#the frustration and resentment that can come from having a lot of responsibilities pushed onto you

[leqclerc]

flickers among the flat pink roses 795 words Bean AU

Charles stirs awake to the sound of soft, muffled cries. He squeezes his eyes shut, fingers briefly tightening around the pillow as he desperately tries to cling onto the last vestiges of sleep.

The baby—Bean, as he’s taken to calling her—sleeps a lot but not for long stretches, so he figured out pretty early on that he should just sleep whenever she does, as much as he can. Uninterrupted rest feels like a distant memory at this point.

The noise comes again, a sad little mewl, this time accompanied by a pang of guilt. Charles fumbles for his phone in the dark, reflexively squinting against the harsh light of the screen as he brings it up to his face. It’s a little after six, which isn’t bad, all things considered.

He pockets his phone and scrubs a hand over his face before finally pushing himself up off the bed and onto his feet, stumbling over to the bassinet. The baby stirs, giving another unhappy cry. Charles flicks the nightlight on before reaching down to scoop Bean into his arms.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is a little rough from sleep, but soft nonetheless. He rubs soothing circles across Bean’s sleep-warm back. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Charles pads across the hallway and into the kitchen. Carefully, he shifts Bean from the crook of his arm to his shoulder, freeing up one hand to prepare her bottle. After three weeks of regular feeds, it’s something he does more or less on instinct now. It became decidedly easier when—on his mother’s advice—he started approaching it like he does racing. Impossibly, the basics are pretty much the same: he practices, analyses his performance, and strives to improve.

Bean lets out a whine, as if to inform him that he can always do better.

“I know, I know, you’re hungry,” Charles soothes. “Give me a minute, okay?”

He grabs the bottle as soon as it’s ready, making a beeline for the living room. It’s too cold for him to step out onto the terrace with the baby without having to bundle her up, but the balcony door offers a decent view of the harbour below. Charles makes himself comfortable in one of the armchairs, gently cradling Bean against his chest. She lets out another impatient little noise, but quietens down once he brings the bottle to her mouth.

“There,” he murmurs, tracing the perfect shell of one tiny ear with the tip of his finger. “Is that better?”

Predictably, he gets no response, though judging by the way Bean’s eyes flutter shut, he decides she seems content. Charles lifts his gaze, staring out at the sky.

It’s still dark outside, but the sun is threatening to rise, streaking the night sky with faint hues of pink and yellow. Unsure of what else to do, Charles tentatively slips his phone out of his pocket and swipes up to unlock it, careful not to jostle the baby. He ends up checking the clock app, scrolling down until he finds Singapore, because some habits are just that hard to shake. There’s a six hour difference. Sebastian’s probably having lunch, or maybe sitting in a meeting with his engineers, figuring out the optimal setup for qualifying.

Charles doesn’t particularly miss the sweltering heat, the torturous humidity or the ice baths, but he does find himself longing for the atmosphere, the familiar rush of adrenaline—the challenge of beating his rivals at the toughest race of the season. He remembers the rapture of scoring points in an uncompetitive car and the sting of frustration at being denied a victory.

Most of all, he remembers glancing over at Sebastian on the podium, cheeks flushed with the heat, hair dampened by sweat and champagne, pride and exaltation etched into every line of him. The anger welling up inside him had receded as quickly as it had risen—he could never bring himself to resent Sebastian, not even when he capitalised on his misfortune.

I will get you next time, he’d told him. But it never came; there was no shot at redemption, then or now.

Bean stirs in his arms, as if sensing his thoughts.

“I know,” Charles sighs. “I miss him too.”

He sets his phone down, turning his attention back to his daughter. He smiles, watching as Bean’s little mouth opens in a yawn as soon as he pulls the bottle away. It doesn’t take long for her to drift back to sleep.

Tight, brilliantly lit streets unfurl behind Charles’s eyelids. His pulse jumps as he rounds the final corner and darts across the finish line, the crowds rising to their feet, feverishly chanting his name. There’s warmth across his back, the sweep of a familiar hand—

The sun is already cresting the horizon when he wakes.

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

can u share some some shimayukio headcanons or what you like about their dynamics? if u dont mind🥺🙏 (the Sans!Yukio pic you did is so good/funny. Your art style is so ❤️🤩!)

I genuinely was not expecting to get an ask about Yukishima anytime soon considering how long it’s been since I’ve made anything for them. I apologize so much anon 😭 I swear I will make content for them once more I’m just slow when it comes to making things ;-;

But to answer your ask! Ah headcanons...I feel like I used to have a lot but have forgotten many of them (ಥ﹏ಥ) but here’s a few And-They-Were-Roommates/Domestic ones:

When the pink box dye Shima used to color his hair gets discontinued he challenges Yukio that he couldn’t possibly replicate the exact same shade with different dyes knowing fully well that Yukio would never pass up on a chance to flex his perfectionism and resourceful prowess.

Of course Yuki succeeds and now is the personal dye mixer for Shima. Shima can entrust no one else with such an important role. Yukio just goes with it because otherwise Shima won’t stop begging him (and he lowkey hates seeing the energetic guy depressed because his roots are starting to show lol)

Yukio did try to teach Shima how to make it once but after a mishap that resulted in the need to replace the bathroom’s permanent hot pink stained tiles, among other things, he thought it best to never attempt such a thing again.

Shima has quite the hentai collection he’s built up and proudly displays them on a couple shelves in the living room. Yukio is not pleased. They find a middle ground and agree to move the shelves into Yukio’s bedroom since it’s the biggest and has the most space.

Yukio has read a couple of them...out of curiosity, of course. Purely for educational purposes, yes.

Shima knows about this and starts keeping tabs on which ones seem the most recently viewed so that he can start getting insight on what Yukio is into ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The sudden influx of hentai with particular kinks/tropes/and themes that...intrigue Yukio is noted but he’s not about to say anything about it. Who is he to hinder free por- uh someone’s hobby…

Maybe Shima uses his insight on Yukio’s taste for future activities together too. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Both are absolutely terrible at talking about their actual emotions that they developed acute awareness of each other’s body language that always gives away when one or both are upset.

They know they should probably work on actually verbalizing their feelings but boy is it great to not have to figure what words to say and just have someone be able to tell when you need your space or comfort.

They don’t say it but that’s the biggest thing they appreciate the other for and is a major reason they can live together so well.

After a particularly horrible nightmare Shima begs Yukio to let him sleep in Yuki’s bed with him (because Shima sure as hell isn’t going to sleep on the floor and he certainly doesn’t want to be alone now either). Yukio is too damn tired to put up much of a fight and let’s it happen. After realizing how heavenly comfortable Yukio’s bed is, Shima starts making any excuse he can to sleep in it.

Eventually it just becomes a routine thing and they just...start sharing a bed together. Yukio won’t admit it but he likes the added warmth Shima brings. Shima likes sleeping together too. Not just because he manages to get away with cuddling Yuki but also because the bed truly is that amazing.

Eventually Shima starts bringing in his stuff for convenience sake and that’s how his old room becomes the guest bedroom and he is once again reunited with his hentai. ヽ(͡◕ ͜ʖ ͡◕)ﾉ

Lmao says “a few” and then proceeds to write my longest response to date. But the sad part is this really is only a couple compared to what would always be passing my mind. Perhaps they’ll come back to me later~

[jungkxook]

—backseat serenade. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: punk!taehyung / band au / brother’s best friend au + smut 

⟶ words: 10,790

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: falling in love and having weekly sex with kim taehyung is wrong for a number of reasons — and, no, that’s not including the whole other issue that he’s also your brother’s best friend

⟶ warnings: multiple sex scenes, slight exhibitionism if u look hard enough, wall sex, car sex, unprotected sex, all the sex (seriously), fingering, pussy slapping (also if u look hard enough), lots of teasing, doggy style, riding, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: this story is another repost of an old one (although it’s basically been entirely rewritten lol)!  

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

“We have to hurry. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Taehyung says this with much difficulty, of course, especially when considering you’re currently pressed up against him, his fingers digging crescent-moons into your hips ━ but he knows you’re teasing him now.

You can’t help it, though; he just makes it so easy for you.

He can be so stubborn and impatient at times that poking fun at him brings you quite a bit of joy. Maybe not so much to him, as he often whines and complains that you like to torture him, but, really, how could you not? When you think about what he’s usually like in bed, away from prying eyes, it’s entirely different. So to see that dominance in him fade into nothing short of helpless is simply satisfying ━ even if you know you’ll pay for it at a later time. It doesn’t always happen either but when it does, you bask in it for as long as possible.

Which is why you seem to take the liberty of “torturing” him so sweetly now, just before the boys are about to play a gig at a bar late one night. Taehyung had found you the moment he and the boys had finished soundchecking for the evening, then had you pinned up against the brick wall of the dingy washroom, his hips digging harshly into yours, and his hand now gripping your thigh around his waist. It might have been you who instigated it, hooded eyes and fluttering lashes and shit-eating grins meeting him in secret from across the room as he stood on stage before you with his bass guitar in hand, but Taehyung was the one to put it into action just like he always does, pulling you in there even despite the fact that they were scheduled to play in twenty minutes.

But who could blame you? Taehyung is always so charming, and tonight he was looking extra irresistible. Maybe it was the silky blouse, the first few buttons left open so that the floral tattoo on his chest pokes through, leaving very little to the imagination, or maybe it was the way he had let his hair grow out a little longer than usual, soft dark curls pushed back by a single bandana.

“You’ll be late,” You warn him in between heated kisses as he pecks his way down to the underside of your jaw where he tongues a warm pattern there.

“Just a quickie,” Taehyung promises gruffly. His hips rut against yours again and you feel his straining erection against your inner thigh. Poor thing. “Been dying all day to feel you on my dick.”

You only hum in response, a small amused smirk plastered on your face. He’s sucking a hickey onto your neck when he speaks next.

“Had all these thoughts but I was all alone. It was terrible.”

“What kind of thoughts?” You pry, quirking a brow. Your fingers toy at the top of his belt buckle, pulling him towards you. “Let me guess. Were you thinking about what it feels like to have my mouth on you? All warm and wet.”

He doesn’t move a muscle when he feels your hand trail lower past his belt only to grab at his crotch through the rough material of his jeans. You press your palm against him and he hisses.

“Sucking you off nice and slow, just how you like it?” You probe, teeth tugging at his lower lip when he catches your mouth on his once more. Your voice is low and sultry and invokes something in him that has him tensing. “Or maybe the way it felt when you had me bent over your kitchen counter the other day. You know, you always make me feel so good, Tae━”

He growls against your mouth but the harsh sound dissolves into a strangled whine. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, love.”

“And I always love when you pull at my hair too━” But you continue on as if he hadn’t even spoken, the thrill of the moment coursing through your veins like crackling electricity. “And when you grip my thighs so tightly when your head’s between my legs━”

“Y/N,” he says your name in a strained warning, bordering on a desperate beg if you listen close enough. He gets distracted when you suck delicately on a spot on his jawline and has to take a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours.”

“My mouth?” You ask, tantalizingly slowly. “Or me?”

“I’m a simple man, I just wanna cum,” he hums, earning a delighted snort from you. “I’ll take whatever you give me, Y/N, please.”

“Hmm…” You trail off. You press your palm a little harder against him, rubbing your hand across his length. “Think I want you inside me, Tae. Wanna be wrecked by you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Now, this seems to excite him to no end. He fumbles with his belt at once. A devious cackle meets his ears and he knows you’re purposely toying with him. The next few moments unfold in a blur as his eager hands join with your own nimble ones, having his belt undone in a matter of seconds and your skirt hitched up nearly to your waist. With one hand gripping his straining and leaking cock as he pulls himself free from his pants, the other hitches one of your thighs to his waist. He pushes into you at once, the familiar feeling of your wet walls coaxing him in further and further as he sinks against your chest entirely, a beautiful luscious moan falling from his lips and a hiss of glee from yours. And, then, all at once, it’s as if all the pressure that has been building up inside of him tumbles to the forefront to be released.

“Jesus, fuck,” he grunts. He buries his head against your chest, one hand feverishly grasping at your breasts from under your shirt, fortunate you chose to forgo a bra for the night.

“Ooh, Tae━” Your own arms wrap around his neck, holding him tightly to you, but you don’t think he’ll bother going very far when his own weight slumps against you entirely, pressing you against the wall roughly. And even though he’s quick to fuck himself into you, his hips hardly stray far from yours too, causing you to bob violently up and down the wall behind you, the rough brick structure scratching at your flesh paling in comparison to the cool metallic rings on his fingers holding you up and the burn between your legs as his cock stretches you open.

“Nice to know that’s all I am to you━” Your head falls back against the wall as he continues. “Something you can use to get off. Not that I mind.”

“Nah, that’s not all you are to me,” Taehyung sharply inhales, and then shudders. In the heat of the moment, you miss the sentiment in his voice. He lifts his head to yours finally, smothering your lips with his. “But your pretty little cunt sure is nice.”

A maniacal cackle bubbles at your throat as you nip at his lower lip. Before you can respond, outside the washroom Jimin’s voice can be heard calling out aimlessly for Taehyung as the boy most likely wanders by, oblivious to what’s unfolding only a few feet away from him. “Has anyone seen Tae? Taehyung! Get your ass back here or we’re gonna be late━”

Taehyung groans out of frustration and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling angrily, “Fuckin’ hell.”

But despite the Jimin’s close proximity and despite Taehyung’s bitter resentment for it, his hips still continue to rut into yours. You do manage to pull apart from his mouth and giggle when he chases after your lips desperately. “Think that’s your cue, baby.”

“There’s no way you’d be that evil,” he protests like a whining child.

“But Jimin sounds pissed.”

Taehyung finds it hard to focus when your fingers tug at the collar of his shirt, absentmindedly (or so he thinks) running your hands under his shirt and over his chest. He cradles you close to him, following your every move. That, and the way your walls clench around him drives him wild. “Heaven forbid we let down Jimin.”

“Nnng━” You choke back a whimper. “He’ll be mad.”

“As if he wouldn’t already lose his shit if he found me here in such a compromising position with you being that you’re his sister.”

Compromising is certainly one word for it. So, maybe Taehyung had a point, but that never stopped him or you before. In fact, it only seemed to add to your lustful endeavours, as if you both enjoyed seeing how far you could push the boundaries before getting caught ━ or not.

It hadn’t always been like this. For a period of your life, you had somehow forced yourself to believe you had despised Taehyung as much as you claim, as much as you lie. You wondered just how Jimin could ever be friends with, or be as inseparable with, Taehyung as he was. Whereas Jimin is timid and shy, gentle and caring, like a soft breath of cool air on a hot summer’s day that sways the knee-high grass in meadows behind your house, Taehyung is energetic and effervescent, reckless and wild, akin to that of a sudden flash of lightning that breaks apart the calm sky, a clap of thunder that shakes even the very core of sleeping Gaia. Though, somehow, their two vastly different personalities come clashing together in a harmonious perfection and create something that is entirely too rambunctious for you to handle, even as a young child.

But now? Now you’re positive neither you nor Taehyung would stand a chance against Jimin’s wrath if he found out his best friend enjoyed weekly sex of all sorts with you, sometimes even when he’s asleep in the next room over in your shared apartment with him and Taehyung had somehow managed to sneak in during the night.

“You know he’s already suspicious,” You moan as his cock angles upward into you in such a way that makes your body tremble. You jut your hips forward, meeting his halfway. “Now━ Fuck, Tae━ you wanna… You wanna risk getting kicked from the band for not showing up to your set?”

“There’s still ten minutes,” he hisses hotly. “Ten minutes is more than enough time.”

“Then you’ll really be late.”

“It adds to the rockstar brand, doesn’t it?” he asks hastily. “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking wet and you’re teasing me?”

He’s met with a roll of your eyes, and then a drunken snicker as you retort, “Maybe being fashionably late will be more acceptable when you’re a big celebrity.”

“Did you find him?” Another voice suddenly sounds from outside, this time resembling Hoseok’s. Taehyung wonders how they haven’t heard either of you yet, the lewd wet noises of his cock burrowing into your cunt seeming to grow louder each time. Surely, you would have been caught by now had it not been for the thudding bass of the music playing at the bar.

“No,” Jimin grumbles, closer this time.

A dangerously loud whimper tumbles from your lips and Taehyung hurries to clamp his hand over your mouth. You’re fortunate when he does, clinging to his hand as he pumps himself into you. At the very least, no matter how cocky Taehyung got with you or how many times he teased the thought of getting caught, he would never actually risk facing Jimin’s mighty wrath. Still, he finds a way to have fun with it.

“Uh oh.” Taehyung meets your darkened stare, lids heavy, as his other hand leaves your thigh to stick between your legs, fingers rubbing circles against your clit. You know he does it on purpose, judging by the broadening smirk on his face when the added stimulation makes your hips jerk instinctively beneath him. He’s surprised when you hardly let out a noise, safe for a sudden gasp for air. “Not even one tiny moan? Come on, baby.”

“Fuck it. Wherever he is, he better know we’re on in ten!” Jimin’s voice carries back to the two of you. Then, a little more faintly as he wanders off, you can hear him grumble, “I swear to God, this asshole━”

“Wait, wait━” You rasp suddenly, twisting and turning beneath Taehyung and the boy stops at once. You try not to let your heart swoon at the way his hands are all soft and gentle as they touch you now, sliding his palm off your mouth if only for it to fall to your hips where he rubs at comfortingly.

He tries to ignore the way his cock twitches, shoved so deep within your walls. “What’s wrong?”

You slither from his grasp, unraveling your leg from his waist and delicately pushing him away, trying not to focus on the way your pussy throbs at the sudden missing warmth of his length. Taehyung is suddenly even more concerned, the poor boy gawking at you helplessly, his swollen cock completely forgotten as he fixes himself back into his jeans, his attention solely focused on you and your wellbeing now.

“What happened? Did I hurt you━”

“No,” You promise. “No, I just━” You look sheepish, and he wonders why, up until he sees you fidgeting with your skirt in an attempt to fix it and the mischievous twinkle flashing in your eyes. “I just figured maybe we shouldn’t risk it tonight. I mean, you heard Jiminie.” You pat Taehyung’s chest once, smoothing out the material of his now crumpled shirt. “So, I’ll see you out there.”

Taehyung blinks once. “What the fuck.”

It doesn’t seem to hit him at first; not until he spots your wicked grin as you lean past him to look at your reflection in the mirror, fixing your clothes and hair. You wipe at a smudge of lipstick in the corner of your mouth, and Taehyung gaps.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” he whines. Needy and desperate hands try to grab at you on your way to the door, but he ultimately lets you weave your way out of his reach. “What are you, the antichrist? Don’t be such a tease. I’ve got a problem that you helped start. It’s only fair if you help finish it.”

Admittedly, it is cruel. He looks both shameless and shameful, an exasperated and flustered expression to match the helpless state he’s in. Shirt askew on his shoulders, hair a wild mess, and his painfully obvious boner struggling against his jeans. You almost feel bad, until you realize you shouldn’t be. Because this is all it’s ever been between the two of you ━ sex, and more sex, no feelings attached, but lately something seems off…  Either way, Taehyung will get over it, and he’ll still come crawling back for more which is why you have no qualms when you leave. Just, maybe, not in the way you would like.

The last thing he sees of you before you flee the washroom for him to fend for himself is a seductive smirk and a wink being thrown over your shoulder as you remark innocently, prettily, “You have hands.”

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in the dingy washroom. He doesn’t come out right away, though it leaves the restless boys that make his band awaiting him to speculate some more.

“He’s gonna totally screw us over if he doesn’t show up in the next two minutes,” Jimin is saying hotly to the boys behind the stage when you rejoin them. The bar is already filling up with partygoers but mostly fans of the band, eagerly anticipating the set.

“Relax, Jimin,” Namjoon says carelessly. “He’s probably getting blown in the washroom or something. Can’t rush a man through these things.”

Jimin rolls his eyes as the others snicker. When the others have distracted themselves by discussing other business, you approach your brother casually, saying as inconspicuous as possible yet reassuringly, “Everything will be fine. I’m sure he’ll be here any second.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he throws this all away for a girl,” Jimin shakes his head. “It’s a miracle he ━ or any of the guys, for that matter ━ hasn’t tried anything on you yet.”

You try to laugh, though the sound is more forced and strained than you would like. At least Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. “But he’s your friend. Don’t you trust him?”

“I do trust him,” Jimin replies. “He’s a good guy, he’s just too caught up in all this band life. We’ve both seen it with the guys, especially with Taehyung. They take advantage of this stuff in the early stages.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” You promise. “I’m not interested in your friends and never will be ━ especially not Taehyung.”

Fortunately, the dreaded conversation doesn’t last much longer. Taehyung does end up making it to his own set on time, and when he finds you out in the crowd, you’re smirking deviously up at him for a secret that never has to be told aloud to the world and certainly not to Jimin.

You don’t quite remember when you and Taehyung started hooking up behind your brother’s back or what exactly caused it.

If you think back long and hard enough, you’re positive it was the result of some sort of drunken one night stand that elapsed into sober days and conscious decision making, which then turned into weeks, then months, which leaves you to where you are now. Almost a year of sucking your brother’s best friend’s dick and you’ve somehow, miraculously, never been caught. But aside from occasionally sleeping with one another, there was nothing more to be exposed to Jimin in terms of romance. Because, as far as he was aware, you and Taehyung were still embroiled in your childhood rivalry with one another that was less violent now than when you were younger and more civil, aside from the offhanded jabs and retorts shot at one another. And, as far as Taehyung and you were aware, the charade and the hook-ups all resulted in a peculiar sort of friendship between the two of you that was certainly as far as either of you would take things. Supposedly.

But between sexual teasing and taunts, you sometimes wonder if the lines have begun to blur, and if you’ve gotten too comfortable with Taehyung asking to sleep in your bed. Which is why, maybe, you overcompensate by “torturing” him on the days that he really needs you, like the night before in the grimy washroom of the bar. He hadn’t joined the real world or the band until the very last second they were meant to go on stage, looking all the more discomposed and flushed in the face when he rushed out, though at least he had somehow managed to tame his raging boner.

Now you were certain the universe was toying with you, bittersweet payback coming to nip you in the ass.

You hadn’t been so bothered the night before, leaving with the boys when their set was done and returning to your home with Jimin, not a word being uttered between you and Taehyung, even up until the very next day where you find yourself now. Crammed in a local studio run by some friend Yoongi had known from college, you were quite used to watching the band brainstorm new lyrics and record songs in real time, all from the sofa shoved up against one wall of the small space. You had been there every step of the way ━ their first rehearsal as a formed band, the day they discovered the group’s name in almost a dreamlike epiphany, the release of their very first full-length album produced and recorded all by them and promoted all by them, their very first gig with a decent following and the jittery anxiety they had all been troubled by, and every gig following it in which their nerves subsided and their effervescent charm and credence began to finally show through. But they had never been as disconcerted as they had now ━ which, really, you don’t blame them.

“Bro, this is stressing me out.” This aggravated groan sounds from Jungkook, the band’s lead guitarist.

He’s currently splayed out on the ground of the sofa you’re seated on, head thrown back against the cushions. Every other boy in the studio bare a similar wearied look ━ even Jimin, as their usual spritely lead singer.

You suppose that’s just the inevitable stress bound to occur when a scout from the infamous Columbia Records had somehow found the band either in person at one of their gigs or online and taken an interest in them and were interested in signing them. After weeks of back and forth discussion, Jin had been fortunate enough to land a meeting with the label in New York City, looking promising enough to excite even the stoic Yoongi. And after a month of planning, their meeting was set to take place finally only a week from that day. The issue seemed to arise when the label claimed they wanted the band to bring a set of new songs to the table to discuss at the last possible moment, sending the boys into a chaotic frenzy as they had only just released their first album a few months back. You had come to help the boys, though they were lucky enough to have found a handful of pre-written songs from their repertoire that still, unfortunately, needed fine tuning, vocals, and melodies. After working meticulously all morning, they were only just now deciding to split for a much needed lunch break.

“Same here,” Jimin says glumly, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Can’t wait to get out of here. I feel like I’m going insane.”

As the boys begin to shift and move, Jin gets to his feet and clasps his hands onto Jimin’s shoulders, giving him a reassuring nudge. “Just think about it: international success and Grammys await.”

“If we don’t fall apart before then,” Namjoon stifles a yawn as he stretches out his arms. He tosses a glance at you and Taehyung. “You guys coming?”

“Yeah,” You say, though you hardly move from your seat. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute,” Taehyung nods. He’s sat across from you on the couch, journal propped on one knee as he scrawls away in it, a jarble of chord progressions and lyrics. “Just gonna finish cleaning up in here.”

It seems convincing enough to Namjoon and the rest of the boys, even Jimin who is already out the door, not in the least bit suspicious of you or Taehyung. Honestly, you’re sure not even Taehyung is suspicious of your unmoving presence beside him until the boys leave and suddenly the room falls silent.

“You’re stressed,” You point out in a gentle musing. Which is true. You don’t usually see Taehyung riddled with anxieties, typically keeping to himself and maintaining some sort of effortless and mysterious coolness around the others.

The boy quirks a brow as he lifts his gaze to look up at you, tossing the journal onto the ground. Whether or not he seems to catch the underlying suggestive and sultry tone in your voice, you’re not quite sure but could you really blame yourself? It was difficult having to watch Taehyung all morning in his element, gazing at him whenever he was in the recording booth, headphones dangling from his neck and bass guitar in his lap as his expert fingers thrummed away at the strings. He always looks most attractive to you when he’s so utterly consumed by his work and his art, whether it be on stage in front of hundreds of people or in a more intimate setting at recordings or practices.

“What happened to you not wanting to disappoint Jimin by getting caught or whatever it was?” he asks, waving his hand dismissively. “Staying back with me is definitely gonna catch his attention.”

“Maybe,” You shrug. You catch his hand as he brings it back down, raising it to your lips to kiss at the tips of his fingers slowly, one-by-one, never once breaking eye contact with him. “I was just thinking you could use some help. And an apology for yesterday.”

Despite the way Taehyung’s dark gaze scrutinizes you in a taunting manner, he still watches as you take his hand and place it between your thighs, over your core. At least today you chose to wear leggings, the smooth material allowing for very little obstacles standing in his way as you press his fingers against you. A wolfish smirk tugs at his lips. “You think your pussy’s gonna help me?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” You say, matter-of-fact. “And I don’t think it will; I know. If I remember correctly, you were begging to use me as a stress-reliever before your set yesterday.”

Taehyung clucks his tongue. “Sounds a lot to me like you just want my fingers in you. Not so nice now being the needy one, huh?”

“I want you to do a lot of things to me, Tae.”

“Careful, baby. You’re playing a dangerous game,” Taehyung says. Still, he entertains the idea. Pressing his thumb harder against you, he rubs leisurely at the sensitive part of your clit over your clothes and the sudden feeling makes you pur with glee. “Besides, why should I be so nice and help you after what you did to me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still on about that? You’re a grown man, you can pleasure yourself.”

“How mean.” He feigns a look of mock hurt. “It doesn’t feel as nice when it isn’t you.”

“Taehyung,” You scold his name in a warning, but it mostly comes out as a contented sigh. You know you’ve already won him over, though the impatient tug you give on his arm as you clutch at his wrist of the hand still between your legs is a wordless reminder. Your fingers flutter up to his face, pulling him down for a kiss which he gladly obliges to. “Think they’ll walk in?”

“Nah.” His voice is a throaty murmur. “We’ve got some time. The boys’ seem worried enough as is; think they’re already halfway to that pho place around the corner they wanted to try, and they’re probably not gonna wanna come back here for at least another hour. Plus, I think we’ve given the producers a raging headache with all our requests so they definitely won’t want to be back in here for a while.”

You snicker at the thought, humming into his mouth as you pull him down with you onto the sofa, bending your knee so as to let him slide into place between your legs more comfortably. He pulls his hand away from you only long enough to lick at his digits before slipping his hand past the waistband of your leggings this time. Nudging aside your underwear, he swipes his fingers at your clit, marveling at your stickiness.

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What do we say when they ask where we went?”  

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunts into your mouth. “Fuck, tell them we were busy fucking for all I care.”

You swat at his chest playfully but lose your spirit when he presses his thumb against your clit, causing your hips to rut forward in a silent plea. Taehyung’s right, you think. Your excuse for the boys can be worried about later. Now, Taehyung slides a finger into you, then another, stretching you open experimentally, causing you to croon.

Face warm and head spinning, a sudden thought pops into your head that seems much more intimate than his fingers in you. “So━” You bite your lip to stop a moan. The question that forms on your tongue is timid despite the lewd things that threaten to run through your mind at his every touch, “S-So, what happens when you’re a big and famous rockstar, touring the world now?”

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung tongues a pattern down to the underside of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. He curls his fingers upward, sinking further into you until he’s reached his knuckles, enjoying the way your hips twitch beneath him. “Fuck you in every city we go to, in every fancy, over-the-top hotel we stay in. New York, L.A., Paris, London, Rome…”

“Romantic,” You snort, although maybe it kind of is if you think about it long enough. He slides a third finger into you then, fucking his digits in and out of you at a gradual pace that has your core aching. You’re all warm and wet around him that it goes straight to his dick, the thought of him tearing you apart as he plunges his cock into you making him grow antsy. It does the same to you. “Nnngh, Taehyung━ We’ll see about that when you meet pretty girls thousands of miles away who can offer you so much more than me.”

“Hmm… Dunno about that,” he hums. “There’s only gonna be you.”

You wonder if he knows what he’s doing, the way his words make your heart stutter in your chest. But then you start to wonder why you’re even feeling such things for him. Pretty words promising you that you meant more to him than sex meant little to you in comparison when he never acted upon it ━ but could you blame him? Even you were apprehensive of ruining what you already had with him, his friendship with Jimin if you told him how you were feeling lately, and the integrity of the band.

Your legs tremble as your orgasm approaches. Taehyung busies himself by nipping and sucking at your neck and all you can do is puff and pant, the lewd wet noises of his fingers penetrating you filling your ears. “Taehyung━ God, I wanna feel your dick so badly.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Gonna let me fuck you finally? You’re so wet right now, could slip right in. Fuck, look at what you do to yourself by being so mean to me.”

He twists his finger up into you in such a way that has you grinding against his knuckles. “Please, Tae━”

“Got you stretched so wide too,” Taehyung hums pensively. “Your pussy always takes me so well too, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm, Taehyung!”

“Look at you,” he hisses, quickening his pace. Your back arches until your chest is pressed flush against his, walls quivering around his fingers. You reach out desperately for his face, smoothing your lips over his but you fail to really make any sort of connection. Instead, your jaw unhinges in a breathless moan against his mouth as he rests his forehead against yours. “Wanna come around my fingers so badly, don’t you? So close too.”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m━” Your hands ball into fists around the collar of his shirt. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you get closer and closer, your aching pussy so close to feeling its much needed relief when━ “What the fuck, Taehyung?”

He pulls his hand from your core before you can cum, leaving you a sweating and panting mess. The sudden loss of contact leaves you dumbfounded, gawking at the boy who’s suddenly grinning in a similar ungodly manner to your selfish response to him the day before. Payback has never tasted so sweet before to him, and so bitter to you.

“You did that on purpose,” You whine, jutting your hips forward desperately to meet his hand again. Instead, he gives your leaking and sensitive pussy one slap, the pleasant jolt shooting up your spine making you moan. “You’re so mean. I thought you were over it.”

“Well, now I am.” He pulls his hand out from between your legs and licks at his fingers. “Have you had your fun?”

It takes you a moment to respond as you gather yourself. He finds your sulking a little hilarious, and maybe also feels a little bad. “For now.”

“That’s a good girl.” He leans down to kiss your mouth hungrily, enjoying when you suck eagerly at his lower lip. “Because I’ve had my fun.”

You open your mouth to say something more but are stopped shortly when, somewhere outside the recording room, you can hear the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, followed by the sound of the doorknob turning and Jimin’s curious voice, “Tae?”

You and Taehyung have stumbled off of one another within seconds, listening to the way Taehyung curses under his breath as he flings himself off the couch and a few feet away as you sit upright on the sofa. You have to only pray and hope that you both don’t look too obvious, though you think it’s too late for that. Either way, you cross one thigh over the other, biting down harshly on your tongue as Jimin stumbles into the room. As his gaze sweeps fleetingly across the room, he hardly takes note of both you and Taehyung.

“There you two are,” he says. “Was wondering where you went off to. And━” His stare flutters over to Taehyung for a moment and you hold your breath, fearing he may know a little too much, when━ “There’s my wallet! I knew I forgot it here.”

He crosses the room swiftly and plucks his abandoned wallet from the desk, holding it up to show the two of you. You smile nervously and Taehyung takes it upon himself to answer, clearing his throat in the process. “We were just gonna catch up with you, actually. Y/N was just helping me finish up here.”

You’re fortunate that Jimin’s probable sudden panic of trying to find his wallet and the relief of realizing he hadn’t lost it to the ether is what distracts him. He seems hardly intrigued by your lack of presence or yours and Taehyung’s odd companionship without the other boys. Whatever the case, you both manage to make it out of the recording studio unscathed and Taehyung does a well enough job at deflecting from any further suspicions by talking as normally as he usually would with Jimin on your walk over to the restaurant the rest of the boys are at.

Well, as unscathed as you can be, the tragedy of your lost orgasm still haunting you even as you sit across from Taehyung at the table.

“Now you’ll really be late.”

You say this as a heedful warning, though you’re fortunate when you find that you’re both distracted this time.

You know you have Taehyung under your spell that morning when he catches you purposely wandering his apartment in nothing but a pair of your panties. It’s not as if it’s uncommon to see you naked in his kitchen, making breakfast. That morning, when you walk into the bedroom holding a cup of tea, Taehyung almost chokes at the sight of your bare chest. It’s early the day of the band’s flight to New York City for their meeting with Columbia Records, and though Taehyung has roughly an hour before he has to leave the apartment, you’re worried he might just miss the flight altogether when he pulls you onto his bed again after a night of fucking.

“Don’t care. Come here.” His large hands are on you in an instant, roaming your body as he kisses the underside of your jaw and pins you beneath him. You let him get carried away, let him leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your lips down to your collarbones and in between your breasts.

“What are you gonna tell the boys when they’re on a flight to New York and you’re still in your apartment?” You rasp, fingers threading in his hair.

“Was busy spending the last twenty-four hours making hot, passionate love to you.”

The wry grin on his face makes it come across as a joke and makes your heart skip a beat. Admittedly, that was partly the truth. He had invited you over the day before and you had spent the better part of it in his bed in every position imaginable. Have to make up for the three days we won’t see each other, he had said after your first round, head between your legs and mouth on your cunt.

You snicker now but the sound falls short when a moan replaces it. “Don’t think you can call it passionate love making when you gave up halfway and made me ride you like you always do.”

He gasps and bites down teasingly on your skin but not with enough pressure to hurt. “Was that a jab at my manhood?”

“Of course not.”

“Besides, I like it best when you’re in charge.”

You roll your eyes but pull him up to your face so that you can kiss him again. It’s an odd shift in atmosphere when you find him kissing you in a chaste manner, despite having marked you red all over and legs still shaking from how many times he’s made you come in the last twenty-four hours. But it wasn’t all sex for once. Falling asleep in his arms left you still dreaming even when you were long awake.

“Gonna miss you,” he whispers once he parts from you. He rubs soft circles against your hips, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

“It’s only for three days,” You say.

“I know,” he sighs. “I just━ God, I’ve gotten so used to you being here. I’m just sick of sleeping alone all the time. Shit, I don’t think I’m making any sense anymore. All I know is you’re driving me crazy.”

“Taehyung…”

“Am I wrong to feel that way?” He lifts his head now to look at you, ardent sincerity glazing over his eyes as he gazes at you.

You’re too caught up in the moment, the lustful afterglow of sex and whatever else is starting to emerge however blurry it may be now, to not notice right away the sound of knocking on the front door. Instead, you reach out to push his hair out of his eyes. You think you know what he means; you just want to hear him say it aloud. Your question is a gentle probe. “What are you trying to say?”

“I━”

But Taehyung’s voice is cut short by the sound of Jin’s shouting from the front door. “Taehyung, you in here?”

Wide eyes meet with yours in the sudden alarming panic of Jin’s arrival. Taehyung grumbles mostly to himself, “God dammit, what’s he doing here?”

You can hear the band’s manager talking aloud, quite possibly to another one of the boys that he’s dragged with him, and you and Taehyung scramble to react. Taehyung only has enough time to clamber out of his bed and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor as you pull on one of his sweaters and grab the bedsheet to cling to your chest if only so it can hide the rest of your bare legs.

“Are you alive?” Jin’s asking, closer this time.

“We had to come check on you━” You don’t register the second voice until it’s too late.

Because there, standing at the threshold of Taehyung’s door to his room, is not just Jin but your brother. Jimin’s familiar pop of bright blue hair and nonchalant smile are much too hard to forget. But, upon stumbling across Taehyung’s room, they each come to a stuttering halt. It doesn’t take long for the realization to dawn on them ━ and how could they not piece together the puzzles painting such a painfully obvious picture? The dishevelled bed, the clothes that litter his floor, your clothes that litter his floor, Taehyung’s shirtless and sloppy attire, your own half-hearted attempt at dressing yourself and the marks that riddle your body that you were banking on fading completely by the time you were reunited with Jimin after their return from their meeting.

“Uh…” Taehyung trails off awkwardly. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh shit,” Jin curses under his breath. Despite having no idea whatsoever about you or Taehyung (though maybe having a better inkling than the rest of the boys), he turns hastily towards Jimin. “Maybe now’s not a good time.”

But Jimin hardly budges. Instead, he looks enlivened, jaw setting harshly in place as his brows furrow into a scowl. “Jin knows I have a spare key to your place after that one time you locked yourself out and he wanted to make sure we all met up before getting to the airport. You weren’t answering our calls, thought you were dead. Guess now I know it’s because you were too busy fucking my sister.”

“Jimin,” You hiss sharply.

Taehyung shakes his head wildly. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Jimin retorts. “‘Cause it sure seems like it is.”

Taehyung grimaces. “Okay, yes, but not in the way you think. It’s not some meaningless fuck. I care about her.”

But that only seems to be the wrong answer. Would there ever be a right one? Taming Jimin’s stubborn anger and protectiveness over you was hard enough on any other day. Now that he knows you’ve slept with Taehyung, Taehyung felt as if he were a lost cause.

“How long has this been happening?” Jimin asks, tight-lipped.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, neither can Taehyung, and that seems to be enough to answer his worries. Maybe if you had acted faster, said it was only a one night stand, he wouldn’t have been able to read your mind so easily. Yet your silence was enough to make you guilty.

“Shit,” Jimin runs a hand through his hair. When he speaks next, he’s looking only at you. “Do you love him?”

“I━” You open your mouth, as if to explain yourself. This time, the answer came much easier. You know what you want to say, but voicing the truth out loud in front of your brother and Taehyung, who might not feel the same way, makes you clamp your mouth shut. Whatever your answer anyway should be for Taehyung only. Instead, you frown up at your brother. “I don’t get why you’re so upset anyway. Who cares if we’re in love? Who cares what we are? It’s not like you can control me. I can make these sorts of decisions myself, Jimin. This is ridiculous.”

“No. I get that,” Jimin says firmly. “But you’re my sister, and your wellbeing comes first to me. So, Tae━” Now, your brother turns to look at Taehyung. You’ve never seen him so furious before, disappointed even, and certainly not when it comes to Taehyung. “If you care about her so much, when were you gonna let her know?”

This seems to catch your attention, sending a curious gaze between Jimin and Taehyung. “Let me know what?”

“That he’s been screwing some other chick he met at the bar a while ago,” Jimin says. “Walked in on them once by accident and, after the fact, he said some similar bullshit about how it wasn’t meaningless or whatever.”

You blink.

The blow to your chest, and subsequently your heart, makes you teeter on your frail legs. Because if what Jimin was saying was true, then were all the sweet sentiments Taehyung whispered to you even yours to begin with? Did he care about you as much as you cared about him? But, the worst part of it all, is how utterly foolish you feel. Because when Taehyung doesn’t immediately answer, your question about whether or not Jimin was telling the truth was confirmed; and you had let yourself almost willingly fall for Taehyung despite all the warning signs. Despite the fact that you had both initiated your relationship on the basis that nothing would ever blossom from it.

“Is that true?” You ask Taehyung.

The boy hesitates. He meets your stare solemnly, flinching when he notes just how hurt you seem. “Partly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You demand. But before he can respond, you scoff under your breath as you begin to gather your belongings. “Oh my god. I’m so stupid━”

Taehyung starts. “Wait, Y/N━”

“Just leave her alone━” Jimin interrupts.

“Hey. Hey!” Jin snaps abruptly, the firm tone in his voice catching the boys’ attention. “We gotta go. Now. Taehyung, get yourself decent; Jimin, in the living room. We leave for the airport in five minutes.”

You decide you no longer want to wait for an answer. Your own embarrassment is far too much to handle for the moment being, and you favour the idea of fleeing from Taehyung’s sorrowful gaze, Jimin’s heated one, and Jin’s scrutinizing scowl.

You’re long gone before Taehyung can even think to stop you.

The three days in which the boys find themselves in New York City for their meeting with Columbia Records is the longest three days of your life.

Taehyung never bothers to call or text you ━ and the looming swell of concern of awaiting to hear his voice or your brother’s or any answer of how the meeting has gone fades in comparison. Because every sweet nothing he ever said to you suddenly means nothing, and you don’t know where that leaves you.

Just when you think you can take the torture no longer, the band returns. Jimin comes bounding into your shared apartment the moment his flight lands and the taxi has brought him home, greeting you with the wonderful news that the band’s been signed, and a celebration is in store consisting of their closest friends and family members. While you initially bask in Jimin’s excitement, mirroring your own, it quickly fades as you fear you’ve lost Taehyung for good.

“You’ll come to the party, won’t you?” Jimin asks hopefully at some point. “The boys will want you there.”

You shift warily in your seat on the sofa across from your brother who stands in the midst of the room after having animatedly relaying the story of the past three days to you. You shrug now, and when Jimin shoots you a quizzical look, you decide to approach the topic cautiously, dancing over your words slowly. “I dunno, Jimin. If he’s gonna be there… I don’t know if I can face him right now.”

Jimin comes to an immediate halt. His face falls and he sinks onto the seat beside you. “Y/N… Look, I was wrong, and I’m sorry. While we were away, Taehyung and I talked and he’s gutted about what happened. But that’s all I can say. I think you should talk to each other. No, I want you to talk to each other. I know now that you’re meant for one another.”

“Are you only telling me this because you’re being your best friend’s wingman, or because you’re being my brother?” You ask, a weak lighthearted attempt at a joke.

“Both,” Jimin says warmly. “Because I care about you both, and I don’t want to have to live with the regret of being the reason two people perfect for each other aren’t together.”

And when your brother says it with such earnestness, you have no choice but to believe him.

So, despite feeling like a fool for potentially crossing paths with Taehyung again, you muster the nerve and motivation to go, and arrive at the party with Jimin later that night. The impromptu last minute party itself is held at Namjoon’s home, filled to the brim with mostly familiar faces and a few unrecognizable ones that must be acquaintances of the boys you’ve never met before. You make your rounds and congratulate the boys one-by-one, being enveloped into a tight hug with each one, safe for Taehyung whom you don’t see at first.

You’re fortunate when mutual friends of yours and Jimin’s arrive, spending the majority of the night with them as your brother wanders off to get wasted. At some point, as the night drawls on, you catch sight of Taehyung and the presence of him is enough to dampen your mood entirely. You decide you’re no longer in the mood for a party, and make haste for the door, stumbling out onto the lawn. You only make it so far, coming to stop at the foot of the curb to breathe in the cool night air around you, before you notice Taehyung hurrying out after you, calling your name.

Almost as soon as he’s able to catch his breath and you lock gazes with the boy, he asks aloud, “Where are you going?”

You hadn’t expected him to follow you, nor the terrible nearly tangible awkwardness that hangs heavy in the air. Still, the concern in his voice and the corners of his eyes softening at the sight of you makes you want nothing more than to forget all the heartache. “Home.”

“Let me drive you?” he asks delicately.

You hesitate before responding. You know the simple offer of a drive is more than that. It’s an invitation to talk to him, sort things out. And you, of course, can’t possibly deny him. As soon as you’ve followed him to his car and he starts driving, everything goes silent. It’s almost unbearable as you shift uncomfortably in your seat and gaze out the window, hoping the long car ride will pass by rather quickly. You thwart his attempts at starting any conversation by turning the radio up and letting the music ━ a mix from Taehyung’s phone filled with pop-punk and indie classics ━ fill the emptiness but it doesn’t work with distracting you. He takes a detour from the path to your apartment, driving instead to a nearby lookout point of a hiking trail, now abandoned and desolate this late at night.

It’s quiet even long after he shifts the car into park, leaving only the sound of the stereo to fill the void. Then, at long last━

“You didn’t call,” You say.

Taehyung swallows thickly. “I know.”

“That’s all I wanted. An explanation.”

“I know,” Taehyung shifts in his seat to look at you. “I’m sorry. I messed up.”

“I know I have no right to feel like you’re mine when the reason we started seeing each other was casual, but everything you’ve been saying to me lately━” You rasp, “that I’m the only one for you and that you were gonna miss me because you were tired of being alone ━ did all of it mean nothing?”

The boy’s stare hardens. “No. I was never lying when I was with you. Everything I said, I meant.”

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“Because I was scared I had lost you,” Taehyung grovels all at once, silencing you. “Because things were starting to finally change between us ━ where it wasn’t just sex all the fucking time, but something genuine ━ and I didn’t want to face the reality that it could all be gone, just like that.”

“Well, what did Jimin mean, about that other girl? Was he telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Yes.”

“And did you fuck her while you were still saying there was only me in your life and pretending you meant it?”

“I was never pretending,” Taehyung protests exasperatedly. “We had a fling, but that was months ago, when you and I first started whatever the hell this is. But Jimin was wrong. I never told him she was the one, or whatever. I said I didn’t want it to be meaningless anymore. That I want something more. I thought I had found it with that girl; but it was really with you.”

“Taehyung…” You whisper his name now, a delicate utterance.

“You can’t tell me I’m the only one feeling this way about us,” Taehyung beckons desperately. “I know you’ve been feeling it too.”

You purse your lips; then, you let out a small exhalation of air. “Tae… I think I’ve been in love with you ever since we were little kids.”

Now, Taehyung’s stare softens. He reaches out to grab at your face, gingerly pulling you into him, thumb caressing your cheek.

“I want you,” he promises. “God, I want you so bad. Do you really think I’d risk getting kicked from the band for anyone else but you? Or let anyone else tease me so bad but you?”

You can’t help but snicker. You shake your head at him as he pulls you into a kiss. He grins against your mouth and, this time when he kisses you, it’s hot and needy, a whole three day’s worth of pent up emotions and desires pouring into your every touch. Your hands fumble to undo your seatbelt and then you’re climbing over onto his lap and he’s welcoming you with open arms, the skirt of your dress hitching up higher on your thighs. Your knee, or maybe it was your foot or elbow, accidentally hits the horn of the steering wheel and startles the two of you, earning a squeak from you, before you both erupt into laughter. Taehyung reaches down to push the seat back a few inches to give you more space in the cramped driver’s seat and then he pauses to look up at you with mesmerized eyes. He kisses you again and again, as your hands come up to grasp at the sides of his neck.

“Had enough of the bullshit, have you?” he asks humorously. “Gonna take matters into your own hands?”

“I’m tired of all this teasing and chasing,” You pout. You’ve already begun grinding your hips against his, enjoying the way his face pinches in pure delight. He burrows his face into your chest, breasts soft against his head. A soft moan bubbles at your lips as you plant your own hands onto his chest. “I think so are you. We’ve both got a taste of it, haven’t we? We need to make up for lost time.”

“Fair enough,” he rasps. “What do you want from me, baby?”

“You, all of you,” You murmur. “Want your dick in me.”

“Gonna let me finish this time?” he tuts.

Your amused giggle meets his ears and he wonders how you can be both cute and sexy at the same time. “Mmm, I wanna be filled with your cum.”

“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung grunts. “Okay, okay. Here━”

Somehow, he’s able to gesture to the backseat and you and him clamber your way there until you’re finally both situated once more with you straddling his lap. There’s a mutual understanding that there’s no point, nor time, for foreplay but it’s not as if either of you mind. Taehyung’s surely had enough and so have you because while teasing him may be fun for a while, it certainly can feel like torture trying to stay away from him in the meantime. You help him fumble with the belt of his jeans so that he can unbuckle them and watch as he grasps at himself, pulling his cock free. Immediately, you’re lifting your hips to pull the skirt of your dress up higher and his hands help aid you clumsily, palms gliding up the smooth expanse of your thighs.

Then, fumbling to push you on your knees before him, with one hand on the small of your back, he pulls you towards him and gazes down between the two of you as he hooks a thumb over the material of your panties to push it to the side and teases the tip of himself over your slick folds. Your hands flail outward, palms pressing against the windowpane as he somehow situates himself behind you in the cramped space on his knees. He grunts from behind you at the feeling and then slowly and carefully guides you down onto him. It takes a moment to adjust but as you sink fully down until he’s balls deep, his cock coaxed easily by your leaking wetness, the both of you come to a halt, sputtering for air.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck━ Stay put for a sec.”

“Why?” You ask, jutting your hips backwards teasingly. “Gonna cum already?”

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters. He thrusts up into you without warning as payback, causing you to gasp out loud and flail forward. “No, you brat. I just want to enjoy it a little bit longer.”

He’s right. It does feel nice to finally feel some sort of friction after three days of nothing. To him, you just feel so nice and warm and snug and, to you, he fills you up so perfectly. So you stay put for a little bit, adjusting to the feeling as you kiss each other slow and steadily. His dick twitches inside you, warm and wet and so fucking hard. He’s just so big, your head is spinning. It’s almost as if you feel him in the pit of your stomach, legs trembling at the feeling. He yanks impatiently at the top of your dress, pulling it down so that the material pools at your waist now, reveling in the way your bare breasts spring free. At once, his hands are reaching around your front to palm at your breasts, grasping at your hips and navel.

“Wanna wreck you so bad,” Taehyung growls roughly against the shell of your ear as he presses his chest against your back. “Gonna fill you up so good, make your pussy all mine. How does that sound?”

“Want it so bad,” You whine, one arm hooking behind you so that your fingers can scratch at his hair. “F-fuck, Taehyung━”

When he tugs lightly at your hips, you take that as his gesture for you to move and start grinding your hips against his.

“Been waiting so long,” he hisses. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t know why you always gotta tease me.”

“Taehyung,” You choke out. “Oh, f-fuck━”

“That’s it, baby girl. Doing so well,” Taehyung grunts as your walls quiver around him. He starts grinding into you, rough snaps of his hips sending you jolting forward each time. “Gonna take my dick like a good girl?”

“Y-Yes━ God, want it so bad,” You cry out. “Give it to me harder, please, Taehyung━”

He gladly obliges, quickening his pace until he’s slamming his hips into yours in thrusts that tremble you to the core. Tears begin to prick at your eyes at the glorious sensation, your cunt throbbing with each thrust. You’re so wet, he almost slips from your walls each time he rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck━ Want you to ride me,” he rasps at some point. “Show me how your pussy belongs to me. Can you do that for me?”

You nod blindly. You try not to whine at the sudden loss of contact when he pulls out of you, the tip of his cock glistening with both of your leaking cum mingling together, the sticky strands pulling apart midair as he fumbles. Soon, he has you straddling his lap, sinking onto his dick once more. You grip his shoulders this time, bouncing on him as he buries his face in your chest.

A sudden thought has him groaning aloud. “Your brother’s gonna fucking hate me.”

“I thought he said you talked things over,” You gasp. “That everything’s okay.”

“I don’t mean that,” Taehyung’s head rolls back, eyes squeezing shut. “He’s gonna murder me if he ever catches us like this.”

“Think he knows it happens by now,” You giggle. You moan when you drop your hips on him completely, swiveling around his dick.

“Still don’t think that means he wants to see us making love on the couch in your apartment. Not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you,” Taehyung points out. Then, adding hastily, “Fuck it. Can we not talk about your brother? It’s killing the mood.”

Another delightful chuckle bubbles from your lips though it’s quick to dissolve into a splintered cry as his dick angles upwards into you.

Your back arches until your chest is pressed against his. It’s almost embarrassing how fast the two of you become complete shambles, a sticky mess forming between your legs. It comes to that point where you don’t care about being careful and where you decide to adopt such a reckless pace, fucking yourself on him, your breasts bouncing wildly before him. Taehyung moans and eagerly latches his mouth on one of your breasts, sucking hard.

“Taehyung,” You whine. “I’m not gonna last.”

He hums against you, pulling you closer to his mouth and chest and wrapping you in his heat, as if to urge you on. Your mewls and whimpers ring in Taehyung’s ears as beautiful sounding as the music that plays in the background. You begin to give out, your tiredness mingling with the intensity of pleasure, and you collapse against Taehyung’s chest, huffing for air. He quickly replaces your efforts, grabbing your hips tightly and plummeting his upwards into yours so hard that you feel each thrust shake you to the core. You know you’ll have bruises in the morning but you don’t mind. You’re leaning entirely against Taehyung now, your arms wrapping around his neck, as cries of his name and choked whimpers continue to tear from your throat and mouth.

“F-Fuck!” You cry. “Taehyung, faster━ oh my god, please━”

Your pleas drown out when one long moan escapes you. You can feel the muscles in your core tighten and loosen in a constant battle that has your head swimming in a good way, your heart pounding in your chest. Taehyung grits his teeth, focusing on bringing you to your high, and, before you are able to even comprehend what’s happening, you’re toppling over the edge. You’re still on top of Taehyung, whimpering profusely and crying his name in a beautiful mantra as your high shakes you from head to toe.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” Taehyung hisses. “Cum for me. Cream all over my dick. You love it, don’t you? Love having me fill you up like this?”

“Yes, oh my god, Tae, yes━ faster, please━”

Taehyung obliges, sweat forming on his forehead. He feels you squeeze around him so tight that he fumbles for a second, sputtering for air. Then, he feels your cum pulsate out of you, leaking down his length. You’re instantly floating up high with the stars, relishing in your high and the way Taehyung rides it out as he also fights for his own sweet release. As your hips come to a stutter, he grips at your waist and pummels his dick up into your aching pussy.

His tongue continues to lav lazily at your jawline and, by the time he reaches his own high, you are beginning to cringe from the sensitivity. Yet, you hold on, pushing away the slight sting as you help coax him to his high, squeezing your muscles around him. He cums moments later, releasing into you warm and wet, crying your name.

“Fuck, Y/N━ Gonna fill you up, baby, just how you like it━”

He rams his hips up into yours for one final effort, shuddering in elation as his cock twitches every last drop of cum from it. Then, both breathless and panting, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, you slump against his chest, resting your forehead against his. The car instantly goes silent and the foreground music that was the radio comes to once more. You listen to the soft lyrics as the two of you bask in the afterglow of sex and he kisses you all over.

You don’t know how much time passes as the two of you lay there, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your hips as your own fingers trace the tattoos that ink his skin.

“You know━” Taehyung speaks up eventually, his voice a low mumble. “Gonna be extra hard not to be late getting to gigs now.”

“Uh oh.” You roll your eyes. “Think we’ve got all the time in the world now for sex, Tae.”

Taehyung grins. “I was thinking more about the fact that I’m not gonna want to get out of bed in the morning, whenever you fall asleep beside me.”

Your heart swells at his confession and you peck his cheek quickly before burying your face in the crook of his neck. It’s his own serenade of sorts, his small promise in the backseat of his car, that makes it all okay in the end.

“And,” Taehyung admits cheekily this time, “knowing we don’t have to keep us a secret anymore, even to ourselves━ I'm definitely not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you now.”

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Desperate Measures.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaeya/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Delusional Mindsets.

Kaeya was a man, distracted.

Distracted. Divided. Not inattentive, but pulled away from his responsibilities by a force he couldn’t name and couldn’t say he cared for, either. He wasn’t a stranger to romantic inclinations — fantasies, sudden flings, slow-burning inclinations that died the moment his attention was called elsewhere. Predictably, the few relationships he allowed himself were short-lived, at best distasterous at worst, but he didn’t have a problem with that. If anything, Kaeya appreciated it. He’d always thought of company as optional, and what little loneliness he was still capable of feeling could be drowned with a generous glass of wine. He wasn’t one to linger. He tried not to overstay his welcome. He’d been sentimental, once, too emotional for his own good, and he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t intend to change.

He didn’t want to change.

And yet, here he was.

Distracted.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. It was all he could do to look like he might’ve been trying to read the most recent document left on his desk – this one from Jean, a directive for the younger knights or legislation she needed him to review or another vague, important report that he probably would’ve dealt with weeks ago, if he’d been able to concentrate.

He made a half-hearted effort to straighten his back as the door to his office began to open, but Kaeya dropped the act quickly, abandoning it completely by the time he heard the sound of heeled boots against hollow tile, caught a glimpse of a familiar (albeit, rarely used) catalyst, searched for eyes and found the cover of a thin book, instead, your face still buried in your newest novel as you stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. It was you. He should’ve known it would be. Who else did he deserve?

You, Lisa’s new assistant. You, the latest addition to the Knights of Favonius. You, his current, infuriating, unshakable fixation.

You, the new recruit who hadn’t paid him so much as a passing glance since your arrival, much to Kaeya’s frustration.

You didn’t look at him. You rarely ever did, but it hurt more than it usually did, today, as you dropped another form onto his desk, letting it replace the greeting you’d forgotten to offer. “Lisa needs you to sign this,” You started, laying out your priorities clearly, a skill Kaeya was beginning to resent. “It’s just next year’s budget. If you don’t want to read it, I think I’ll be able to look the other way.”

He glanced over the rows of numbers, the messy hand-writing, the columns of meaningless gibberish that blended together into a mess of ink and digits, and took your suggestion, scrawling his name across the only blank line. It was a lost cause, especially with you in the room. Especially with your unoccupied hand resting on his desk, your fingertips idly tapping an unsteady rhythm into the wood, and all he could think about was who he’d be willing to kill to feel that hand pressed against his cheek.

He considered asking you, for a moment, giving you an order and hoping you'd absent-mindedly obey. He thought about touching you, or running his fingers through your hair, or pulling you into his lap and mumbling sweet-nothings into your ear until someone else dragged you away.

He thought about a lot of things. Then, he said, “I take it your silence comes at a price?”

“Do I seem that selfish to you?” You were selfish. You had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then surely you would’ve been kind enough to put him out of his misery months ago. “I like helping people. Just remember this when I need a favor from you.”

“I’m sure we could work something more immediate out,” He went on, but you were already starting towards the door, calling the conversation to a close before Kaeya could begin to finish. In the back of his mind, something flared, the urge to catch your wrist, to go after you, to put himself between you and the only exit and refuse to move until you looked at him, but he forced it down, swallowing the temptation before it could eclipse his common sense. He couldn’t be impulsive. He couldn’t make rash decisions. He wasn’t prepared to deal with how difficult that would make things, not now.

Not yet.

“Join me for a drink?” He tried, again, attempting to sound unbothered. Nonchalant, casual, normal. Like he wasn’t itching to burn every book you’d touched. “I know you don’t have anything better to--”

“Another night, Captain.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving Kaeya’s muttered response to echo through his empty office.

“Of course.”

~

Kaeya was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveler who hadn’t seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed knight, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from you. He knew where you'd be. You were a creature of habit, and he’d already had more than enough time to memorize your routine. He’d had enough time to memorize everything about you, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he’d spent trying and failing to win your favor.

It was evidence of how pathetic he’d gotten, over the course of his one-sided pursuit.

You were in your usual spot – tucked into the far corner of the library, perched on the edge of a windowsill, your attention monopolized by the tattered scroll spread across your lap. You were still pouring over it by the time he reached you, slumping against the nearest wall, taking in how brilliantly the muted sunlight looked as it danced across your skin. He didn’t try to hide the way he stared, anymore. He was long past worrying that you’d care enough to notice. Your hair was unkempt, proof that’d you slept in the archives again, if you’d slept at all. Your lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might’ve been stranger if they weren’t. It must’ve been a nervous tick, but Kaeya found it cute. Kaeya found it endearing. Kaeya found everything about you endearing, and to the archons, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his co--

And he hated it. He found everything about you endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. You didn’t look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out your concern. “I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by your standards. “I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one he’d already used a hundred different times. He didn’t care. He’d use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t fight, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Albedo because the chemicals he was working with reminded me of the way your favorite kind of flower smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but you only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Your dull nails bit into the edges of your scroll, but you didn’t seem to mind, nor did you move to roll it up as you finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across your expression. “You kissed Albedo?”

“You don’t get it,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do,” You admitted, more earnestly. Your gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Kaeya deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. I still have to give everyone else a reason to trust me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with one of my superiors so early on.” You paused, laughing to yourself, and something in Kaeya’s chest tightened. It was the happiest he’d been since he met you, and he still felt like you’d pushed a sword through his heart and twisted. “But, you don’t really want a relationship, do you? You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture. “It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Captain, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.”

It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth. Once he did, the words came stumbling out on their own.

“Of course.”

~

Kaeya was a man, determined.

Determined might’ve been the wrong word for it. Too soft, too suggestive, the impression too positive and the meaning too vague. ‘Depraved’ might’ve suited him better, but that was too harsh, too primitive, and he’d like to think he’d been as gentle as anyone could expect him to be, given your stubbornness. He’d tried to be gentle. He’d wanted to be gentle. If he was going to do this to you, he could at least do it gently. You deserved that much, at least.

Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

He couldn’t really make up his mind, about that.

“Lisa?”

And he was gentle, more so than he had to be. Sure, you were on the floor, bare stone already beginning to chafe at your skin, but the shackles around your wrists were padded, and he’d given you enough slack to sit down, to ball yourself up, to act like it’d never crossed your mind that he’d resort to something so… easily misinterpreted. The blindfold was, similarly, an act of mercy. You’d panic if you woke up like this, chained to a wall in someone else’s cellar, and Kaeya didn’t want that. You needed time, and he could give you that. He would give you that. Even if it pained him to stay at arm’s length.

“Amber?”

He wanted to touch you. It’d be easy, now, easier than it’d ever been before. You wouldn’t be able to push him away, and even if you tried to, he could always overpower you. Take you by the neck, pin you against the floor, leave you shaking and trembling and begging, pleading with a captor you couldn’t see. He’d find a way to make it up to you, later on. He’d find a way to lie, to smile, to make it better, even if he’d failed to time and time again, out there. But, this would be different. You wouldn’t be able to cling to your excuses, and he’d be able to show you how much he cared, how much he wanted this, how much he loved you. This would be better.

“Kaeya?”

See? You were already coming around.

Your voice was already soft, hesitant, a sliver of a whisper that was constantly on the verge of dying out completely. You were trying not to make noise, trying not to seem as terrified as you really were, but he could hear the way your breath hitched as he took a step forward, your restraints rattling as you curled into yourself. You couldn’t hide from him, but you wanted to. That much was obvious. You didn’t want this.

But, he did. More than you could ever want to run away from it.

He wanted to touch you, but he held himself back. Instead, he only kneeled in front of you, letting himself linger for a moment before he spoke. “I’m here, love.”

“Where are we?” You were afraid, too scared to put the pieces together. Not while you could still hope there was another explanation. Not while you could still deny the apparent. “My head hurts, and I can’t--”

“I know, and I’ll make it up to you.” This time, he let himself reach out, cupping your cheek and chuckling as you tried to shy away. The two of you could work on that, later on. He could live with the guilt if he let himself enjoy it, now. “Just give me a moment, alright? Just a second, then I’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, then you closed it again. Kaeya wondered if you’d be bold enough to refuse if he did try to kiss you, or hold you, or go further than the fleeting touches he’d swore would keep him satisfied, at first, at least. He wondered if he’d care, when you did. “Are… are you going to hurt me?”

He wanted to reassure you. He wanted to promise he’d be patient, that he’d understand if you lashed out, that violence wasn’t an option he was willing to consider, but he couldn’t, like this, could he? He didn’t want to hurt you, but he’d never wanted to kidnap you, either, not until you made it obvious he didn’t have another choice. He didn’t want to stoop so low, he didn’t want you to hate him, but…

But, he was lying again, wasn’t he?

To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely cared whether or not you loved him back.

You stifled a scream as his hand dropped to your jaw, his grip tightening as he jerked you forward, just close enough to wrap his arm around your waist, to bury his face in the side of your neck, to get a taste of what you’d deprived him of. It wasn’t enough, he doubted it’d ever be enough, but he had you. He had you, he was close to you, and he had you. That had to be enough, for now.

“We’ll see.”

[whimsicallyreading]

For Day 29 of Rowaelin Month

“A song fic-“

The song- “Always Been You” by Quinn XCII

CW- Mentions of miscarriage and divorce

"I can't believe you right now."

Rowan looks at his wife in frustration. She's sitting at the end of their bed, staring listlessly at the wall. The skirt of the red dress she's wearing is wrinkled, and his heart aches when he notices the mascara marks on her cheeks.

"Aelin," Rowan tries again to reach for her, but she leans away from his grasp.

"No, Rowan. I'm done."

Rowan takes a long swing from the beer in front of him. The time on his phone alerts him that he's spent most of the evening sulking at his bar.

The guys had invited him to dinner, but Rowan hadn't felt like going in light of his current situation. Instead, choosing to meander to the shady little pub they'd passed by coming from the airport.

His lawyer had sent him numerous emails. Documents to sign, agreements to approve, and papers he needed to read through before sending them to the judge.

Divorce was a pain, and Aelin wasn't making it easy.

"Hey, bud. I thought I might find you here." Fenrys slides onto the barstool next to his.

Rowan sighs and rubs the lines forming on his forehead. "Well, I thought it was obvious I didn't want company."

"Too bad. Drinking alone isn't a good look on you." Fenrys raises a hand and motions for another round of beers. "How are things going with ya know?"

"Shitty. She's never paid a dime of rent on that apartment, but she wants the lease signed into her name and for me to front the first four months of rent." Rowan cracks a peanut between his finger. He has no intent to eat the growing pile in front of him. He just craved the satisfaction of breaking something.

"Well, have you talked to her about that?" Fenrys frowns in sympathy, knowing how equally attached both parties were to the little rental.

Rowan laughs mirthlessly. "No, she said that it was better if our conversations were mediated. I always knew Aelin was catty, but she's acting like such a-"

"Don't." Fenrys gives Rowan a severe look. "I know you are upset, but don't start saying shit you'll regret."

Rowan pauses and reluctantly nods his agreement. It's the alcohol talking. He knew the problems that had festered his marriage were predominantly his responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, but a heaviness seems to keep the air from reaching his lungs fully. The weight was slowly becoming too familiar, starting the day Aelin had presented him with the papers.

Rowan wishes he'd done more. Wishes he'd paid more attention and seen the signs of Aelin's unhappiness.

The day Aelin had broken down in their bedroom had been a cold wake-up call but by then? It was already too late.

"You missed our anniversary Rowan." Aelin shouts and pulls her heels off angrily.

Rowan picks up a shoe and tries to hand it back to her. "I know. I'm sorry. It's not too late, though. We can still go out? There's still time to salvage-"

Aelin turns away from him and seems to fold in on herself. Rowan wants to reach out. He wants to hold her, but something dark is building in the air.

"I don't want your leftovers, Rowan," Aelin whispers. "That's all I get anymore—your leftover time. Your leftover attention. Whatever leftover resentment you bring home from work."

"Aelin-" he tries to cut off her depressive spiral, but she's not finished.

"You used to call me during the day." Aelin's voice cracks, and he realizes she's crying. "Every day, you would call me on your break. Now you don't even call when you leave town."

"Baby, just listen to me." He puts his hands on her shoulders, but Aelin breaks his grasp to turn around and look at him.

"Is there someone else?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. So unlike his regular Aelin."

"What?" His brain is struggling even to formulate a reply. Rowan's lack of response only causes Aelin to worry more.

Something in her cracks. There's a quiver to her lips, and her face drains of color. "Oh. Oh no."

"Aelin. I swear there is no one else." Rowan finally says, but it's too late.

"Is," Aelin presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Is it because I lost the baby?" She sucks in a hiccupping breath. "You've always wanted kids. So did I, but my fucking body doesn't work."

Aelin closes her eyes, and Rowan knows she's speaking more to herself than him, but her words gut him just the same. "My body doesn't work right. I keep giving us false hopes and wasting money on pregnancy tests. Of course, you would look for a woman who can give you what you want."

He's surprised by the sudden flare of anger in him. "Don't put words in my mouth. That will never be your fault."

They'd known right from the start their journey to parenthood would be a long one. Aelin had a family history of complicated fertility. It had seemed so trivial when they got married. Yet even knowing there could be issues, nothing quite prepared them for the pain of a miscarriage.

Aelin sniffles, unable to force back her grief, "But you resent me. Don't you?"

Rowan doesn't reply.

"It's rough," Rowan admits out loud. "I let a lot get left unsaid. I was hurt and pushed her away. Now she won't even speak to me without a lawyer present."

Fenrys nods, "It's all probably for the best. Once this is over, you guys can put this drama behind you."

"I wish it were that easy," Rowan knocks back the rest of his beer. He grimaces at the drink. It's not taking hold quickly enough.

Fenrys raises an eyebrow. "You both will be able to shut the book on this chapter of your lives and move on? Considering how bloody you two have been fighting, it sounds ideal."

They sit in silence. Fenrys takes the peanut basket away from Rowan and picks at the shells. The bartender comes by, and disgruntledly eyes Rowan's pile of crumbs as he orders a whiskey neat.

Fen was like his little brother, but Rowan found it hard to admit his real problem to him aloud. "I still love her."

The basket goes flying over the side of the counter, and Fenrys chokes on his beer. "What?"

Rowan can't look him in the eye, "We lost a baby. It was early. Aelin didn't want to tell everyone. Three years we tried to get pregnant, and finally, a test comes back positive. She was so happy."

"Shit," Fenrys says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"It was there, and then it was gone. I thought Aelin was fine. She cried for a week, but then it was like a switch flipped, and she was back to normal." Rowan clenches a napkin in his fist. "I was devastated. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to send her back into a depression." Rowan shakes his head at how stupid he'd been. "So I put some distance between us. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her."

"I didn't feel better," Rowan sips the whiskey, relishing the warmth. "It made me mad that she got over it so quickly, and I couldn't. I didn't realize that I was growing that space between us. I didn't understand how much guilt she harbored and that she tried to be strong for me. Not until she broke."

"We fought. I said all the wrong things. Aelin couldn't take it anymore, she left, and I didn't stop her." Rowan leans his head on his hands and elbows against the counter. "She's the love of my life, and I watched her walk out the door."

Fenrys sucks in a breath and sighs. "You are my best friend, and I mean this in the most loving way possible. Why the hell are you here?"

"What?" Rowan looks at Fenrys annoyed face.

"Get out of here. Go. I'll tell the boss you have ebola or some shit." Fenrys fishes his wallet out and throws cash on the bar. "I'll even cover the tab. Just leave. Now."

"What? I don't understand?"

Fenrys looks at Rowan like he's stupid. "No offense, but you are about as interesting as a brick wall. The fact you caught a girl like Aelin is astonishing. If you love her, are you honestly going to let her go on being miserable?"

"She's not miserable," Rowan scoffs.

Fenrys laughs bitterly. "You forget I'm pals with Aedion too? Aelin winds up at his house almost every evening crying her eyes out. You two are still hopelessly in love. You're just dumb and badly in need of a good conversation."

"Aelin is upset?" A sense of disbelief washes over him.

"Yes! She misses you, but she's under the impression you are off sleeping around." His face saddens. "I told Aedion you weren't. He knows I go on all of these trips with you. Aelin's just upset you're gone and needs to believe in something that can help her let go."

Rowan stands up, swaying. "I have to go."

"Hell yeah, you do. Give Aelin my love," Fenrys waves as Rowan vates the bar like a hawk out of hell.

Aelin sets the stack of papers in front of him.

Rowan had been camping out in his office ever since there disaster of an anniversary. He'd texted a few times, but every time they talked, it was like relighting a fuze. Things weren't getting better.

"What are these?" Rowan asks without looking up from his screen.

"Your ticket to freedom," Aelin sits in the chair across from him.

She looks thin, thinner than she did when Arobynn was her foster father. It physically hurts Rowan that he's causing her that kind of stress. Glancing at the papers, she slapped in front of him. His blood becomes like an ice river through his body. "Aelin-"

"I'm not the one for you. That's apparent now. I won't hold you hostage in a marriage that you aren't happy in." Aelin blinks, and a tear slides down her face. He wants to wipe it away, but he's beyond angry. She was giving up on them.

"If this is what you want," Rowan slides the papers towards him and pulls out a pen.

Rowan is racing the familiar paths to their apartment. He doesn't care that it's almost four in the morning. The plane ride between Perranth and Ornyth is mercifully short, but he can't force himself to wait another minute.

"Aelin," he yells through their door. "Baby, answer me. Open the door."

Rowan's fists tap a consistent rhythm on the door, and his heart skips a beat when a bedraggled Aelin finally appears. "Rowan, do you know what time it is?"

She's in a pair of grey flannel pajamas, not one of her usual silky numbers. Aelin's eyes are red around the edges, and her face is still dewy from the excessive amount of lotion he knows she loves to put on. Rowan knows all of her routines. All of her favorite outfits, comfort movies, and best memories. He knows the scar she has on her left hand from an abusive foster father. Rowan remembers how the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she's upset in the same spot her cousin's does.

He knows everything about her, because not only were they husband and wife, they were best friends.

How could he have let that go?

Before Aelin can ask any more questions, Rowan has swept her into his arms. "I missed you so damn much."

"Rowan, have you been drinking?" Aelin asks in a voice cracked with emotion.

His hands are running up her back, and his knows burrows into her hair. He's always loved the smell of her jasmine shampoo. "Fireheart, I never resented you for losing the baby."

"Rowan, I don't want to talk about this," Aelin tries to push him away, but he squeezes her into his chest, and she melts.

That had been his mistake. He should have held Aelik like this and never let her go on pretending to be happy. How could he know everything about this woman and not have seen past her facade? She'd suffered. His own pain had blinded him.

"Aelin, I've made so many mistakes lately." Rowan rubs the back of Aelin's neck the way she likes, and he can feel the sobs starting to build up inside of her. "But the greatest shame of my life is not being there for you when you needed me. I was stupid, Fireheart. I'm not going to be stupid any longer. This separation can't go on, we aren't any happier for it, and I can't live knowing I'm away from the other half of my soul."

Aelin cracks, and he can feel the tears wetting the front of his shoulder. "You were never home. I thought there was someone else, someone who could give you the things you wanted because I can't."

Her whole form is shuddering his arms, and Rowan squeezes tighter as if he can hold her broken pieces together. "It's always been you. I don't care if we adopt or never have any kids at all. All I need is you, baby. You are all I've ever needed."

Suddenly, hands are in Rowan's hair as Aelin crushes their lips together. The kiss is frantic, a relief of the stress they'd carried upon their shoulders.

"I missed you too," Aelin whispers in between kisses. “Gods I mussed you so much.”

The rest of their night is filled with soothing words, frantic kissing, and murmured apologies. Rowan kisses the tears from her cheeks and Aelin looks into his eyes like she’s home. Nail dig into skin as they promise never to be apart again.

For the first time in months they sleep in the same bed. Rowan sinks into a deep restful sleep with his wife in his arms once more. He loves the way her cold toes search out his heat. How Aelin fits so perfectly against his chest. When he wakes up and she’s still there, his heart nearly features from relief.

After months of pain, it's the beginning of their walk towards healing.

The days after aren't perfect. They had legal issues to sort back out, more problems to lay bare to the sunlight. There was arguing, but it lacked actual heat, and they didn't walk away feeling unloved at the end. No longer did they fight to land barbs. Their bickering now served to work towards solutions and to express needs.

Between struggles, the love began to grow back. Rowan kept his job at work, and when he was home, it was about them. He started calling her on his breaks again, and it always astonished him how much he missed the sound of her voice. They both strived to communicate their feelings better and actually listen instead of reacting.

Aelin surprised him with romantic dates, and Rowan read pages of her favorite books to her at night. They danced in the kitchen and laughed at their favorite shows.

Fixing their marriage was hard work, but Rowan and Aelin didn't mind. The separation proved that neither of them wanted a life without the other. It was to whatever end, and they wouldn't accept anything less for them.

On one Sunday morning, Rowan opens his eyes and realizes that Aelin isn't on her side of the bed. Panic surges in him, and he looks around to make sure her things are still there.

They are, and the tension eases from his shoulders until he hears soft crying from the bathroom. Darting out of bed, he grabs Aelin's bathrobe and knocks on their bathroom door. "Aelin, what's wrong?"

Had he screwed something up? Was she sick?

The lock clicks, granting him silent permission for him to come inside. Rowan pushes the door open and finds Aelin crying on the side of the tup. With gentle hands, he wraps her robe around her and throws an arm over her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Aelin looks up at him, a radiant smile on her face. "Look."

Rowan glances down to her clenched fists and-

He blinks, once, twice. Aelin laughs at his dumbfounded face, and it breaks his paralysis. Rowan grabs her around the waist and spins her around the cramped bathroom, the positive pregnancy test clattering to the floor.

Aelin's arms wrap around his neck. The emotion in the room is raw and bittersweet, but there's a hopefulness that can't be denied. Rowan holds her tight as they process the news. When they break apart, the love between them is palpable. They had another shot at this, a fresh start.

Hards times would come and go, but good days were never far behind for them. Because for Aelin and Rowan, it's always been them.

And that's all they needed.

[darthwheezely]

okay im backkkkk 💌 anything kinda angsty for fred pls (like a break up but theres a bit of making up at the end pls

resentment and reconciliation- f.w. hcs

Warnings: this one kinda hurt to write I’m ngl, I love you Jess but DAMN - cussing probably, mentions of slut shaming, actual smut, a lOT OF ANGST, hateful!fred

THIS WILL BE SO UNGODLY LONG THIS IS BASICALLY A PSUEDO ONE SHOT

people that might like this(?): @whiz-bangs78 @vogueweasley @theweasleyslut @loony-loopy-lupinn @lupinsclassroom @vivianweasley @oh-for-merlins-sake @kitwalker02 @tatesimper @gcdric @slytherinsunrise @lumosandnoxwriting

you and Fred were friends...

...simply friends

yep

mhm

only friends

friends that liked to casually dominate each other multiple times a week

sometimes multiple times a day

but regardless of your entirely messy relationship, you were best friends

...weren’t you?

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so goddamn tight me,” Fred hissed as he was pounding inside of you, determined to release some kind of frustration from seeing you with George for the whole day when you both knew you had really just wanted to spend the day with Fred. Right?

“Freddie, you feel so good” you said airily as he hiked up one of your legs onto one of his shoulders.

“Yeah, princess? You like the way I fill you up so good, make you fucking mine?” When you moaned in response he threw your other leg onto the opposite shoulder, determined to show you just how much you were his, and what that meant for him. He had been watching you for months pretend nothing was happening outside this room, and regardless if you knew it or not, it had been killing him the day he agreed to your rendezvous the first time.

“Yes, Freddie, fuck, yes”

“Gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

“God, yes, Fred-“ and with a harsh thrust to your g-spot you clenched around him tightly, your body releasing onto him in a massive wave. He put his free hand that didn’t have your arms pinned above you to your clit, determined to have you as overstimulated as possible.

“Fred, please-“ you whined vehemently at his rough touch.

“I’m coming baby, I’m right here” and with a final pound he had smoothed your walls with him, the throbbing finally subsiding. He rolled his hips slowly to ride out his high, and he then pulled out, falling to your side and pulling you into his arms. He could feel your heart pounding as your breasts heaved against him, desperate for air flow where he had rid you of it all.

“We haven’t held each other like this in a while, Freddie...it’s...it’s really nice.” You whispered against his bare chest, pressing a kiss or two there. He nodded and buried his mouth in your hair, fluttering his eyes.

“I promise I’ll take every opportunity to hold you, okay?”

that was tuesday

let’s skip to Thursday morning

you had only told one other person about your complicated relationship with Fred, and that was Hannah Abbot

you trusted her, you saw her as your BEST friend

but unfortunately, good ol’ hannah didn’t really feel the same

she had it out for you when Roger Davies had confessed he had a crush on you at the Yule Ball, kissed you even, against your consent

see, he was Hannah’s date

and she didn’t like that very much

to top it allllll off?

she had been casually crushing on Fred ever since she had her heart broken by Roger

so now here you all were, seventh year and you assumed as per usual that everything was fine

when clearly, unbeknownst to you

this bitch saw you six feet under

so Hannah did what she knew would hurt you the most

she told Roger :)

“Please he’s absolutely balls deep in love with her, but poor thing doesn’t know she’s using him for a roll in the sack.” Said Hannah, filing her nails in the courtyard. Roger looked at her absolutely dumbfounded.

“No, Y/N, isnt like that. And besides, Fred’s a good mate of mine and...She just wouldn’t do that to him. Feelings or not, she’s not one to use people.” He shook his head starting to get up from the tree he’d been leaning on.

“Well, she used you, didn’t she?” She purred demurely. He turned to look at her, jaw clenched.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He gritted out.

“She’s making him her personal whore, exactly like she did when she rejected you at the Ball...I mean...cmon, Rog. Don’t people deserve to know who she really is?”

everyone had heard the next day how Y/N was fucking Fred Weasley like an Olympic sport

and how he wasn’t the one coming out on top for the first time

at first he didn’t know what he did when he walked into the Great Hall to stares and whispers

George had tried to get him to go back to bed so he could bring him food

but fred demanded answers

and when he found out what it was

...he was crushed

You walked into the cascading staircase, bounding up the stairs. It was Thursday night, you and Fred’s night to be alone while George and Lee would be hanging out. You walked into the room to see Fred, throwing things onto his bed and looking angry and...hurt?

“Fred, what-what is all this?” He didn’t look at you, just continued to pick stuff up off the floor, and got one of your bras. He threw it at you.

“It’s all your shit, Y/N. Might as well help since this is the last time you’ll ever be in my room. Or around me again quite frankly.” He started to look down again and keep working but he heard you whimper and his eyes flashed up to yours. He started to laugh harshly. “Oh my god, stop.” He rolled his eyes and threw his arms out. “You got what you wanted from me didn’t you, Y/N? Quick shag and no feelings and knowing you had an entire fucking human being completely and utterly devoted to you with, what did Ron say? ‘Half the commitment’?” He smiled at you but it was one with rage, with tears pooling at his eyes, pain emitting off his body in hot waves. He didn’t even know he was shouting.

“I mean, Jesus, I’m in love with you and you got to go on and-and fuck whoever you want because guess what at the end of the day you get to tell everyone that Fred fucking Weasley is your own personal whore and would do anything for you and that just got you where you wanted it didn’t it? Didn’t it?” He had stopped yelling, his heart pounding as he took in the sight of you fully in tears now, flinching at him quietly. He felt immediately then like he was going to throw up, something wasn’t right, you usually were so fiery and assertive and here you were looking like a dog that got kicked repeatedly. He swallowed thickly. “Get your stuff and get the fuck out I can’t stand the sight of you.”

Without looking at him you reached onto his bed and grabbed everything you could carry, and swiftly left the room. Everyone in the Gryffindor common room, except George, looking at you with pure unbridled disdain.

George was the only it seemed, that cared about you at this time for the next couple weeks

He didn’t tell Fred, but it had been George that had been sneaking up food to you in your dorm room

It had been George that had sent you little notes in class that said things like

I love you, Y/N. I believe in you, okay?

He even visited your dorm one day when you couldn’t move so much as one leg off your bed, and he caught you then, while you were sobbing about the loss of Fred and yourself and he held you and put you back in bed

and waited until you fell back asleep and moved the hair out of your face

he needed to tell Fred the truth

meanwhile, Fred was floundering

he had fallen back into his coping mechanism of sex and violence, mostly the first one

he had started hooking up with virtually everyone in his year that he’d ever rejected

after all - fred was labeled as a slut so why not act like one

if there was anything Fred was good at, it was being loud

in bed it had never been an issue - in fact, it was a talent now, yeah?

he’d been hearing it around school for weeks now

how easy he was

how much he would do to get in a girl’s pants

how he dipped his wick in anything that moved

anything and everything

he got it from girls

“c’mon freddie can i take a ride just once”

to the guys

“Oi freddie, you let your mates hit it for free too?”

if it were from a guy he’d usually swing a punch

or 12

he’d gotten in his most fights that he ever had in any of his years at hogwarts

but then Georgie came along:

George had waited on Fred’s bed, as his twin was in the shower. Lucky for Fred, George had been able to trace Roger’s little dip in the gossip system all the way back to Hannah Abbott, who everyone knew was bullshit, and had decided to let his brother know exactly what kind of a supreme asshat he was being to their best friend (and the love of Fred’s life, let’s be super honest.)

“Georgie, what the hell are you doing-”

“About to give you the whip cracking of your life, dear brother.” George swung his legs off the bed as Fred continued to dry his hair in the mirror, rolling his eyes.

“Is this about the last girl I had by? We didn’t fuck on your bed if that’s what you’re so worried about.” Fred quipped and George took everything in his power to not bitch slap the hell out of his older twin. George clenched his jaw and rolled it.

“You fucked up, Freddie.” He said quietly. Fred turned slowly to look at him. “Excuse me?”. “You. Fucked. Up.” George said a bit louder. “Y/N got played. By Hannah Abbott and Roger Davies. She’s had a crush on you this whole time, you absolute dumb piece of shit.” And then George did push Fred then backwards onto the bathroom wall, but he was too dumbfounded by the usually sensible twin’s behavior to do anything back.

“That’s-I don’t understand-“

“Oh my god, Fred. Hannah’s been in love with for ages, she lied. To everyone. Roger did too, he’s wanted to get with Y/N since day 1 you know that just as well as I do.” Fred tightened his arm, thinking about Roger with his lips and arms on you that night last year-

“Your point? She still said that shit about me” he said gruffly, but a pool of anxiety swirled in his stomach all the same

“Don’t you get it? Y/N is in love with you. She didn’t say or do anything to hurt you. At all. She hasn’t been eating, she hasn’t been doing homework, she throws up constantly, she’s barely left bed but to go to the library and usually all she does there is sleep anyway, she cries all the time and it’s been me making sure she still is present if not to just see people every damn day! So quit youre moping and fix this shit or I swear to God, Freddie, I’ll knock your block off.” George was heaving, pools of water in his eyes as he swallowed. “She’s my best friend too, you know.”

Fred looked up at George then and had started to cry. All of those things he said, all of the words he spat at her like they could burn her skin and cause some of the pain he believed she had caused him, when in reality you had-you had done nothing wrong.

“Georgie, I’m sorry” he choked.

“I know you are. But I’m not the one to say it to right now...you’ve gotta find her, Freddie. Please.”

you had been in the corner of the quidditch stands

the wind was blowing against your hair

you couldn’t be in your room anymore, it started to smell like you

and you, prior to an hour ago, didn’t smell too appetizing

you reeked of sweat and tears and your own sick

you took a shower so hot you wanted it to burn you alive

maybe sanitize the last of your fear and your hurt away

you had lost weight, you had lost feeling

you all in all had just lost

and you had never wanted to go home so badly, already considering writing home

you hated being reminded that your best friend and crush hated you

wanted you to be hated by everyone else too

but then, you heard footsteps

“Y/N?” Fred whispered to himself as he saw you in the stands. You looked so worn, so lifeless sitting there - he almost didn’t recognize you from the way your hair, usually scrunched up and bouncy had fallen flatly against your face, further slapped around by the wind outside. You had been wearing an oversized sweater and your sweatpants had pooled around your ankles. Simply put, you were miserable. 

“Y/N?” He called again once he was standing in front of you. You turned to look at him in what felt like slow motion, but when you locked eyes with him, you immediately felt fearful. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll leave now” you sputtered

“No, hey, wait, please” he reached out to grab your arm and you froze, letting him take it. He looked at you, with a flash of fear and worry on your face and he wanted to throw up knowing he was the one that made you feel like that.

“Fred, please let go” you hoarsely whispered.

“No, love, I’m not going to let go I have some things to apologize for.”

You started to cry, eyes dropping again to his hand on your arm and breathing feeling suddenly like a very hard task. “You hate me now: you sobbed and you pulled yourself from his grip, turning away from him and gathering your bag. He started to scramble for your hold again tears starting to stream down his face

“No, angel, please, I could never hate you”

“Oh? What about those things you said to me in your room-” you were walking faster over the benched seats, making your way to the other side.

“I know I know I said those things in my room but I can’t believe them because you have to believe me when I tell you I’m in love with you” and he was sobbing at your body turned away from him. You turned to look at him with a skeptical quirk of your face.

“No, no you don’t.” You spat.

“Yes, Y/N, I do please let me explain” he said earnestly taking in your bright eyes and the furrow of your brow.

“People who love each other don’t scream at them and throw things.” You said flatly. You wanted him to be true but you couldn’t make yourself believe him.

“Just give me five minutes of your time and-and if you hate me you never have to see me again. Please.” He closed the gap between you two and motioned for you to sit down. You licked a tear from your lip and nodded siting on a bench besides him.

“Hannah and Roger told everyone-”

“I know what happened. What they did. I want to hear about you. And what you said. And are saying” you looked at him in the eyes with steel burning behind your irises.

He sighed and rubbed his jaw. “I thought that what we had was purely sex in your eyes. And I was too much of a coward to ever ask you, so when I heard someone tell me that my own insecurities could possibly be true,” he inhaled a harsh breath as tears started to fall “I-I was crushed. By the idea that you saw me as what other people saw me as...as a toy? I guess? Or a sexual prop? To use when you wanted. But I hide my feelings a lot as you know, so even if you did feel that way, it would’ve looked like I agreed because I hate you knowing how sad I am,” he started to choke on his tears, the anguish of knowing he hurt you this much was too much for him to ever be able to handle. “I just wanted to hold you and whisper in your ear and tell you how much I love you and the thought of my own fears being true pushed you away. And you never have to forgive me. I-when I yelled at you like that I wanted to see you hurt, I think. I wanted you to see how sad it made me to think about you with other people like you had been with me and” he took a final breath and you pulled his body into you. “Y/N, my love I’m so sorry.” His sobs shook your body, the feeling and angle of the destroyed boy you love shaking you everywhere. You pressed kisses to his head. “Freddie, I love you” you repeated “I love you here and here and here and here and here” and with every kiss you gave him, you were determined to soothe him. “I-I’ sorry too, for not being as forthright with you about how i felt too. It’s always been you, Freddie.” He choked out a watery smile and he leaned in to kiss your face everywhere he could, his tears stinging against the wind and your cheeks. 

“If-If you could ever be with me I will always be open to it at any time, you know that don’t you? I-I understand if you can’t.” He held his forehead to yours, his nose brushing yours ever so slightly. 

“Freddie, I love you. You were who I missed when I couldn’t get out of bed for fuck’s sake you’re all I want,” and he leaned into you then fully, capturing your wet and chapped lips against his. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he melted into you like this

this

this was fred weasley

[nothoughtsonlystarker]

untitled brothers starkercest

Warnings: dirty talk, cest, age diff (college!Tony/ high school!peter; peter’s 18 if anyone asks), smut, girlfriend bashing

Tony has a serious college girlfriend, much to his little brother’s Peter’s constant annoyance. He’s lucky enough that his older brother decided to go to a state school to save money and stay at home instead of dorming. Most nights Peter gets to enjoy sleeping in the same bed as Tony, if only to feel the heavy warmth of his strong body. But lately, he’s been forced to sleep in his own room.

No matter how many times that slut tells Peter how "cute" he is (Tony’s not that much older), he’ll resent her for stealing time away from his favorite person in the world.

One night, Peter happens to overhear them having a bit of an argument. Apparently she doesn’t feel "comfortable" having sex in Tony’s childhood bedroom, mostly because of his adorable little brother." He scoffs internally, then nearly sees red at her next suggestion.

"Why don’t you just move into campus housing?" She says casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "We’d have a lot more freedom to mess around."

"I really can’t," Tony sighs heavily, much to Peter’s relief. "No offense, but the only reason I didn’t go to a better school was because I can’t afford out-of-state tuition and dorming."

"Well then ask your parents to!" He can’t fathom why Tony would spend time with such a dumb bitch.

"They’re not made of money!" Peter notices his brother’s voice has a more frustrated edge to it. “I’m lucky enough to have my own room at all.

"Besides, I could never do that to Pete." That alone is enough to put his heart at ease, knowing he’ll always be number one in his brother’s mind. “He’d be devastated if I left him behind like that.” There’s a frustrated grumble that makes Peter smirk. What’s she gonna say? That she only said his brother was cute to get on Tony’s good side? "Let’s just go to sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning."

A plan starts to formulate in his mind. She’ll never get a chance to convince him of anything.

Peter knows his brother is a bit of an early riser; in more ways than one. Sometimes he wakes up to a firm hardness pressing on his backside, though Tony was still asleep. He’d never dared to press back, so maybe it was time to do something bold.

His girlfriend (whatever her name is, he still hasn’t learned it on purpose) is always due to sleep in for a few hours while Tony is up bright and early. Peter sneaks into his brother’s room a little before 7. Ever so carefully, he lifts the comforter on his side of the bed and sneaks underneath. Just as he predicted, an engorged cockhead pokes out of the front of his boxers.

Peter licks his lips and just goes for it. He laps at the head of Tony’s cock. At first, he only feels his brother shift around a little, so he takes a little more and latches his mouth around it to suck more firmly. He wants to prove how good he is, prove that his brother has more reason to stay at home than a cheaper living arrangement.

Suddenly, there’s a hand in his hair and a soft grunt. Peter’s own cock twitches in response.

"Mmm, damn, what did I do to deserve this?” Tony mutters. “Your mouth feels amazing this morning, babe." Peter doesn’t say anything, only sucks harder and more enthusiastically than she ever could.

"Fuck yeah, just take it," he growls, gripping tighter. Peter moans around his brother’s cock, careful to not make any recognizable sounds just yet. "Gonna shoot my load down your throat so hard you won’t even taste it—fuck!!" Sure enough Tony comes with a harsh grunt, with a stream that goes straight down Peter’s esophagus, who nearly chokes on it.

Then Peter feels Tony’s whole body go stiff when a voice cuts through their afterglow: "I'm still trying to sleep, keep it down." He wastes no time climbing up his brother like a tree so he can see who really gave him the best blowjob of his life.

"Pete?!" Tony tries pulling him off, but Peter has latched onto him with his mouth like a leech. "What the—what the fuck are you doing in my bed?" He whispers harshly.

Peter releases Tony's neck for a moment so he can tell him, "Sucking you off, duh," before going back to giving his older brother the biggest hickey he could imagine. He tries to push him off (the efforts feel half-hearted, Peter thinks), but eventually Tony just lets Peter keep going.

"Petey, that's not something little brothers are supposed to be doing. It's not...that's for adults to do." But Peter huffs indignantly, furrowing his brow in that way that he knows for a fact Tony has always found absolutely adorable.

"But it sounded like you really liked it," he whines, nuzzling into Tony's chin. "Did I not do a good job? Does this mean you won’t stay?" Peter looks up, giving his big brother those irresistible puppy dog eyes that get him his way every time.

Tony groans, perfectly aware he's being played, but starts petting Peter's hair before his brother can get upset. "I did like it but—"

"Can we do it again?" Tony glances at the other body next to him, but Peter can sense he’s won. His hand snakes down to his brother’s crotch, where he can feel he’s still half hard. Tony grips his wrist, but doesn’t move it away.

"Let’s go to your room."

[nobodies-png]

Okay. So this is like, the funniest prompt that I found, wrote a bit for, and forgot about. I wrote it for a different fandom, and then thought "Organization XIII would be funny for this..." Org. XIII is turned into children and now the Reader has to (make sure they don't die) take care of them. Ages like... 4-9 because that's when children are the funniest. Do what you will with it

ngl im a sucker for old cliche prompts like these, every fandom has at least an au for this specific setting or some kindergarden au lolol

anyway here’s some HCs as to how they’d act and stuff !

Xemnas :

One of the oldest kids, but you don’t really know what to make of him. You were expecting Xemnas to still lead the rest, scare them into submission with a simple glare or something - turns out he’s rather timid. Barely speaks, you get the feeling he’s ignoring you on purpose, just makes a lot of faces and noises to indicate what he’s feeling. 

Somewhat clingy too, but unlike Demyx and Xigbar who want to get your attention through any means possible, Xemnas just grabs onto the hem of your shirt and follows you everywhere in silence. Doesn’t cause much trouble, but he doesn’t help you keep the others in check either, a true neutral I guess. 

Sometimes, he will just disappear and show up whenever you least expect him. Loves to climb and sit on tall places. Spaces out a lot. Compared to the rest, you can probably leave him to his own devices, as long as he’s not left alone with Xigbar or Larxene. 

Xigbar :

Actually the oldest, but pretty annoying and high maintenance. If he got on your nerves as his regular self, then you’re in for a fucking ride - this Xigbar is here to cause problems on purpose. He likes to talk, a lot. And it’s sucks because it’s usually endless and mindless chatter or pointing out everything that he sees. 

If he starts to get bored, he’ll scurry off to bother someone else, but it usually ends with someone crying or hurt. Don’t even bother keeping him on a leash, the bastard is too smart to be contained. 

Xigbar is one of those kids that can be extremely useful if you get him on your side, as he has no problem snitching and ratting out the others. The best way to keep him from losing his other eye or gouging out someone else’s is to bribe or trick him into helping you (just know that he can also be bribed by the other kids, Xigbar WILL betray you). 

Xaldin :

You expected Zexion to be the loner type, but turns out it’s Xaldin - he’ll always be on his own or avoiding the others, usually around the kitchen since you’ve banned everyone from going in there until they return to normal (not that they listen to you, but oh well). 

Xaldin is pretty much like those kids who hate being treated like kids and who pretend to be above the rest. While he might seem calm, it’s really easy to get him riled up, a simple “I bet you can’t do this or that” and he’s off to prove himself. 

Oddly enough, he gets jealous easily - if you give Roxas a cookie or whatever for behaving, then you GOTTA give Xaldin one too or else he’ll throw a fit. The best thing you can do with him is be honest and confess that you need him to chill the fuck out and Not Die :tm: while you take care of the others, he’ll feel all grown up because you told him the truth and will calmly stay in his room. 

Vexen :

One of the oldest kids, the stereotypical kid who only has ONE interest and won’t shut the fuck up about it, which is cute but not everyone has the patience to sit through a 6 hour talk about dinosaurs. You never expected this baby Vexen to be so into dinosaurs out of all things. Of course, just because he only talks about them, doesn’t mean he’s not curious about all that shiny lab equipment. 

You can’t keep him distracted with dinosaur books all day, he still has the heart and mind of a scientist ! Because he’s a very obvious nerd, he’s the target for a lot of members in the organization, namely Larxene - and when Vexen gets flustered or frustrated, he freezes up. Literally. He WILL freeze the entire room too.

Your best bet is to pair him up with Zexion or Xion, since they’ll gladly sit down to listen and learn. The three will gladly stay locked up in the library learning and reading. You just gotta hope Vexen doesn’t instantly crush Zexion and Xion’s dreams by ruining their fairytales with facts and logic.

Lexaeus : 

Also one of the older kids and the tallest too. This Lexaeus is just as stoic and intimidating as the original, but apparently he’s also very sensitive. Everytime he speaks to you it sounds like he might be about to cry. But he looks fine ? So you really don’t know what to do about him. 

Either way, Lexaeus is also very helpful and responsible, so you can trust him to watch over the rowdy kids and keep them relatively safe, just try not to pair him with the suuuper loud ones. 

Probably the type to take the blame and responsibility for any pranks gone wrong under his watch, even if you fully know there’s no way he’s responsible. Lexaeus is the epitome of “I just want everyone to get along”. Somehow, he’s very gentle with the others (as gentle as one can be when straight up dragging Xigbar out of the ventilation system) but he’ll break any toys and other items given to him.

Zexion :

Zexion is very very small, so you can probably understand the stress he’s going through, surrounded by these animals. Like Xemnas and Demyx, he’d be pretty clingy but he wouldn’t be able to follow you around or cling to you with all the others pushing and fighting around. 

So you can either just carry him on your shoulders or leave him with Lexaeus or Vexen as mentioned before. If not, Zexion will wander and either fall asleep in the Grey Area or find the library on his own. 

Not a problematic child, really. Zexion lacks the energy and the feralness to join any shenanigans - he's also smart enough to know that he’ll be better off listening to you and staying clear out of safety hazards. Though there’s always the chance of other members taking advantage of Zexion’s naive and curious nature.

Saix :

You were expecting him to be a tiny version of his regular self, bitter and strict. Surprisingly, he’s way more fun as a kid, glued to Axel by the hip too. They’re the duo you should look out for - Axel is the one who gets them in trouble and Saix is the one who makes sure you never notice they were behind it all. 

The one with a TERRIBLE temper right after waking up. Saix won’t hesitate to bite and claw anyone who tries to wake him up, even Axel knows better than to try. If it’s nap time, let him go, don’t even try to stop him. Don’t let anyone else near him.

Other than that ? A very nice kid in general, he feels a sense of responsibility when it comes to the younger members, so he’ll be the one to keep Axel in check whenever Zexion, Roxas or Xion are around. As for the older ones ? They’re on their own.  

Axel :

Axel is the first one to say “fuck” and it spreads like wildfire. So if you start hearing a bunch of kids swear at the top of their lungs, you know who caused it. You’ll also know because you’ll find him laughing and wheezing on the ground. 

Somewhat naive, if you tell him he can’t say “invertebrae” because it’s a swear world, he’ll believe you. But SURPRISINGLY he’s very aware of how dangerous his fire powers are - like, Axel wants to cause trouble on purpose, but he doesn’t really want anything to escalate and get anyone actually hurt. Unless it’s Vexen. If it’s Vexen, then it’s fine by him. 

You might hear “Y/N, LOOK” before seeing Axel in the kitchen casting fucking Firaga on a bag of Totinos or something. He and Demyx somehow keep getting targeted by the Dusks, who love to play pranks on them. 

Demyx :

Most likely to eat food off the ground, or anything shiny and colorful, really. He has the exact same vibes as the little brother who likes to follow people he thinks are cool to try and impress them, just to be considered a cool kid too. 

Demyx is very clingy but also a sneaky kid, he can easily cry his heart out so you’ll pay attention and protect him from people he’s pissed off. This is literally why most of the kids don’t like to be around him, cause he’s THAT kid who will ruin everyone’s funs by calling the responsible adult if he gets upset.

Instead of being musically inclined, Demyx just makes a lot of noise - constant loud humming, blowing raspberries, stomping his feet or tapping/hitting things, repeating funny noises or phrases he picks up. Probably has an old ass iPod or an MP3 you can distract him with.

Luxord :

DO YOU KNOW THOSE LITTLE KIDS WHO ARE SMARTASSES ? The ones who act like they know the mysteries of the world and give you a look of superiority because you clearly don’t know what tubby custard really is ? Yeah, that’s Luxord.

Full of fun facts that he LOVES to brag about, but most of them are fake and he’s none the wiser. You cannot correct him either because it’ll be like telling an 8 year old that Santa isn’t real. Thankfully, you don’t HAVE to correct him because that’s what Xaldin is for. 

Most likely to steal Xigbar’s eyepatch for himself and somehow convince everyone else that it was HIS eyepatch in the first place. How ? We don’t know, we just don’t know. Also Luxord might just steal little trinkets from everyone and stash them under his bed like the little creacher he is. If you can’t find your keys, you know who’s got em.

Marluxia :

A natural big brother figure. Very understanding too, even if you’ve heard from Larxene that he’s tired of everyone pulling his hair and that he might shave it all off just so they all stop. Yeah, there’s some lingering resentment in there. He’s 50/50 on being a little bastard and an angel.

Marluxia volunteers to help you take care of the other kids, mostly because he likes bossing others around and because he also likes reading books to Zexion and Xion so they fall asleep. 

LOVES to leave trails of petals and flowers wherever he goes, but REFUSES to clean up. Always seen with Larxene - Marluxia is also lowkey competitive so he sees the Axel + Saix duo as rivals. In what, exactly ? Who knows. VERY picky with food too. Actually, just very picky and petty in general.

Larxene :

The one kid who develops a personal vendetta against you from day 1. Larxene DESPISES being told what to do, so if you’re constantly telling her not to do this, to do that and whatever, she will make your life a living hell and do the opposite out of spite. 

You didn’t hear this from me, but Larxene is GENUINELY upset that she keeps accidentally zapping people whenever she plays with them. It’s really hard for her to apologize too, so you’ll have to step in a lot to de-escalate the situation.

Larxene sticks forks in outlets JUST to scare others, since she cannot get hurt at all by electricity. She just seems to enjoy making others afraid.

Roxas :

One of the youngest, Roxas doesn’t KNOW what “using your indoor voice” means, he’s either DEAD quiet or SCREAMING about how he’d like to have ice cream as a treat, please and thank you. It’s really fucking funny to see honestly. Just make sure he doesn’t sneak up on you and scare you shitless.

The type who gets dragged into shenanigans rather than cause them - he’s a very neutral and calm kid otherwise. The worst thing he can do is just steal everyone’s dessert or something because of that intense sweet tooth he’s got.

A lot of the older kids LOVE trying to get him and Xion to laugh, because Roxas has this permanent poker face AND because they both have really funny snort giggle laughs. 

Xion : 

Also one of the youngest, very sweet, patient and polite ! Xion also tends to be very clingy, always needing to hold hands with someone whenever she walks around Castle Oblivion. No one has the heart to tell her no, either.

Can get VERY VERY irritating and angry when someone tries to make fun of her or Roxas. Like a little hurricane of puppies - Xion won’t stop pestering all the meanies until she’s received a proper apology. If she somehow ends up hurting someone, she’ll insist on making up too.

Xion also tends to copy people she likes, similar to Demyx. You might catch her imitating your movements or way of speaking, or even copying the Dusks’ movements - but just make sure she doesn’t see you, Xion will explode out of embarrassment.

[palbabor-writes]

I have, uh, thoughts...

M’kay, I know this has likely been harped on until nothing is left but little bits and pieces, but after reading this latest chapter, I realized what’s been bothering me about this current arc. It’s the imbalance of violence and aggression that is heaped onto Shigaraki.

I don’t know if this is Horikoshi’s intention, and I’m likely looking wayyy too into this, but I’d argue you don’t have your characters say things for no reason. So, if you’ve got a minute, let’s see if I can sort through these nagging emotions of mine.

warnings: manga spoilers 220 - 285, basically, no touch if you don’t want to see the current arc 

Ok. Let’s roll the clock back and look at something Shigaraki told us at the USJ.

Now, while he has changed a lot from these early arcs, that core motivation he carries here is the same. He wants society to see just how fragile and how ridiculous their reliance on a hero state of justice really is. And, I would say that he’s absolutely right in this assessment.

The idea of heroes and villains needs a foundation of violence. They need that evil, almost as much as they need the concept of justice. It’s the age old right and wrong theory. It doesn’t leave space for grey, for nuance, for differences in ideology or upbringing.

However, heroes like to ignore what they can’t fix. Like anyone, they’re human and humans don’t often take pleasure in looking at the uncomfortable. I’d argue that’s why Gran Tourino doesn’t check back in on Kotaro. Yes, he made a vow, but those memories of that crying child being placed with a trusted friend, and not his mother, not Nana, have stuck with him. Nana wouldn’t be any wiser, or any less dead, if he checked in on her son. In chapter 281, we finally, FINALLY see Gran reflecting on that choice both he and Nana made

If he had checked in, Kotaro might have known a different memory of his mother, or he might have at least been able to see the threads of aggression and abuse that were riddling Tenko’s life. He might have seen AFO, manipulating and watching. Might, might, might. No matter how you shake it, everything changes when there’s some kind of monitoring, of looking out for your fellow man.

With that in mind, BNHA’s world state, which is based on hero work, would need a strong set of checks and balances to function properly, to catch those falling into the cracks & I’d argue we don’t see much push for that from the everyday populace.

Which is wild. Because society itself is practically Quirkless. Sure, 80% have a quirk, but in Japan you cannot use your quirk in public. If you do, you run the risk of arrest or classification as a villain.

That is why we see moments like these

Izuku is likely one of the only people in this massive crowd who really has no quirk. There is a horde of people standing there and no one is lifting a finger. It’s kinda a “bread and circuses,” mentality. They look fucking entertained and no one is freaking out except for Izuku, who knows what it feels like inside that goop thing. Instead, they’re all waiting, watching for the next hero, or for All Might to show up. But wait, aren’t there heroes there? It’s a city and this is a massive attack, it’s brought foot traffic to a standstill, surely a hero will get there and save this boy who is literally dying.

Oh. They’re there. But they’re waiting too

They are all “managing,” the situation and hoping Bakugo will survive long enough for someone with the right quirk to come along. Not polling the masses of people to see if any of them could possibly assist in the meantime, no, all these civilians get to watch this miscarriage of “justice.” Don’t worry. If the kids strong enough, he’ll make it.

So far, Shigaraki’s underlying motivation calling for a more rigorous, critical, take on heroes doesn’t feel too far fetched. Looking at chapter 1 alone, the current way things are isn’t right and it’s not fair.

Now, Shigaraki isn’t going about asking for it the “right,” way, but I bet he’d see a similar response even if he wasn’t hurting and maiming people as he goes.

The latter would let him be swept aside just as easily as the former. We see this happen with Stain. The news isn’t talking about the Nomu, or the countless people who were terrorized and hurt. No, they’re talking about the Hero Killer, because just like in our real society, that’s what get the clicks, the likes and the attention. Again, people don’t like to look at things that make them uncomfortable.

Yet, even with this horrifying fact, that Stain could go down in history books as a villain, as someone who gleefully killed others, people, both good and bad, sat up and took notice. Many even identified with his ideals: That heroes are corrupt and they are only in the field for the fame and money. Only All Might was the perfect specimen to Stain. Because this is an idea that people can get behind, to me, that means that others know things are stacked against the underbelly, the downtrodden. But they can’t be bothered to call for change.

On the flip side, Shigaraki, who has a better grasp on the true ills and neglect of hero society is often told he has no “real,” ideology, no real conviction, and this is a theme that’s repeated over and over and over.

Like most things in BNHA, it begins with All Might

Then it’s carried to Stain, Dr. Ujiko, an ally and long time supporter of AFO, to Re-Destro, and, most recently, to Endeavor. They all can’t see what Shigaraki is wanting, what he’s calling for.

It’s easier to name him a monster, a freak, scum, then to listen or to absorb any of what he’s saying.

But, as he says, he’s got convictions. He’s got his father’s, he’s got AFO’s ideas on the ethics and morals of hero society, AFO’s drive to crush OFA, once and for all, and his own deep seeded resentment and neglect toward a broken hero society. Honestly, he’s got more motivation than almost any other character.

And how is he treated? How does Horikoshi show us the “heroes” response? He gives up a heaping of violence. From chapter 270 to 285, Tomura Shigaraki is hit, punched, burned and beat around a whopping 36 times. And, for most of this fight, he is effectively quirkless.

How many hits does he get in? A grand total of 6.

And his first reaction is never to maim, in these moments, instead it’s to talk, to rattle, and to question

He only goes for Endeavor after he’s been burned, likely, without his regeneration abilities, to the point of death. These heroes aren’t aiming to subdue, they’re going in for the kill. And yes, he has just decayed an entire hospital and the surrounding area, the heroes are warranted in their anger and their frustration. After all, they’re the ones who dropped the ball here. This was a “planned” raid and they should have been the only ones in any real danger. They’re heroes, so I’d argue that it’s their job, their life’s mission to save, no matter the cost.

Besides, if they can spare AFO, not once, but twice, they should be trying to spare Shigaraki just as hard.

This has been a long and drawn out arc, with many, many ups and downs, but the one thing I don’t wanna see is the heroes getting a pass. This society has pitfalls and it’s got big ones. People are treated as lesser if they don’t have quirks, or if they have the wrong ones, the ones that don’t make them look normal. People are pressed to the side when they don’t conform and a hero, the current number one, has gotten away with mentally, and physically, scarring his family for over 20 years.

Right now, there are no checks. There is no: who watches the watcher in this world and I’d argue society has suffered for it.

Yet how are we shown how to treat those who don’t agree with us? With anger, untapped rage and physical violence, of course. And this is true of BOTH sides.

At the end of the day, as he said back at the USJ: violence only breeds more violence and while I don’t like predicting future chapters or arcs, I’m hoping that thread won’t be dropped. It’s one of the things that drew me into BNHA and I hope we get to see more, not less, of that grey morality.

[thewatermelloncat]

Blankets

Deleted Scene

Summary: A Five sickfic I wrote inspired by @too-many-umbrellas post here and the notes from it, because people have amazing ideas and this story barely scratches the surface.

Author’s Note: I might do a whole story with all the siblings causing chaos like in the original post eventually. 

I also have a bonus story which I will post up later on tomorrow that I’ll link onto this one. (Edit: Linked up top)

Warnings: Swearing

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The weather report said it would be sunny – it lied. Thunder crashes outside as Five staggers back into the living room, the booming sound reflecting his frustration. He looks exhausted as he makes his way back to the couch where he had been seated a minute earlier.

“It’s really kicking your arse isn’t it?” Luther observes.

Five nods minutely, closing his eyes and sniffling miserably into his sleeve.

Taking pity on him Luther tosses him the box of tissues from the coffee table. Surprisingly Five manages to catch it before taking a few and blowing his nose as he sits back onto the couch.

“How far did you go this time?” Klaus asks from up on one of the barstools.

“Upstairs and round the corner a bit” Five tells him, sounding weak and raspy.

“Why didn’t you just jump back?”

“Gee, Klaus. I wish I thought of that” Five’s voice drips in sarcasm before he covers a few hollow coughs behind his fist, wincing slightly afterward.

“How’s your throat?” Five’s pained expression doesn’t pass Luther by.

His seemingly younger brother only shakes his head, both not answering and answering his question at the same time.

“How many times has it been today that you poofed off somewhere?” Klaus chuckles slightly as he spins on the chair, his feet lazily dragging behind him in the air.

“Lost count.”

“Well there was when you got sent to the kitchen. Oh-ho and the one where you teleported into Diego’s room just as he was about to leave for work. That was so funny, scared the living daylights outta him” – Klaus laughs, ticking them off on his fingers before Five cuts him off.

“Klaus, stop… It-it really doesn’t matter” Five sighs pulling the blanket from on the couch around his shoulders and tucking his legs up to his chest, resting his head on his knees. He knew his brother was only having fun but it wasn’t helping his headache any.

Klaus pauses his listing while his brother speaks but decides to scrap his list entirely seeing the pointed look Luther gives him. Pursing his lips, he swings his legs forward propelling himself off the chair then makes his way to sit next to Five.

“This has really got you down hasn’t it, old man?” Klaus teases him.

“I’m fine” Five’s voice already muted and now muffled by his knees, does him no favours in proving his point.

“No, wrong letter” Klaus says, wrapping an arm over his brother and pulling him into his side. “It’s said ‘Five’ not ‘fine.’”

Five immediately pulls out of Klaus’ grip, fixing him with a look which would have been a lot more threatening if he didn’t look like he was half asleep.

“Come on!” Klaus whines. “That was clever.”

Five only just has time to roll his eyes before his turns away into his elbow, “Kihh'tschh!!!” and in a flash of blue he’s gone.

Klaus blinks in bewilderment at the now lonely blanket in a heap on the couch before he immediately turns to Luther. “Bet he went” – his voice is cut off by Five’s unimpressed tone sounding from behind the wall near the doorway.

“Klaus if you’re placing bets, I swear” – Five’s raised voice cuts off, leaving them in silence for a few seconds. “Huh’Tschh!”

Suddenly there is a crackle of energy and a faint blue spark that casts rays of light on the doorframe.

“Fuck!” Five’s curse sounds muffled through the floor boards, having been teleported further away up to the third floor.

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The first few times Five had spontaneously teleported he’d come back looking annoyed, now as he re-enters the living room, he seems completely over it. If anything, he’s glad that neither of his siblings make a joke out of it. Sure, he might find it funny later but not now, exhausted from the long trek down various flights of stairs.

“Come here” Luther interrupts Five’s beeline for the couch, gesturing for him to come over to him.

Five bites back a huff of frustration but obliges, only because he can’t be bothered arguing. Slowly he comes to stand in front of Luther who reaches out a hand to place of his forehead.

None of them need anymore clarification to know that Luther’s hum of disapproval means that Five’s fever is going up. “You dizzy at all?” it wouldn’t surprise Luther if he was with all the teleporting he is doing.

Five shakes his head, one of the few things he is grateful for. “Just tired” he sighs as he sinks back into the couch next to Klaus, who wraps the blanket back over his shoulders.

“You hungry?” Luther asks. “Think we’ve still got leftovers in the fridge.”

Five shakes his head.

“Get some sleep then, yeah?”

Five’s hum of content as he goes to snuggle back into the couch quickly turns into a groan of frustration as he pushes himself back up, rubbing his hand against his nose. “Please God, no” he begs, closing his eyes tightly trying to will the itch away. He just got back for fuck’s sake. But there’s nothing he can do and his chest inhales involuntarily. “Ktt'schh!!” and in a poof of blue sparks he’s gone again.

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As the last of the blue sparks fade into nothing, the steady sound of footsteps echo from around the corner.

“Is Five here? I swear I just heard him” Allison says as she stops in the doorway to the room.

“Sneezed and poofed away” Klaus tells her.

“Where did he go?”

“Dunno” Klaus admits quietly, seeming confused that they haven’t heard Five cursing from somewhere by now.

Allison seems confused as well as she looks around the edge of the upper floors from the base of the staircase, “Five?”

At the lack of response to his sister’s calling, Luther pushes himself out of his chair and walks forward to join her. “Five!” his deeper voice carries further, echoing around the foyer.

“He can’t have gone far, can he?” Klaus asks worriedly, coming to join them.

“Doubt it” Luther shakes his head, “it is been draining him.”

“Do you think he could have passed out?” Allison’s question is answered nonverbally as they all share worried looks before splitting off in different directions.

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The raindrops Five blinks out of his eyes may as well be tears from the amount of resentment he currently feels. Except crying is a waste of time, and it would be pointless to cry over an ability he can’t change. So instead he draws in a deep breath beginning to trudge through the puddles on the footpath, already drenched by the rain.

He’d tried to jump back when he first landed but only succeed in turning the air around him blue, too weak to teleport again. He’d given up after his third try and surrendered to the cold walk home.

There aren’t many people around to judge why a boy is wondering around the street without an umbrella, only a few who run along sheltered by their coats above their heads, ducking under overhangs. He makes it to the next street down before he draws in a breath and ducks into his elbow, “hah’kshhhuu!”

He wishes that it could have teleported him back to the academy, but it only manages to fizzle out blue sparks like a battery dying.

His teeth chatter as he crosses his arms with a shiver, and he forces himself to think of something positive. At least he knows where he is and he’s not too far from the Academy. Still, he wishes his uniform had a hood or he had teleported with the blanket that had been wrapped around him, either way he would have had something to shelter him from the rain.

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Diego’s brow knits in confusion as he walks through the foyer seeing no one around. He’d left them all in the lounge before he left for work, and he’d thought they’d still be there. At least Five who was supposed to spend the day crashed on the couch.

Seeing nothing but a blanket he shrugs before heading for the stairs up to his room. Suddenly he turns around at the sound of hurried footsteps behind him, running up the stairs from the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Allison as she looks around frantically.

“We lost Five?” she says, barely sparing him a glance as she moves back into the lounge to have another look around.

“What do you mean you lost him?”

“He sneezed and disappeared!” Klaus calls out from the railing of the second level.

“Have you tried his room?”

“He’s not there!” Luther’s voice echoes from a place where Diego can’t see him before he steps into view behind the railing on the third floor. “I hate to jump to conclusions, but you don’t think he” – he doesn’t need to finish his sentence to get his point across.

A few seconds of silence fall over the siblings as they contemplate whether accidental time travel is even on the cards for him.

Allison is the first person to shake her head. “I doubt it, he wouldn’t have enough energy” she speaks assuredly, but part of her doesn’t know whether it’s denial.

“Is there anywhere you haven’t checked?” Diego asks immediately, not feeling that it’s necessary to dwell on it.

Klaus’ sarcastic comment about how there are over 60 rooms to look around in dies in his throat at the sound of the front door handle turning.

“Oh my God, Five!” Allison all but squeaks as she rushes forward to her brother shutting the door behind him, drenched with rain.

As soon as she’s next to him her hands are all over him, brushing his hair out of his face, checking for fever on his cheeks, then pulling off his soaked blazer after noticing how violently he shivers.

“Where’d you go?” she asks as Klaus steps forward with the blanket in his hands, having raced down the stairs and into the lounge.

“Half a block down the street” Five stutters through shivers before his breath hitches and he raises a hand to his mouth in preparation for a sneeze.

Klaus, having almost touched the blanket to his brother’s shoulders, yelps and jumps back using the blanket as a shield, not wanting to touch him and be hurtled through time and space.

Allison having a completely different reaction, quickly reaches forward placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping that he won’t have the strength to teleport the both of them.

“Heh’tshh!” Five pivots slightly away from her and she feels static run up her arm.

Shaking it out she steps back from Five as he turns back to them.

“I can’t – uhm” he swallows seeming distracted with his eyes unfocused. “I can’t – Ah’Tchhhh - teleport, anymore” he finishes sniffling into his elbow.

Deeming that it is safe to come near him again, Klaus gives him the blanket and the tips of his cold, red fingers turn white as he grips onto it like a lifeline.

“Shower, go” Allison instructs, her voice demanding yet compassionate.

Five nods, and Allison keeps her eyes on him as he walks through the group of his siblings and up the stairs. “Not too hot, all right?”

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Five doesn’t mean to announce his presence back in the lounge by coughing loudly into his elbow, that’s what Klaus would do for attention, but completely against his own character. Either way it couldn’t be helped.

He tries his best to ignore his siblings’ looks of sympathy, particularly Luther’s, as he makes his way to the couch dressed in a pair of Allison’s trackpants and a hoodie. It’s weird to see a guy that big with a face that looks like a kicked puppy. Then again, it’s weird for anyone to see Five out of his standard uniform, let alone with his hands bunched up in the sleeves.

Fighting back the want to shiver, Five sinks into the couch and makes to lie down before Allison stops him.

“Hold up Five” she says, stepping closer to him with a thermometer in hand.

“Do I really have to?” he mumbles, not really seeing the point. He’s had a fever all day and doubts that it would have gone anywhere.

“I just want to check.”

“I just want to sleep.”

“And you can after this” Allison promises him.

“I’m fine” Five groans. “I’m just tired.”

“That would be a lot more convincing if you could speak clearer” Diego jabs at him over the stuffy quality of his voice.

“You’re one to talk” Five bites back, immediately realising his mistake even before Diego falls into silence. That was too mean, even for his standards. “I’m sorry Diego. I-I don’t mean that” he sniffles congestedly into his sleeve, adjusting his position on the couch out of awkwardness. “Just feel horrible.”

“You’re all right, bud” Diego murmurs affectionately, shaking off the last of his hurt expression.

Allison breaks the last of the tension waving the thermometer in the air. “I’m about to start making aeroplane noises.”

“You will not” Five staggers out a response, taking the thermometer out of her hand before she has a chance to shove it in his mouth for him.

As Five goes to slip the thermometer under his tongue Klaus takes his chance at making an aeroplane noise, but quickly cuts off when Five glares at him. Though he can only look so threatening with a pale face, pink nose and cheeks, and a stick of glass protruding from his lips. Still Klaus feels sorry for him and picks up the blanket from the couch and wraps it around him as a peace offering.

His peace offering seems to be overly effective as Five leans into him, resting his head on his shoulder. After taking a second to get over the shock of Five wanting physical contact, Klaus wraps his arm that had slightly flailed in the air around his brother’s shoulders.

Before anyone can make a comment about Five and Klaus showing affection to each other, the front door opens and footsteps head towards the lounge.

Even before they can see her, they hear Vanya’s voice starting to ramble something about one of her violin students, and stopping at the store. When she comes into view, she greets them and they respond in various ways. Klaus feeling Five move underneath his arm, raising a tired hand in a small wave.

“How’re you feeling, Five?” she asks him, her expression falling into sympathy that could rival Luther.

The question doesn’t really need to be answered given how Five has surrendered to physical contact in order to remain upright. He can’t really answer her either with a thermometer in his mouth. So, he tiredly blinks at her, figuring that she will understand.

“We’re not doing too great” Luther answers for him anyway.

“Had a little adventure out in the rain, didn’t we?” Klaus adds squeezing Five closer into his side, making him shift uncomfortably. Whether it was because of the increased contact or the fact that his siblings are speaking about him as if he is a child, Klaus doesn’t have the brains to question it.

“Ah-ha, the glitching” Vanya chuckles lightly as she turns around to place her violin case on the bar.

Diego hops up from his chair and goes over to help her unload the snacks and things that she got from the store, explaining the events in more detail.

At the same time Allison moves back in front of Five to collect the thermometer from him.

After handing it over to her Five releases a few coughs that he had been holding back into his elbow, leaning away from Klaus. In the midst of that activity he misses Allison reading out the verdict and he’s not interested enough to get her to repeat it. Figuring it can’t be too bad or she would have placed her hand back to his forehead or gone back to study the measurement again.

“You can go to sleep now Five” Allison withholds her promise, smiling sadly down at him.

He sighs deeply as he shifts against Klaus who moves so his brother can rest his head on his lap. As they get settled, Allison turns and walks toward the bar to wash the thermometer in the sink. With her back to them she hears Five sniffle slightly before sneezing softly causing Klaus to yelp dramatically.

“’m not going anywhere” she hears Five mumble to him tiredly.

“The blue flash says different!” he accuses.

“We’ll he didn’t go anywhere, did he?” Luther points out so Five doesn’t have to.

“If even if he could go somewhere, there’s no way he could take you with him” Allison tells Klaus as she reaches the sink and turns on the tap.

Her reasoning doesn’t seem to settle Klaus and she looks up from the running water to catch Vanya’s eye, shaking her head and rolling her eyes playfully.

Vanya returns the look, switching up the rolling eyes for a smile before she turns back to the group. “Five, I got some NyQuil from the store if you want any.”

“I don’t think we’ll need it” Klaus says, his voice much quieter than a few seconds ago. Adjusting the blanket over the shoulders of the boy who rests his head on his legs, already asleep.

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 9: Misdemeanour

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: A slow Sunday is ruined by a certain someone. The next morning reader returns to the embassy, receiving some rather good news.

Warnings: swearing, angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, nudity, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of unrighteous law

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The envelope felt like lead in your hands. You’d opened the door, barely dressed as you rolled out of bed, wrapped in a robe as you freed yourself from your lover’s embrace. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you were handed the big envelope. A lawyer’s name. You just got fucking asked to drop charges. Not really able to move much you gently pushed against the door, listening to the dull noise as it shut on its own.

Opening this envelope would tell you exactly how bad it was. But you were too scared to find out, anxiously picking at your lip as you just stood there, seemingly paralyzed. You knew this was a bad idea, you knew you should’ve just let it be, you fucking knew there was no winning, ever. A heartbroken sob racked through your chest and you clutched a hand over your mouth, not wanting Javier to hear.

Quiet or not, it didn’t matter, he walked out of the bedroom, still nude, stretching his toned arms over his head as he let out a yawn. “Come back to bed, hermosa, it’s still early”, he rasped, voice hoarse with sleep.

You looked at him with tear-stained cheeks, palm practically glued to your mouth. He blinked, not sure of what he was seeing, but as he noticed to brown envelope dangling from your other hand he woke up instantly. You met each other halfway, weeping as he engulfed you in his warmth. His fingers weaved themselves through you hair, chin resting atop of your head as he rocked you back and forth.

It was shock more than anything that had triggered a response like this, a pure panic. He’d seen it before, the night you came back and he wasn’t prepared to have to ever see it again. “I’m here, baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere”, he whispered over and over, repeating it like a mantra so that maybe you might just pick up on it.

“I just want it to stop”, you cried out, balling your fists against his chest as you let go of the cursed papers.

The envelope fell to the floor with a soft rustling and in that moment you just wished you could disappear, fall through the wooden floorboards yourself. “I know baby, I know”, he soothed, pulling you in closer.

Your head started hurting from the extensive crying, corners of your eyes stinging as the skin felt raw due to all the rubbing and wiping away of tears. But when the tears stilled, the anger settled in. He could feel it in the way you tensed up, muscles seemingly rejecting his caring touches as he held onto you.

“Let’s sit down, okay? Have something to drink and then we’ll read over it, together”, he promised, kissing your temple.

You sat down at the kitchen counter, splaying your palms against the cold surface, trying to breathe through the sheer blood-boiling rage you felt coursing through your entire body. He picked the envelope off of the floor, throwing it down in front of you as he grabbed a set of glasses from the cupboard. “The case will take place in the states”, you muttered, not daring to look up.

“I know, we can rent an apartment”, he replied, pouring you some water.

“Javi.. this is my mess, you are not-“

He laid his hands over yours, clearing his throat. “I’m your partner now, whatever you’re going through, I’m right there with you.”

His words made you feel the slightest bit better, lip starting to tremble again as you looked up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

He dragged your chair closer to his, cupping your face in both his hands. “None of this is on you, preciosa. Whatever that says, it does not define you.”

“You’re so good to me”, you choked out, burying your face in his neck.

Javier struggled with that, his heartstrings tugging on his restraint and self-control. He was just as pissed off as you were, if not more. That scumbag had the guts to threaten a case himself, thinking he could fucking win despite the hard evidence against him. He’d wanted it to happen at a different time – any other time but now, you were finally back on your feet. The entire week at his apartment had been amazing, you’d been on top of the world, as if nothing ever happened. And you’d genuinely deserved that, both of you did.

This wasn’t at all how you’d envisioned your weekend together. The thought of having to go back to work after all of that tomorrow stressful enough on its own. You and Javier had spent a week in pure bliss, tangled up in each other’s limbs and depths, getting closer, both physically and emotionally. The two of you had a dynamic now, a routine together and the domesticity of it was all the stability you’d ever want and need.

“We’ll get a good lawyer, you don’t need to worry about that”, he said before pressing another short kiss to your lips.

You nodded, sliding your fingernail under the hem of the paper, ripping the glue apart. With another shaky breath you pulled the papers out, hands damp with sweat. You looked over at Javier, who gave you an encouraging nod. Your eyes skimmed over the paper, pausing when you read the words “misdemeanour” and “battery”.

“What the fuck”, you gasped, rereading the sentences over and over again.

Javier sat upright, trying to read along with you. “Misde- are they fucking blind? Insufficient evidence? Oh you have got to be kidding me. That is low, even for him”, he spat, kicking his chair back as he went to stand.

“Javi, please sit down”, you sighed, closing your eyes as you felt the room start to spin.

He kicked against the chair, the wood clattering onto the tiles due to the impact. “Man, fuck this!”, he screamed, giving it another punt.

You flinched, keeping your head low as he took some of his frustrations out. “Please stop”, you pleaded, fingers gripping the counter.

He looked at the way you sat and took a step back. “I-I’m going for a drive.”

Before you could so much as look at him he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You’d gone from a serious case to a negotiation regarding “first-degree battery”, with a thousand dollar fine as a suggestion. You knew how sexist the courts could be at times, often ruling in the favour of perpetrators solemnly because of their sex. It was disgusting, several supplied pictures of your bruised and mishandled body deemed as “insufficient evidence”. The added detail of “assault of a pregnant woman” overruled as well. There was a written out response and report, they’d handled it behind your back, putting an end to it before it even started. Insufficient evidence, no witnesses. The response even alluded to self-defence, explaining that in a crazed, hysteric episode you attacked him first, statement backed up by eye-witnesses.

Were you supposed to be happy? Happy that he didn’t charge you? Happy he’d give you a thousand bucks? A thousand bucks could not even begin to make up for the damages, let alone the loss of an entire family.

It was still a proposal though, so you could either accept or fight back. But if even now your sisters and mother were unwilling to side with you, you surely wouldn’t win them on your side under any other circumstances, it was a lost cause and you knew it. This is where it ended, this is where they stopped being family to you, for good. Javier and Steve would egg you on to take it to court, let it drag on, risk losing it all, but if you were completely honest with yourself you knew that all you wanted was for it all to stop. You just wanted to be left alone and forget, supress what had happened, supress years and years of what had been happening. Your father was too far gone, there was no redeeming himself, you’d known this since you were in your teens and yet there was always that small bit of hope that you held onto. But looking at these papers, his name signed neatly at the bottom, you felt it perish. You grabbed the nearest pen, hands trembling with sheer hatred and resent. Fuck him, fuck all of them, is this is what they wanted, they could have it their way. You signed your name on the same line, consenting to the settlement and leaving it at just that.

He’d exerted his control over you way too long and had always won, no matter what you did. The amount of holidays you’d spent on your own, amount of birthdays you celebrated with a bottle of gin or vodka, they’d always won. You were allowed a family of your own and you’d have exactly that, you’d win this time and they would never take it away from you again.

Let them have the case, you had other things here, important things; a real family.

 When Javier came back, somewhat cooled off, he found you in the bathroom, on your hands and knees scrubbing along the edges of the tub. You had the radio playing, some man announcing the weather forecast in Spanish. He leaned against the doorframe, the shadow of his towering figure making you look over. You both smiled at each other, though it wasn’t sincere.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper.. I just.. it ticks me off – a lot”, he confessed, crossing his arms in front of him.

You nodded, averting your gaze to focus on the porcelain once again. “I signed.”

“You did what?”, he asked in a monotone voice, standing up straight now.

“I signed”, you repeated, getting up off the ground and walking up to him. “I’m done with the games. He can have it his way if that means I’ll never have to see any of them again.”

He didn’t like that, but a part of him actually understood. “Are you sure this is what you want?”, he asked, no sly or ironic undertone, he was genuine.

“I want to be happy and a lengthy and expensive court case that I probably won’t even win just isn’t that”, you explained, pushing past him with the bucket of cleaning supplies.

He trailed after you, eyes glued to your form as you moved around the kitchen. “I know it won’t be easy, but you’ve got a good case, you could make a difference.”

“Listen, I made my decision and I’m not really in the mood to go back and forth about it. So you can either shut up about or go bitch to someone else”, you snarled, finger pointing towards the door.

His face faltered a bit at your words, taken aback by your brashness. “I just think it would be better for you to think about it some more.”

“Javier. Quit”, you sighed, turning your back towards him. “I don’t expect you to understand but I really don’t want this to drag on. Whether I win or lose against him in front of a judge, it’ll never actually fix anything. So instead of wasting my time away being miserable and anxious all the time, I’d rather spend it here, with you and Connie and Steve, Olivia.”

He came up behind you, spinning you around to face him. “You know I’ll support you no matter what. And if this is what you really want, then I’ll let it go, but I need you to look me in the eyes when you tell me.”

You put a hand on his cheek, looking into his brown eyes as you said exactly what you’d told him before: you were putting an end to it. “I want to start anew. I want a clean sheet with you, with this”, you whispered, bringing his hand to your swollen stomach.

He hadn’t ever touched you there since finding out you were pregnant and something about it felt surprisingly soothing, grounding, unreal. He could tell there was somewhat of a curve going on, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he kept his fingers there, lips colliding with yours.

“A new start”, he repeated, leaning back in.

 The next morning was pure chaos, the two of you struggling to get ready in time. Today was important, your first day back and your first day with the new ambassador, who knew nothing about you, your condition or your relation to Javier. You took your breakfast into the car, your heated time in the shower having you run late. You handed Javier a sandwich as you quickly buttoned up your blouse.

“That is really distracting”, Javier tutted, stopping at the red light, a hand comfortable resting on your thigh.

You threw him a glare, stealing his sandwich to sneak a bite. “Your fault! You wanted to have sex, now we’re running late.”

“From what I remember”, he started, stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his mouth “you were the one begging me not to stop.”

“Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I won’t dropkick you”, you jested, fully buttoned-up.

He turned his head, flashing you an irresistibly handsome smirk. “Oh honey, keep it up and I might just have to bend you over your own desk.”

“Javier! Keep it in your fucking pants, will you”, you scolded, chuckling slightly.

He parked the car, taking his hand of your thigh in the process. “I like driving you to work, hermosa”, he mumbled, jerking the handbrake.

“Hmm, why’s that?”, you asked, fixing your hair and make-up in the rear view mirror.

“Beeecaauuse I get to do”, he leaned over the console, resting a hand on the back of your neck, “this.”

His lips moved against yours in a slow, passionate pace, tongue slightly pressing up against you, asking for permission. You allowed him the entrance, grabbing a hold of his shirt as he deepened the kiss, stroking your tongue with his. He squeezed the inside of your thigh as he leaned back, biting his lip as you let out a whimper.

“You’re the worst”, you sighed, the heat between your legs incredibly prominent as he dragged his fingertips over your throat.

Another embrace, lips grazing your neck. “C’mon let’s head inside.”

 There was bouquet of flowers, courtesy of the office lads, displayed on your desk. You felt a blush creep up as you walked over, reaching out for the card. It read <We missed you! Glad to have you back!>. You grinned from ear to ear, bending down to smell the freshly cut blooms.

“Oh wow”, you gasped, closing your eyes as the sweet smell filled your lungs. “I-I don’t know what to say..”, you stuttered, looking down at the array of coloured petals.

“Thank you, for a start”, somebody spoke.

You whipped your head around. “Lopez! Of course!”, you giggled, returning his hug.

Javier watched from the side, rolling his eyes and scoffing as Steve just laughed away. He knew the office was up to something, but a fucking bundle of flowers? That crossed a line for him. Flowers were a boyfriend thing in his mind, for Valentine’s and birthdays or when there was something to make up.

But it was when he watched the other man’s hand slide down you lower back that he really got annoyed. “We have work to do, if you don’t mind.”

The man let go of you, giving a polite nod before walking off once again. “Hoo-hoo, I’d pay to see that face of yours again”, Steve pestered him.

You engulfed the blonde in a bone-crushing hug. “How’re the girls?”

“Loud and proud. How’s the little troublemaker?”, he asked, watching as Javier sat down at his desk, lighting a cigarette.

“Still kicking my ass. Getting real tired of the nausea and vertigo”, you sighed, absentmindedly trailing a finger over the button of your jeans.

Steve nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder to convey his sympathy. “Any triggers? Connie told me some women react very strongly to certain foods.”

“Oh, just try to keep your coffee and cigarettes out of my face for now. Thank you for asking though”, you said, bumping your shoulder with his.

 The morning was slow, despite Javier filling you in at night the past week, you were still expected to attend a briefing. It became rather clear that there was a lot of pressure going around, Pablo closing in on his deal, his surrender. On paper it was nice, the biggest threat locked away behind bars, but that didn’t take care of anything. It was a stunt more than anything, something to appease to the public and feign peace.

It was just like what you’d gone through that weekend, there was no winning in this. “Imprisoned” or not, Escobar’s empire would still stand, whether he directed his men behind bars or not. At this point the decision was out of the DEA’s hands, to everyone’s greatest annoyance and it wasn’t looking good. It was within the government’s best interest to agree to the ridiculous terms, trying to rebuild their image. So a different decision was made, if the DEA couldn’t get Pablo, they’d get all the other sicarios and intel they could get their hands on.

Throughout the day you found out that ambassador Noonan was still there. She called you into her office, wanting to have a chat with you. The conversation came down to your current position and limitations and she informed you that so long as you were comfortable doing so, you were perfectly fine to go into the field. You both agreed that your sudden disappearance from stake outs might come off as suspicious, and that any possible corrupted fellow agents might catch word of what was truly happening. You agreed to work alongside Peña and Murphy until you were visibly showing or too exhausted, sick, restricted – whatever to keep doing so. You wouldn’t be chasing anyone, just show up and tag along to keep up appearances.

Javier was not on board with this and had to resits the urge to storm into that office and knock some sense into his superior. It wasn’t until you’d sat him down after dinner and explained the entire philosophy behind it that he actually listened.

“You’re telling me the best way to keep you safe if to put you directly in harm’s way?”, he asks, reaching for a cigarette.

You grasp the packet before he can reach it, tossing it aside. “Yes. Not attending raids will raise questions, questions too dangerous to answer. We do this for a couple of months and go from there.”

“I don’t know hermosa”, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Specify attending raids.”

“Sit back, stay close to the armoured car and look pretty in a bulletproof vest”, you chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, bumping his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

You captured his pouty lips in a kiss, smiling as he wrapped his arms around you. “I have laundry to do”, you breathed, closing your eyes as he held you against his chest.

“Did you really have to bring those fucking flowers into our apartment?”

You let out a laugh in the crook of his neck. “Last time I checked I’m the one paying rent, you freeloader.”

“Two places is gonna be costly in a couple of months and we practically already live together”, he explained, pushing some of your hair behind your left ear.

“You asking me to move in with you?”, you questioned, trying to keep yourself from grinning.

“Well, I’m more asking if I can move in with you”, he replied, leaning down to peck your nose.

You hummed in response, freeing yourself from his embrace to lean on the counter. “Won’t you miss your apartment? It’s quite a bit closer to the embassy.”

“Which is exactly why yours is better. And I won’t have to listen to Steve and Connie going at it every once a month”, he admitted, slowly shaking his head.

“Once a month? Ooh, that’s rough”, you joked.

He tilted his head in amusement, smirking as he looked back up at you. “Didn’t you have some laundry to get to?”

“Keep that up and you’ll get once a month too Peña”, you quipped, throwing the wet kitchen towel at his face. “Buuuut if you help me, I can give it to you tonight.”

“Oh baby, please. I’ll have you begging for me by the end of it.”

And beg you did. Legs wrapped around his waist, the vibrations of the washing machine sending waves of pleasure through you. You’d started by emptying the dryer while Javi filled the washing machine. And as soon as it turned on, he grabbed a hold of your waist and put your right on top of it. You were writing underneath him, moaning with every roll of his hips. His mouth was on your neck, rightfully marking what was his as he sped up his movements.

“J-Javi please”, you pleaded “more.”

He jerked you forward, having you balance on the edge, angling his thrusts even more upward. You surged forward as he hit deeper, reaching something inside that had you clinging onto him. His hands gripped onto your ass, keeping you in place as the machine rumbled beneath you.

“Gonna need you to cum, hermosa”, he ordered, out of breath as he dipped a hand between the front of your legs, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit.

You were a whimpering mess now, choking out his name as his hips started to stammer, desperately chasing his oncoming orgasm. He let out a series of low, husky, guttural groans as he bit down on your shoulder, coating your heat with his release. You followed soon after, the sharp pain in your shoulder sending you over the edge. Your toes curled behind his back, legs squeezing his sides as you let out a loud and melodical moan.

He stumbled forward a bit, caging you in as he regained his balance. “Shit – that was intense”, he exhaled, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah.. that one’s gonna hurt tomorrow”, you panted, running your hands through his damp hair. “Hand me that towel, please?”

He leaned over, grabbing the towel off the drying rack, making some other stuff fall in the process. “No chasing, just showing up?”, he checked again.

“Just showing up, bulletproof vest on at all times”, you reassured him, throwing the dirty towel into the hamper.

He helped you off of the washer, giving your butt a smack as you stood in front of him again. “You ride with me, always. I need to be able to see you, understood?”

“I’m your girlfriend, not your liability”, you joked, playfully hitting him in the chest. “What’s that?”, you questioned, bending down to pick something up off the floor.

Javier hesitated, putting his hands over yours as he gave you a sheepish grin. “It’s just something I got at the market last time we went. I-it’s stupid really.”

You opened your hands, looking down to get a closer look. They’re little socks, striped-socks. “Javi.. when did you get this?”, you asked, voice rising in pitch as you started feeling a little emotional.

“You were talking to some vendor and I just – I thought they looked cute and-“

He was shut up as you smashed your lips into his. “I love them.”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @asta-lily @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ 

[crumbsfortherats]

flickers among the flat pink roses 795 words

Charles stirs awake to the sound of soft, muffled cries. He squeezes his eyes shut, fingers briefly tightening around the pillow as he desperately tries to cling onto the last vestiges of sleep.

The baby—Bean, as he’s taken to calling her—sleeps a lot but not for long stretches, so he figured out pretty early on that he should just sleep whenever she does, as much as he can. Uninterrupted rest feels like a distant memory at this point.

The noise comes again, a sad little mewl, this time accompanied by a pang of guilt. Charles fumbles for his phone in the dark, reflexively squinting against the harsh light of the screen as he brings it up to his face. It’s a little after six, which isn’t bad, all things considered.

He pockets his phone and scrubs a hand over his face before finally pushing himself up off the bed and onto his feet, stumbling over to the bassinet. The baby stirs, giving another unhappy cry. Charles flicks the nightlight on before reaching down to scoop Bean into his arms.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is a little rough from sleep, but soft nonetheless. He rubs soothing circles across Bean’s sleep-warm back. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Charles pads across the hallway and into the kitchen. Carefully, he shifts Bean from the crook of his arm to his shoulder, freeing up one hand to prepare her bottle. After three weeks of regular feeds, it’s something he does more or less on instinct now. It became decidedly easier when—on his mother’s advice—he started approaching it like he does racing. Impossibly, the basics are pretty much the same: he practices, analyses his performance, and strives to improve.

Bean lets out a whine, as if to inform him that he can always do better.

“I know, I know, you’re hungry,” Charles soothes. “Give me a minute, okay?”

He grabs the bottle as soon as it’s ready, making a beeline for the living room. It’s too cold for him to step out onto the terrace with the baby without having to bundle her up, but the balcony door offers a decent view of the harbour below. Charles makes himself comfortable in one of the armchairs, gently cradling Bean against his chest. She lets out another impatient little noise, but quietens down once he brings the bottle to her mouth.

“There,” he murmurs, tracing the perfect shell of one tiny ear with the tip of his finger. “Is that better?”

Predictably, he gets no response, though judging by the way Bean’s eyes flutter shut, he decides she seems content. Charles lifts his gaze, staring out at the sky.

It’s still dark outside, but the sun is threatening to rise, streaking the night sky with faint hues of pink and yellow. Unsure of what else to do, Charles tentatively slips his phone out of his pocket and swipes up to unlock it, careful not to jostle the baby. He ends up checking the clock app, scrolling down until he finds Singapore, because some habits are just that hard to shake. There’s a six hour difference. Sebastian’s probably having lunch, or maybe sitting in a meeting with his engineers, figuring out the optimal setup for qualifying.

Charles doesn’t particularly miss the sweltering heat, the torturous humidity or the ice baths, but he does find himself longing for the atmosphere, the familiar rush of adrenaline—the challenge of beating his rivals at the toughest race of the season. He remembers the rapture of scoring points in an uncompetitive car and the sting of frustration at being denied a victory.

Most of all, he remembers glancing over at Sebastian on the podium, cheeks flushed with the heat, hair dampened by sweat and champagne, pride and exaltation etched into every line of him. The anger welling up inside him had receded as quickly as it had risen—he could never bring himself to resent Sebastian, not even when he capitalised on his misfortune.

I will get you next time, he’d told him. But it never came; there was no shot at redemption, then or now.

Bean stirs in his arms, as if sensing his thoughts.

“I know,” Charles sighs. “I miss him too.”

He sets his phone down, turning his attention back to his daughter. He smiles, watching as Bean’s little mouth opens in a yawn as soon as he pulls the bottle away. It doesn’t take long for her to drift back to sleep.

Tight, brilliantly lit streets unfurl behind Charles’s eyelids. His pulse jumps as he rounds the final corner and darts across the finish line, the crowds rising to their feet, feverishly chanting his name. There’s warmth across his back, the sweep of a familiar hand—

The sun is already cresting the horizon when he wakes.

[magicmanias]

What's in a Name

Request: “Sherlock x reader with prompt #1 (but with just the first name) where the reader is friends and in love with Sherlock but they're all sad because the name William is on their wrist [... (contains spoilers)] Do what you want with that, cause like, suspense. Love your writing as always! ❤”

1. Soulmate’s name is marked on the other’s arm.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Y/N has loved Sherlock for a long time. And even though his name isn’t the one fate has written on her arm, she can’t seem to help but be drawn to him. 

Warning: Fluff, Two swear words (that's right)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I've finally written something!

"James."

"No," she huffed, taking another sip of tea.

"Andrew," he said.

"No."

"Christopher."

"Christopher?" she repeated.

"It was the most popular baby name from the 1980's," he said, as if everyone knew that. He didn't say anything after that, waiting for her response.

 There was a long pause. "Sherlock, I'm not telling you." She left the table in the small kitchen and proceeded to the couch.

He growled in frustration and rose from the table to follow her. "Well, why not?"

"Because I don't want you to go looking for him," she asserted. "I'll meet him when I meet him."

"Oh, that's daft," Sherlock groaned.

"You know what? Fine, I'll tell you," she said. Sherlock approached her, hands behind his back. She continued, "If you tell me yours."

His face showed no emotion when he said, "No, absolutely not."

"Why?" she asked. Sherlock didn't answer. Y/N knew better than to pry. If he didn't answer her the first time, she'd never get an answer out of him.

They both sat in silence. Sherlock read the news and Y/N tried her best to focus on the cup of tea in her hands.

"Laura?"

"John?" she countered.

"Alright, fine," he muttered in the newspaper.

—

"Who do you think Sherlock's soulmate is?" Molly asked, looking up from the microscope. 

Y/N shook her head in amusement. Molly had only asked her a thousand times before. "John says it's Irene Adler." Molly bit her lip in disappointment. Despite the fact that a "Harry" was out there for her somewhere, she sorely fancied the Great Sherlock Holmes. "It's too bad John has some "Mary" out there. I think Sherlock is in love with him," Y/N added.

"That poor woman," Molly said abruptly. "Sherlock's soulmate," she clarified.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked. Molly liked Sherlock, didn't she? She didn't blame her, though. Y/N had been in love with the detective for a while… Too bad his name wasn't William. She rubbed her arm thinking of the name etched onto it. She used fantasize about a handsome William that would sweep her off her feet. Now she quite resented the name.

"It's just… He's so reserved," Molly answered. "I know he has emotions in there somewhere, but he's just so…"

"Dickish?" John's voice came from the entrance of the room.

"That's one way of putting it," Molly said  timidly, with a nervous laugh.

"John," Y/N greeted. "Why are you here?"

"Sherlock wanted me to ask Molly about borrowing another body from the morgue. Some experiment he's doing for a case," he said.

"Oh, sure. I have one that would work," Molly said.  "I'll go prep it now." She left the room promptly for the morgue.

"So, running errands for your husband? It's nice to have Sherlock off his feet for once. You know, always up and about with the kids," Y/N teased.

"Oh, shut it," John rolled his eyes. "I actually came here to talk to you. He just gave me a few things to do from the convenience."

"Oh. What do you need?" she asked.

"An old military mate of mine is visiting and we were going to go out for drinks. Sherlock's coming, too," he said.

"Oh sure! I'd love to meet the mysterious men you hide from us. Is his name Mary?"

"No, his name's Sam," he huffed. "Do shut it, will you? Keep going at it and I'll tell Sherlock your bloody soulmate's name."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. I love you, but there's isn't enough love in this world that could prevent me from telling Sherlock his name if you don't bloody stop your teasing," he threatened playfully. "Poor William."

"Stop!" she seethed in a whisper. " Sherlock might hear you!"

"You think too highly of him, Y/N. He wouldn't put in so much effort to listen in on us. Probably finds us too boring," John said. "I don't understand why you won't tell him though."

"Because I—I… He—I just…" Y/N stuttered.

John interrupted her blabbering, "You know, if Sherlock wasn't so bloody blind, he'd be able to tell, just like the rest of London, that you love him."

"What? I don't—Shut up."

"I'll see you at the bar," John left, leaving her scared that Sherlock would find out how she truly felt about him.

—

"Sorry, John. Can't make your friend thing," Sherlock said mockingly as he entered the flat. "I've got a lead on a case that's very important."

"I thought you were dropping that case because it was boring," John said confused. "And yes, you are coming because you said you would. When friends make commitments, they stick to them."

"No, I don't think I will," Sherlock replied bluntly.

"Y/N will be there," John encouraged. "She said so this morning."

Sherlock paused before saying,  "What does that matter?"

"Oh come on, Sherlock! I know you're in love with her," John finally admitted.

"You always said I loved Irene Adler," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"I say that when Y/N's around," John explained. "You know I'm right."

"John, I'm incapable—"

"Of human emotion? Oh that bullshit, Sherlock. I see the way you look at her. It's different from the way you look at Molly, Donovan—hell—even Irene! Ever since she showed up your doorstep looking for a case, you've been head over heels for that woman."

"And what if I said she's not my soulmate?" Sherlock asked solemnly.

"And what if she is?" John pushed. "Look, I have no clue whose name is on your arm, but I do know that right now, you're in love with Y/N… She's in love with you too. Don't mess this up."

Sherlock stared at John. Of course, John couldn't tell what he was thinking. Finally, Sherlock said, "Fine, let's go." 

—

Y/N changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater for the cooler weather that drinking at night involved. After putting on a light layer of makeup, she called a cab and drove to the bar.

"Y/N!" John called from the back of the bar.

"Hi, guys," she said, taking a seat. She saw Sherlock from the corner of her eye, but her main focus lied on the new man in front of her.

"You must be Sam. Y/N," she said with a smile. "John's told me a lot about you." 

"No, he hasn't," Sherlock said, not bothering to look up from the bar menu. "He's only just told you about Sam briefly this morning."

"Well I mean—"

"You were just trying to be polite? It would have backfired anyways. Sam asks too many questions," Sherlock answered for her. "He kept asking me about the blog and—"

"Ok, Sherlock. That's enough," John interceded. "Apologize to Y/N and Sam."

"Really it's fine," Sam said. You looked up at him shyly. He smiled at you. "I guess I do ask a lot of questions." 

The four talked into the late hours of the night. Although, it was mainly Sam flirting with Y/N, as Sherlock would have put it. It was a good thing Sam was sitting across from her or Lord knows what he would have tried under the table. 

John noticed Sherlock getting antsier and antsier. He tried to shoot him a couple subtle looks but nothing worked. Sherlock continued to get worked up and make petty remarks and Sam.

"So you're in the army," Sherlock started. He tried to sound intimidating, which he did. John groaned under his breath. "What happened to school?"

"Oh, well my dad was in the army and I wanted to follow him in his footsteps. You know, protect and country and such. And the queen, of course," he joked. Y/N giggled at his joke, making Sherlock frown in annoyance. 

"Wow, look at the time," Sam said. "I gotta get to my train or else my sister will kill me." He turned to Y/N. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Y/N returned. "Here, I can walk you out." 

The two left before Sherlock could protest that Y/N would get cold. He didn't want her to get a cold and then infect him, of course. Or that he would be the one to walk out the bar with her. To keep her safe, of course. 

"I'll go pay the bill," John said and left the table. 

Sherlock swiftly left the table soon after John and went out the door. He saw her just as Sam stepped into the cab.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," a voice said behind Y/N. She turned to see Sherlock standing close behind her.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"My full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes," he repeated. "In case you and Sam were looking for baby names."

"What? Sam and I aren't… Wait, what's your first name?" she asked, incredulous.

"...It's William," he hesitated.

"William," you repeated.

"Yes, that's right."

"Sherlock, who's your soulmate?" she asked bluntly.

"Her name is Y/N," he said softly. 

"All this time..." she laughed and shook her head. "You asked me constantly. Almost every day who my soulmate was you always knew, didn't you?"

"I did," he admitted.

"The one thing I expected you not to know. You've know since the moment you learned my name."

"I did," he again admitted.

"I…" Y/N could hardly form words. "I've loved you this whole time and this whole time you knew I was destined for you."

"I...I did," he breathed.

There was a long moment of silence. He just looked down at her while she stated at her hands.

"Do you love me?" she finally asked.

"I..." Sherlock hesitated. "John says I do."

"He says you love Irene Adler," she corrected.

"John only says that in front you," he explained.

"That bastard," she laughed. "Did he know?"

"No one knows about my soulmate except Mycroft. And you."

"Sherlock… Do you love me?" Y/N repeated.

"From the minute I learned you name," he said.

"I love you," she said. It felt like a weight had been lifted off her. "I love you," she repeated. I love you, I love you, I love you.

"I love you, my darling Y/N."

"I knew it!" John called out from the bar's entrance. 

"Fuck off, John. I've found my soulmate and I would like to kiss him without interruption," Y/N said. John lifted his hands in defeat with a large smile on his face. He turned and looked for a cab.

"Something about kissing me?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe," Y/N teased. "If you behave."

"Oh, I guarantee you I won't," Sherlock smirked.

"Just kiss me, William." Y/N grabbed him by his coat and placed her lips in his.

He broke the kids quickly. "Never call me William," he growled playfully.

"Fine, kiss me, Sherlock."

[malfoymuch]

“Rivals Don’t Look At Rivals That Way” [draco x reader]

Pairing; Draco x Reader 

Genre; ANGST with some fluff?

Prompt/Inspiration: (Song) “THAT WAY” by Tate McRae 

Word Count: 2,650+

A/n: Hey, hope everyone’s doing okay so far? I also hope everyone stays safe and does well!!! I’m currently back for the time being, so we’ll see what happens. I might make a part 2 but I’m not really sure? Anyway, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy it!!!

Please note that I did skip a chunk of the song, other than that hope you like it!!

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

Run me in circles

Like you always do

Mess with me on purpose

So I'll hang onto you

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

You didn’t know when it initially began, but something was brewing between you and Malfoy, you could feel it, and it wasn’t the excessive squabbling and resentment the both of you had since first-year. 

Being in your fifth year now, you managed to hold a title for yourself, of being a refined, young individual; a wizard with a bright future amongst themselves. The impression of you given to the younger years had made you smirk from time-to-time, being someone to never double-cross. It came in handy often.

That, and your long-lasting quarrel with acclaimed Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy. Everyone knew about your needless banters, leading to a decent amount of detention in Professor Snape’s classroom. Honestly, you were quite surprised you had such an incredible influence given the number of times being punished for your careless actions in class with the Slytherin classmate. 

Weirdly, the two of you couldn’t exactly pinpoint when things began to form into something else… something new. 

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

I know what you mean when you act like that

You don't know it's breaking my heart

Said that it was just never gonna happen

Then almost kissed me in the dark

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

It was a blur. 

It was an accident. 

It was something that wouldn’t lead to anything good… 

You tried to convince yourself for days, weeks… 

You didn’t know what it was, maybe something that happened in the heat of the moment… but you distinctly remember being up at the astronomy tower and gazing at the stars, while the rest of your house was getting into serious trouble with the others. 

But out of nowhere, you saw Draco sitting next to you, nonchalantly. Not one sarcastic comment or insult, just the two of you admiring the starry night sky. Carefully exchanging short little glances at one another, not saying a word, but noticing the reflection of the luminescent specks on the two of you. 

Then, it happened. 

You both happened to look into each other’s eyes, and the world seemed to stop. Neither of you had turned away, just continuing to heavily stare into the other’s alluring irises, and began to lean closer to one another. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, the two of you continued the action until you were merely an inch away from each other’s lips, noses brushing the others. 

The barely noticeable spots across Draco’s face made your face tint, the tiniest imperfections were magnified being so close to him-- but to you, they weren’t blemishes, it made him normal. And sometimes normal was exceptional; time seemed to stand still for who knows how long, but it was something you weren’t sure whether to push.

It was like a sudden spark was about to be lit, a flame awaiting to kindle. 

And then just like that, it diminished. 

A sudden creak of the door broke Draco out of the trance and move backward, pale and wide-eyed as he stared at your figure. He bit his lip and opened his move in an attempt to say something, but closed it shut moments after. His captivating eyes had a subtle glare, making a feeling growing inside of you that perhaps, it was more than a rivalry. But just as you were going to question him, he ran. 

Let’s say you were both heartbroken and confused that night. 

And maybe he was too. 

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

Every time we talk it just hurts so bad

'Cause I don't even know what we are

I don't even know where to start

But I can play the part

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

Since then, it was hard to stand seeing him at all. Walking through the corridor, teasing the other houses with his colleagues, working in class, and especially when he was chatting with Pansy; watching as she clung to him. Through all your years of seeing them, you would’ve thought that Draco felt suffocated or trapped with the action, but now, it looked like he lived for it. Openly accepted her gestures of affection, ones he used to immediately refuse… 

He even returned her actions sometimes, casually wrapping his arm over her shoulders, or greeting her politely in the evening as they walked to the dining hall. 

You came to the conclusion that you liked him, a lot. Maybe even loved him. You didn’t know what was the difference between the two, but you didn’t think having a simple crush would’ve affected you this badly. To notice his little quirks that made you grin-- the way he ruffled his hair when he was frustrated-- when he had a hard time in class he’d sometimes puff out one side of his cheek or bite his lip-- or the way his eyes glint with strong emotions constantly. 

His insults didn’t always happen anymore, instead, it was more of a war of silent expression (facial/body posture). When they did come, you still returned with a curt, wise response… but it wasn’t the same. ‘Cause it seemed that the little things he began to insult you with started to affect you.

Not vastly, but the occasional twist and tug of your heart did hurt. 

Especially when you knew that maybe it was true. 

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

We say we're friends 

But I'm catching you across the room

It makes no sense 

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

Next thing you knew, another incident happened. You would feel his stares from across the classroom. Now, most people would say he was just sending a glare and not paying attention, given he might snap at them next. 

But you knew differently. 

Not all stares were vicious, menacing glares. In fact, a lot of them seemed to just be of him staring at you, lost in thought. Hopeful. Doubtful. Guilty. 

They all ranged and altered so quickly that it was impossible to identify the logic in his mind. After some time of you staring back, he seemed to always recover seconds later, flushed and staring back at the professor. Or muttering something under his breath before sneakily harassing another student. 

You would’ve confronted him for it, had it not been that fleeting thought of what it could’ve meant. And confronting him in the matter might’ve shattered both the thought and you (again). 

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

'Cause we're fighting over what we do

And there's no way 

That I'll end up being with you

But friends don't look at friends that way

Friends don't look at friends that way

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

It was announced suddenly. Draco and Pansy had gotten into a nasty fight with one another, leading up to Pansy striking Draco across the face and screaming utter nonsense for the next few days. To be fair, you didn’t know she had the will to actually hit him, but surprise surprise. 

Weirdly, Pansy didn’t seem eager to proclaim to the world why they broke up suddenly, letting students just create their own impractical outline of their relationship. The biggest being swarmed around was him cheating or having another sidekick, though Draco dismissed them. 

Hope entangled your mind. The possibility was now an option, it could be a reality. Constantly fighting with your anxiety, a never-ending struggle with your mentality. In the end, anxiety won. It seemed to always win these days. 

Draco may no longer with someone now, but that didn’t mean he’d go for you, now did it? 

Didn’t mean you had a chance… didn’t mean he would suddenly take interest in you either. 

You’d brokenly laugh at yourself afterward, thinking about how hypocritical it was to be picturing yourself when him and then being disgusted with other students for doing it as well. 

Just what was becoming of you? 

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

You stared at him longingly, causing your house to interrogate your sudden fascination with someone (they didn’t exactly know, but had a clue). One thing led up to another, rumors among you and Draco began to stir like no tomorrow. 

You became the talk-of-the-town even more, as well as Draco. Students would randomly question you about your relationship status as you passed by them-- asked if you fancied Draco or were going out with him-- hell, even the professors questioned your day and life. It was much too hectic for you, especially in a time of complete and utter stress.

It was too much. The attention didn’t make you happier, because, in the end, you know, the person who they talked about wouldn’t care, or be with you. 

But you still denied all allegations, wondering what dreadful response Draco would’ve made towards you in comparison. Probably a crude, rude response that would’ve left any person cry right then and there. So for the time being, you managed to deflect people’s questions and Draco’s responses to them.

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

Can't even tell if

I love or hate you more

You've got me addicted

And I can't tell who's keeping score 

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

Soon it seemed things returned back to normal in a month’s time. The rumors died down and Draco’s bantering increased per usual, the two of you were at it all over again as if your agony never occurred in the first place. Displaying a mask upon your face seemed to be a normal occurrence nowadays. 

Students soon neglected the idea that Draco could possibly be infatuated with you, considering how much the two of you bickered in all of your shared classes. To the world, it seemed that everyone and everything had returned back to normal… 

Though on the inside, you were slowly crumbling away. It seemed really stupid to you, an over-exaggeration of feelings infusing together-- and you just didn’t know how to calm your paranoid nerves.

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

We say we're friends 

But I'm catching you across the room

It makes no sense 

'Cause we're fighting over what we do

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

You had a little randevú with Dean Thomas, and to be completely honest-- it made you felt absolutely wrong. Dean Thomas was an extremely good-looking student, with an awestruck personality (believe it or not), but it just didn’t feel right. And you were almost positive he felt the same, considering while talking to you, he’d occasionally bring up another girl he’s been crushing on for ages. 

So one thing led to another, you two ended up like best friends, secretly discussing and plotting scenarios of how to get the other one (though most of the time, you were helping Dean). In a way, Dean became a noteworthy therapist, expressing your hindrance was beneficial. 

But someone else thought a lot differently about the two of you.  

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

And there's no way 

That I'll end up being with you

But friends don't look at friends that way

Friends don't look at friends that way

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

Things seemed to become weird again. Honestly, at this point in time, you were wondering if this cycle was going to become a normal routine. This time, Draco stopped with mocking and just stared; a mixture between ogling and a glower… you couldn’t stand it anymore. 

As your last class finished you darted across the room and jerked Draco out of his seat, hauling him around to who knows where; anger seemed to only raise more as the students around began to stir trouble, whether teasing or whispering to themselves. With a deadpan stare, most students’ voices died down only instantly. 

“(Y/N), where the hell are you taking me?” 

You couldn’t answer, because you didn’t know. Scanning through your options, you realized most options wouldn’t be best, considering the amount of blabbing students were roaming. Frustration only seemed to grow before the conclusion came to mind that the library would suit best. 

It wasn’t specifically a place of solitude, but it wouldn’t be swarmed with different houses, just a series of Ravenclaws you were too engrossed in novels to realize what was happening-- or a Hufflepuff studying. To be fair, you’d much rather let a Hufflepuff overhear anything among the two of you than another chatterbox (especially Slytherin and Gryffindor.)

Giving a final yank, you gazed at the Slytherin Prince stumble forward and back to his feet, before scowling. 

“Bloody hell, (Y/N). If you wanted my attention you could’ve just asked. Didn’t need to make a scene,” he fumed, staring at his surroundings. You would’ve made a remark about him for the look he gave being in a library but held back. That wasn’t important, what’s about to happen definitely is. 

“Shut up, Malfoy. You deserved it anyway, after all of the nonsense I’ve had to go because of you.” You retorted, shocked that the words just slithered from your mouth. Bad habits seem to die hard. Draco didn’t seem happy at all with your statement. 

“Because of me? Me? Darling, you don’t even know the amount of trouble you’ve given me…” he spat back, “And then you throw this little stunt that’s sure to bring me more trouble than ever--” 

“What are we?” You blurted out accidentally, the question that’s been racking your mind finally spilling out of the blue. Draco seemed to freeze at your question, stunning him from forming any coherent sentences to come through. 

“I mean it, Draco… what are we at this point?” Staring at the ground, you flinched when Draco gained consciousness of the situation, erupting in laughter. 

“What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind, (Y/N)? Must’ve hit your head, ‘cause there is nothing between us. We’re nothing more than rivals--” 

“Rivals that caught each other’s stares from across the classroom? From across the foyer? The garden?” You queried, examing for a definitive emotion stirring up within him. 

“Right, before we throw insults at each other--” 

“Do rivals stare into each other’s eyes?” 

“Of course, it’s called a glare--” 

“Do rivals almost kiss?” Draco’s breath hitched at the question, turning away and running his fingers across the spines of the books. His bangs seemed to cover his eyes as he looked down at your figure, a sinister smirk on his face. 

“It wasn’t a kiss.” He said brazenly, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against the bookcase for support. You huffed annoyedly, “Oh yeah? Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t think anything of me. That that night, wasn’t going to lead to a kiss, and we really are just rivals…” 

“I don’t think anything of you, we weren’t going to kiss and we are just rivals--” 

“Look me in the eye and say it Draco!” You demanded viciously, taking a step closer to him. “Look me in the eye, and tell me truly if I mean nothing to you.” 

“Why are you so keen so knowing what I think of you? Shouldn’t you be asking Thomas this? Perhaps asking him these types of questions?” You did a double-take at that statement, blinking a few times. 

“This has nothing to do with Dean, Draco. We aren’t together. I just want you to tell me the truth--” 

“The truth is we’re rivals! Maybe even considered friends! Always have been! What led you to become so determined to discover what you mean to me--” 

“Because rivals (friends) don’t look at rivals (friends) the way we do!” You barked at him, water threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes as you rammed a hand to his chest. 

“Rivals don’t look at rivals that way… rivals aren’t supposed to feel jealous when the others dating someone else…” you droned on, ignoring the look of astonishment Draco had. “I don’t think we’re rivals, because if we were, then I’ve read everything wrong. And so are my feelings…” 

So you looked back up to him teary-eyed, clutching his robes and pulling him closer to you. 

“Tell me the truth, I want to know whether or not there was a possibility we have something… tell me if you feel absolutely nothing so I can stop-- there’s no point of me continuing on if nothing’s going to happen so tell me, Draco. Do rivals look at rivals that way?”

---- 

part two?

[exhaustedfander]

I had an idea for a fic request^^ What about Roman and Logan, both being frustrated and sad over all after the whole wedding debacle and venting to each other to then decide they just leave the others to themselves and go hide in the Imagination(maybe in a castel they make). The others then have to try to get them back and shenenigans ensue^^ (If that's too long that's okay and I don't care if you make it shippy or keep it platonic) Anyway, I love your writing and please have a great day❤️

Hey, so this request is probably my favorite that I’ve ever received and I was having a lot of fun writing it but, big shock, this is gonna need to be split off into at least a couple parts. I want to get it right, and I feel breaking it up will allow me to do so. Logince was one of my first major ships in the Sanders Sides fandom, so it’s a lot of fun to return to it (even though it’s well known I’m a major intrulogical stan). I’d love to hear what you think of this first part, and thanks for the awesome Request, Mim! 

A03 link

Word Count: 2,320

Hideaway: Chapter One

Roman paces the floor of his room, hands threaded in his frazzled hair. It doesn’t make any sense! Thomas had taken Jan-Deceit’s side, disregarding any of his hesitations. He didn’t think he was the bad guy anymore. And Roman… for so long, he was sure that he was Thomas’s hero. But now? What can he believe anymore?

Roman stiffens when he hears a knock on his door, the pit in his stomach expanding when he realizes tears have begun to slip down his cheeks.

“I’m – uh, I’m busy!” Roman says, cursing the way his voice cracks. If their wise, whoever’s on the other side of the door will leave well enough alone. But then, a voice pipes up.

“Roman… may I come in?” Logan.

Right now, Roman would be prepared to send anyone else away without much of a second thought. But Logan isn’t anyone else, and there’s a raw, strangely quiet quality to his voice that can’t help but make Roman’s heart pang.

“I – maybe it would be best, if you came back later,” Roman says, furiously wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Please,” Logan says, so gentle it’s nearly a whisper, “Please let me in.” Roman couldn’t place it a moment ago, but now he’s identified the strangeness in Logan’s: it’s fear. And while Roman’s body is wracked with shivers, and the tears are slipping down his cheeks despite his will to just stop being so fucking sensitive, he opens the door.

“Listen, Logan now’s not really…” Roman trails off, seeing the broken look in Logan’s eyes. “Oh,” he says because it’s the only word that comes to mind, despite all the other things he wants to express. He steps aside, allowing Logan to walk into the room and shut the door behind him.

“You’re crying,” Logan notes, and there’s a fearful tremor in his voice.

Roman’s gaze flickers to the wall, his hand once again whipping at his eyes, wishing he could stop, praying he’ll be able to turn everything off, for just a moment, and breathe. Such desires are nothing but a fairytale, though, and they have been since the wedding and the horrible conversation that followed.

“No, really?” Roman asks, sarcasm thick and bitter.

He doesn’t want to act this way; he wants to comfort Logan through whatever it is he’s clearly dealing with. He wants to put on a brave face, the way Patton used to do (But that isn’t healthy. Does it matter?) He wants to prove to Thomas that he’s made the wrong decision, that Deceit isn’t to be trusted and that Roman can still be his hero. That he still deservestheir love.

But all he can manage is resentment.  

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles, his eyes still cast away from Logan’s prying gaze, “I – I don’t. I’m not trying to be… What was it that you needed?” Roman doesn’t mean to trail off and lose all semblance of what he was trying to say (not that he’s sure what that exactly was), but it happens nonetheless, and it seems he’s made a friend in deflection and distraction.

“I came to speak with you,” Logan says, his voice searching, begging to be let in, but Roman won’t let him, not like this, “After everything that’s happened… the wedding, and… and Janus.” Logan seems to struggle slightly through the name, but the Virgil-Esque growl that Roman delivers in response is telling of his feelings on the matter.

“Deceit mascaraed as you!” Roman shouts, his hands held in the air, “Again! And Thomas sided with him! For the love of Disney; Patton sided with him! Patton thinks, he thinks…”

Roman can’t even bear to face what it is that Patton thinks. That Deceit is worthy of a second chance? That he deserves a seat at the table? It was too upsetting to think about, not without getting worked up to a point of no return. And Roman is already dangerously close to that.  

“He did,” Logan agrees, distaste palpable, “He assumed my identity, once again, and… you all were none the wiser.” The words hang heavy in the air, tension electrified and unsteady.

“Well, he’s – he’s a master manipulator! Cut us a little slack here, Teach! We didn’t – if we’d known, we would’ve done something! I would’ve done something, I-I swear. I just…” Roman collapses onto his ornate bed, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to protect you, o-or Patton, or even Thomas from him. I tried, but… I wasn’t strong enough.” Roman sniffles, fresh tears clouding his vision. “Maybe you should leave.”

“Roman,” Logan says hesitantly, his voice so much gentler than usual. Roman shivers as he feels a dip in the mattress and a hand settle onto the small of his back, the action stiff but still expressing the intent of comfort. “It isn’t your job to ‘protect’ us from Janus, or anyone else, for that matter. I came here because… I was concerned, after what transpired. I was informed that you sunk out after a rather terse point in the conversation, and I thought it best to check-in.”

“I’m fine,” Roman says, despite the fact that his hands are still covering his face and he’s begun to tremble under Logan’s touch, “It’s just… a lot to process. But I’m alright. You don’t – you don’t need to be here.”

“Falsehood,” Logan says, and Roman can’t bear to hear him say that, “Roman… I know you wanted that callback a tremendous amount.” “Y-you don’t –.”

“I do,” Logan says sadly, “I’m not trying to make things more difficult for you, please, understand that is by no means my intention. But you’re going through a lot, emotionally. Feelings are by no means my area of expertise but…” Logan trails off, nearly losing his nerve before he pushes forward, rubbing slow circles into Roman’s back, “… I’m here. I’m here to talk about whatever it is you need to talk about, or to –.”

Logan gasps as Roman turns around and pitches himself forward, pushing them both down into the mattress as he winds his arms around the logical side, his face buried in Logan’s shoulder. Logan struggles for a moment, with Roman lying on top of him and soaking his polo with tears, but quickly he readjusts and resumes rubbing circles into the princely side’s back.

He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing. Emotions are a tricky thing, especially the intense, soberingly sad ones, but Logan is fairly sure he’s behaving as he should. He’s whispering words of comfort and reassurance (words he can’t be sure are true or not), and holding him close, and allowing Roman to ‘cry it out.’ He’s heard emotional release is very important, and by the looks of things, Roman’s been in dire need of it for some time.

He tries not to think about the fact that Janus yanked him from the discussion by his crook, or that his low-downs had been ignored, or that a great deal of his advice has been pushed to the wayside for some time now, or –

“Logan?” Roman sniffles, interrupting Logan’s frantic thoughts and oh, he must’ve stopped rubbing Roman’s back, his hand having gone uncomfortably still.

“My apologies,” Logan mutters, “I suppose I was, uh, figuratively lost in thought for a moment there.”

“What is it?” Roman asks, pushing himself into a seated position. There are still tear-tracks on his face, and his skin is rather flushed, but suddenly, all of his attention has been directed to Logan. And Logan doesn’t know if he likes it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re upset,” Roman says, “What’s the matter?”

“We’re focusing on you right now,” Logan urges, “We’re talking about how you’re feeling at the moment, Roman.”

“Well, I want to know how you’re feeling.”

Roman fails to mention the fact that he’s mind-numbingly embarrassed for having sobbed into Logan’s shirt for so long and breaking down to a point where it feels as though the same fate is imminent to repeat. He’s failed so severely, made so many wrong choices. It feels like everyone’s flipped the script on him. At the trial, Roman was chastised for so much as considering Deceit’s point of view, but now? Now it seems he’s the villain for not seeing eye to eye with the snake. He’s always tried to do everything he can, to live up to the expectations he’s woven for himself, and what he believes the others assume he’s capable of… but he’s failed. How is it that the hero can take such a fall from grace? Was he ever a hero at all?

“Roman…”

“Please, Logan,” Roman says, just edging on begging, “Indulge me. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Logan gives Roman a quizzical look, studying him for cracks in his slipping composure, before letting out a sigh.

“Believe it or not,” Logan begins, crossing his arms over his chest, “The decision to go to the wedding, and the events that have followed have been… less than ideal for me.” Roman tilts his head.

“But I thought you were impartial to either decision? At the trial –.”

“The callback was a rare opportunity,” Logan says simply, hoping, foolishly, that Roman won’t prod any further, “One that is unlikely to reappear. In terms of Thomas’s career…” Logan trails off, seeing the look of hurt flash in Roman’s eyes.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Additionally,” Logan says, fiddling with his tie, “I’ve found that lately, my advice has been… discarded, to some extent. It’s been made explicitly clear that my company is not always desired, and it seems, I’m having a little trouble accepting that.” Logan stiffens when he catches sight of the look in Roman’s eyes and, oh dear, it appears Roman’s portraying a great deal of emotions that Logan has no idea how to deal with.

“Logan…”

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Logan says, “I’m merely explaining what you asked of me.”

“We want you around,” Roman says, his hand reaching out to touch Logan’s, “I want you around. I know we have our disagreements – quite a bit of disagreement, really. But I want you, Logan and, for the record… I’m sorry.” A shiver runs down his back as Roman laces their fingers together, the touch overwhelmingly tender.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For making you feel unwanted,” Roman says, “I’ve gotten so lost in what I want for Thomas, and what Patton says is morally right. And now – well, now everything’s so much. But I am sorry.” Logan wasn’t expecting an apology, or the warm sensation of Roman’s hand in his, buy both things provoke feelings in him that he cannot comprehend.

“I’m sure the others will be wondering where we are soon,” Logan notes, pulling his hand away. Roman frowns. But then, his expression changes and Logan doesn’t quite trust that look in his eyes.

“What if… what if we went somewhere for a while?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You and me,” Roman says, standing up, his face lighting up with a look of hope Logan can’t account for, “What if we went away? Took a break from all chaos and expectations,” the last word comes out just a whisper, sorrow tinting it.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Logan says, still trying to make sense of Roman’s sudden energetic outburst, “Where would we go? Where could we go? Furthermore, how could we go? I don’t think I need to be the one to remind you that we have a job to do, Roman. We cannot leave our posts, regardless of personal issues.”

“The Imagination,” Roman says, as if the explanation clears much up for the logical side, “I have somewhere we can go. Just for a little bit! We wouldn’t be gone for more than a day if that! Just a little time to take the edge off, to breathe. Aren’t you tired, Logan? Aren’t you exhausted?”

“I –,” Logan pauses, shuddering under the intensity of Roman’s gaze, “I’m not sure about this.”

“Oh, come on, nerd,” Roman says, grabbing hold of Logan’s arm and pulling him to his feet, “Come with me. I promise, whatever you want to talk about, I’ll listen. You can catalog the flora and fauna of The Imagination! Oh, I’ll show you everything. You’re going to love it! Please, come with me. Take a break. I don’t want to be alone.”

Roman doesn’t bring himself to say, “can’t be alone,” but Logan picks it up regardless. Roman is at the end of his tether in so many ways; it would be wrong to leave him on his own now. Dangerous, even. And despite the building hesitations, the idea of some time for themselves, if only for a little while, is more appealing than it ought to be.

“Just for a little while?” Logan asks carefully. Roman nods up and down quickly.

“I promise! A-are you coming?” The desperation that takes hold of Roman’s voice is devastating. Logan doesn’t know how he could tell him no, at least not now. Logan nods.

“I am. I’ll come.” Logan stiffens as Roman throws his arms around him, once again pulling him into a suffocating tight embrace, though Logan isn’t sure he’s entirely opposed to such a thing.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Roma says, taking Logan’s hand, “Let’s go.”

A more rational, composed part of Logan is screaming at him that this is a terrible idea that can only end poorly. Roman’s in an incredibly fraught mental state (Logan’s not sure if he’s much better) and leaving the problem isn’t going to magically fix it. Logan should have better sense than to agree to something like this but… he doesn’t. Not when he’s been so tired for so long, not when Roman’s offering him salvation, not when all he wants is a little peace.

And so, Logan allows Roman to lead him through a door and into The Imagination, foolish curiosity outweighing reason.

=+=

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[veraynes-blog]

If you feel like it could you do Tensimm 6 or 7 for the cuddle prompts? I love your writing

6. For warmth

7. For comfort

This is the most delayed response ever, I'm so sorry anon 😭 This was for the long-ago Cuddle Prompts I was doing. It took a while to be back in the mindset, but hopefully it's still of interest.

This is technically just cuddling, but like... slightly sexy cuddling. I hope that's okay. 😶

~

The Tardis is still exactly where he left it.

He hadn't been expecting that, honestly.

The Master frowns at the blue box, breath misting in front of him as he stands shivering in the remnants of his coat. The ship is still ensconced almost out of sight down the tight alleyway where he'd made his escape from the Doctor's hospitality almost three days ago now. More than enough time for him to have taken the alien city, if he'd really wanted it. The Doctor would have known that, should have come to stop him.

Only he hadn't, and the Master had spent his three days' impromptu shore leave slumming aimlessly round the lower levels, debating with himself and growing increasingly frustrated. He'd had some half-formed idea of commandeering another ship at the port, but no real destination in mind. He'd played with the thought of making a real bid for control, delivering a blow that would have shattered the frozen city like glass so he could pick through the shards at his leisure. But somehow it had seemed a lot of effort for little entertainment value, when he was the only one playing the game.

In the end he'd been lazy and petty, spending his hurt feelings on bar fights and low-level chaos in the poorer sectors. Enough to have drawn the notice of anyone paying attention.

But apparently no one had been, because not once had the Doctor come looking for him.

He seethes resentment as he glares at the Tardis, conspicuous and infuriating in how little it's moved. Would it have been worse to have slunk back here and found it gone entirely? Or is it more humiliating to realise the Doctor seems to be patiently awaiting his ignoble return? He supposes it doesn't matter. Not like he finds himself with a surplus of options.

He crunches through the last few feet of filthy snow towards the Tardis. The door opens easily enough at his touch and the Master slips inside. He finds the control room dark and silent, and hardly much warmer than the icy street outside. His breath still mists visibly in front of him and he shivers slightly in the damp, ripped clothing he's wearing. He picks his way past the central column and along the walkway, familiar with the layout even in the dark, leaving a pair of scuffed leather gloves discarded atop a console as he passes.

The Master trails along the dimly lit corridors of the Tardis. The layout has shifted somewhat in his absence, but he keeps his destination in mind and brushes a hand against the wall as he walks, until a softly pulsing strip of lights illuminate the correct turnings. It occurs to him to wonder at the Tardis's uncharacteristic cooperation, but for the moment he'll take what he can get.

He shucks his sodden wool coat as he goes, letting it crumple carelessly to the floor behind him. His suit jacket joins it after a few more meandering steps, and then he really is shuddering as a chill creeps through the thin, wet material of his shirt. He clenches his teeth, hands flexing restlessly at his sides.

He's expecting to have to hack the security lock barring the Doctor's bedroom when he gets there, and isn't quite sure what to make of it when the door slides open for him without issue. Warmth seeps from the room, and he sways toward it without conscious thought. The lights are out in here as well, and the air smells of sleep and familiarity. He's not sure he belongs.

The other Time Lord is curled on his side in the centre of the mattress, not stirring at his presence. The Master cocks his head, regarding him narrowly for a few moments.

He scans disdainfully across the messy floor, then picks his way across the room and tries to ignore the vague sense that he's intruding. Movements stiff, he sits carefully on the very edge of the bed, barely willing to rest his weight. Even so, he feels the exact moment the dip of the mattress wakes the other man. Something comes alert in the dim room, the prickle of attention sharp against his back.

"You came back."

The voice emerges low and slurred from the nest of covers behind him, faint disbelief evident in the words.

The Master glances down, plucking at a loose thread in the sheets. "You didn't leave," he counters eventually, for lack of anything better to say. He keeps himself quiet too, reluctant to disturb the sleep-thick atmosphere.

There's a lengthy pause, and then the sound of the Doctor pushing himself upright against the pillows. He clears his throat. "Yeah, I... I wanted to wait. This time."

The Master exhales briefly through his nose. He kicks his ruined shoes and socks off, then shoots an arch look back over his shoulder.

His eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness that he can make out the details of the other man. The Doctor's sitting with his knees raised in front of him, covers pushed away. He's wearing a loose cotton T-shirt and striped pyjama pants, hair in disarray from the pillow, watching him with a bemused frown. He looks rumpled and soft and safe in a way the Master thinks is one of his better deceptions.

The Doctor blinks as he catches sight of the Master's face for the first time, noting his split lip and the bruise he wears along one cheekbone.

"What happened?"

The Master begins unbuttoning his shirt, irritable when numb fingers fumble the delicate work. "Disagreement over who buys rounds," he lies blithely, peeling off the damp shirt and letting it slither to the floor. "You should see the other guy."

The weak joke holds double meaning, they're both aware: first the more typical dismissal of further conversation down this route; second the knowledge that the Master is being entirely genuine in his implication he was not the loser of the confrontation that left him slightly bloodied. He suspects the Doctor would be far more upset if he did see 'the other guy'.

Tellingly, the Doctor doesn't pursue the matter.

"Have fun?"

The Master ignores the question, unable to determine if it's as passive aggressive as it sounds. Besides, the Doctor doesn't need to know his answer would be a resounding no.

"You didn't come after me," the Master says abruptly, the near-accusation escaping against his will, and immediately has to look away and close his eyes against embarrassment for himself.

The Doctor fidgets. "I'm not forcing you to stay. I said I wouldn't."

The thing is, he hadn't been too sure on how seriously to take that particular promise. It had seemed like one of those empty principles the Doctor offers so easily. He'd wanted to prove it to both of them, fully intending to crow smug victory when the Doctor inevitably came to fetch him back, all high-handed duty.

The Master doesn't know how he feels about being wrong.

"I'm... glad you came back though," the Doctor adds cautiously.

He wants instantly to insist it doesn't mean anything more than practicality. That he'd been cold and tired and this was as good a shelter as any other he could think of. That he won't be tricked into staying put by whatever attempt at cheap reverse psychology this is. The excuses come so fast they catch in his throat.

As if he can feel the unspoken protests mounting, the Doctor lets the moment go easily enough. He shifts himself to lie down again with a stifled yawn.

"Come on. Get in."

The Master darts another glance. He thinks if the Doctor had looked even slightly calculating he would have resisted the temptation out of little more than spite. But the other man appears to be halfway back to his interrupted sleep already, dozing and unguarded, one arm flopped carelessly towards him across the sheets.

Giving in, the Master quickly unbuckles his belt, shoves the worn slacks down and off himself, and then turns onto the bed. He doesn't bother keeping his distance, sliding smoothly across the space and over the other man's prone form.

The Doctor hums pleased surprise, loose-limbed and accommodating as the Master moves him as he likes. He slots himself between the Doctor's spread legs, rocking his hips down even though neither of them are hard. That's not what he's after, for the moment. Rather, he wants to know that he's still permitted here; that he can bury himself in the warm body and ridiculous pyjamas and be welcome, all the cold, sharp edges of him. The Doctor stretches indulgently beneath him, letting his legs fall further open so the Master can lie properly between them, tilting his head back when the Master presses his face against throat and collarbone to inhale the familiar smell there.

"You're freezing," the Doctor murmurs in lazy complaint, making no effort to push him off.

The Master lets his weight rest heavy, enjoying the way it pins the other man in place. He smooths a hand down the Doctor's waist, feeling the groove of prominent ribs and pointy hipbone beneath the thin cotton. The Doctor hisses protest as he slips under the T-shirt, arching helplessly away from contact with his frigid fingers.

"You only want me for my body heat," comes the whinging accusation, and the Master is glad he can hide a smile against the other man's collar.

He says nothing to confirm or deny, instead letting his other hand find skin as well. One dips below the Doctor's back where he's arched up off the mattress, flattening against the base of his spine. The other he spreads across the plane of the Doctor's stomach, pushing his chill fingertips into the vulnerable spot. The side of his thumb strokes idly along the trail of dark hair there and he rolls his hips down again, with more interest now, although still not enough to do anything about it until he's warmer.

The Doctor shifts so they're both more comfortable, one bare ankle hooking over the back of the Master's thigh, arm draped across his shoulders. "This is awful," he mutters, already sounding half asleep again. "You're awful." He reaches down and grabs blindly for the covers, managing to tug them into place across the two of them.

"Hm," the Master agrees. He feels the Doctor slip back into sleep, utterly at ease beneath the weight of him, and wants to scorn the display of trust - but he's pulled under too fast by stolen heat and comfort, and they sink together into contented oblivion.