#so they’re going to be on easy street when they come back since the interns will be prepped and ready to go when they come back

[mymitochondriaforpresident]

Residency…

Even my eyebag’s eyebags have eyebags at this point.

[iphoenixrising]

Have I posted this? Alpha!Jon, Alpha!Dami, Omega!Tim 🤨

I told babe I was thinking about this, but I have done this before? Meh, regardless.

**

And really, when all things in Gotham are quiet, you know it’s going to be a good night.

B shouldn’t have worried enough to call Red Robin out of Titan’s Tower, but still, it’s nice to run through the city, skimming rooftops, getting a little more down n’ dirty with street baddies than riding the usual international espionage with his team. A few weeks away and this kind of thing is really just an itch that needs to be scratched.

“I am almost disappointed,” Robin laughs from beside him under the wing of a gargoyle right on the roof of the Wallstone apartments. His veggie wrap is disappearing quickly because Baby Bat has been a bottomless pit of hunger since he started putting on height and heavier muscle five years ago. Sixteen had been good for Dami, and Bruce’s genetics kicked into high gear two years later. At twenty-one, he’s broad through the chest and shoulders, almost a head taller than Red and a few sparse inches from Hood.

It was about the time Terry had approached him in Titans’ Tower, and convinced Red to start coming back to Gotham again, fighting the good fight along with the family, taking a step back into Gotham’s underworld when the world seemed to be momentarily stable. 

At some point, he and Dami started working together, stepping out in the night with masks on and old hurts finally easing. 

“Meh. There’s always another night,” Red takes another bite and sighs through his nose because really, chicken wrap for the win. 

(Alfred is always going to be the man.)

“I suppose. However, I’d hoped this wouldn’t have been an...exciting night for you to make the trip.” 

Red waves him off, looking down at the street, chewing for a second, “all good, Baby Bat. Everyone is out of the Tower for the weekend anyway. This is a nice break.”

Robin laughs low, “only you would consider this a break.”

“Well, you know, my Wednesdays are hectic as fuck.”

“I suppose it is difficult to schedule brunch, yes?”

“You don’t even know.”

And just like that, the two of them are laughing. A little bruised from a few street fights, but nothing extreme, and Dami is getting so much better at vigilante banter that Red Robin can’t help but feel a little proud.

(Really, witty banter is their superpower. Superboy and Kid Flash will totally vouch.)

They finish the wraps and swing side-by-side to the Bowery, talking shit over comms, playing tag around the strip mall down on 44th, and genuinely making themselves pretty obvious for people that actually look up.

It’s easy to jump in the big car at the end of the night, lean back to work on his wrist computer while Dami drives them back to the Manor.

“Hey, hey, you can just drop me a few blocks from the Perch.”

“Tt. Stay at the Manor tonight. You can brief me on R&D’s projects for the board meeting.”

“Pfft, like I need to.”

“Your perspective is always better.”

“Fine, fine. You’re so needy, Dami.”

“And yet, you still put up with me, Tim.”

“Well, you’ve got me there.”

And their smiles are wide in the darkness of the car, Robin and Red Robin riding back to the Cave with coffee waiting and hot showers to wash away the night. 

They meet back at the big computer, sweats and t-shirts, hair damp and bare faces, switching places from the main chair to their workstations, talking through the next week, repairing their gear or working on separate projects from their laptops. 

Alfred smears goop on bruises and gives a final please be certain to persuade Master Tim to actually sleep this time, won’t you Master Damian?, disappearing up the winding stairs, the calming scent of home lingering behind him, his natural Beta scent.

With his scent blockers scrubbed off, the air around Tim is faintly sweet, following him like the smell of a good latte. Dami’s scent is still more shampoo and soap since Nulls don’t really have a discernible scent to the second sex. 

And when they’re finally stretching and yawning, still a few hours to sleep before dawn, something in the air shifts.

One second, he’s got Dami laughing at the story about Bruce busting his bat ass against Mr. Freeze–while still being the Night, mind you– when Baby Bat stops abruptly, hand going down on Tim’s workstation top to catch himself when his knees unexpectedly give way.

Those eyes go wide, a hand going to his chest, fast and shocky enough that Tim sweeps forward to catch his youngest partner by pure instinct.

“Little D?! Dami, talk to me.” He keeps it calm, being Red Robin, staring at the sweat beading on the fourth Robin’s forehead while he gasps in a few fast and furious breaths. 

“T-Tim,” but his eyes flutter closed and his knees wobble, his weight falling further down on Tim’s shoulder.

Shit. Tim manages to maneuver Dami down to his chair, holding him steady, wracking his brain for anything, anything they could have come upon tonight. Fear toxin, Joker gas, Ivy’s array of poisons and venom, an awful rooftop burrito from the questionable cart downtown. Anything, anything he could have a cure for right here in the fucking Cave–

When he starts to move away, to jump in the Bat Med-Bay for a syringe to take a blood sample and start up the quickest analysis he’s ever pulled off before, when he’s tamping down panic to be on point, when he sees the distress happening when those eyes look up at him–

He completely misses the way Damian’s scent abruptly gets muskier.

A hand shoots out, grips his wrist, stops him from moving away.

“Okay, I’m getting worried. C’mon D. Tell me what’s–”

He reaches down, lays two fingers over the throbbing pulse, tries to get some vitals, and something deep and dark rumbles through Baby Bat’s chest, something all about need.

Oh.

Shit.

**

Most people present in their early teens, you know, about the time Robin had been a little dead, or so Tim’s sputtering thoughts try to explain away while the grip on his wrist gets tight, pulls quick enough to reel him in closer. The nose in his neck is a sudden indication since Dami as a Null had never really been able to scent like the rest of them.

The way the youngest vigilante is now inhaling against Tim’s throat like he’s dying, holding the Omega so fucking tight is the first piece of evidence. But when his mouth opens and a noise, a deep purr, rolls out against Tim’s jugular, he has an inevitable moment of oh fuck, panic.

Because he’s down in the Bat Cave with a presenting Alpha Male, and he probably smells like fucking dessert.

“D-Dami,” and he gives himself about a million vigilante points because his hands aren’t shaking when one cups the back of the new Alpha’s neck, fingernails scritching lightly at the fine hair. “Hey Baby Bat, it’s me here. I can help you, but you’ve got to ease up a little, okay?” He makes a small move to pull out of those arms, get Dami to actually look at him.

The whine is low, a noise he’s never heard out of their Robin before tonight, but those arms tighten on instinct, and now they’re pressed together from chest to hip and–and…

Oh.

“You’re going into a RUT?!”

Because of course. His luck is that awful.

“T-Timmm,” is growly and low, deeper than Robin’s usual voice, and Tim can’t suppress the shudder that goes through him.

“You’re presenting, better late than never, right?” He keeps petting even when something wet moves up the side of his throat, making a tremor go through him. “We need to–to call Jon, okay? He can help you.”

“Tim, you…” and there’s another lick to his throat, dragging over his skin like Dami’s savoring him.

“I-I’m not–” but Dami abruptly lets him go and drops down to kneel, shoving his face in the soft t-shirt over Tim’s stomach.

Hands are on his hips now, the tight hold gripping him.

He pulls the comm out of Dami’s ear, the presenting Alpha not flinching away, staying where he kneels, inhaling the scent of Omega.

Tim fumbles the comm in his ear, tapping frantically until the sound of whoosh is in the foreground.

“Hey babe,” Jon’s voice rumbles over the line, “have a good night with Red Robin?”

“Sorry, wrong Robin,” Tim stares down at Dami’s slack features with wide eyes, taking in the closed eyes, “We...that is, Robin needs you in Gotham ASAP.”

“Diverting course now,” is the immediate response, Jon’s voice changing to Superboy’s. “T, is he hurt?”

Unsure of who could be listening on the line, Tim makes a fast decision, tries to take a small step back. The hands tighten down immediately, Dami’s back straightening, eyes snapping open. The growl is something deep, vibrating the chest against his thighs, pulling at his inner Omega.

“He’s not hurt, but he might get out of control if I don’t get someone here quickly.” Tim gently lays a trembly hand on Dami’s shoulder, gets the Alpha to look up at him with those green eyes.

“Baby Bat, this isn’t...you don’t really want to do this, okay? Try to think for me, Dami. This is just because I’m an Omega, so I need you to try and think.”

“Wait, what?” Jon’s voice sounds horrified.

Shit. Forgot to tap the comm off. But, really, his inner Omega is starting to enjoy all the attention of an Alpha male, newly presented or not, so Tim totally gives himself an out here.

“Jon,” he tries to be calm, but Dami is lifting up his shirt and sticking his goddamned nose right in Tim’s belly button. His eep probably isn’t helping anything.

“Hold on, Tim, I’m almost there.”

The snuffles of breath against his stomach, brush of mouth, and Tim’s instinct to get the fuck away hits abruptly–

(Your boyfriend is going to kick my ass if he sees this.)

–and he moves fast, both hands on Dami’s wrist to loosen the hold and spin away from the Alpha male to give himself some space, pulling the current Robin off balance.

He ends up back by the big computer, eyes going wildly to his harness and utility belt discarded at his workstation.

The low growling reverberates through the Cave, making the bats above screech and start to flap around, and Tim’s whole body goes tight with what he’s sure to be an oncoming fight, wondering how that’s going to go with a rut-fevering Alpha, one that’s also his partner, his friend.

(The Omega in him doesn’t give a shit, just knows how good that musk smells, how much the Alpha is in need, how much it craves the attention, how much it wants.)

Dami’s eyes are glittering green, muscles tense as he stalks closer, eyeing the Omega he wants, the one that smells...delicious.

The rumbling purr breaks out of him again, something soft and soothing, meant to entice. 

“Don’t make me fight you,” Tim swallows, eyes all for Baby Bat getting closer to him, body language giving away everything. “Dami, I don’t want to hurt you.”

But it looks like his words are lost to the Rut haze since the Alpha only purrs louder, his musk stronger even in a place as spacious as the Cave. 

All right, then. It’s time to have a plan.

He feins right, darting half a step, then takes off near the bad guy trophies. The massive penny is probably a perfect distraction right about now. 

Dami leaps from his side, cutting him off, the Alpha manifesting in him giving chase. Tim manages to leg sweep him, escaping reaching hands. 

He doesn’t make it to the penny before Dami is pretty much body slamming him into the Cave floor, bigger hands pinning his wrists over his head, knees spreading him, and the growling Alpha is looming over him, the musk calling to his inner Omega.

“No! Dami, Dami!”

But the swipe of wet over his jugular makes his knees tremble, his back arch and not in that I’m trying to escape kind of way.

(But really, it’s been a long time, and he’s an Omega, the scent of a strong, able Alpha is like Fear Toxin or Joker Venom, it gets in his lungs, makes his inner Omega plaint, makes his scent stronger to appeal to the Alpha. Their bodies work against them.)

Dami’s free hand holds his jaw to the side so he can shove his nose in Tim’s scent gland and inhale deeply. He’s laying on top, their chests pressed together when the purring starts, and the rumble against him is obviously affecting him. 

He almost wants to cry when Dami rolls his hips down, and fuck, he’s– he’–

“No,” Tim moans in Dami’s hold, his hips juttering up because he’s starting to get hard, their sweatpants making it easy to tell. “We...we can’t. J-on, Dami, you’ve got to remember Jon–”

But he loses all thought when that mouth latches on to his throat and sucks.

He cries out, bucks up when his body responds with want. 

If he doesn’t do something fast, Jon is going to viciously–

“O-oh, oh wow, I…”

Because Superboy is suddenly right there watching Tim writhe on the floor under Dami, and Jon’s eyes are huge and blue, his face pink.

“It’s not–” Tim tries, “it’s just because I’m an Omega!”

“If you want to believe that,” Jon lands on his feet, moves easily to wrap both arms around his boyfriend to lift him off Tim without any effort. “Then I’m not the one to tell you differently, right Dames?”

The newly-presented Alpha tries to lunge out of the hold, to go back to the Omega scrambling to his feet.

Tim is sure his face is red enough to match Dami’s tunic, and he turns slightly to try hiding the obvious erection in his sweatpants.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tim sputters, arms around himself, “but if he did something to me while he’s very obviously dating you, he’d never forgive himself.”

But Jon seems very undisturbed about finding his boyfriend all over another guy, “sure, if we hadn’t already talked about it before. Him presenting as an Alpha this late wasn’t part of that though, so you might have a point.” Jon suddenly grins over the struggling Robin at Tim’s shocked face.

“Jon, he could barely stand me for years–” and the bitter scent of old pain takes over Tim’s sweetness because fuck, he’d wiped off the scent blockers.

But the change in scent makes Dami stop struggling against Jon’s hold, for both Alphas to suddenly have laser focus right on him. Caught up off his feet by Jon’s arms, Dami stops struggling, those green eyes intensely on Tim, hunched over slightly, holding himself.

“Oh Tim,” Jon sighs softly, and it comes out in a soft purr, “he’s been crazy about you for years. I mean, c’mon, you’re the best Robin detective!”

“But he’s with you. I-I would never do anything to fuck that up,” he’s starting to inch away, closer to the winding staircase, “you have to know that, Jon. I would never–”

“I gave him permission, Tim,” Jon cuts him off, “if you ever gave him the chance. O-or if you ever gave us the chance, we would take care of you."

Tim.exe has stopped.

"Geeze, do you even know how many times we talked about seeing you through your Heat? Even if he was a Null at the time, just talking about having you in bed with us was enough to make him go multiple times. I’m half-Kryptonian and I still had to tap out after round --“

“You would do that?” Tim cuts him off, voice strangely strained, “you would - you and Dami would - would take care of me? During my Heat?”

And Jon pauses in his ramble, only one arm around the presenting Alpha’s chest, still holding him slightly back. But Damian hears something in Tim’s tone that is upsetting. It makes him angry, makes him reach out an open hand in the hopes Tim takes it.

“Yes,” is edged with a growl, his hand open and waiting.

“We absolutely would take care of you, Tim, Heat or not. I swear, we won’t hurt you.” And Jon means it, says it unconsciously with his Superboy voice like Tim is a scared civilian and not a seasoned vigilante. “You would be safe with us.”

“I…” but his eyes dart to Jon who is churning out the most pleasant happy Alpha scent. “I can help make the Rut easier. If - If it- “

“Yes,” both Alphas growl at the same time, but Jon wasn’t holding Damian back anymore. 

It was both of them inching forward, Dani’s hand out, his other clenched in Jon’s cape, brining his Alpha mate with him.

"It's statically easier for Alphas to have an Omega the first time," he rambles breathlessly, watching them come closer, the tension in his shoulders easing at the scents. He seems to sway with bare feet, hand twitching toward what they're offering.

"It'll be easier if Dames has you, not just an Omega," Jon rumbles while Damian slyly snatches Tim's hand, reels him closer. "We've got a Rut room at his place in Wayne Tower."

"Bet mine is more secure in the Perch," Tim mumbles in Dami's neck, eyes rolling up to look at Jon while the presenting Alpha inhales sharply again his throat. The noise coming out of him reverberates through all three of them.

"Decision, decisions," Jon smirks over his mate's shoulder, nose barely skimming the other side of Tim's neck, a ghost of a touch.

It still makes a certain scent spike.

It's Damian that makes the final decision, lifting his head and one hand to pull Jon's mouth to his, growl and lick and bite while Tim watches, the tension in his abdomen getting tighter, warmer, the ust surrounding them as the Alphas fight for dominance.

Right in front of him.

The noise that comes out of Tim's throat is enough to spur someone into actions because--

-- the next second, the cave camera blur and the three disappear from sight, leaving behind discarded suits. Twenty seconds later, the lights click off for the night, leaving the bats to settle back down.

[pagingcs]

Lydia wanted me to make sure our little escapade would hit the news, so I sat down and sent out the bots right around eight. They’re set up to go out in waves, small first, then bigger-bigger-smaller, then bigger again, and so on until the first wave completes and the virtual server downcycles. The trick, as it turned out, was to not be too random. Machines have a way of leaving their fingerprints, and my little network relied on me making the final keystroke. Like a pulse, or maybe a friendly ghost, my console started lighting up as the bots started sending back their little reports. As soon as the console was printing faster than I could keep up, I opened the little window that collated results as a trend line, and watched it as you would watch a fish pond, or a rolling spring cloud. It was working.

Three hours later, the bots had done their work, and I closed the window. My feed was full of news about a new and suspicious hacking ring, and the discourse was just what you’d expect. Charlatans first, then luddites, then anti-luddites, then clout-chasers. The specialty outlets would probably run something tomorrow, and with any luck, at least one of the big guys would publish something by the weekend. I added a reminder to do a second push on Friday afternoon, and closed the console.

This little adventure in social engineering was just a warmup, of course. The trick to good marketing is to make your name knowable but not known, not until right when you need it to be. When we finally get the go ahead to pull the real trigger, our little collective will already be under suspicion. Since we were already jangling around in people’s heads, it will be easy to claim the credit.

I can’t tell you the full nature of the job itself, and that’s because I mostly don’t know it. Lydia has some strange idea about distributed hacking, each cell on a virtual connection and never interacting except where necessary. Sure, we all know where we’re going, more or less, but no one’s got a clue as to what car we’re taking, if you catch me.

Of course you don’t catch me. Of course we all looked for each other as soon as we pulled the first job. That was a trick, were you paying attention?

On a separate machine, the whirr and buzz of a cobbled-together intranet kept the burner machine I used at a near constant whine, and an occasional bump as the decrepit internal fan warped under the strain. Already there was come chatter about the public push for name recognition, and I dutifully (and gleefully) presented my role. Several of the members congratulated me on how natural it all looked, and just as many derided me for how generated it felt. That’s life in the underground for you. If someone’s talent isn’t being used for mischief, they’ll use it for wearing down the competition. I was proud of my little botnet, and there was nothing the faceless wonders could say today to dent my pride in a job well done.

I was getting updates from the feeds now, the luddites had taken the bait. I could feel their little paws hammering out their indignation. Every key tap was an indictment of their hypocrisy, of course, but if they could use their own anger to stoke their psyche, I didn’t see why I couldn’t.

You might think I would have a pang of conscience about manipulating people, but I don’t. Any fool that spends that much time on their feeds gets what they pay for, and gets to become what their generous benefactors pay for; a pair of eyeballs, blinking away.

I leave the intranet machine running, and shut down my media ops rig. I get a message from Lydia saying she liked my work, but she’ll need to talk to me first thing tomorrow about the next phase. She phrases it like she wants me to ask more about it, but I don’t take the bait. I’m tonight’s winner, and I plan to celebrate.

The fog is out when I leave the apartment. It’s cool and fresh on my face, and it hides the stink of the streets as well as anything. I walk the four blocks to Dragon 88, the kind of oddball family-run place that serves pretty decent Chinese food and for some reason, steaks. The dining room is small, but clean and spacious enough. The walls are done up in red wallpaper and the chairs are cheap, but sturdy. There’s only one other couple in here, but then again, it’s almost midnight. In the far corner the dining room opens to the kitchen, separated by a chest-height bar covered in bric-a-brac. Jerry Liu, the guy that’s been standing at that counter for as long as I can remember, waves me in. I take a seat at a table close to the window, but not directly in front of it. I don’t bother with the menu.

After a while, Mrs. Liu makes her way out from the back and walks over to the table. She doesn’t like me, but I don’t blame her.

“Usual?” she asks.

“Not tonight,” I say, “Special occasion. Bring me rice, garlic greens, and a filet.”

“Better with broccoli, you want that too?”

“Sure.”

“Ok, a few minutes.”

She walks over to the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room and relays my order in rapid-fire Cantonese. Jerry nods, looks up, and smiles. He says something quickly to his wife and gets back to work.

Mrs Liu makes her way back to the table.

“You want a drink? Wine for the steak?”

“Beer please. Tsingtao if you have it.”

She nods and gives a weak smile, the growing size of my check easing her distaste, and goes back to get the beer.

The front door opens, and a woman walks in.

[windblooms]

liyue boys – how they touch their s/o

headcanons and scenarios of how childe, chongyun, scaramouche, xiao, xingqiu, and zhongli would romantically interact with their s/o.

gender-neutral reader.  sfw scenarios for each character, with additional suggestive implications for childe, scaramouche, xiao, and zhongli (since they’re confirmed legal).  2309 words.

childe

the Touchiest of the liyue boys

he just really, really fond of touching you, whether it be with his fingers through your hair or having you a hand on your lap. 

the first time he wanted to touch you, he actually asked (yes, verbally) if you were okay with him doing so

at least one of his acts with you could be orthodox, yeah?  although, looking back on it now, he supposes that he was attempting to be a bit more serious and wasn’t sure how to convey the sentiment when his reputation often preceded him

since then, he’s made a habit to have you next to him at all times

you don’t mind, since his attention is admittedly nice, but understandably neither of you want to display affection towards each other in the presence of his coworkers.  

if you were to be in public, such as walking down the streets of liyue, then he’d have his fingers laced between yours

if he were to be in a particularly good mood that day, he’d actually have you hook your arm around his.  you’re not sure why – but maybe it’s because more of you would be pressed against him that way.

an avid displayer of fleeting touches.  some are playful, like tapping his finger on your nose to get your attention, while others are slightly more teasing, like trailing his fingers up your thigh when you’re working and really shouldn’t be getting distracted. 

“i can’t help it.  your expressions are always the best part.”

so long as you’re next to him, he’ll find any excuse possible to have himself on you.

you’re cold?  take his coat, but also a complimentary hug because wow he’s kinda sorta warm for a snezhnayan native. 

got work to do?  he’ll stroll over to you every once in a while, claim he’s checking on you, and then place a kiss on your cheek as “encouragement.”

just got home from a long day out?  take some time to lay on top of him, he makes for a comfy mattress

his favorite ways to touch you: gloves off, thumb rubs against the back of your hand, hands cradling your neck or squeezing your hips in more passionate moments.  especially enjoys contact the more of your body he feels.  not sexual all the time, but definitely sensually pleasing.  he’s reassured when he feels you next to him. 

chongyun

chongyun is relatively inexperienced in acting out his romantic impulses.  

hand holding?  yeah, sure, he knows it’s what people do, but apparently there something about interlacing fingers . . . ?

also, there are different ways to hug?  he thought that just wrapping his arms around your shoulders would be fine, but is there a specific instance where he should “back hug” you?  

he thinks there should be a lover’s manual for how to go about with physical touch, but sadly there isn’t, and he’s left by himself to make sense of his confusion.

he’ll have to learn first-hand – something he quickly realizes he won’t mind.

chongyun’s touches will reflect his nature: gentle and initially somewhat shy, but he will gradually become more confident as time goes on.

the first time he tries to initiate hand-holding with you, you’re sitting next to each other on the couch

you can tell something’s a bit off by how he’s staring straight into your skull, as if he’s conflicted over something even when there’s nothing to be distressed about –

and he lifts his hand, hesitantly, and you swear that he’s shaking, before he mumbles something along the lines of “screw this” and just

places the tips of his fingers over the back of your hand and

just leaves them there

and you’re blinking, not quite sure what to make of his awkwardness, before connecting the dots when you see him absolutely red in the face. 

he’s startled when he hears you laugh, and especially when you move your hand to securely grasp his own. 

you’re warm, incredibly so, and when he looks up from his lap to affirm that he hasn’t made a complete mess of the mood, you’re there to give him a pat on the head.

“y-yeah.  can we stay like this?  hey!  no, don't laugh – ”

the take-away: soft boy.  will realize that he loves it when you squeeze his hands but will be flustered when admitting it.  also internally enjoys it when you put your chin atop his head, and when you let him put his hand on your shoulder.  will become more confident over time with showing affection, whether it be through light touches or shy pecks. 

scaramouche

scaramouche is admittedly one of the more destructive harbingers

meaning he wouldn’t be one to be gentle in the slightest

probably doesn't even know that hugging is supposed to be an act of affection and instead registers it as another method to crush someone’s chest

the least likely out of the liyue boy to even be in a romantic relationship 

but in the off chance that he is, 

warm affection won’t be on the menu unless you’re in a dream sequence.

yes, he might not be as irritable around you.  yes, he won’t immediately scowl at your presence, and maybe even request for you to be beside him once in a while.

but that is a far cry from assuming stable, healthy intimacy.

the closest he’s ever gone to touching you kindly is by pulling you towards him – nearly winding you with his forcefulness – and insisting that you play with his hair

(definitely a pushy one, and it would be endearing if not for the fact that he does not know how to interact constructively with others.)

so it’ll take time, lots of explanations and dialogue to tell him that no, he doesn’t have to be so rough with his grasp, and yes, it does bother you and you’d insist that he learn to be gentler before touching you again.

he won’t strike you down for speaking your mind – that’s exactly why he’s with you to begin with, since you were able to back up your wit with fight.

he’ll grumble, as if you had told him the most unpleasant of news (which you suppose you just have), but nonetheless attempts to mimic touches you would approve of.

scaramouche is, admittedly, easy to vex.  while he might generally be a hassle to handle, the only time you do let him give in to his harsh tendencies are when you two are kissing each other a bit too hard or grabbing each others’ clothes too eagerly.

in other words, making out.

it’s obvious that he enjoys these more aggressive instances over the ones you’ve convinced him to be satisfied with.  it’s an agreement that both of you have come to terms with: if he’s to  command  ask for little things, he better be respectful about it.  but when you decide to reward him for exercising restraint publicly, it’s behind his door where you let him go unrestrained. 

“so long as you’ll still let me do this, then i might tolerate your . . . other preferences.”

xiao

he’s not sure when you became more comfortable with one another, but for some reason he’s certain that it had to be after you commented on his hair

something about it being soft and appealing to braid – not that he would ever let you,

okay, maybe if you ask enough times.  but for now the answer is definitely no.

anyways,

you were actually the one to ask to hug him first.  he was a bit perplexed, wondering what you were thinking that prompted you to ask, but then realized that neither of you had been physically affectionate before.  

as in, not even hand holding.  or hand squeezes.  or anything else that would be considered basic between partners.

as quickly as you asked, he affirmed that it was all right, and has since become attuned to your need for physical assurance.

something about him “feeling like home” and “safe.”  at the time, he wasn’t sure what feeling like a home meant, however through time he realized that you felt like home as well.

soothing.  as if automatic, he fits your body into his and holds the back of your head against his chest, lets you twirl your fingers in your hair, and carries you into bed.

under the covers, he feels more alone with you, as if the closed door isn’t already enough.

even in the dark, his eyes will roam all over your face, and he’ll run his fingers over your cheeks, down your neck, and over your collarbones. 

he can feel you shudder slightly under his touch, and he’ll always stop immediately, concerned for your discomfort. 

but when you take his hand to your lips and press kisses on his fingers, he’s relieved that he’s still doing right by you. 

so long as you’re sure, he’ll continue his ministrations.  whether it be holding your form flush against him as you drift to sleep, or crooking his finger under your chin so he can mold your lips together just the way you like, so long as you both know you’re safe with him.

in short: inexperienced, but always concerned for you.  won’t do anything unless you ask or suggest, and even then, his care for you is more obvious than the wake of day with the sunrise. 

“i’ll hold you as long as you let me – if you’d have me be with you.”

xingqiu

simple: dramatic.

if you thought that the novels he’s written have gotten to his head, then you would be completely right, because he does not miss an opportunity to add in some flair to your relationship. 

produces a glaze lily out of thin air each time he greets you after your day of work, “fairest, this is for thou,” and has the audacity to look pleased with himself.

a nerd at heart, and you might unironically think it’s cute if not for the laughs he allows himself afterwards.

is always smiling when you touch, even if you’re just bumping into him accidentally.

it doesn’t take much to make him happy, you realize, but that assumption morphs into wow he just.  really loves with his whole heart.

xingqiu’s a magnet when it comes to your shoulder, somehow always leaning against you when given the opportunity

you could be sitting next to each other at the table, or even standing up talking to other people, and he’ll latch onto your shoulder.

“i’ve got you right next to me.  why not capitalize on the moment?”

absolutely adores it when you let him play with your hair.  you’re not sure what it’s about, but after his obvious attachment to your arm, you just decided that he was a very physical lover and you’d be more than willing to indulge him.

if you come visit him when he’s reading or writing, he gets especially excited because!!!  head rest!!!!

and consider yourself occupied for easily the next hour as he rattles off yet another plot of a novel, or attempts to woo you with sappy lines that he decided to mentally bookmark just to tease you with later.

in the instances when he isn’t occupying your lap or shoulder, he actually likes it when you lean on him as well, especially if you’re sleepy.  he finds the whole act endearing, either you being too lazy to move to bed or finding him comfortable. 

so long as you don’t tire of his antics, he’ll be sure to indulge you in the same. 

zhongli

despite being what some would call oblivious when it comes to human interaction, zhongli is surprisingly romantically competent so long as you give him time to adjust.

he’s quick to notice things you like and hones in on them with relative ease.  admittedly, the first time you hugged him, he was a bit stiff, but was actually the one to initiate physical affection the following time.

 it gives you hope that there aren’t actually cobwebs still in that thousand year-old brain of his. 

already a traditional man, you soon realize that he’s fond of more innocent touches, such as when you slot your fingers against his or unbind his hair to play with the strands. 

he might even fall asleep if you comb his hair long enough, enjoying being spoiled.

forehead kisses!

at least twice a day, he’ll brush aside your bangs and place pecks on your forehead.  if not your forehead, then definitely your cheeks.

lowkey wants to pinch your cheeks.  you’re not sure why.  maybe it’s the childish curiosity that peaks out of him every so often, and he’ll absent-mindedly comment that your cheeks remind him of crystal shrimp balls.

you’d stutter every time, finding his sense in compliments endearing yet flustering at once, and he’d just blink, the sincere man he is.

“but they do.  flush with color.”  a pause.  “could i maybe have a bite?”

ah, yes, when he does want a bite –

his touches will be unbearably soft.  so much so that you’re not even sure he’s real, with the tenderness on his fingers and warmth in his voice.

zhongli cherishes you as if he’s waited a thousand years for you.  in the back of his head afraid that if he’s any more present then he might break you, as if he would ever capable of doing something like that –

he’ll have your thighs around his waist, body above your own and mouth leaving fleeting pressures along your neck

each time his lips press into your skin, he leaves sweet words behind.

he only wishes to enjoy the moments he has with you, so long as you enjoy yourself as well.  zhongli will be attuned to your preferences, and take delight in spoiling you rotten – even if he might be a bit unorthodox with his speech, his sentiment is never in question. 

[titan-fodder]

Find a Way Chapter 2

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Rating: M (mature; mdni)

Count: ~5.5K

Tags/Warnings: somewhat awkward encounters, Miche experiences Feelings™ and is confused by them, lot of talking with some flirting (kinda), swearing

A/N: tame but cute ‘cause that’s the style of this until we get to the dirty stuff. enjoy the conversation~

Miche is tired. Exhausted, actually. He got a page in the middle of the night to come in for an emergency C-section, and yeah, he's used to being the on-call physician, but it never seems to get easier. 

He still has another six or so hours of work, though it won't be spent in the OR (he hopes). Instead, he'll be back downstairs in his usual department, consulting with expectant mothers, women in for their annuals, and other routine appointments. It's the bread and butter of his job—the easy stuff. 

Before any of that, though, he needs food. The hospital has a sizable cafeteria as well as a McDonald's on the first floor, but today Miche prefers the short walk across the street to a well-known sandwich shop. He would claim it's for the fresh air, but downtown Sina is in dire need of that, always jam packed with motorists and reeking of pollution. Premium city living.

It’s for the sunlight, he tells himself, dodging bodies on the sidewalk. He's in fresh scrubs, at least, light and breezy in the outdoor heat. One perk of the medical field: scrubs are pretty damn comfortable (until they're plastered to your body with sweat/blood/sputum, but that would apply to any style of clothing). 

Veering to the far right to avoid a gaggle of what look to be medical students—he can tell by their age and the horribly dark circles under their eyes—Miche happens to glance them over, hopeful for the next generation as he always is. 

His eyebrows raise slightly when he gets a good look at all of them, recognizing you as soon as you turn your head to one of your classmates. 

Miche is saying your name before he even registers it entirely, causing you to twist toward him and let out a surprised, "Oh! Hey!" 

The entire group stops, but you very quickly wave them along and promise, "I'll catch up with you guys," before slipping to the edge of the sidewalk next to Miche. "How are you? It's been a minute."

It has been. After the bar, Miche kept himself from stopping by again, one, so that he wouldn't reignite his old drinking habits, but also because the idea of seeing you is too appealing when it really shouldn't be. He wanted to nip that in the bud before it got anywhere close to out of hand. 

It's been about two weeks since, but that streak has just been broken. 

"I'm alright. Tired but surviving."

"Yeah, I can relate."

You have to crane your neck to look up at him which Miche is used to when talking to people, but it's an especially adorable look on you, and he can't help but smile a little when you begin to rock back and forth on your heels in the following silence.

Unlike at the bar, today you look like you fit right into the downtown medical center. A long-sleeved henley is pushed up to your elbows underneath your dark red scrub top, matching drawstring pants clinging to your ankles as is the trend these days. Your tennis shoes make Miche frown, though, a hole forming on one of them right where the canvas meets the sole and the heels of both being much too worn down to offer any kind of support. 

“Are you checking me out?” Your voice snaps his attention back to your face, and Miche’s internal monologue turns to one, long swear word.

“What? No.” But, he can absolutely see why you would assume that—and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong—but the apparently obvious once over has more to do with the fact that, “You just look different than the last two times I’ve seen you.”

“Uh huh,” you nod, looking a little too amused, but you let it go and change the subject. “Thanks for leaving what you did at the bar. Reiner wouldn't let me split it with him, so it helped me out a lot with… It just helped me out a lot."

Miche shrugs, tries to play it off as, "Good service calls for good tipping."

"Yeah, well not everyone sees it that way."

He knows. He’s been there before, working as a server at a restaurant, jumping through hoops only to get a shitty tip (sometimes no tip at all). Seems like it was a pretty similar situation to the one you’re currently in, just trying to make enough to survive while going to school, working himself to the bone, studying on his breaks… He does not miss those days at all. 

The struggle to make ends meet is one he remembers well, and he can see it in your face now, all the extra stress and anxiety, too busy with school to worry about your next meal only to get home and realize you’re out of fucking food. It’s possible to overcome, he knows. If he could come out on the other side, anyone can. 

But, that doesn’t mean he can’t lighten the load just a little bit.

“Are you breaking for lunch right now?” Miche asks, and when you nod, he points to the shop you can both see on the other side of the street. “Is a sandwich okay? On me.”

“I—...” You blink up at him, mouth opening in what looks like the beginnings of a protest, but you just end up sighing, “Yeah, sandwiches are perfect.”

The two of you cross the street at the corner then step inside the shop, greeted by the smell of fresh deli meat, and Miche tries not to grin at the way you inhale deeply. He orders his usual while you stare at the menu hanging up behind the counter, waiting for you to decide and tell the cashier.

“The Monty is pretty good,” he stoops to tell you, eyes following yours to the menu. "Southwestern, too."

You go with the latter, and after the cashier hands you two empty cups, you leave to find a table while Miche pays. It's a little crowded, but you still manage to snag one near a window.

There is a brief moment, when you're both sitting and waiting for the number to be called, that neither of you know what to say. You fidget with your badge holder, and Miche stares at the ceiling as if he's never seen fluorescent lighting, but you end up breaking first. 

"So, you have a dog?" 

For a split second he wonders how you know that, but then he remembers the pet aisle and the fifty pound bag he had bought. 

"Yeah, Minnie," he smiles, slipping his hand into his pocket for his phone. "She's an Irish Wolfhound."

Miche holds his screen out so you can see the picture of his dog, recently groomed and with her tongue sticking out. You don't make the comment everyone else does because the angle is all wrong, but one more swipe brings forth the video of her on her hind legs while Miche's best friend dances with her. They're almost exactly the same height. 

"Holy shit!" There it is. "She's huge!" You take the phone from him and hold it closer to your face, eyebrows pinched in an incredulous expression. "Beautiful but huge."

"I think the vet said she was a hundred and thirty pounds last time."

"Yeah, and how tall are—wait, that's not you."

"No," Miche chuckles. "That's my friend Erwin."

"He is also large and blonde," you muse quietly. 

"Yeah, but—" Miche fingers a strand of his own hair and tries to hide his smile as he jokes, "I'd say he's more of a honey blond while I'm a dirty blond. There's a difference."

You snort, "Of course there is," then stand up from the table when the order number is called out.

Conversation is easier after that, and there are no inpatient drunks to get in the way like a couple weeks ago. You just talk about dogs at first, and you flash him the lockscreen of your phone, a photo of… Miche can't tell if it's cute or not, honestly. 

"He's a chug," you tell him. "Chihuahua-pug mix. Hence the kinda smooshed nose."

His name is Remy, he's three years old, and apparently he's an absolute menace. "Don't let the cute floppy ears fool you. He will ruin your life."

The ears might be cute, but the crooked underbite and walleyedness make Miche snicker as he tells you, "I'll take it under advisement," unconvinced that the rodent-like dog could ever be capable of having any control over him. 

His Minnie, though—laid back, well-behaved, and beautiful—Miche would go to the ends of the earth for. She's probably on her walk right about now, he thinks as he glances at the time. He pays a dog walker to take her out almost every day, and then Nolan comes by after school to entertain her (and to play the video games his parents won't let him). 

Miche doesn't get to spend as much time at home with Minnie as he'd like to, but when his schedule allows for it, he plans days out—going hiking and playing frisbee. Sometimes he'll take her to the groomer just to get her a little dog pedicure where they trim her nails and use a blueberry scrub on her paws. Erwin says he spoils her, but Miche just sees it as making up for the long days Minnie has to spend without him. 

"Exactly! Like, I wanna be mad whenever I find another chewed up book or pee on the wall or something, but then I remind myself that, like," you pause and take a sip of tea, frowning around the straw that impedes your voice when you finish, "'m no' always s'ere for him." 

You justify it (not that you need to because Miche understands), saying you make sure Remy is fed and watered, that when you are home, you spend as much time in the dog park as you can. You even let him sleep in bed with you, but, "It still doesn't feel like enough. I know he must be bored out of his little puppy mind."

"How is he with other dogs?" Miche asks between bites. 

"Mm, annoying but not violent or anything. He'll bark for a little while until he gets used to them, and then he just kinda vies for their attention," you laugh. 

Miche nods, chewing the last bite of his sandwich, and the offer is on the tip of his tongue, let him come play with Minnie, get her running around with him, but it would be strange to suggest. It'd basically be like inviting you over, and that just seems…

Miche wants to get to know you. He does. It sounds cliche, but something about you just brightens his days. The strange encounter at the grocery store left him smiling on his way home despite thinking he'd never see you again. The evening at the bar legitimately turned a bad day into a decent one. And now, sitting in the little cafe with you, that exhaustion he was feeling before is fading away, replaced by newfound energy. 

He doesn't know exactly what it is, if he's bored or curious or legitimately interested, but he does know he wants to learn more about you. Part of it probably has something to do with seeing a bit of himself in you, but Miche knows himself well enough to know it also has to do with simply enjoying the company of an attractive, intelligent woman. 

Girl? Woman? You are quite young, early twenties if you've just started med school, and god, that makes him cringe a little because he never thought he would be that guy, but the way you grin at him and thank him for lunch with shiny eyes and genuine gratitude, he has the thought that he'd buy you lunch every day if he could. Lunch, dinner, really whatever you need. 

Bored, he convinces himself before his mind can run away with him. You're just bored and jaded and want something new to focus on. 

Stohess General is closer than your campus a block away, so you part ways there. Again, Miche is faced with the notion that he might not see you again. The hospitals may all be within the same four block radius, but it's incredibly busy, a literal medical hub of the world. It would be very easy to lose your face in the crowd of all the others. He considers asking for your number for this exact reason but stops before he can. It's been a long time since he tried to get any girl's phone number, and in this case, it just seems unwarranted. He can't bring himself to do it. 

"So, I'll see you around?" You try. 

"Hopefully." 

Nodding, you nibble on your lip and look away as if thinking, but in the end, you just thank him again then turn and keep walking toward the large school. 

~

You end up catching each other a week later. Another Monday, another lunch offer that results in you separating from your classmates, another table by the window. 

Today, you talk about friends. 

A girl named Sasha is your best and longest, and you show Miche a picture of the two of you at some music festival judging by the large stage in the background and your breezy (skimpy) clothing. 

"She's hilarious and a little dumb sometimes, but she's so, so good," you tell him, smiling fondly at the photo. "Wouldn't trade her for the world. 

You're also close with some of your classmates—Jean, Marco, Hitch, and Marlowe—as well as your co-workers—Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt. 

"Plus, Porco and Marcel, but they don't fit into either of those groups."

"Little social butterfly," Miche comments, but his brain supplies him with another thought: you have so many friends, probably too many to fit him in, and why would you? The only thing you have in common is medicine, and even then there's an obvious difference in level of education as it stands. 

"What about you? I saw the picture of Minnie and… Erwin, was it?" 

Miche nods, a little impressed that you remembered both names. 

"Yeah, Erwin, Levi, and Hange are all friends from work. Gelgar, Nana, and I go way back, though."

"Like, how far back?" You ask curiously. 

He has to think for a moment, counting the years before answering, "Third grade, I think?" 

"Oh, wow."

"Yep, we've been putting up with each other for a little over three decades now." 

It's a hint at his age, one Miche drops on purpose just to give you the chance to run for the hills if you want to, but you don't seem fazed in the slightest. 

"They have a kid, Nolan. My, uh, Godson," he tells you. "He just turned eleven a couple months ago."

"Yeah?" You take a bite of your sandwich, same one from last Monday, then use your free hand to gesture for him to give you something. "Well, come on. Show me the pictures." 

Chuckling, Miche pulls some up from Nolan's birthday, the small one he had with family before going to the arcade with his friends. 

He's a twiggy kid, platinum blond hair like his mom, hazel eyes like his dad, and glasses that point toward too many hours spent gaming. 

"Aw, he's so nerdy!" You laugh, and Miche agrees. Definitely a little awkward at times, but he's a nice kid, and that's rare to find in boys his age. 

"You see him a lot, right? Didn't you say he helps take care of Minnie?" 

"Oh yeah. He stays the night a lot on weekends. I'm not always there, but he likes the loft, and it's in a safe part of town, so Nana and Gelgar don't mind. Gives them time to themselves."

"Bet they enjoy that," you say with a wriggle of your eyebrows, and it makes Miche's stomach flip in a way he hasn't experienced in a long, long time.

But, again, you part ways after lunch, and again, Miche bites his tongue, battling with his rationality the entire elevator ride up to his office.

The following Monday, it's about school history. Where you went for undergrad (Trost University after a gap year) and where he went (University of Hermina then Mitras college of medicine). 

"Fancy. Scholarships?" 

"I got into Hermina with a sports scholarship, yeah," Miche nods. 

"Football?" 

"Basketball, actually."

You hum, "You do have the height for it."

Miche snorts. "I was actually one of the shortest players on the team."

"Excuse me? You've gotta be, like, at least six-foot-two."

"Six-five, actually," he says with a wink, and where did that come from? 

He thinks your eyes might widen for a split second, but Miche doesn't want to read too far into it. 

"Do you still play at all?" You ask, resting your cheek in your palm. 

"No," he chuckles. "I go to the gym when I can, but that doesn't happen nearly as much as it should."

"What even is taking care of oneself?" You ask rhetorically. "I sure don't know. At this point, I'm basically running on Red Bull and spite. And, lunches provided by one generous OB."

It makes Miche roll his eyes. "See, you can't just tell me that. Now, I have to buy you more food."

"You absolutely do not," you immediately stop him. "It was a joke."

"No, it wasn't," he says with a click of his tongue. 

Miche can tell you want to argue. You cross your arms over your chest and huff in a petulant way. It's oddly endearing, but he doesn't dare call you cute, knows he's probably already coming off as condescending as it is.

You calm down, though, sigh and rub your eyes after checking the time. "I've gotta get back to class."

"Let's go, then."

This time, he walks with you all the way to the campus. You complain about having to work that night, and Miche asks, "Is it busy on Mondays?"

"Not really," you shrug. "Sometimes that's worse, though. Means I won't wake up all the way. Just gonna be sleepy the whole shift."

"When do you get off?" 

"Bar closes at two, takes about an hour to clean up and balance the drawer, maybe a little faster since I'm with Bertl tonight."

"Then tomorrow?" 

Your shoulders sag like you're exhausted just thinking about it. "Lecture eight to ten then PBL, but I'll be out by noon, and I'm off from the bar."

"That's good, at least."

You stop at the corner of the large, valet drive and agree. "And, maybe I can get some studying done tonight."

"What are you going over right now?" 

"Fucking histo. I hate it. Always have."

"It's definitely tricky sometimes," Miche says because he remembers the hours he spent hunched over a microscope trying to figure out what he was looking at on a glass slide. Luckily, he got better at identifying specimens over the years, and by now, he's a bit of an expert. It's a learned skill, but it does take practice and studying. 

It just so happens that Miche still has his textbooks from all those years ago having been advised to never get rid of them. They aren't the current editions—not even close—but they do have all his notes scribbled in the margins, and he thinks you might appreciate that. 

Maybe he can stop by tonight and drop a couple off. 

~

In casual clothes and with his leather bag slung over his shoulder, Miche walks into the familiar bar. He’s mildly embarrassed about being there in the first place, feels a bit like some kind of stalker, but really all he wants to do is give you the books and turn right back around. There’s really no need for small talk, especially since he’ll probably see you in another week anyway, so—

“Miche?” You cock your head as you dry a glass, your smile tired but sincere. “What’s up? Blowing your friends off again?”

He shakes his head and makes his way over, sitting down on one of the stools and balancing his bag on the empty one beside him. There are only a few people scattered around which is about what he expected for a Monday evening, the general atmosphere of loneliness only being emphasized by the sad country song that’s playing through the sound system. The place wasn’t exactly luxurious the first night he came by, but this is just…

“Sad, isn’t it?” You snort. “I keep asking Theo if we can do karaoke or something on Mondays so the place isn’t so god damn depressing, but he won’t go for it.”

“Karaoke makes bars less depressing?” Miche challenges.

You make an expression of consideration and nod, “Alright, fair point. Oh my god, back when I was at Trost, there were these two bars literally across the street from each other, and—” Miche settles in like he said he wouldn’t, listening as you explain that one bar held karaoke on Mondays, and the other held it on Wednesdays, “—and this one fucking guy would go to both every single week, and you know what his song of choice was? Like, the one he sang every fucking time?”

“Thong Song,” Miche guesses immediately, mostly because that was one of his old friends’ go-to.

“I fucking wish. At least that would’ve been funny,” you roll your eyes. “No, this dude sang Change by the Deftones twice a week for… God knows how long.”

Miche cringes at the thought. “That’s a chorus you really have to dedicate yourself to.”

“Yeah, and he did not. I cannot listen to that song to this day, but anyway.”

“Anyway,” Miche mimics.

“Can I get ya’ somethin’ to drink?”

He thinks about it. He really does. But, if Miche leaves soon, there’s a chance he’ll actually get something close to a full night’s sleep, and those are so hard to come by.

“No, no, I just, uh,” he pauses to haul his bag into his lap and slides out the two textbooks he’d tucked inside of it earlier. “I thought you might be able to get something out of these.”

As soon as he puts them on the counter, you reach for the top volume and open it right then and there. 

“Holy shit, these are yours?”

“Yeah. I know they’re not the books you’re using, but uh… Consider it supplementary information or something.”

Flipping through the pages, your wide eyes scan the book. “No, this is great. God, you took so many notes. Do you still use these?”

Miche shrugs. “Every once in a while if I can’t find an answer anywhere else. Pretty much the exact reason all your instructors tell you to keep your books.”

“What, to look stuff up and hand them off to darling little bartenders?” You tease, batting your eyelashes, and Miche has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"Precisely."

One of the few other patrons flags you down for a refill, and you quickly rinse his empty out before returning to Miche, looking and sounding completely genuine when you tell him, "Thank you. For real. I've been ripping my hair out over histo, and I think these'll help a lot."

"Not a problem," he waves off. "Besides, it feels nice to help newbies out."

You roll your eyes but still add, "Gives you the warm and fuzzies?" 

"Something like that, yeah." 

In truth, it probably wouldn't be nearly as satisfying to help any other student out, but Miche pushes that thought away without much issue. 

He doesn’t drink that night, but he still manages to muster up the courage to do what he’s wanted to for the last several weeks—no alcohol needed, just a little pep talk.

Except you beat him to it, leaning over the bar and looking down at your clasped hands as you ask, “So, um, would it be okay if… I mean… In case I have questions…”

Miche feels his mouth twitching upward, and he tilts his head to the side, waiting patiently as you stumble through your question. It’s a little odd seeing you flustered since you’ve never been before—not that he’s witnessed anyway. 

You take a breath, eyes finally flickering up to meet his, then force everything out in a jumble. “CouldIgetyournumberorsomething?”

Snickering, he pulls his phone from his pocket, tapping on it a couple times to get to a ‘new contact’ screen before sliding it to you. He watches you key in your name followed by ten digits chewing on his bottom lip the whole time then releasing it just in time for you to glance back up. 

“Alright, uh… Cool. I guess,” you fumble, searching the bar and breathing what looks to be a sigh of relief when someone flags you down. “Well, back to work.”

“Yeah,” Miche nods, knocking on the counter a couple times and pushing himself from his stool. “See you around.”

You grin at him, shyness finally melting away and making way for that gratitude you always seem to have for him. “And, thank you for the books. I really, really appreciate it.”

“I just hope they help some.”

“I’m positive they will.”

Miche flashes his own smile while settling his bag on his shoulder, bowing his head for a moment then turning to walk from the bar. 

He tries not to get his hopes up, tries to talk himself down. It’s not like you’ll call him often. People your age prefer to text, and even then, he doesn’t expect you to reach out outside of the stray anatomy question. 

And, that’s fine. There’s no reason for you to be interested in Miche outside of that, and there’s no reason he should be interested in you outside of it. 

It’s just that you’re so damn cute. Your smile is contagious, and your eyes get this sparkle in them, and your voice is the equivalent of knuckles between his shoulder blades, makes him shiver and relax at the same time.

Needless to say, that hopeful feeling isn’t so easy to stomp out.

~

The scene playing on the TV in front of you is completely inverted, every character and prop upside-down from your perspective. Blood is beginning to pound in your head, a dull ache behind your forehead that you mostly ignore. 

You’ve been hanging off the small couch like this for some time now, a weird habit you got into as a little kid and just never grew out of. Your mom used to get annoyed by it, tugging you upright by your arms and telling you, “That isn’t good for your brain.” It couldn’t have done too much damage, though. You made it to med school after all.

Two fingers suddenly swipe up the soles of your bare feet, making your toes curl automatically. Babinski reflex, your brain supplies immediately, making you roll your eyes. It’s one of your only days off, yet you’re still thinking about your classes. Among other things.

“What’s got ya’ upside-down?” Your best friend asks, climbing over the back of the couch and clumsily situating herself beside you. Turning your head, you see her stick a Twizzler in her mouth as she blinks large brown eyes at you.

“You’re gonna choke on that if you’re not careful,” you tell her with raised eyebrows. 

Sasha shrugs her shoulders as best she can in this position, responding with a careless, “Here for a good time, not for a long time,” that makes you roll your eyes. “Anyway, answer my question. You only hang out like this when something’s bothering you.”

She’s not wrong. You can’t count the number of times she walked into your childhood bedroom and shared dorm to find your head lolling off the end of your bed. Upset or stressed or just in need of a good think, it’s always been your go-to, basically instinctual at this point. 

“Is it school?” She pries, and you shake your head. Overwhelming as your courses are, those aren’t what’s bothering you. “Work?”

“Nah.”

“Parents?”

“Nope.”

“Eren?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” The sound of snapping licorice punctuates her question, her eyes widening expectantly.

You reach over to bat at her ponytail, sighing before admitting, “I think I have a crush.”

Sasha snorts then hacks as a piece of candy gets caught in her throat, and you give her a ‘told you so’ look that she pays no attention to.

“A crush?” She repeats in a hoarse voice. “What are you, like, twelve?”

Pouting, you grumble, “I don’t know what else to call it.”

"Is it that hot older guy from the bar?" 

"What?" You squint at her. 

She elaborates with a vague wave of her hand. "The one who bought you groceries or whatever."

"How do you even know about that?" You surely didn't tell her, too embarrassed about the whole ordeal. 

"I have my ways," she says with a mischievous smirk. 

It really isn't that hard to figure out because the only other person who knows anything about Miche is, "Fucking Reiner."

"Shoulda known better than to tell him. We all know Rei's a terrible gossip. He told Connie first, and Connie told me, so—"

"Of course he did."

"Mhmm," she hums smugly. "So, go on. Gimme the deets."

There aren't a lot. Just him paying for your groceries. And, tipping you fifty bucks. And, buying you lunch every Monday. And, letting you use his old textbooks. And, giving you his number. And…

So, there are a few details, but they're nothing. It's nothing. 

"It's definitely something," Sasha completely negates you. "Dude is mad interested in you."

"Nah, there's no way. He's, like, a whole adult. He's a fucking doctor."

"So? You will be too in a few years."

"He delivers babies."

"Okay? And?"

You pull yourself upright, putting your core muscles to the test (and almost failing), then breathe a quiet, "Woah," at the headrush that hits you. 

"How old is he?" Sasha asks, mimicking your sit up with no issue. 

"Early forties, I think."

"Hot."

"He's so fucking hot," you reluctantly agree. "Like, it's honestly ridiculous."

"Wouldn't happen to have a picture, would you?" 

You make a face, at a loss when you ask, "Why would I have a fucking—" only to pause. "While I don't, the hospital website probably does." 

It's a little creepy, yes, but you want Sasha to understand just why this "crush" is hopeless, want to show her just how out of your league Miche is. 

It takes you a couple minutes to pull up his hospital profile on your phone, but you eventually find it—Miche Zacharias, MD—and stare at the little picture in the corner for just a little too long before passing the phone to Sasha. 

"Oh," is the first syllable out of her mouth, then, "Damn. You're right. That is ridiculous. This guy is stupid hot."

"That's what I'm saying."

Only the top of Miche's white coat is showing, making broad shoulders look even broader. His hair is pushed from his face, a little shorter than you're used to seeing and showing off striking green eyes. A soft smile plays at his lips, no facial hair in sight which is strange but not a bad look on him, not by a long shot. You don't think it's even possible for Miche to sport a bad look. Any bad looks would simply get better by virtue of being on him, and—

"You know who else is hot?" Sasha pulls you from your mental tirade, and you look up from your phone only to get your nose squished into your face by a pointy fingertip. "You."

Batting her hand away, you reply with a mumbled, "Not on this level," which earns you a smack to the side of the head. "Ow!"

"There will be no self deprecation in my house."

"This isn't your house," you snort. It's barely even an apartment, small and chilly and a little messy. She'd come over to quiz you on study material, but that hadn't ended up happening. 

Sasha treats the old couch like a playground, rolling off of it backwards and landing in a crouch. There's absolutely no reason she should be as graceful as she is, the complete opposite of you basically tumbling to the ground as you try to replicate the motion. 

"May as well be."

Skittering footsteps alert you to Remy's incoming onslaught of licks, a little tongue effectively slathering your cheek and ear with drool until you sit up and grab him, looking the puppy in the eye as best you can while telling him, "You're a gross li'l boy, you know that?" 

His tongue darts out and hits you right on the mouth, and you pull him away, noises of disgust and spitting muffled in the sleeve of your shirt as you wipe your face on your shoulder. 

"I hope Dr. Miche doesn't mind the taste of dog slobber," Sasha muses, taking another bite of her candy. "'Cause he's gonna get a lotta that whenever you bang him."

"Sasha?" You call out as she makes her way to the kitchenette.

"Hm?" 

"Please shut up." 

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Hermes

Hey guys, still doing what I can to stay healthy (and entertained) in quarantine. Staying still, keeping calm, and trying not to exert myself too much because of the shortness of breath thing going on. My lungs just can't get enough air it seems… 😅 Anyway, I've gotten a lot of suggestions on this series and I'm excited to keep it going. Just going to be a tad slow until I'm feeling better. Thank you for the support, y'all!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes

Lucifer

Oh no… it’s everyone’s worst nightmare… Another Mammon, but competent. Devil help us all…

Had he known who their father was, he'd have never assigned Mammon to watch over them. Hell, he would have made sure those two never even met. They became a new handful for him to manage from the day they first arrived…

When even more things started going missing around the House than normal, he knew he had made a grave mistake… They were clever, quick, and skilled. About the best WORST combination for a burglar to be…

Worse still, they were fast on their feet. He would pretty much have no way to nab them on foot and always had to resort to his wings or magic to have any hope of catching up to them… At least Mammon usually gets himself cornered!

But, paradoxically, he also came to notice that the mortal had an odd honesty streak to them... Like, they’d steal but they’d always admit to it, unlike Mammon who would try to deflect till he was blue in the face.

Were they proud of their work, maybe? Or just didn’t see the point in trying to get away with it...?

There would be several occasions where they’d take something, sell it with Mammon, and then steal the thing back later just to put it back where it belonged, seemingly never with Mammon’s permission to do so either… 

Is it better that they returned the stolen item or worse because their actions went from just robbery to a full-on scam? Either way, it gives him headaches trying to deal with it…

He pretty much gives up getting the mortal to stop after 6 months, they are legitimately that good, but makes them swear to always put back whatever they take at some point. It seems to work out and he lets more things slide, but please someone get them out of here soon… 

Mammon

Soulmatesoulmatesoulmatesoulmate, or maybe more accurately “Partner-in-Crime” but that means pretty much the same thing to him anyway. 🤷‍♀️

He’s never met a person better at thievery than they were. The day they met, they managed to pick his pockets without breaking a sweat (or a finger) and that was it. He was in love.

They could teleport! Actually teleport!! Suddenly, NOTHING was off limits to him any more! Lucifer’s rare records? Easy. Levi’s secret safe? Cakewalk. The Castle vault?? Child’s play!! It was like they could steal anything they put their mind to!!

He didn't even have to worry about them when they made getaways because they were fast too, the two actually have parkour races through the streets for the hell of it!

On top of all that, they were wicked creative. He’d come up with a money-making scheme then they’d offer him all sorts of little tricks to help get away with it...

HE’D have never realized that they could turn themselves into rats in order to frighten and sneak past Barbatos, but they thought of it the instant they heard of his fear of things. They're a mad genius!!

The only real downside was they seemed to like stealing for the sport of it instead of for the money… so they always steal back whatever they took.

That kind of defeats the purpose of all that work in the first place, right? Ah well, at least that's more money for him.

These two pretty much became a walking menace to Devildom society- Sorry, not sorry.

Leviathan

Not another Mammon!!! WHY?! What did he do to deserve this?!?

When he started noticing that EVEN MORE of his stuff was going missing than usual, he straight-up flipped! Like, had the mortal not been pretty tough in their own right they would have been Lotan-chow. End of discussion.

… And then they started using their powers for good? Kind of?

Like, first off they would always give back what they stole, which was a nice change from Mammon. Annoying, but at least he didn't have to go buy replacement games or anything…

And then they started stealing him limited edition merch or tickets and stuff because they… liked him?? He guessed???

Why else would they go to all the trouble of swiping one of the five ultra-rare Kitsune Ruri-chan figurines from its original collector? He would have had to pay Mammon half his tail for something like that but the MC just brought it to him one morning because they could!

Is… is this love? Has he grown to love that which he hates?! What is even happening anymore!?! Who is he?!? 😫

Eventually he has to reconcile his conflicted feelings by dubbing them the real life Peony Phantom Thief, Jane and even making them a cosplay. Yes, they have to wear it when they bring him things. No, it's not weird, shut up.

Satan

He wants to be irritated, no - furious, that they keep taking his stuff… But he’ll be damned if they aren’t making Lucifer’s life a living hell right now. 😏

He's honestly not even sure how they managed to swipe half of the priceless portraits in the Castle (a considerable feat since there's one for Every. Room.) but they pulled it off in under a week. Barbs didn't even notice the replicas…

If that's not mildly terrifying, he doesn't know what is. Who knows what things he could be missing at any given moment...?

At least the mortal had the good sense to return his things, unlike Mammon, which gets them off his shit list for the most part. 🤷‍♀️

It helps that they’re also impressively well-traveled. They claim to have been across every human continent and sailed every ocean. Though he was skeptical at first, just hearing their stories eventually convinced him.

What sort of person has sailed the Amazon River, hiked through Arctic tundra, seen every major capital city, and still had time to explore the sights of the French Riviera?

One that has magical teleportation powers apparently.

Frankly, he could listen to their stories of the human world all day and still ask for another. He's told them that they may as well just write a book of their own for him at some point, it'd be beneficial to their poor vocal chords.

Asmodeus

Ugh! Really? Another thief in the House?? Wasn’t one hard enough to deal with?!

Honestly, stolen beauty products aren't exactly something you can just sell or give back, so unfortunately a lot of Asmo's clothes/accessories get targeted and he is NOT happy about it...

Around the time his favorite scarf was stolen for the third time, he was about to gut the mortal himself, but they struck a deal with him. They could nab his clothes SO LONG as they returned them with an extra little "gift."

Jewelry, perfume, creams, nail polish, etc. Asmo kept a running list and pretty much treated his thieving friend like a less moral version of Akuzon. Whatever he asked for, no matter how rare or expensive, they always got their hands on so who was he to complain?

He once decided to test them by asking for the Hope Diamond - which they got for him - but he made them return it after a week after the curse on it made him ruin a particularly intricate manicure so…

Like Satan, he's also pretty impressed with all the places they've seen. He's pretty traveled in the human world himself so they exchange travel stories all the time!

He may bother them to him out traveling from time to time. There are so many gorgeous and romantic places to visit in the human world after all, it's not like anybody could stop them from just… popping in to have a look. Right? 😏

Beelzebub

They learned very quickly that his food is absolutely off limits and after that, they were good.

Seriously. Beel caught them once trying to swipe a piece of pizza from his dinner and he nearly ripped their arm off for it…

But on the flipside, he also knows that he can go to them if he REALLY needs a snack and is short on cash. 

It's pretty comical watching the fleet-foot mortal running from angry demon vendors with a basket of stolen apples for their buddy… But he appreciates their enthusiasm! 🙂

Beel actually likes to hear about their travels too, but mostly what they've eaten. They can keep him enraptured for hours by describing all the food they've come across in the human world…

Watch out for the drool, though.

Since they can teleport, they'll sometimes pop up with a human world treat for him and the man internally swears his undying love for them every time...

Outwardly, though, he just smiles. 'Cause he's a sweetie.

Belphegor

They… they opened the attic door on, like, the first day they met… They didn’t even make it look that hard, they had some kind of knack for breaking and entering…

Seriously, imagine the look on his face when they just walk into the attic to say hello… He had this whole, “Lure and Trick the Human” plan all thought out then they pulled out a magic lockpick or something and BOOM! Freedom!

He laughed, perhaps a little closer to the edge of sanity than he was intending, and he tried to attack them but they were so damn fast he couldn't land a single hit!

Damn was it embarrassing when the others came in…

MC: "LUCIFER! LUCIFER!! There's a monster in your attic!!!"

Lucifer: "That's not a monster that's my brother!!"

MC: *stops midway through kneeing Belphie in the stomach* …. Ooooooooh!

MC: Whoops. 

It was a… rocky start.

After they settled their differences quelled Belphie's bloodlust he found that they kind of grew on him rather quickly… Something about that mischievous energy and how much they gave his brothers (minus Beel) grief with it.

He absolutely helps them with their plans if it will annoy Lucifer in any way. Occasionally, they'll even take Belphie out on raids instead of Mammon.

Turns out he's surprisingly good at distractions because all he has to do is pretend to fall then take a nap. People around him will legitimately believe that he needs medical attention so the MC can sneak through crowds undetected...

Of course, Mammon gets PISSED when they do this, though. How dare his baby brother try to steal away his perfect partner!! Get your own damn mortal, Belphie!!! 🤬

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

in which harry is the right person at the wrong time. 

a/n: hi lovelies! here is my christmas fic for @goldenbluesuit​ ‘s xmas challenge! i chose the song ‘baby, it’s cold outside’ and it’s my FAVORITE xmas song, so i’ve included bits and pieces of the song throughout the story! hope you all like it, and happy holidays! pls rb and send feedback bc they’re very helpful :) 

WORD COUNT: 9.6k of ex lovers to lovers, teacher!harry x lawstudent!yn filled with slight angst, missing someone dearly, and fluff

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption 

COME INTO MY INBOX AND LETS TALK ABOUT ‘BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE’ i’d love to know your thoughts! 

pls rb to share! <3

17 December 2020

A chilly and snowy night was upon you as you took a shot of hard liquor. The face of disgust appeared on your face as the liquid slowly went down your throat after you hammered the shot of tequila. 

Normally, you wouldn’t pregame when you were going to your friend, Addie’s, house where you would drink some more, but you needed to shake off your nerves that you felt at the moment. You took a deep breath after taking your second shot and you had physically felt yourself starting to relax. 

Rolling your head to stretch your neck out, you decided it was time to leave since it was nearing seven in the evening. You called yourself an Uber because of the alcohol in your system and you were planning to sleep over Addie’s place since she said she would bring you back in the morning before you had to go to work. 

You waited for your Uber by the front door while you looked in the mirror, putting your black beanie onto your head. You were bundled up in a black university sweater, a camel color coat over, along with tan lounge pants and a pair of black boots. Once you got a notification that your Uber driver, Jason, was in front of your house, you grabbed your overnight bag and headed out the door. 

You placed the hood of your sweater over your beanie so you got more warmth since it was quite cold. You were never one for the cold weather, which is unfortunate since you lived in London. You cherished the days where it was sunny and warm; the sun bright and warm as you laid on the grass in complete content. 

You missed those days. You missed the days where you didn’t worry about a singular thing. 

Looking out the window, on your way to your destination, you watched the snow slightly fall, hitting and building up on the ground while the pedestrians walked through the streets, bundled up in thick layers of clothing. Some people were with others, walking hand in hand or hugging each other through the cold. Even though it was freezing cold outside, there were smiles on their faces because the hold of one another was enough. They could get through the worst snowfall, but if they were in each other’s arms, it wouldn't matter; they could get through anything. 

The cold had reminded you that you were missing a pair of strong arms that should’ve been around you through this season, but you were completely frozen—left out in the cold to warm yourself up. 

You sighed and the car stopped in front of Addie’s place. You thanked your driver, wishing him a ‘Happy Holidays’ before you got out and buzzed your best friend’s apartment onto the buzzer system; hearing one back, you entered the complex while brushing your shoes onto the floor mat, so you wouldn’t slip while going up the stairs. 

You were grateful the building was warm, and you’re sure Addie would crank up the heat for you since you would always complain how ‘bloody cold’ it is all the time. 

Once you opened the door, you were met with your entire friend group who were all lounging around in the living area. They all faced the door once you walked in, seeing who the last friend to arrive. Greetings were sent towards you, Addie and Nic got up from their spots on the couch that they’re going to lose because behind them, Elijah and Niall were getting up from their spots on the floor to steal it. 

“Hey! There you are! We were all waiting for you,” Addie said, giving you a hug. 

Nic went in for a hug before she pulled back and looked at you suspiciously. You looked at her confusingly, wondering why she was looking at you the way she was before she said, “Did you party before you came here?” You furrowed your brows until you remembered that she probably smelt the alcohol that you took before you left. 

“Oh, uh, just took a couple of shots before I came here.” The two girls understood quite well, thankfully. 

“No worries! Come join,” Addie welcomed you in. The two went back to the living area, only to see that their spots were taken, so they grabbed the two boys’ arms, yanking them out of their seats. You chuckled as you walked to Addie’s room to put all of your belongings. 

Once you did that, you exited her room the same time the bathroom door opened across her room. The person in front of you was the reason why you were so anxious before you left; why you needed to relax for a bit and mentally prepare yourself before going to Addie’s place. 

The person in front of you was Harry Styles. 

The person who had your heart. 

The person you were deeply in love with still. 

The person who was your ex boyfriend. 

“Hi,” he said surprisingly, smiling a bit. 

“Hi, Harry,” you replied, inching towards him as he met you halfway. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders as you did the same around his waist, resting your cheek onto his chest. The hug was warm and comforting, like it always was, and you looked forward to these kinds of hugs every time you saw him. But your heart ached every single time. 

Pulling away, you gave him a small smile before you two walked out of the hallway and to where your friends were. There was laughter between the two girls and guys as Niall was telling them a joke. Nic was the one who saw you and Harry first, and her laughter died down. She looked at you concerningly, giving you those eyes as if they were asking if you were okay, and you nodded your head to reassure her. You and Harry join the group; you sat on the loveseat on one side of the rectangle wooden table, while Harry sat on the floor on the other side. 

You tried joining in on the conversation and laughter, but you couldn’t help but take sneaky glances back to Harry, only to find him getting glances at you as well. 

It was hard to focus on anything your friends were saying when Harry was in the same room, but you realized it was also difficult when he wasn’t in the same room because then you were wondering where he was. 

It wasn’t easy being friends with Harry after the breakup, good friends, especially; and it pained you to actually act normal around him when all you wanted to do was scream, cry, and have him comfort you. But you did your very best to maintain a cool, calm, and collected mood whenever you’re around him, although inside, your heart was racing and everything you said seemed incoherent. 

You tried your best to avoid him after you two split, and he did as well, but being part of the same friend group just didn’t go well with your wishes. You two had to suck it up and be normal around each other.

Being with Harry was possibly the best eight months of your life. To some, it’s not the longest amount of time, but he was one of a kind; you couldn’t find anyone out there like him--not like you were looking anyways. It genuinely felt like you’ve been together for years, and when you two were celebrating your six month anniversary, your friends had questioned you saying ‘It’s only been six months?!’

Your relationship with Harry was all things blissful. It was pure happiness and love, and you wouldn’t want it with anyone else. You two rarely got into fights, and if you did, it was most likely a petty and annoyed argument that would have you two back in each other’s arms only twenty minutes after. He was your fresh breath of air that made you laugh and orgasm…multiple times. 

It was all smiles and laughs until it wasn’t. 

You two had gotten together the second semester of senior year. Meeting at the library because you couldn’t reach a book, it didn’t take long for you both to get together. You had known him for two weeks until he asked you out on a date where he kissed you for the first time. The dates and kisses continued on for six months until you mutually decided to call it quits. 

It wasn’t an easy decision, but considering that Harry was going to a different school that was in a different country for his master’s degree in education for the fall semester, and you were also in the midst of your career; interning at a law firm didn’t quite clear up your schedule, only making you busier by the hour. There was barely any time for the two of you to spend time with each other with how busy and hectic your lives were, so there would most likely be no calls coming in or distant texts that were sent out to make it seem like the void had disappeared. 

Like two mature adults, you and Harry called it quits after the summer. He moved away to get his master’s and you kept yourself busy at the law firm. It wasn’t easy--still isn’t easy, but it was for the best. The both of you needed to focus on your careers and yourself before you two were ready enough to get back together. That’s if Harry wanted to get back together anyways. 

Of course you wanted to get back together with him, but you didn’t know where he stood on that, or if he was even seeing someone. Throughout the two years that he was away, you only saw him during summer and winter breaks, so he could possibly be seeing someone whenever he goes back to school. But now that he had moved back again, your mind was spiraling because now you got to see him more. 

Finally, you broke out of your trance, once again thinking about Harry, you saw him looking at you. The both of you completely tuned out to the conversation and laughter coming from your friends. You held your wine glass up, Harry doing the same while smirking before you both sipped your drinks, hoping the sweet wine would relax your bodies. 

Nic was picking out a small paper out of the Santa hat Addie was holding. She took a quick peek at it before, smirking to herself before Addie moved over to you for your turn. As you chose your Secret Santa, you hoped it was a good one. It’s not like you didn’t love your friends, some of them were picky, and by some, you mean Nic. 

You looked at the piece of paper, smiling before shoving it into your pocket. Addie moved onto Harry who was the last one to choose, and you watched him as he looked at the paper like it was a poker hand. He raised his brows, smirking before he looked up and started to fold the paper. Your eyes looked down at his polished hands, noticing that he still wears the same rings as he did when you first met him. Your favorites were his initial, thinking how incredibly sexy and alluring they looked on him as he walked around confidently. You’ve stolen them multiple times as well, even if they were too big on you, but the thought of walking around with Harry’s name on you just seemed so enticing. 

Niall’s laughter brought you out of your sensual thoughts about Harry’s hands and you realized you were caught staring, and Harry knew exactly what you were looking at with the amount of times he’s caught you staring and fantasizing about his hands. Plus, you openly told him that you had a thing for his hands. 

A smug smile was seen from Harry, so you took your attention away from him and towards your friends. 

“So, what do we say? $50 limit?” Nic suggested, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

“Why are you trying to make me broke? You know I have a huge family, like, 15 cousins!” Elijah debates. 

Nic gasped dramatically. “I’m offended you don’t consider us family, Eli!” Elijah playfully rolls his eyes again, turning his head to the side as he smiled into his shoulder, blushing a bit. 

You chuckled at their playful banter. You’re a bit surprised they hadn’t gotten together yet because ever since you met them, you could practically feel the tension between them. They were just too stubborn to admit that they liked each other. 

“Okay, how about we make it maximum $30?” Harry pitched in. Your eyes had immediately averted to him, and it was like he captured you just by the sound of his voice. “We have exactly six days to get our gifts,” he added. Your friend group has always been one for procrastinating. Everyone is so busy these days that it gets harder to plan hangouts where the entire group could go, but you were all family, so if the gatherings were at three in the morning, everyone would be there. 

The group agreed, telling him that was a solid number. You caught Harry’s eye and he softly smiled at you. Giving him one back, you suddenly felt nervous as he smiled, so you chugged the rest of your wine and walked to the kitchen to open a new bottle to bring to the living area.

The bottle made a loud pop sound, which earned an in sync ‘Woo!��� from the group as it was a tradition you all created whenever a new bottle of wine was being opened. Smiling to yourself, you poured yourself a glass before downing it. As you were doing so, Harry walked into the kitchen with his own glass in his hand. 

“Hogging all the wine, aren’t you, Y/N?” He teased to clear the awkward and anxious tension between you two, and luckily, you stifled out a giggle. 

“You know me and my wine.” You refilled his empty glass while taking a sip of yours. Once you fill it halfway, he clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. His lips meeting the sweet but bitter taste of red wine that you so wished was your lips. The way he curled his lips into his mouth and licking his lips, tasting the flavor had you daydreaming such sultry things about his lips. 

You cleared your throat, breaking yourself out of your gaze. “How are you, H? How’s work?” 

Harry’s cheeks warmed up at the simple nickname. “I’m doing good, yeah. Work is good. The school is great.” This was Harry’s first semester teaching, and he absolutely loved it. He loved being in the classroom setting, interacting and making sure his students understood the material. He wanted to teach elementary kids, but that would require knowing various subjects when he wanted to focus more on ninth grade English. 

“I’m happy for you,” you confessed. You were happy for him, but you wanted to be happy with him. “I know you’re a great teacher, and your students must love you.” You bumped him with your hip gently. 

“They’re great. A couple of them have this weird crush on me for some reason.” 

“I mean how could they not.” You realized you said that out loud, and you’re fully blaming the alcohol and the few glasses of wine that you already had, leaving you with a rosy cheek tint glow. Harry didn’t say anything but smug as he continued to sip on his drink. You slipped past him to join your friends, and Harry followed. Addie gave you a knowing look, hoping to communicate with just her eyes as she saw you and Harry walk out of the kitchen together, and you simply nodded, gesturing that you were okay. 

The rest of the night went by quite fun as the boys helped Addie hang up the rest of her decorations while scoffing and rolling her eyes because they weren’t cooperating. You and Nic were sitting on the floor watching and laughed, pouring yourselves more glasses of wine. Your heart skipped a few beats as you watched Harry the entire time, laughing and smiling, and sometimes looking over at you just to get a simple glance at your face to suffice his heart from the heartache of not being able to hold or kiss you. 

You’ve always liked shopping alone. Shopping with Nic and Addie could be stressful, no matter how much you loved them. You would only go to the shoppes with them if you weren’t looking for anything to buy, but since you were Christmas shopping and the stores were getting busier counting down to Christmas day, you had passed on their invitation to shop with them. There was nobody bugging or nagging you, causing you to get distracted; just you, a basketful of snacks, and Christmas music playing through your headphones. 

You couldn’t wait to give your Secret Santa gift because you’ve put a lot of thought into it ever since you found out who your receiver was. You’ve been doing Secret Santa with your friends since the third year of college. At first, your friends group was only you, Nic, Addie, and Niall—you’ve known Niall since you were sixteen, and you met the girls your first year of uni—until Nic met Elijah during the second semester of junior year, who was quickly accepted, and then you met Harry. 

You’ve all become a close knit of friends, and each and every single one of you have met other people, but there was nothing like this group. With bonding and connecting so well, all you needed was each other, and you couldn’t be more grateful. 

As you were looking at the collection of whiskey, you felt a body brush passed you, slightly bumping into you as they tried getting through the narrow aisle. You jolted forward a tad bit, making you take a step forward to let the person behind you pass through. 

“So sorry,” the familiar voice said. The music playing through your headphones was not even halfway up since you still wanted to be aware of your surroundings, but you could recognize that voice anywhere. 

Turning around to look at the person behind you, sure enough, it was the one and only. 

“Harry?” You called out, taking out your headphones. He turned around, and once he saw you, he immediately smiled. 

“H-Hi. I didn’t expect to see you,” he nervously blurted out a false statement. He knew that this was your go to store and you would always drag him there because they always had your favorite snacks in stock. 

You chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t expect to see you here either.” Unlike his statement, yours was true. When you were with him, he would always ask you why you couldn’t stop at any of the other shops because this one was on the other side of where you lived. But you simply told him that it was because you would feel like you would be cheating on this store with the others because this was your go-to place, and the employees here were just lovely. 

“Shopping for yourself?” Harry asked. 

You looked down at your basket. “Oh, no. For my Secret Santa. What about you? What are you doing here?” 

“I, uh, I was on this side of town and,” he turned around to face the wine section before grabbing a bottle of Pinot Noir. “Just needed to get this,” he said as he held it up. 

“Night in?” 

“Hmm, yeah,” he nodded. 

“With…someone, or?” You tried your best to not show your anxiousness when you asked him if he was having a night in with someone that’s not you. 

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, no. Not with anyone…” Your shoulders relaxed and a small smile appeared on your face. You slightly nodded your head, containing your relief. “You look great!” He complimented. You were wearing your work attire; a black pencil skirt with a white silk, semi turtleneck long sleeve, and a black coat thrown over. You were also in nude heels, which weren’t the best to shop in, but you had forgotten to bring a change of shoes. 

You blushed. “Thank you. I came here straight from work.” Harry’s brows raised. You were always one for a sense of style, so he wasn’t surprised that you would look this good going to work. 

“Really? How is work going, by the way?” 

“Good, actually. I’m still interning at the law firm, so I’m pretty busy. But overall it’s great! A lot of research, mock cases, and sometimes the interns get to sit and watch in the courtroom. It’s pretty thrilling,” you said excitedly. Harry smiled, missing how you would explain things so eagerly. “This is my last year interning, so hopefully I could work at the law firm I’m already interning at, and become a permanent lawyer there.” 

“I’m sure they’d love to have you there. You’re great, really. They’d be stupid to let you go…” he trailed off. There was a double meaning to his words, and you were wondering if Harry thought he was dumb enough to let you go. Not wanting to dwell on his words any longer, you murmured a soft ‘Thanks’ to him and smiled. Harry nodded, mentally beating himself up over his words and how he was really the stupid one to let you go. 

“I, uh, should go, or my sister will be suspicious,” you chuckled. “I hope you have a great night, Harry.” You grabbed a bottle of whiskey before walking passed him. You weren’t even done shopping, but you couldn’t be in the same room as him without thinking of the memories that had always lingered, making you nostalgic and sad because you don’t know if you would be able to make more memories with him. 

Harry was left alone in the aisle as he watched you walk over to the register to pay for your items. Just when you were done, you looked up, giving him a soft smile and waving at him before you turned around and walked out of the store. Harry’s heart fluttered, but at the same time, it was pounding through his chest. He mentally cursed himself for being so nervous around you, making an awkward tension fill the air. He couldn’t tell you what you were really doing at your store--no, he couldn’t. 

Because what would you say if he told you that he’s been going to your store ever since you two broke up and whenever he’s in town just because it reminded him of you. The four walls somewhat mended his broken heart as he felt comfort inside of the shop because some of his best memories of you are in this very store. And since he couldn’t step into your apartment to immediately feel at home, your favorite store would have to do…for now. 

Right when you entered Addie’s home, you were met with the loud music of the holiday season, along with Addie, Nic, and Elijah singing the lyrics to one another as they jumped and danced with a glass of their preferred alcohol in their hand. 

They hadn’t heard the door open since the music was quite loud, so you took the opportunity to take a quick video of them as you smiled at your lovely friends, who felt so careless at the moment. Once the song ended, you put your phone away, and Eli was the one who spotted you first. 

“Ah, there she is!” He walked over to you, giving you a big hug. You giggled as he slightly picked you up from the ground and twirling you. You were sure that he was already buzzed, and you were wondering how many glasses he’s had already, or if he pregamed by himself to calm himself down for talking to Nic, just like you had done to prepare you for a night with Harry, which you hadn’t done tonight. 

There was a part of you that wanted to take a shot or two to ease your nerves, but you realized that you needed to stop doing that because as far as you know, you and Harry are most likely going to be friends for a long time. So, drinking almost every week did not sound fun to you. 

Nic poured you a glass of wine, clinking your glasses together as you took your first sip of alcohol that night. You helped Addie set up the food onto the table along with some Christmas designed plates and utensils. Just as you were counting the utensils, you heard a loud Santa laugh coming from Niall, making everyone turn their heads towards the door. Niall walked in, carrying a bag-full of presents and Harry followed with a three foil wrapped aluminum trays in his hands as he chuckled at Niall’s way of making himself known. Your face immediately heated up at the sight of your ex-boyfriend because he looked good. 

Although you loved every version of Harry, there was something about Harry Styles in the snowy winter that made your knees weak. He was bundled up in a sweater with a coat tossed over, and he wore boots. His hair was slightly messy from the wind as he shook off the snow that had fallen onto his locks. His nose was always red too, and when he would press a kiss to your cheek, you would feel the icy cold tip of his nose, contrasting to your warm cheeks. And it’s a tragedy that you’ve never spent a winter season with him when you were together, only two Christmases after the breakup. 

Winter Harry was your favorite, and all you wanted to do was snuggle up with him. 

Niall and Harry made their rounds to greet everyone, and Harry would always make sure you were the last one he greeted, just so he could hold and hug you a little longer. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve,” you said once he got to you. He smiled and chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You laid your head against his chest, taking in his scent and natural warmth, even though he just came from the cold. “What’d you bring?” You asked once you pulled away. 

“I brought the cheesy garlic bread, brussel sprouts, and crab cakes,” he smiled. 

You gasped. “Your specialty. My mouth is already watering.”’ You clapped your hands in excitement. 

Harry giggled, leaning against the kitchen countertop. “Sure is, and it’s some of your favorite dishes of mine too,” he remembered. You blushed, heart fluttering as he didn’t forget your favorite foods. 

Harry was always a chef of his own; he loved cooking. Learning from Anne, he made it his mission to make his own homemade food after he moved out, and she would always tell him that you could always show your love through food. From there, he learned more about cooking and seemed to love everything about it. Whenever the group has gatherings for special occasions and everyone agrees for a potluck, Harry always made sure to talk to everyone and see what they wanted him to cook. 

When you two were together, he did the majority of the cooking. There would be times when you wanted to help, but he would simply tell you that you needed to let him do it and relax. That was something you loved about him—he was always a giver and didn’t expect to receive anything back, in more than one way. 

You and Harry were definitely ones for staying in, and he would always whip up the best food that was filled with so much love and flavor. 

“Once you two are done loving over there, we’d like some help over here!” Niall called out from the dining area. Your eyes widened as Harry’s cheeks turned pink. Harry held his arm out, gesturing you to go first, and you walked out of the kitchen as he followed behind you.

The group’s attention and eyes were on you and Harry, and your brows furrowed as you mouthed a ‘What?’ at them, and they instantly went back to setting up the food as if nothing happened. You turned around to look at Harry confusingly and he shrugged his shoulders, just as confused. 

The music was playing, the decorations were lit up, and the food was settling into everyone’s stomach, followed by drinks as a warm feeling laid over everyone. It was overall a great time with them as it always was, and since Christmas was coming up in just two days, the merry feeling was always everyone’s moods. 

As everyone was laughing and having a great time, Addie had gotten a knock from her neighbor, asking if everyone could keep the volume down. Everyone was holding in their laugh because you all hadn’t realized how loud you’ve gotten. 

“I’m pretty sure they knew it was going to be a long night when it was just the three of them dancing and screaming,” you pointed out to Addie, Nic, and Elijah, and they all laughed, agreeing. 

“Wait, what?” Niall asked confusingly. 

“Right when I walked in, they were screaming at the top of their lungs. Wait, I have a video.” You pulled your phone out of the front pocket of your sweater and showed Niall the twenty second video. 

He cackled. “Hey, thanks for waiting for us,” he teased, giving your phone back to you. 

You leaned back onto Harry’s leg, since you were sitting on the floor and he was sitting on the chair behind you, and you looked up at him to show him the video. He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his thighs as you shifted closer to him so you were sitting in between his legs. Harry’s lips curled into his mouth, and he was grateful that you weren’t facing him because he was flustered. You pressed play, and he watched as he chuckled, watching his friends have a good time.

“Wait, I also wanted to show you this video,” you mentioned once the video was over. You scrolled through your pictures, and Harry was watching you go through your camera roll. He saw pictures of buildings, food, you and the girls, and some of them were just of you. Before he could really think about your own pictures, you found the video of your family dog and showed Harry. 

As you and Harry were watching the video, your four other friends were eyeing you two and whispering things to each other suspiciously. Nic took a few pictures of the moment because the sight was just so cute, but everyone was wondering when you two were getting back together. 

And you were wondering the same. 

For a few minutes, you and Harry were in your own little world as you two talked about your family; never making the effort to change the position you were in--you had just turned your body so you could see him better. You’ve missed times like these where everything else, outside of the bubble you two created, didn’t seem to matter. The way his eyes gleamed when he talked to you had lulled you in, making you depart from every thought you were trying to create while the only thought that dawdled was Harry. 

“Alright, let’s pass out our Secret Santa gifts before we’re all too drunk,” Niall suggested, popping yours and Harry’s bubble. You moved out of between Harry’s legs to sit beside him where you were before. You looked up at him, softly smiling and he gave you one back. His eyes looked like they wanted to say something, and you so badly wanted to crawl into his mind to know what he was thinking. 

Everyone agreed, getting up to grab their gifts. Addie also grabbed the Santa hat that you had to wear if it was your turn to pass out your gift. The Santa hat had been through four Christamases with the group, and it was the little things that made you happy.

Addie decides to go first since she was the host. She put the Santa hat on before she started. “First one! My Secret Santa is…Elijah!” She walked over to him, giving him her gift as he smiled, thanking her. He opened her gift and gasped as it was a new headset for his PlayStation since he was always talking about how one side was completely dead. Addie placed the hat onto his head as he grabbed his gift. 

“So, this one is for…” he smiled before walking over to the other end of the couch. “Nic.” Her eyes widened, taking the gift from his hands, and he took a seat next to her on the floor. She ripped open the wrapping paper before she paused, looking back at him. It was a large rectangle frame of pictures of her and Eli with a note in the middle saying ‘4 years as best friends, countless laughs, and one question unasked. Will you go on a date with me?’ Nic squealed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It was like he was proposing to her because she screamed out a loud yes. “Life is too damn short. I can’t wait to go another day without calling you my girl, so I wanted to take my chances,” he told her. You smiled at them, realizing it’s been too long, and you were so happy for them. 

It was Nic’s turn, which she completely forgot about because she was so overjoyed, and she walked up to Harry to give him her gift. He thanked her before opening it, receiving a set of nail polish, a few face masks, a vanilla candle, and a gift card to one of his favorite restaurants. 

Harry was up, and he was a bit nervous for this one. You knew that it could either be you, Niall, or Addie since you were the three left without gifts. He stood in front of the fireplace as everyone looked at him. You thought he looked absolutely adorable in that Santa hat, which you think every single year. He slowly walked over to Niall, making him beam, but turned around and walked over to you, earning a ‘Hey!’ from Niall. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve,” Harry greeted you, handing you your gift. You smiled brightly, grabbing the box. It was a quite heavy box with brown wrapping paper with reindeers on it and a large red bow. “I wrapped it myself,” he smirked, playfully flipping his shirt hair, and you giggled. 

You ripped the paper and opened the box, eyes softening. In the box, there was a graphic tee, your —and his—favorite fresh perfume by Jo Malone, five pens with your first and last name engraved in the middle, a Cravings cookbook from Chrissy Teigen and a yellow and white vertical striped apron with the words ‘Summer Lovin’ with a sun embroidered at the top. Your eyes watered at the words at the special but emotional meaning behind it. 

Two months before you and Harry broke up, you knew it was the end. You both agreed that you would spend two months together before you had to part ways with one another. It was the most special and fun summer you ever had, but emotionally, it was the worst. Knowing that you weren’t going to be together anymore by the end of it was behind the facade of the endless laughter and love. You really didn’t want it to be over, but you understood and needed to grow separately and blossom with your careers. 

The words behind the embroidered apron was from one summer night. You and Harry had a bonfire at the beach, and you were cuddled up with him as he held a blanket around the both of you. You had tequila disguised like water as you held your bottle up to the best summer loving. You wished the circumstances were different, but if it’s meant to be, then he’ll come back to you. 

“You’ve always wanted to learn how to cook and I’ve seen that you’re starting to on your Instagram stories, so I thought these were the perfect things to get you so you could be a proper chef now,” he said with a soft smile. 

Harry truly paid attention to the small details of your life. Together or not, he intently listened and observed without anyone knowing. He nailed it down to the small details; from the perfume, the pens, and the apron. The sentiment behind it was what made the gift so special, and the person who gifted it to you completed and made it so much better. 

As your vision had gone glassy, you sat on your knees, reaching up at Harry for a hug. He bent down to your eye level, sitting on his knees as well as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You held him tightly, sniffling into his shoulder as a rush of overwhelming emotions hit you. Your heart fluttered and pounded at the same time—a feeling that was familiar to your body when it came to Harry. 

“Thank you so much. This is the most thoughtful gift ever,” you said into his shoulder. This gift was number two on the list of gifts you’ve received from him, following Harry himself as your number one, of course. 

Harry pulled his head back slightly to press a kiss to the side of your head. The gesture had made your heart swoon and you smiled against his shoulder. Everyone was watching you two interact, and they all thought this was finally the moment where you two would get back together again. They’ve all seen you two suffer enough being without each other, along with the heavy tension that there was. All they wanted was for you both to be happy. 

You pulled away from him, looking up at his green eyes as they stared into you. He offered you a small smile that took your breath away before he wrapped one arm around your shoulder, bringing you into his side as he wasn’t quite done holding you. 

After a few minutes, your friends had let you have your moment before Niall complained how he didn’t have a gift yet. You and Harry chuckled, letting go of one another, and he placed the Santa hat onto your head before you slowly started walking over to Niall. When you handed him his gift, he cheered happily before opening it. You had given him several customized guitar pics with his initials printed onto them, a leather notebook since he liked to write songs, and Proper 12 Irish Whiskey, which was fitting because he’s Irish and he likes Connor McGregor. He thanked you with a big hug, picking you up off the ground with one arm as he held the alcohol bottle in the other. 

Addie was the last one who hadn’t received a gift, and Niall was her Secret Santa. He gave her a bunch of makeup with your help, and a tupperware set, which she had been asking for since everyone always took her containers because she liked hosting so many parties. 

The rest of the night had gone on for a few more hours before everyone was pretty tired, deciding to call it a night. Everyone helped clean up, making sure to help Addie with the dishes and putting or throwing stuff away. Although you were cleaning, you loved your entire group. This was your family--the closest people to you. The ones who know everything about you and would laugh at you when you fall before falling with you. You were entirely grateful for everyone in this room, and you couldn’t have asked for a better group to spend more holidays and days with. 

After the cleaning was done, Niall and Eli started to head out, not before Eli was satisfied with the amount of goodbyes he gave Nic with how long the hug was. Niall had to physically pull him off, telling him the Uber was outside. 

You were washing your hands before Harry walked over next to you, handing you a towel to dry off your hands. “Thank you,” you muttered, shyly smiling. 

“Uh, I wanted to ask if you wanted to come over?” He proposed. Your brows raised at his question. You and the girls had planned on having a sleepover after, but the prospect of going home with Harry had sounded much better (no offense to your friends). 

“I was planning to sleepover here…” you decided to innocently tease, even though you knew you were going to say yes. 

“I already asked them, and they said I could take you. I could drop you back off here if you want. So, the answer is up to you,” he smirked. A blush appeared onto your cheeks, admiring the fact that he asked your friends for permission if he could take you home. 

“There’s bound to be talk tomorrow,” you teased, lightly nudging him.

“I’ll take my chances,” he smiled, a hopeful look presented on his face. 

You breathed out a chuckle, looking at him for a moment before you nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.” Harry’s eyes widened as the corners of his lips turned up. You grabbed your phone and your coat before walking over to Addie and Nic who were both cuddled up on the couch, saying goodbye to them. They sent you a playful wink, and you rolled your eyes as nerves startled to settle in your stomach. 

You followed Harry out of the door, the cold air brisking past you as you walked to his car. He opened the passenger and you thanked him before getting in. Harry started the car and the song that was playing was ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside.’ It was a song you loved ever since you were a little girl, and you remembered the times you and your mom would always sing it in the car. You smiled at the memory, humming as you hoped it would be a way to distract you from the anxious feeling that you have. 

You started humming to the tune as quietly as you possibly could, but Harry heard it as he started to hum it as well. You looked at him through your peripheral vision, noticing that he started to tap his fingers against the steering wheel. 

You were about to start singing until you noticed that he pulled into his driveway, so you contained yourself and closed your coat, getting out of the car as you followed him into his home. You’ve only been inside his home three times--those three times being when he would suggest everyone hang out there. It was a lovely place and whenever you were sitting on his couch, you had wished you shared the space with him. 

Harry lit up the fireplace, placing the metal shield in front of it before turning back towards you and smiling. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to get us some hot chocolate, if that’s alright?” He asked, wanting to know your preferred drink. 

“Sound good.” You hung your coat onto the coat rack before walking over to his turquoise velvet couch and taking a seat, getting comfortable to an extent, not knowing how comfortable you should get. 

Not long after, Harry came back with a wooden tray, and he placed it on the coffee table in front of you. There were two mugs filled with milk, two hot chocolate kits, and spoons. 

“I made these for my students, and I just so happened to have two extra kits, so this will be fun,” he smiled, and you gave him one back appreciatively. You thought that it was cute and sweet of him to give something to his students for the holiday season. Normally, teachers don’t give them anything, but Harry wasn’t just any other teacher. 

A somewhat comfortable silence fell over you two as you both made your own hot chocolate, and you listened to the fireplace roar. Once you two were done, you clicked your glasses together before taking a sip. The warm and comforting drink made you smile and was overall delicious. 

Harry didn’t know what to say or how to say what he really wanted to say. It felt like he had non stop thoughts running through his head, but when he opened his mouth to start, there was a delay. An overwhelming feeling took over him and he wanted to yell at himself for not saying how he really felt. 

“Y/N-” 

“Harry.” 

Just like before, your minds had been in sync, causing you both to speak at the same time. A light laugh came out of both of your mouths. 

“You go first,” you told him. 

Harry took a deep breath. “How’re you doing?” He asked. Out of everything he could have said, that was the only question that came out of his mouth, but he figured it’s a good start to getting somewhere. 

“Truthfully?” He nodded. “I’m doing okay. I’ve managed to distract myself from worrying about the future with work, and so far, it’s been helping.” 

“What are you worried about?” Harry wondered curiously. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest, and if he’s being honest, it’s been that way the first time he saw you…ever. 

“Worried if I’m gonna be where I want to be career wise, and…” you trailed off. 

“And what?” He encouraged you to continue. His stare was so intimidating and deep that the words flew off your tongue, making them unforgettable. “Ba--Y/N?” He called out for you, noticing how he almost slipped up and called you ‘baby,’ and you so wished he hadn’t stopped himself. 

You finally mustered up the courage to speak your thoughts. “I’m afraid that I’m gonna be alone,” you said honestly. 

Harry’s brows furrowed, shaking his head instantly. “You’re not alone, no. You have your family, all of us--your friends, me-” 

“You?” Your brows raised. 

“Yeah-” 

“Harry, you’re the reason why I’m so worried…” you confessed. You were starting to get frustrated--not at Harry, but at yourself because you had planned to have this conversation a different day. You tried to calm yourself down, and Harry could practically see that you were getting angry at yourself. You had a certain stressful and frustrated look that he would notice when you started to beat yourself up over things. And throughout the months of being with you, especially when you were in the midst of law school, he learned how to calm you down. 

Harry placed his hand on your knee; the touch being unexpected to you, but it had brought you immediate comfort. He pulled you into his side and you rested your head on his shoulder, looping your arm under his, the one that’s on your leg, and hugged his arm. Harry’s other hand touched your arm, caressing and soothing you. His actions had felt very natural and familiar to him. He would comfort you like this when you were feeling stressed. Normally, he wanted to cuddle you tightly, but this was your preferred way to calm down because in a way, he was still holding you, and you were still in control and didn’t feel like you were suffocating if he had held you tightly.

You stayed like that for a few moments, and you had calmed down a bit already, but you just wanted to be close to him and cherish the moment. 

After a few minutes, you pulled away and turned towards him, smiling softly. Your heart warmed at the fact that he remembered exactly what to do when you started to feel anxious, and you may have fallen in love with him even more…after all these years. 

“Now, wanna tell me why you’re so worried?” He asked softly, not wanting his tone to be pressuring, and you’re grateful for it.

“I’m worried I’m going to have to live a life without you. It terrifies me to think about you going out and meeting someone, and I would have to watch you get married to someone else that’s not me. That you would be sharing this home with someone that’s not me.” Your eyes start to water, and you had mentally told yourself that you wouldn’t cry, but you didn’t believe yourself in the slightest. “Watching you love someone else is going to be the most difficult thing I would have to do.” 

Your tears had fully fallen down your face, which is unfortunate because you both had such a good day with your friends and it was nearly Christmas. Quickly wiping your tears away, you got up from the couch, and headed towards the door. Harry was confused until he saw you grab your coat, putting it on. In a flash, Harry got up from the couch, walking towards you. 

“W-What are you doing?” He asked. 

“I really can’t stay…” you told him sadly. You had no idea how you were getting home or back to Addie’s since it’s snowing, so you don’t know if there were any Ubers out, especially at this time. “This evening has been…so very nice, Harry.”

“You don’t have to leave. Baby, it’s cold outside, c’mon,” he pleaded with worried eyes. Your heart melted at his words and the name that he used to call you, making you pause in your movement. 

“Please,” he pleaded softly, taking a small step forward, and your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him. There was a dead silence between you two that was tension filled, and you had no clue what was going to happen next until he opened his mouth. 

“Mind if I move in closer?” He whispered. The sound would barely be audible if anyone else was there, so he said those words specifically for you to hear. 

You shook your head, and he took another step forward. Your bodies were a centimeter away from being pressed up against one another, and your heart was beating so fast, making your hands shake and tremble. He looked down at you so intently that you were under his spell, and you were conflicted as you wish you knew how to break the spell as his green eyes looked deep into you, luring you in even more. 

You took a deep breath. “Kiss me already,” you breathed out. Harry’s heart nearly stopped at your words, but he slightly smirked as he blushed, brushing your hair behind your ears before taking your face into your hands and leaning down to place a deep and passionate kiss onto your lips. 

This feeling, this touch, this man was what you’ve been waiting for these past two years. Throughout those years, you felt like giving up; accepting the fact that he wasn’t going to love you again. But he had proved you wrong in the simple brush of his lips and tongue that were in sync with yours, making the spark between you grow bigger and bigger. The spark that had never lost its power, but was on pause.

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer as the other hand was wrapped around his back. Harry had you pushed up against his front door, and you had the urge to lift your leg up to wrap it around him, but you resisted. 

Harry wanted more, too. His hands trailed down from your face to your back, closing the nonexistent proximity between you, and guided you back to the couch. You were walking backwards, completely trusting him that he wouldn’t let you fall as his lips never left yours. 

You giggled once the back of your legs hit the couch, falling onto the soft material as Harry hovered over you, laying in between your legs. He looked at you for a moment, studying every freckle, the crimson color on your cheeks, the curve when you smile, your glimmering eyes, and your cute nose. He knew that it was exactly how he remembered. After a couple of years being separated, a beautiful face like yours was hard to forget. 

“You’re quite crazy to think I’d want to live the rest of my life with someone else when you’re right in front of me,” he suddenly said. Your eyes widened at his confession. “Never wanna be without you ever again. Thought you didn’t want to be with me when I came back, so I just didn’t bother. But you have no idea how much I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

He placed soft kisses all around your face as he spoke, leaving you feeling so tender and soft as he was so gentle with you. For someone who’s on her way to becoming a lawyer and always having to have an answer for everything, you were speechless. The words that you’ve been waiting for for so long were music to your ears. It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, slick like honey, and you connected your lips with his again, swirling your tongue against his as you devoured his words. Hands finding their way to his hair, you gripped on his locks and pulled just the way he liked it, earning a groan from him, and you smirked against his mouth. 

You pulled back, leaving him breathless. Swollen lips, blushed cheeks, and smiles plastered on his face, you said the words you’ve been itching to say. “I love you,” you blurted out. The words had rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, making shivers run down Harry’s spine as his eyes watered up. “I was listening to Elijah earlier, and he’s right. Life’s too fucking short to not have what you want.” 

He took one of your hands into his, bringing it up to his lips before placing a kiss onto the back of your hand. Your other hand was playing with the curls that laid delicately on his hands, scratching it lightly. 

“Missed hearing you say those words.” He smiled, tears making their way down his face. “I love you too. So, so much that you have no idea how I feel when you walk into the room and I see your beautiful face. I love you. I love you. I love you, baby.” His affirmations had caused you to softly sob—the two of you a crying mess from the obvious but unspoken love that was finally being released again. “It’s always been you. You’ve always been my girl, did you know that?” You tilted your head a bit. “Never gonna go a day without reminding you that you are, because you’ve never not been my girl. Had to love and admire you from afar, but just wanted to hold you and kiss you.” 

“You can kiss and hold me all you want now, my love,” you reassured him, and he dug his face into your neck, placing a soft kiss against your skin. 

You smiled so brightly as your heart felt so happy and overflowed with love, and he matched your grin, feeling the same way. 

The two of you kissed each other for a bit more, whispering sweet words, and laughed and talked about anything and everything—truly catching up with one another. 

“Oh.” He got off of you, making you slightly pout from the weight of laying on you that you already missed. “I actually got you another gift.” 

“Harry…you already got me enough.” It was true. Along with the thoughtful gift, he was your true Christmas miracle. 

“I know. But this one, I wanted to give to you in private, and this is the perfect moment, so let me do this?” He looked at you with sweet and pleading eyes with a small smile on his face. Who could ever say no to that adorable face? Certainly not you. 

You nodded, and he shot up, heading towards the stairs. “Give me thirty seconds,” he said before rushing up the stairs. 

You heard him shuffling up there, and the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Thirty seconds later, he was walking downstairs, holding a white box wrapped in a red bow. He sat back down next to you, looking into your eyes as he spoke. 

“This is what I wanted to give you when we were alone. It didn’t matter the outcome of how things turned out between us tonight, I just wanted to give you this because I think you’ll appreciate it. It reminded me of you when I saw it, and I knew I had to get it.” He handed you the box with slightly shaky hands. 

You untied the bow, taking the top off. A gasp came from your mouth as you picked up the chain. It was a little gold sun pendant, symbolizing your summer together. You studied the charm for a moment, delicately touching it as you teared up at the meaning behind it. It matched quite well with your embroidered apron, and the two together would be quite the match. 

“Thank you, Harry. This is so sweet of you.” You leaned forward, giving him a hasty kiss to his lips, smiling against them. “Help me put it on?” He nodded eagerly. You handed him the necklace before turning around, lifting your hair. You felt the cool metal chain hit your skin along with Harry’s lingering touches across your shoulders, causing your skin to pebble. He placed a quick kiss to your neck before pulling away. You turned around to meet his eyes as you smiled. 

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m so happy. Merry Christmas Eve, Eve, baby.” 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve, my love.” 

You cuddled into his side as the silence took over. The only thing was heard was the pounding of your love-filled hearts along with the cracking of the fire. Sure, it was cold outside, but right here in Harry’s arms, you were warmer than ever. 

please come into my inbox and talk about your thoughts and feelings on this! also feedback is appreciated, thank you for reading! <3

[bratkook]

like you used to. jjk

“So kill me like you used to...”

part two.

pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut word count. 2.9k note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)

It always started with a phone call. 

Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for. 

Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do. 

The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change. 

They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”

The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of. 

“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”

He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”

Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off. 

Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same. 

Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer. 

It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different. 

Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument. 

Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be. 

You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more. 

Love was never enough. 

Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.

Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car. 

He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings. 

He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore. 

All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.

Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him. 

He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment. 

As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him. 

Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you. 

Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”

“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no. 

“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this. 

Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”

There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you. 

“I know.”

You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child. 

“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you. 

This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname. 

The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago. 

“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night. 

Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang. 

Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”

He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”

You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss. 

A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again. 

Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life. 

Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop. 

It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue. 

“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.” 

He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone. 

You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily. 

Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less. 

He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was. 

Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him. 

As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again. 

It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker. 

“I miss you Kookie.” 

Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine. 

“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”

And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.

[nopefun]

Interview #494: Ryan Frigillana

Ryan Frigillana is a Philippine-born lens-based artist living and working in New York. His work focuses on the fluidity of memory, intimacy, family identity, and visual culture, largely filtered through the lens of race and immigration. Embracing its plasticity, Frigillana explores photography’s relationship to context as a catalyst for thematic dialogue.

His first monograph, Visions of Eden, was published as two editions in 2020, and is held in the library collections of the MoMA, Getty Research Institute, and Smithsonian among others.

We spoke to find out more about Visions of Eden, his love for photobooks, and photography as a medium for introspection.

Lee Chang Ming Ryan Frigillana

Thanks for agreeing to do this! As we’ve just arrived into the new year, I want to start by asking: how did you arrive at photography and how has your practice evolved so far? Your earlier work was anything from still life to street photography, but your recent work seems to deal with more personal themes.

It’s my pleasure; thank you for having this conversation with me! Wow, looking back at how I’ve arrived at this point makes me feel so grateful for this medium, and excited to think of where it will lead me from here. I came to photography somewhat late. I was initially studying to become a nurse and was set to start a career in that field, but I found myself unhappy with where I was going. My mother was a nurse and I know what goes into being one; it’s not an easy job, and I respect those who do it, but my heart wasn’t in it. I found photography as a creative outlet during that stage of my life, and I’ve clung onto it ever since.

My first exposure to photography (no pun intended) came in the form of street and photojournalism. I would borrow books from the library a lot, consuming works by Magnum and other photographers working in that tradition. At the time, it was all I knew so that’s what I tried to emulate. Even early on in my undergrad career, these modes of creation were reinforced by curriculum and by what I saw from my own peers. My still-life work branches off of that same sentiment: the only names that were ever thrown around by professors were Penn and Mapplethorpe, so that’s who I studied. Thankfully over the years, I’ve been able to broaden that perspective through my own research. Though I don’t necessarily pursue street or constructed still-lifes anymore for my personal work, I’d like to think my technical skills (in regard to timing, composition, light) owe a debt to those past experiences.

I suppose now I’m starting to explore how photography can be used as language, to communicate ideas and internal conflicts. I’m thinking more about the power of imagery, its authorship, its implications, and how photographs have shaped, and continue to shape, our reality. That’s where my work is headed at the moment.

I liked how you mentioned photography as a language, which calls into question who we are speaking to when we make images and what kind of narrative we construct by putting photographs together.

In your work “Visions of Eden”, you trace your family’s journey as first-generation Filipino immigrants in America. I was quite struck by how you managed to link together original photography, archived materials and video stills. To me, with the original photography there was a sense of calm and clarity, perhaps in the composition. But with the archived material it was like peering through tinted glass, and the video stills felt like an unsteady memory. What was the editing process like for you and how did you decide what to include or exclude?

For me, editing is the hardest part about photography. Shooting is the enjoyable part of course because it can feel so cathartic. Sometimes when I shoot it feels almost like muscle memory in the sense that you see the world and you just react to it in a trained way. But with editing, it’s more of a cerebral exercise. More thought is involved when you have to deal with visual relationships, sequence, rhythm, and spacing, etc. The real creation of my work takes place in the editing process. That’s where the ingredients come together to form an identity.

When creating this identity, I not only have to think about what I want to say, but also how I want to say it. It’s like speaking; there are numerous ways you can communicate a single sentence. How are images placed in relation to one another? How large are they printed, or how much white space surrounds it? Are the images repeated? What’s on the following page? The preceding page? Is there text? How are they positioned on the spread? All of these little choices impact the tone of your work. And that’s not even mentioning tactile factors like paper stock or cover material. I think that’s why I have such a deep love for photobooks because 1) they’re physical objects and 2) someone has obsessed over every aspect of that object.

I’m aware that my photographs lately have a quiet, detached, somewhat stripped-down quality to them. I think that’s just a subconscious rejection of my earlier days shooting a lot of street where I was constantly seeking crowded frames and complexity in my compositions. As I’ve grown older, I realize less is more and if I can do more by saying less, that’s even better. Now, the complexity I seek lies in the work as a whole and how all these little parts can form something fluid and layered, and not easily definable.

For Visions of Eden, I wanted the work to feel somewhat syncopated and wandering in thought. That meant finding a balance between my quiet static photographs and the movement and energy of the video stills, or balancing the coldness of the illustrations with the warmth of the family snapshots. The work needed to be cohesive but have enough ambiguity for it to take life in someone else’s imagination. Peoples’ lived experiences in regard to immigration and religion are so complex that they can’t be narrated in any one definitive way. Visions of Eden, hopefully, is a rejection of that singularity.

Yes, there’s definitely something special and intimate about flipping through a photobook! For your monograph, you recently released a second edition which is different from your first (redesigned, added images, etc.). Why did you decide to make it different? Was the editing mainly a solitary process?

The first edition was a partially hand-made object. Illustrations were printed on translucent vellum paper and then tipped into the gutter of the book. When you flip through the pages, those vellum sheets would overlap over certain images, creating a collage-like effect. That was my original concept for this book. Doing this, however, was so laborious and time consuming, and not to mention expensive! Regretfully, I wound up making only twenty copies of that first edition. I wanted the work shared with a wider audience so that’s why I decided to publish a second run.

The latest edition is more of a straight-forward production without the vellum paper. With this change in design, I had to reconfigure the layout. I took liberties in swapping out some images or adding new ones altogether. Also, a beautiful afterword was contributed by my friend, artist, writer, and curator Efrem Zelony-Mindell. I still feel so fortunate and grateful to have had my work seen and elevated by their words in my book.

For the most part, yes editing is quite a solitary process for me. But there does come a point when I feel it’s ready, where I share the work with a few trusted people. It’s always nice to have that outer support system. Much of Visions of Eden was created during my time in undergrad school so I had all sorts of feedback from peers and professors which I’m grateful for. But in the end, as the author, you ultimately have the final say in your work.

Given that Eden is a starting point and metaphor in the work, I was thinking about ideas of gardens, (forbidden) fruit, and movement of people.

How do you view yourself in relation to your place of birth? In your series, I see the most direct links in the letters, old photos where tropical foliage is present in the background, and the photo of the jackfruit (perhaps the only tropical fruit in this series).

I came to America when I was very young, about five years old. For my family and for many other families still living in the Philippines, America is seen as a sort of ideological Eden: a land of milk and honey, of wealth and excess. We all know that’s far from the truth. Every Eden has a caveat, a forbidden tree. Which leads me to ask: as an immigrant living in this country, what fruits were never intended for me?

I honestly don’t remember much about my childhood in the Philippines aside from fleeting memories of my relatives, the sounds of animals, the smell of rain and earth, the taste of my grandmother’s cooking. The identity that I carry with me now as a Filipino is not so much tied to the physical geography of a place but rather it is derived from a way of life, from shared stories, in the values we hold dear, passed on from generation to generation. This is a warm flame that lives on in me to this day as I write these words thousands of miles away from where I came.

Photographs have a way of shaping our memory and our relationship to the past, which in turn affects how we engage with the present. The family photographs and letters used in my book act as anchors in a meandering journey. They serve as landmarks that I can return to whenever I feel lost or need assurance so far away from “home”. They give me the comfort and affirmation that I need to navigate a space where I never really felt I belonged. The spread in my book­­ that you mentioned—the jackfruit on one side, and the Saran-wrapped apple on the preceding page—was a reference to my duality as both Filipino and American. It’s a reminder and an acknowledgment that I am a sum of many things, of many people who have shaped me. If I flourish in life, it’s because my roots were nourished by love.

I like how you mentioned photos as anchors or landmarks. Isn’t that why we create and photograph? To mark certain points in our lives and to envision possible futures, like a cartographer mapping an inner journey. Do you feel like you and your relationships with those you photographed changed through the process of making your works?

When my parents took pictures of our family, it wasn’t done solely in the name of remembrance; it also served as an affirmation of ourselves and our journey—a celebration. Every birthday, vacation, school ceremony, or even the seemingly insignificant events of daily life were all photographed or video-taped as a way of saying to ourselves, “Here we are. Look how far we’ve come. Look at the life we’ve made. And here’s the proof”.

Now, holding a camera and photographing my family through my own lens still carries all of that celebratory joy, but with so much more possibility. Before I really took photography seriously, I never realized its potential as a medium for introspection, but that’s ultimately what it has become for me. In taking pictures of my family, I not only clarify my own feelings about them, but the act of photography itself informs and builds on my relationship with each person. The camera is not a mere recording device, but a tool for understanding, processing, and even expressing love...or resentment. Though I may not be visible in my pictures, my presence is there: in my proximity, my gaze, my focus.

Does all of this impact my relationships? Absolutely. Photographing another person willingly always demands some degree of trust and vulnerability from both sides. There’s a silent dialogue that occurs which feels like an exchange of secrets. I think that’s why I often don’t feel comfortable photographing other people unless we’re very close. Usually my family is open enough to reveal themselves to me, other times what they give can feel quite guarded. That’s a constant negotiation. After the photograph is made though, nobody ever emerges the same person because each of us has relinquished something, no matter how small.

Being self-reflexive in photography is so important. I agree it should be a constant negotiation, but it’s something that bothers me these days – the power dynamic between the photographer and photograph, particularly for personal and documentary projects. More significantly, after the photograph has been made, who is really benefiting. But I guess if we are sensitive to that then perhaps we can navigate that tricky path and find a balance. 

Right, finding that balance is key and sometimes there are no clear-cut answers. That power dynamic is something I always have to be mindful of. As the photographer, you are exercising a certain role and position. At the end of the day, you’re the one essentially “taking” what you need and walking away. There’s an inherent violence or aggression in the act of taking someone’s picture, no matter how well-intended it may be. This aggression carries even greater weight when working, as you say, in a genre like documentary where representation is everything.

I remember an undergrad professor of mine, Nadia Sablin, introducing me to the work of Shelby Lee Adams—particularly his Appalachian Legacy series. Adams spent twenty-five years documenting the disadvantaged Appalachian communities in his home state of Kentucky, visiting the same families over a long period of time. Though the photographs are beautifully crafted, they pose many questions in regard to exploitation, representation, and the aestheticization of suffering. He is or was, after all, an artist thriving and profiting off of these photographs. Salgado is another that comes to mind. This was the first time I really stopped to think about the ethics of image-making. Who is benefitting from it all?

I think the search for this balance is something each photographer has to reckon with personally. Though each situation may vary with different factors that have to be weighed, and context that must be applied, you can always ask yourself these same ever-pertinent questions: am I representing people in a dignified way, and what are my intentions with these images? Communication (listening), building relationships, acknowledging your power, and respecting the people you photograph are all foundational things to consider when exercising your privilege with the camera.

Well said! The process of making photographs can be tricky to navigate yet rewarding. Any upcoming projects or ideas? What’s keeping you busy these days?

Oh, let’s just say I’m constantly juggling 3-4 ideas in my head at any given time, but ninety percent of the time they don’t ever lead to anything finished haha. This past year has been tough on everyone I’m sure. I’ve been dealing a lot with personal loss and grief and the compounded isolation brought on by the pandemic, so for months I’ve been making photographs organically as a subconscious response to these internal struggles. It’s more of an exploration of grief itself as a natural phenomenon and force—like time or gravity. Grief is something everyone will experience in life and each of us deals with it differently, but in the end we have to let it run its course. I see these photographs as a potential body of work that could materialize as a zine or book one day, so we’ll see where that goes.

Other than that, I’ve been working on an upcoming collaboration project with Cumulus Photo. Speaking of which, I saw your photograph featured in their latest zine, running to the edge of the world. Congrats on that! It’s beautiful. But yeah, just trying my best to keep busy and sane, and improving myself any way I can.

Thanks! Looking forward to your upcoming projects! Last question: any music to recommend?

I feel like my answer to this question can vary by the week. I go through phases where I exhaust whole albums on repeat until I get tired of them. So I’ll leave you with the two currently on my rotation: Angles by The Strokes, and Screamadelica by Primal Scream.

Thank you for your time!

Thank you for a lovely discourse. I had a lot of fun!

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[ff-imagines]

uhm this is embarrassing thing to request but,,,,,,, how bout u know,,,,,, nsfw alphabet/scenario/hcs with blobster. 👁️👄👁️. I'm sorry.

Boston lobster: nsfw alphabet

Minors dni xoxo

A - aftercare

Admittedly kinda sloppy, it doesn’t occur to him that he should probably check up on you till he’s like “oh shit humans need water” and he suddenly shoots up to grab some and come back to you lmao

If you explicitly ask you get no back talk from him, he just carries you where you need to be and makes sure you’re feeling alright.

Will be endlessly prideful if u say you can’t walk, express your soreness at your sanities risk bc he’ll bring it up for ages

B- body parts

Oh he’s got no shame to tell you he loves your ass and thighs. The type to walk by you and give you a tap on the ass while smirking to himself. Doesn't matter how much or how little you've got he’ll still ask at least once if he can fuck your thighs lmao

Does his height count? He loves how he towers over most humans and food souls alike, chances are he’s probably taller than you, and he really likes that. Sulks a bit if you’re actually taller than him lmao.

They aren’t his favourite part of him but I gotta talk about the antennae. They’re weirdly sensitive, pulling him makes him squeak, which ends with him chasing you or with him chasing you, take your pick. When he catches you he makes it his goal to find a weirdly sensitive part of your body and to tease that spot endlessly. Tickle fight ensues but it’s more like you’re suffering while he’s maniacally laughing above you.

C - cum

It’s thick as fuck and very salty, rip lmao

He likes to cum inside or on your thighs, look they’re very squishy and nice ok he can’t help it </3

He’s also obsessed with not only making you cum, but just… your cum. Amab or afab readers, he will delight in making you watch him swallow. Would also bring his hand up to make you taste yourself, grinning the whole damn way.

D - dirty secret

He’s really affected by scents. If you have a signature perfume or cologne you wear all the time it can make him unbearably horny, since the smell lingers on his sheets and on his clothes long after you’re gone.

E - experience

A fair amount, out of curiosity. Not too many times as he’s spent a lot of years in total isolation. His curiosity is a more recent development, he finds he likes the feeling but something is just missing from his hookups. Then he meets you and is like “ohhhh a relationship is what it was, damn.” Once he realizes that, and even a little bit before when he first starts noticing his internal unease, the hookups stop so he can figure out how to swallow his pride and try and ask a human out lmao

F - favorite position

He loves doggy style because it’s just so so easy to control you that way. He loves to pull you back by your arms, spearing inside you at a punishing pace.

He also would love if you were flexible enough to push into a mating press, getting right next to your ear, whispering about how close he is.

G - goofy

Surprisingly, yea! He’s actually pretty good at making fun of himself, he just doesn’t do it often and doesn’t like it when someone he’s not close to does it. He gives little teases here and there, it eases tension quite a lot.

H- hair

He doesn’t shave for shit lmao. Intense happy trail, intense amount of body hair over all, he actually prefers it that way.

He keeps the same energy with your body hair and will come out and tell you he kinda likes it if you don’t shave. Ultimately he doesn’t think on it too hard, it doesn’t bother him in the end, whatever you want, he wants too!

I- intimacy

He’s not so good at being truly intimate, it’s just not something he’s used to being. If you ever, by some miracle, convince him to let you top him, he’s actually a lot softer and it’s easier to let his feelings speak for him. He also discovers he likes getting dommed a lot but he won’t tell you that lmao

J- jerk off

Not too often, he’s either super busy or he could just find you and solve the problem in an even more satisfying way.

If he ever can’t, expect him to grab one of your shirts to press to his nose as he fists his cock, the feeling of being surrounded by you is enough to help him finish when he desperately needs it.

K- Kinks

Well, the scent thing ofc.

He’s really into risky sex, a true exhibitionist. He’s hot, you’re hot, who wouldn’t want to see you both put on a show? If it gets it into their heads that no matter how bad they want you, you belong to him, your place is right here, getting split apart on his cock, he’ll make sure the message gets across.

Huge breeding kink. Hates the idea of kids but really likes the idea of claiming your insides. He’d love to push you into the mattress and release as deep as he can go.

He’s into humiliation as well, let him tease you while calling you his sweet little whore, he'll make it worth your while.

He’d love if you let him tie you up, he’d probably get into doing fancy designs that accentuates your body in the best way. A pretty rope to tie up and dick down a pretty s/o.

Also I can’t look at his skin where he’s got that suit on and not know he’s got a daddy kink, I just can’t. He doesn’t care for anything other than the title, it’s more about power than anything else. Call him daddy in public and watch how fast you get taken to a more private area. Or, maybe a less than private area, if you’d let him.

He’s got a thing for size difference as well, he loves to loom over you, even if he isn’t actually bigger than you.

L- location

Anywhere, anytime. He’s a prideful bastard, he’ll show off his ability to get you drunk off his cock any way he can. Not only isn’t there a spot in your house he hasn’t fucked you on, there probably isn’t a place on your street either.

M- motivation

What really gets him going is seeing you when you're at your most confident. If you come to him beaming about winning an award, wearing an outfit you feel great in, even if you just say something cocky, it just makes him so proud and eager to share that confidence with you. He doesn’t want to break you down, he wants to prop you up! Tell him about how good you feel, he’ll make you feel even better <3

N- no

As much as he likes to show you off, he doesn’t actually like the thought of a third party joining in. He might be swayed if it’s someone he really trusts. He also doesn't like receiving humiliation, he’s much too prideful lmao

O- oral

Please suck him off, he’ll be kinda rough with you but he’ll be nicer if you ask. He prefers to be mean though lmao. He likes ordering you around on what to do when you’ve got his dick in your mouth, his words get more incoherent the closer he is, though.

He’s just as eager to give you head too, he treats you like a whole 7 course meal. He loves biting around your thighs before ever touching where you're desperate for him to.

P- pace

Oh he’s punishingly hard. Loves to have a fast steady pace then stop as deep as he can and roll his hips a bit to make sure you feel just how deep his dick is inside you.

There are rare days when he’s feeling soft, those days he’s slow and methodical, gripping into your hips to make sure you can’t wiggle to increase your own pleasure, he wants you to savour the high he gives you.

Q- quickies

Well, why not! So what if you’re in an alleyway near a busy street, and anyone can walk by and see you getting pounded? You’re feeling heated aren’t you? Don't kid yourself, just turn around and let him take care of you.

R- risk

He lives for it. If you’d let him he’d bounce you on his cock in a plainly public place, like a subway car.

It’s a big fantasy of his for someone who absolutely pines for you to flirt just a little too hard, you coming to him and letting him fuck your right in front of them. It fuels his pride beyond belief to show you off.

S- stamina

His refractory time is fairly low. Even if he...can? doesn't really mean he wants to. He prefers either one drawn out, long round where you’ve both been edged to the point of desperation, or a few quick rounds throughout the day.

T- toys

At first they kinda hurt his pride but then he’s like “wait I can strap them on a vibrator and just sit back and watch” and then he’s totally on board lmao.

Forcing you to sit on a chair with a vibrator he had the remote to, keeping you on the edge and smirking while you beg and snivel, having no actual plans to give into your pleading.

U- unfair

Oh fuck yea, strap in babes.

He loves loves to edge the fuck out of you, he’d drag it out for hours if you’d let him. Even better if he can tie you down so you can’t squirm away from what he’s giving you.

Overstimulation is just as exciting to him, but he actually loves it more on himself. Sometimes he’ll overstimulate himself on purpose by still continuing to buck into you even after he’s already cum, determined to chase a second high no matter how painful it feels.

V- volume

Loud groans, and he won’t stop talking. Loves to ask you questions when you’re clearly way too blissed out to answer in any sort of coherent way.

He gets a lot louder near his release, he loves to bite into your shoulder to try and muffle himself. If he decides to be bold and let you hear him, he grabs your jaw and brings his face right next to your ear. What a show off.

W- wild card

He kidnaps small items that remind him of you, not just things that smell like you. That one earring you always wear, a glove, a necklace, picks flowers that remind him of you for whatever reason, he might even go out of his way to buy things that remind him of you, keep them to himself for a while, then give it to you when he’s sure it smells enough like him. He gives your stuff back… eventually.

X- X Ray

Oh please… he spits, sweats, and bleeds big dick energy. I refuse to believe his dick isn’t big enough to make you nervous. Would have you sit on his lap and track a finger up your stomach to measure how deep his cock can go.

Y- yearning

He’s pretty likely to mold to your sexual drive. However often you need him, he’s at your beck and call. He likes to keep it closer to 2-3 times a week if he can.

Z- zzz

He doesn’t sleep all that easily at all, but it gets a little easier when he’s got you in his arms. Prefers to be big spoon, and as much as he hates getting overheated, he just can’t will himself to let go of you. It’s ironically one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had.

[ahtsumu]

the mystery of love ; kuroo tetsurou

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

synopsis: kuroo tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. he believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. but that doesn’t mean he can’t believe in love.

tag(s): sweet summer lovin’, friends to lovers, inspired by call my by your name, university student!kuroo tetsurou, lab intern!kuroo tetsurou, so much pining lol, fluff, angst, slow burn ; warning(s): profanity, mentions of alcohol ingestion (it’s legal bc they’re in italy!), suggestive themes ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday tetsu!! i hope you guys like this. i really enjoyed writing it ♡

Kuroo Tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. He believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. At least, that’s what he tells you. Sometimes you treat this information as a source of hope; other times, you’re not sure what to make of it.

This, you realise with his shoulder pressed against yours and both your bodies sprawled across his wrinkled bed sheets, is one of those other times. You turn your face to look at his.

“What?” he asks, one side of his mouth curling up in a smile.

For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you just said it. You could blame the alcohol. Get away with it scot-free. While you mull the option over in the dead silence of his room, your brain suddenly registers the music still playing from the living room. The low bass reverberating through the walls. How close your lips are. The sound of his breaths.

“Earth to Y/N?”

And like that, the little what-if that rose in your mind falls back with its tail between its legs. You bite your lip, look around his room like the walls have a script printed on them. Unfortunately, they do not.

“I was just thinking about my shirt.” It’s not great, but it’s the best you can do while still feeling the vodka and orange juice burn in your stomach. And smelling it on yourself.

Kuroo’s laugh booms through the room and you can’t help but giggle along with him. “I said I was sorry!” he says, hazel eyes twinkling with mirth. He pauses and glances at his closet, then nods his head in its direction. “Take a hoodie. Your pick.”

A smile–– one you try to downplay but fail miserably to–– creeps up your face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo replies. “You can also shower here if you want. It's the least I can do after spilling my drink all over you.”

When you emerge from Kuroo’s bathroom in one of his thinner hoodies, a lot soberer and drying your hair, he’s not on the bed anymore. Quietly, you step out of his room and look for him through the house. People are crashed everywhere–– on the sofa, over the kitchen counter, even propped up against walls. The floor is covered with plastic cups and mysterious pools of liquid. Wrinkling your nose, you try your best to step around the messes, looking in every corner in the house for the raven-haired boy.

You find him back in his room, actually. He’s back on his bed scrolling through his phone, the light illuminating his sharp features. When he hears you close the door behind you, he looks up, eyes immediately zeroing in on the black hoodie over your torso. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Where’d you go?” you both ask at the same time. He chuckles; you grin. Crawling back onto the bed, you tell him to go first.

“I went around to make sure nothing’s broken,” he explains. “Perks of being the only sober intern in the house, I guess.”

A beat passes.

This house is rented. You forgot about that. All his expenses are paid for by your mother’s lab. You forgot about that. He fits in your world so well, like maybe he’s always had a spot there, that you forgot that Kuroo Tetsurou is only here for the summer.

“Right.”

Kuroo raises a brow. “And you?”

“I went to look for you.”

He smiles and holds his hands out like a magician at the end of a trick. “Well, you found me.”

“Yeah,” you muse. “I guess I did.” Aren’t you lucky.

With that, something shifts in the air. A contemplative expression crosses Kuroo’s face. Maybe he’s realised how his words come out sometimes. Kuroo often says things that sound like they have more than one meaning and it used to throw you off, but now you just go with it. You’ve even picked up that habit yourself. “Do you ever wish that you’d met someone earlier? Maybe under different circumstances?” he asks.

Sighing, you fall back against his mattress and stare up at the ceiling. Telling the truth feels easier when you can’t see him. “Yeah. All the time.” A few seconds pass. “Do you think we would’ve been friends if we went to the same college?”

He also lies down. You’re both back in the same positions you were in an hour ago, but something’s changed. “No,” he admits. You’re not surprised–– that’s what you’d expected. “I’d be a junior and you’d be a freshman. We probably would’ve never met. And even if we had, I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with a… freshie.” He chuckles softly at the end. “And look at me now,” he adds softly, more to himself than you. You look over at his face. A contemplative smile rests on his lips.

That urge to just say it returns.

“Kuroo, I think––”

“You’re my favourite p–– oh, my bad. You first.”

And it goes away again.

“Um, uh,” you stutter, “how long do you have left here?”

Kuroo raises his brows. “On this planet? Hopefully a while, Y/N.” He sees your unamused expression and drops the front. “Three more weeks.”

Your eyes widen. Eight weeks have already passed. Blood rushes to your ears. Eight entire weeks have already passed, meaning that in three weeks, Kuroo Tetsurou will leave forever. And in four, you will, too. Except you’ll come back. You’ve done so every summer since you were born, probably will do until you die.

But this place will never be the same as it used to. Not after him.

“Y/N?” Once everything comes back into focus, you see the concern riddling his features. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

Say it.

“You didn’t have too much to drink, right?”

Say it.

“I just got buzzed. What about you?”

“The only drink I was planning on having all went to your shirt.”

Say it.

“Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

Not yet.

“Let’s go on an adventure.”

At two AM, everything is different. The streets feel different, the villas look different, and you–– you can’t put your finger on it but Kuroo Tetsurou has changed, too. He sits behind the wheel of your father’s white 1953 Cadillac with the convertible roof down, unruly hair blown back by the breeze, a euphoric grin stretched over his face. In the passenger’s seat, you sit with an equally large beam and your hands raised into the dark sky.

“Where to, Miss?” he shouts over the wind.

“The stars,” you shout back with a laugh. Kuroo’s cat-like eyes briefly flit over to your side profile, lips curving to form a smaller, more tender smile. But you miss that–– your gaze falls on him just a second after his return to the road.

“I heard you say Jack’s,” he says, smirking.

The 24/7 diner sticks out like a sore thumb in the row of sun-baked stucco and stone buildings with its bold neon lights and shiny exterior. During the day, it seems gaudy, way too American for a small town in northern Italy. But at night, this place feels like home. You’ve been stumbling into Jack’s completely shit-faced since you were sixteen. Of course, all those other times had been with the kids of your mother’s coworkers. All those other times, you could hardly remember what you even ordered when you woke up hours later.

But this time, you walk in with Kuroo Tetsurou at half-past-two in the morning, the chemicals running through your bloodstream epinephrine and dopamine, not ethanol; if you’re drunk then it’s on a feeling and your only poison is the boy next to you. You study his face and consider that thought. No, he’s not poison. He’s the antidote.

“Y/N!” the server exclaims, rushing over with two menus. “And Kuroo! My two favourite customers, but together this time!” Giovanni ushers you two to a booth by the window and takes your orders, purely for show, of course. He knows your orders by heart: the Lorenzo for Kuroo and the Quentin for you.

“With fries on both, please,” Kuroo adds, throwing you a wink. “Aren’t I a gentleman?”

“You only did that to have more for yourself,” you reply drily. Having him over at your house for dinner every night made picking up his idiosyncrasies so unbelievably easy. You know them like they’re your own. You know him like he’s your own.

Kuroo clutches his chest and pretends to be offended, then changes the conversation to what happened at the lab today, or rather, yesterday. That your mother and the other researchers are so close to finding a cure for the strain of virus that’s recently hit crickets in southern Italy.

“You should drop by again sometime,” he says. “Last time you came around was, what, two weeks ago?”

Your face breaks in a grin. “Are you saying you’ve missed me? Chemistry getting boring?” you tease, drawing a loud laugh from him.

“Sodium hydrogen, you little shit.” Your mother’s used this one on you before, but hearing it from him makes you giggle anyway.

Giovanni comes back with two plates, each loaded with fries. You both say your thanks and he retreats to the kitchen again, but not before wiggling his eyebrows at your reddening faces. Wordlessly, you grab your fork and knife and transfer at least half of your fries onto Kuroo’s plate. Kuroo stares at you with the slightest smile. That look sends your stomach into flips.

“What?” you question nonchalantly, cutting into your burger.

“Nothing,” he says, mirroring your actions. “Nothing at all.”

It’s hard to imagine that after spending almost every day together for eight weeks straight that there’s still more to learn about each other, but there is. You tell him more about your real home. Your best friend who called you at 3 AM last night because of timezones. Stories from every summer before this one, when you were a different person in the same place you are now.

He tells you more about Kenma, his best friend from high school. How they played on one of the best volleyball teams in Japan. Stories from training camp, literature class, the metro ride home after school–– you listen to every single one in rapt attention. There’s not enough time in the world for all the things you want to know about Kuroo Tetsurou, so you take what you can get. If only you��d known him before you’d known him.

“If we’d met earlier here, do you think we would’ve been friends?” you ask after paging Giovanni for the check.

“No,” he replies, picking up a few remaining fries with his fork instead of his fingers. The corners of your mouth turn up. That’s your thing. He considers the scenario seriously. “I think we met right when we should have.”

“What about the future?” you press, leaning into the conversation. “Let’s say we meet in two years here, instead of now. Would we be friends?”

Kuroo sets his fork down, eyes you steadily. “What’s this about?”

You blink. “What?”

“What’s with all these hypotheticals today?” Perhaps worried that he came off too harshly, Kuroo adds, “I thought I was the scientist.”

“I just… it feels like I’ve known you since forever.” This feels like it was meant to be, you don’t say. And I want to know you forever.

A sigh–– fond, but still a sigh–– blows through his lips. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Are you calling me your soulmate?” The question, shamelessly genuine, painfully hopeful, leaves your mouth without you intending it to and you regret it instantly. Because Kuroo Tetsurou has told you many times that he does not believe in soulmates.

Is it so bad to dream, though?

You watch him carefully but he doesn’t say anything, just continues smiling wryly like you’d intended to tease him. Like he knows that you know better. But you don’t.

“Are you?” he suddenly replies. Sharp eyes hold yours, daring you to respond. Do you dare?

At that moment, Giovanni returns with the check. “Who’s paying?” he asks, unaware of the tense exchange that just occurred across the table. Inaudibly, you sigh in relief. Kuroo is about to say that it’s on him when he catches himself in the middle of his sentence, looks your way, then back to Giovanni. He says you’ll go Dutch. You nod in approval.

“So,” Kuroo drawls once you’ve both paid for your meals. “Where do we go from here?”

Good question.

Kuroo Tetsurou has never been to an outdoor club period. And though he’s been clubbing, he has never once gone dancing in his lifetime. You tell him that’s about to change as he parks the car in a lot near the venue. Before him, all your summer nights were spent here.

“You’ve been here for two months and you haven’t been to an outdoor club yet?” you ask while unbuckling your seatbelt. That can’t be possible. If you’d been in his shoes… an attractive college student in a foreign country for the summer, you would have gone wild.

“Nope. I’ve been a little busy, y’know, spending my days in a lab, handling chemicals, studying viruses, washing lab equipment, writing up reports for your mother and her colleagues, working on my own research on the side… the usual.” He flashes you a bright, sarcastic smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, ruffling his hair. Kuroo laughs while you continue messing with the dark locks. “Was your first full day here the only tourist-day you’ve had so far?” His weekends, you already know, are spent either lounging around cafés, pools, or the great outdoors with you or the interns. But you’d assumed he’d had time to do some exploring on his own.

Kuroo nods. “And my guide wasn’t even that great,” he mutters, shooting you a dark look. “She sped through every attraction and hardly spoke a word outside of the tour to me. I think she hated me.”

You giggle and open the door, letting the music from the outdoor speakers infiltrate the bubble inside your car. “Maybe she was just nervous!” you say as you get out. That’s a lie.

“About what?” Kuroo follows suit, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. “I was so friendly to you and you just brushed me off each time.” He pouts.

But you don’t reply. Instead, you just grab his hands and pull him towards the venue. As you step into the boundaries marked by fairy lights and rustic wooden fences, Kuroo stops in his tracks and tugs on your intertwined hands. You glance down before up, trying to memorise how his hand looks around yours in the few seconds you can steal.

“Y/N,” Kuroo says. The strobe lights paint his skin pink, blue, purple like it’s a canvas. “Tell me why you were nervous.” Grammatically, it’s a command. And yet it sounds like he’s begging.

“What’s it mean to you?” you ask, feeling your heartbeat speed up in your chest. So what if you just… said it? What would happen?

“Everything?” he replies with a cheeky smile. The odds that he seriously means that are slim. But… they’re there. You shake that possibility out of your mind. That’s just the hope talking.

“Depends how convincingly you say it.” You tug on his arm. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” But he doesn’t budge–– he just continues to stand by the entrance of the club with an expectant look on his face. People are starting to stare.

“Fine,” you say with an eye roll. “I’ll tell you." Kuroo smirks, something self-congratulatory ready to leave his mouth, but then you let go of his hand and dance backwards into the throng of moving bodies. “But first, you’re gonna have to dance with me!” 

You allow yourself to be swallowed by the lively music, the people, the moment. Seconds later you’re deep enough into the crowd that you lose sight of Kuroo. Something in you says that he’ll show up soon, though. For now, you let yourself breathe. Forget about the heaviness of what-if’s, the itch to confess, the dread of the aftermath. Feelings are a lot like gravity. Sometimes they keep you grounded, other times, they weigh you down. This is one of those other times.

You dance up to a friendly-looking group of teens your age. Three guys and two girls. You shout your name and follow up with how it’s nice to meet them, hoping one of them finds you nice enough to keep around. Dancing alone in a club is one of the worst things that can ever happen to someone. Luckily, one of the girls–– the one wearing a purple wig–– pulls you in for a hug, drunkenly shouting back, “Bianca!” Bianca pushes you into their circle next to one of the guys and, just like that, you two start moving to the beat, feeling it in your feet, shoulders, hips. At one point, you turn around and take a good look at his face. The guy’s cute enough, but he’s not Kuroo. Still, you say nothing as he moves closer to you and grabs your hand, lifting it up and motioning for you to twirl.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grip firmly onto your waist and pull you out of the circle. “Hey!” You look down, suddenly realising they’re Kuroo’s. A shiver runs down your spine. He spins you around to face him. His lips are set in a firm line, eyes completely devoid of humour, nostrils slightly flared.

“Hi,” you say quietly, testing the waters.

“Hi,” he replies curtly. His hands are still on your waist. Selfishly, you choose not to point that out. Instead, you try to defuse the situation with a light question. Playful tone.

“Where were you this whole time?”

“Looking for you.”

“Well… you found me.” You flash him a sheepish grin. A peace offering of some sort.

“I did.” He doesn’t take it.

“Lucky you.”

Irritation finally seeps through his features. “You just left me on the dance floor!” he snaps. “And then when I find you after searching the entire venue, you’re dancing up on some random guy!”

“It was in good fun!” you retort, wriggling out of his grip. “And I wasn’t dancing up on him.” You want to ask if he’s jealous so badly, but you take a good look at his face and decide against that.

“Fun?” he asks incredulously. “Worrying about losing you, worrying about myself getting lost, then having to worry about that guy after finding you isn’t very fucking fun to me, Y/N!” The words fly out of his mouth like daggers without pause. Once finished, he looks at you with a disappointed gaze, shaking his head lightly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down at your shoes. It doesn’t matter if you disagree with him–– a sort of shame drills itself so deeply into your conscience that all you can think about is making things right again. “I didn’t think my actions through.”

A second passes. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Hey, look at me.” Kuroo lifts your chin up with an index finger. Your wide eyes meet his narrow ones. Just as a pink beam glides over his face, his gaze softens, falls down to your lips. And then you feel his thumb on your chin, barely grazing the skin of your bottom lip. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. The revelry in the background fades to dull beats against your eardrums. Suddenly, you register that he smells of, as usual, blackcurrant and amber.

But now you also smell of blackcurrant and amber.

You’re wearing his clothes. You smell of him.

Kuroo’s eyes crawl back up to yours, wide like he’s just been caught in the middle of a crime. You blink expectantly, ignoring the furious way your heart pounds in your chest. Shallow breaths puff through your slightly parted mouth.

“I am.” It comes out barely a whisper. C’mon. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me––

You gently touch the hand he has on your chin. Kuroo jolts back like he’s been burned. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll be in the car,” he stutters, looking away from your face. He pushes through the sea of people, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, body doused in blue light, fingers touching the area his thumb had been as if preserving its print.

Kuroo hardly notices you slip into the passenger’s seat minutes later. He’s got his forearms hanging over the steering wheel and gaze fixed ahead into the darkness, mind probably running off to a place he wishes his body was, too.

As soon as you’ve buckled yourself in, Kuroo starts the car.

The entire drive home is silent.

Once Kuroo pulls into your courtyard and parks, he turns off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of the car. Wordlessly, you follow his actions and meet him by the stairs to your door.

“Hi,” you say quietly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Hey.”

The two of you stand outside your front door in silence as you both consider what to say next. This can’t be the way it ends.

“I shouldn’t have… done that,” Kuroo says first.

“Done what?” You choose to play dumb. Call it selfish, but you want to hear him say it. Maybe then it’ll feel as real as it had been. Kuroo sighs and leans his shoulder against the stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s no way he can dance around what happened. Perhaps the past two months can be summed up as the development of a strong friendship with skilled doublespeak and metaphors and just enough artistic licence, but this can’t. And Kuroo knows that. He can’t feed you an alternative truth like he’s done so many times before. What’s more, he can’t lie to himself anymore. So maybe it’s better just to not speak at all.

Your eyes burn holes into the side of his face. Fine. You’ll concede first. “I was never nervous.”

Kuroo blinks, turns his head around to look at you. “What?”

“I was never nervous. I was playing it cool because I didn’t want to risk befriending you and getting attached.” I’m still playing it cool, you don’t say. And I’m already attached. “Guess I just came off as a bitch instead.” You laugh. “But can you blame me? You were this cute, older guy. Smart, too, since you were interning with my mom. You were my dream guy.”

An amused breath blows out of his nose. “Were?” he questions, grinning, only remembering the fragility of your platonic relationship a second later. “Um––”

“Are.” It slips out of your mouth without you realising. Fuck. Kuroo stills. It’s too late to take back your words now, so you might as well just keep going. “You still are my dream guy.”

Seconds pass and neither of you says anything. Sweat gathers in the palms of your hands. You start to feel your heartbeat through your neck. The buzz of the cicadas grows louder. Oppressive. Behind Kuroo, the sky is starting to turn pale blue and pink in the horizon. That means it’s almost sunrise. The night is almost over, and, hopefully, so is this awful conversation.

“And… you don’t feel the same.” Funnily, you feel like you’re lying. You’re telling Kuroo how he feels and you think you’re lying. Does that make sense? None of this night even feels real. God, you hope this has all just been a dream. Mustering a soft smile, you say, “That’s okay. Thank you for the party. And the adventure.” It was fun while it lasted. You feel the house key in your pocket and turn to unlock the door. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us, Kuroo. Can we still be friends?” The words leave your mouth feeling like barbed wire. You know damn well you can’t still be friends.

And suddenly, you feel his calloused hands around your cheeks. Suddenly, his hot breath fans over your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Your eyes close instantly. “Yes, please.”

And suddenly, his soft lips are on yours.

Kuroo breaks the kiss seconds later. “Fuck,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours, touching the tips of your noses together. “Y/N, I don’t want to be friends. Fuck.” A dry chuckle leaves his mouth. He pauses to collect his thoughts but decides that that can wait. Instead, he presses another kiss to your lips so fervently that he backs you up against the wall with no space between your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat like this, chest to chest. Kuroo’s hands travel down your waist and rest on your hips. His tongue runs across your tongue, your teeth, the insides of your mouth. You gently suck on it, drawing a satisfied moan from him. When the kiss ends, you see that his lips are red and cheeks are swollen. A warm feeling spreads through your chest. “I thought I could be happy just being friends with you but I can’t. I want you so bad it hurts. Not to mention, when I saw you in my hoodie?” His fingers pinch the material. “I thought God was testing me or some shit.”

“Sure didn’t feel like you wanted me that way,” you retort, still breathless.

“In my defence,” Kuroo says, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, “I was very scared.”

“Of what?”

It looks like he’s about to tell you, but he changes his mind and doesn’t answer. He grabs your hand and pulls you back to the car with a cheeky grin. “I’ll tell you only if you tell me where we can watch the sunrise.”

Kuroo holds your hand, stroking your thumb the entire drive there.

After a short hike, you plop down on the grassy hillside, supporting your body with outstretched arms in the back. Kuroo sits down beside you with one of his hands covering yours, fingers intertwined like a honeysuckle vine around a hazel tree. You tell him that you grew up running along this hill with your parents. It used to be your playground. Maybe, you think, it’s time to make new memories here.

“Beautiful,” Kuroo breathes, a wonderstruck look in his eyes. The sun’s just risen halfway above the pink and blue horizon, the saturated orange casting the entire city below gold. It’s not just the city, though. He’s also gold. He’s just as beautiful. You watch him with a soft smile on your lips, noting how his wide eyes and slack jaw return to normal as he stares off into the distance. After resting your head on his shoulder, you fix your eyes on the sunrise ahead. You wonder what he’s thinking so quietly about.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask once the sun has finished revealing itself.

Kuroo blinks, returning to reality, but continues to stare straight ahead. “I was just thinking about… soulmates.”

You lift your head off his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates now,” you tease.

“Hmm.” He turns to look at you, the sun turning his hazel eyes the colour of honey. That same wry smirk from Jack’s returns to his face.

“You wanna know why I was so scared?”

“Pray tell.”

“Because I’ve never felt this way towards anyone.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No,” Kuroo laughs, laying his head down in your lap, looking up into your eyes. “I’m serious. I used to purposely stay away from girls in high school. Same in college. Same all the way until you somehow wormed your way into my life. That’s why we wouldn’t have been friends.” You cock your head to the side.

“Why?” you ask, running your fingers through his hair.

Kuroo’s eyelids flutter shut. He inhales deeply before talking. “My parents are divorced. The years before the divorce were… very ugly.” 

(He spares you the details of the midnight arguments, the smashed plates, the holes in the walls. He spares you the details of how he only ever knew how to fall asleep with his head sandwiched between two pillows, how he hasn’t seen his sister in a decade, how he’ll curse and snap but never yell because he always feels like a child again around the noise. That’s for another time, if you’ll have any.) 

“I still remember all the fighting and yelling. For the longest time, that’s all I knew about marriage and relationships.”

“Did you think all relationships were like that? Fighting and yelling?” you ask.

“For a while, yeah. I’m still a little scared of that, to be honest. Ending up in a relationship where all you do is fight.” Kuroo sighs. “But that’s not the only thing. I thought I wouldn’t know how to love someone, growing up like that.” At that, your fingers pause in his hair.

“Wait,” you say, furrowing your brows. A wave of immense sadness (not for yourself, for him) washes over you. “You think you wouldn’t know how to love someone else?”

“Thought.” Kuroo cracks open his eyes and smiles up at you. “I’m in the process of changing my mind.”

[rebeccccccaaa]

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ɴᴇʀᴅ ⓟⓐⓡⓣ ②

_________________________

ғʀᴀᴛʙᴏʏ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs x sʜʏ-ɪsʜ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀᴜ (ɪɴᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ɪ ɢᴜᴇss)

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: (two part series!) You’re starting to struggle in class and decide to ask your professor for some tutoring or extra classes to boost your  grade. He ends up assigning the last person you’d expect to tutor you. (is it really a surprise though?)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cw: talking about a car accident and infertility

smut 18+  (praise kink, dirty talk, oral fem receiving, hair pulling, marking, choking, slight spanking if you squint, slight bondage), major aftercare, fluff? This is pretty filthy lmao. 

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟺.𝟹 ᴋ (ɪ ᴀᴍ sᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜɪs ɪs sᴏᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ!)

ᴀ/ɴ: Thank you so much for all the love in the last part! I was truly expecting maybe about 20 likes but so far its gotten over 100! Thank you for being so nice to me on my first ever post and hope you enjoy part 2!

__________________________

For the next two or so weeks you avoid Bucky like the bubonic plague. You didn’t exactly hate the fact that he kissed, but he was your tutor. Isn’t that inappropriate? Let alone him being a part of a frat house. It wouldn’t be a good mix.

One good thing though is that your overall grade in class has gone up since your tutor sessions with Bucky so at least it wasn’t for nothing. He’s tried to talk to you in class a couple times when you didn't go to him but ended up giving up when you began showing up right when class started or going out of your way to even go near him. 

Again, you didn’t hate him; hell you weren’t mad anymore, but you still avoided at all costs. It’s totally not because you're scared you’ll actually fall for him. How could someone like Bucky even look your way? Maybe he just wanted to get into your pants like all the boys in the house.

You didn’t tell Natasha that Bucky kissed but she could definitely tell that something was up. You were usually at Bucky’s frat house on weekdays but you’ve been canceling sessions every night since the incident. 

One night you were studying alone in your apartment and Natasha was pacing around on her phone. She was dressed to go to a frat party tonight but it seems maybe her ride isn’t available. You wonder why she can’t herself when she has a car.

“Hey Y/n,” Nat crept up to you.

“Yes,” you drew out.

“Would maybe, possibly, perhaps, might be able to be my DD?” she asked.

“Your what?”

“My designated driver. Wanda has a family emergency; her and her brother flew out like an hour ago and I haven’t been able to find anyone to pick me up.”

“I can drop you off and pick you up,” you offered. You’d rather stay up late in case she wants to come home than stay at the party all night, especially if she finds another bed to stay in till morning. 

“I mean you could do that but would it be more fun to actually party for once. Come on babe you’re too uptight, you need to have fun especially with how hard you’re working in school right now.”

“Nat, you know that’s not my scene.”

“Just stay with me. Or Bucky I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hanging with you tonight,” she suggestively, bringing confusion to your face.

“Huh?”

“Oh nothing Just come with me please? If it gets too much text me and I’ll let you know if I need a ride back home.”

“Actually?” you asked.

“Pinky promise.”

“Ok give me like 5 mins.”

You ran to your  room and picked out an outfit you felt sexy but comfortable in; I mean if you were going to inevitably run into Bucky at this party might as well look presentable right? When you came out ready, Nat whistled, hyping you up and felt your face heat up a bit. 

“Stop, let’s just go,” you averted.

You arrived at the house music booming from down the street. People outside drinking from red solo cups, cars already picking up drunks and dropping people off to get said drunk. You hastily parked the car and Nat grabbed your hand and pulled you close as you guys walked to the party. You weren’t going to lie, you were really nervous.

You heard stories about these parties but you were trying to convince yourself that they may be exaggerated somewhat but still didn’t do much for your nerves. When you walked you eyes almost immediately locked with Bucky’s. To say he was shocked to see you at a frat party was for sure an understatement.

Bucky began to move through the crowd to meet up with you but when he got to the entrance it was like you disappeared. Disappointed, he returned to the mini bar where the drinks were all held, where Steve served the drinks. Asked for a beer.

“How’s it going, man?” Steve asked.

“She’s here.”

“Nat? I really think there's something between us. I’m thinking about asking her on a proper date you know?”

“Really? That’s awesome, but I’m talking ‘bout Y/n,” Bucky clarified.

“What? I thought she hated parties.” 

“I did too.”

As if on queue, you tapped Bucky on the shoulder.

“Hi.”

“Hey, what on earth are you doing here?”

“Nat needed a designated driver and Wanda and her brother are out of town.”

“Yeah Pietro lives here in the house, Steve drove him and Wanda to the airport a couple hours ago.”

You nodded your head and things got awkward again, but then again what’s new with that.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“I can’t drink.”

“Oh right. Do we have soda?”

“We coke for the rum but you can take a can.”

“Thanks Steve,” you took a can of coke from him. 

You and Bucky and Steve all held wholesome conversation for a little  bit then Nat came and whisked him away. Bucky was put on bar duty from then on and you decided to keep him company until Nat was ready to go home. But so far from the way Steve and her were dancing together you didn’t think Nat was gonna wanna go home.

You asked Bucky how long Steve and Nat have had their little thing and apparently it’s been going on for awhile. You had sneaking suspicion that they were together in some way but since Nat never brought it up you didn’t want to bug her. It was pretty easy to figure out though considering she didn’t come home some nights.

They’re good together though and you hope they make it official soon.

Talking to Bucky, you felt a hand brush against but when you looked no one was there. You figured it was just getting crowded. After a couple of hours you decided to text Nat to see where she was. When she didn’t respond, you took it upon yourself to call her.

“Nat where did you go?”

“I'm in the car,” she slurred.

“What! You can’t be driving! How did you even get the keys?” you yelled.

“I snatched them from you when you and Bucky were flirting with each other. Steve couldn’t  find his keys so I took yours,” she shouted into the phone.

“When did you- whatever, is he sober?” you asked.

“Yeah and I am not even that dru-,” she hiccuped. 

“Nat…” you warned. 

“Steve is my boyfriend and we’re clean. I’ll be safe; it’s not like I can have kids anyway.”

“Nat.” When you moved in together at the beginning of the year, you noticed one time her grabbing her lower stomach in discomfort and offered her any products for her period. She told you she doesn’t get one and being the dumbass you are you asked why. She told you when she was a teenager she got into a car accident that caused extreme internal bleeding causing Nat to become infertle. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that,” you apologized.

“It’s ok babe. If anything you be safe.”

“She can’t see you, babygirl,” you heard Steve say and laughed out loud.

“Oh! I’m winking!” she shouted.

“Oh my god. Whatever,” you rolled your eyes.

“Anyways buh-bye, girly!” she hung up the phone.

“What happened?” Bucky came up behind you. You looked over at the bar and saw Bruce bar-keeping.

“Nat took the fucking car with Steve.”

“Why didn’t he use my car?”

“She said he couldn’t find the keys and I guess it was easier to just steal from me when I wasn’t looking.”

“Wow, ok. Stealth much?”

“Right? She’s like a Russian spy,” you laughed.

“Well, you probably need a ride then,” Bucky brought up.

“I don’t know if I wanna go home knowing Steve is probably gonna be railing her into the next dimension.”

“Yeah, you can spend the night here. I can sleep on the floor.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah it’s not a problem. We probably have an air mattress hiding somewhere.”

“Thanks Buck. well since I’m not going anywhere I guess I could have a drink now.”

“What’ll it be?”

You drank a couple beers feeling the alcohol beginning to flow effortlessly through your veins. The music was still booming through the house and you found yourself getting lost to the rhythm. You made your way to where everyone was also dancing and let the music guide your body sensually. 

You didn’t notice it yet but Bucky was staring completely in love with the way you were moving. He’d never seen you in this kind of environment and definitely not in the clothing you were wearing. You looked truly sexy even more so dancing the way you were dancing; like you had control over everything in the world.

You soon felt a pair of hands circle around to your waist instantly knowing who they belong to. Bucky moved his hips snug against your backside perfectly fitting with you. You let your head lean back feeling Bucky breathe against your neck.  

“You driving me crazy, doll,” Bucky whispered against your ear.

You shivered at his words. 

“Please, let me show you how fucking stunning you are,” he moved his hands towards the front of your hips.

“What?” you turned around. You hadn’t expected Bucky to want to do anything with you.

“I can make you feel so good. You deserve it.”

“Bucky-”

“Do you want me to make you feel good?”

“I do,” you whined as he rubbed his hands against your lower back, pulling you so close.

He kissed you too softly, barely touching your lips, as he grabbed your hands and led to his room upstairs.  

When you reached his room, the back of his knees hit the bed and he sat while your knees went to either side of his thighs. God his thighs. His hands went up your shirt grazing your bare skin with his fingertips as you continued to makeout sloppily. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, tugging your shirt.

“Please, yes please.”

Your arms went over your head and Bucky slowly kissed the exposed skin as your shirt inched higher and higher up until he tossed it to the side. The straps of your bra left off shoulders and Bucky continued to kiss any exposed skin on your body. Your hands ran through his hair and you tugged his strands earning a moan in return.

You tugged at his shirt as well and he complied quickly getting rid of his shirt and throwing it to the side. Bucky hands ran over your bottom and you jumped off him nearly ripping your bottoms off your body. You heard bucky chuckled as he too took the opportunity to take his pants off leaving him in boxers and nothing else.

“I want to taste you baby girl,” Bucky bit at your ear.

Your body tensed a bit because although you were not a virgin, you were not that experienced, especially compared to Bucky. 

“Is that ok? I’m sorry, we don’t have to do anything. I don’t want you to regret anything, princess. We can stop.”

“No! I don’t want to stop. No one’s just ever wanted to do that, you know,” you whispered feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“Oh baby, what kinda shit boys were you with? Let me show how good a woman is supposed to feel, got it?”

You swallowed hard, but nodded of course. 

Bucky picked you up and gently laid you down onto the bed. His hands rubbed your thighs softly and he kissed your stomach ever so softly. He was trying his very hardest to make sure you were comfortable and relaxed as much as possible. Bucky traced the lining of your underwear and looked to you once again to make sure everything was ok by you. You nodded but that wasn’t enough for Bucky.

“Words, baby. I wanna hear you say it,” he whispered, lips against your inner thigh. 

“Bucky,” you whined.

“Come on, baby. Use your words like a big girl,” he snickered.

“Please, touch me, Bucky. I want you to use your mouth on me like you promised.”

“There ya go,” he said pulling your underwear down your legs.

He slowly opened your legs and kissed your inner thigh leaving a dark purple mark for him to see and him only. When he was satisfied with the marks he left on your inner thighs he licked a slow and wet line against your pussy. Your hips instantly bucked into his face and your hands flew to his hair.

You tugged at his hair again and released a grunt from Bucky, the vibrations from his mouth pleasuring you even more. Bucky brought his fingers to your hole and he continued circling his tongue around your clit making you moan and arch your back. 

He entered a finger into you and then another. You were already beginning to feel full from just his fingers alone, you couldn’t wait until he was able to fuck you balls deep. Your orgasm was approaching quicker than you anticipated, your toes curled and your back arched off the bed. Your heels dug into Bucky’s back but he simply continued to eat you out until you finally peaked.

“Bucky!” you shouted his name in pleasure.

“That’s it baby girl. You're my good girl, right?”

“Yes, I’m your good girl. Oh god, I’m cumming,” you moaned.

Bucky helped you ride out your first orgasm of the night completely enamored by your beauty. When you finally came down from you high you reached for Bucky pulling him into a heated kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned into his mouth. You pulled him closer and sat up moving him to sit his back against his headboard.

“I don’t know what I want to do more, return the favor or ride you until my legs shake.”

“You can return the favor another time. Let me see you ride my dick, doll,” Bucky growled. Another time?

You crawled onto Bucky’s lap after he discarded his boxers letting his dick spring up, the tip red from lack of attention. It shocked you if you were being honest, it was so… big. 

“Is that gonna fit?” you asked genuinely.

“Yeah, it will; but if it hurts too much you tell me to stop ok?” you nodded.

Bucky reached behind your back and unclasped your bra only to toss it to wherever the rest of your clothes were. His hands caressing your breasts; thumbs rubbing over your sensitive nipples, sending chills throughout your body. He kissed along your collarbone to your neck to your jaw before whispering in your ear.

“I have to grab a condom from the bathroom, baby girl. Sorry,” he began to move you.

“Why are you sorry?” you stopped him.

“I don’t wanna ruin the mood but safety is important before anything else.”

You weren’t gonna lie that actually kinda shocked you; and turned you on even more. You had completely forgotten about having a condom. You were on the pill but that doesn't mean you shouldn’t still use a condom. Bucky was back in no time and you took the condom from him wanting to put it on for him. Bucky moaned as you wrapped his dick and soon enough you were ready to go, arousal practically dripping down your inner thighs.

Bucky’s hand lid up to the back of your neck as you slid down his cock; both moaning at the feeling. You took a second to move but when you did things practically fell into pace. You quickly found a good rhythm for the both of you and soon enough you felt yourselves growing near climax.

Bucky’s hands gripped at your ass, grunting and moaning at the feeling of your walls gliding in and out of you. He smacked your ass leaving a slight red-ish mark for you to admire later. You pulled him closer, if that was even possible, burying your face in between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. 

“I can feel ya getting close, baby. Fucking squeezing me. Feels so good, princess.”

“I'm gonna come, I’m so close.”

“Don’t come until I say so. Hold it, I know you can. Be my good little girl and fucking hold it.”

You sucked and kissed and licked his neck leaving little marks not nearly as big as the ones he was leaving all over you. Soon enough you felt the coil building in the pit of your stomach snap and you moaned so loud into Bucky’s ear, he almost came from hearing your moans.

“Sorry I literally screamed in your ear.”

“I told you not to come until I say so.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hold it anymore. You felt too good,” you whispered, barely audible.

“That doesn’t matter. I told you to hold it,” Bucky got off the bed and reached for his pants. You got so scared that he was going to leave; terrified. But instead he took his belt he was wearing and stalked back towards you. Oh how the butterflies in your stomach fluttered right now.

“Arms up baby girl. You don’t get to touch me now.”

You complied, your stomach fluttering immensely at the mere thought of what Bucky was going to  do with you now. When he finished looping the belt around the headboard of the bed his hands ran along your entire body kissing here and there until back up to you. 

“Too tight?” you shook your head.

“Perfect. Winter; say the word and I stop,” he kissed passionately, sliding back in you, pussy sensitive from orgasming twice tonight. 

Bucky didn’t take as much time as you did before starting to slam into you over and over again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, toes curling in themselves, tears brimming your eyes. Bucky fingers dug into your waist surely leaving more marks for you in the morning. 

His hand came up to wrap around your neck and squeezed ever so slightly.

“Feel good? My little fucking slut, whining and wiggling under me,” Bucky said, more to himself than anything.

“Fuck-” you moaned. You wrists rubbing against the belt, trying to pull away so you could touch Bucky.

“What is it? You wanna touch me,” Bucky’s hand squeezed a bit more and you moaned even louder, legs wrapping around his waist pulling him closer that way.

“Oh good please Bucky, let me touch you!”

“Uh-uh, bad girls don’t get what they want. If you want to touch me you have to beg me like the good little whore you are,” Bucky growled.

“Fuck Bucky please, I’ll do anything for you just me let me touch you. Please, please, please!”

“Tell me your mine.”

“I’m yours, Buck. All fucking yours. No one else’s!”

“No one is ever gonna fuck as good as I do. Your mine.”

“Yes! I’m yours, oh god,” you moaned.

Bucky was extremely close to cumming and so were you so he undid the belt with one hand skillfully and your arms wrapped around his body pulling as close to you as humanly possible. Your hands ran through his hair and pulled hard as you both fell over the edge. Bucky settled between your legs for a minute kissing your breasts, your chest heaving trying to catch your breath. 

Bucky got up and discarded the condoms making sure there were no tears or rips considering how rough he’d been with you. He didn’t intend to be rough at first but his mind was so clouded with you he practically lost control; but you didn’t mind not one bit. 

Bucky came back with bottled water from a small refrigerator he kept in the corner of his room and held you back and head as you brought the water to your lips. After satisfying your dry and hoarse throat, Bucky picked you up and set down on his bathroom counter, the cold of the marble counter in extreme contrast to your hot skin. 

He cleaned you up and inspected your wrists making sure you weren’t hurt; although they were quite red and would probably hurt in the morning. Lastly, he grabbed a wipe and cleaned the remaining mess of makeup you had put on the night before speaking up again.

“Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to be,” Bucky caressing the sides of your waist. You shocked your head no; the face with a blissfully fucked out expression and a smile making Bucky chuckle. He rubbed your skin with lotion to ease any irritation anything may have caused and kissed the marks he made during sex. He admits that he really likes seeing you marked up by him knowing he’s the only one who gets to see them and make them. Makes him proud that he was able to fuck so good and you loved it too.

He picked you up and took you to bed; kissing you all over one last time before letting you fall asleep in his arms. The last thing you heard before you fell asleep was Bucky whispering about how good were to him, calling you his good little girl; rubbing your back ever so softly putting you to sleep.

+++

You woke the next morning arms and legs tangled with another. You turn your head to find Bucky Barnes’ face tucked into your neck soft breaths tickling your skin. You rubbed his arms and back, nails lightly scratching him causing him to stir a bit.

Bucky pressed soft kisses against your skin and rested his large warm hands on your ass and thighs. You felt the urge to use the restroom and haven’t going last night, you figured you should as soon as possible. Prying your mildly sweaty body from his was obviously unsuccessful with how much stronger he was compared to you. His legs moved further in between your thighs and he began kissing your chest making you giggle in return.

���Bucky, I have to use the restroom,” you grabbed his face.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled and released his hold on you, not without whining of course.

You ran into his bathroom and shut the door. When you turned around you gasped realizing how marked up you were. Dark purple spots littered all over your chest and neck. Your wrists were bright red from the belt he used last night; however they didn’t hurt, a bit sore but not painful. Your thighs were also decorated with love bites and hickeys from Bucky last night and you smiled to yourself.

After you used the bathroom you cleaned yourself as well as possible but admittedly needed a shower in the end. You opened the door only to find Bucky, grinning like a little boy. You folded your hands underneath your chin evidently hiding your body with your arms as much as you could. 

Bucky came up to you and placed his hands on your waist kissing the top of your head before turning you around to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. His body was flush against your and you could feel his dick sitting against your ass and lower back. His face came up and rested on your shoulder then grabbed your hands to wrap them behind his head and yours. 

You played with his hair a bit feeling so confident and loved by the affection Bucky has been giving since you came into his room. His hands ran across your body everywhere they could reach before making eye contact with you in the mirror.

“Look at you, goddamn.”

“What?” you chuckled.

“Do you see what I’m seeing?”

You shook your head, feeling incredibly shy suddenly.

“Look how  fucking beautiful and gorgeous and perfect you are. Geez, I can’t even handle it.” 

You laughed out at how dramatic he was being.

“Goddamn, I could stare at your perfect body all fucking day,” he whispered, it wasn’t in a sensual tone however. It was almost like he was saying to himself, like he actually wanted to do as such.

“Please stay,” he asked you.

“Are you ok?” you sensed he was being incredibly serious, almost about to cry even.

His sad painted with sadness, eyes begging you to stay with him for the day. He wanted something with you.he wanted to be yours and hoped to God that you’d be his in return.

“Stay with me. Please?” you realized you didn’t think he was talking about staying for now, he meant stay with him, as a partner.

“What happened?” you caressed his face in your hands. He lifted you and placed you on the counter Like he did the night before, settling his hips in between your legs.

“They always leave,” he whispered.

“Who? ”

“I didn’t want to just sleep around with girls anymore so I started talking to them and taking them out but every time the night we had sex, they would always leave. I tried talking to them the next day but they always said they didn’t want anything out of it. So I stopped having sex altogether.” 

Your heart ached for him. You didn’t want to do that to him. Of course you thought about it, but that was clearly before you realized Bucky wanted to be with you.

“I won’t leave.”

“We can stay in my room all day. You don’t even have to get out of bed. I can grab a couple game consoles from downstairs and we play on the tv. We order breakfast. I’ll wash your clothes. We have a washing machine in the basement,” Bucky said excitedly, you smiled excited as well for your day with Bucky.

“Can we take a shower first?” you asked.

“Yes of course, let’s take a shower.”

“Let’s?” you wiggled your eyebrows.

“Of course. Maybe we can pop in a couple rounds while we’re at it,” Bucky winked.

“Bucky!”

______________________

Ok, all done. :) Hope you liked it and maybe give it a little like or reblog? You don’t have  to though lol

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ! 

@baddie-barnes

@calwitch

@red42985

[spencers-renaissance]

a touch that never hurts

Summary: a rewrite of the Tobias Hankel aftermath, in which Spencer gets plenty of cuddles and physical affection from his father figure

Tags: aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, platonic cuddling, whump, protective hotch, dad hotch, fluff, angst TW: brief mention of the non-con drug use that occurs in the Hankel arc, as well as the physical torture Spencer underwent

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid; Platonic

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy bonus fic Thursday :) I wrote this because I noticed how gentle and kind Hotch always is to the victims he rescues, and I was in the mood for some good, mushy Dad Hotch fluff. Title from Charles Dickens' Hard Times: "Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts."

When Spencer Reid falls into Aaron Hotchner’s arms — his feet whipped and bleeding, his veins throbbing with dilaudid, his body bruised and aching — he decides that he never wants to let go.

He’s spent countless hours at the mercy of three different personalities, only one of them even close to resembling something kind, and all he could think while he was tied up in that chair was how much he ached to be held and comforted by the man he trusts most in this world.

So when Hotch saves him — and he does; he sent that message directly to him and it was heard loud and clear — he can’t help that he breaks down, that he cries into his shoulder in front of the entire rescue party, that he falls apart in the most painful way possible, until he’s not sure he can ever be put back together again. But when Hotch speaks soothingly into his ear, caressing his hair with the gentle touch of a father, he thinks that maybe he can be. Maybe he’ll somehow make it out of this in one piece.

He’s driven promptly to the hospital, of course. He’d anticipated an ambulance, but apparently it’s harder than you’d think to get an ambulance to a crime scene at 3am with absolutely no notice in deep, rural Georgia.

Derek drives, eyeing him anxiously in the rearview mirror, and Spencer sits glued to Hotch, refusing to be separated from him for even a second. He considers vaguely that he should probably be embarrassed of that fact, but he can’t find the energy. Not when Hotch is sitting just as closely; seemingly matching his need to be comforted with his own need to protect.

“It’s gonna be okay, Spencer,” Hotch murmurs, a little too quiet for Derek to hear over the noise of the car engine. “I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure he believes him. Instead, he just burrows closer into Hotch and hides his face from the soft illumination of passing car lights and the sporadic street lights of rural Georgian roads.

He accepts the wheelchair Derek runs in to grab from the hospital because his feet are suddenly screaming in agony. When he’d had to stumble through the graveyard behind Tobias Hankel’s cabin, the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling the true extent of his injuries, but now, with the adrenaline seeping out of him like a river through a broken dam, he can feel every single fractured bone, bruised patch of skin, abused and broken tendon.

Panic immediately arises when he sits down in the chair, though. All of a sudden, he doesn’t have that connection he’s had to Hotch since he was rescued, and he’s almost instantly on the verge of hyperventilation until Hotch crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, Spence,” he says gently, patient and soothing in a way the team doesn’t often get to see. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. How about I hold your hand?”

Spencer nods, and Hotch smiles at him encouragingly before giving the nod for Derek to push the chair towards the Emergency entrance. Hotch’s hand clutches tightly at Spencer’s, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the panic, against the memories, against the fear of what’s to come, and focuses all his energy on the firm, unwavering connection he has to Hotch.

It makes the minutes that it takes them to cross the parking lot bearable, and he’s grateful for that much.

As soon as Hotch explains the situation to the ER doctor that greets them at the door, Spencer is rushed into an examination room.

“I’ll wait outside, Spence,” Derek promises. “I’ll be right here.”

Hotch doesn’t let go of his hand.

They examine his feet first, using a portable x-ray machine to find three broken bones overall. Spencer cries when he hears that. Knowing they’re broken doesn’t change how much they hurt or how scary the situation feels, but it is a tangible acknowledgement of the torture he’s just been put through, and he thinks that that’s probably enough to make most people cry.

“It’s alright, Spencer,” Hotch soothes him, laying his palm on his forehead and smoothing it over his hair gently, slowly. “I’m right here. The doctors are going to help you out.”

“The good news is that most of the fractures are fairly minor,” the doctor explains. “You’ll need a cast for your right foot since the damage to the metatarsal bones is much more significant, but most of the damage overall appears to be torn tendons and bruised muscles, which means plenty of rest and a simple brace or boot on the left foot should do the trick.”

She smiles encouragingly at him, but he barely reacts. He’s so tired. It feels like he’s not even in the room; the only tether to reality being the soothing hand in his hair and the occasional whispers of support.

They treat his feet before sending him off to a CT scanner to check that the rest of his injuries are minor enough to heal on their own, and rule out internal bleeding. Spencer cries the whole twenty two minutes, because this time Hotch can’t hold his hand. He’s stuck watching through the observation window, trying not to cry himself as he listens to Spencer’s sobs over the intercom.

Thankfully, he manages to stay still enough to ensure clear enough images of his body to confirm that rest and pain medication should take care of the rest of his injuries.

A specialist comes round to talk to him about withdrawal. He’s been moved to a room on the assessment ward, which is at least a little more comfortable than the bay in the Emergency Room, but it still feels foreign and frightening, and he’s had quite enough of that in the last few days, thank you very much. At least Derek’s been allowed to join them now. He feels safer with both of them as close to him as humanly possible.

“The good news,” the doctor starts — and God, Spencer wishes they would stop associating any of this with the word ‘good’ — “is that you haven’t taken enough doses to become truly dependent on the drug, which should make your withdrawal easier. I’m prescribing buprenorphine, clonidine, acetaminophen, and ondansetron, which when combined, should make your symptoms significantly more bearable. We do advise that you stay with somebody—”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Hotch interrupts firmly, both of his hands clasped warmly around Spencer’s as he eyes the doctor with an unwavering gaze.

“Well, that’s perfect, then,” the doctor says cheerily. It feels grossly misplaced. “You’ll need to prepare for the coming symptoms and ensure that he has no way to get his hands on more dilaudid.”

Spencer resents the doctor for saying that. He has no desire to inject more of that poison into his veins: it might have been a pleasant distraction when he was being whipped and beaten and forced to choose someone to die, but now that he’s back with his family, now that he’s safe, the last thing he wants is to keep reminding himself of that god-awful man in that god-awful cabin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just closes his eyes to try and smother the turbulent emotions threatening to show on his face.

“That won’t be a problem,” Hotch confirms.

They wait for an hour in relative silence, Spencer enjoying the solace of a safe, quiet room with the people he considers protectors both holding his hands and soothing him when panic threatens to overwhelm him, before the discharge doctor comes round. She checks him over one last time, before helping him into a wheelchair, handing him his medication, and wheeling him towards the entrance.

Derek goes ahead once they reach the airstrip where everybody’s been waiting to go home and herds them onto the jet first to give Spencer some privacy going up the stairs.

“Are you okay for me to carry you?” Hotch asks as he climbs out of the car first, speaking gently as he has done since he rescued him.

Spencer nods. Of course he is. It means he’s even closer to Hotch.

Hotch carries him the short distance between the parked jeep and the jet before ascending the stairs as carefully as possible, making sure Spencer’s feet don’t so much as brush the railing. He sets him down on the sofa, but Spencer clings to his hand, looking at him desperately as he tries to get him to understand what he needs. Thankfully, he’s obvious enough that Hotch simply smiles and sits down on the sofa with him.

They get settled in a horizontal position, Spencer resting his head on Hotch’s chest as he revels in the feeling of safety that having both of his arms wrapped around him provides. A gentle hand finds its way to Spencer’s hair again, and he closes his eyes against the relaxing feeling, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

He vaguely hears some quiet laughter in the background, and he’s been with the team long enough to predict the raised eyebrows and teasing expressions on their faces.

“You’ve gone soft,” Derek accuses warmly, making sure to keep his voice down, and the others chuckle in agreement.

“Wait until Penelope hears about this,” JJ teases quietly.

Hotch laughs, and Spencer feels the pleasant vibrations against his cheek. It makes him feel even warmer inside than he did before. “You wouldn’t dare.” Spencer imagines the smile on his face and burrows closer to him.

“It’s a good thing, Hotch,” Emily chimes in, her voice bright and easy. Spencer really likes her. “It’s nice to see this side of you.”

“Well, you’d better savour the moment because it won’t happen again.”

He must feel Spencer’s panicked tensing, the way his muscles go rigid and his breath hitches, because he rushes to add, “unless Spencer needs it of course.” His hands resume their gentle caresses of his back.

“I’d do anything if Spencer needed it,” he murmurs, and the team might hear, but the words aren’t for them.

Spencer hears them loud and clear, and somehow — when he thought only hours ago that he might never be put back together — he falls asleep feeling calm and safe, with a small, hopeful little smile on his face.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[ygreczed-3]

The Red Guard and the Snow Angel

Hank and Connor’s kiss

Hank and Connor fighting

Hank and Connor having good time with Sumo

Connor’s “I’m not going anywhere”

Gavin and Nines : interface

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

They eventually find something in one of the books : Kamski is known to live in a castle, with 7 beautiful angels to serve him. No one knows how to get to Kamski's castle, since the pike is guarded by the darkness war spirit (actually Kamski being the powerful magician he is, sealed the war spirit to the castle, condemning it to the protection of the whole rock he lives on).

On their first attempt getting to the castle, Hank gets injured, and they're forced to retreat to Nestlepeek

Connor stays near Hank as he recovers, and can't help but touch him with noticeable loving attention. Nines sees him but just decides to say nothing, knowing he's too emotionally compromised with Gavin to give his brother a lesson. Gavin is totally oblivious to that, he's just very bad at hiding his concern for Hank (yes ! he is low-key worried for his human comrade).

X

Nines somehow gets to talk calmly with Nines, for the first time since the street fight.

Nines : I just don't understand. You've always been so ambitious, always training to be more powerful, why don't you use this aspiration to channel the power source and thus use it? It doesn't make sense. Gavin : It's… It's just too fucking much to process okay ? This war spirit is in me, I can feel its thirst for blood and violence all day long, and I know I can't control him because I…

Gavin just stops before he can say he's too confused with his own priorities now to have a defined goal he can use to canalize the spirit's energy. He used to know what he wanted to do with his power, but now, he feels a latent part of him wants to use it to protect his partners, Hank, and the two snowy idiots. He's still not ready to admit it outloud and thus, the spirit having no specific goal to unleash its violence, is in fact uncontrollable. 

Nines, who is a bit more honest with himself than our favorite rat, already knows he cares for Gavin more than he should in regard to his given mission, and just feels so useless when Gavin refuses to talk to him. At this point Nines only wants to help him. He looks quietly at Gavin's nape, where the seal of the war spirit is still noticeable and forms a delicate golden scar. The Golem feels a little contradictory about this scar, one part of him being satisfied and proud of the mark he was able to let on Gavin's body, and the other part of him feeling guilty for it.

Nines : I'm sorry for this. You didn't ask for it and now you have to deal with… a war spirit and unwanted killing desires. I sometimes forget you're only human, it's not in your nature to use magic. Gavin : … It's okay. Let's just… stop talking about the spirit, deal ?

Nines remains carefully silent when Gavin offers his hand in a casual manly shake. He knows humans culturally use handshakes to settle an arrangement, and decides to ignore the deep and intimate meaning of this specific gesture in his own culture. Their hands meet, as Nines' skin unwittingly turns white at the contact, but the golem doesn't pay much attention since a human can't interface anyway. Gavin's smug expression shows he's  about to say something but his grin fades away as Nines realizes their mistake : in a flash, he can feel Gavin's doubts about his unsaid desire to protect Nines despite his hatred for golems. Nines isn't sure what passed through the contact and doesn't have a clue on what impression Gavin had about his inner thoughts, or if he even felt or saw something. The human is the first to break the contact. He looks shocked, as he meets Nines' eyes and for a moment, none of them can speak. 

Gavin : The hell was that ?!

Nines is confused too : … I didn't know it would… interfaces only happen between magic creatures… Maybe… the spirit allows you to connect with me.

Gavin : What the… You read my thoughts ? Nines : It's not… mind reading. I caught a diffuse… "impression".  Gavin : … Shit.

Gavin looks suddenly so betrayed. He looks down and sideways, taking a few steps away, hands on his neck as if he was trying to hide his head between his arms. When Nines tries to get closer, he almost jumps away.

Gavin : Don't- Fuck it, don't… touch me. Nines : I'm sorry, I didn't mean to probe you. Gavin : What exactly did you… hear or whatever? Nines : … I think… I have an answer for why you can't use the spirit's violent spree. Gavin : Fuck you, that was private ! Did you search for it you fucking asshole ? Nines : Like I said, I didn't mean to interface with you ! You too must have seen something from me so stop being a child. Gavin : I didn't-

Nines waits patiently for the end of the sentence but it never comes, as some realization seems to dawn on the human warrior.

Gavin : That nice fluttering in the stomach, when we held hands, actually it was you ?

And for once, Nines is the one to remain silent, his face even but internally too embarrassed to answer the question. No wonder this sensation passed through the connection. For the few seconds their hands touched, Nines was, in a Golem way, experiencing a gesture akin to a kiss, of course he was kind of "emotionally impacted".

Nines : … As I said… let's not embarrass ourselves any further.

And at that exact moment, Gavin realizes that Nines likes him… more than a partner, more than a friend.

X

In their room, Connor is holding Hank's hand. 

Hank : So, what should we do ? Connor : I didn't think about it yet. I wanted to be here when you wake up. Hank : ...I still have three days of bed rest at the very least… Are you sure you want to lose all this time when we're so close to the goal ? I mean, we already went through the desert, you don't need me anymore. Connor : Of course I need you, Hank. Hank : Ahaha… It's nice to go easy on me like this but you don't have to- Connor : You have to trust me, when I say I need you. It's not because I think you can help me go faster or even because I think you can help me cross a specific territory. I just… need you because you mean something to me.

Hank stays quiet but tightens his hand around Connor's, looking down right at them, his large, calloused fingers embracing the golem's white and slender ones. A long and deep look into Connor's golden brown eyes tells him there is more into this already meaningful gesture than he might think.

Connor breaks the eye-contact, and Hank realizes how intense the moment was : Connor's eyes inexplicably make him feel comfortable, as if he was floating in a warm air bubble, and he instantly misses the feeling when Connor stops mirroring his gaze to look down at their hands.

Connor : You know… There is this ultimate quest upon us, something we have to achieve to save our people… And this goal governed us like it was the only thing that mattered… Maybe I'm being a selfish brat, but Hank you're so important to me, I don't want you to be injured or killed in all this. Hank : You're important to me too, Connor.  (And then Hank laughs, giving in to his stupid and unwanted feelings.) Actually, you probably couldn't even understand how much you mean to me.

When Connor meets his gaze with a puzzled expression on his face, Hank decides he has to tell him. If anything, Connor could still change his mind and keep going without him, and then Hank will be able to finally move on. He's too fucking old to pine for a pretty boy, and if it's gotta be painful then he wants it the sooner the better.

Hank : I… recently started to develop… indecent feelings… Connor, purposely obtuse: "Indecent" ? Hank : I mean... in a… hum… romantic way. Come on kid, don't make me say it. Connor : Why would "romantic" be "indecent" ? Hank : Dunno, I'm old and pathetic, you're young and cute, sounds indecent to me. Connor : Hank… I love you too. Hank : ...You, huh... Sorry what ? Connor : I mean every single word in this sentence, Hank, I really do. Hank : … Oh. 

Connor chuckles at Hank's blank expression, as his poor brain processes the information with unprecedented difficulty. And as Hank starts moving again, his brows frowning and his mouth forming an "o" like he was gonna say "why ?!", Connor just leans towards him and brushes his beard with his lips before meeting his mouth, softly.

And god, they love it. Hank leans forward to deepen the kiss, Connor catches his beard, his fingers following the edges of his chiseled jaw until they reach his neck and nestle around it.

And it's a weird sensation to Hank because he used to know what was hot passion and what was tenderness, and at this very moment, he could feel both in Connor's grip, burning fire and smooth touches at the same time. That's it, love, love everywhere.

They separate because the older man needs to breathe and hopefully, Connor remembered it because Hank was just gonna kiss him until he falls unconscious. 

Hank : Am I dead ? Connor : You're thankfully alive and safe, but you need rest. Stay calm. Hank : I can't  believe it… i'm… almost scared of falling asleep and realize you're gone when I wake up. Connor smiles smugly at this : he takes Hank's hand in his own, kisses the palm softly, his deep dark eyes locked on Hank's.  Connor : Sleep tight. I'm not going anywhere.

X

So, as soon as Hank can walk again, the party goes back to Kamski's peek.

Hank : I feel better but I admit that I don't think I'm able to fight anything right now. Maybe we can find another way ? Gavin : Humans and Golems can't beat a war spirit. But, huh… a war spirit could do. Nines : … Is that you you're talking about? Gavin : 'Know another war spirit around here ? Nines : But you… you can't control it… I mean, you're obviously facing a dilemma with your own motivations right now. I don't think you should endanger yourself in this state… Hank : What dilemma ? Gavin : Not your business. It's fine, I just need… I just need to meditate a little bit more. Connor : We don't need much more than a distraction just a moment until we reach the castle. There we'll activate the seal and it should stunt the spirit for some time. Nines : I'm not letting him go alone. Gavin : Still don't trust me, snow man ? Nines : I'm concerned for your well being. I wanna help. Hank : Well then we can do that. Nines and Gavin take care of the spirit and Connor, we get to the castle as fast as we can. You're good ? Connor : … Yeah, that sounds good. I just need to talk with Nines. In private.

Hank and Gavin just look at each other, surprised, but then they leave the brothers for their serious talk.

X

Connor : What was that ? "I'm concerned for you well being" ? Gavin is right, only a war spirit can compete with a war spirit… even if we wanted to, we couldn't help. Nines : Gavin can't control his spirit. I saw it when we interfaced, he truly can't, no matter how much he meditates, as long as he will have this dilemma, he can't make it. Connor : Wait what ?! Interfaced ? How ? Nines : Guess the spirit makes him sensible to magic connections. Connor : What's the deal ? Why can't he control it yet ? He's strong enough, and for what I know, ambitious enough, so it's only a matter of… Nines : He's confused. He grew fond of us, and he knows we're basically enemies. We're all being reckless, he's the only one to keep this truth in mind; if we can't reach Kamski, or if he refuses to help us, we'll have to go back to the war we left, go back to kill each other. He can't resign himself to accept his attachment to us if we're going to be his enemies again. Connor : … Do you think he can make it ? Against the darkness war spirit ? Nines : I don't. That's why he needs me there. If the thunder spirit takes control of his body, I'll be there to hit the seal in his neck. Connor : Oh Nines… You love him, don't  you? Nines : … We're selfish and weak, Con. This mission… our whole kind is waiting for us to succeed. And we're threatening this long awaited deliverance because we fell for humans…  Connor : ...That's why we can't fail. I understand you're worried but maybe… Maybe that's the reason why Gavin wants to try : he knows we can't fail now.

X

In the final act, Gavin and Nines get ready to fight with the war spirit, while Hank and Connor plan on reaching the castle as fast as they can, and find Kamski.

Gavin and Nines are hiding near the war spirit.

Nines : … Are you ready ? Gavin : I don't really have a choice there.

Gavin breathes deeply and steadily, to focus and calm down before entering the arena.

Nines : I'll be flying right behind you, okay ? It's factually stronger than me, so I have to maintain minimal distance with it, but I'll be ready to hit your seal when you need  me to, and help you run away if you're in a bad state.  Gavin scoffs : Thanks Snowman, I feel so confident right now, with you believing in me like this. Nines : … Sorry I just… worry. Gavin : Look, I was right, at that time, I couldn't do it and I was totally right. But today I… I'll do it. And I want to prove it to you. 

In front of Nines' incredulous stare, Gavin offers his hand : Nines narrows his eyes as he detects static electricity all around his fingers, as if his spirit was already eager to fight.

Nines : … Do you know what it means to us, Golems ? Interfacing with someone ? Gavin : Enlighten me, snow man. Nines : ...I'll tell you if we survive this fight. Gavin : Huh… fair enough. Now, take my hand, I'll show you.

Nines gulps nervously and reaches for Gavin's hand, his own fingers turning white as he gets closer to the human's warm skin.

And he can feel everything. It's a lot less blurry and chaotic than the first time, as somehow Nines' first sensation is Gavin's serenity about sharing his deep feelings. He catches a volatile thought that flies through the human mind, saying in a flippant tone "we might die, no need to get embarrassed", and smiles at it. Interfacing with Gavin is very special for some reason : Nines had interfaced with other Golems before but it was never so vibrant, so intense. "Maybe that's because we're about to die" he feels, and for a moment he wonders if that comes from him or from Gavin. Nines feels like Gavin is an extension of himself at that very moment. Suddenly, the realization he's gonna fight against a gigantic, ancient war spirit dawns on him. He feels scared, sure but somehow, confident as well. He can do it. He will do it now, because if he fails, he'd give up on his people in Detroit, his friends Hank and (surprisingly) Connor. He would give up on Nines and he's not ready to. He used to fear that he was making friends with an enemy… That they'd have to separate at some point, and go back to where they belonged, Detroit and Jericho. But if Gavin fails now, Detroit and Jericho are doomed. He used to fear that death was preying upon him… now he fears that his team could die. That Nines could…

If he fails now, Nines and he will be dead, and that is much more scary than befriending a Golem.

Nines frowns as he feels Gavin's hand twitching in his, as if he was about to draw it back. He wants to stay connected, he wants to melt into Gavin's mind, because he feels so scared right now.

All he can catch is a glimpse of something that sounds like "I have found some higher purpose in life than my own existence", before Gavin breaks the contact.

When Nines opens his eyes again, they're wet and his breath is short. Gavin too, seems a bit shaken up by the interface.

Nines wonders what exactly the human saw/felt/heard from him and feels very self conscious for a floating second. He wants to kiss the human, he can feel it in his vein, the fire of love rushing, burning his cold body. Gavin must have felt it through the interface… and somehow, Nines wonders if he knows. He doesn't seem shocked or… disgusted. 

Gavin : You okay ? Nines : Yeah… I'm ready to go.

Gavin exhales sharply : Alright, let's do this.

Nines : I've got your back. Everything will be alright.

So they get out of their hiding spot and as Nines takes off, Gavin summons the thunder spirit.

X

We then follow Hank and Connor, who are climbing up the rocky column at the top of which Kamski established his castle. Actually, Hank climbs it and Connor flies around to help him find the safe grips. 

They're constantly attacked by monsters with long members (parts of the war spirit), and can't fight them all back. They decide to run forward, and they finally reach a huge grid in a tunnel : Connor can pass between two bars, but Hank can't. Behind them, the monsters are getting closer.

Hank : Run before they catch us up ! Connor : Wait, there must be a way for you- Hank : I'm sure there must be, Connor, but we won't find the solution in the next few minutes we have. You have to keep going without me. Connor : What are you gonna do ? They're gonna outnumber you, and… and you're still healing from the last injury--- Hank : You have to find Kamski ! He must know how to stop those monsters, and the war spirit out there. He can help us ! Connor : … Yeah, right.

Connor puts his hands on the floor and ice columns grow up from the ground, keeping Hank in a safe space. When the man looks back at Connor with tenderness and gratitude, Connor kisses him through the bars.

Connor : The ice won't last long but it can buy you some time… Hank I… I love you. Don't let me down. Hank : I swear. Now, run, and don't look back.

Connor nods and starts running to the castle, as the monsters start to attack ferociously the ice cage Connor created. Hank knows it's not gonna last much longer, and that he'll have to fight. He prays to be able to see Connor again.

[wallwriterstuff]

Hi! I have a second request if that’s okay! (Let me know if it’s too much or too detailed!). Can I please request a Demetri x Newborn vampire!fem!reader where when Demetri, Felix, Jane, and Alec come to Seattle to see Victoria’s Newborn Army, Demetri sees Y/n from where they’re standing, and she’s all huddled up in the corner, scared as can be because she just woke up from her vampire transformation and is now a newborn, but she has much more control than the others and she’s absolutely terrified, so she hasn’t left her corner, not even to feed. Demetri can sense that she’s his mate, so he goes to her and is able to coax her out of her corner because she also feels the mate pull, therefore immediately trusting him, and he brings her with him back to Volturra. Aro would be so excited that Dem found him mate omg. Also do you think they would tell her that she’s the only vampire that they left alive?

So this one got away from me a bit to and I totally added in a character purely because I wanted to in the moment, but here we go, a day earlier than planned! 

Little Rabbit ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Part 2: Still Learning

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, a bit of gore, nothing you wouldn’t expect from the Volturi to be honest. 

Words: 5603

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission; newborns break the law, newborns deal with the consequences. It was a sentence they’d carried out multiple times before with flawless execution, but this time there’s a problem…what on Earth is Demetri supposed to do with you? 

There were laws for a reason.

For centuries the Romanians has subjugated humankind, and after the Volturi had overthrown them, it became clear that making humans forget they ever existed would be for the best. Humans were weak and stupid yes, but they were also very angry; angry at being used as slaves and breeding stock, angry they had been mistreated and lost loved ones to Romanian cruelty. Angry humans meant rebellion and the Volturi would most certainly win that war. They couldn’t afford to decimate the human population, not when it would cause infighting amongst their kind with too many competing for a limited food source. So they had, for centuries, cultivated the myths that became popular fantasy tropes in human media. Slowly but surely those who remembered the Romanian cruelty died out, and their stories died with them, warped into fiction by carefully placed rumours and some flamboyant acting certain people had been quite happy to engage in.

In the 21st century vampires had become highly romanticised. There was a mystery about them that was glamourous, sexy, addictive. It was a form of perfection that was unobtainable – or so it was supposed to be. Vampires were most certainly still graceful, flawlessly beautiful in a way that screamed inhuman, but they were nothing like the movies made them out to be. Your last night as a human was a bit of a blur and only seeming further away by the minute. There was a street shrouded in darkness, with a flickering streetlight that did little to illuminate the concrete beneath your feet, and a breeze, something cold. The only thing you clearly remembered from that night was Riley, and that was only because he was one of the first things you saw with your new eyes when you awoke for the last time.

He was still as pretty as your murky memories dictated when you saw him the second time round, but now you were so much more sensitive to things it was easy to pick up on the more sinister aspects of his personality your human-self had simply ignored, too dazzled by this pretty man with his silver-tongue. He’d set you on fire, literally, and the burning just hadn’t stopped. It had once been a whole-body ache, nerve endings blazing and muscles twitching as you tried to outrun an internal kind of agony that scorched away your very soul. It was a futile attempt because only one thing would ease your suffering…not that you knew it. At least, you didn’t seem to.

From their perch in a multistorey car park the Guard had been watching the newborn’s make a mess for the past ten minutes. It was something straight out of the grisliest horror film, though the majority of screaming had died to wet gurgles now as the victims of their reign of terror drowned in their own blood. Most were feeding, some were fighting. A metallic screech rent the air and Felix smirked slightly as another newborn went down, his arm twisted off while he howled in agony.

“They’ve already drawn too much attention.” Demetri muttered, eyes narrowed in distaste at the scene. His stare had been drawn back to you on many an occasion. There was something…different, not quite right. The feeding frenzy was clearly affecting you, your body leaning forward in a desperate attempt to get you to feed while your mind simply refused to let you move, yet you were so obviously suffering. He couldn’t fathom why you hadn’t joined them yet when your hand was clawing at your throat, like you hoped you could rip the fire out of it maybe. You were quite obviously the deer in the headlights of the group, the least experienced, the youngest, and he felt a pang of sympathy for you. Did you even know what was happening to you right now? Had you fed before? Your body knew what it wanted and what to do so why weren’t you simply following your instincts?

A body landed in front of you, the head caved in from another’s fist, and he heard you whimper despite the distance. It made his stomach twist, brows furrowing deeply as a strange sort of longing to go to you arose in him. He was beaten to it by the ringleader, the man obviously in charge of it all with much more control and experience. He watched him crouch before you, the way you recoiled setting a fire in his gut that urged him to move move move.

“You…you’re confusing.” He admitted, head tilting as he regarded you. Demetri’s lip curled upward, body tense. What if the ringleader moved before he could get to you? You were hardly a soldier, not a fighter at all; you were curled up in the corner afraid of your own shadow, they didn’t have a place for people like you in a newborn army.

“W-what did you…d-do to me?” you rasped, your throat dry and on fire. Demetri heard the pain it caused you to so much as talk. To think of the amount of pain breathing must have caused you…

“I told you already there’s a way to make it better…we’ll find you someone to drink.” The ringleader promised, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were alight with fury, a cold kind of anger radiating from him when he saw the state of the place. Fires were springing up now, the dangerous proximity of the flames making him cringe. You immediately scuttled away from the scene and Demetri was moving before any of the others could stop him. Maybe his gift was going haywire, but your tenor had to be the brightest, most beautiful thing he had ever come across, and it had a life of it’s own. Usually the tenors were cold, something he could manipulate at will in his mind, but yours? Yours was warm and vibrant and instead of him doing the pulling it was you pulling him. Following you was instinctual, as easy as breathing.

He’d never seen a vampire trip over their own feet before.

You were like a little rabbit, skittish and terrified. Your senses told you you were being followed but you hadn’t seen your pursuer yet, though you were almost sure it was Riley coming to drag you back to that awful house you’d woken up in. It wasn’t even a home really, the rotting foundations of a cabin long since destroyed was not your old, cosy apartment. Could you even go back there? You weren’t sure anymore. Even as far from the main high street as you were now it was so loud, every sound crystal clear and the few lights so bright it should have hurt your eyes.

The smell of salt was overpowering at the docks, the waves crashing against the pier and something electric in the air that sizzled on your tongue but did nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. Once your knees had hit the floor, jeans tearing in a way your skin no longer could, you had scrambled behind the cold, metallic wall of a dry dock. Hands pressed to your ears, you prayed for this nightmare to come to an end.

“Oh young one…there is no need to suffer.” His voice was as smooth and sweet as honey, spreading warm and thick through your body from the moment it hit your ears and relaxing some very tense muscles. Still, you didn’t know this stranger and all vampires were made to be charming, weren’t they? Look at Riley…he’d stolen your life with a single sentence. The person before you was a man though, not a boy. His features were far more refined, sharp angles that could cut glass and a piercing, knowing stare behind eyes the colour of red wine. He was crouched before you, head somewhat tilted so his throat was exposed enough that should you swipe a hand out, you could easily decapitate him. It was almost like he was submitting to you, trying to show he was no threat.

Demetri couldn’t stand to see you so torn apart by pain and fear. His heart was physically tearing in to, unable to beat yet breaking in his chest. Your wide eyes were pure black, the pupil practically invisible and swallowed by your hunger. He could only imagine how bad the burn must be by now. The moment you had locked eyes with him though it was very obvious to a man of his age and experience exactly why he had followed you, why your tenor was so irresistible to him. The world settled. Hell, it might have crashed and burned around him but he wouldn’t have noticed, not when you were looking at him like that. He had craved many things before in life, lusting for blood and flesh and all the luxuries his immortality could offer, but he had never felt a craving quite as intense as the desire he felt simply to ease your pain. It was everything to him in that moment.

You winced, the sound lancing straight through his ears and making him frown sympathetically. Despite your pain you were still dangerous. Newborn’s acted more often than not on impulses and animalistic urges. He would have to be careful with you.

“I-it burns, th-there’s s-something in – in my throat.” You gasped, hunching over a little. Demetri nodded his head.

“I expect it does. Do you know what is happening to you right now?” he asked. You swallowed, as if that would help. Your hands moved up into your hair, gripping at the roots like they were a lifeline as you curled up even tighter.

“I don’t – he said – I can’t think!” you seemed to surprise yourself when you hissed and Demetri felt the ache in his chest intensify. Your distress was palpable to him and his fingers twitched, his desire to reach out and hold you to him intense.

Mate. Mate. Mine. Protect what’s mine.

“No need to think cara mia, let me do the thinking for both of us.” he suggested, sniffing at the air and listening past the crashing waves to try to find you someone, anyone, to drink from. His nose caught it first, the sweet scent of blood rushing through human veins, and then it was his ears. Laughter erupted somewhere just North-West of your position, and even if the location wasn’t precise it would be enough to get you fed, calm you somewhat.

With an audible thunk your head hit the wall behind you, denting it slightly. Your eyes were so hopeless when they met his own he was sure you would cry if you could, your mouth twisted into the ugliest pained grimace he never wished to see on your face again.

“It won’t stop.” You whispered. You sounded so tortured. Demetri knew the feeling well enough, he had been a newborn once to and the thirst was intense, unbearable, enough to drive a person insane. He shook his head, extending a hand to you.

“It can stop, and it will if you trust me. I can make the pain go away.” He promised. He kept his voice soft, hoping not to scare you further, but you still eyed his hand like it was a trap waiting to be sprung. Gulping, your hand trembled as if it wanted to reach out, and Demetri prayed you’d take it, that you’d see he had no ill intentions. He really did just want to help. On some level you knew that. His eyes weren’t like Riley’s. Riley’s were as hard and cold as rough-cut rubies but this man…this man had eyes like rose blossoms, gentle and tender as they watched you suffer, like he really did wish to just take your pain away. His hand hadn’t wavered and neither did his patience despite your indecision. You wanted to reach out, your hand itching to do so, but you couldn’t escape the lingering feeling of hesitation. The last time you trusted a stranger you had literally died after all.

“He promised the s-same thing.” Your breathing hitched as another river of fire shot down your throat and twisted your gut. You were starving, so very hungry, but you weren’t sure how to stop the pain. How were you ever going to eat anything when you had the world’s worst acid reflux right now? The man in front of you looked pained for a moment, as if your words had truly hurt him. How could you ever question his intentions towards you when he was so different to Riley? This man radiated an aura of safety, of calm. It was a relief just being near him after the mayhem in your life you had experience from the moment you awoke with a freckled, red-headed boy staring down at you with a sneer. You weren’t sure who he was but you’d knocked him away from you so hard he’d smashed through a wall – Riley had twisted his head off with ease when the boy lunged to attack you in revenge.

Your new life had been nothing but death and agony since you opened your eyes, but this man was different. He was a breath of fresh air, a promise of something better. He brought some calm to your turbulent thoughts.

“I am not him,” he said finally, “Breathe in for me, tell me what you smell.” His instruction was simple and would do you no harm, so you obeyed. The salt stung your nose but filtered in between the bitter and the fish was something far sweeter. You mouth pooled with what you thought was salvia, body tensing as you dragged in another lungful of that scent. It had saturated the air back at the car wreckage to but you’d never quite pinpointed where it was from, only that it made you ravenous and delirious with need.

“What – what is that?” you gasped, eyes opened wide while you inhaled like an addict getting their fix.

“Do not torture yourself now, the more you breathe the more it will burn. That is food cara mia, sustenance. It will put out the fire in your throat. I want to take you to it.” He coaxed you from against the wall like he was luring a wild beast out of its cage, his movements slow and cautious, non-threatening. You let him this time. The smell was too good, impossible to resist. You had to have it and he was promising to give it to you. Besides, you were apparently super-strong, you could fight him for it, right? No, no maybe not, the thought made you uncomfortable, you didn’t want to hurt this kind stranger. His hand was warm against your own, the skin smooth as silk and sending a jolt through your body. You didn’t want to let go of him ever. In the time it had taken you to blink you were on another side of the dock, your saviour stood behind you now with his hands on your shoulders.

“What-“

“Shhh, breathe in again and follow your nose,” He instructed, lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. You wanted to follow the order but his breath was as fresh and warm as sweet mint, ghosting across your skin and making you shiver involuntarily. He chuckled against your hair, low and wistful. “Let nothing distract you, not even me.” He whispered. You had unconsciously leaned back into his touch and you missed him immediately when he stepped back just a little to give you some room to think. Breathe. He’d asked you to breathe. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you caught that intoxicating scent once more. It was a heady smell, befuddling all your thoughts, and your body moved to follow it without question. You needed more. You were somewhat aware of the stranger following you, his footsteps slow and casual in comparison to your own that were hurried, impatient to find the source of the smell. You didn’t understand when you turned a corner and found yourself on the main high street, immediately blinded by the streetlights’ glaring at you from every direction and assaulted by the thudding bass and buzzing chatter from all around. You fell back into the shadows with a wince, cringing into the brick work of an old pizzeria.

“I don’t understand, I – there’s nothing here.” You groaned. Your throat was trying to tear itself apart. The stranger peered out of the alleyway for a brief moment, hummed thoughtfully and drew up his hood. His face was even more beautiful like that, shrouded in darkness while the amber glow of the streetlights’ simply made the shadows of his cheekbones longer.

“Be patient, there is time enough to learn.” He promised you, and with that he was gone. Your jaw dropped open, unable to fully comprehend that he had just…left you there. Why? Had you done something wrong? What if…oh no, what if he’d led you straight back to Riley? Maybe he worked for her. You whimpered softly, not wanting to know what was going to happen next when he reappeared without warning. A woman lay unconscious on the floor near his feet, and he held a young man out towards you by the back of his shirt, body dangling limply. Your eyes widened.

“What are – what…what…” you couldn’t get your sentence out properly, the sweet smell invading your nose once more. Demetri knew the second he lost you to the frenzy in your mind. Your eyes were no longer trained on him, no longer filled with horror at what he’d done, but laser-focused on the pulse point that was no doubt thrumming in your ears by now. You watched him not as a threat to your safety but as a threat to your food, and Demetri simply tossed you the man like a lion tamer would throw the predator a steak before stepping back a bit. The mess was to be expected and only confirmed his suspicions that this was your first feed. Your teeth didn’t quite cut at the right angle nor at the right point, but you made sure not to waste anything, readjusting your bite to ensure the burst vein spouted the saccharine liquid into your mouth and not past your cheek.

His own desire to feed grew stronger as he watched you indulge but he forced the feeling back. He had to focus on you for now. Your grip was far too tight on your prey and he heard the bones snap before the man folded like a ragdoll, his spine shattered under the force of your fingers as his flesh grew pallid, the colour drained straight from it. The sound of your frantic gulps slowly died away, and when his veins ran dry you let him drop with such utter disgust on your face Demetri couldn’t help but chuckle. Your head snapped first one way, then the next, your thirst not satiated enough to allow you to focus on him for too long when there was another living, breathing human in the alleyway with you both. He inclined his head towards her and you edged forward, wary of him now.

“She is for you, go ahead.” He invited. For a moment longer you stared him down, trying to figure him out, and Demetri admired you fully. Half-crouched, Y/H/C hair in wild disarray around your face, you looked dangerous but oh so tempting, the predator in him itching to pin you down just to see what you might do. Your skin was flawless, glowing in the half-light cast from the streetlights’ beyond the alleyway, but you were covered in blood to. To anyone looking in you might have been the ghost of a murder victim perhaps, flawlessly encased in immortality and violence. The crimson liquid had soaked your shirt, your skin stained with it and lips a more vivid shade of ruby red than even Heidi’s extensive array of lipstick’s could have achieved. He was enraptured with you from the very start as you fell on your second victim of the night. He gave the man a quick once over, listening for a heartbeat just to be sure. When he found nothing, he removed any sort of valuables or possessions that might identify the corpse and threw them into the dumpster to his right, waiting patiently to do the same to the woman you were currently entertaining yourself with.

Part of him had expected the comedown after the euphoric high of your first feed, but another part of him had hoped you would be alright. Still, as you simply held the broken body in your arms, the quiet sense of horror that dawned in your eyes was enough to make Demetri move to intervene. You gripped her tighter, not wanting to let the body go, and he gently had to pry your fingers from her bruised skin.

“We – we have to…I didn’t mean…it was…” you struggled, eyes vividly red now as they stared into his own with so much guilt and grief it shattered his resolve for a moment.

“Would you like to close her eyes?” he asked. You nodded mutely, hand trembling slightly as you reached up and gently slid the delicate skin over glassy, vacant irises. It seemed to give you some small semblance of peace at least. “Does your throat still burn?” he asked. Swallowing thickly, you shook your head. Demetri nodded, satisfied he had looked after you well enough tonight. “Good. I will ensure these two are…buried…somewhere nice. Will you wait for me here? I promise you I will explain everything in full, help you understand what is happening right now.” He vowed, his free hand gently touching your messy chin while he hoisted the dead over his shoulder with the other. You gave another numb nod, because where were you supposed to go? You were a murderer now, a…vampire. You really hadn’t believed Riley when he told you, you realised now as the shock set in. The deaths of those two just to feed you…you should have been sobbing perhaps, on your knees and praying for penance maybe, but you just…couldn’t. It felt so good to finally be free of that agonising burn, the taste had been sublime, euphoric even, and you couldn’t regret it even though part of you knew you should. Still, it didn’t change the fact two people had lost their lives and the evidence was all over you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there alone, silently longing for your newfound friend to come back and tell you what to do next while you stared at the blood drying on your hands and shirt. It was an odd feeling, to be so lost in a city you knew so well, but you truly had no idea where your place was anymore. How could you walk the streets knowing you had killed two of the people who were once so like you? Could you even go back to your apartment? You were a murderer, there’d be investigations and…what if you ate your landlord? You winced a bit at the thought, the old woman was too kind for that kind of fate.

“What is wrong with me?” you whispered.

“Nothing is wrong with you at all cara mia, you are perfection in every way.” The smooth voice you had longed for returned and you grimaced as you faced him.

“But I killed someone.” You protested.

“As have I, and many others like us,” Demetri pointed out neutrally. You looked distressed again and he stepped forward to place a hand at the small of your waist. “Come, this conversation can wait until you have cleaned yourself up. We have a-“

“I want to go home.” You squeezed your eyes closed and Demetri evaluated you for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not you could handle a trip home.

“Do you live alone?” he asked.

“No, well, yes, but –“

“Focus, young one, the question was simple, do you live alone?” he repeated gently. Your head was a mess, he could almost hear the gears of your mind turning. Few people mentioned how hard it was to adapt to the new speeds your mind worked at when you were turned, but Demetri understood your thoughts were spinning one to the next in a rapid cycle that made it easy to distract you.

“Yes.” You said finally. He nodded his head, satisfied with the answer.

“Then lead the way.” He gestured for you to go first, following close behind as you instinctually led him through the streets. Home would be familiar, comforting, he just hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a test for you to get some new clothes and a shower. You were utterly silent, lost in your own head and almost entirely unresponsive to any of his questions as you led him at an inhuman speed down the street. It was late enough and you were moving so fast he doubted anyone would notice the pair of you so he let it happen, but you didn’t seem to be aware of the speed you were moving at either. Demetri was slowly compiling a mental checklist of all the things he’d have to teach you and get you used to. He had only gleaned one key piece of information from you by the time you reached your apartment, and he’d been replaying it over and over in his mind ever since. Your name was Y/N, and you considered it a small miracle that the keys to your apartment were still in your pocket.

The stairwell lights were loud and bright, and by the time you’d put your key in the door you were desperate to be out of the highly stimulating environment, letting your new friend in. He’d told you his name now to, and you were enamoured with everything about him now, the package complete with a nice little bow. Demetri looked confused by the scratching sound for a moment before Sulu burst around the corner of your sofa and darted straight for your legs. His excited little yips were so loud in your sensitive ear’s, but he was familiar and comforting, he was home. Demetri stopped you before you could scoop up the little beagle puppy. You looked confused and he smiled apologetically.

“I think you have no concept of just how fast or strong you are right now Y/N…if you carried on going just now you might have put your hand right through him,” he informed you quietly. You winced, making a conscious effort to go slow as you reached down to pet him instead. Demetri watched you take extra care to stroke your hand over his fur, seemingly losing yourself in the smooth texture for a moment. It calmed you, he realised.

“Hey boy, I’m home. I’m sorry I was gone so long, are you hungry boy?” you whispered. Demetri watched you go through a careful routine of mixing dry and wet food, placing his small bowl on the floor. He crunched it like a dog half starved and Demetri wondered just how long you’d been gone.

“Go and shower. I can watch the dog.” He promised. He sat on the sofa, watching the little pup playfully eat his way around the bowl while the water ran behind him. Every now and then he heard you sigh softly. The dog looked quite content with a full stomach, pattering about his home confidently until he came to Demetri. Animals didn’t typically like vampires so to speak, but the pup was perhaps too young to have sensed anything out of the ordinary and came straight up to him, head tilting as he snuffled about his trouser legs. Demetri frowned, trying to shoo him away slightly, but the pup merely thought he wanted to play, tail starting to wag as he lowered his front to the floor and lunged for his hand with an excited little yip.

You hadn’t been expecting Demetri to be having a tug of war with your dog when you stepped out of the shower, a fresh change of clothes on and your hair wet but still, no matter how much you’d frisked it with a towel, flawless. Vampirism had some perks at least. Sulu growled playfully, tugging with all his might, and Demetri growled back, a wicked grin on his face as he held the toy still with minimal effort. Your eyebrows rose.

“Are you that determined to beat a puppy?” you asked finally. Demetri glanced at you, brows furrowing slightly before he nodded and pulled Sulu in closer, his claws scratching against the wood. You winced at the sound but felt your heart melt a bit when he scooped him up with a chuckle and scratched at his tummy.

“You put up a good fight boy, but I am better.” He murmured. Good with animals and gorgeous? Was there anything this man couldn’t do? You sat beside him, wary when Sulu immediately padded over to your lap. You’d found him abandoned on a street corner in a box with a few siblings and immediately taken them all to the nearest vet, the costs be damned. They’d managed to rehome two of the five in the box, one of them being your Sulu, but you’d never heard what happened to the others sadly. He was cuddly from the get-go, desperate for contact apparently after his abandonment, and so far he had been fairly easy to train. You didn’t want to hurt your baby boy and Demetri seemed to sense it, watching you awkwardly hold your hands above his small body while Sulu tried to nudge his head into your palm.

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You won’t if you are gentle enough,” Demetri promised you, “Very gentle now.” You managed to settle into a rhythm as Demetri spoke, explaining exactly what had happened to you that night. There were times you couldn’t quite keep the outbursts in, your frustration bursting through. Why you? You had a good life! You tried to be good and kind and had dreams and it wasn’t fair that Riley had chosen you that night. Sulu skittered form your lap into Demetri’s in those moments, but the man never held them against you, simply letting you rant and nodding along sympathetically while he explained the laws, the Volturi. You shivered, knowing deep down if he hadn’t decided to help you he would have been your executioner instead of your friend.

“So what now? I…” Don’t want to leave you. It was on the tip of your tongue. You felt lost, adrift on an endless sea. You had no clue how you were supposed to cope with all of this without someone more experienced showing you the way – your throat was already starting to burn again. It all seemed so hopeless when you’d been alone in the shower, everything crashing in on you and drowning you all at once, but Demetri was a lighthouse that held you steady and guided you to shore. Demetri tilted his head.

“You come home with me.” He said simply, like it made the most sense. Somehow, it did. Demetri was somewhat surprised at how willingly you simply packed up and left, pulling some emergency cash out form somewhere and leaving it in an envelope for your landlord. The only slight problem was Sulu, but he didn’t let you worry about that for long. Sulu wasn’t particularly sure about the plush carpets of the Volturi’s private jet, but he quite enjoyed running around on the tarmac while you waited for Demetri to return from his duties, whatever they may be.

“Why would you not tell her, she has a right to know.” Alec pointed out as they strolled back across the grass languidly. Demetri hummed.

“She does, but right now she is overwhelmed, she needs a chance to settle before I tell her of our bond. In the meantime, it will not stop me caring for her as I should. Please, all of you, be kind, you know how hard this first year can be.” He sighed, looking almost imploringly at the twins. He knew he could trust Felix with you (mostly, maybe…okay he’d have to keep any eye on that situation) but the twins were a little more…unpredictable. Jane rolled her eyes slightly.

“You say that as though we intend to sabotage your happiness.” she quipped, but her voice was as dead as the grave. Demetri saw through it; he had known them long enough. Apathy was the twins go to but it always conveyed something more if you bothered to look beyond the surface. He gave her a grateful smile and she diligently ignored it, but the unspoken agreement had already been made that they would stand by their friend when they reached Volterra.

“Oh there is one more thing.” Demetri started. He never got chance to finish his sentence before Alec opened the door to the jet. The smell of blood hit them instantly and Sulu bolted straight for Demetri, recognising his scent and excited to see him home. You were stood amongst the ruins, looking a little bashful and covered in blood once more. The pilot was at your feet, contorted and drained.

“Oops?”

Sulu had left little bloody paw prints in his wake but had quickly scrambled back towards you once he’d bumped into Alec’s threatening aura. The boy turned to look at the tracker, his expression devoid of emotion but his eyes alight with mischief.

“I cannot wait to see the look on Caius’s face when we get home.”

[insaneasgardian]

Haircut Of Love - Sambucky

Summary: Confessions are made, and lives are changed the day Sam gives Bucky a haircut.

Genre: FLUFF

Warnings: Bucky being slightly sad while thinking of Steve, Bucky thinking that his feelings for Sam are unrequited (they're not), Idiots in love.

A/N: I have actually worked on this for longer than I should've XD A big thank you to @cassiecasyl and @aixabi for being such great friends and helping me out by proofreading, and making suggestions!

He knew he should've stopped Bucky tagging along, but the moment that infamous, "I'm coming with you!" so eagerly left the super soldier's lips, Sam knew it was pointless to persuade him to stay behind.

Not that he really minded, the mission he'd been assigned with was a tough one, and it would've been lonely if Bucky hadn't been so adamant about accompanying him.

Sam stared into the fireplace and focused on the embers as he let his thoughts wander. There were some terrible people to be stuck with in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, but Bucky certainly wasn't one of them. He was an interesting character for sure, and Sam was sure he still didn't know a whole lot about him, but their relationship had developed all the way from 'a couple of guys' to 'almost best friends'.

"Hey", came the voice of the man Sam had so deeply been thinking of. He turned around with that signature smirk he reserved especially for Bucky, and watched with delight as the White Wolf turned a light pink color, and it wasn't because of the cold.

"I thought you might want to catch a shower, the water's nice and warm" the brunette said, and Sam nodded as he noticed his friend's damp hair from his own shower.

"Man, you need a haircut" Sam remarked, and much to his pleasure elicited a chuckle from Bucky.

"Do I?"

"It has gotten kind of longer..."

"Well, it's not easy to find a hairdresser in the forest"

"I could cut it for you"

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself, and he didn't miss the way Bucky's widened ever so slightly. Sam internally scolded himself, feeling that he'd made things awkward somehow.

There was a slight pause in the atmosphere, but the ex Winter-Soldier eventually smiled. It was a weak smile, but genuine nonetheless.

"I'd like that," he told his friend, "would you mind?".

Sam shook his head, a bit too enthusiastically, and that made Bucky raise his eyebrows

“I can do it now if you want, so I don’t get your greasy ass hair all over me after I’ve gotten out of the shower”, Sam casually slipped in to look less ecstatic than he really was.

Bucky scoffed and crossed his arms at the statement, but his grin only grew wider.

“So… are you gonna give me something to cut your hair with?” his friend asked him, making a scissor snipping motion with his fingers.

The brunette’s lips tugged downwards into a frown and bit his lip as he often did when pondering. Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the bottom lip in between those pearly white teeth, but he forced himself to snap out of it.

After a brief moment, Bucky snapped the fingers on his vibranium arm and turned to walk towards the room he was staying in. “Wait there!”, he had instructed Sam, who had no intention of getting up from the comfortable position he was in anyway.

Promptly, Bucky had returned, clutching a pair of scissors that Sam immediately identified as a pair of Captain America themed kiddie scissors he had recently bought for his nephew, AJ. He burst out cackling.

“What’s so funny Samuel?” the White Wolf pouted, plopping next to his friend who was dying of laughter.

“You stole that from AJ didn’t you?” Sam pried, inwardly dancing at the thought that his secret crush would want something with his face on it.

“Psh, no… I permanently borrowed it, that’s all”, Bucky insisted, moving from the couch to sit on the floor in front of Sam’s legs so that the other man would be able to cut his hair with more ease.

“Mhm”, Sam hummed, already weaving a piece of Bucky’s hair between his fingers, and snipping it off, just like that. It seemed easy enough, so he kept on going, chopping bits of hair here and there, trimming the areas which really needed it, and taking care not to overdo the cut and end up making Bucky look bald in certain places. He was doing quite well considering that he was equipped with nothing but a pair of small, blunt kiddie scissors, which Sam was certain professional hairdressers did not use

A lovely period of pure silence fell in between the two men. The only sounds were the scissors delicately doing their job of cutting the brown locks, accompanied by the gentle crackle of the fireplace, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

“Steve used to cut my hair, you know… Used to do it all the time in the 40’s” Bucky said, breaking the silence. Sam froze in his movements, but only for a second. It was rare for this man, who had been through so much to talk about his past like this.

“We’d sit outside on the street in the summer, he’d be on a chair with his scissors and I’d sit down in front of him, punk gave a damn good haircut to be honest”, he continued, and Sam chuckled.

“People would give us dirty looks as they walked by, it wasn’t uncommon for people to think Steve and I were a couple, but it was frowned upon to be in a same-sex relationship back then… sometimes still is of course”, his tone was now sad, as if he wanted to admit something, but was refraining from doing so. Sam stopped what he was doing, and set down the scissors, obviously sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

“Still, Steve and I were just friends, that’s all he’d ever wanted to be anyway”, Bucky finally finished.

Sam got off the couch, and slipped down onto the floor next to the 107 year old. “And what about you? Did you ever want to be more than friends?”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, which donned a neutral expression, “It’s complicated Sam… I’d be into a girl one second and thinking about Steve the next”.

Sam gently nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his own, and gave him a small smile, “Bisexual then?”, he questioned.

The other man nodded, and looked at Sam with a grin now gracing his features, “Yea, but you know what? I forgot all about Steve…” he paused to dart his tongue out his mouth and wet his lips, “The day I met another guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about”.

Sam’s world shattered the moment those words left Bucky’s lips. The thought that the man he had pined after for so long was yearning for another made him want to burst into tears right there. However, Sam Wilson was not the kind of man to be salty over the choices of others. So he kept on the smile he had been wearing the entire time his heart broke over and over again. Yet, he had been so absorbed in his own mind that he failed to notice the longing glances Bucky was shooting at him, the ones he had been giving Sam ever since he first met him.

“Happy you could get that sorted out for you man!” He said brightly, patting Bucky’s back and climbing back onto the couch to resume the haircut.

The ex winter soldier was dumbfounded. Had Sam not noticed how he felt? What if he had? What if he didn’t appreciate the advances?

There was stillness once more, but this time it was incredibly awkward. The two sat absorbed in the silence, no longer so focused on their own thoughts, but on every movement and action the other did.

“All done,” Sam finally said, and gestured towards the large wall mirror in the living room. Bucky looked into it, and nodded.

“You’ve done a nice job, thanks”, he mumbled.

“No problem” Sam told him, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to go take a shower now”, and with that, he rose and climbed the stairs to get to the bathroom. The footsteps faded away and when Bucky heard the bathroom lock click shut, he leaned his back against the couch with a sigh. He ran a tired hand over his face.

What had he done wrong? He’d watched all the movies, read all the books and listened to all the music Sam had suggested. He’d come to see Sam’s family as his own, he cherished Sarah, AJ and Cas with all his heart.

Hell, he’d even taken dating advice from Zemo…. Maybe that’s where he’d gone wrong.

Bucky wasn’t sure. He may have lost the charm he had back in the 40’s, but Sam had always accepted him for who he was. He never questioned Bucky’s past, or forced him to be more social and open. That’s the reason Bucky developed more than platonic feelings towards him. He was so easy to be around.

However, the white wolf figured that if Sam didn’t want anything to do with him romantically, the least he could do was to maintain the relationship status they had now. Not to mention, he had the perfect way to do that.

Mac and cheese. Sam’s favorite food.

A grin grew on his face as he scrambled to the kitchen. It was a tasty and easy thing to cook and would be done before Sam even got out of the shower. Bucky proceeded to locate all the necessary ingredients they had brought to the cabin, and got straight to work.

It wasn’t a difficult job at all. With his swift speed, and his mind set only on the task before him, he was done within minutes. He even managed to get two servings plated beautifully, and just in time too, because as he finished setting the table, Sam descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. A smile was drawn on his face at the smell of the meal, and all the previous tension seemed to have dissipated.

“Smells good in here!” he exclaimed, his eyes then landed on the beautifully presented plates of mac and cheese. He gasped and clapped his hands like an excited child, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. He thought it was adorable.

“Alright, alright, take a seat Sammy,” Bucky said, gesturing to the bar stools next to the kitchen island which the food rested on.

Both of them rushed to sit down and dig into their dinner. Bucky watched his friends expression as he took the first bite of his food.

Sam’s eyes closed in pure bliss, as his taste buds thanked him. “Buck, this is heaven in my mouth, tastes even better than what Sarah makes”.

Bucky blushed, but quickly tried to hide it with a chuckle, “Sarah’s my teacher, I owe it to her”.

Sam nodded at the statement, but commented no more on the topic. Instead, he took another bite and made eye contact with Bucky. “So… who’s this guy you’ve been crushing on?” he inquired.

Bucky was taken aback by the question, he blinked rapidly, “huh?” he mumbled, earning an eye roll from Sam.

“Listen man, I’ve never pressured you to tell me anything before, but we can’t pretend like that conversation didn’t happen” Sam said gently, setting his cutlery down, and reaching a hand over to place it on Bucky’s vibranium one.

The brunette gulped, closed his eyes, and took two deep breaths. He’d have to get it out. Or else it would slowly kill him to watch Sam find someone else. Even if his feelings were unrequited, the man had a right to know.

“It’s you” he said quietly before he could chicken out.

Sam slowly blinked, and shook his head, “Sorry, repeat that?”.

Bucky groaned and looked up from his plate which he’d been staring at the entire time. He gazed into Sam’s doe brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones, “It’s you! You’re the guy I’ve been crushing on!” he agitatedly replied.

Once more, there was that silence that seemed to be consuming the two of them so much lately. Bucky wanted to cry, to hide the humiliation. He was certain that Sam’s lack of words meant he didn’t feel the same, because Sam always had something to say.

“Forget it,” Bucky choked out, getting up from his seat, but Sam’s hand tightened its grip on his wrist, stopping him from getting away. The super soldier turned around slowly, trying not to make eye contact with Sam so that he wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, Sam rose from his seat and his lips met Bucky’s in what was a tender, loving kiss which shocked the latter, but he readily returned it. They stayed like that for a while, embracing each other as their arms snaked their way around each other's torsos. It was a moment neither of them wanted to break, but were forced to. Eventually, when they pulled apart gasping for air, they looked at each other in surprise, but merriment. Wide beams adorned both of their gorgeous faces, and their eyes glinted with excitement.

“So…” Bucky began, “you were desperate to get a piece of me, why, is it the new hair?” he said teasingly.

“The next time I give you a haircut, it’s gonna be turned into a mullet”, Sam threatened, making the other man raise his hands in surrender.

The mac and cheese was long forgotten as they clutched each other once again. Their hearts were bubbling and overflowing with love for one another, and it was not a love that was going to fizzle and die out. They fit perfectly in each other’s arms, like it’s where they belonged.

Two men, who had their own individual problems denying them a place to be truly content in the world, had finally found their refuge in each other.

Finit