least pretended like I wasn’t the center of her world.” 

You wince at the remark as it was clearly intended for you. Your eyes begin to tear up and you hear Abigail say something, but you don’t hear what she says over the roaring in your ears. “I hate you, Arthur Morgan,” you mutter under your breath. 

Feeling hurt and betrayed, you slam down the corn you’d been stripping of its hair and stalk off over to the horses. Without looking back at him, you mount up on your horse and gallop out of camp. You hear someone calling your name, but you ignore it. You’re glad that you always keep your tent, bedroll, guns and extra clothes in your saddlebag. You’re leaving the Van der Linde gang and you’re not coming back. You can’t come back. 

*********************************

Right after Arthur made the remark about Mary not being “obsessed” with him, he felt incredibly guilty, especially when he saw your face. How your entire face went red and your eyes grew shiny with moisture and your lip trembled. He knew he’d taken things too far, but then you got off on your horse and ran off. He’d called your name but you ignored him. 

Arthur puts his hands on his hips and sighs. He’s really messed up now, he knows it. He shouldn’t have been so hard on you, but he was devastated when you’d broken things off with him. When you said you didn’t want to be with him anymore, it broke his heart but he wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. 

It was true, Arthur had found it strange and a little unsettling how he seemed to be your entire world. When he’d flipped through your journal, he hadn’t really bothered to read the passages. He’d just seen his name scribbled among them and seen your sketches of his face, his body. If he’d read it, he would have found them filled with emotion, gratitude and love. He’d gotten angry with you because he was worn out, exhausted from how much he’d been sent off on jobs. Then he’d gotten that damn letter from Mary and his mind went into a confusing whirlwind of emotions, with memories of both you and Mary tumbling around. 

Arthur did love you more than Mary, but she had some kind of mysterious hold on him. She always had and he hated it, especially since she knew it and played him better than anyone else could. You never once accused him of being a horrible man, never asked him to change, never looked down on him. He felt better when he was around you, like he was worthy of gaining redemption for his bad choices. Mary only told him how she should have hung him years ago. 

Arthur rubs his jaw, staring off into the trees where you’d run off. He’d heard you mutter that you hated him and he doesn’t blame you. He knows he’s taken things too far since you broke up and he has a feeling you didn’t do it because you wanted to, but because you were under the impression it was what he wanted. He also remembers the horrible things he’d said to you in the tent that night, how you’d just stood there. You must have believed those things, why else wouldn’t you try to contradict him? 

Hosea walks up to him and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Son, think you got a little out of hand with her,” he says. 

“No doubt,” Arthur says. “But maybe it’s for the best, Hosea. After all, she was a little….  Don’t you think she was a little too obsessed with me?” 

Hosea gives him a curious look. “No, I don’t think that at all.” 

“Well, you didn’t see her journal. I was on almost every page of that thing.” 

Hosea smiles. “And how many pages of your journal does she occupy? I dare you to count them, Arthur. You might be surprised. There’s a fine line between being obsessed and being in love.” 

Arthur just huffs and walks off to his tent. Hosea’s got him thinking: how much of his journal are you in? He pulls it out and flips through it. Sure enough, you’re mentioned or sketched on a large portion of the pages. In fact, most of them have you. Arthur’s heart sinks further and then he looks up at the table where he keeps a picture of you next to the photo of his mother. Lying next to it is your journal. You never picked it up after he threw it on the ground, too afraid to come back to the tent to collect it. 

He grabs it and flips through it again. He takes the time to read the passages and most of the ones he’s mentioned is you stating the things he’s taken you to see or do, how grateful you are he helped you to live so you could experience life. He realizes your behavior is not obsession, but love and adoration. 

When he gets to the last page in your journal that you wrote in, he comes to the conclusion that it’s a good thing you dumped him. After all, he’s not worthy of you.

***********************************

Two weeks have passed since you left camp. You’ve made no plans or intentions to ever go back, not when you know Arthur will be there. You’ve set up a small, make-shift camp in Big Valley, a place Arthur showed you months ago. It’s been one of your favorite places ever since and the sunrises and sunsets are out of this world. Game and wild herbs are plentiful, the stream provides more than enough water to support you. This is the perfect place. You’ll stay here for a long time. 

Of the gang, you’ve heard nothing, to which you’re grateful. Most of them were your friends and you didn’t take the time to say good-bye. Arthur had hurt you so badly, you couldn’t stay any longer. You still think about him everyday. How could you not? You were intending to be with him your entire life, even if you never got married. You just wish things hadn’t ended so badly, all your memories of him are tainted by it. Sometimes, you wish you’d never fallen in love with him. It would make things easier. 

It’s late afternoon and you’re out hunting. A large herd of pronghorns graze peacefully near a large dead tree on the banks of the shallow stream. You take down a buck easily, but you feel another pang that if it weren’t for Arthur, you’d be starving right about now. He was the one who taught you how to hunt and butcher. You skin the pronghorn and take as much meat as you can carry, then you go back to your little camp. When you get there, you’re forced to a stop. Someone’s in your camp. 

You recognize Arthur’s form too easily and your heart begins to pound in your chest. What has he come here for? Has Dutch sent him to hunt you down and drag you back to camp? No, Dutch always said no one was forced to stay with the gang, it’s not a prison camp. Then is Arthur here to start another fight? Is he going to try and kill you? You don’t like to think he intends to, but the thought still crosses your mind. 

You stand there and stare at his back for a long time. He’s sitting at the fire, clearly waiting for you. He must feel your presence because he finally turns around and looks at you. He sighs, looking a little relieved. He stands up and turns his body to face you. 

“Hey sweetheart. Don’t be nervous, I ain’t here to hurt ya.” He puts his arms up as if he’s surrendering. 

You’re in a defensive stance, your eyes don’t blink as they flit over his form. “What do you want, Arthur?” you say quietly. 

“I just wanted to come and apologize. I’ve always been a fool, but lately I’ve been a complete ass.” 

You breathe out hard, almost as though you’re skeptical. “Why would you apologize to me, Arthur? I’m your stalker, remember? I give you the creeps.” 

He looks down. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I should never have said those things. They aren’t true, never have been. I just… saw your journal, but didn’t bother to really look at it and I jumped to conclusions. Hosea gave me some hard truths and I’ve realized you ain’t ever been what I accused you of. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He looks up again and his eyes are glittering. “Darlin’, I ain’t here to try and convince you to take me back. Hell, don’t! I don’t deserve ya. But I made ya feel like you weren’t welcome anymore and that’s not fair. I just wanted to let you know you still have a home with the gang. I won’t get in the way of that.” 

You haven’t relaxed your stance. He sighs again. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I… I hope you’ll come home. Not for me, but for everyone else. They all miss you. Especially Mary-Beth and Jack. They’ve missed your funny stories.” 

Arthur heads over to his horse and mounts up. Without another word, he rides off. When you’re sure he’s gone, you creep over to your camp. Nothing has been moved or taken, in fact you see a folded piece of paper on your bedroll. Opening it, you see a sketch of you. You recognize Arthur’s work. At the bottom of the page, you see in his loopy writing, the words “I love Y/N”. A ball forms in your throat again, but you’re not really sure how to respond from here. 

*******************************

Two days later, you finally pack up your camp and head back to Horseshoe Overlook. When you return, you’re welcomed with open arms and happy smiles. Hosea pats your shoulder, stating it’s good to have you back. Pearson’s ecstatic when you give him all the pelts and meat you’ve collected during your trip. Jack runs over, asking if you saw any unicorns (your last story had been about a princess who met a unicorn in a forest). 

The last person who comes to greet you is Arthur. When you both lock eyes, everyone turns away and goes back to their own tasks, knowing you both need your privacy. Arthur wears a small, shy smile and he walks over to you. 

“I’m glad you came home, Y/N.” He shuffles his feet a little, wanting to say a thousand things to  you. However, he doesn’t want to pressure you to take him back, knowing it’s not fair to you. “Well, let me know if you need anything.” He tips his hat and starts walking away. 

Before he gets far, you grab his hand, spin him around to face you and bury your head into his chest. His chest clenches hard, but he folds his arms around you. He feels the moisture from your eyes seeping into his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He kisses the top of your head and squeezes you. 

“I love ya,” he whispers in your ear. 

You look up at him, your eyes red and puffy, fresh tracks running down your cheeks. “I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker- Anger

very loosely based on Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington from Stranger things. 

TW: Please be careful! Explicit abuse, parental abuse (tony’s dad, Peter’s step dad), violence, Tony punches Peter in the face once, both peter and tony are being abused by their parents, unhealthy coping mechanisms, brief mentions of homophobic slurs, somehow a happy ending, high school au, just- be careful, my lovelies! 

Tony’s known pretty boys like Peter Parker his whole life.

They aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on, and they are printed on paper: stick thin and flimsy. Two dimensional, boring, shallow, materialistic. They’re a dime a dozen back in Phoenix, and frankly, Tony wasn’t impressed with them there, so here, in this dreary little town where school spirit and pep leaks outside of the school’s hallways and into the streets, where popularity matters deep in the suburbs the same way it does in the classroom, Tony really isn’t impressed.

Pretty boys like Peter Parker are pretty, and that’s all they’re good for. A bit of eye-candy.

The bubbly-blonde, cotton-candy cheerleader who’s been assigned to showing him around the school, does so with an enthusiasm that’s borderline revolting. “There are loads of school clubs, you should totally join, like, all of them! Peter’s on the committee, and he’s so open to new ideas, if you think of a club just run it by him! He’d be so happy to! He also hosts these, like, killer parties! And it’s always open invitation, Peter’s house is totally lush, he has this huge pool and his parents are like, never home-“

Jesus Christ, it’s all so inane. Tony reaches for his cigarettes and the girl stutters to a halt as she watches him light it up right there in the hall. Her eyes are wide with awe- rimmed with arousal and wrongness. Tony resists the urge to smirk. It’s all so easy. Cookie-cutter town like this, where the most popular guy in school is on fuckin’ committees for school clubs, he’s not surprised that dark, slicked back hair, black-rimmed eyes and a cigarette will be enough to rework the social structure.

In fact, he’s sort of banking on it.

“Y-you’re not allowed to smoke in here,” she breathes in amazement, and Tony chuckles, fumes curling around his jaw.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He says around his cigarette, giving her a wink. “You gonna tell on me?”

She shakes her head, hair swishing with her promise, and when the tour ends- she races off, no doubt, to tell the food chain of the cafeteria what she’s witnessed.

* *

Maria cries that night, when Howard kicks Tony’s face so hard he can feel his eye bulge a little.

Tony wants to tell her not to cry. He wants to gather her into his arms and spit blood and say I told you he wouldn’t change just because we’ve moved states. He can’t change, mom. He won’t change.

He loves her for loving him. He hates her for not saving him.

He swallows down putrid blood and sleeps in his car.

When he wakes up, there’s fresh bandages tucked into his glove compartment, a packed lunch, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a post-it note that says (in handwriting that trembles) that maybe he shouldn’t come inside for breakfast. I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Mom xx

* *

The rumour mill has been churning, and when he walks into school with his shiner, it just spins even faster.

People gape, a few, braver ones, flutter over, hovering, but not quite speaking.

Tony feels pretty damn good. It’s nice to feel handsome. Powerful. Nice to know that somewhere, he can exude a little control.

But to be King, there has to be a de-throning.

“You,” he drawls, slamming a locker shut and narrowly missing a freshman’s fingers. “Peter Parker, where is he?”

The freshmen swallows hard, shrinking into his neck. “Uh-uh- p-probably in the a-art rooms, T-Tony.”

Tony grins, and pats him on the cheek. The boy already knows his name. Everyone must.

Without another word, he turns and heads for the art rooms.

When he gets there, his breath catches in his throat.

Dappled in sunlight, twisting spirals of cedar hair, amber eyes and practically drenched in a golden aura, is Peter Parker.

He’s frowning at a canvas, and it makes Tony seethe.

Pretty boys like that are all the same. Oh, is his biggest fucking problem the fact he can’t decide what to paint? He certainly doesn’t have any money issues, not if the expensive shoes are anything to go by. The designer jeans, the pink sweater with the ruffled lace collar.

Tony hates him. Fucking envies him. The sight of him- so beautiful, so serene- so troubleless, he has everything. He has everything. No doubt two parents who adore him, a nice house, money, talent, beauty- a future. And everyone here adores him, fuckin’ thinks he hung the moon in the sky.

“You think you’re worth anything?” Howard sneers, jabbing Tony’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. “You ain’t worth a damn thing, sport. You’re worth shit.”

“Well,” Tony smiles, all mean and sharp at the edges, and feels a vicious sort of victory in the way Peter jumps.

Like he’s not used to be snuck up on. Like he’s not used to being scared. “Oh, you scared me,” the boy laughs, a blush on his cheeks, “you must be Tony-“

“You’re as pretty as they said you were.” Tony continues, because he doesn’t want to hear Peter’s sweet voice. Doesn’t want to hear another word out of his mouth. “Prettier, even. They don’t do you justice.” He trails his fingers across still-wet canvases drying on easels, smudging and ruining the paintings.

“Hey, I think- you’re not supposed to touch those,” Peter points out worriedly, pearly teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “You might accidentally-“

Tony moves so quickly it must look like he’s teleported. He backhands Peter so fucking hard, it’s so fucking satisfying, and the boy topples to the ground gracelessly.

There’s no movement for a long moment, before the boy lets out a strangled gasp, wrenches himself away.

Not far enough. Goddamn, he’s so weak. How can anyone be this weak? Tony knows to cover his head, to curl up in a ball, but Peter’s splayed out and defenceless.

Tony reaches down to grab him by the designer sweater, lifting him clear off the ground as Peter winces and recoils. The mark on his cheek is darkening rapidly, an ugly scarlet. “You run this school, Parker? You their precious king?”

“What? No! I…” there are tears sparkling in his eyes, he even cries like a Disney character. “I don’t- I don’t understand, please don’t-“

Begging never stops anything. Tony drops him and punches down in one swift motion, right onto Peter’s stomach- forcing all the air out of him, along with a pitiful whimper. “You ain’t king of shit, you get that, Parker?”

He doesn’t stick around for an answer, not that Peter could give one, with the way he’s wheezing, and he strides out; fingers streaked with paint and blood.

* * Peter doesn’t come into school the next day, and all eyes are stuck on Tony.

They’re not all as admiring anymore, but they are intimidated, and that’ll do. The girls still flock to him, the younger students still flee.

It’s easy to dethrone. History makes it look hard, but it isn’t.

“Liam’s throwing a party next week,” Cindy says over lunch. Tony’s sitting at the “popular” table. It looks like all the others, but the people there are substantially more attractive. He’s sitting where Peter usually sits, that much he can gather, and the students (his subjects) whisper with nervous fear. “You should totally come.”

“Maybe,” Tony murmurs, but he will go. Anywhere that isn’t home in the evenings. Anywhere else.

*** Tony feels good on Friday.

His dad is out of town on business, and he and his mom ate take out in front of the tv and didn’t have to worry when they spilt some on the rug.

He parks his beat up car in one of the teacher’s spots, and his entourage rush to greet him and update him on the gossip and prattle on about things he doesn’t give a shit about.

That is, until one of them says-

“Peter’s back in today.”

And that, Tony has to see.

He’s not technically in AP english, but he winks at the receptionist and she buckles like everyone does.

Peter sits at the front of the class, scribbling notes furiously, and looks entirely put together in a white chiffon blouse and green slacks. The bruise along his cheekbone is horrific. Darker and splotchier- there’s a tiny little cut above his left eyebrow- Tony doesn’t remember doing that, but that happens sometimes. He hits a little harder than he means to.

Seeing it is a weird feeling. It makes disgust well up inside him, something horrible and tortured screeches to be let out, and on the other hand-

He’s a king looking down on the enemy wounded.

Peter doesn’t look up at him once during the class, even though he goes out of his way to be annoying and aggravating.

The teacher kicks him out eventually, and when the bell rings, he waits by Peter’s locker.

The boy approaches cautiously. He’s alone. All alone. High school fans, so fickle, Tony tuts.

“Parker,” he grins, watching as Peter twists open the combination lock. “Finally decided to come back.”

“I guess so,” the boy says quietly, demurely, changing out his books. He has hard copies of everything, all brand new and shiny. They don’t look like the torn up, hand-down charity shop copies Tony uses.

Tony waits, but Peter offers nothing else. He feels too sharp around the edges, he feels like he’s shattering. “Well? Aren’t you gonna tell on me or some shit? I haven’t heard a word.”

“You want me to tell someone you attacked me?” Peter clarifies curiously, looking at him with huge, honey eyes. It’s like someone bottled sunlight. Tony’s winded by the sight of them.

“I-“

“What would that achieve?” Peter asks, blatant with honesty and genuine inquisitiveness. “It wouldn’t make you stop. It might get you suspended, maybe expelled, but then what? Not like you couldn’t come and find me outside of school. Then I call the police? Try to get you arrested for assault? You’d be released in a year anyway, and then what?”

Tony snarls, banging his fist against the lockers so loudly the entire hallway falls silent. He leans in and spits into Peter’s face: “How about some fuckin’ gratitude that I didn’t leave a mark, huh, pretty boy? Where’s my thanks?”

Peter doesn’t step away. He looks up and juts out his chin in a way that’s meant to be intimidating but is more endearing than anything. “Thank you.” He whispers. His lower lip shakes. “Thank you for what you did to me.”

“Don’t fuckin- stop cryin- get up! Get up!” Howard yells, hauling Tony to his feet. He stumbles, unable to stand, and Howard shoves him against the wall. “Fuckin’ ingrate, say thank you- thank me for taking the time to fuckin’ teach you!”

“Thank you,” Tony manages around a sob, sliding to the floor and bursting into tears.

Tony staggers back hard.

He’s not-

He’s not.

*** Pretty boy Peter is a bug under his skin.

Tony can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop wondering where he is, how he is.

Jefferson High is a huge school, but the fields and playgrounds are bigger, and that’s where students spend their time.

Tony finds Peter every lunch time, curled up in the big chairs in the library, buried in a book.

Sometimes he’s wearing oversized cream sweaters, sometimes when it’s hot, he’s in some fancy lace get up, and Tony eyes the smooth, soft skin on display. Sometimes he’s almost asleep, looks so peaceful and cosy (Tony wants to reach out and gently, gently touch) sometimes his eyes are moving so rapidly, his lips parted in exhilaration, fingers clumsy as they hurriedly turn the page that Tony would give anything to know what he was reading.

For Peter to tell him what interested him so much.

As it is, he doesn’t approach. Just watches from the shadows for as long as he can, before slipping out undetected.

He’s particularly good at that, thank years of practising.

The swarms that once worshipped the boy never hang out with Peter anymore, but oddly enough, Peter doesn’t seem to care, or even notice.

Tony can relate to that. Losing Cindy the air-head might actually be a relief. He’s tried to shake her off, but she latches like a leech.

Instead, Peter spends his time with a dreary-eyed girl. A girl Tony knows gets called dyke by the guys in the shower-room.

Tony doesn’t join in their bantering over jokes like that.

She’s cool, though, and clearly doesn’t give a shit. She’ll be something big when she’s out of here, and Tony wants to her see her succeed. Wants to flip on his television set one day in a few years and see her face.

When he gets home that night, he has the book Peter was reading at lunch tucked under his arm (the librarian too, is a sucker for his eyes).

Howard glares at him, kicks at him when he walks past like he’s a mangy mutt, but he makes it to bed and he flips on the switch, snuggled into threadbare sheets, and he reads.

*** Amidst the thrum of music, the boozy smell of alcohol, and lipstick on the back of playing cards, Peter Parker shows up to Liam’s party.

Tony’s halfway through a keg, but he’s not feeling the effects (so what? He’s built up a bit of a tolerance) and people are chanting King Tony! when he spots wavy brown hair and pretty pink lips.

He follows without even meaning to.

Peter’s face is healed now, back to as beautiful as ever. Tony heals fast too.

“Parker,” he greets, when Peter helps himself to punch. “You showin’ your face here?”

Peter smiles. “I was invited.”

That surprises him. “Really? Who’d wanna be seen with a nobody like you?”

“Liam and I go back.”

Well damn, not as fickle as he’d thought then. Anyway, the sight of Peter is thrilling. It’s troubling. “Get the fuck out,” Tony orders, because a rather large part of him wants to- wants to kiss-

“I was just leaving.” The boy corrects, turning away.

There’s a welt on his back.

It peaks out behind the strappy, vintage style blazer. But only just. It’s been cleverly covered up, if Tony wasn’t so familiar with the sight he’d never have spotted it and-

He reaches out, calls for Peter to stop- wait-

But he’s already gone.

*

It’s an obsession.

But it keeps him from the house. He drives around town slowly, cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth, arm hanging out the window of his car, and he coasts through fancy neighbourhoods, sees wholesome families praying before eating their dinner in their grand dining rooms.

He hates them.

He spots Peter’s pretty red Camaro parked in the driveway of an enormous house.

He parks around the block, comes back, and lingers.

It’s totally normal. The curtains are shut, but Tony can see enough. They have neat hedgerows, cultivated fox gloves, and a bird feeder out front. There are three cars parked neatly, Peter’s, a blue beetle, and a large jeep, all lovingly taken care of and gleaming in the evening light.

The kitchen curtains have charming little frogs on them, the mat out front says welcome.

He can’t have seen a welt on Peter’s back, because that doesn’t fit.

It fits Tony. With his beaten down house, lack of kitchen curtains, lack of prayers, his scratched up, junkyard piece of crap, his bruised knuckles and his split lip.

He’s wrong.

*** His mom’s been saying that Howard’s getting worse.

Tony zones her out. She says stuff like this all the time. Other times she says he’s getting better, then he’s getting worse, but she never does a fuckin’ thing about it.

When he staggers out of the house at three am, bleeding bad, throbbing all over, and he falls into his car- can hear his mother screaming, can hear Howard demanding him to get back inside, he steps on the gas and tails it.

He’s driving to the hospital, hardly able to see through the blood and the pain and the black spots dancing across his vision, when he crashes into a street lamp.

It’s not a bad crash. Another dent in many, he thinks, but he suddenly feels warm all over.

He’s cosy. He could fall asleep.

*** When he wakes up, he’s on a cloud. He’s floating on air.

He blinks and there’s a warm, gold light, and two, beautiful honey eyes.

He’s in heaven.

But that can’t be right, he’s a piece of shit.

“You got that right,” comes a chiding, slightly teasing tone, and he squints against the dimness to see Peter Parker above him, dabbing at him with white cotton buds.

Feeling seems to come back all at once. First, an ache that drags through his whole body, then the blinding sting of whatever hell fire Peter’s putting on his face, third, that Peter’s straddling hm, and it’s a really rather nice hot, weight.

“Mm, baby,” he groans, sliding his coarse hands up Peter’s bare, smooth thighs, “this is a pleasant surprise.” He bucks his hip a little, feels his clothed dick nestle between two plump cheeks. He gets a little burst of pleasure that’s such a fucking relief from the pain that he grinds upwards again.

Peter’s hand is firm on his chest, pressing him down into the bed, not cloud. “You’re hurt, Tony. One problem at a time please.”

Problems. Damn. He has a lot of those.

“Tell me about it,” Peter sighs. “I’ve parked your car at the drive-thru theatre. I left a note at the lamppost. I hope no one minds.”

Tony blinks, dazed, and watches as Peter tends to him. It reminds him of that film his mom used to watch all the time, the fuckin horrible one with the dancing and the singing and the monster.

Beauty and the Beast, his mind supplies.

Peter’s face isn’t pretty. It’s beautiful. Dimples and prominent cheekbones, lovely eyebrows and long lashes. He has freckles and a beauty mark on his jaw, perfect for kissing. His forehead is creased in concentration as he works on Tony’s face, his tongue resting on his lips.

Tony may not be in heaven, but he is looking at an angel.

“Do you really…” he whispers, reaching up a clumsy hand to stroke tenderly at Peter’s face. The boy doesn’t even flinch. “Did you really have a…a belt mark on you…”

Those eyes snap to him, a vulnerability come to light, a hidden truth revealed.

Then they darken, and look away. “You need to get your rest.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Tony croaks, eyes burning, “you’re perfect. It’s not meant to- not meant to happen to perfect people, only- only broken ones, like-“

“Nobody’s perfect,” Peter whispers wisely, dabbing cream onto his fingers, and then onto Tony’s face.

“Who does it to you?”

“Step dad,” Peter shrugs, “he never hits her, though. I think he misses his own son.”

“I’ll kill him for hurtin’ you, I swear,” he slurs, filled with righteous ire. Who could hurt such an angel-

“That’d be hypocritical.” Peter muses, opening a pack of antiseptic wipes and swiping at Tony’s temple. He’s good at this. He must be well-practised.

Tony drowns in self-loathing. “I’m a shit.” He hisses, “I’m a shit, I’m sorry, but my dad-“

“I understand.” Peter nods, fingers stroking through Tony’s hair. “I empathise. I don’t forgive you. Not yet.”

“You might, though?” Tony urges, craning into every touch. “Maybe?”

Peter grinds down once, making Tony’s dick jolt with arousal. “Maybe.” He whispers.

*** Tony hates his anger management counsellor so fucking much.

But Howard hates him going, so Tony always shows up on time.

Peggy is patient and understanding, but no-nonsense.

When he shows up with bleeding knuckles and a jagged cut on his arm, she offers him a lemon sucker and shakes her head.

“He started it.” Tony hisses, taking a sherbet and sucking on it.

She doesn’t say anything.

“It wasn’t Peter, if that’s what you’re thinking. I would never hurt Pe- I haven’t ever hit Peter again.”

She’s silent.

He feels like a kid. He hangs his head on his chest. “I get so angry.” He whispers.

“And does violence make the anger go away?”

He nods, looking at her through tears. He cries so much nowadays. Peggy says it’s a good thing. “It turns it into power.”

Peggy looks at him, urging him to get there on his own.

“It’s not power,” he mumbles, lemon on his tongue, “I feel helpless.”

“We all do sometimes, Tony,” she smiles, and offers him another lemon drop. “I want to talk about your mom today. About the things you think she likes best about you.”

Tony wants to run and hide, but instead he sits and listens.

* Sometimes, when Peter reaches over to hold Tony’s hand, Tony yanks it away, his whole mood sours, and he storms out.

He always comes back though. Shame-faced, small, and he reaches out for a hug and Peter gives it to him.

He yells sometimes too. When he’s trying really hard not to, it slips out. Horrible things, things he doesn’t mean, things he wishes he could take back but he fears are going to hang there in the air forever.

He always cries afterwards, and calls Peggy.

Peter yells too, from time to time, when he’s fracturing a little, when Kurt presses where it hurts.

Tony holds Peter tight when that happens, kisses his hair all soft and gentle in the ways he never thought he could be, and promises that they’ll both do better. They’ll both be better.

Peter sees Stephen Strange, a counsellor on the other side of town.

Peggy thinks it’s a good idea for Peter and Tony to heal independently of each other, just in case they become a support system for one being, rather than two people.

Strange says you shouldn’t feel guilty for lashing out. Peggy says you should apologise if you’re sorry.

Peter kisses the hollow of Tony’s throat and says: “I want to tell you all the things I love about you.”

By the end of the forty-minute list, Tony has to cut Peter off, because he can’t hear him over his own sobs.

After a month of no violence, Tony’s greeted to Peter covered in flour and icing, holding a poorly shaped cake that says one month of peace is groovy baby.

They eat it in an old tent, camped out on the edge of town. The cake is disgusting, and Tony’s new favourite. 

They have sex in the grass and Tony kisses Peter’s new welt, and says that he deserves so much more than this.

That, if he likes, Tony will try to give it to him.

**

They have a modest house in a modest town. They have curtains with kangaroos on them, and no dining table- just a coffee table with bean bags in front of the television.

They have one nice car that they share.

They have friends.

They meet each other in the drive way, both on their way home from work, and Peter blushes when Tony holds out the bouquet of tulips. “Pretty boy,” Tony grins, as Peter buries his face in the petals. “I heard from a little birdie that it was your wedding anniversary.”

“Mm,” Peter giggles, “that’s weird. Me and my husband promised each other no presents.”

“Ah,” Tony sighs, drawing Peter into his arms, kissing him silly for the whole neighbourhood to see (not that they haven’t seen it before. It’s stupid and reckless but it’s a good town). “So, if we go inside, there’ll be no freshly baked cake on the counter, right? You didn’t sneak home on your lunch break to bake me something?”

Peter sighs. “Who told?”

“Becky. She can’t keep a secret, Pete.”

Peter laughs, and they thread their fingers together and head inside.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s happy. They fight, sometimes. They tremble. They remember things they wish they could forget. They break down on the side of the road. They spend nights in motels.

But those are fewer and farther between. And in the end, they always come home- to each other.

The cake is terrible. It always is. But Tony eats every single bite.

It’s the same recipe as the one Peter made all those years ago, after one month of no fights.

It’s stale and it brings back so many memories.

“Is it good?” Peter asks worriedly, putting the tulips in water.

Tony takes a huge bite, and shakes his head in wonder. “Yeah, baby,” he whispers, “even after all this time, it’s still really, really good.”

He thinks it always will be.