#that particular smell so i’m rushing to wash it so i can actually wear it tomorrow 😩

[danrifics]

SHE IS HERE!!!

[sinner-as-saint]

Yes to Heaven.

Ransom Drysdale x Housekeeper!Reader AU 

Run-through: You work for Ransom Drysdale. And the spoiled, notorious bad boy has had his eyes on you since day one. He wants you, bad. But you keep telling him no in the fear of losing your job should he be displeased by something you did. And it drives him insane because the one thing Ransom Drysdale isn’t used to hearing is ‘no’. You try resisting him, but not for long. He can be arrogant and bossy, but also charming and seductively persuasive. Ransom makes it his mission to make you give in. Then again, how long could you say no to such a man, one whose deep, ocean blue eyes held nothing but mischief and a little bit of heaven… 

Themes: smut, teasing, spanking, dom!ransom, fluff, edging using toys, dirty talk

a/n: this is long. 

“Good morning, Mr. Drysdale.” 

You greeted him the moment you saw him entering the kitchen, already dressed up for the day.  He showed up wearing a particular cream colored sweater - one you thought suited him a lot. Ransom always had the ability to make your heart race, mainly because you and him always had this strong, intimate tension in between you two, and also because he was a shameless flirt and he made it very clear that he wanted you. Bad. 

He sighed. “Ransom. Call me Ransom.” This would be probably the hundredth time he said so. He was dying to hear his name fall off your lips, but you never quite gave him the satisfaction. You just nodded and went back to doing whatever it is you were doing, he couldn’t tell what you were busy with because he himself was busy eyeing you up and down like it was no one’s business. 

He took a seat at the kitchen island, pouring himself some coffee from the fresh pot you had just made; like you did each morning. The more he looked at you, the more he had to shift around in his seat. You always looked so damn good. And the little apron you always wore was like a cherry on top; unknowingly teasing the hell out of him. 

As you kneaded the dough, you could tell he was too quiet today. Usually by now he would have complimented you endlessly, or asked you out shamelessly, or passed some sort of flirty commentary. So you waited for it. 

He got off the stool and walked over to where you stood. “You look gorgeous.” He spoke. And his voice sent shivers dancing down your spine. Not just because of the tone he used, but also because of the proximity. He was closer, you could tell. And something told you that if you took a small step backwards, your back would hit his strong chest. You froze in place. 

Ransom always made you nervous. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t have a crush on the handsome man as well. Whenever he was around, the butterflies in your stomach came alive again, out of nowhere. It didn’t help at all that he was in fact, drop dead gorgeous. He could have any woman he wanted, but for quite a while now he was persistent - making it very obvious that he wanted you. Just you. And you didn’t quite know how to act around him now that you had that information. 

But you had to keep saying no because, well, you worked for him. You couldn’t risk this job, nor could you afford to make things awkward between you and your boss. 

You were knuckle-deep into the dough when you felt his strong arms wrap around you from behind. He inched closer and closer until his chest pressed against your back. He had done this before, so you tried to get over the sudden display of affection and kept on kneading the dough. You heard him groan under his breath. 

“Why do you always ignore me like this?” He asked softly, his lips so close to your ear that with each word you felt them brush faintly against the shell of your ear. 

You cracked a little smile, feeling just a little ticklish. “I don’t. I just have a lot of work to do.” You spoke as you shaped the dough into a ball and wrapped it to let it rest, for later use. You moved away from the counter and he let you go for a moment. But when you moved to the sink to wash your hands, he walked over and hugged you from behind again. 

“Your hair always smells so sweet.” He took the liberty of burying his face into your hair and inhaled the scent of your shampoo. 

You smiled and chose not to encourage him by keeping quiet. You reached for a towel to dry your hands while turning around to face him. “Will you be having breakfast, or are you leaving for work?” Most days, he left without breakfast but since he was still lingering around and being all touchy and feely this morning, you assumed that he had time to eat. 

He gave you a playful smile. “I’ll eat.” 

“Alright then, give me a few minutes.” The chef didn’t come to work today, so it was all up to you. You got to work immediately, avoiding his eyes and grabbing all the appliances and utensils you would need for his go-to breakfast - buttermilk pancakes topped with peanut butter, fresh fruit and whipped cream. Despite the broody man he was normally, Ransom Drysdale actually had a sweet tooth. 

He lingered around for a bit more, then left the kitchen. You assumed he must have gone upstairs to his study. You let out a sigh as you assembled the pancake batter into a bowl. He was definitely making it hard for you. Something about the way he touched you made you all crazy inside. This had been going on for months now. And each day you pretended like you weren’t affected by him at all. When in reality, you probably wanted him just as much as he wanted you. But it wasn’t so easy. You worked for him, this could never work the way he wanted it too. 

A little while later, you had his breakfast ready and brought it upstairs to him. Extra whipped cream too, just how he liked it. You knocked on the door before stepping in and you found him deep in concentration, dealing with paperwork. His brows furrowed as he focused on some paper in his hand. 

You cleared your throat. He turned his head to look over at you. “Hi.” He spoke softly. 

You gave him a smile and walked over to him, placing the tray down on his desk while carefully avoiding any important papers. “Would you like some more coffee?” You asked. 

He shook his head, “No. Thank you, Y/N.” He noticed the way he caught you off guard when he uttered your name. 

Somehow he made it sound magical. You tried your hardest to maintain your calm and composure, and not make it obvious while you checked him out because he sure did look irresistible in the cable-knit sweater he wore. 

You smiled and turned around to leave but then he called out after you. 

“Wait.” 

You turned and walked up to him again. “Yes?” you asked, politely as usual. 

So polite in fact that it only made him want to undress you and take you to his bed and make you scream his name for hours on end. “You’ve got a little something there,” he pointed at your mouth, or chin. You couldn’t really tell. You reached up to touch your face with the back of your hand and tried to wipe away whatever there was, but when you checked the back of your hand again, there was nothing on there. 

“I’m pretty sure there’s n-,” 

Ransom cut you off by dipping his forefinger into the whipped cream then shamelessly smearing it on your face, right by the side of your mouth and down till your chin. “Right there, see.” He pulled his hand away from your face and smirked. “Such a messy girl,” he circled an arm around your waist and pulled your closer. “Now I have to clean you up, don’t I?” He whispered quietly before leaning in with nothing but mischief in his baby blue eyes. 

Your hands instinctively rested upon his shoulder and the other slid into his hair as you felt his soft, warm lips against your face. Gently licking your skin clean. You gasped as he licked and sucked and nibbled on your skin, from the side of your lips down to your chin and back up again. You felt tingly all over, especially in between your legs. His hands wrapped around your body, pressing you further into him while his lips purposely didn’t touch you right where you wanted him to. 

You craved to know what he tasted like. You wanted his lips on yours, so much so that when he teasingly licked along the side of your mouth, you let out an involuntary moan. He smirked, moving his lips right on top of yours. Not close enough to kiss you, but enough to make your heart race in need. You could feel each puff of his breaths, mingling with your own. 

Ransom knew what he was doing. You keep resisting him, even though he knew that you wanted him just the same. So he was going to do what he does best; tease you in the most sensual ways for as long as it takes for you to give in to him, as well as your own desires. 

He planned on teasing you until you cannot take it anymore. Until you beg him to satiate your burning desire. To take care of your sinful needs. He wanted you to willingly ask him to fuck you and not stop until you can’t physically take it anymore. 

“There,” he mumbled in a satisfactory tone, “all cleaned up.” His lips brushed against your own very faintly as he spoke. And it only fueled the fire inside you, which you didn’t know had been burning since the moment you stepped into this room. 

He had barely touched you and here you were, all hot and bothered. You pulled away first, breathless and a little disappointed. Looking up into his blue eyes you found nothing but victory, mischief and a little bit of heaven in there. 

He knew the kind of effect he had on you for sure. He was teasing you, on purpose. Waiting for you to give in. But you didn’t plan on doing so that easily. 

Ransom smirked, waiting for you to break. But you didn’t. You stepped out of his embrace. “Well then, thank you Mr. Drysdale. Anything else?” you asked, pretending as if the past few minutes didn’t happen and ignoring the sweet ache in between your hips as best you could.  

Ransom knew you would still play it cool, and he did expect that you would pretend as if he hadn’t just set your whole body on fire just with the touch of his lips. “No, that would be all.” He answered with a smirk.  

You left the room at once, rushing to the kitchen and trying to calm your short breaths and your racing heart. You grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the tap before wiping the stickiness of the whipped cream from your face. Fuck… you could still feel his lips on your skin. So close, so close to your own lips. 

Ransom walked around with a smug look on his face for the entire day. And each time he saw you, all he had to do was stare at you for a bit and you would visibly shiver under his gaze. Each time you saw him, the scene in his study replayed in your head. He was so much harder to resist now. 

You thought of him on your way home that day. Despite the slightly colder winds of the evening hitting your face as you walked home, you could still feel his soft, warm lips on your face. You could tell he was going to make this very hard for you. 

Indeed he was. 

-

The next day, you walked into his home feeling all nervous and tingly. Mainly because you knew you’d see him in just a few minutes, but also, you were lowkey looking forward to seeing how he’d choose to mess with you today. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t see him all morning. The butler let you know that he was rather busy today, and had been all morning. Oh, you thought, perhaps if he was so engrossed in work he wouldn’t pay you much attention. So when time came to go up and bring him his lunch, you went without any worries or nervousness. 

If he was drowning in paperwork, he would barely notice your presence. As everyone knew, nothing else mattered to him when he was working. The world around him could be burning to ashes and he wouldn’t care as long as it allowed him to get work done. 

You walked upstairs and found Ransom, as expected, working in his study. You tried to make as little noise as possible as you walked into the room and placed his tray of food on the coffee table by the couches, not far from his desk. 

You picked up a glass and were filling it with water when you suddenly felt a warm puff of breath against the back of your neck. 

“You look cute with your hair up in a ponytail like this.” Ransom murmured into your ear, his voice low and deep; enough to make your hands shake and cause you to spill some of the water onto the wooden flooring of his study. He tsked at your unintentional mistake. “You made a little mess, sweetheart.” He pointed out. “Won’t you clean it up?” he cooed, urging you do so. 

You could pick up on the mischievous tone of his voice. You refused to talk, because you were sure that your voice would shake just like your hands if you did. So you just nodded. He was too close, barely touching you and yet, he was making you go all crazy. 

You leaned down to pick up a paper towel and then lowered to your knees to wipe the mess on the floor. You noticed he remained standing by you as you did so. 

“Look at me.” He spoke again. His voice was soft and gentle, yet demanding. And you remained on your knees as you tilted your head up to look at him. He tilted his head down, and to the side a little and admired you with a playful smirk on his face. 

He reached out and touched your face gently, his knuckles stroking your cheeks lazily. You shivered again. All he did was touch your face, yet he was able to make you feel things you had never before. 

“So pretty…” He looked into your eyes intensely as his thumb soon moved to touch your soft lips gently. He traced the shape of your mouth and slowly pushed his thumb past your lips, into your warm mouth. “You like this, don’t you?” He said as you instinctively took his thumb into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it and stroking it with your tongue immediately. “That’s a good girl…” he muttered quietly, breathlessly, as you sucked on his finger with nothing but a nervous, yet playful look in your eyes. “Something tells me you like being on your knees, sweetheart.” He cooed, and something grew hotter and hotter inside you. Ransom chuckled at how you almost whimpered. 

“You look so pretty,” those words from him made you almost squirm. “But,” he removed his thumb from your mouth and traced your lips again; a little harsher this time, “You’re being such a messy girl lately. You need to be reminded that that’s not acceptable behavior, hmm?” He spoke in that soft, yet stern voice. 

Messy? Both times you were ‘messy’ these past two days have been because of him. What does he mean, ‘messy’? 

“But you-,”

He cut you off quickly. “Ah,” he placed his forefinger against your parted lips, asking you to stay quiet. “Don’t talk back.” He moved his hand from your face and held it out for you to take. “Now come on, up.” 

You took his hand and stood up, ignoring the ache in between your hips again. 

“Bend over.” He said, pointing towards his desk, not far from where you stood. 

You were a little surprised, a little turned on, and just a little bit nervous. “I… what?” 

Ransom smirked. “You heard me. I said, bend over.” He pointed to the desk again. Without another word said, with every fibre of your body on fire and every part of you wanting him, you walked over to his desk and bent over the side of the large, sturdy wooden desk of his. You placed your elbows down on the surface of the desk and supported yourself up, sticking your butt out. 

Your heartbeats rang in your ears, and you let out a whimper when you felt his hands on either side of your butt; caressing it gently. 

He heard your whimper and leaned over to whisper in your ear, “Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?” 

Fuck no. 

“No.” You answered a little too quickly. And he chuckled. 

“Good girl.” He stood up straight again. He noticed you were wearing a cute, little white sundress today. Perfect, he thought. He slowly lifted the skirt of your dress up and you shivered again when the slightly colder air hit your legs. 

But then you felt his warm hands massaging your butt cheeks through your flimsy, white underwear. You knew instantly what was coming. And your heart raced just waiting for it. 

“Count to five for me, sweetheart.” He spoke softly. You nodded. 

You waited. He lifted his hand up in the air and brought it back down to spank your ass. You yelped in surprise, and almost giggled right after. It didn’t hurt at all, in fact it left behind pleasant tingles. Oh, you forgot you had to count. “One.” 

Pleased with the response he got, Ransom did it again, allowing his hand to linger on your skin a little longer this time, caressing where his hand landed. “Two.”

“This will teach you not to be such a messy girl, hmm?” 

“Three.” You said, almost moaning at how good it felt, and heard him chuckle. You knew that he could very well see just how drenched your underwear had gotten, since you stepped into this room a while ago. 

“You’re dripping already.” He pointed out. 

You could hear him smirking. He lifted his hand and spanked you again. “Four.” You whined, in pleasure. Again. “Five.” You whimpered again, in pleasure and at the tingly sensation which took over your whole body. Oh how you wanted more… 

He allowed his hands to linger on your butt for a while longer, just massaging your now hot skin. “Such a good girl,” he whispered as he pulled your dress back down and pulled you up against him, pushing his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin incessantly. “I know you want more, sweetheart. Just say it.” he kissed along your throat, up till your ear. “Just ask for it, and I will take really, really good care of you.” His voice gave away his fervent need. 

His words made you whimper again, in need. You could just say yes right now and let him give you all that you wanted. But then, your job… 

“Ransom…” you gasped as he nibbled on your skin. “We can’t…” you forced yourself to resist him yet again. 

He was reluctant, but he let you go. He allowed you to step out of his embrace. And eventually let you walk out of the room. He let out a loud, defeated and frustrated sigh once you left. There was so much he could give you, so much he could show you. Why do you keep pushing him away when you want him just as much as he wants you? 

-

For the rest of the day, each time you saw him you either turned the other way and pretended to be busy or you lowered your eyes; unable to face him and groaned internally as you walked past him as fast as you could. 

He could tell you were conflicted regarding your own feelings. But each time he tried to start a conversation regarding it, you would just make up some excuses and leave the room. Almost like you were punishing him for something he hadn’t done. 

And that only made him want you even more. So much so that his mind concocted more devilish ways to mess with you. 

- 

The following morning, Ransom was up early and excited. He came downstairs and found you dusting in the extravagant dining room which he never used. 

“Good morning.” He greeted you first, given you hadn’t yet acknowledged his presence. 

You turned around sheepishly and whispered, “Good morning, Mr. Drysdale.” You sounded more shy than you intended, then again that was probably just the effect of him being in the same room as you. 

Also, his voice brought back the memories of yesterday. Of the time spent in his study. You thought about it all night long, and it made you all hot and bothered again. 

Ransom walked up to you, with something in his hand. But you were under the spell of his deep blue eyes and you didn’t dare look down. He approached you and leaned in to kiss your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. You almost groaned out loud. 

“I’m gonna be gone all morning,” he trailed his nose along your cheek, “and I want you to miss me.” He sounded so cocky it almost made you crack a smile. 

“I assure you, you will be missed.” You tried your hardest not to let your voice shake as you spoke - because he was making you nervous as hell, but also him being so close to you made your body tingle. 

He smirked. “I know, I know.” He waved a small, bright pink, oblong shaped device in front of your face. “I just have to make sure of it.” You tried to get a look at what that was as he slowly pushed your against the wall behind you. “Come on, spread your legs for me.” 

Oh dear God. He brought a toy. 

“Ransom…” you sounded frustrated. 

“Babygirl…” He mimicked the tone you used and smirked when you let out a frustrated sigh - much like he did yesterday after you turned him down. 

“Anyone could walk in right now.” You looked right in his eyes and you could tell that he did not give a flying fuck. He had other people handling his household; butlers, and chefs and lawn maintenance people. And they were all at work today. 

“Well, I don’t care.” He spoke in that cocky, bossy voice of his. “Besides, the quicker you do as you’re told, the lesser chance we have of somebody catching us.” He stepped closer to you, breathing right into your ear, “Now come on, spread those legs for me.” 

You did as you were told, your heart racing as he reached down to shamelessly touch you in between your legs. You closed your eyes and let out a quiet moan as you felt him push your underwear aside and press the toy against your wet folds. He slowly moved it around your clit, making your buck your hips forward discreetly. 

You pushed your face into the crook of his neck as he slid the toy up and down your slit until he found your entrance. “Breathe,” he cooed as he slowly pushed the toy into you. You gasped and whimpered as he pushed it all the way in. He slowly pulled his hand from in between your legs and took a step back. “You did so good. Now for the fun part,” he pulled his phone out and tapped on it a few times and soon you felt the toy vibrating inside you, pressing right on your G-spot. 

You let out an involuntary squeal. “Oh!” You breathed through your parted lips as the gentle and steady buzzing of the toy made you feel like your whole body was on fire. You gasped and held back another moan as he turned it up just a little, barely noticeable but your body reacted to the new setting immediately. You whined, quietly; very much aware that there were people everywhere around the house. 

Ransom chuckled at your reaction. Perfect. He leaned in to kiss your cheek again, “Have a good day, sweetheart.” 

He left. And yet, he didn’t leave you in peace. 

His little toy tormented you all morning. For some minutes, the vibration would be practically non-existent, but then he’d turn it up whenever he pleased and you would let out gasps, and squeals and moans randomly all throughout. 

You couldn’t focus on anything, other than the pressure in between your legs, and the sweet pain which came along with it. One of the butlers tried having a small talk with you and you could barely process any word he said. It was difficult to go about your day in peace when all you could think about was being absolutely railed by the man you worked for. 

Ransom got home in the early afternoon. And he was particularly excited to see you, knowing damn well that you must be utterly spent by now. You would be surely dripping, your arousal flowing out of you incessantly. Fuck… he couldn’t wait. 

He walked inside and searched the house until he found you in the sun room. You were watering the plants in there. Your messy bun was messier than it was this morning. 

“Hello.” He knew that his voice would get some reaction out of you. And he was right. He heard you let out a weary sigh when you heard him. 

You turned around; flushed and frustrated. You were burning just at the sight of him. “You’re back.” You sounded almost defeated. Ransom walked further in, right up to you. 

“How was your day?” he placed both his hands on either side of your waist, and pulled you closer. “Had fun? I hope you remembered to miss me.” He leaned in to kiss your cheek. Once he pulled away, you leaned forward and placed your forehead against his shoulder as though your body went limp. 

You let out a whine. “Please… it’s too much,” you pouted but he couldn’t see it. 

“Oh?” He mocked you, using the same tone you did previously. “What, you can’t take it for a few hours?” he grabbed you by the chin and made you look up at him. “What about all those times I spent pining for you, longed for you to give me even a tiny bit of attention? This is nothing compared to that.” 

You gasped loudly, realizing that he had turned it up again. You looked down and found his phone in his hand. Of course. 

“Ransom, please…” you whined. 

He fake pouted, looking down at you. “Aww angel, is it hard?” he cooed. “I bet you want me to just,” he leaned closer to your ear, “reach down there and touch you, hmm? And make you cum? Because you can’t bear the idea of having to walk around whining in need for another hour or two, can you?” 

You whimpered at his words, your walls clenching around the toy as you looked up at him, pleading. “Please…” 

“No. Not so easily. You can wait some more.” 

With that, he walked out of the sunroom and left you there, whimpering and throbbing. With the toy buzzing steadily down there. 

Fuck… 

-

You were a little on the edge as you went to bring him his cup of coffee later in the afternoon. Would he tease you again, or just toy with the settings of the vibrator and make you make a mess again? With Ransom, one could never tell. 

You found Ransom in the room he called his workshop; which was where he spent his free time painting. 

Your plan was to give him his cup and then walk out of there as soon as you can. You found him standing in front of a canvas which was on an easel stand. His forearms were covered in shades of blue, some matching the sweater he had on. 

You placed his cup on the nearby table and were about to walk out when you heard him speak up again. “Wait. Come here.” 

You walked over to where he stood. This was the first time you noticed just how orderly this room was. Normally one would expect a workshop to be a mess, but no, not when it came to Ransom. 

He reached out and touched your cheek. “You look flushed. It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it sweetheart? Your body can’t take it anymore, can it?” he murmured softly. 

You looked up at him and shook your head. He melted at the look of desperation in your eyes. You were desperate, all for him. At last. 

“Want me to make it better? Hmm?” 

You nodded quickly. 

“Good. Kneel.”

You did so immediately. Ransom ran his knuckles across your cheek lovingly. “Now come on, show me how bad you want it.” 

You rapidly unzipped his pants; lowering the waistband of his underwear to free his erected cock. You whimpered again at the sight of his cock, thick and girthy. It made you wet, even more than before. You reached out and wrapped your hands around his base, stroking along his length; your tongue slowly circling his tip. He groaned and spread his legs further apart, inching his hips slightly forward as you took more of him into your mouth. 

“That’s it… good girl,” He threw his head back for a moment. The sound of his voice made you clench around the toy. 

You gave him your all; bobbing your head around him and licking around his tip. You took him inch by inch until he hit the back of your throat; hollowing your cheeks and letting his raw taste fill your senses. His cock twitched against your tongue and you tasted some of his pre cum. He bucked his hips forward very gently into your mouth, and loved the sight of your spit coating his cock. 

“Come on angel, make me cum.” He said and you sped up your actions until he came undone all over your tongue; moaning and making your clit throb even more than before just by hearing his moans and growls as he came into your mouth. You swallowed all that he gave you before zipping his pants back up. 

Ransom gently stroked your cheeks again. “Such a good girl.” He held his hand out for you to take, then he helped you stand up. He leaned in again, kissing you at the side of your mouth. “I think you deserve a little reward, don’t you angel?” 

You looked up at him in hope, almost whining again at the sound of him providing you with some sort of release. It sounded too good. 

“Yeah you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You spoke up finally. “Yes please.” 

Ransom smiled down at you and pushed you back until your back hit something solid. You figured it must have been the table where he kept all his brushes and everything. He pushed you back onto the desk, most of his stuff falling over but he didn’t mind. 

He sat you down on it and spread your legs apart while holding your stare. His eyes remained focused on your face as he settled in between your legs. His hand reached out and he ran his knuckles along your wet folds through your underwear, making you shudder at his mere touch.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart.” He commented, slowly sliding your underwear down your legs. He grabbed the toy by the end and pulled it out with ease, your arousal leaking out of you and the sight of it all made him almost moan again. 

Ransom leaned down and placed a kiss on your inner thigh and you gasped. He reached out with two of his fingers and gently circled your clit, gathering your wetness from your folds and smearing it around. He got down on his knees; his face dangerously close to your core. You bit your lip, waiting and anticipating his next moves. He couldn’t possibly leave you on the edge again, could he? 

Ransom spread your legs further apart and attached his lips to your core; the lower half of his face completely submerged into your dripping core. You let out a loud moan as you felt his warm mouth on top of your dripping core. 

His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance; occasionally flicking your clit mercilessly. Your hands gripped his hair and tugged gently at his roots. His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, parting your wet folds with ease. 

“Such a sweet girl…” he whispered and got back to assault your sensitive spot with his warm and wet tongue, relishing your taste. Your taste drove him wild, so did your soft whimpers. You whimpered under his touch, you enjoyed each and every second of it and craved for more.

His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch; legs shaking as he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue. Your arousal drenched the lower half of his face as he ate you out relentlessly until you were nothing but a moaning, hot mess, squirming above him. 

“Ransom…” you moaned out loud; your eyes shut and your head tilted back as you felt a wave of toe-curling pleasure wash over you. You were so close… But he didn’t let you enjoy it. The moment you moaned and bucked your hips against his mouth, he lifted his lips off you, smirking. 

“What…” You looked down at him in absolute surprise and desperation; wide eyes and parted lips, breathing heavily with a pleading look in your eyes. You watched how he stood up again. 

Ransom leaned in and his lips brushed against your lips faintly. “You taste heavenly,” he mumbled, “but you don’t get to cum just yet. You had me going crazy after you, I can’t let you have what you want so easily, sweetheart.”

And with those words, yet again, he left you wanting more and you grew even more desperate. 

-

 The next morning, Ransom was a little surprised when he hadn’t seen you around. He knew you were at work, given he heard you come in and also heard you talking with one of the butlers. But when he came downstairs, he couldn’t find you anywhere. He also had a lot of work to be done that day so as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t spend all his time searching for you around the house. 

He got back to his study eventually, wondering when you would show up. But you didn’t. It got to a point where he could no longer focus on what he was doing because he was busy overthinking everything. 

Could it be that you were avoiding him? Was it something he did, or said yesterday? Did he overstep a line? 

By the early hours of the afternoon, he was restless. He tried to go downstairs to find you, and he did but you were in the kitchen helping his chef out at the time so he couldn’t talk to you. He didn’t even make his presence known, he just slowly backed out of the room, disheartened. 

He felt miserable. He hadn’t seen you properly all day, hadn’t heard your voice, hadn’t teased you like he loved to. He almost didn’t feel like himself. 

The rest of the day went by agonizingly for him. He had made up his mind to confront you before you leave though, he couldn’t tolerate this suspense any longer. 

In the evening, around the time you usually left his home, Ransom searched the house until he found you again. You were in the sun room, finishing up some remaining work. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the sun room also allowed him to look at the terrible, almost stormy weather outside. It looked like it would rain violently all through the night. 

“The weather’s gonna get worse, let me drop you home.” 

You froze at the sound of his voice. You had done your best to keep a distance from him all day long, but you knew that wouldn’t work for much longer. It wasn’t because of something he did, it was you. 

You couldn’t help but overthink everything. Was he just toying with you because he’s bored? What would happen once you slept with him? Would he just cast you aside and pretend it never happened? And if he does, wouldn’t that make everything awkward at work for you? After he did have a history of being quite the playboy. 

“No that��s alright. Don’t bother, I’ll manage.” 

Your answer didn’t sit well with him. He stood there at the doorway while you moved around the room, wrapping up your last bits of work. 

“What do you mean ‘don’t bother’? It’s pouring outside I-,”

You cut him off, calmly. 

“I mean it Ransom, truly. I’ll manage.” 

He sighed. “Alright, is it something I did? Something I said? Why are you avoiding me? Tell me so I can fix it!” He did sound a little hyper but that was only because he couldn’t figure you out. 

Your reply frustrated him even more. “No, nothing.” 

Alright, that’s it. He walked over to you and grabbed you gently by the elbow, turning you around so you faced him. Even despite the gloomy weather, the sight of your face made him the happiest he had been all day.  “I haven’t seen you all day. Then you avoid me like it’s nothing. And now you’re acting like… this. What’s going on? If it’s me, I’m sorry. I never meant to-,”

You were quick to cut him off at that. “No, it’s not you. It’s… I don’t know. I just… I work for you. I don’t think it’s wise for us to be this close and intimate. It’s wrong. Isn’t it?” You hadn’t thought about how hard it would be to say that to his face, when in reality you wanted him more than anything. 

His dreamy blue eyes, the thoughts of which kept you up till late at night lately, stared down at you with an unexplainable emotion in them. He was surely taken aback by what you had just said, because to him this was never a problem. And he didn’t want it to be a problem for you either. 

“Does it feel wrong, babygirl?” He asked. If you said yes right now, he would let you go and never touch you again. But the look in your eyes gave him the answer he wanted to hear. “Say it, Y/N. Does it feel wrong when you’re with me?” He leaned down to gently press a kiss at the side of your mouth. You were dying to kiss him. “Does it feel wrong when I touch you, when I tease you…” he kissed along your jaw. “When you get on your knees like my good girl to please me, does it feel wrong then?” he whispered against your skin. 

You shivered. He waited. “Answer me, Y/N.” 

You whimpered at the sound of his voice. How could you not, he had been teasing you for days now. 

“No. It doesn’t.” You murmured, and gasped as he gently nibbled on the skin along your throat. You heard him chuckle quietly. 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” 

Next thing you knew, his mouth was on yours. Kissing you properly for the first time. His kiss started out all gentle and loving, and got progressively more and more heated. Your lips moved perfectly against each other’s. You sighed in delight. He deepened the kiss by stroking the top of your mouth with his tongue, and you were on the edge just by that. 

Ransom kissed you deeply as he walked to two of you back until your back hit the glass window. You let out a gasp and before you could process anything else, Ransom was on his knees in front of you. 

“I’m sorry for teasing you for the past days. I’ll make up for it, I promise.” He whispered as he kissed along your thigh, your skirt gave him easier access. He loved it. Next, he dragged your underwear down and quickly urged you to spread your legs further apart. You did. 

Ransom made you cum all over his tongue, more than once. He only stopped when your legs visibly started shaking. You were a moaning and whimpering mess when he finally stood back up again. 

His mouth found yours again. He kissed your open mouth with ardor, like he owned it. His hand slipped under your thin sweater and he caressed your warm skin with his large hands; tracing the skin right under your breasts, leaving goosebumps where his fingers touched you so hungrily. 

Without breaking the kiss, he picked you up and slammed your back against the glass window behind you. You couldn’t even form a proper thought as his tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan wantonly into the kiss. Your hands slid into his hair. Your core pressed against his firm body as his mouth alone drove you crazy.

He moaned into the kiss as your hand gently tugged on his hair. He smiled and spread your legs apart just a little more so he could be closer to you, as if you weren’t already. His hands held you up, securely against him; he had a very firm grip on your thigh, his other hand placed right under your ass. 

“I want you. So bad…” he mumbled breathlessly against your lips. He sounded so… hot that it made you moan and whimper again. 

Fuck… “I want you too.” You managed to whisper in between kisses. 

You felt him smirk, then he bit your lower lip; tugging on it gently. Ransom pulled away to look into your eyes again. He waited for a moment, just savouring the hunger in your eyes before he leaned in for a kiss again. You could no longer take it. So you reached down and undid his pants, while he slipped his hand in between your legs again. 

He ran his knuckles along your wet folds, smearing your arousal around in the process. He groaned in pleasure as you gently pulled his cock out and stroked it gently. “Eager now, are we?” 

He slipped his two fingers past your entrance with ease and grunted in your ear as he felt your walls instantly welcoming him in. He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the spots you wanted him too. You almost came again, but you didn’t want his fingers anymore. 

“Please… I need you to fuck me, Ransom. Please…” you begged. 

He was pleasantly surprised. “Anything for you, angel.” 

He set you down and pulled down your skirt, letting it all fall and pool around your ankles. You stepped out of it before he picked you up again and kissed you deeply; your legs wrapped around his waist. His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you moaned wantonly through the kiss.

He kissed down your neck as he aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance. He pushed himself into you, stretching you out as he went. His nails dug into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours clawed at his shoulders as he filled you up nicely. You were both panting by the time he filled you up entirely. 

“Fuck… you feel so good, sweetheart,” He moaned, breathlessly into you ear. And that earned him a loud moan out of you. There was just something about him whispering in your ear which drove you completely insane. 

He grunted as he rocked in and out of you. You felt all of him, and he was perfect. He stroked your walls with his throbbing cock and you were a moaning mess in no time. He enjoyed every second of it, each sound he earned from you felt satisfying. 

“You feel better than I imagined, angel…” he moaned.

He held you securely against him, as he sped up into you like he had dreamt of doing so many times before. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and let out a loud moan and he fucked you. Hearing him moan was the hottest thing you had ever heard. You whimpered again as he slammed into you relentlessly.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you like I own you, hmm?” he whispered against your skin. 

His mouth soon found yours and he nibbled on your bottom lip and you let out shaky breaths. He was taking over all your senses and you were more than happy to surrender to him. A thin layer of sweat formed on his face, as he fucked you relentlessly; earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls.

“Ransom…” you gasped. 

You felt a sweet pressure forming in between your hips; fiery, burning and pressing inside you. Ransom nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you immense pleasure. You had craved this for so long. You craved him. 

“Please…” you whined. 

Your sensitive clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he buried himself completely in you. He growled in your ear as he pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the large glass window with each thrust. Your body moved along with his like a rag doll. And you never complained once. You could hear the wet sounds that he caused each time he pushed himself into you and the sounds of your skin slapping against each other was downright sinful. 

“Cum for me, baby. Come on…” he growled in your ear. 

He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace; pounding into you mercilessly. You felt like you were losing your mind. The pleasure was too much and you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his cock; screaming his name in the process.

Once you recovered from your high, he fucked you again. And again, on the couch. Then upstairs in his bed. Which was probably where you passed out as well; worn out and satisfied. 

 ---

 You woke up in his soft, warm bed the next morning. You peeled your eyes open and realized that the weather was just as gloomy as the previous night. Only this morning, you felt much better than you had these past days. You felt tingly still, and the butterflies in your stomach came alive again as you thought of Ransom… 

Speaking of, where was he? 

You sat up in the middle of the bed, clutching the sheets around you. You could tell your hair was a mess even without looking at it. And just as you were trying to tame it, you felt the bed dip right next to you. And the next moment you felt a pair of lips kissing on you; along your neck and across your cheek making you giggle. 

“Good morning.” You whispered, pulling away to take a look at him. 

He smiled at you. “Good morning, angel.” He sounded excited. “I made something for you.” Only then did you notice that he had something in his hand. 

He placed it in front of you and you let out a little gasp. “Ransom… this is beautiful.” You picked up the canvas and admired the painting on it. It was a bunch of Forget-Me-Nots, beautifully painted in several shades of blue. “What’s the occasion?” 

He placed a gentle kiss upon your exposed shoulder. “It’s a farewell gift. I don’t want you to work for me anymore.” 

You scoffed at how extra he was. “Then what?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know yet, we’ll figure it out, together.” 

You shook your head at him, turning a little more towards him while still clutching the sheet around you. “So what, you want me to be your little stay-at-home plaything?” your words made him smirk, “So you can spend your time plotting new ways to torment me, and tease me for however long you’d like?” 

“Baby… you have no idea how good that sounds.” He said so just to mess with you. He was kidding of course. 

You leaned in and kissed him, smiling. “You’re sick, Ransom Drysdale. I love it.” 

He smirked through the kiss, pushing you back until your back hit the bed again. He was on top of you once again, “Hmm, I love you too.” He mumbled in between kisses. 

And in that moment, you were glad you finally said yes to him.

[marvellovegalore]

Hurting you

Chris Evans

Part Une - Loving You

Synopsis: You encounter your lost love Christopher and you talk about how you've done something awful.

Word Count: 1,954

Author note: This part is the follow-up to my latest write up, which I realise didn't garner much attention, but a second part was requested. Strongly advised to read part one.

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Drugs

Champagne showers your throat, its cool bubbles rippling inside you and all the way down your body. Your hips sway as you make your way through the tightly packed group of people. Laughter surrounds you as you re-join the dancing fray. A green-eyed model grabs you around the waist, his hands grabbing the thin material of your dress. The end of your dress dances over your high-heeled feet, you twist in the model’s arms and sway against him. Your back presses against him and he holds you tighter.

He whispers something in your ear, something or another about leaving with him to ‘fuck’ on the beach. You barely hear it over the music. Your eyes scanning over your friends that are sprawled around the room, all of them dressed in their finest threads. You would have taken him up on the offer, had it not been for the fact that you have been dating a particular Hollywood leading actor. You’d rather not have any outright fight at a party you’re enjoying because of ‘cheating’.

You move away from the model’s tight hold; you can almost hear his sigh. You dance over to a friend who beckons you to come with her to the bar. You gladly follow, reaching the bar takes a few minutes due to the crowd clambering over their drinks. You finally reach the bar; you lounge on the mirrored countertop. The barman approaches you, “Death in the Afternoon.” You wink at him, he smiles politely.

You turn and scan the room your eyes glazing the room, you catch sight of your date, hiding in a nook. He raises a glass to you, and you turn away from him. Drinking the sight of the partying people fills your stomach, many of them can’t help but stare at you, your presence like a diamond in the rough.

And there he is.

Your breath catches in your throat.

His arm draped across the shoulders of a tanned brunette; her eyes unmoving - glued to his. His lips ghost over hers, they way they used to do to your lips; giggles are whispered through her lips. Wearing a full suit with an undone bow tie strung around his neck - he looks like a drunken dream.

You want him.

He hasn’t noticed you. Or is pretending that he hasn’t.

It’s been six months since that night. You barely remember it; you were so intoxicated - on alcohol and Diazepam. An entirely irresponsible mixture, you try to pretend to yourself that you don’t know why you took what you did; but you know why. It was the only way that you had the courage to do what you did. Otherwise, you’d be with—

“One Death in the Afternoon.” The muscular barman places the crystal flute in front of you, you let a smirk grace your lips. If you weren’t in the same room as your date, you’d fuck him. But you’re trying to change.

You turn back in his direction, your friend also spots him, she promises that she’ll do everything to keep you guys apart. Your friends and family were informed of an amicable break-up with tears shed on both sides - by him. The media reported something similar - both PR teams sending well wishes to the other party and asking for privacy for those involved.

You weren’t aware of the amicable breakup until the email was forwarded to you by your PR head. You had blocked his number, but he had blocked you in every other way possible; you won’t pretend that it was unwarranted. Nor will you pretend that it didn’t hurt, but you couldn’t begin to imagine how much he was hurt.

You’ve done worse, but you don’t think you’ve ever done it to someone you actually loved.

You find yourself back in the folie of dancing, your dress billowing around your legs, its silky touch caressing your skin. You catch sight of the tanned brunette entering the dance floor; he’s following her, his hands toying with her waist.

They dance closely, his eyes roaming her body hungrily. You feel like vomiting. This isn’t fair. You close your eyes and knock your head back, willing the horrible sight away. The songs change twice before you open your eyes properly, your eyes immediately lower to where he is. Their lips are locked, their eyes shut off from the party, his hands dance on her arse.

You are most definitely going to throw up.

You rush away from the crowd, attracting concerned gazes, brushing off the offers of help, you finally manage to leave the house. You edge towards the pool and double over, you dry heave over the grass. You will the vomit up, but it is to no avail. You move away from the tennis style grass and make your way through the garden. Your walk leads you to the sea just beyond the expansive garden. The sky is a warm umber, the setting sun barely visible.

You don’t know how long you’ve been stood there, but you feel a presence behind you. You pray it’s not your date - demanding you keep him company.

You turn and feel your heart stop.

He looks beautiful. It’s the most undeniable beauty you’ve ever seen. He makes your heart throb.

Your heart swells, a feeling you’ve only ever felt once blanketing your heart.

Longing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust someone so much ever again.” His voice is husky, his accent very noticeable. “I couldn’t figure out whether speaking to you would be a good idea, but I really wanted to understand,” he sighs deeply, his fingers whisking out a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket, “even a slither of your psyche.” He lights one cigarette and exhales.

You watch him intently but divert your gaze when he looks at you. “What do you mean?” You whisper. Your courage has left you, and your confidence has set itself on fire.

He nudges the cigarette towards you, “I know you’re more of a vogues girl, but you’re going to have to forgo that right now.” You take the offered cig and pop it in between your lips. It tastes of him somehow and you want to die. “I’ve been fucked up since I left Massachusetts, unbelievably so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way.” He takes a tremulous breath.

You’re frozen. The cigarette needing to be ashed, he takes it from your fingers. He takes a swift inhalation. “I may have developed a mild dependency on alcohol… and on you. I can’t go to parties without thinking of you. I can’t get out of bed without thinking of you, I can’t breathe — without thinking of you.” His breathing is steady, his words stronger than the wind carried by the sea. You can’t breathe, his words taking the majority of your oxygen, he hands you back the cigarette.

“If I hadn’t done it then, you would have done it first.” You shiver with the cold breeze from the surf. If you could choose between kissing him or dissipating, you would choose to dissipate right into the sand.

His eyes flash across to you, his irises seething with anguish and droplets of anger. “It’s not a race, it never should be.” His hiss cuts across your chest, almost shattering your pearls. “I loved you, like I’ve never loved anyone.” His words make you look at him. The eyes that haunt your dreams are there, right there, less than a step away. The wind brushes his tendrils of golden hair across his face, he looks like a kaleidoscope manifested into flesh. “But I hate you now, in ways I have never hated someone.”

You feel like you’ve been stabbed in the neck.

You can feel a tear slip past your eyelashes, and you almost curse the skies. “That’s fine.” You choke quietly, your voice on the cusp of being drowned by the waves.

“I’ve moved on. I’m happy.” He sighs, he dashes the cigarette stub into the ocean, his hands going back into his pockets. His eyes don’t shift away from yours. “But you haunt me.” He looks away, towards the darkened horizon. “If I could choose between you dying or the Boston bomber - I would choose you.”

Your eyes widen with horror.

You’ve never been confronted with the pain you’ve caused. It’s never bothered you that men would desperately try to tarnish your image in salacious magazines. But this, this hurt you. Finally.

You can’t stop the tears now. You sink into the sand. The water washes against the borders of your legs. You choke a sob back.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is small and dejected.

“That’s alright.” He’s lit another cigarette. He sits down next to you, offering you a toke. You take it, peaking at him from under your eyelashes.

Looking up at him, you’re met with a longing gaze.

You’re going to wonder forever what’s possessed him, but his lips find yours. They’re the light at the end of the tunnel and following the path to it guarantees his survival.

The embrace is bittersweet, sprinkled with pleasant familiarity. The taste of smoke tendrils dances between your tongues. His fingers swim in your hair, greedily pulling you deeper into his kiss. You want to die in his arms, it would be indeed the heavenliest way to die. You grab his shirt and hold on for dear life, his wine-soaked tongue intoxicating you further. Fireworks explode behind your eyelids and you sink further into him.

He breaks away from the kiss. His eyes riddled with unspoken secrets.

He stands up, his hand extending towards you. Lifting you to your feet and taking your hand in his, he begins to sway with you to the muffled music coming from the house. His hand rests above your bum, comfortably leading you in this dance. You lean your head against his chest, inhaling the smell of cologne and Marlboro Reds. The smell that used to wake you up on holiday weekends. A tear slips from your eye, a manifestation of your longing and your need for him.

Why do hurt people, hurt people?

You recall the day your father left your mother for dead.

“Where’s mum going, daddy?” You look up at the towering figure of your father.

His stern gaze remains on the distressed woman being handcuffed to the gurney. He brushes off your question with a glare embalmed with stone. You gulp and return your stare to your screaming mother; you rush to her, but a paramedic stops you in your tracks. Your mothers begs your father to let her go, her cries echoing around the front garden. Her roses seemingly wilt in sympathy for their weeping creator. She screams and fights against the paramedics, your father doesn’t wait until the doors of the ambulance have been closed before he closes the front door.

You rush to the living room window, standing beyond the curtain with your face pressed against the glass, you watch your mother being driven away.

You’ll never see her again and never know where she took her last breaths; and you’ll be transferred to board at your school. You see your father annually and eventually he leaves you for retirement in South Africa, you’re alone and unloved.

So, you steal hearts so that your own can heal.

Chris breaks your dance, his hypnotising spell diluted by the distance imposed by his now hardened glare. He turns and leaves, his shadow furthering away from your own. You watch in astonishment as he leaves you, cigarette smoke billowing away from his receding figure.

You can’t help the stream that washes your cheekbones.

He’s done the impossible - broke you.

-

Part 3 -

[mc-lukanette]

"Marinette!" Sabine called from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"

Marinette stirred, groaning as she shifted underneath the covers. It was one of the very few days where she didn't have anything in particular to do, so the last thing she wanted was to be woken up so early like her mother had just done to her.

Still, she knew it'd be rude to just lie there without responding, so she threw the blanket off of herself and shouted, "On my way!"

She yawned, far too tired to be in the waking world but forcing herself up anyway. She didn't even bother looking in the mirror, accepting whatever nightmare sleeping with her hair down had caused. It was a lazy day and she was determined to keep it that way, especially with how nice and warm she felt.

It was probably the warmest she'd ever felt, really.

She opened her trapdoor, letting out some variation of "good morning" as she descended the stairs, thankful that the smell of breakfast was enough to keep her moving.

Tom, having just set her plate down on the table, turned to greet her with a smile. "Good morni—"

Marinette stopped short of sitting down when she'd noticed that he'd cut himself off, a silly smile breaking out onto his face. She could even hear Sabine giggling behind her.

"Papa? What is it?"

He propped an elbow onto the table and leaned on it, looking at her with interest. "Thinking about anyone today, Marinette?"

"Huh?" She blinked, completely thrown off by the question and way too sleepy for it regardless. "Uh, not really?" She slid herself into her seat, picking up her fork before immediately dropping it as she noted, "Oh, I guess I am thinking about Luka. I hope he likes the jacket I gave him last night."

Her parents exchanged a glance, making Marinette immediately suspicious. She squinted, retrieving her fork again. "What?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Sabine inquired. Marinette turned to her, confused, and she clarified, "He's actually been waiting outside the side door for a while now."

"Oh." Marinette paused, then straightened on alert, slamming her fork down on the table as mental clarity hit. "Huh?! Why?!"

"He didn't want to come in until you were awake," Tom explained, still grinning away.

She hurried away from the table, groaning and quickly running her fingers through her hair to neaten it. "You should've said so! I would've been up right away!"

She huffed as she rushed out of the room, mentally preparing a scolding for her parents later. It explained the smiles at least; they'd been messing with her.

She nearly tripped on the way down the stairs due to her fast pace, though still stumbled on the last step and nearly plowed into the door because of it. She scrambled to open it, practically throwing it against the wall as she exclaimed, "Luka! Hi!" to the person standing on the other side.

Luka kept on a calm smile, though it had more energy than usual. "Hey, Marinette." He looked down at his jacket, gripping the fabric for emphasis. "I know I could've texted you, but I wanted to tell you in person that it's amazing. I was wearing it all evening and it's one of the comfiest things I've ever worn. I don't know how you did it, but—"

He went to look back up at her, but suddenly choked on his own words, mouth still hanging open as he seemed to really take her in. Marinette, meanwhile, simply blinked, not understanding the pause. She supposed that she looked a little ragged from just getting out of bed, but—

oh, right, she was still in her pajamas.

Immediately, her hands flew to cover any bare skin that Luka wouldn't have been used to seeing, only to be thwarted as her fingers touched fabric, not skin. Confusion settled in for a few seconds before memories of last night returned to her sleep-deprived mind. Hesitantly, her gaze drifted downwards, her face going pale as cold realization washed over her.

She was wearing Luka's hoodie-jacket combo; that's what everyone had been reacting to.

She peered up at Luka, seeing that his eyes were still locked on his clothes she was wearing. Panic spiking, she immediately began taking it off.

"O-oh, wow!" she said loudly. "How did this get here? I'm sorry, there must've been a mistake! I'm so out of it in the morning, and it was really cold out, and my parents woke me up so I was tired, and I guess I just picked your jacket up by accident! Don't you just hate it when that happens? Anyway, here you go!"

She shoved the mass of fabric into his arms, turning on her heel and fleeing in the other direction. She couldn't even take the first few steps before she heard the clothes hit the floor and felt Luka's arms wrap around her waist, pulling her to him and keeping her there. She squeaked, blushing all the way to her ears, but didn't force him away.

"Is that the truth?" he asked quietly, voice heavy with an emotion she didn't dare call hope.

She shifted, trying to swallow her nerves while remaining wrapped in his hold. His tone alone indicated that he knew her story was a lie, and she had already felt bad for lying in the first place. He was just too perceptive, and it was one of the many things she loved about him.

"...N-no," she admitted. "It's not."

He hugged her tighter, burying his face in the spot between her neck and shoulder. She could feel him exhale against her skin and shuddered at the sensation.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "It was just—you left your jacket and you wear it all the time so I always remember how it felt whenever we hugged or anything, t-then I missed you after you left and I wanted to know how it felt to wear something of yours and it ended up being really w-warm so—" Her voice briefly cracked. "—I slept in it and I know it's weird and I'm sorry again—"

"No," Luka gently interjected.

"H-huh?"

"It's not weird at all, at least not to me," he whispered, his face apparently making a home in her hair. "You don't think I'd wear your jacket all the time if I was shorter than you?"

"Wh—" She blinked, jarred put of her panicked state by that reaction. "Really...?"

"Mhm," he hummed in reply. He paused, thoughtful, then raised his head up to add, "I wish I was, actually, now that I think about it."

"L-luka!" she gasped.

He chuckled happily, apparently unphased by her reaction. It finally registered with her that he was truly, honestly charmed by her wearing his jacket. She'd gotten so used to people judging her that—

...Well, Luka was always the exception.

"T-then—!" She turned her upper body around in his arms, their faces mere centimeters away. "I'll make a jacket that's really big on me, a-and I'll wear it all the time, and then you can wear that!"

His surprised expression melted into a warm smile, and it only then occurred to her how close their faces were. She wasn't sure her face had ever been that close to his, actually. His eyes were the same pretty blue that they always were and his pink lips were twice as tempting when he smiled like that.

"Please do, Marinette," he replied.

Deep down, she knew he was referring to the jacket idea, but her body wasn't listening. Her lips met his, and she didn't have time to doubt the impulse because he immediately kissed her back. His loosened his hug on her so she could comfortably face him, then tightened it right back up to pull her close. She slipped her hands underneath his Marinette-brand jacket, sliding her hands along his back to embrace him in return. Luka hummed contentedly, one hand moving up the back of her shirt to stroke along her spine. Though he was careful not to touch her bare skin, she shivered anyway.

They pulled apart with a soft clicking noise after what was probably far too long when her parents were in the same building as them. Marinette reluctantly pulled her hands away, occupying herself by toying with the fabric of the jacket he was wearing.

"S-s—" She swallowed, knowing it shouldn't have been a hard question considering they'd just made out. "Stay for breakfast?"

He grinned like the absolute dork that he was, his hands moving to hold hers. "Not long enough. Can I stay for lunch too?"

She unintentionally mirrored his grin, nodding eagerly. "Please do, Luka."

He closed the door behind him while she picked up and put his hoodie+jacket combo back on, the two eagerly holding hands as they ascended the staircase.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Here’s an angsty DH tent fic I wrote for @voldemorts-tap-shoes! Enjoy some passive-aggressive romione flirting! And special thanks to @remedial-potions for organizing the 2020 HPRomione Discord Secret Santa Exchange! (And for writing my summary!)

-------------------------

Summary: Ron's journey as he seeks forgiveness from Hermione upon returning to the horcrux hunt, and how a certain maroon jumper brings them together.

******

-December 26th, 1997-

Ron was almost to his bed when he nearly tripped, but luckily he steadied himself against the frame before he could actually fall. Thank Merlin he did, because he could sense her watching him from her position on the sofa, and there was no need for her to see him making a fool of himself— again. He crouched down to see what his foot had caught on, only to discover his old, worn-out jumper.

The tent could only block so much of the icy wind from outside, so stumbling upon his warm jumper was a relief. He was anxious for a change of clothes, but most of his warmer things were still in Hermione's bag, and there was no way she would let him dig around in it just yet. Ron was quickly coming down from the adrenaline rush of destroying the locket, and his awareness of the cold grew stronger with every misty breath he could see leaving his lips. He pulled the jumper over his head just as his teeth started to chatter.

There was something peculiar about the jumper. Not only did it appear to have been recently washed, but it also smelled different than he remembered. Although distinct, it was still familiar enough that he could name it— oak and vanilla. Easy, and not because he was particularly gifted at identifying scents, but because he had already spent significant effort trying to decipher that exact aromatic component in Slughorn's Potions class last year. The Hermione-ness of Amortentia— and now his jumper— was what confirmed his attraction to her— it was warm, cozy, and inviting. The irony of that was not lost on Ron, considering Hermione's current position on the sofa, looking as frigid and inhospitable as the winter storm outside.

The only reason he didn't bring the jumper with him when he left was that Hermione had been wearing it. When they were first on the run, he would offer it to her whenever she looked cold, and by the time he left, she was accustomed to borrowing it on her own. She sat bundled up with a blanket and The Tales of Beedle The Bard, and the jumper she wore instead of his didn't look nearly as warm. Compared to his, it looked awkwardly small on her, which gave her the appearance of a disgruntled goldfish angrily bobbing inside her too-small fishbowl. Clearly, Hermione had worn his jumper much more recently than the night he left, and the thought filled Ron with hope. Maybe there was still a part of her that didn't want to be angry. Maybe he was wrong to assume they'd never recover from this.

That hope helped keep him warm when he stumbled into bed, cold and hungry, but more content than he'd been in a while.

-January 1st, 1998-

The harsh cold persisted over the next few days, effectively undermining any allusions of the tent's hospitality. Unwilling to expose his skin to winter's aggression for more than a few seconds, Ron rarely took off his jumper, and it's comforting warmth was starting to fade into something strictly physical. He should have been sleeping in preparation for his own watch shift, but he couldn't— so he sat on his bed where he could see Hermione bundled up at the tent entrance, keeping watch and looking miserable. She was shivering underneath a heavy pile of blankets and conjuring up her bluebell flames for warmth. Like it did from her body, the icy air greedily extracted any heat from the mug of tea that sat beside her, its contents escaping into a thick ribbon of steam.

He was still enduring Hermione's silent treatment, and he expected he would have to for a while longer. This particular method of punishment was all too familiar to him, and he knew he'd have to ride it out, but in order to respect her boundaries, he had to figure out where they were. He slid off of his bed and grabbed an extra blanket from his bunk before making his way toward the opening of the tent, determined to uncover exactly where Hermione had drawn the line.

If she heard him approaching she didn't show it. Instead, she kept an intense owl-like focus on the woods outside. He laid the blanket next to her and carefully sat down, making sure to set a respectable distance between them, to avoid earning himself an extension of her silent treatment.

"Hi," he said brightly.

She didn't answer, but he saw her eyebrows knit together slightly, and that counted as an acknowledgment for him.

"I've always loved those flames," he continued. "You're good at them."

Silence.

"I could never get them right," he pressed on, hoping a little bit of flattery would soften her up. "And they don't stay warm when I do it."

Hermione sighed and turned to look at him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Talking to you."

"Yeah, well. Please don't," she said before turning away again.

"I really missed you," he said, a little more earnestly this time. With Hermione, honesty was a great choice when it flattered her.

Hermione shrugged. "Good."

Ron couldn't help but chuckle at her nonchalant answer. To him, it was a clear confession that her silent treatment was intentional, which meant it required effort to keep up. Hermione's scowl that she hadn't been expecting him to laugh.

"You should really be in bed," she said.

"I know," he said. "I can't sleep. And you looked like you could use some company—."

She groaned, dropping her face to her hands in frustration. "You're infuriating. I'm trying really hard not to talk to you. Can you please just give me some space?"

Her clear confession wasn't nearly as satisfying as her accidental one. He had already given her weeks of space, and never wanted to let that happen again, but he held his tongue. A line had been drawn. "I'm sorry. I can leave you alone. If that's what you really want."

"It is," she said.

Ron's heart sank— talking to her was the only way he could confidently win her forgiveness. Her attention turned back to the woods, and Ron could almost feel the wall she had built restraining him. "Is that really what you want?"

"Oh my God, Ron," she said exasperatedly. "Stop talking to me."

"Ok, ok," he said as he stood up. Then he reached for the hem of his jumper and pulled it off.

"Now what are you doing?" she asked.

"You seem cold. I'm giving you my jumper."

"I don't want it."

Ron held it out to her anyway, but she shook her head. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Ok then. I'm off to get some beauty sleep," he joked, tucking the jumper under his arm.

"Like you need it," he heard her grumble.

He whipped back around to face her, his face brightening into a smile. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she stammered. "Just that you said you couldn't sleep, and that's probably because you got more than enough rest at Bill's. Unlike Harry and I."

Ron grinned at her infuriating redirection— she was always an expert at churning his own words around to remind him of his wrongdoings. It kept him on his toes, pissed him the hell off, and was one of his favorite things about her. "Well, that's disappointing. For a moment I thought you were calling me beautiful."

She turned away from him, and Ron thought he caught a reluctant smile on her face. He had his own version of her little game.

"Goodnight Hermione," he said as he turned back toward the bedroom.

She didn't respond, but that's ok. He didn't expect her to.

-January 15th, 1998-

Ron awoke in the middle of the night to a crisp and howling wind. He opened his eyes to see a shivering Hermione sitting up in bed, digging around in her bag. She huffed when she couldn't find anything warmer, and dropped her bag to the floor. Ron's stomach sank, knowing she was so cold, but he also knew that she'd most likely reject his offer to wear his jumper, so he remained silent. She gathered her blanket around her and stumbled off her bed toward the loo, dragging the billowing bedding behind her like a cloak.

Ron figured that Hermione rejecting his jumper was just spiteful stubbornness, and she'd happily wear it against his knowledge. Now alone in the room, he sat up, removed it, then tossed it casually on the floor somewhere between his bed and hers. When he heard the bathroom door open, he quickly dove back underneath his covers, hiked the blankets up to his neck, and assumed a credible sleeping position.

She reentered the room, tugging her blanket along, and nearly tripped when she stumbled into the jumper.

He heard her groan before muttering, "lumos."

Ron cracked his eyes open to observe, making sure to keep the rest of his body perfectly still.

"Ronald," she whispered to herself. "He never puts his stuff away." She crouched down to pick it up and glanced cautiously in his direction.

Ron closed his eyes when she turned to him, this time letting out a muffled— hopefully convincing— snore.

When he heard Hermione crawl back into her bed, he opened one eye to observe again. Luckily, she wasn't even paying attention to him. She sat in her bed, bundled her blanket, holding Ron's jumper in her hands. It looked like she was considering putting it on, and Ron couldn't help but picture her making a pro and con list in her mind about wearing it.

Pro: It smelled like him. Or was that a con?

Con: He might see her wearing it. But maybe that was a pro?

She shook her head as if to erase any hesitations, and slipped the jumper over her bushy hair, which erupted through the neck hole like a volcano. The oversized sleeves dangled lazily off her hands, reminding Ron of the time Harry had lost all of the bones in his arm. The hem bundled and bunched at her hips, and the waist was big enough to hide a second Hermione, yet for some odd reason, it still appeared to fit her better than her own jumper. No longer shivering, she settled back into her blanket, closed her eyes, and smiled softly. He turned onto his side, the same grin etched across his face, and settled back into sleep.

-January 30th, 1998-

The following morning, Ron had discovered his jumper crumpled up on the floor near his bed. Hermione had never returned something unfolded before, and Ron smiled at her attempt to make it seem like she never wore it. He imagined her precariously placing his jumper on the floor so that it looked just careless enough to throw Ron off her scent.

It became their new routine. Every night he would place his jumper somewhere on the floor between their beds, and every morning he would find it again, somewhere else but nearby. And every morning, without fail, he'd put it on and catch a hint of his amortentia, which was growing stronger by the day.

On this particular morning, Ron left the bedroom to find Hermione reading on the sofa, buried in her blanket.

"Morning," he said softly.

She didn't answer, but that was ok. He still didn't expect her to. She did, however, look up from her book momentarily to acknowledge him. Progress.

"I'm making tea. Would you like some?"

Again she was silent, but she smiled and nodded.

With two swift flicks of his wand, Ron conjured up some water in the kettle, and ignited a fire on the stove. Hermione had turned her attention back to her book, content to ignore him, as was their routine. This time her expression remained friendly, and the wall between them felt a little less icy.

It had been just over a month since his return, and although they rarely spoke, he had learned that they didn't really need to speak to communicate. He knew her facial expressions and could read her emotional state with ease. He could tell if she wanted space by the way her eyes focused intently on her book, his greeting eliciting no reaction whatsoever. Recently it didn't seem intentional or pointed, but any attempts to pull her out of that collie-like focus would fail. He knew she was open to an interaction when she placed herself on the edge of the sofa, making room for him, and read distractedly with a bookmark in hand, ready to be used should Ron have something more interesting to talk about. And sometimes, her exaggerated yawns and pointed looks before she went to bed hinted that she wanted him to leave his jumper on the bedroom floor. Accidentally, of course.

The climate between them had improved in more ways than one. They were short on space, and they couldn't avoid close contact. Sometimes they'd touch each other when passing, or rummaging around in the kitchen. At first, she would whip her hand away if it unexpectedly brushed his, but recently, if they made contact she'd linger. It happened more frequently too, but just like leaving his jumper out for her, he didn't dare make those moments look intentional. Every touch was an accident, and they were very clumsy.

But of course, he wanted more. Every morning when he put that jumper back on, it felt almost like a hug. He couldn't just hug her, so instead he looked forward to the closest thing he could get, and wondered if she felt the same when she stole his jumper every night.

When the water boiled, he poured two cups of tea. One with cream and two sugars, and one black. Hermione looked up when he approached and smiled warmly as he handed her the tea.

"Did I get it right?" he asked hopefully, even though he knew he did.

"Yes," she said. "Thank you."

They settled back into a comfortable silence. The blistering cold of the last few weeks had finally loosened its grip. Ron was sitting directly in a sunbeam, and his jumper suddenly felt unnecessary.

He caught Hermione's attention when he sat up abruptly, and pulled it over his head. "What?" he asked.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, tightening the blankets around her.

"Nah, it's quite warm in the sun, actually," he said, playfully toying with his jumper. "Why, are you cold?"

Sighing, she leaned back and crossed her arms. Ron had to resist laughing at her adorably forced scowl. "Yeah, I am quite cold."

"That's too bad," he said, as he dropped his jumper on the floor between them.

Hermione pursed her lips together as if trying to prevent a smile. "Ron," she asked hesitantly. "If you're not going to wear it, can I borrow your jumper?"

Ron beamed at her. "Thought you'd never ask."

Her smile broke as she leaned forward and grabbed his jumper off the ground. "I thought I'd never have to," she said with a blush before putting it on.

-February 14th, 1998-

Harry had just gone to bed, and Ron was due to take over watch from Hermione in two hours. He had tried to pass the time by reading her copy of Beedle The Bard, but there were only so many times one could read A Warlock's Hairy Heart and still be entertained by it. He put the book back down on the coffee table, before standing, stretching, and making his way toward the kitchen to make tea.

He made the usual, two cups of tea, one with cream and two sugars, and one black.

"Tea?" he called to Hermione. It was just a formality at this point, a warning that he was coming over to bring her tea and invade her space. Lately, she didn't seem to mind.

"You don't have to be out here for two more hours," she said.

He grinned, set the tea down between them, and took a seat across from her. "You're welcome for the tea."

She smiled. "Thank you."

They sat quietly for a few moments, before Ron took a chance, and inched himself closer to Hermione so that he was sitting next to her. She didn't move away from him at all.

"Is this ok?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course."

"It's kind of cold though," he said. "Don't you think?"

He didn't need to see her face to know that he had earned an eye-roll. With an exaggerated sigh, she shifted her blanket so it now covered them both, and moved closer so their legs pressed together. "Better?"

"Much better." It was the most physical contact they'd shared since before he left. "This is perfect, actually."

He felt her head rest on his shoulder, and she didn't even flinch when he accidentally brushed her hand underneath the blanket. They paused, as if daring each other to make the next advance, before he slipped his hand over hers and their fingers intertwined.

He could have stayed like that all night, gently rubbing his thumb across her hand and listening to her breath in his ear. Two hours felt like two minutes, and when his time to take over watch came, he considered not saying anything at all, but that would have been selfish.

"Hermione?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she asked into his shoulder.

"It's my turn. You can go to bed, if you want to." He tried to emphasize that last part. Maybe she didn't want to.

She lifted her head from his shoulder. "It'll be cold."

Ron didn't want to press his luck by asking her to say, so he tugged at the hem of his jumper, and gave it to Hermione.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

She turned toward the bedroom, running a hand through his hair as she entered the tent. "Ron?" she asked when she was halfway there.

"Yeah?"

"Happy Valentine's Day."

Ron smiled. He was wondering if she had realized the date. "Happy Valentine's day, Hermione."

-March 1st, 1998-

After that night, Hermione never gave him back his jumper, and he didn't mind one bit. It was getting warmer every day, so he didn't need it anymore, and it looked better on her anyway. Additionally, Valentine's Day turned out not to be an isolated event. At this point, Ron could generally expect their watch shifts to overlap for some time, while they held hands under a blanket, and their tea turned cold.

It was Harry's night for watch, which meant that Hermione and Ron were alone in the bedroom. She was bundled up in multiple blankets, and his jumper, and appeared to be pretending to sleep. He was quite warm, so he wore a simple vest, one blanket, and he was absolutely pretending to sleep.

"Ron?"

He smiled at her voice in the dark. "Yes, Hermione?"

"I'm cold," she whined.

Ron laughed and flopped back onto his pillow. "Well, I'd give you my jumper, but you haven't taken it off for two weeks."

She buried her face into her pillow. "I know,' she groaned.

"And I'd give you my blanket, but then I'd be cold."

Hermione turned to face Ron, eyes narrowed as if sizing him up. "Maybe we could share?" she asked tentatively.

Ron's eyebrows shot up his forehead. She wanted to share. "You won't hex me if I come over there?"

She shook her head, before inching toward the far edge of her bed.

Ron felt his ears turn pink as he slipped out of his bed, and approached hers. It was the first time they'd ever shared a bed, and Ron had always imagined it would happen differently. In his envisioned future, this moment would take place after a first kiss, but he wasn't about to complain. He slid under the covers almost too eagerly, then momentarily froze, unsure where to put his arms and legs. He wanted to pull her close and wrap his arms around her, heck he wanted to do much more than that. What he really wanted to do might provoke another silent treatment, a hex, or worse— flock of canaries. What exactly was she expecting?

She answered his question when she took his hand, interlacing their fingers, and turned to her side, facing her back to him. She pulled his arm along so he had no choice but to settle in behind her. She fit perfectly, as he'd always imagined she would, and he hoped she felt the same way too.

"Still cold?"

She laughed. "Nope."

Ron had lost all desire to sleep. He could have laid there all night, his head in her hair, holding her hand, savoring every minute.

"Ron?"

"Hmm."

"Happy Birthday."

He hadn't even realized the date. "Is it really—?"

She nodded. "What do you want for your birthday?"

From his current place— in bed with Hermione, he honestly couldn't think of anything more, or at least anything more he was willing to tell her. "Could I have my jumper back?"

Hermione laughed. "No."

"Oh," he said, trying to feign disappointment. "Worst birthday ever, then."

"You don't mean that."

He smiled as he slipped his arms tighter around her. "I don't."

And he didn't. In fact, he'd be more than fine if he never got his jumper back. Brilliant, even.

[organabanana]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supergirl Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alex Danvers/Kelly Olsen  Characters: Alex Danvers, Kelly Olsen (Supergirl TV 2015)  Additional Tags: implied supercorp dumbery, alex's malfunctioning gaydar, strap-on talk, Domestic Fluff Summary: Alex and Kelly discuss sapphic culture, watch a movie, consider strap-ons, and make the most of same-day delivery. I could pretend there's a plot here but honestly it's just domestic fluff for a cute little prompt. Notes: Written for the prompt "Imagine Me & You" for the Pride theme at @femslashexchange. First time writing Dansen so I hope you'll enjoy!

[ao3 link]

“Stop staring at me like that! I thought you people were supposed to be non-judgmental.”

If Kelly takes issue with Alex’s tone when referring to psychologists as ‘you people’, she certainly doesn’t show it. She just keeps staring, body turned to face Alex’s on the couch and palms neatly resting on her knees like she’s trying to keep her composure in the face of an unhinged patient or something.

Which is, if you ask Alex, an overreaction.

“We are. I wouldn’t say I’m judging you per se, it’s just—“ Kelly presses her lips together for a moment, clearly trying to come up with non-judgmental words to convey her very judgmental (Alex can read it all over her face) thoughts. “It’s just— you’ve really never—“

“Never.” Alex shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Actually, you know what? She shrugs because it’s no big deal.

“But you’ve… I mean, at least you must be familiar with it? Word of mouth, if nothing else?”

Alex contemplates for a moment, lips pursed slightly as she looks up like she’s expecting to find some kind of cue card on the ceiling of their apartment.

“Not really?” she finally decides, after a few moments of soul-searching, “I don’t really— I mean I know it’s uh… lesbian adjacent?” Alex illustrates how unsure she is about that particular statement with a swishy hand motion, but it clearly does nothing to impress her girlfriend.

“Lesbian adjac— Alex!” Kelly’s eyes widen as she finally loses all semblance of professional poker face (not that she’d been doing a great job before, mind you) and lets out an incredulous chuckle. “It’s not lesbian adjacent, it’s— it’s a cornerstone of sapphic culture!”

“Oh come on, Kel!” It’s Alex’s turn to laugh now, more than a little bit charmed by just how passionate her otherwise very rational girlfriend seems to be about something as silly as this. “It’s so not a cornerstone of sapphic anything. Strap-ons? Sure, I could see that. Some dumb—“

“Do not finish that sent— wait, did you just say strap-ons?”

Alex shrugs. She said what she said. She’s also acutely aware of the very visible (and oh, so very pretty) glow on her girlfriend’s cheeks, no matter how hard Kelly tries to look unaffected.

“Anyway,” Kelly shakes her head just so, and Alex could not possibly be any more enamored by the way she clears her throat and shifts on her seat, “as I was saying, I’m surprised a lesbian over thirty has never seen Imagine Me & You, that’s all.”

“Eh. I’m not much for rom-coms. Can we go back to strap-ons for a minute, though? I feel like there’s a conversation to be had there.”

Alex can see the struggle right there in Kelly’s eyes. Will Kelly Olsen drop an argument, mild as this particular one may be, before it’s been thoroughly resolved? Will she give in to the heat Alex can nearly feel radiating off her cheeks and talk about sex toys instead?

“Would you wear it, or would I?” Alex asks, choosing to give her girlfriend a small nudge in the (obvious, if you ask her) right direction.

“You don’t like romantic comedies?” Kelly says at exactly the same time, looking at Alex like she’s suddenly sprouted a second head.

Alex groans, throwing her head back against the couch in such despair she nearly doesn’t hear Kelly’s next words.

“You. I think?”

Oh.

Alex is once again fully engaged with the conversation, licking her lips as she straightens her back and turns to focus on her girlfriend. “Yeah?” Alex can feel heat rising to her own cheeks now, oddly flattered by Kelly’s choice. “You think?”

There’s a certain warmth to Kelly’s smile when she looks into Alex’s eyes. The kind of warmth that lets Alex know Kelly has somehow read her thoughts and understood them, likely better than Alex herself. “I think you could pull it off, yes,” she says, long fingers wrapping around Alex’s and tugging lightly to encourage her to get a little closer.

Alex would love to be the kind of woman who can keep this back and forth of flirty banter going for a while. She’d love to be the kind of woman who can tease and flirt and play the part of the cool lesbian who knows she’s hot stuff. But the thing is, Kelly is just so beautiful. She’s soft and warm and she thinks Alex could pull off a strap-on and she’s practically begging for a kiss (which Alex immediately gives her, of course, she’s not a monster), and how could Alex possibly resist?

How could anyone, really?

Those cool lesbians simply have never had Kelly Olsen’s bedroom eyes directed at them.

“Wanna go on-line shopping?” Alex whispers between the second kiss and the third, grinning when Kelly’s fingers slide into her hair, “I bet they have same-day delivery.”

Kelly chuckles, light and sweet against Alex’s lips and fully obliterating whatever crumbs of coolness Alex may have had left. “In a rush, are we?”

“Lil bit, yeah,” Alex freely admits, a bit too taken with the way Kelly smiles at her to care if she’s proving once again she’s not the coolest where her girlfriend is involved. But, again — how could anyone resist? Kelly shifts on the couch, smoothly readjusting their position until she’s on her back with Alex on top of her, and Alex is pretty sure she’s peaked. Life simply doesn’t get any better than this.

(Alex has thought she’s peaked, on average, around twice a day since she started dating Kelly. Don’t you dare judge her.)

Kelly’s neck smells faintly of lavender when Alex trails kisses up warm skin towards the spot right behind Kelly’s ear.

“Soap thief,” she whispers, teeth gently nipping and making Kelly let out a sound that falls somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, “for shame.”

Kelly doesn’t answer right away. She lets Alex bask in the feeling of having the upper hand for a few seconds, slips her own hands under Alex’s shirt to grab at the solid muscles on her back, spreads her legs so Alex’s thigh can slot between them… and then she speaks.

“Will your cock be lavender too?”

Alex makes a sound. Unfortunately, because it’s neither sexy nor dignified. She sputters, really. Nearly chokes on her own breath. In her defense… well, honestly, she doesn’t think she needs a defense. Who wouldn’t be disarmed by her girlfriend, all warm and soft and rocking against her thigh with purpose, suddenly bringing up lavender cocks?

Come on now.

“W— would you like it lavender?” Alex manages to ask, voice slightly higher than normal as she pushes herself up on her hands to look into Kelly’s eyes. And maybe also to shift her weight onto her knee, her thigh pressing a little harder between Kelly’s legs. “Do you want it lavender?”

“Baby,” Kelly sighs and arches her back just slightly — just enough to make the column of her neck impossible to resist, so Alex presses an open-mouthed kiss to Kelly’s throat and feels the words vibrate against her lips as they come out, “I want it yours.”

***

Alex’s brain doesn’t fully recover until nearly two hours later, when she’s sitting at her desk staring at the tracking website for the package they will be receiving at some point within that same day.

Technology, right? What a wonderful thing.

“Are you still watching that?” Kelly’s tone is teasing as she walks out of the bathroom brushing her fingers through her freshly washed, still wet hair. “Are you expecting it to just teleport here by sheer force of will?”

Alex shrugs. She’s familiar enough with Martian tech to hold out hope for that happening. And honestly, considering the requests Kelly made regarding size while choosing the (lavender, yes) toy, Alex is pretty sure not even staring unblinkingly at her screen fully qualifies her as the most eager person in the room.

“You know it won’t be here for at least a couple hours,” Kelly insists, “but I know just how we could fill the time.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped. One second Alex is staring at the screen, and the next she’s pretty much forgotten there’s a package to receive. Alex wouldn’t call the look on Kelly’s eyes flirty, exactly, but it’s certainly something. Playful, maybe. Is playful better than flirty?

Alex is oh-so-ready to find out.

“Yeah?” Alex says, already on her feet and moving towards Kelly.

Kelly nods, eyes practically sparkling as she sits on the couch once again.

And Alex, of course, follows her.

Who wouldn’t?

Kelly kisses her first. Something short and sweet that leaves Alex smiling and hoping for a reprise. But instead, Kelly speaks.

“We can watch Imagine Me & You.”

Alex groans, and she’d be lying if she said there isn’t at least a bit of dramatic flair involved in the intensity of her despair. “Kelly! I told you I don’t like romcoms!”

“But you love romance!” Kelly motions in the general direction of the shelf that’s nearly overflowing with little mementos of their life together. A box full of movie theater tickets, a dried flower from the first time they celebrated Valentine’s day, the cork from the first bottle of wine they drank in their home… and the collection is very much maintained (and steadily grown) by Alex. “How can you not like romantic comedies? They should be right up your alley.”

“I like real romance. Not… fake, decaf romance.”

And it’s not a controversial statement, Alex thinks. It’s pretty much common sense. There’s real life, and then there’s movies. There’s real romance — the kind that makes her laugh and cry and get butterflies in her stomach — and then there’s Hollywood’s version of romance, which feels hollow most of the time. Everyone knows that, right?

So why is Kelly looking at her like she’s just cracked some kind of code?

“What? Stop being creepy. I liked it better when you were judging me earlier.”

“But you like big dramatic romance movies,” Kelly prods, “right?”

“Well, sure, but that’s different.”

“Because…” Kelly nods encouragingly.

“I don’t know, Kel. I guess because rom-coms are just kinda…” Alex sighs, “I don’t know.”

“Insubstantial?” Kelly offers, “hard to engage with beyond mindless entertainment? Alienating, even, in a way?”

“Right!” Freaking finally, Kelly gets it. Alex isn’t weird. This is a universal phenomenon, obviously. “Exactly! Exactly that.”

“Honey,” Kelly pats the back of Alex’s hand affectionately, voice down to just barely above a whisper, “that’s ‘cause you’re gay.”

Alex scoffs, somewhere between amused and outraged. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Kelly’s eyes narrow just slightly. There’s a glint to them that Alex knows very well. It’s the look Kelly gets when she knows she’s right.

“Tell you what,” Kelly says, leaning over to grab the remote from the coffee table and then leaning against Alex’s side as she turns on the tv, “you watch this one movie with me, indulge my scientific curiosity, and if you haven’t changed your mind by the end I’ll drop the subject forever.”

It’s not a bad offer. Alex purses her lips and pretends to think about it very seriously anyway, just because it’s one thing to be thoroughly whipped when it comes to her girlfriend, but it’s a whole different story to not even try to pretend she can put her foot down once in a while.

Besides, she loves the way Kelly’s face lights up when Alex finally (inevitably) says yes.

“Okay, fine,” Alex sighs just to offset the sheer size of her heart eyes when Kelly does, in fact, light up, “one movie.”

Kelly practically flies through their streaming options, clearly more than familiar with the location of Imagine Me & You. And there are so many questions Alex could ask. So many ways she could poke fun at her girlfriend for what’s clearly a bit of a fangirly obsession. But right when Kelly presses play, Alex notices something that pulls her attention in an entirely different direction.

“Piper Perabo! Oh, I love her,” she sighs, wrapping an arm around Kelly’s shoulders as her girlfriend snuggles into her preferred movie-watching position, “I watched Coyote Ugly a million times as a teen. My mom ended up getting me the DVD so I’d stop renting it every single week.”

Kelly chuckles lightly, draping one arm across Alex’s waist. “And that didn’t give you any hints that you might have been a bit gay?”

Alex shrugs. Whether she’d been really oblivious or just in denial, she’s at a point in her life and her journey now where she can make a bit of fun of her teenage self. “What can I say? My gaydar’s never been the most finely tuned.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Just look at the Kara thing.”

“The what now?” Alex looks away from the screen to stare at Kelly instead. As far as she’s aware — and she’s a very observant vigilante, mind you — there’s no such thing as ‘the Kara thing’, whatever that means. And what would that have to do with her (lack of a) gaydar, anyway? “What Kara thing?”

“Nothing,” Kelly points at the screen, “watch the movie.”

“No, what did you me— is that Cersei Lannister?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s so good in this. I may have a bit of a crush.”

“On Cersei freaking Lannister, Kel?” Alex lets out an amused chuckle. “I’m honestly not sure how I feel about that.”

“Will you please just watch the movie?”

“Fine, fine, sheesh,” Alex moves her hand down Kelly’s side just to gently poke at a particularly ticklish spot, “but I can’t promise I won’t be too freaked out about Cersei to fully focus.”

But there’s Piper Perabo in a beautiful wedding dress flashing a beautiful smile, and really, not even Cersei Lannister being on the receiving end of that smile can stop Alex from getting sucked into the movie and what’s happening in it.

She watches a ring fall into a punch bowl and exchanged looks and smiles. She hears, much to her surprise, unspoken lines between Piper Perabo and Cersei Lannister that make her smile at the screen because yeah— yeah, she’s been there. She’s smiled like that. She’s felt like that. She’s so enthralled by the movie that it’s only when she feels herself laugh at Cersei’s friend calling herself ecstatic that she realizes she’s been quiet for a while.

“Ok, that was funny. Most rom-coms aren’t even really coms.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Kelly says, her voice full of teasing glee.

Alex feels color rise to her cheeks. “Will you please just watch the movie?”

Kelly doesn’t argue this time.

There’s a science presentation in the dark, pinky fingers nearly touching, a very questionable choice at the movie rental place — “oh, no, you don’t want to learn from Georgie’s Bush” — and then there’s a date.

Alex feels Kelly hold her a little tighter when Rachel asks Luce — who cares about Cersei Lannister, anyway? — to put both her arms around her, and she feels herself smile like a fool when the lily’s meaning is shared. And then. Then there’s almost a kiss, but not quite, and Rachel barging into the flower shop, and Alex is fully invested now. There’s simply no turning back.

“Oh! Oh, no, Rachel, it can’t be over!” She says out loud, because this poor conflicted woman clearly needs advice. “Don’t leave her— oh, she’s back!”

Alex has seen so many on-screen kisses. So many.

She’s watched hundreds of love stories, from cartoons to dark thrillers and everything in between. She’s been having regular movie nights with Kara since she was a teenager, and most times the chosen movie has at least one romantic storyline, if not several.

But this.

This lands somewhere deep inside her chest. And when the kiss ends because Luce has thorns in her bum, Alex realizes there are tears running down her face.

“You all right, baby?” Kelly shifts to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek, catching a tear with her lips.

“Uh huh,” Alex nods. And then she stops nodding. She even stops holding Kelly, because she needs both hands to cover her eyes. “Oh, God. Oh, not him. I can’t watch this.”

But she does anyway. Through the spaces between her fingers at first, and then fully because one of her hands is covering her mouth now, the other holding Kelly once again.

“Don’t tell her to go!” She says, voice watery and just a little shaky as she struggles to keep herself together. But it lasts only as long as it takes for Luce to ask Rachel to remember her, because, “she won’t—“ Alex hiccups, “she won’t remember anything else, Kel.”

“I know, honey.”

Alex nods. She���s crying now. Really crying. Watching Rachel tell her sleeping husband doesn’t help, and neither does her conversation with her parents — though it does pull a watery chuckle out of Alex — or Luce’s talk to her mom. She’s still crying when people pile into a car and start chasing Luce’s cab, because she knows this is going to have a happy ending. Right? That’s the beauty of romantic comedies.

“Oh, the song!” She stage whispers, pointing at the screen when the cyclist rides past the car, and then gasps when Rachel climbs onto the roof of the car. “She’s gonna do it, isn’t she? She’s gonna call number nine a wanker for her lady?”

“A bit cheesy, huh?”

Alex’s eyes widen in utter disbelief. “Cheesy?” She tears her eyes away from the screen once that last kiss is over just to shoot Kelly an indignant look. “How dare you.”

Kelly chuckles, something soft and quiet as she rearranges herself on the couch to free her hands so she can help wipe tears from Alex’s face. “So? What did you think?”

Alex sniffles. She’s not quite done crying yet, but she can still try and maintain at least a crumb of dignity after spectacularly losing this particular argument. “All right,” she concedes, shrugging one shoulder like she’s not at all still a bit weepy over Piper Perabo getting her girl, “it was okay.”

“Yeah?” Kelly reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table and holds it so Alex can take one (or five).

“It wasn’t awful,” Alex says, blowing her nose, and then contemplates simply leaving it at that. But she can’t help herself. “Can we watch more?”

Kelly grins. “More romantic comedies?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Kelly echoes, pressing a lingering kiss to Alex’s lips, “we can start a bit of a sapphic movie night tradition. We can ask Kara and Lena to join in.”

Well, that’s weird. Don’t get her wrong, Alex loves her sister and Lena and watching movies together, but she’s not following Kelly’s leap from sapphic cinema to them. And her confusion must be written all over her face, because Kelly explains even before Alex can ask.

“You know. To expand their film horizons.” There’s something in Kelly’s tone that makes Alex feel like there’s more to it than that, but she’s a bit busy dealing with her post-movie emotions to investigate. “Besides, Lena always brings amazing wine when we have them over.”

Alex is about to agree — Lena does have excellent taste in wine — but the doorbell distracts her before she can.

The doorbell.

Same-day delivery.

“Oh, it’s here!” Kelly practically leaps to her feet, pressing the button to let the delivery person in and standing by the door to wait for them to make their way upstairs.

“Dammit, Kel. Look at me,” Alex sniffles and grabs a handful of tissues to try and fully dry her face, “how am I supposed to — and I quote — ‘fuck you into the mattress’ like this?”

Kelly winks at her just as the doorbell rings. “Trust me, baby. I’ll help you with that.”

And you know what? Alex has no reason to doubt that she will.

[ssa-daddyhotchner]

The Struggle of Loving You - Chapter 9

Chapter Selection

I sat on the couch scrolling mindlessly through the channels trying to find something to watch. Chloe was in her room, getting ready for whatever day she had planned. 

I on the other hand didn't have plans, unless you count staying in a plan. I was going to stay and study for the future, needing the extra information on some topics that I didn't really understand. Chloe walked out of her room, "What do you think?" 

Turning my head I looked at her, "Looks fine." She had on a skin tight dress, at that moment I knew where she was going. What she had planned, "Get dressed." I scrunched up my face, "Uh- why." 

She walked over to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, "You made a promise to me, that you were going to be more social. Now get dressed in something that doesn't look like that." Chloe pointed to the clothes I was wearing at the moment. 

A hoodie and shorts, "I don't have anything to wear." I said as she was exiting the room. Groaning loudly she turned around and began rummaging through my closet. 

She analyzed almost every outfit until she went to one in particular. Taking it out of my closet and holding it against my body, "Here." She passed it to me, "Don't take too long." 

It was a black dress that went above my knees. Not skin tight but not too loose, I stripped my clothes and went into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, waiting for it to heat up I started brushing my teeth. 

I let the warm water run down my body and my mind started to wander to Hotch. How his hands felt on my skin and what they could do. The somewhat electric touch and heat that came from his fingers on me. 

My hand started to wander down my stomach, I backed up and my back touched the cold tile. My back arching slightly at the temperature change. I imagine Hotch standing right in front of me pinning me against the wall. 

My fingers made their way down to my clit and began rubbing so circles. A whimper left my lips, as I imagined his fingers instead of my own. Thinking of his body flush against mine, pressing into me. His voice echoing through the shower and into my ear, whispering how good I'm doing. 

I started going fast at the thought, this man really drove me crazy sometimes. My stomach started tightening, my breathing getting shallow. Increasing the pressure and pace only sped up my orgasm. I Brought my other hand up and rested it on my throat applying some force. 

Thinking of his words when I got close and when I would finish. "Fuck", I whispered as I fell over the edge, a warm sensation spreading throughput my body. My body heated, I leaned forwards and turned down the temperature of the water, needing to calm down. 

I want him.

Washing my hair with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Getting the body wash and cleaning up the small mess between my legs. 

When I finished I stepped out of the shower I dried off my body and started blow drying my hair in the bedroom. My hair was dry then I applied a small amount of makeup knowing if I add too much then it'll smudge. 

I threw on the dress, it fit pretty well considering I didn't remember buying it. 

Chloe opened the door, "You have some shoes." I said no and she gave me a pair of her black ones. They were a few inches tall making me now 5'8 instead of my normal 5'6. She smiled at me, "Ready?" I nodded and she walked out of the room, getting her keys. 

I quickly got my phone then rushed out with her. "I'm assuming we're going to a party?" 

"You know me so well, you might know these people if not that's fine. Please just try and enjoy yourself for once, you do way too much." Chloe was talking about how often I'm always at home studying or working and she's out with guys. That was her definition of 'fun'. 

We arrived and I knew that because I could hear the music blasting from a few streets away. She pulled up and parked a few houses down, we walked down the sidewalk and everyone could clearly see the LED lights flashing out of almost every window. 

There were students already lying in the grass outside, It looked like a scene from a movie. I thought it was hilarious though, trying to hold in my laughter as we passed the people knocked out.  

What the hell did I get myself into

Going inside Chloe was met with open arms from her friends from other classes. She held my arm and dragged me with her, "This is y/n, make sure she has fun. Y/n they are the people you'll be thanking later." I knew what her plan was... to get me drunk.

That wasn't happening by any means but I can at least fake it. Seeing as everyone in the house was drunk it wouldn't be too hard. One of her friends, Aiden approached me, "This isn't really your scene is it." I nervously laughed, "How'd you know?" 

"First you're just standing here, you're eyeballing everyone here with a faint look of disgust. Not that hard to figure out." He was completely right, I was making it quite obvious to many people. He took me to a more quiet part of the house, "How do you know Chloe?" 

Until now I've never really met any of her friends outside of Anthony and Andrew. "We've known each other since middle school, surprised you've never heard of me." 

"I wouldn't say she's a private person but I guess there's more to her than I realized." He handed me a red solo cup, I smelled it first making sure it wasn't anything else. I took a sip, beer. 

I hated the taste of beer, give me wine or a wine cooler. I'm fine but beer to me was just bitter. I swallowed it pretending to enjoy the taste. 

Aiden and I stayed in that corner for a few hours talking about interests and our plans when we graduated, it was nearing 12:30am and I knew I had to go home. Aiden stood up first offering me his hand, he helped me through the crowd of people that were left after the party died down. 

The heels weren't making it any easier to walk through the slumped people on the floor. "Don't worry about them", he murmured in my ear about a group of guys sitting on the couch watching me. 

As we made our way out, I was looking around for Chloe. 

There she was, pressed up against the wall with who I assume was a random guy but she knew people here. I rolled my eyes and walked out with Aiden. "Are you okay to go home?"

"Yeah uh- actually can you walk with me? I Can't drive right now and I'm not trying to walk home, alone, and slightly drunk." He took a deep breath and continued to walk with me. He wasn't bad company, there seemed to be an endless amount of topic to talk about with him. 

Every conversation led to a new one and that was something I always loved, how you know you just connected with someone. "Here's a good one", I raised my eyebrows waiting for him to ask. 

"Would you go out on a date with me?" 

I didn't know how to answer that, it stumped me. Not mattering if Chloe knew him and he was a 'good guy' I don't trust easily and I wasn't going to start anytime soon. I took that seriously with me, I was selective with the people I dated not wanting to choose someone who I thought was good for me then started beating me. 

I knew too many people with that exact story and I didn't want to be one of them. 

"I don't know", we got to my apartment and walked up the stairs. "What do you mean? I don't know, have the past few hours been fun?" Those words to me were taken as a red flag, I was getting the feeling that he was trying to manipulate me. 

"I mean yeah but I just- I'm sorry no." 

"Then why say no", we went to my door and I unlocked the door. "Let me try and change your mind." He leaned down and crashed his lips with mine, I kissed back for a second and he took that as a sign. My mind went into panic mode, I pulled away and punched him in the face. 

I snapped around, before I could shut the door Aiden shoved his foot in-between. "What the hell was that for." He pushed open the door and was holding his nose as blood poured out of his nose. He went into the kitchen and grabbed some paper towels to try and clean the mess. 

I slowly walked backwards down the hallway and into my room, slowly shutting my door. I heard footsteps coming closer and I backed away. "Y/n come on just give me a chance", he knocked on the door. But the longer I stayed silent the more aggressive he got. 

This is why I never went out, I can't just have fun without some meant thinking they were owed something after a few hours. Clearly Aiden had something to work out by himself. 

"Y/n, open the door", he clenched his fist and banged on the door. No one was coming, I lived with one person and that person was currently hooking up. I was alone in this, "Let me in." He pounded on the wood again with more force. 

Fear spread throughout my body masking the panic.

"Who the fuck are you?", Aiden was talking to someone out in the hallway. Hearing a second muffled voice they started to argue. I couldn't understand what the second person was saying. I've been to enough places to understand what a fight sounded like and what was happening outside was exactly that. 

It only lasted a few minutes and then there was silence. Unsure of who won or who the other person was, I decided to stay in my room. What the fuck is going on. 

Someone approached the door and softly knocked, "Y/n?" I walked to the door and unlocked it, slowly opening it. Hotch stood there with Aiden right behind him lying on the floor. I opened it wider and went into his arms. 

"I called the police", I nodded into his chest. His arms went around me on my lower back and his other hand on my head, holding me against him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

[whumpfigure]

They Are Both Scared

Hey, I finally wrote something more than 1k words! Yeay! I hope you enjoy it!

Tagging: @slaintetowhump @ashintheairlikesnow @liliability @ohmywhump @whumptywhumpdump @raigash @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @simplygrimly @whump-it @oceanthesarcasamfox @inky-whump @whumppsychology @inaridriscoll @rivertamandspike @spookyboywhump @faewhump

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, slavery, human trafficking, the BBU(box boy universe) general warnings, shock collars, electrocution, vaguely implied noncon(seriously, it's very hidden I doubt y'all can pick it up), implied whipping and caning, implied being forced inside cold water(hypothermia), starvation

Master had told Bastet about his new catsitter, two days before he actually brought him home. And Master had warned him, right there and then, that if anything like last time happens, he won't be so kind anymore. Bastet had shivered at that, the pain of the whip marks on his back worsening as if Master's threat brought them back to life. And he let out a sound from the back of his throat that resembled a cat's meow. Just how he'd been trained.

And now, two days later, he was kneeling on the rug in front of the front door, waiting for his Master to come back with this new guy. Again, just how he'd been trained. Position two, knees neatly folded, hands placed carefully on the thighs, shoulders back, head straight and eyes down.

When he heard Master open the door and come inside, he did not move, nor look up. He did not bring his eyes up to see the face of his new keeper. Not even when he started speaking, and asked Master where 'the cat' was. Not until Master walked up to him and put a hand on his head. That's when he pushed his head back into Master's touch, and his eyes landed on the man standing a couple of step away, in front of the door. The man - Javier, as he later learned - was wearing a dark red sweater over a white botton up. Like the one Master liked him to wear when they had guests. His brown eyes were behind a pair of rectangular glasses, and his dark brown hair was pushed out of his face. Nothing about him seemed intimidating. In fact, he looked even nerdy. But again, Michael - the previous catsitter - did not seem intimidating either, at first.

He watched as Master explained some things to Javier. Watched as different emotions passed through his eyes. At first confusion. Then something like disgust. And, finally, anger. Although it was subtle, and he doubt his Master even picked it up, but it was still there. Passing through Javier's eyes and lightening them like some kind of fire. And it terrified Bastet. Because anger, as far as Bastet was concerned, never meant anything good. It didn't matter if Master was angry at him, or at someone in work, or anything else. It always ended up with Bastet being in pain and crying.

He was so deep in these thoughts, that he did not understand Master and Javier leaving to other parts of the house. And only realized it when the sound of Master's suitcase being dragged through the hallway reached his ears. And Master came towards him, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. "Be careful what I've warned you, pretty one. Don't let anything like last time happens, hm?"

Master's hot breath against his ear, and the threat in his voice, made him shiver. And he meowed his whimper-like meow to show Master that he'd understood. After that, Master let out a satisfied sound, petted his hair, and stood up to leave.

"Take good care of him." Master called out as he got out of the house and closed the door behind him.

And just like that, Bastet was left alone with his keeper. Again. And it was terrifying. He remembered what happened on his first day alone with Michael. And it sent shivers down his spine.

"So, Bastet, is it true what they say? About box boys?" He had asked, and Bastet had only stared at him. Not allowed to talk. "That you will do whatever you are told?" He had come closer and closer to Bastet, and he noticed the remote control to his shock collar when it was too late, as the electricity ran through his muscles. "Oh, this was fun!" Michael had said with a grin on his face. "Well, I guess we'll find out about those rumors."

Bastet looked up to find the new keeper. To beg him somehow - nonverbal as he was right now, with his collar on - to not hurt him. But the man was nowhere to be seen. Panic washed over him as he realized he didn't know this man at all, and could not predict when, where, and how he would strike. He didn't know the games he might play.

Just as he was drowing in these thoughts, the sound of running water came from the bathroom's direction, and Bastet paled.

Not an ice bath. Please. Please not an ice bath. Please. It's already cold in the house. Please don't make me be colder. He thought as his body unconciously moved towards the fireplace. To treasure some last strands of warmth before he was left freezing for the night.

So, he curled up against the couch near the fireplace, and prayed to whatever gods might be there to keep him safe, now that his Master was gone.

But the sound of water finishes soon after he settles beside the couch. So soon. Too soon to have been the sound of the bathtub filling up. And this time Bastet frowns. What else could Javier be planning?

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Bastet heard Javier's footsteps as he moved from the bathroom towards the kitchen. But Bastet did not try assuming what would happen anymore, and decided to just calm his nerves while he can. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop it. So instead, he just focused on the warmth coming from the fireplace, and imagined that his Master was home, and that he was petting him as he curled up against his feet. Michael barely ever petted him. And when he did, it was usually after he-

Footsteps came out of the kitchen and distrupted Bastet's thoughts. And with the footsteps came a strong spicy smell of food. Bastet's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten anything since morning. And even that had been only a mouthful of bacons and a bowl of milk, and nothing more. He was starving. But he did not dare raise his eyes from behind his knees. Not yet. Not until he heard Javier say that he had made the food for him.

"I'm gonna leave it here on the TV table, ok? Come pick it up whenever you felt like it." Javier said, as he slowly put the plate down on the table, and turned to go back to the kitchen.

The food on the table was warm and still steaming a bit. The smell was spicy and familiar and intoxicating to his empty stomach. He was just about lunging for the food when the reality hit him. It was not in his cat bowl. It was in one of Master's many expensive porcelain dishes, with his even more expensive silverware on the top. It wasn't like he wasn't allowed to eat from Master's dishes. If anything Master liked to have Bastet lick them clean after some meals. But now, without his Master here, and with no permission from neither him now Javier, he definately was not supposed to eat from that.

It might have been a test, from Javier. To test him. To see if he got the hints and he was smart enough to not assume he was allowed things. Or maybe, Javier would come back and sit on the couch, put the plate on his lap, and give some scraps of food to Bastet while he ate the food himself.

So Bastet waited, for a while. Waited to see if Javier would come back. But soon enough, the sound of spoon and fork hitting the plate came from the kitchen and indicated that Javier was eating his own food there. Bastet's stomach growled a second time, and he was trying so hard to not just go to the plate and eat a few bites of the food. Because a few bites would be ok, right? Javier would not understand. Except that he would. They always did. Master once caught him eating a single strawberry from a basket full of them. Bastet was caned 20 times for that.

So instead of sitting there just a few steps away from the cursed plate and fighting the urge to eat, he got up - for he was allowed to walk on his feet unless Master ordered otherwise - and moved towards the stairs, and Master's bedroom above them. For he'd learnt long ago, that sleep helps with hunger. It might not reduce the feeling, but you will not be conscious enough to care.

When he got to Master's bedroom, he went straight towards his bed - cat bed - besides Master's king sized one, and laid down. Curling up to fit inside the not-so-big circular shape of it. But sleep proved to be difficult, and he found himself staring at the far wall of the room, thinking of nothing in particular.

Just as his eyes were starting to warm, and sleep was slowly making its way to him, he heard a voice. Javier's voice. Calling out his name from downstairs. It started as a quiet voice, muffled by the walls between them. And gained volume everytime he called out and Bastet did not answer. Could not answer. Speaking was not allowed unless Master specifically told him to. So he stayed silent as Javier's voice got louder, and closer, as he moved from room to room looking for him. And he curled up tighter on his bed, trying to make himself smaller, invisible, to stay safe from Javier's rage. Because in Bastet's world, only two things caused loud voices. Pain, and fury.

When the door to the bedroom burst open, and Javier rushed inside towards Bastet - while muttering a thank god under his breath - Bastet was practically shaking with silent sobs.

"Bast? Hey, hey are you ok?" Javier asked, and that made Bastet sob even harder, unable to stop. And suddenly, accidentally, one of his many quiet sobs turned audible. The collar was quick to pick it as a non-identified sound - for the only identified ones were cat noises - and sent a strong bolt of electricity through Bastet's small form. And he screamed. Pain filling up his senses, and making his muscles tense, and then go limp as the shock stopped. It took everything in Bastet to not crying out and earn another shock, and he forced his voice down, and let the tears do the job that the voice should have done, and soothe his pain.

Bastet wasn't quite there enough to notice that Javier was panicking beside him, and that he rushed outside, scrambling to get his phone and dial Jenna's number. He did not hear Javier talk to Jenna in impossibly rapid English, trying to figure out what to do with a terrified boxboy that had just endured a strong electric shock. And by the time Jenna managed to calm Javier down enough, and helped him know what to do, Bastet's exhausted mind had fallen into sleep.

[fvckyouimaprophet]

forever playing catch-up. my submission for @swottypotter‘s 10 days of healing mini-fest, day two: honesty. 

summary: peter mixes up the hangover potion with the veritaserum sirius nabbed from professor slughorn’s office.

“And now!” James says, glancing at table up front, where the professors have finally all looked away from the students, lost in conversation. 

They slide their cups over to Peter, who—despite fumbling—quickly pulls his hand out of his robes in a tightly clenched fist. Remus barely catches the glimmer of light against the glass of the vial before Peter tips it over each of their drinks and pockets it again.

“Wait!” James says, and they drop their gazes back down at their plates, focusing on the food in front of them. “Okay, go, go, go!”

Finally, they each grab their cups and take a sip. A wave a relief washes over Remus, and his shoulders drop as he chuckles. “Remind me not to get talked into drinking with you lot on a Sunday night again,” he says as he downs half his coffee. “This hangover is murderous.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius says and runs his hands through his hair, moving it out of his face. “I feel like a corpse. I think I finally get why my father kept that mead for special occasions.”

“He’s going to kill you when he finds out you nabbed it from him over the holidays,” Peter says and frowns.

“They’ll probably think one of the house-elves got into it or think it was Reg.” Sirius glances over his shoulder, and Remus follows his gaze to where his brother sits at the Slytherin table, lost in conversation with Avery and Mulciber. Sirius’s eyes darken for a moment before he turns back around sharply enough that it makes him wince and his hand reaches up to his forehead. “Not that he could do any wrong in their eyes.”

“Fuck him,” James says, nudging Sirius lightly, and Sirius nods as if convincing himself.

“Anyway, we should probably finish eating. McGonagall will kill us if we’re late to Transfiguration.” Sirius stabs a fork into his eggs. “Merlin, I swear this potion isn’t working the way it usually does.”

Remus agrees. The dull throbbing in the back of his head is still there, and when Mary Macdonald drops her fork half a table away, he stiffens as it rings in his ears. “Did you brew it properly?” he asks James.

“Don’t be daft. I could do this with a blindfold practically at this point.”

“Peter.” Sirius’s voice, low and tense, startles both him and James. The wrinkle between his eyes deepens as he points with his fork. “What color was the vial?”

Peter looks down in his robes. “Green. Why?” 

Sirius’s cheeks turn red. “It’s always purple. Why did you grab the green vial?”

“What’s in the green vial?” Remus asks, suddenly alarmed. He looks down at his cup, but the coffee looks and smells no different.

“Veritaserum,” Sirius says after a beat. “I stole it from Professor Slughorn’s cabinet. I was hoping to use some on Snivellus to— Well, I hadn’t figured out what exactly to do with it yet.”

“You’re telling me I have a full day of classes, and I just drank Veritaserum?” James asks. “How much did you put in there?”

“I don’t know. A lot!” If the look by Peter’s face is anything to go by, Remus is certain that it will not be wearing off anytime soon.

“Well, fuck.” Sirius falls back in his seat. “Well, no one ask any embarrassing questions, and we should be fine.”

The implication of what they’ve just done hits Remus full-force, and he feels his chest tighten as his breath quickens. The room swims for a moment, and he glances over at Sirius. Even now, Sirius looks charming and frustratingly at ease. He pushes his hair back out of his face with one hand and pulls a hair tie off his wrist with his teeth.

“I’m going to go,” Remus says, careful to with his choice of words. He stands quickly and pulls his satchel over his shoulder. Before he can walk away, however, Sirius speaks up.

"Can you grab the other vial while you’re at it? You know—the purple one.” He shoots Peter a look, and Peter sinks in his seat.

“Will do,” Remus says, and he turns on his heels and walks out of the Great Hall before his friends can say another word.

- - - 

Avoiding Sirius is harder than Remus images. He has to be careful not to try to give an excuse any time he leaves, knowing that lying is impossible. He catches the question in James and Sirius’s eyes each time he darts out after class, letting them know that he’ll see them later.

Lunch creeps by as well. With each question, he jumps, anxiously awaiting a wrong step. And by the time it’s over, Remus darts to the library with an apologetic explanation that he is headed to the library.

He’s anxious enough that he can hardly swallow more than a few bites, but despite his hunger, by the time dinner rolls around, Remus makes the decision not to go. The Astronomy Tower is thankfully empty, and he perches himself in the sill of a large window, staring outside and wondering how much longer the potion has.

“Thought you could use a bite to eat.” Remus startles and turns to see Sirius leaning against the doorframe, napkin and pasties in hand. “I managed to grab a few,” he says and tilts his head as he surveys Remus up and down.

“Sorry I missed dinner.” He frowns, wanting desperately to follow it up with some sort of excuse—that he wasn’t hungry or didn’t feel well—but finding himself unable to do so with the lingering effects of the potion.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me. Everyone knows.” Sirius crosses the room and motions to the sill besides Remus. “Can I join you, or do you want to be alone?”

“I want to be alone, but you can join me,” Remus says and rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable by his own admission. After a moment, he takes the pasties from Sirius’s outstretched hand and sets the napkin in his lap. “Thanks for the food. I’m actually quite hungry.” As if for show, his stomach growls.

Sirius laughs, and his hand sits on top of Remus’s shoulder. Remus’s breath hitches, aware of the weight of Sirius’s hand against him. His eyes shut, and he swallows thickly, trying to compose himself.

“I thought we didn’t do secrets.” When Remus opens his eyes again, Sirius is staring straight at him, any trace of a smile gone. His eyes search Remus’s as if looking for an explanation, and Remus’s heart races. His fingers tighten into fists, and he frowns as he feels the sweat on his palms.

“Only this one,” he says.

“And if I asked you what it was, and you weren’t being forced to tell the truth, would you tell me what’s been bothering you all day?”

“No.” When he sees the flicker of hurt, Remus opens his mouth to explain more, but he stumbles trying to find the right words and shuts it once more. “I’m scared of ruining things,” he says instead and unfurls his fingers before picking at the crust on the food in front of him.

“I have a theory.” Sirius’s eyes narrow, and his hand moved to Remus’s jaw, holding his head in place so that their eyes stay locked. “I’ll make one guess, and if I’m right, will you tell me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I wouldn’t leave you without one, Moony. If you’d prefer, I won’t guess at all. But if you let me guess, I need to know if I’m right.” Remus considers for a moment and then nods. Sirius waits to see if Remus has more to say and then continues. “Do you love me?”

A buzzing starts in his ears, and although his whole body trembles, Remus nods again. “I love James and Peter too,” he says, and Sirius smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You always were clever at talking your way out of things.” Sirius’s hand drops, but his gaze doesn’t. “Are you in love with me?”

His mind rushes. There is no hiding from the truth now—Remus knows. The buzzing in his head swells, and his eyes start to burn as he nods one last time. He’s never had good control over certain reactions, but sitting in front of Sirius makes him feel exposed and raw. Remus bites the inside of his cheek, and the flash of pain does its job to ground him in reality again.

“I really don’t know what to do with you sometimes,” Sirius says, and Remus’s face flushes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“It’s not a secret. I know you love me. James knows. Hell, I think even Peter does.”

The room stills. “What do you mean?”

“For a while, I wondered if you were waiting on something in particular to tell me.” Remus’s throat closes. A wave of shame runs over him at the thought of Peter seeing through him; he had been so sure that he had hidden it well. His gaze drops to the food, and his hunger dissipates. 

“I see.”

“Then I wondered if I’d misunderstood.” When Remus says nothing he continues. “Would it change anything to know that you’re not the only one who feels that way?”

The buzzing stops, and for the first time, Remus is aware of how quiet it is in the Astronomy Tower. Up here, away from the chirping of the crickets, there is nothing but stillness, and against it, the sound of his breathing fills the room. Remus braces himself and quashes the bubble of hope before it can blossom into something bigger. Then, he looks up.

“Oh.”

Sirius’s eyes are soft and warm, leaving no room for interpretation to bend the truth around. “You idiot,” Sirius murmurs, and he bends down, closing the gap until their lips touch.

Sirius’s touch is light at first, nothing more than a graze of the lips—a question. But a thrill rides through Remus, and he reaches up, fingers tightening around Sirius’s robes until he’s holding on for life, terrified to let go. He parts his lips and deepens the kiss, whimpering when Sirius’s tongue darts out and runs over his lips, easing them further.

Before he can settle, there’s a light thud, and Sirius pulls back. Remus falls forward at the suddenness of the empty space in front of him. It takes him a moment to realize that his food has fallen to the floor. Yet when he lurches to pick it up, Sirius’s hand settles on his chest, and gently, he stops him.

“Remus.”

Their eyes meet again, and they kiss.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 3

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Mortuary

There were always one or two friends in your life who you're never afraid will scold you or hang up on you in the early morning hours, even if the reason is because you had a nightmare about potatoes in your home growing lots of hair. Yin Zhou was this person to Lin Yan. He had two long strands of messy hair on his head, always wore unwashed shirts, and the eyes under his glasses could never focus because of how long he had spent gaming.

They grew up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same elementary school, middle school and high school, and they were each that "brilliant other child" in the eyes of both their parents. Since childhood, Lin Yan, regardless of how hard he worked, achieved the high grades that Yin Zhou could have achieved if he didn't skip class every day. No matter how good his grades were, his parents would praise Lin Yan for his diligent and hard work. After the college entrance exam, the two drank a glass of wine as a farewell and celebrated them parting ways. Unexpectedly, Yin Zhou missed half a page of questions while writing the math papers, but he still went to the same university as Lin Yan, so almost two. So the friendship continued with the constant cycle of loving and hating each other.

Later, they were divided by their majors. Yin Zhou studied electronics and Lin Yan studied history. From then on, there was little crossover with the two majors. Without the pressure of competition, the two of them became much closer, playing games, flirting with girls, talking about politics; there was no end to their activities.

The 'regular place' referred to the bar.

When Lin Yan walked in, he saw Yin Zhou shooting his shot with a girl at the bar unsuccessfully. Lin Yan called his name several times before he turned around. Yin Zhou opened a bottle of beer and his eyes widened: " Yo, you weren't responding to any of my calls or texts. Were you on a date?"

Lin Yan drank half the bottle in single breath, and said calmly, "I've got lost and was going around in circles."

"Got lost?!" Yin Zhou stared at him for a long time. Seeing that Lin Yan wasn't joking, he couldn't help but smile and said, "Are you feeling alright? If you're feeling sick, let this brother take you to the hospital."

Lin Yan was in a weird mood because of all the strange events that had happened. Now, his voice wasn't very strong either. He simply put down the beer bottle, put his hands on the table, raised his voice and shouted into Yin Zhou's ears: "I! Saw! A! Ghost!!"

His voice was so loud that most of the people at the bar heard him. They turned to look at him like he was crazy.

Yin Zhou hid his face behind his hand and muttered about how embarrassing it was. After thinking about it, he raised his head and said with a dazed expression: "Was it a female ghost? Was it pretty?"

Lin Yan was at a loss for words and the muscles on his face twitched.

Then Lin Yan explained all the night's occurrences to Yin Zhou in extreme detail, but he started regretting it halfway through. Yin Zhou obviously was eating it up, and a pair of unfocused eyes were shining with an excitement that couldn't be matched in ten thousand years. He rubbed his hands together and stammered when he heard the section of the figure under the street light: "This is too unscientific, or maybe it's too scientific. I'll apply to use one of the labs tomorrow, maybe I can figure this out!"

Lin Yan wanted to smash the beer bottle on his head.

"You seem busy, I'll head out first."

Yin Zhou caught him before he walked away and scratched his head: "Alright, alright. I'm just kidding. Have a drink first and we can go back to my place afterwards."

"Let's be optimistic. If that thing is a guy, then you've got to get rid of him immediately. If it's a woman, then she should definitely get down on her knees to see what is under your jeans."

Lin Yan was actually very grateful to him when he drove Yin Zhou all the way to his house. He thought that unreliable people would have unreliable benefits. No matter how weird things were, he would really listen to them, but he immediately regretted it once they reached his apartment. The reason was simple: Yin Zhou's room was dirty and no living person would ever be found in this room.

The sight that Lin Yan was faced with when he stepped in the door made him scream inside. It's better to go home and be scared to death by ghosts. God only knows how he lives like this. It was a 10-square metre rental with rubbish and clothes littering the floor. There were mountains of instant noodle boxes on the table. Some of them were being used as ashtrays and there were cigarette butts floating in the murky soup. He had no idea how long they were left there, but they were exuded a rancid smell.

The laptop was thrown on the bed, and there was a line of characters moving across the screen. Yin Zhou rushed to take a look, and groaned: "It's been going on repeatedly. The program has to be changed." After he was done talking, he didn't pay any more attention to Lin Yan. He leaned against the headboard, flipping through his notebook and clicked to stop debugging, tapping on his keyboard with his long fingers.

"There is food in the cupboard. If you get hungry, grab something to eat."

Lin Yan opened the cabinet and inspected Yin Zhou’s selection. Various brands of instant noodles, rice vermicelli, pickled mustard greens, a large number of ham sausages that were about to expire. . . If this guy croaks one day, the number of preservatives in him would help him survive for at least thirty more years. If ancient people had eaten things like this, it could've saved conservation historians so much time.

"Do you have any clean clothes? Mine are soaked from the rain. Could you lend me some dry clothes first."

"There's some on the ground. Grab those."

After feeling Lin Yan's murderous glare, Yin Zhou reluctantly got up and slowly opened the wicker basket at the foot of his bed: "Yes, yes, my mother comes to wash my clothes once a week, and the clean ones are here."

After speaking, he threw him a graphic t-shirt.

"You earn so much from your projects yet you live in such a shabby place. You don't even own a washing machine, and that quality of life is catching up with you. Aren't you afraid that your arrogant old man won't give you money to marry a wife in the future? Lin Yan took off his shirt, stretched the t-shirt over his head and put it on. With the shirt over his head, he asked in a muffled voice: "Help me find a pair of pants."

Yin Zhou threw his hands up and said with disdain: "You're being so picky. A person uses so much stuff when they are alive but when they're dead, they only need a coffin. Why are you being so particular about this?" After finishing speaking, Yu Guang looked at Lin Yan with a smirk. : "Xiao Linzi's figure is good, the fitness card is not for nothing."

He glanced at Lin Yan with his peripheral vision and gave a sly smirk: "Little Brother Lin is in good shape, your gym membership wasn't bought in vain."

"Don't you dare call me Little Brother Lin, I'll show you want a real man is!" Lin Yan picked up the electric kettle that was thrown by the bed, wiped off the ashes, and smacked his lips.

Lin Yan picked up the electric kettle that was thrown near the bed, wiped off a handful of cigarette ashes, and smacked his lips.

"Disgusting."

Yin Zhou ignored him and spoke to himself as he flipped through his suitcase. "I remember I had a pair of new jeans, where are they going. . . Huh? What's this? Did my mother leave her clothes in here?"

This was. . .

The body was made of red satin, black lining, with loose sleeves that hung down, and there was heavy embroidery around the wrists. Yin Zhou shook it out curiously. Just as he was about to hold it up to compare it to his body, Lin Yan cried out: "Put that down, don't touch it!"

Looking at Lin Yan's pale face, Yin Zhou also noticed that something was wrong, so he threw the red clothes on the bed.

"These are mortuary clothes. It's for the dead." Lin Yan said weakly.

Yin Zhou's face also changed.

"This thing doesn't belong here."

Yin Zhou looked around his room, as if to relieve the nervous atmosphere, he laughed twice: "Is it wrong? How about I call my mother and ask if she left it."

Yin Zhou looked around his room. Trying to break the tense atmosphere, he laughed twice: "Was this a mistake? How about I call my mother and ask if she put it in here?"

Lin Yan looked at the clothes and said dejectedly: "No need, I believe you."

He was getting angry, thinking that this thing was trying to provoke him no matter what, and now it was involving his friend. He was clearly trying to get a reaction out of him.

For a while, both of them were speechless. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Under the light of the bright light, the red clothes were laid straight out on the bed like paper. Despite its bright colour, it was gloomy and had a terrifying appearance. The ancient style and the luxurious fabrics exuded such a cold atmosphere that it was like the sun had never touched it.

Ten minutes later.

Lin Yan picked up the car key on the table. He sighed and said to Yin Zhou: "I'm going back home. This thing is coming after me, staying here will only hurt you."

Yin Zhou spat out: "Don't give me that bullshit. It would be stupid to go back by yourself, just stay here."

What Lin Yan wanted to say was interrupted by Yin Zhou: "We're close enough that you're wearing my pants. Won't I be the one that will have to explain what happened to your parents if there's an accident? Don't mess with me. We'll talk about this in the morning."

After talking, yin Zhou searched under the bed for a while. He found another notebook and handed it to Lin Yan: "Do you think a ghost would be able to scare us to death? Hurry up, let's get some kills on Dota!"

Lin Yan was silent for a while, opened his notebook, and said with a smile: "You asked for it, I won't go easy on you!"

The light flickered and dimmed, and the room became more and more gloomy. Lin Yan knew instinctively that something was staring at him somewhere in the room. Maybe it had a pale face, wrapped in a red mortuary, and said sorrowfully: Your death is approaching.

This must be the weirdest night in his 22 years of life, Lin Yan thought. Once the sky begins to get bright, things will be over by dawn.

The red mortuary was like a long, stiff corpse lying on the bed, the sleeves folded across the front as if to remind him that this was only the beginning.

[roses-ruby]

Come Home To Me Darling | Drabble

So aha I am a scammer cause I said I wouldn’t do this but here we are 🤡 Actually I just have pretty bad writer's block for most of my other WIPs so yeet anything that makes me feel like a real writer right now really helps. The drabble originated from this ask.

Based off of this original story: CHTMD

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

Word Count: 3k

“And so that’s how I got my hands on those beautiful roses.”

The bunny toothed man smiles and messes with his hair for the third time – pinching the edges of his side bangs and straightening his back even further. He was nervous, maybe even more than you.

“Your sister sounds very kind.” You giggle

“She is! Both her and my mother…they would love to meet you.”

The sincerity in his voice melts your heart, even though you felt yourself tense at the very thought of meeting his family. This was obviously not something you had to fret over at the moment, but your feverish mind continues to plague you with useless concerns. Like if your hair was out of place, or if you had something on your teeth or if you should touch up your makeup again.

And one from further below, asking you where he went after you left. As if you ever knew.

“___?” You hear a sweet voice gently call out your name. The silk warmth of a large hand drapes over yours that lies perfectly still on the creamy tablecloth.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright? You seem distracted…”

“Oh! N-No- I mean yes, I’m fine.” With rushed words, you squeeze his hand back. Your heart pounding loudly when he blushes and beams.

Although that was a lie and more than anything, you wished you could tell him the truth. About how uncertain you were of everything right now. How much it hurt to sit still. It was just a few days ago that you officially ended your seven-year relationship, and nothing made sense anymore. Everything inside you was antsy.

“I hope this place is alright for you.” Jungkook quips, as bright as ever.

“It’s wonderful.” You smile with your eyes as you watch him purse his lips. Jimin never said anything like that when you went out. For him…he always had this confident air about him, and some might say he was filled to the brim with arrogance when it concerned you. That there wasn’t a doubt in his mind when he was with you. Perhaps all of it could be blamed on your submission for the vixen. Submission you’ve grown to resent.

“I know you’ll love this place.”

He’d say whenever he took you out. The small amount of times he did, that is. And maybe that’s why you remember all of them so well – since there wasn’t much to remember. Not much but him...the way he’d smile, the twinkle in his eyes. But unlike most times, thinking about him didn’t bring you any happiness. Instead you felt a bitter taste around your mouth. Something you wanted to wash away quickly.

“Wine.” Whispering out loud, you stare at the empty wine glass beside your cutlery. The fidgeting man in front of you gasps underneath his breath, quickly gesturing for a waiter. You were awfully thankful he did since you were never good at even these tiny public interactions. Jimin always did everything for you too.

The waiter hurried over, standing with his hand behind his back like a true professional. Jungkook asked for the finest bottle of wine and you had to hide a grin at him trying to impress you with his wine knowledge. When the waiter brought over a Nebbiolo, he insisted on opening it himself.

“J-Jungkook…” You say quietly, watching the muscle bunny struggle with the cork. “Maybe we should call for the waiter again.”

“It’s alright!” He says, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I got it. I’ve opened many…many wines before.”

Right…you forgot how competitive he was, you think as you try not to break into laughter at his earnestness. Would Jimin do something like this? You don’t think you’ve ever had to watch Jimin struggle for anything. Except for the day you left him. Inevitably your mind wandered back to your apartment and you couldn’t help but wonder where he was, right now, in this moment. For some reason you were worried…it wasn’t like you heard anything back from him. Which was an occurrence you thought you’d be used to by now.

What did you expect him to say though? Of course, you wouldn’t see him again. You laid your feelings – or lack thereof out for him clearly and that chapter of your life was now closed. So, what were you expecting? Maybe a part of you wanted the grand Hollywood ending. One where the guy realizes his mistakes and apologizes for hurting you.

Because that was the main truth wasn’t it…you were hurt, weren’t you?

You were startled out of your thoughts when you heard a loud pop and the icky sensation of something wet splashing all over you. Your jaw drops open as you make eye contact with Jungkook who had a similar expression – if not one more horrified.

_

“I’m so, so, so, so, sorry.”

“I know, I know, I get it Jungkook. You don’t have to apologize a million times.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the pain in the assailant’s voice. He sounded like he was about to cry.

A white blouse may have been a bad idea for a first date after all. What did you wear on your first date with Jimin? Green, wasn’t it?

You remove your top, cringing at the way the soiled cloth stuck to your skin. The cramped stall of the restroom reminded you of that night – for the shortest second before you shook your head awake. No way did you want to recall that horrible night where you lost yourself for a moment…in that space…with that man….and his talented fingers.

Taehyung…

Again, you shake your body in denial to wake yourself up and end up hitting your elbow against the wall. You bite your lip to hold yourself back from screaming out in agony.

“___? Are you alright?” Comes the concerned voice of Jeon Jungkook.

“Mm- Just fine!” You chuckle awkwardly, trying to conceal the wound in your own voice.

With a sigh, you hold up your blouse in front of you, checking on the damage. Those hours you spent fretting and whining about your first date outfit were officially for nothing. Irene was gonna kill you. And you didn’t even have anything extra to cover yourself with.

As soon as you think that, an overhead draping sound distracts you from the issue in your hands. You look up, surprised to see Jungkook’s black coat hanging on the wall.

“W…wear my coat for now…just until we get the stain out of your shirt…”

“…Alright. T-thank you.”

Hesitantly, you pull down his coat and hold it in your hands. Oh…it smells like him. Not wanting Jungkook to wait outside any longer, you quickly put the coat on and button it up, trying to ignore the way his cologne engulfed your senses.

You step out slowly, mingling with the fabric of your blouse until you meet Jungkook’s gaze.

“O-oh…” He breathes out, his eyes widening and hand rushing up to itch the back of his head. There was a lot he had to say about the way you looked, wrapped up in his coat…the way you had to roll up the sleeves, and the way the collar was too loose, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Jungkook always wore baggy clothes but he didn’t realize just how big they’d be on other people. More specifically, you.

“The…umm…your short- I mean shirt- ahem shirt,” He coughs, extending his hand, “I’ll take care of it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. What did he mean ‘take care of it’?

Nonetheless, you hand it to him.

He rushes to the sink and your face falls when he turns on the faucet.

“Jungkook!” You run up behind him. He rolls up his dress sleeves and you couldn’t help but peek at the veins protruding in his arms. Just for a teeny second.

“I-I don’t think, aha I mean- I just bought this today!” You laugh breathlessly, “I can just you know…d-d-dry cleaning is a thing, you know that, right? Dry cleaning?”

“I couldn’t allow you to waste your money because of me!” He states assuringly, “Don’t worry, I am a god at laundry. Back home – I do all the clothes, my mom and sister’s too. I’ve cleaned many things, don’t worry!”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as you receive déjà vu from a similar situation just a few minutes ago. But while you’re meditating on what to say, he dips your blouse underneath the open faucet and begins scrubbing away vigorously. All that was left to do was watch.

Helplessly.

As your top becomes sopping wet. As the restroom slowly starts resembling a crime scene. As the red liquid spreads everywhere – the rest of your blouse, the ceramic sink, the bunny’s hands.

Soon, the faucet is turned off and you’re left in the silence of the laundry disaster aftermath.

You scoff, staring at your irreversibly ruined blouse.

Jungkook gulps, holding the wet mesh still as the water drips into the sink and down the drain.

“I…again, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for dry cleaning- actually that’s what I should have offered in the first place, I-I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. A-actually sometimes I can be pretty dumb! My sister says that I should probably learn to understand facial cues, but I-I don’t know, I’m pretty dense you know? I-”

“Pfft.” You purse your lips.

“Huh?”

Another snicker leaves you at his petrified doe eyes. His own shirt was slightly ruined with wine splatters and his hair was fussed up with how much energy he spent in scrubbing your shirt. He looked so silly holding your blob of a top over the sink and rambling on with a voice that stuttered and squeaked.

Your shoulders start shaking the more you try to stop yourself. But it fails and suddenly, you burst out into a colorful shade of laughter.

Jungkook stares at you with a blank expression.

“I-I’m sorr-” You manage to make out, “I-It’s just…well…I thought I was bad at dates…”

You stiffen up after your confession, wondering how he would react. The truth was, Jungkook was too damn cute and there was no way you could be mad at him and his sincerity. Knowing your now ex, he’d throw a whiny tantrum. So, for a second- because your brain was still wrongly wired, you prepare for that particular situation. For him to whine like Jimin.

But it never comes. Instead, you watch your date break out into the biggest smile of his own. Complete with the bunny teeth and dimples.

“I guess…I am pretty bad at dates…” He chuckles and you nod, laughing along.

Huh…it was different.

You both stand there; you with your soaked bra and men’s coat and him with his colored dress shirt and arms dampened with watery red – like the two biggest dorks with the biggest grins on your faces. Like there was no one else in the world. And you can’t remember a similar time where you’ve laughed like this with Jimin. But actually…you don’t care.

Until you hear the door open and the sound of heels step into the foyer. You both whirl your heads towards the restaurant’s restroom doorway and spot an old lady in heavy makeup, who stops in her tracks when she spots you both and stares back with an equally startled expression.

Her confusion turns to horror and she gasps as she glances at the bloody wine-stained blouse in Jungkook’s hands.

You turn back to Jungkook with wide eyes, who immediately turns back to you.

“We should go.”

“Right. I’ll walk you home.”

_

The wind blows through your strands and you hold Jungkook’s hand just a little bit tighter to stop yourself from feeling a chill.

You weren’t sure what it was, but the city was brighter than usual tonight. The reason was most likely the fact that you don’t get out much – or you haven’t until just recently. There was an amorous muted illumination on the streets you walked along. Since you were so used to a certain confined area, when you stepped out into the fast-paced world, you were much more observant. Of all the vivid colors and gales of the night. And of the tall buildings that laid asleep, and the pavement against your feet.

And especially of the quiet man next to you.

It wasn’t hauntingly soundless or lonely as your days on the terrace either. Many people still lingered the perimeter since your date was cut short by some special accidents and it was still early out. Compared to them, you and Jungkook moved at a much slower rate, in a hush as if to stall the moment. Make it last for a second- a minute- a while longer.

Was Jimin’s silence this serene? No, it wasn’t. You often spent time hating yourself between the hushed cracks of your relationship. When he was speaking, all you could think about was him. How you’d do anything for him. When he wasn’t…you wanted to strangle the pain out of your heart. The pain caused by his lies and infidelity.

“This is it…” You say, as you look up at Irene’s apartment building.

“You live here with your friend, right?”

“Mhm, my friend who’s going to kill me for coming back early. Maybe that’s for the best since that lady thinks I’m a murderer now. Her and whoever finds my shirt in the restroom’s trash.”

Jungkook lets out a breathless laugh, “I know I’m just repeating myself, but I really am sorry about spilling wine on you, and then ruining your shirt. And not knowing that you were my boss- My god! I mean I just spoke to you so casually arghh-”

He begins to ruffle his hair in frustration and embarrassment, but you step close to him and grab his wrists.

“Oh please, Jungkook, I’m the one who should have told you straight up! I think…I just enjoyed how casual you were around me. It didn’t feel like I was putting up a false pretense, even if I was. I had fun…I always have fun with you.”

I’m always me when I’m with you. Jungkook removes his arms from his face so he could take a good look at you, watching the way the night air played with your hair. You were so beautiful, so graceful, and he wondered if you knew it.

“Me too…I have fun with you. That one pretty donut really sparked up the best challenge.”

You smile at his reply and he had to do everything in his power to stop himself from kissing you.

“Hey, uhm…” Jungkook stares at the ground, replacing the wrists in your hands with his palms. “I don’t know if…would you like to see me again? S-soon? I mean…i-if you want.”

He really was the most endearing man, you think, as you watch him stutter. The complete opposite of your ex-husband.

Your smile falls.

When you don’t answer, Jungkook looks back up at you apprehensively.

“___? Do you not want to see me again?”

You still didn’t answer him…you couldn’t. Even the night couldn’t stop him from glowing. From the scar on his cheek, to his fluffy mess of hair, to his pink lips you tried your best not to leer at. He was undeniably handsome. Here was this beautiful young soul who gave you true laughter and a swooning heart for the first time in seven years, and then here was you. Someone who compared him to her ex the whole date.

Someone who thought about her ex the whole date.

And why was that? Didn’t you say that you didn’t love Jimin? That was true. You spent many hours in conversation with yourself and when you look inside, you don’t love Park Jimin. But it’s not so easy to forget everything else, is it? Seven years isn’t just some passed time – it’s a way of life.

You were someone for seven years and that someone happened to be the woman who loved Park Jimin.

It wasn’t easy to forget, no matter how desperately you wanted to. The thing that infuriated you the most was that you had done nothing wrong. Why were you the one so broken inside? You didn’t cheat, you didn’t lie, you did nothing that was considered erroneous. So why you and not him? He should be the one who has to second guess everything…the one who feels scared and helpless and lost.

The one who has to carry all the pain.

You wish you could easily hand over your heart because it’s too big of a burden for you. There was a slight chance that the man in front of you could hold onto it safely.

But in reality, it was a broken and damaged heart. The shards carried more weight than anyone should bear. You were still caught in your feelings and Jungkook didn’t deserve that. Neither did you.

In the end, it was your responsibility. No matter how unfair it was and how resentful you felt towards Park Jimin. You made a mental note to mention about all these matters to Lin on your next appointment.

“__-”

“Jungkook I-”

You both interrupt each other’s thoughts. When you catch his eyes, Jungkook silently urges you to continue.

“Jungkook…I…I just got out of a seven-year relationship.”

For a moment, you wait for his reaction. He looks slightly taken aback, but nothing too extreme.

“And I’m…I’m not…ready yet. I’m not ready for another one.”

Jungkook nods, staring at you and then back at the pavement. It hurt your chest to reject him like this, but he deserved the truth.

“D-do you still-”

“He was my husband.”

His eyes shoot back to you, shock written along his young features. You look deep into his shiny orbs, before tightening the hold on his hands.

“Jungkook, I really, really like you. But I’m not ready yet…can you understand me?”

An unreadable silence falls upon you both. Jungkook stood there quietly, not breaking his gaze off you and you were certain that he knew you weren’t ready to speak to him about it. Not yet. A few seconds felt like hours as you planted your feet further against the sidewalk, nervously waiting for his reply. This was a lot of pressure to put upon someone, and you knew that. He deserved better. Which is why you would respect whatever Jungkook would say next…but you aren’t going to lie, if he left you right now, it would really hurt.

“I understand…I’ll wait for you.”

For a second you thought you hallucinated his answer, but when he smiled that bunny toothed smile you’ve come to love in such a short time, you felt tears well up in the corner of your eyes. You breathe out a laugh of relief.

Closing your eyelids, you try to hide your tears in case he misunderstands.

“I-I’m glad…thank you Jungkook.”

“No, thank you…for giving me a chance when you were still struggling to pick yourself up. I mean I am moving too fast, asking my former boss’ number out of nowhere and then kind of cheating on the challenge.” He says lightheartedly, “It’s why my offer still stands you know…I’ll still be your servant for a week if you want.”

“Shut up!” You hit his chest lightly with your fist, even though your cheeks felt like they would burst with your smile.

His large sleeves dangle on you as you move your wrists and you instantly remember you were still in his coat.

You gasp, “Jungkook, just wait here. I’ll go get changed and return your coat, alright?”

He shakes his head.

“No, keep it.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“It looks expensive, Jungkook…I’ll just go take it off quickly.”

“No, it’s fine.”

You scoff, “Bu-”

“It gives you a reason to see me again.” He smirks

You didn’t even have time to respond before his lips were on you. Your mouth drops open as you feel him kiss your forehead and then pull back with the widest grin.

“See you around.” He says, before running off into the night.

You stand there, in front of your apartment building, in Jungkook’s coat, still trying to piece together the whole night. Even though your legs hurt from standing, you don’t regret it one bit. He was so strange…you would have wanted to see him again no matter what. With another scoff, you begin to laugh. Something you were doing a lot more of these days.

It was a nice feeling. Better than your past.

There was a lot of uncertainty moving forward. You were out of a job, living with your best friend, soon to be a divorcee who might own a bistro. Oh, and you had new peculiar friends like Yoongi, Taehyung and of course Jungkook. This date had officially been your first big step.

It was everything you didn’t imagine, but you loved it. Not for a second did you have to think about how to make your date happy…how to get him to pay attention to you. He was sincerely happy to be with you. And to you, that means everything.

Still, you wonder if he liked ratatouille. You didn’t want to have perfect that dish for nothing.

Looking back up at where Jungkook once stood, you relish the night wind for just a little while longer.

“Goodnight, Jeon Jungkook. Thank you for the roses.”

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Three

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry. (Fluff and slight smut? If you squint? )

Part One Part Two

You woke up at eight-thirty so you could shower and get yourself ready for the day. You blow dried your hair and threw some curls in at the ends. You put on some light makeup, and then rummaged through your closest for something cute, but casual to wear for brunch. You decide on a pair of light, high wasted jeans and a black shirt to tuck into them. You grab your white toms and slip them on. Five after ten Harry texts you letting you know he’s downstairs.

He’s standing outside his car. He has a beanie on over his gorgeous hair, a few curls peeking through. Today he has a white t-shirt on with dark blue jeans. He looked heavenly. You could see more of his tattoos peeking through the white fabric. In the light of day you could tell he really did have a lot. Eagerly, you wrap your arms around his neck to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a squeeze before letting you go.

“G’morning.” He smiles.

“Morning.” He opens the door for you, closes it, and gets in himself. “So, where are we going for brunch?”

“It’s called Rick’s, it’s really good. I like it because it actually has things I can eat.” He laughs. He starts driving towards the restaurant.

“What can a vegan eat for breakfast? I still eat eggs and stuff.”

“Typically, I’ll go for some fruit, potatoes, maybe even a slice of toast. I also eat beans.”

“That sounds good.”

“On any given day though I usually just make a smoothie.”

“I usually do a smoothie too.”

You pull up to the restaurant. He opens your door for you. He’s such a gentleman. When you enter he takes his beanie off and shakes his hair out. Respectful of the establishment too. It’s a seat yourself kind of place, so you find a booth in the back, and sit down.

A waiter comes over and pours you both some coffee and water, and tells you he’ll be back. You both look over the menu. You agree to split a bowl of fruit. You opt for some oatmeal. You don’t like how greasy omelets tend to be at place likes this. Harry orders beans on gluten-free toast. Your food is brought out pretty quickly. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took your first bite of oatmeal.

“Mm, this is perfectly made.”

“Oh good, I’m glad.” He smiles taking a spoon full beans. “So…”

“So?”

“After this I’ll take you to get your car. I’m sure you have things you need to do today, but I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”

“Just had a date with my TV, but I can cancel.” You laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place. I’d like to cook for you.” Your jaw nearly drops.

“You cook?”

“Sure do. I worked in a bakery as a teenager back in the U.K.”

“Oh, cool. I’d love to do that. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” He winks.

“No really, I hate showing up empty handed.”

“How about you bring a dessert?”

“What can a vegan eat for dessert?”

“Dark chocolate, fruit?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Perfect.”

You both continue to eat. He puts his beanie back on when you get outside. He drives you to your car at Pinz. He gets out to let you out.

“You don’t have to keep doing that.” You say, taking his hand to help you out.

“Sure I do, how would I get a proper hug goodbye in?” He says with a smirk on his face. He wraps his arms around you, and you reciprocate.

“Thank you again for breakfast.” You say into his ear, and give him a nice kiss on the cheek.

“You’re more than welcome.” He says looking at you. His lips press to yours, and you happily kiss him back. This time he breaks the kiss first. “Right, well we could be like this all day, so, um, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yup, what time?” You ask getting into your car.

“Seven?”

“Works for me.”

You stop by the store on your way home. You grab some melting chocolate and some strawberries. When you get home you melt the chocolate and dip the strawberries in it, and pop them in the freezer. You also grabbed some red wine that would taste good with such a dessert. You take the remainder of the day to tidy up, work on some emails, and catch up on a TV show you were desperate to watch on Netflix.

Around five-thirty, you go into your room to look for something to wear. You wanted to look nice, so you decide on a dress. You pull out your navy blue dress that had the buttons down the front. The straps were thick, and it flowed around you down to the midpoint of your thighs. You put on a jean jacket, and slipped your white toms on. Harry texted you his address, and out the door you went with your dessert and wine.

You got to his place promptly at seven. He buzzed you in, and up you went. The door was opened a crack for you. You walked in and closed it behind you.

“Harry?”

“Over here, love.”

He had his back turned to you, as he was just straining some pasta in the sink. He had an apron tied around his waist. He had put a long sleeve button down shirt on, it was blue, not navy though, baby blue. He changed into an unripped pair of black jeans. When he turns around to look at you he rushes over to kiss you on the cheek and take the items out of your full arms.

“That can go in the freezer.” You say pointing to the strawberries. You take your jacket off, and scan his studio apartment.

He had it set up perfectly. The bed was at one end, up against the wall, but still room for someone to walk on both sides of it. In front of the bed was a couch, and in front of that was a coffee table, and a TV mounted to the wall. He had a bureau adjacent to the bed. There was a full bath down a hall way. Opposite the bedroom/living area was a pretty decent sized kitchen. He had a small cart that he used as an island. There was a table that fit four chairs around it. He had camera bags and a giant iMac and desk in the corner next to his bed. He clearly worked at home quite a bit.

“Harry, your place is lovely.” You say walking over to him.

“Thank you. You look beautiful by the way.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“I made black bean pasta, and roasted some vegetables. I’m just making up the plates now.”

“It smells delicious.”

“Please, have a seat. I can open this wine up.”

“The wine will taste better with dessert.” You say sitting down at the table. He had lit two candles and you feel yourself melt a little. He’s romantic.

“Alright, I have some other wine that will go with this particular dish anyways.”

He brings a plate over to you. You notice he had drizzled some olive oil on top. It looked like something someone could get at a restaurant. He sits down adjacent to you, instead of across, much more intimate.

“This looks amazing, Harry, thank you.”

“Of course, I was happy to do it.” He takes out his phone, and you see him go into the Spotify app. He puts on some light music. You smile at him as you take a bite. You can’t help but moan at how delicious the food it.

“This is delicious!”

“I’m so glad you like it. Sometimes that pasta can be bland.” You love the way he says pasta. It sounds so different from the way you say it.

“S’not bland at all. Lots of flavor. And I love what you put on these veggies. Is that paprika?”

“Yes, and a little chili powder. I didn’t want to use too much because I didn’t know if you liked hot food.”

“Love it, I love spicy food. Hot wings used to be my favorite thing when I used to eat meat. Now I do buffalo cauliflower.”

“You make it yourself?”

“Yup.”

“I’d love to try that sometime.”

“Maybe next weekend I could make it for you.”

“You’d make me wait an entire week?” He asks playfully, shoveling some food into his mouth.

“Wednesday is usually my rest day from the gym, if that works for you.”

“Wednesday it is.” He smiles.

You couldn’t believe how often he already wanted to see you. Your second and third date, now technically fourth, were back to back. It was nice to feel wanted for a change. After you two finish eating, Harry insisted he didn’t want you to help clean up, but you insisted you did because he cooked. You decided on you wash, him dry.

“Care to have dessert over by the sofa?”

“Sure.”

You pad over to the couch, and sit down, crossing your legs at the ankle. You hear Harry pop the cork to the wine you brought. You watch as he takes the chocolate covered strawberries, and puts them on a serving plate. He brings two glasses, the wine, and the dessert over. He pours you each a glass of wine.

“Did you make these?” He asks, pointing to the strawberries.

“Sure did.” You take a sip of the sweet wine. “Here.” You pick one up and hold it in front of his mouth. You expect him to take it from you, but instead he just takes a bite. You feel goosebumps raise on your body. He licks his lips after and takes a sip of the wine.

“You were right, this wine is perfect for dessert. That’s a juicy strawberry.” He picks one up and smiles at you, gesturing for you to do the same as him. You nervously lean forward and take a small bite. The chocolate shell cracks off, and falls onto your dress.

“Oh, shit.” You pick it off and place it onto the napkins on the coffee table. “I guess I could’ve done that more gracefully.” You laugh.

“It’s easier if you bite up here.” He shows you where, eating the rest of the strawberry you just bit into. “Here, try again.” He holds up another for you, and you bite where he showed you, this time not making a mess. “Perfectly executed.” You both laugh.

You guzzle down two glasses of wine like it’s nothing. He does the same, but seems less intoxicated than you. The majority of the strawberries have been eaten. You can’t help but stare at the tattoo on his wrist. It’s an anchor, you reach of his hand and trace over it with your index finger.

“Can I look at the others? The ones on your arms?”

“Sure.” He shrugs his shoulders, stands up, and unbuttons his shirt. He reveals a white t-shirt, and places his button down on the bed. He sits back down and lets you examine him. “Some of them have meaning, and others were just for fun. Do you have any?”

“Oh, god no. Something Niall and I have in common, we’re afraid of needles.” You laugh.

“But your belly button is pierced.” He says raising an eyebrow at you. Your cheeks flush. “Sorry, I noticed it last night while we were playing one of the games.” He smiles nervously.

“It’s alright. Sometimes I forget it’s even there. I got it my first year at college. I got drunk with my friends, and I felt like rebelling against my parents, so I got the one piercing my mom told me I couldn’t have.”

“You’d think she would have told you not to get your nipples done or something.” He takes a sip of wine. Your eyes grow wide. “Sorry, does the word nipple bother you?” You feel your cheeks grow hot.

“Um, no. I just…” You look down at yourself. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open.

“Wait a second, so you won’t get a tattoo, but you’re telling me that not only do you have your naval pierced, but your nipples as well?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I need to hear this story.”

“It was my junior year of college, and all of my friends and I got them done together. I was afraid, I knew it would hurt way more than this.” You point to your stomach. “So we did a bunch of shots and went down to the parlor. The second one hurt worse since I knew what to expect after the first one.”

“Why was that something your friends all wanted to do?”

“Because not everyone was willing to get a tattoo. I think it was the permanence. Piercings can always be taken out. It was sort of childish. I couldn’t wear a bra for over a week, which is not easy to do when you’re, well, chesty, and they burned so bad. They weren’t infected or anything, it was just like this weird sting. Eventually I got used to it, and now I barely remember they’re there.” You laugh, pouring yourself a third glass of wine. You figure you can always uber home if you need to. You top off Harry’s glass. “Don’t tell Niall though, he only knows about the naval.”

“I promise you, I will not mention your nipples to him.” You both laugh. He scoots a little closer to you. “Anything else on your body you’d like to tell me about?”

“Nope, I think that’s it.”

You’re feeling bold, and want him even closer to you. You put your hand on his forearm and rub it lightly back and forth. He takes his other hand and tucks some hair behind your hair.

“Come here.” He says, gesturing to have you scoot closer. He puts his hand on your lower back, and you press your hands to chest. Similar to how you were last night at your place.

He leans in, brushing his nose with yours. You kiss him first, and he pulls you in closer. He leans back against the arm of the couch, and your crawl into his lap, putting your legs on either side of him. You finally part your lips for him. He’s slow at first, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a small moan at the motion. His tongue enters your mouth, and you lightly suck on it, causing him to moan into you. You feel him twitch beneath you. You’re practically hovering over him, but you still feel him shift. His hands move up your back, and pull you closer to his chest. Your hands go straight for his hair as he begins to plaster kisses to your jaw, and then to just under your earlobe. He nips and sucks at the skin.

“Oh, Jesus.” You whisper.

“Wrong name, love.” He says into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

You moan and press your hips down on to him. Not exactly grinding, but there’s no space between you anymore. Your hands tug at his hair as he bites down on the crook up your neck. It was sure to leave a bruise, but right now you didn’t care. Nothing some makeup up and a high enough shirt couldn’t cover up. He lifts his hips to press into you, and you roll on top of him. The vibration of his moan against your neck runs through your whole body. It makes your mind wander to where else his hot breath, nipping, and sucking would feel good. Your eyes burst open. You can’t think like that, not yet.

“Harry.” It comes out as a whimper, so keeps sucking on your neck, getting a good taste of you. You push back on his chest and grab his face in your hands. His pupils are fully blown, you imagine yours are as well. “I like what we’re doing, but our clothes have to stay on, all of them, okay?”

“Of course. Taking your dress off never even crossed my mind.” He smirks at you.

“Sure it didn’t.” You roll your eyes.

“In all seriousness, I want you to feel comfortable, so if I overstep, please don’t be afraid to tell me, okay? We can stop altogether now if you want.”

“I definitely don’t want that.” You kiss him quick. “I’m just not ready to, um…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He smiles. “I’m happy to just make out.”

Your shoulders lower in relief. You kiss him again, this time sticking your tongue in his mouth. They mold together perfectly. You can taste the chocolate and the wine, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t delectable. You could really smell his cologne too, it was intoxicating. You just wanted to berry your face in him. One of his hands slides down to the top of your ass, and gives it gentle squeeze. You lift up a little so he can get a better grip on you. He puts his other hand on your cheek, and laces his fingers in your hair. You moan into his mouth as he starts to suck on your tongue.

You desperately wish you could squeeze your legs together to relieve the pressure that’s been building. You’re certain your panties are soaked at this point. He’s so hard for you, and you want to grind against him to help him relieve his pressure, but you don’t. You know if you start this, you’ll need to finish it. He took a break from your mouth and kissed down to the top of your chest. You knew your skin had to be pink from the alcohol alone. You move to kiss down his neck. You wanted to nip and suck on him the way he did you.

“Oh, fuck.” He says breathless the minute your teeth pinch down on him. He pulls you as close as he possibly can to him. Desperate to feel your breasts against his chest. You start to roll your hips on him, moving back and forth. Your body needs the friction. He grabs your waist to halt your motions. You stop to look at him. His chest is heaving. “If you keep doing this, I’m going to come in my trousers, and I’d rather not make things awkward between us.” He gives you a half smile. You start giggling and rest your forehead on his shoulder. He giggles along with you.

“Guess we should probably cool it for the night then, yeah?”

“I guess that would be the smart choice. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but this couch has a pull out if you’d like to stay. I don’t want to send you in an uber home alone at this time of night, and I’m in no condition to drive.” What time is it anyways?

“That’s awfully sweet, but I’d rather go home. I don’t have a toothbrush or anything here.” You smile. “I know who I can call.”

You get off of Harry, careful not ogle at the strain in his pants. You find your phone and call Niall.

���He said he can be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

You help Harry clean up the dessert and wine glasses. He gives you some water, and you guzzle it down. You two start to kiss again, slowly but with need, when you’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

“That’ll be him.” Harry says. “Use your key, mate!” Niall keys in. You think it’s cute he has a key to his friend’s apartment. Even Niall doesn’t have a key to your place.

“Oi, lad, what did ya do to my friend? Get her so drunk she couldn’t get home?”

“Everything I did was from my own doing.” You slur, putting your jacket on. “Um, I guess I’ll have to come by tomorrow to get my car. I can just uber for that.”

“I can bring ya by here, (y/n).” Niall says. “Harry and I have plans tomorrow anyways.”

“Perfect.” You and Harry smile at each other. He puts his hands in his pockets and gives Niall a look.

“I’ll go wait in the hall so you two can say g’night.”

You pad over to Harry and give me a deep kiss. Something for him to think about. He gives you a light tap on your bottom.

“I had a great time tonight, thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for the amazing dessert.” He bites his bottom lip. “Good night.”

“Night.” You blow a kiss at him as you leave.

Thank god Niall was home, and sober. There’s no way you would’ve been able to get home tonight.

“So, I take it you had a nice night?” He asks, as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Mhm, he’s the best.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For sticking to your not moving too fast thing. Not many women can resist Harry.”

“Trust me, it’s not easy. I gladly would’ve fucked him tonight, but I know it would’ve been too soon.”

“You can do other stuff y’know? He’s a giver, you wouldn’t even have to actually have sex with him.”

“What do you mean he’s a giver?”

Niall holds a hand up and separates two fingers under his chin and makes a licking motion. You scoff and nudge his arm.

“You’re fowl.”

“I’m telling you. I’m sure some heavy petting would be okay to start. You don’t need to hop right on his dick. But you also don’t need to punish yourself.”

“That’s true, and I know I don’t. We’re seeing each other again Wednesday. I’ll see how I feel then.”

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Constellations - Geralt/Jaskier [G - Injury]

Gif isn’t mine. 

Originally posted to my AO3 account. 

It’s never anything more than a scratch.

Well, no. It’s always more than a scratch to him, he supposes.

Geralt has a map of scars littering his skin that are reminders of old injuries. Most of them are faded pale lines against his skin; but the worst of them, thicker, jagged lines stretching over his stomach and heart, are from times where danced a bit too close to death.

But in the time where Jaskier has been with him, he has never gotten so much as, as Geralt puts it, “a scratch”. Even in the aftermath of griffin and bruxa fights, when Geralt comes back to their camp or to their shared room in an inn, he shrugs off Jaskier’s fidgeting hands. “I’ll live, bard,” he grunts, padding over to the other side of the room to do whatever it is that needs doing to stop the bleeding.

Jaskier will always care. When love started to kindle between them, breathing became that bit harder when Geralt wouldn’t return when he said he would. Even if the Witcher was late by a couple of minutes, Jaskier paced so often that the soles of his boots threatened to wear away.

But Geralt always came back: carrying a limp or holding his side, fingers smudged with dirt and blood. But he always came back.

This is different.

He returned from a hunt, stumbling into their rented inn room, eyes still blackened and dark tendrils spreading out over his pale skin, a red stain across one side of his chest. Jaskier barely had time to speak the Witcher’s name before he crumpled to the ground with a pained grunt.

The town is large enough to have several healers making their businesses in it – but only one of them actually comes to help. No one bothers with Witchers, no matter what good they do for those living on the land. It’s something Jaskier has come to know. The people glowering and sneering at Geralt as he walks through villages and towns won’t lift a finger to help him if he ever did ask for it. The innkeep was a kind woman, offering them a good room and better food if the Witcher dealt with a bruxa problem in the forest nearby, scaring away all of her produce suppliers. Geralt took the contract – because of course he did, they were being offered a room and food after a long journey of having neither.

Jaskier can only presume it was her who ran to every healer’s apothecary within the town. He barely had Geralt settled on the bed when the healer steps into the room; and a long breath rushes out of Jaskier. He thanks every god he can remember the name of as the woman sets her leather work-bag on the foot of the bed. She fishes out fistfuls of clean, white rags and sets them to the side; along with glass vials of ointments and potions.

Jaskier sets his hand on Geralt’s forehead. It’s damp with sweat, and his skin is almost scalding. Jaskier clicks his tongue. “You’ll be alright, my love,” he says gently, wincing at how Geralt’s face scrunches up at another bout of pain shaking through him. The black tendrils that sit where his veins would are starting to ebb away. And once his potion’s effects are gone, searing pain will replace it.

“Do you know how to clean a wound, bard?” the woman says, already handing him some cloth and a vial of reddish liquid.

Jaskier swallows and nods. He’s spent sun-turns following this damn man. Of course he knows what to do with wounds.

It’s just the initial panic that flashes through his body that he can’t quite get rid of yet. In fact, if he’s being totally honest, he thinks it’s getting worse.

He manages to get Geralt’s loose shirt off – a chunk of it having been torn by whatever it was that he was hunting. It’ll be mended in the morning, but as soon as Jaskier tosses the piece of clothing aside, he has to swallow at what he sees.

It’s deep. Jaskier sets his fingers around the wound. It’s a gash spreading across Geralt’s pectoral. It’s so deep he worries that Geralt’s own heart and lungs might burst out. Blood gushes out of it, staining his hands and pooling underneath his fingernails.

Jaskier fiddles with the vials and cloth. A harsh smell of something metallic covers the roof of his mouth. “This is going to hurt, Geralt,” he says softly, pressing the cloth over the worst of the cut. Geralt’s face pinches and his entire body goes stiff under Jaskier’s hands. “Shush now, I’m here,” Jaskier mumbles, lifting the cloth away. He switches it out for a clean one. Soaking that one with more of the red liquid, he sets about removing whatever dirt and grime he can see within the cut.

Geralt is as stiff as a stone slab beneath him. Jaskier’s eyes dart up to the Witcher’s face. His eyes are squeezed shut, hair splayed over the pillow. His skin is returning to its normal colour. Jaskier winces. “Do you have any poppy’s milk or valerian root?” he directs towards the end of the bed. “He’s in a lot of pain.”

A glass vial suddenly appears beside him. Jaskier looks at what’s inside; a white liquid speckled with black flecks. Poppy’s milk. Jaskier sets the cloths aside for a moment while he uncaps the vial. “Geralt,” he reaches out for the Witcher’s face. Red smears over Geralt’s cheek. “Geralt. Drink some of this. It’ll help.”

Yellow hooded eyes stare blearily back at him. Jaskier sets the vial against Geralt’s lip. He sighs in relief when a few drops of milk are swallowed. It’s strong stuff. He vaguely remembers the opium gardens of the academy being of particular interest to a few students. It never took long for them to fall under the plant’s effects. Geralt’s head grows heavy in his hands. He helps the Witcher lay back against the bed.

The woman moves around the room like a ghost. Jaskier is so focused on the job at hand, he doesn’t notice her grinding herbs with oils by the foot of the bed. He does sense her lean over his shoulder to inspect his work. There’s a soft hum of approval. “It’s deep, but the main problems are blood loss and infection. If we can manage those, he’ll be alright.”

He knows. He wants to snap. He knows.

Jaskier’s fingers curl into the pieces of the linen cloths. Gods above and below, he knows. She doesn’t have to keep saying these things.

Geralt is just as mortal as the rest of them. The gods can touch him. He can die. It takes a lot more of an effort on his assailant’s account, but he can. He’s danced too close to death before. Thankfully never in Jaskier’s presence. But it doesn’t stop the flood of fear that washes through his body every time Geralt stumbles back from a hunt, at the thought that one day, maybe soon or in a few years, Geralt might not come back to him.

Jaskier sucks in a breath. Stop it, he has to tell himself. There’s no point in worrying about any of that now. His fingers tremble as he cleans the worst of the wound, and he’s pretty sure that he hasn’t taken a steady breath since Geralt fell to the ground. But there’s no point in panicking.

He’s stitched Geralt back together before – in the areas along his back and shoulders where the Witcher can’t reach himself. He’s become quite good at it, if he were to say so. But with a wound this deep, bright red with streaks of what looks like muscle peering through, the healer gently nudges him aside. She’s already threaded a thin needle and seared the end with a candle’s flame.

Jaskier moves to the other side of the bed, gathering more cloth as he goes. Blood still trickles out of the wound. The only way to stop it is to knit the Witcher back together again.

He’s pale. The worst of the potions are fading from him. But his skin is still so pale that Jaskier sets his hand against it to feel for warmth. And Geralt is still scalding.

A tremor shakes his body. “It’s the potions, darling,” Jaskier says lowly, taking up a place by Geralt’s side. He soothes his hand along the unmarred side of the Witcher’s chest. “You’ve done it all before. It’s alright.”

When the last of the stitches are pulled tight together, Geralt has finally settled into a sleep. It probably won’t last long, and it’s more to do with the poppy’s milk than anything else. But Jaskier cards his fingers through the Witcher’s hair.

“The wound should heal nicely, but he lost a lot of blood,” the healer says, scrubbing her hands in a nearby basin. Red smudges reach her elbows. “He needs to rest.”

Jaskier hums. “He certainly won’t like that.” They were meant to be on their way to Kaer Morhen for the winter. The call of it had already whispered by Geralt’s ear. He’ll wake in the morning and, knowing him, will grunt out some excuse or other that they need to keep going. That the winds will turn and the roads will freeze over. But the summer has been kind to them this year. Even now, with crops being taken in and farm animals sheltered, the sun still warms the fields.

They have time. They can afford to stop for a moment; especially if it’s Jaskier heavily relying on Geralt to get him to Kaer Morhen in the first place. He can’t imagine he would be able to climb the damn mountain, let alone be let in the gates without the Witcher.

But Jaskier glances over his shoulder to the woman. It’s the first time he’s actually looked at her for more than a moment. “Thank you, my lady,” he breathes. He eyes the leather bag at her feet. “How much do I owe you for-?”

She shakes her head. “You owe me nothing, bard. A life saved is payment enough for me.”

He turns back to Geralt, lying motionless on the bed if not for the slow rise of his chest with every small breath he takes. He’s alive. A small sentence stated again and again in his head, repeating it to himself so that the more flighty and anxious side to him will just calm down and see reason.

She leaves him with more potions and ointments; valerian root for pain, arnica for the wound and bruising, tea tree for any infection that might come about. Jaskier places them on the small nightstand beside the bed, within an arm’s reach. As he locks their room door for the night and places another log of wood on the fire, he sighs. It’s the first proper breath he’s taken in what seems like hours.

Whatever had squeezed his chest begins to loosen.

He leaves most of his layers and his boots by the foot of the bed. Geralt’s tunic lies on the ground, still wet with blood. Jaskier stares at it for a moment. He’ll wash it in the morning, and see what he can do about that tear along the neckline.

Geralt’s bandages will need changing every hour. Though the Witcher’s heart is slower to beat than a normal man’s, blood still seeps through his dressings like water. Jaskier struggles to think what it would be like if Geralt were a normal man. He’d be dead, some part of his own mind tells him. No normal man would survive an attack like this.

He takes up by the Witcher’s side, sitting back against the headboard of the bed and pillowing Geralt’s head on his lap. Opium will keep him under for another few hours. The hearth’s fire threatens to burn out a few times, but Jaskier can’t bring himself to move away from the other man. He stares at the thing, wishing that the heat from his eyes alone would just make the fire come back to life.

Mumbled nonsense leaves Geralt’s lips. Jaskier can’t sleep, so he listens to it. Carding his fingers through Geralt’s hair, untangling and unknotting dried blood and dirt out of strands, he listens to whispers and mutterings of a girl in the woods, of a city falling, of the south coming north. He frowns. Setting the back of his hand against Geralt’s forehead, his frown only deepens when he finds no fever.

“What’s got you all bothered, hmm?” Jaskier mumbles, returning his fingers to Geralt’s hair. The Witcher doesn’t move; but his face does twitch every so often. A nightmare, maybe. Or a too-real dream. The poppy’s milk will keep him under for a few hours – but Jaskier has never seen its effects on a Witcher. Maybe he’ll doze off and wake to find Geralt stumbling around the room, muttering about a compromised arm and a ruined shirt. Maybe he’ll sleep long into the following afternoon. Jaskier has no idea.

The tavern quietens. Jaskier’s ears prick at the sound of patrons stumbling out on to the streets, calling their goodbyes back to the innkeep. He hears the door being bolted and the rest of the tenants going to their rooms. The floorboards outside squeak and groan with every footfall. Jaskier glances down at the Witcher. His face is lax and regular, slow breaths puff out from a slightly opened mouth. Warmth blooms in Jaskier’s chest. It isn’t often that he’s awake when Geralt isn’t. He falls asleep after Jaskier and wakes up before him. Seeing him like this now, he wants to commit it to memory.

At some point, he must fall asleep. His head falls forward and he jerks awake. Watery morning light streaks in through the window, the curtains still splayed open. A thrum of pain spreads across his lower back, but Jaskier eventually shuffles to lie down on the bed, facing Geralt and setting his hand against the Witcher’s chest. His fingers brush the bandages; a relieved sigh leaving him when he feels that it’s dry and not speckled with red.

The first sign he gets of Geralt surfacing is the slight increase in his heart rate. Jaskier feels it underneath his palm. It’s nothing that noticeable, but Jaskier recognises it from sleeping on Geralt’s chest for countless nights.

When yellow eyes open, blinking blearily, Jaskier has to swallow the lump clawing up his throat. “How are you?” he rasps. “Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

Geralt grunts. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, you’re so far from being fine,” Jaskier mutters, reaching for the vial of valerian root. He’s become adept at reading his Witcher. In the coming winter, he might compile a dictionary specifically for the damn brute. Some things mean other things in Witcher-speak. And an I’m Fine has hundreds of meanings.

Despite glaring at the vial in Jaskier’s hand, Geralt takes a small sip of the potion. It won’t be as fast-acting as the poppy’s milk, but it’ll do. Geralt sinks back into the mattress and pillows. His eyelids can barely stay open.

Jaskier’s fingers curl against his chest. “You need to rest,” he says. “The healer said you lost a lot of blood and that you need to rest – so I don’t want to hear anything about you being fine, or that your Witcher-y-ness will have you right as rain by the afternoon. We don’t need to be in Kaer Morhen for another few weeks. So you’re going to lie there, and sleep until you feel better. Do you hear me?”

At that, Geralt’s eyes open again. He settles the bard with an arched eyebrow. “I hear you,” he rasps.

Jaskier blinks. Tears sting the back of his eyes. “Good,” he says stiffly, pillowing his head on Geralt’s uninjured shoulder. “So, off to sleep with you.”

The arm beneath him moves. It’s slow and heavy, but eventually Geralt slings his uninjured arm over Jaskier’s shoulders, keeping the bard close to him. “Whatever you say, little lark."

[hattywatch]

J. Vesey - You Like Making Me Wait For It

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be done for Valentine’s day but uhhh, about that... So here it is, almost a month late. The premise for this story is that Jimmy is actually a BIG FUCKIN’ SOFTIE and not the sarcastic little shit that I constantly make him out to be. This can be proven by the attached tweet. As always this is fiction, so don’t get carried awayyyy :) 

“It’s not a real holiday,” he texts his mom, in regards to her message to him, bright and early, on February 14. He follows it up with a heart emoji and tells her he'll see her tonight though, because she’s his ma and he’s not a complete mutant, but he pulls the blanket over his head and rolls onto his side and tries to fall into the warm feeling of sleep again. 

As cool and standoffish as Jimmy tries to come off, everyone who knows him would jump at the chance to tell you that in reality, he’s soft as shit. A quick scroll through his recently played on Spotify would give him right up if he tried to deny it. 

His icy indifference to Valentine’s day was never the norm. He used to look forward to it, liked it even, but after years of disappointment the shine has worn off and he's really had enough of it. 

_____

His first Valentine’s memory is fond. He put on his best clothes and walked into school, chest puffed out and chin raised proudly, the little red and pink valentines he worked on with his mom tucked away in his backpack, heart-shaped lollipops carefully taped onto each one. 

He didn’t understand the point of it until his mom patiently explained to him, “Sometimes we’re so busy everyday that we don’t tell people we love them like we should, so on Valentine’s day we spend the whole day letting everyone know we care about them.” He snaked his little arms around her waist and promised his mom he’d never be too busy to remind her he loves her. 

She hugged him back tightly and brushed away a stray tear on her cheek before she opened up the box and had him start listing off the kids names in his class so she could neatly write them on each card. He spends his time taping the lollipops gently to the cards that declare “Have a sweet Valentine’s Day.” 

As the class walked around dropping a card into each other’s decorated shoe-boxes, Jimmy couldn’t help but be filled with love for his friends. Tipping over the box afterwards, he was a little glum when he found out Tommy was the sole recipient of a card from Ashley, the pretty blonde with pigtails who sat 3 seats in front of him. 

When he walked home from the bus stop with Jess later, they talked about their favorite ones, in particular the heart shaped erasers the teacher gifted each of them. She didn’t get a card from Ashley either. His mom told him not to worry about it and quickly diverted his attention to the pile of valentines with pencils and stickers attached, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as he explained who each one was from. 

_____

In highschool Valentine's day is marked (like everything else during those awkward teenage years) by a rush of hormones and snickers. 

The week leading up to Valentine's day the cheerleading squad hung signs up all over the halls detailing how to purchase a rose to be delivered to the person of your choosing during classes. All of the proceeds go to a local charity, so each morning the voice over the speaker reminded the student body to buy a rose for a good cause before listing off the lunch of the day and signing off. 

Jimmy fills out a few; a pink one for his little cousin a few grades down from him, a yellow one for the librarian who helped him submit his college applications, and an orange one for Jess who just got a rejection letter from Duke and could use some cheering up. 

On the 13th he finds himself with $2 extra dollars and some time to kill before Jess is done with extra help and ready to walk home. He goes to the office and fills out a slip for a red rose to be delivered to Molly, a girl he's helped in Chinese class a few times; she's popular and cute. He can't help his heart from quickening when they go over characters that have been giving her a particularly hard time during the spare period they share once a week. 

He writes her name clearly in black ink, trying his best to keep his penmanship even and neat. 

"There you are!" He jumps, but luckily his pen is off of the paper, having just finished scribing the Y in his name. Jess walks up to him, braids trapped under her backpack straps; it looks uncomfortable. "I've been looking everywhere for you, dude." 

He slides the scrap of paper into the slot of the box in front of him. "Sorry, last minute love, you know how it is." 

He feels his cheeks get warm at the thought of Jess catching him in the act. She is much more pragmatic when it comes to love. She hasn’t dated at all in high school, laser focused on her grades and soccer. He knows she thinks he’s a sap for caring at all when it’s unlikely anyone will find lifelong love in high school, but he's a romantic, sue him.

"Yeah, I know. You're a sucker for this stupid holiday," she rolls her eyes at him and adjusts her bookbag, swinging the tails of her braids free. He shrugs a shoulder but smiles, because she’s right and he can’t deny it. 

“C’mon Romeo, my mom said she’d pick us up out front, it’s freezing today.” He follows her, excited about the prospect of tomorrow. He’s not sure, but he thinks Molly may feel the same way, and there’s no time like the present to find out. 

_____

When he quietly places his lunch tray down next to Jess she knows something is off. He usually bounds over to the table, chatty and excited to talk about his morning classes and who said what stupid thing that made the class groan, but he’s downright meloncholy and she can feel it roll off his body in waves. 

Jess twirls the stem of her orange rose between her pointer and index fingers, “Thanks Jim. Made my day.” She bops him on the head with the flower. He smiles a little but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Rough day?” He nods and starts picking at the crust of his pizza. 

“I didn’t sign my fucking last name.” Jess doesn’t quite understand, so she kicks him under the table to get him to look up from his pizza and make eye contact. She raises her eyebrows in question and he finally continues, “I sent Molly a rose.”

Jess hums for him to keep going, she heard a rumor going around about Molly and James Jordan getting together, but she hadn’t heard anything about Jimmy. 

“We study together every week. Chinese. She has a hard time with the-" he waves his hand to clear the subject, "anyway it’s not important. We have a free period together every Tuesday and I help her with it. I thought maybe she noticed.” Jimmy sighs and squishes his water bottle in his hand, “You know I get nervous around her, so I thought maybe she knew. Anyway, I sent her a flower, but I just wrote ‘Jimmy.' No last name. She thought it was Jordan and she walked right up to him in between classes and kissed him. They have a date Saturday night.”

Jess winces, “That blows. I’m sorry, Jim. Maybe it’s not meant to be for a reason. I heard that she…" she pauses because she's never actually heard anything bad about the other girl, but desperately wants to cheer up her friend. "I heard that she… snores?" Jimmy finally rolls his eyes and laughs. 

"Oh yeah, cross her off the list. That's a deal breaker." He smiles for the first time in hours and he's sure Molly isn't the one he's been waiting for. 

_____

In college his fervor to have a nice Valentine’s day led him to ask out the brunette from his Public Finance class, she said yes and seemed excited, but then text him to cancel 2 days before that she "forgot about a big paper that's due on Monday." His buddy John is in the same class and didn’t say anything about a paper, so Jimmy takes the hint and decides to go home for the weekend, tail between his legs and heart heavy from the rejection

He heads to the laundromat with a veritable sack filled with, what feels like, every piece of clothing he's ever owned, downtrodden and pissed off. He's loading his clothes into the machine when someone jabs him in the side with a boney digit. 

"What the hell are you doing, Jim?" Jess beams up at him. She's wearing pink lipstick, but is otherwise dressed in all black, like always. 

“Laundry. My mom had too many loads at the house ‘cuz Nolan brought his home too, so I’m just going to do it here quick.” He keeps shoving his clothes in the washer machine.

Jess nods at him, “Cool… cool. So, your mom still does your laundry?” She shoves her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans and leans back on her heels with a shit eating grin.

Jimmy stops and looks up at her, “Uh, usually. Yeah, why? Can you tell?” He stands up, back sore from being hunched over the front-loading washing machine. She looks up at him and grins wider. 

“You’re supposed to separate the colors. Let me help you.” She starts pulling all of his clothes out of the washer and dumping it into her orange pop-up hamper. “Come over here, I’m using this machine.” 

“Why are you here,” he attempts gentle conversation since, apparently, he’s domestically useless. Jess opens a machine and starts pulling out all of his light colored clothes, basically pairs and pairs of socks and a few t-shirts here and there. 

“My stupid comforter is too big. It takes forever at my house, so I just bring it here instead of drying it 6 times,” she pauses,  pinching a lone sock and holding it out in front of her swinging it in his direction before throwing it in the washer, “lucky for you, James.” She helps him sort the other colors and shows him where the detergent goes and lends him some fabric softener that smells nice, she even advises him against washing his suit pants and the one nice sweater he owns, saying that he’d be better off dry cleaning them. 

An hour later when their stuff is all folded and packed back up, he’s got no other plans and he hasn’t seen Jess since the summer, so he helps her bring her comforter and sheets to her car and stands there awkwardly trying not to make this weird. 

“Jessie,” she turns around, scarf half wound around her neck, death glare pinned on him. 

“Did you want me to kill you? Don't call me that,” she swats at him and opens her trunk so he can drop her cottony smelling bedding in it. 

“Let me buy you dinner, this was really nice of you to help me.” She smiles and agrees without any cajoling. 

“Oh god, yes. I’m starving. Chipotle?” There’s a reason they’ve been friends for so long. 

They order and he pays while she fills up their cups and finds an empty booth. When he drops the trays down on the table and slides her the burrito she ordered, he smiles and reaches his hand across the table, “Jessie, will you be my Valentine?” 

She rolls her eyes, but it’s warm and laced with affection when she kicks him under the table, “You fucking sap. You’re lucky you bought me food or I’d say no.” She takes a bite and chews, but Jimmy keeps needling. 

“So you’re saying the way to your heart is through your stomach.” He nods, “Noted.” 

They chat over dinner, discussing college and what people from high school are up to. She’s in an accelerated program at BC and should graduate a year early. He’s reserved, but hoping to get drafted. 

It’s not long after they're done, still taking up space in the booth, when his mom calls, “Hey ma.” Jess mouths ‘tell her I said hi!’ and gets up to throw away their garbage and heads to the ladies room. 

“Jess said to tell you hi,” it’s barely out of his mouth before he regrets it. 

“You’re out with Jess. On Valentine’s day?” Her tone is accusing, but soft. “I always liked her. I didn’t realize you were seeing each other. You don’t tell me anything anymore.” Before she can get too deep in her pity party he stops her.

“It’s not like that. We just ran into each other, we didn’t plan anything” Jimmy scratches at a scuff on the table, wishing he just waited until he got home to have this conversation. The last thing he’d want to do is make Jess uncomfortable with this. His mom prattles on about how she’s always liked Jessica from down the block, but Jimmy mostly tunes it out. It’s not until she’s walking back to the table, smiling softly at him that he rushes his mom off the phone the best he can.

“I’ll tell her you said hi. I’ll be home soon, see you, love you, bye!” He hangs up before she can get a word in.

Jess plops down across from him, “Did you tell her I said hi? I love your mom.” He assures her he did, and stands up, stretching. 

“We should get going,” he grabs his keys off of the table, and Jess stands too and follows him out to their cars. 

“Thanks, Valentine,” she unexpectedly hugs him around the middle. “I usually hate this fucking day, but you made it pretty bearable.” 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him; she’s such a pessimist. “Yeah, I get that a lot after dates. Bearable.” 

His heart stutters when he realizes what he said, his hands get clammy. He feels dumb, hanging up on his mom so she didn’t make Jess feel like tonight was anything that they didn’t intend it to be, and then he sticks his foot straight into his stupid mouth.

Jess doesn’t flinch though and just follows him out the door to their cars. “See ya later, Jim. Don’t be a stranger. Cambridge isn’t that far, yeah?”

He laughs and hugs her goodbye again before getting in his own car and driving home. 

When he unlocks the front door his mother is on him like a hawk. “Where’s Jessica? Why didn’t you bring her here? I just love that girl.” He has to remind himself to calm down before he opens his mouth, because she means well and loves him. 

“She had some stuff to do, but she said hi,” he grabs a cookie off of a plate cooling on the countertop and prays his mom doesn’t need to go out, lest she catch sight of Jess’ car in her driveway and ruin his lie.

She takes his half eaten cookie from his hand and takes a bite, chewing slowly. “What you’re saying is that I shouldn’t get my hopes up,” before she pins him with a glare only a mother could muster. 

“Still single, ma.” He grabs a cookie in each hand and hustles up the stairs to his room before she can pepper him with more questions. 

He lies on his bed and flips on his tv, clicking channel to channel until he finds a hockey game that will keep his attention. By the end of the 2nd, the Bruins are up 4-1 over the Leafs and he mutes the intermission report to scroll through twitter uninterrupted. 

His timeline is filled with photo after photo of happy couples and gushing declarations of love. He can’t help but sigh and be a little jealous. After watching the rest of the beating Boston lays on Toronto, he shuts the TV off and lies awake, staring at his ceiling. The jealousy has faded, and now he’s just a little sad, slightly disappointed, with a pinch discouraged mixed in. 

He’d blame his next action on hopelessly romantic desperation as he opens Twitter back up and drafts his tweet. 

Spending another Valentine's day without having found “the one.” Hope she is out there somewhere safe and sound.

Jimmy taps the button to send the tweet and rolls over onto his side before the day catches up to him and he falls into a mostly dreamless sleep. 

_____

 Valentine’s day as a Ranger finds him alone in the city once more, begrudgingly texting his mother back and pretending this holiday doesn't make him feel like Steven fucking Glansberg. 

At least he's back in Boston tonight, starting  an away stretch down the eastern seaboard. He has two whole days to spend with his friends and family in his home state before the game against the Bruins and before they leave for Carolina and two more down in Florida. 

He takes his parents out for dinner soon after he lands, and then hits up a few friends to go to the bar. They’re all happy to hear from him, but only Tommy can come out, everyone else is busy with their girlfriends. He can’t blame them. He’d rather be courting a pretty girl than third-wheeling with his parents, but he’s not there yet in his life, so a few beers with Tommy will have to do.

They’re chatting through their second round of Guinness and watching the basketball game when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He leaves it, the game is getting good and it’s almost the half. A three-pointer closes it out and Tommy excuses himself for the bathroom, so Jimmy signals the bartender for two more and finally pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

Jess: Jimmmmmmmmm

He smiles in spite of himself. 

What’s up Jessie?

But then Tommy comes back from the bathroom and he puts the phone back into his pocket, because he’s a good bro and that’s rude. 

He almost forgets about it, laughing with Tommy through the rest of the game and catching up with a few kids from the neighborhood that walk into the bar and spot him, but then he takes his phone out to order an Uber and he sees the notifications. 

4 unread texts from Jess

He orders the Uber after putting in Tommy's address as the first stop and his parent's home as the second before he swipes back over to his texts. 

Jess: I'm at a galrnyinrd day party

Jess: Galrntinrd*

Jess: GALENTINES******* 

We were playing text or delete and I didn't want to delete you 😭

She's obviously had a few. Jess was never one for overt emotion. But it's always fun getting it out of her, so he hopes she hasn't sobered up in the hour that's passed since she text him last. He climbs into the Uber after Tommy and types out a careful message to her. Eyes struggling to focus since he had a few beers himself. 

Didn't know you cared, Jessie. 

He finally looks up and says goodbye to Tommy with a handshake that turns into a hug when the car comes to a stop, before settling back into the backseat for the rest of the ride to his childhood home. 

He doesn't get another message from her until the driver stops at the final destination and wishes him a good night. Jimmy leaves a tip when the app pops up asking for a review and sits on his front steps in the cool night air, trying to sober up before he walks inside and wakes the whole house up. 

Jess: You're a big dummy. 

The message is quickly followed by another. 

Jess: When are you coming home next? 

Jimmy doesn't know what to say to that, so he stands up next to his house number and snaps a selfie before sending it off to Jess. 

Jess: 👀👀👀👀

Jess: I'm walking to you now

He hears her front door slam from 6 houses away in the quiet stillness of the late night. The next thing he hears echoing are her giggles followed by heavy footsteps as she runs over to him. 

"I misssssed you." She's a little tipsy still, he can tell by how tightly she wraps her arms around him. 

"Missed you too, Jessie," he winds his arms around her too. She buries her face in his chest and he can feel her cold nose through his shirt. 

"Let's go hangout in the basement. It's freezing out here," he unlocks the front door with his Patriots key, the same one he's had since middle school; the paint chipping with use over the years. 

When they walk through his mom's kitchen, she opens the fridge and grabs two water bottles before following him down the steps to the basement where they'd spent much of their youth watching movies, doing homework, and playing Mario Kart. He feels calm and at home here, sunken into the old couch with her by his side. 

"So, Galentine's?" He swipes one of the water bottles from her and takes a sip before switching on the TV to whatever is on TBS, it looks like The Notebook.

"Don't make fun. It's a nice excuse to drink some wine and have a good night with your friends." She sniffs haughtily.

"Yeah, yeah. Any excuse to drink and gossip," he's just picking on her a little. It's what they do.

She swigs her water and looks at him with a little distaste coloring her face. "Stop acting like you and Tom didn't do the same thing earlier; I saw his insta story." 

Her eyes open wider as she realizes what she said, and he's a little taken aback. If she saw Tommy's story, that means...

"So you knew I was home?" He presses his knee against hers on the couch.

She looks anywhere but at him, finally focusing her attention to the water bottle in her hand- unscrewing and re-screwing the cap back on. 

"I mean..." She rolls her eyes in that careless way she has about her, and he notices her sweater is pink, as are the socks peeking out of the tops of her boots. "Kinda." He feels her move imperceivably closer into his side.

He can't help the smile taking over his face, "You just wanted to spend Valentine's day watching chick flicks with me, you can say it." 

"Shut up," she hits him with a pillow, firm across his chest. "Maybe."

It's the closest he's ever gotten to a mushy declaration from her and it warms him up. "You're an ice queen," he wheedles gently, wrapping his arm up and over her shoulders along the back of the couch. 

She sighs and leans her head on his shoulder, he's happy to sit here watching Noah hang from the ferris wheel, just like this, but Jess is apparently not.

"Not feeling so icy right now," she whispers, so low he's not sure if he imagined it, but then she's right up in his ear, "Feeling a little warm, actually."

She places her hand flat on his chest and sucks gently on the skin under his ear behind the tendon in his neck and he's feeling a little warm too, as a matter of fact. 

"Jess," she doesn't pause at the sound of her name, "Jessie," he pushes, a little more firm, he can't bear to physically remove her because it feels too good, but he's just, not sure she wants this.

"Jimmy," it's mumbled against his neck, and she barely pauses sucking into his skin to pant out his name. 

"You don't really…" he stutters, not sure how to go about this. "Are you sure you…" She bites gently at his neck and he can't help the groan that leaves his lips, "Jesus Christ, stop that for one second. I can't think straight when you do that."

 He gently pushes her shoulder to give himself room to breathe and collect his thoughts, but when he looks over at her she looks downright chagrined. 

"I'll just… go," she starts to stand up and he grabs her wrist and pulls her back down to the couch. 

"No you don't." She falls to the couch ungracefully next to him, red in the face and eyes glassy. "What the hell is this about, Jess. You can't just do… that and then leave without a word." 

"Don't make me say it." Jess looks down at her hands. Her face gets impossibly redder and Jimmy is sure he's going to like this next part very much. 

"Gotta tell me your feelings, Jessie." She refuses to look at his face and he can't stop the grin from forming. 

Deciding to put her out of her misery, he nuzzles his nose against her neck, gently exhaling into the sensitive skin there. 

"You… I… ugh!" She grasps at the back of his head and tilts her own to give him better access, but he refuses to take the bait until she says it. 

"Say it," he whispers, pulling away just enough so his lips don't graze her skin. 

He can feel the sigh she releases before she steels her body, spine going straight and takes a deep breath. 

"I want nothing more than to watch cheesy chick flicks with you. Both on Valentine's day and every other single day of the year. You're the only person that has ever made this day worthwhile and I…" 

He's not sure how the sentence was supposed to end, because he's so proud of her that he can't wait and stops her mid-sentence with a kiss on her mouth. 

She doesn't really have much to say after that, and he knows she's not great with feelings, so he's just being merciful.

_____

Mrs. Vesey makes her way down into the basement on February 15th, a basket of laundry propped up against her hip. She screams once, startled by the unexpected lump she finds on the couch in what she thought was an empty basement. 

She screams a second time when she realizes who spent the night. 

Jimmy could have done without either.

[wiltedeyesandtwistedlies]

What are the inattentive symptoms of ADHD?

Before I answer, it’s important to acknowledge that not everyone experiences ADHD the same way. I came up with this list through hours of extensive research, but I still explained each one based on how I experience them personally, because I wanted it to be an honest and accurate resource.

Now, I experience every inattentive symptom of ADHD severely. As well as most hyperactive type symptoms, but not nearly as severely. Hence why my explanations are on the severe side. So if you don’t experience every one of these, or you don’t experience them exactly like this, that doesn’t mean you don’t have ADHD.

Most Commonly Known Symptoms:

Inattentive ADHD is pretty much the same thing as hyperactive ADHD but with less hyperactive tendencies. So technically these symptoms apply to both, but ADHD has a few more that won’t be listed here.

• Inability to focus on disinteresting or unengaging tasks even if you need or even want to – As if your brain physically won’t let you. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. There is no, “Just do it because you have to.”

For real. Imagine a video came where you’ve reached the end of the map and there’s that invisible barrier to keep you from going any farther. But all the other players are passing it just fine. They look at you like you’re crazy and can’t believe that you can’t get through. But it’s literally IMPOSSIBLE.

Now apply that to easy individual movements or tasks like plugging in your charger right next to you or washing a few bowls.

• Focusing WAY too much on this single thing whether you like it or not. It’s called “hyperfixating” and it’s both the most exhilarating experience in the world and the most soul crushing. You can watch/do nothing else, consume nothing else, think of nothing else. It’s exciting and invigorating. But as soon as there is no more material/info about it to devour, existence is gray and meaningless. The adrenaline rush and laser focus are like nothing else, but the crash is just as intense.

• Inability to divert attention to something different when you're already focused on something else. (More of a product of the two above, really)

• Inability to organize or maintain a neat system. It’s not that we don’t have a system (because we do, and if it’s altered in the most miniscule way we will know and we will be furious) but that our systems tend to be more about ease of access. It looks messy, but everything is just easily reachable instead of tucked away in drawers or hidden in organizer bins.

“Out of sight, out of mind.” As soon as we can’t see it, or we get used to it and it becomes a background visual (like background noise but for your eyes), it no longer exists. Until we see it again we have never seen it before either.

• Emotions are forceful and kinda scary. Lacking the ability to regulate emotions means violently strong feelings. They can sweep you away and leave you stranded in an uncomfortable predicament. Major highs and lows as well as strong grudges and emotionally based actions.

• Distractability: There’s this stereotype that all people with ADHD are hyper airheads who cut off mid sentence to shout random shit like “SQUIRREL!” whenever they see something remotely interesting. They’re super excited about it and HAVE to let everyone know, no matter what they were doing before. It’s kind of the “cutesie” version that the media portrays a lot. Most ADHDers don’t actually fit this stereotype.

However, stereotypes are often based on true characteristics, even if they have been twisted into a sick joke or a cruel portrayal.

NOTE: There is nothing wrong with this form of ADHD. It just sucks that if you don’t match this stereotype, no one really believes you have ADHD. Also that so many people use it to insult and bully people with ADHD, even if that isn’t how they display their symptoms.

Lesser Known Symptoms:

Basically if these are #relateable, you probably have ADHD.

• Unable to conceptualize time in any way. Will this take two minutes? Three hours? No one knows! You thought this would take a half hour at most and it’s taken three! How?? This was a five-minute task and you’ve just realized you zoned out. It felt like two seconds but it was two hours!

• There is only Now and Not Now. Again, it’s a time thing. The future always seems so far away that it's almost like it doesn't exist. "Time is a construct" is something I often say because I have no sense of time passing, having past, or will pass. People describe me as "living in the present.” But that’s only because I forget that there is a future or that time is moving. I just don't think about it at all and when I try to it's impossible to understand and it feels made up.

• Sensitive to any form of rejection, actual or perceived. A friend texts you back, but they don’t sound nearly as enthusiastic as usual. You immediately tear your message apart to try to find what upset them and how you can make it up to them. Because surely that’s what that nontypical period means? You want to curl up in a hole and never come out, never face the horrible thing you’ve done to a treasured friend. Intense fear and sorrow mingle into all consuming guilt. The kind that makes you wish you’d never met them, just so they wouldn’t have to be hurt by you now. All because they added a period.

Everyone with some form of an anxiety disorder will recognize this. But it’s also a very common ADHD experience. This is in part because anxiety is SUPER likely to be comorbid with ADHD. But we also have Rejection Sensative Dysphoria. Which basically means we’re ridiculously sensitive to the slightest possibility of the barest chance that we maybe might receive a sliver of perceived ambiguous rejection. To the point where we cut off good relationships for seemingly no reason because we’re too afraid to even speak to them again, much less explain our emotions that we know are irrational but can’t help. The guilt and regret are too agonizing, the fear to face them too much.

• Reading is AWFUL. We’ve already established that attention is not your friend. Unfortunately, that makes it difficult to read blocks of boring text. The information could be good, it could be fun even. But if the format is too uniform and plain, it’s impossible to get past the first few sentences. You just keep rereading the same line over and over, realizing every time that you zoned out halfway across. It’s infuriating and very sad. It also makes studying an absolute nightmare.

Many people actually don’t have this experience. They hyperfocus on their reading or their schoolwork so it isn’t a problem. I was the same way until college and now I can’t even read a little recipe card without zoning out. But it’s a very common experience nevertheless so I listed it anyway.

• Ringing ears, hearing electricity. This is one I just heard about. I haven’t been able to actually research this one, but it’s interesting and every ADHDer I know has confirmed it so I’m adding it. ‘Cause I’ve had constant ringing since I was old enough to talk. And I’ve always been able to hear power lines, household appliances, wires inside the walls, all those varying vibrating hums and crackling pops. It’s one of the weird quirks that “run in the family.” Just like Tinnitus and all ADHD symptoms. Apparently, MANY people with ADHD have similar experiences.

• Negative stimming. Things that negatively stimulate your senses. After encountering a certain stim, you feel it physically. It causes a sensation that hurts, in a way. It shouldn’t, logically. But your body’s reaction is to pain. This includes foods you can’t eat because the texture is wrong. Clothing you can’t wear because you can easily breath but no you really can’t because the collar sits wrong against your throat. Sounds that make your spine stiffen or skin crawl. Bright lights or colors that don’t affect anyone else but make your head ache.

Stims and sensitivity can affect any and all senses. A certain smell, agitating fabrics, an unbelievably smooth stone, specific tastes and food textures, certain color combinations, particular sounds/pitches/volumes, et cetera.

• Positive stimming. The other side of the sensory coin. Things that are exceptionally pleasant to your senses/stimulate you positively. For example, the way light shines through a transparent bright blue gem. Watching the light catch and twist so fluidly when you move it takes your breath away. There’s a euphoric feeling to it, and you can’t look away. It’s too pleasing. It’s like a deep satisfaction you can physically feel throughout your whole body, emanating from deep within your chest. You never want to stop that feeling.

Personally, it feels like my chest is somehow much deeper than it actually is. And at the farthest, deepest part is where that satisfaction settles. Nothing else can ever reach that hidden, impossibly deep cavity. It’s so amazing, I never want it to stop. It can feel like that endless pit is starved, and the stim is the first sustenance it’s ever had so it never what’s to let it go.

• Forgetting supposedly unforgettable things. Like where the fuck I parked my car. Also what my car looks like. It’s blue right? It has a hatch. I accidently memorized the license plate (complicated story) but I can’t tell you what model it is?? Is it even in this parking lot? I’ve never parked anywhere else but my memory is obviously garbage so now I need to check every parking lot just in case.

End Note:

It’s important to know that ADHD has many symptoms that overlap with other nuerodivergencies such as autism or ASD. Executive dysfunction can be caused by a number of mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety. Emotional regulation problems can look just like Bipolar disorder and vice versus.

My point is, every symptom could actually be something else. It’s really easy to be misdiagnosed because they all have such similar symptoms. I know someone who thought they had ADHD for years, but it was actually a mix of severe depression and anxiety that fucked with their working memory (as both depression and anxiety do). Someone else I know was diagnosed with manic depression and thought they might be bipolar, but it was undiagnosed ADD the whole time.

[theawkwardterrier]

(In Our Togetherness) Castles Are Built

Learning to live together takes work. Written for @steggyfanevents​ Hearts or Butts Challenge (hearts, obv! well, hearts-ish)

AO3 link here.

They are not, it turns out, naturally compatible roommates.

Oh, they’re both courteous enough people. They both pitch in on cleaning up, take out the trash when the bin is full, replace the toilet paper roll or lightbulbs when needed instead of pretending they haven’t seen them - they’re not monsters.

But Steve wears his shoes inside the house without even thinking while Peggy takes hers off as she walks in the door, and she ends up irritated by the remaining street grit he unknowingly brings inside which she constantly feels through her nylons. He acquices easily when, three days in, she asks him to start removing his shoes when he comes home. He’s solicitous by nature and happy to make her happy. But they have been in such synchronicity since they met, in personality and values and choices, that these times when they stumble into dissonance are made all the more confusing for it.

And they keep stumbling. Peggy has changed from fire red nails to shell pink to deep plum, swiping firmly with polish remover and buffing and adding practiced coats in the evenings, before Steve mentions, carefully controlled, that the acrid smell in the small space is overwhelming to him. Several weeks later, as she asks him to contain his art supplies more carefully when he is in the midst of a project, she does not bring up the scent of paint in the room but the idea of it lingers.

He can’t understand why she insists on washing her breakfast plate and teacup even when she’s rushing out the door, and objects when she sighs and washes his too if he tries to leave them to wash with the supper dishes later. She can’t fathom why he insists on regularly listening to baseball games, and especially does not grasp why he must commentate aloud while he does, his soundtrack of groans and curses and punctuating affirmations making an already disruptive pastime she has no interest in even more so. He likes having the windows open, especially on these summer nights, and she closes them at every opportunity against the bugs and the noise, the city-scented breeze. She buys new paperbacks nearly every week or at least every other, and he stares baffled at the living room bookshelf, quickly filling with books she will likely never read again, and reminds her of their local library.

They are not good at it at first. But they do, it turns out, get better at it.

“It might be sensible to have a box of cold cereal in the house,” Peggy calls from the bedroom one morning. They’ve once again spent a bit too much time in bed, and as she rushes to get ready for the day, he’s gone to prepare toast and an egg for her - soft-boiled because they’re short on time.

“Easier for us on mornings like this,” he calls back, “but easier for the pests too.”

Coming into the room affixing an earring, she asks, “Do we have some sort of infestation?”

“Nothing I’ve seen lately, but you never know with these kinds of things.” He shrugs.

“I suppose not,” she says, reaching down plates for the two of them (no time even for egg cups). “But I don’t usually think of it.”

He laughs, taking out the butter. “Oh, you would if you’d seen the things I have,” he says, and it’s lucky Peggy isn’t squeamish or easily put off her food, because the casual mentions over breakfast of occasional scuttling roaches and his mother’s broom corralling fist-sized rats would turn a weaker stomach.

“I had thought your insistence on canisters for the oats and sugar was simply a homey touch,” she comments as she slips on her pumps and glances around for her portfolio.

“It is,” he says, handing it to her along with her purse. “Just from a different kind of home than you’re used to.”

That evening, when she comes home and sees his shoes leveled neatly beside each other by the front door, she asks him about that too. She hadn’t even thought to before. And he tells her about floors that somehow always seemed grimy no matter how often they cleaned, about times when there wasn’t any heat - not in the dead of winter, not usually, but in the trailing autumn and snappish early spring when the chill was still biting - and Steve and his mother kept their shoes on because taking them off would have meant frigid feet.

And so they begin to understand each other. Not automatically the way they do with so much else, not without asking, but in a different way, just as deep, just as necessary. She tells him about growing up with a mother who insisted that everything in the house be tidied before it was possible to turn to the marketing or visiting friends, about boarding school demerits for an unmade bed or an incompletely cleared table in the refectory (Peggy was somewhat particular about how she acquired her demerits), about going into shelters during the Blitz (or sometimes not going into shelters) wondering if someone was going to have to return to her bedsit and find her clothing dropped onto the floor or a crumb-covered dish on the table, remnants of a life to which she would never return.

He still doesn’t feel the need to keep things as constantly tidy as she does, but now he knows that element of her, sees her requests not as something to tolerate but to understand as a part of who she is. And she understands, too, about how comforting he finds the smell of paint, the sounds and scents of the city, how familiar they are, how sometimes for weeks throwing the windows wide and letting those things in was the only way he had been able to have a bit of the outdoors with him. She didn’t know him then, but she knows about that part of him now.

So they compromise, buying window screens and keeping the gap to only a few inches, switching places in bed so Steve sleeps closer to the window, feeling the play of air across his face as he falls asleep.

They compromise, agreeing that Peggy can polish her nails as long as she leaves a window open. Steve has always liked how they look anyway and, more importantly, how they make her feel: pretty and coordinated and in control of the way she’s perceived. With the issue of smell dealt with, he can admire each new color she chooses. They decide that Steve’s tradition of listening to baseball can continue at a lowered volume and with more limited commentary, though Peggy eventually finds herself looking over with fondness at his avid appreciation of the game (even if, when he finally takes her to one in person, she still finds it far inferior to cricket).

She becomes more judicious about buying books, finally allowing herself to leave behind her tradition of newly purchased detective stories that buoyed her during the war; they go to browse at the library together during evening hours instead. He starts running free art classes at the local community center and is allowed to have his own easel there for paintings in progress.

Peggy is permitted to take Steve’s undershirts and button-downs without asking as long as she knows they’ll return to him after laundry day. Steve can eat her marmalade, but only if he’s reasonable about his sampling and willing to buy another jar if he finishes the last of it.

“I sort of liked the part where you were all exasperated with each other,” a disgruntled Howard tells them, heaping a serving of spaghetti onto his plate the first time they host dinner at their place. “Some of us like it when you aren’t perfect all the time.”

Steve laughs. “We definitely aren't perfect, but we had something good and we knew it.”

“Well, you knew enough to be damn obvious about it,” Bucky says, helping himself to bread. “And not do anything but moon for years.”

“We were at war,” Steve scowls. “And we were taking time to build a foundation.”

“And now we know,” Peggy takes over smoothly, “that good foundation or not, relationships actually take work.” She knocks back the last of her scotch sour (she’d charmed the recipe out of the bartender at the Stork Club) and looks at Howard over the rim of the empty glass. “Perhaps one day you’ll be lucky enough to take part yourself.”

Mr. Jarvis coughs politely into his wine glass, his mouth thinned against a laugh. Ana reaches over to cuff her husband on the shoulder before patting Howard on his. “I’m sure you will one day,” she says with kind consolation.

“Not one day soon, I hope,” Howard says. “I’ll leave that kind of work to you for now.”

And they keep working at it, communicating and laughing and finding middle ground, discovering who they have each been and who they can be together. They make a life that is theirs: talking in the mornings while Peggy puts on her makeup, their eyes catching in the mirror; sitting down together every month to pay bills and review their savings, their plans for them the future, treating themselves to something sweet once it’s done (berry tarts when Steve buys, brownies when Peggy does); a dance at midnight on New Year’s Eve regardless of where they are.

It’s an art, living together, being together, and they become expert at it.

And, several years down the road, when the new roommate they’ve discussed - a smaller, squirmier sort of roommate - joins the family, they plan to teach them too.