#their garlic knots too.. my mouth just watered thinking about them

[loosesodamarble]

Picnics and Fireworks of Love

Summary: The Vermillion family go out to enjoy a picnic under the night sky. Fuegoleon and Solara are in for a surprise. Genre: general, family fluff Word count: ~1800 A/N: And here is the finale to the gift fics for @thoughtfullyrainynightmare! Also, these oneshts will be posted on my ao3 account. They'll be chapters to a fic titled "Summer Essentials with the Vermillions."

..........

“The night is gorgeous tonight, isn’t it?” Solara remarked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sky so cloudless honestly,” Fuegoleon said in reply.

Fuegoleon, Solara, and their three children strolled through an open field out in the countryside of Clover. The grass was tall and swished with each stride of the family’s legs.

“Mom, Dad! Hurry up!” Eleonora called for several yards ahead. She waved her arms at them. “Are those long legs just for show?”

“We’re coming, Nora!” Fuegoleon answered. “You kids are just too quick and spry for us, I suppose!”

The walk brought the five of them to an area of the field where the grass was shorter, likely grazed down by wildlife. With silent nods passed between them, the family agreed it was the spot to settle down.

Cyraleona unfurled a picnic blanket she’d been carrying which everyone helped smooth out. Leonidas set down a lidded basket and pulled food from within, passing it around to his parents and sisters.

Each part of the meal was made by someone different. Fuegoleon made spinach salad with sliced strawberries mixed in. Solara had grilled meat skewers, and she mentioned that the seasoning was given to her by a friend so it wasn’t all her work. Cyraleona grinned from ear to ear as her family enjoyed the garlic knots she baked. Leonidas’s dish was quiche with a seafood filling. And Eleonora had made dessert, triple chocolate chip cookies. Each of them also got a bottle of water and a bottle of the Vermillion family’s special lemonade.

As Solara leisurely ate her meal, she noticed how her kids scarfed down their shares of food. They still ate with some sense of grace, not taking too big bites and using a fork for whatever food they felt called for it. But whenever she or Fuegoleon tried to get a conversation going…

“Yes, my friends in Thea did write back,” Leonidas said before forking another bite of salad into his mouth.

“And what did they write?” Fuegoleon pressed. Leonidas gave a mute shrug to that.

Cyraleona swallowed a mouthful of quiche before muttering, “He’ll be there for the concert. His word is his bond so…” She cut herself off with a sip of water.

“That’s good. I’m sure his parents are proud of his work,” Solara replied. “And I assume you’re happy that he’s still your pianist?” That only got Cyraleona to hum. “So… Nora, how was that one-on-one lesson with Sister Theresa? Was she everything your dad said she’d be like?”

“Yeah, Sister Theresa’s lesson was great!” Eleonora cheerfully said.

“Then maybe we can convince her to let you study under her another time,” Fuegoleon suggested with a smile.

Though Eleonora emphatically nodded to the idea, she still went ahead with eating instead of talking.

Fuegoleon and Solara glanced at each other.

What do they actually think of this? Fuegoleon wondered as he watched as his children were finishing the last items on their plates. They agreed to the picnic when Solara first suggested it. Though they weren’t enthusiastic about it the way I know some of their peers might’ve been, they certainly weren’t against it…

The suggestion had been a week ago, discussed over a more formal dinner. Eleonora had been the first to agree though she also threw in a comment of a picnic probably not being as fun as her camping trips with Mereoleona. Leonidas mentioned that his friends often talked about summer picnics. Cyraleona smiled and talked about how it’d be a refreshing change of pace from the tea parties she’d been invited to recently.

Did we do something wrong between then and now? Fuegoleon thought back but he couldn’t think of anything that he or Solara did that would’ve bothered the children.

Fuegoleon noticed the three leaning in close to each other. They were whispering something and he couldn’t make out what they were saying since he just now pulled himself from his thoughts. Fuegoleon raised an eyebrow.

They seemed enthusiastic only moments ago. Taking the lead on the walk. And they even made dishes all on their own. Solara picked at the quiche. It was the perfect amount of salty and spicy but also creamy from the egg. No way her son put in so much effort for a picnic he didn’t want to go on. But their behavior now makes it seem like they want to get this over with. Thinking more, Solara recalled something. They were muttering about what to do here a few days back… Were they worried about boredom? No, that can’t be it. Conversation comes easily between us. So then what—?

Solara’s thoughts paused when Fuegoleon nudged her elbow with his own. She lifted her eyes to him. Once their gazes locked, Fuegoleon flicked his eyes in the kids’ direction. Solara turned her head.

Leonidas, Cyraleona, and Eleonora had left the picnic blanket and were dashing away. The sound of eager laughter trailed behind them.

“Looks like they have a surprise for us,” Fuegoleon whispered.

“Mom! Dad!” Eleonora yelled, beaming like the sun. “Watch what Uncle Leopold taught us!”

The parents watched and their eyes went wide as their children began to write the runes used for Mana Method in the air. The runes formed the spell circles and seconds later, glowing balls of magic shot into the air.

The speed of the spells created sharp whistles. Then, those balls of magic exploded. Vibrant, warm colors contrasted brilliantly against the dark navy sky. There was a deep orange from Eleonora’s Fire Magic. The twins’ Burning Sun Magic were flickering mixes of red, orange, and yellow. More magic was shot into the sky, directed by the runes that the kids wrote. Some spells burst and scattered streaks of color into the air. Others flared out, elegantly unfurling like the petals of a blooming flower.

“Wow…” Solara blinked a few times to push back the tears coming to her eyes.

It was beautiful. The firework show. The smiles she could see on her children’s faces. The relief she felt knowing she’d worried for nothing.

“Indeed. To think that Leo was able to teach them that in just a few days.”

Without taking his eyes off the fireworks, Fuegoleon reached and wrapped his arm around Solara’s shoulders.

“The children sure are incredible,” Solara said as she scooted closer to her husband. “They’re eager to learn, each one of them. And they work hard for what they want.”

“Wonderful traits to have.” Fuegoleon nodded approvingly. “I’m glad they’ve gotten the best parts of you.”

“And you too,” Solara shot back with a grin. “I’m humble enough to admit that I needed help to raise them into the people they’ve become. I’m proud of who they’re becoming thanks to their own efforts too.”

It was true. As much as Fuegoleon, Solara, and their relatives raised and influenced Leon, Cyra, and Nora, the three of them were becoming their own people too.

Leonidas was growing more in tune with those around him and working to empathize with people regardless of their backgrounds. His ability to listen to others and use what he learns to make decisions were the signs that he could be a leader, if he so chose.

Cyraleona was coming out of her shell, not entirely abandoning her safety zone but learning to show more of herself. She was gaining a quiet boldness that felt right for her. Her artistic heart was adept at stirring the feelings of others and who knew what she could do with that talent.

And Eleonora’s fierceness and cleverness grew with each day, making her a loveable handful to her loved ones. She was ready for a challenge, be it physical or intellectual or even against simple boredom. Always changing, Eleonora would certainly change the world with her.

They had their traits from their parents, but they had many more traits that were their own.

But they were still Solara and Fuegoleon’s little cubs.

It made Solara’s heart swell and she was sure Fuegoleon felt the same. Solara rested her head on Fuegoleon’s shoulder and gazed up at him.

“Thank you, Fuegoleon.”

Fuegoleon turned his head and took in his wife’s smile, illuminated by the bursting fireworks. The flashes of light in the sky made the flecks of sun in Solara’s forest eyes stand out. Such a beautiful woman, inside and out, directing her adoring eyes at him. Her words were filled with gratitude and they held more value to him than any announcement of grand titles being awarded to him.

“Thank you, too, Solara,” Fuegoleon whispered back. “You don’t know how much you mean to me.”

“Couldn’t you always tell me?” Solara teased.

Fuegoleon took a deep breath but then sighed, “No, I don’t think so.”

Solara blinked. She was caught off guard by the admittance. Though she didn’t seem upset.

“No matter my words or my actions, I don’t think either would be able to truly capture the depth of my feelings for you,” Fuegoleon stated as his eyes flicked away from Solara and back to the flames dancing in the air. “These thoughts and feelings can’t be conveyed to you in all their truth. I’m sorry.”

Solara stared at Fuegoleon. She stared at the way the intermittent lighting truly made her husband’s hair look like vermillion flames. The lavender of his eyes didn’t get overtaken by the fiery colors. Rather, the soft, beautiful color she fell in love with seemed stronger against the red, orange, and yellow glow. And his words, his words confessing a sense of weakness, sank deep into her heart.

“Don’t be.”

Fuegoleon didn’t get a chance to look at Solara as threw her arms around Fuegoleon’s torso and buried her face in his chest. She gripped the back of his coat.

“Don’t—” Solara giggled and turned her head so her mouth wasn’t covered. “Don’t be sorry, Fue. Hearing what you just said… That’s enough for me.”

Fuegoleon placed a hand on the back of Solara’s head and used his other to caress one of her arms. He smiled at her. And he was sure his smile at the moment was the same as the one he saw on her face.

“Lara…”

Solara raised her head and sat back up. “Yes?”

Fuegoleon brushed aside a lock of hair that fell into her face.

The whistle of fireworks shooting into the sky resounded.

He leaned down and she tilted her chin up.

The sky lit up with flames and the light of a bright sun.

Their lips pressed together for a soft, chaste kiss.

The fires of love, whether they burned in a romantic’s heart or in the shared heart of a family, burned especially bright that night.

[johannestevans]

They make camp that evening with another member added to their little party – a handsome, albeit rather stupid wizard named Gale, who has lovely tresses of chestnut hair and makes terrible choices in evening attire. They spread along the side of a river, and they arrange tents for themselves in what they’ve managed to scavenge from along the coast, and from the packs of the dead they’ve been stepping over on their way up the hill.

A dozen times, Astarion crosses a stream just to assure himself that he can, jumping across the heavy stones to the other side and then skipping back. He remembers playing this sort of game when he was a child, he thinks, skipping over stones and avoiding falling into the shallow water, avoiding getting his trousers wet or dousing his shoes.

He hasn’t been able to do this for two centuries, hasn’t been able to so much as cross over a bridge over water, feeling a strange power preventing him from doing so, trapping him in place, the instinct rooting him to the spot – he’s seen it happen to Yousen before, seen him step into running water and cry out in pain.

It’s glorious, curiously, bizarrely. How unimportant this little liberty is, and yet what an effect is has on him, embraced in the moment.

When he finally steps back into the camp proper, the others are sitting around the fire, and Astarion inhales and takes in the scent of garlic as Gale continues to chop it on a board, strong, but not overpowering, not painful. He smiles faintly, and sinks into his seat on one of the logs they’ve pulled over to surround the fire.

Shadowheart is sitting on the floor on a mat in the mud, and to Astarion’s curiosity, she’s sitting obediently as Lilen draws a comb through her long, thick hair – it’s so long that he’s draping it over his knees to keep it from brushing against the floor. Astarion watches in silence for a while as Lae’zel and Gale continue preparing their evening meal, her piecing apart a rabbit (Gods, how the scent of its blood on the air makes his mouth feel dry and oh-so-thirsty) and him chopping vegetables.

Lilen is evidently well-practised at this sort of task, combs through Shadowheart’s long hair quickly but slowing whenever he finds a tangle, seeming to shift his wrist in such a way as to relieve the pressure on her scalp as he tugs free a tangle or a knot.

“You’ve done this before,” Shadowheart says when he starts to gather her hair into braids, braiding her hair quickly and dexterously – Astarion has seen him pick locks today, has seen him work them with swiftness and practice, never so much as bending a tool, let alone occasionally snapping a pick.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t,” Lilen says mildly. “I’ve two daughters, strong young women like yourself – Ava, my youngest, she used to have her hair long, but sheared it short when she became a field medic. Braiding it took too much time out of her day, she said, and she was always getting it muddied or stained with blood or something else. But Marta, hers rivals yours for length – it’s a little thicker, has a gentle curl, doesn’t have this sort of sleekness. Did your father used to braid your hair?”

Shadowheart is quiet for a moment, and Astarion studies her face as she stares into the fire, her brow furrowed, her lips pressing together – she’s considering the question, her head tilting to one side.

“I don’t know,” she says. It’s an honest answer.

Astarion’s gaze flicks up to Lilen’s face, which is smiling, but in a blankly understanding way – he talks to her about what he’s doing, explains that these are just protective braids for her to sleep in, that he can style it her usual way tomorrow, or show her something new.

Astarion thinks of Cazador’s hands in Leon’s or Violet’s hair, pulling free clumps of the stuff whenever it suited him, laughing at how they cried out or tried to hold back their noises of pain, how they stiffened, shuddered, sobbed, gritted their teeth.

“How old are your daughters?” Astarion asks.

“Oh, they’re young women, still,” Lilen says dismissively. “Marta is sixty-four, and Ava is just coming into her fifties now.”

“Your people are long-lived,” remarks Lae’zel, and she looks between Astarion, Lilen, and Shadowheart, studying the three of them. “You, you are not a full-blooded elf?”

“No,” says Shadowheart.

“Are your children?” Lae’zel asks.

“They are,” Lilen says, inclining his head. “An elf like Astarion or I, we can live for as long as nine centuries, longer than that, even, at times.”

“Your wife is an elf too, then?” Astarion asks, and he’s aware of the way it makes Gale and Lae’zel’s eyes whip his way, how Shadowheart turns and reaches up to touch her hair, but looks up at his face.

“I have no wife,” Lilen says. “My tastes have very rarely run in that direction. I am separated from my husband some twenty years, but it was rather amicable – I wanted to travel, he wished to remain in Neverwinter, and remain there he has. We see one another whenever I pass through. And yourself, Astarion?”

“No wife, nor husband,” Astarion says, sitting back on the log and resting his palms on the wood, spreading his thighs. “Why, my friend, trying to ascertain my availability?”

Lilen actually laughs, the bastard, huffs out a sound as though Astarion’s said something genuinely ridiculous, and Gods, but how it sticks at him, how it cuts him. How dare he?

“You’re a very sweet young man, Astarion, and a handsome one,” Lilen says, patting Shadowheart’s hair before he gets to his feet and moves across the camp, beginning to set pans over the fire to braise the meat that Lae’zel has parcelled and awaiting it. “But I have more pressing matters on my mind – not to mention the toothy little worm in there – than robbing anyone’s cradle.”

He feels the urge burning in the back of his mouth, his tongue near to twitching – he wants to retort he’s not quite so young as Lilen is assuming he is, that on the contrary—

He presses his tongue against the upper part of his teeth, stilling it in their cage.

Gods, he’s hungry, and while the scent of the rabbit cooking is fine, is enticing, even, it’s nothing compared to the gnawing one deeper within him, the craving for the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, the rich thickness of it.

The scent of it cooking is nothing compared to the scent of the rabbit drained of its blood – Lae’zel had tossed the bucket of blood into the river before he could so much as get a sip of it.

* * *

Astarion is rather inspired, watching Lilen at work, leading the party of the rest of them – Astarion and Shadowheart at his shoulders, Gale leading the rear. The old man, perhaps appropriately, appears to be quite at home in crypts – with the living, his tongue is quick and able, and he rather deftly manoeuvres the graverobbers already attempting to gain access to the dusty old tomb out of their way, sending them scurrying off.

Gale and Shadowheart remain behind as he and Astarion move into the crypt ahead of them, and the two of them each remain cloaked in shadow as they pick their way through and silently slit the throats of the rest of them, piling up their corpses so they can explore the tomb themselves.

His vision isn’t the best, Lilen’s.

It’s perhaps failing him in his age, or perhaps he’s always had problematic eyes – he seems to have endless ability to study tiny marks of text on whatever page or slate or tablet he finds them etched on, although he always casts a cantrip of Light to do so, and without a good light, he doesn’t see the signs of traps, either.

Even with light, it’s not always guaranteed – frequently, he or Gale or Shadowheart will point out the barely visible wires or pressure plates, and it will be clear in the shift of his expression that he hadn’t noticed it just yet.

Yet once he knows it’s there, he seems to disarm every trap automatically, sightlessly, thoughtlessly, easily, just as he picks every lock – he could probably do it all whilst blinded, so long as he was warned what was ahead of him. This is the wisdom of experience, Astarion supposes, of age, being so old as he is.

He’s some centuries years old himself, and yet he’s somewhat robbed of the experience of those years – what has he done for himself in these two centuries past, under Cazador’s yoke, puppeted on his strings, more marionette than man? How to seduce, how to love, how to charm, so convincingly, and mean none of it?

How to fuck and be fucked, and know his body is a tool to be used, to disarm tracks or pick locks like these, and not a tool of his own?

He doesn’t even seem fucking surprised when the crypt they push into opens up and that dead mage hovers out, skeletal and so dead and so alive and yet speaking, yet peaceful. It makes Astarion feel sick to his stomach, just looking at him – perhaps it’s the growing hunger that’s chewing through his insides, feels as strong and heavy as a bloating tumour, but if it were only that, he might be able to handle it, he thinks. Astarion’s been hungry before.

That was him. That is him, without the tadpole slithering through his brain, swimming through the grey matter inside his skull and doing Gods know what – undead. A parasite on this Earth, a dead man walking.

It takes them two days working through the crypt, in large part because Lilen comes out with a large pile of fucking books – he’s quick about it, but every row of books, every stack of them, he scans through their pages, their indices or their cover plates before picking some out of the pile and setting them aside.

Astarion and Shadowheart and Gale, being somewhat more sensible, they collect the pieces of treasure, the gold and silver and gemstones, the enchanted tools and objects – for all he seems to have little interest in picking them up, Lilen seems to have a good knowledge of what they are once he examines everything back at camp.

He, Gale, and their new necrotic companion, Withers, sort through each enchanted piece once they’re back at camp together, having transported everything with an abandoned cart left at the side of one of the paths – they sort what’s to be sold, and which pieces are to be shared out between them, which they’ll use and equip, or keep on hand at camp.

And then—

“What on Earth are you doing?”

“If we’re to function as one party, young man, we will keep proper records,” Lilen tells him sternly. His tent has been spread out over the veritable library they’ve gathered so far – he’s been keeping and collating maps whenever they find them of their area, and they’re pinned up against the canvas with various locations marked, new adjustments penned overtop, and on a pilfered desk, he has opened an empty journal and separated it into columns filled with notes and numbers.

“Can you really do all that maths in your head?” Astarion asks sceptically as he watches Lilen’s pen and quill on the parchment page, estimating object values, adding them up, separating out the gold between the five of them and keeping a portion for the party’s coffers – for supplies, he says, for travel, for shared costs.

“These are provisional estimates,” Lilen says mildly. “Once we reach civilisation, we can sell off what we can.”

“And your little library, is that being sold off?” Astarion asks, and Lilen raises his eyebrows.

“You have picked up every pillow, sheet, and blanket you’ve laid eyes on in the past two days, I might point out, and you spent a good deal of yesterday evening laundering them in the river before demanding Gale magically dry them for you. Are you going to be selling all of that bedding, or is it vital that you sleep six feet elevated from the floor, comfortably ensconced in your colourful nest?”

Astarion scowls down at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “No one really finds that sort of hyperbole funny, you know.”

“Is it hyperbole?” Lilen retorts flatly, and Astarion huffs out a breath, stepping into the bounds of Lilen’s tent and stroking his fingertips down the line of book spines, looking at the varied fonts inscribed on each of them – a few varied alphabets as well.

“Were you a librarian in a past life?” Astarion asks. “Is it troubling you horribly, this wandering through dungeons and digging through the irritating treasure keeping those precious books out of your reaching grasp?”

“I can’t be hyperbolic, but you can?”

“Oh, I’m genuinely not being hyperbolic, darling,” Astarion says disapprovingly. “It’s as if you see the glitter of a gemstone and the light leaves your eyes, until you see some sodden old parchment underneath it.”

Lilen laughs, and Astarion thinks of the glimpse he’d gotten inside the other man’s head, of the sense of peace and content in the midst of that library. Lilen is looking up at him, and as if knowing what he’s thinking of, he opens his mind, broadens the connection between them – Astarion breathes in as he recalls the other man’s memories, recalls how his footsteps had echoed in the hall as he’d moved further into the library, books all around him, extending on his every side, into the ether, into near infinitum.

“The Hall of Knowledge in Neverwinter,” Lilen says as the connection gently breaks off. “When first I stepped inside, I felt joy unimaginable – I had never really understood faith up to that point. It hadn’t really made sense to me – there was something lacking in solidity to it, something ephemeral, incomprehensible, indigestible. But books, knowledge, all that knowledge, that was solid. That was real. It seemed to be that the road to the gods was some manner of stairwell built of books and scrolls like those.”

“How… charming,” says Astarion, not bothering to inject too much false enthusiasm into his voice, and Lilen stands to his feet.

He is taller than Astarion.

Taller and broader too, not unusually so for an elf, but more than him in comparison – he radiates warmth, and stood this close to him, Astarion can smell him better. Smell the scent of ink and old parchment on his hands, smell the plants he’s been picking together, and underneath all that, can smell the scent of his flesh, of his meat, can feel the pulse of his blood through his veins, his heart.

He glances down to Lilen’s throat, watches the muscles tense and shift in his neck, and he wonders if he would feel them under his tongue, if he bit down into it. How would it feel, sinking his teeth into flesh like this, into a man’s, so much bigger than a rat, and filled with so much more blood, and much nicer blood, well-fed, not… Not vermin’s?

“Let me work now, Astarion,” Lilen says in a lower voice, and he turns Astarion bodily with a neat grip on each of his shoulders, pushing him forward, and when Astarion resists him, he pats him.

On the arse, he pats Astarion, and shoves him forward like that!

“You bastard,” Astarion hisses at him.

“Off you go,” says Lilen, and pulls his tent flap shut.

Across camp, Shadowheart is trying to stifle her laughter, and Astarion makes a rude gesture in retort.

“I can’t believe he just did that,” she whispers when he walks closer. “Sent you out of his tent like a teacher ushering a naughty student out of his office!”

“Well, you let our new daddy braid your hair, so we’re the both of us naughty children, if you want to see it that way,” Astarion points out, and Shadowheart wrinkles her nose at him.

She looks back toward Lilen’s tent, then. “That symbol on his chest,” she says, and Astarion thinks of it, the gold inscribed on his breast, a blank, open scroll. “The armour he wears – he may not be a cleric like me, but he’s a devotee of Oghma. A priest, I’d guess, based on the way he handles books and music. Oghmians try to make copies of all the texts they can find, to preserve all the knowledge they can.”

“Ugh,” Astarion groans softly, and looks to the carts they’ve gathered to move their encampment on the road to Baldur’s Gate, when next they move on. “You mean he’s going to be doing this the whole time?”

“Until we find an Oghmian enclave, I suppose,” Shadowheart says, and Astarion sighs, putting his head in his hands.

He’s been picking up books here and there, absolutely, but once he reads them, he plans to leave them behind! He doesn’t need to build a fort wall of texts on his every side to travel with!

“I’m bored,” Astarion says.

“Want to spar?” asks Shadowheart.

“Darling,” Astarion says, putting his hand on her spiky little shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask. Let’s get out of sight, hm? Avoid Lae’zel inviting herself into our training again?”

“Why, so you can try to fuck me the moment we’re out of earshot?” Shadowheart retorts, raising her pretty little eyebrows – bless her. Sex with Shadowheart is quite the enticing prospect, but not nearly so enticing as the beat of her heart under her armour. “We can spar here, where everyone can see us.”

“Fine,” Astarion says, although he makes sure she can see him pout, and goes to get his blades.

One Pater to the Next

The pater familias was the oldest living male in a household, and could legally exercise autocratic authority over his extended family. The term is Latin for "father of the family" or the "owner of the family estate". After their escape from the nautiloid vessel, Astarion joins the party of Lilen Anmactíre.

Read on Ao3.

---

Astarion stays back on the road as he sees the party approach – he’d seen them passing on the strange vessel, still trapped in that awful tank and unable to break himself free, unable even to move. From one state of paralysis to another – is that to be his life forevermore?

No.

He feels the sun on his cheeks, feels the warmth of it kissing the top of his hair. He’s known he missed it, known the whole while, for centuries, and yet it’s been so agonisingly long – he had forgotten entirely what it felt like, had recalled it only in the abstract. It’s so… gentle.

He had forgotten what gentleness felt like, and he doesn’t know that he’d like it, could trust it, coming from another person – Cazador’s gentleness had only ever been a ploy, a feint to make his muscles relax that the knife would sink in all the deeper, and he could never truly appreciate the gentleness from the hands that touched him in one seduction or another.

This is different.

It’s so mild that he doesn’t even know that he would have the words in him to describe it, the ghost of a real touch, and yet… how marvellous it is. He doesn’t know what was done to him on that awful ship, what happened to him in that tank in which he was stuck, in stasis, but for it to give him this, freedom…?

The leader of the party is an older man, another High Elf – he has thick curls of steel grey hair that are tied in a tail at the nape of his neck, and the style is curiously familiar to him. He remembers other men styling their hair like that, when he was still his own man, distantly – he remembers clerks in the legal offices, secretaries, some of the judicial assistants and magistrates’ seconds. He hasn’t thought about that in decades, he doesn’t think, the everyday minutiae of the work, of the ordinary people milling back and forth.

He’s handsome, for an older man. He has a strong jaw and while his nose is perhaps a little over strong, he has well-carved, defined lips, has a few sparrows tattooed in ink across one of his cheekbones, and while there’s a rough scar through his mouth, cutting diagonally from the left corner of his upper lip down through the plumper, right corner of his lower lip, it only adds to his appeal rather than taking away from it.

He's decently dressed, Astarion supposes – he’s in light armour, and it belongs to some order Astarion isn’t familiar with. It’s dyed black and grey with small trimmings of gold on the hems and around the symbol on the breast – the symbol that Astarion can’t read or recognise, because the strap of a satchel is settled over the middle of it.

The women with him, he only recognises one – the green and impressively muscular girl, she’d been walking alongside him on the vessel, and the other, a pretty little thing with dark hair and a rather moody style to her, she must have joined him later on.

Who in the Hells are these people?

“Here,” Astarion says, gesturing off the path, into the grass, “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered.”

The party come to a stop, and the other elf looks at him impassively from his place in the middle of the path, the young women standing at each of his shoulders – he’s of a height with Astarion, perhaps slightly taller, although that might just be the puff of his hair.

“You’ve killed others, I’ve seen you,” Astarion says. “You can kill this one too.”

After a few moments of the two of them staring at each other – and these young women either must not know this man very well, or simply haven’t worked with him before, because they’re both peering up at his face as though to study him as Astarion is doing – Astarion prompts, somewhat impatiently, “Well? Aren’t you going to help me?”

“You seem to be an impressive young man,” says the other elf, and he has a cool, collected voice, speaks a little on the quieter side. “You mean to tell me you can’t help yourself?”

It makes him abruptly angry, and he loses his composure, drawing his dagger – he wishes he had another weapon on him, something more threatening, something with a less intimate range, something other than his teeth, which he doesn’t exactly want to go about advertising.

The other elf doesn’t even react, barely even glances down at the blade, and keeps his blank gaze on Astarion’s face instead. His eyes don’t even widen slightly.

“I saw you on that ship,” Astarion says, “scuttling about. What, you work for those tentacled things? What—” He cuts himself off with a grunt of pain as it feels like his brain is suddenly cleaved in two, and he feels himself looking out of someone else’s eyes – standing in a temple library and feeling overwhelmed with the cosmic awe of it, the weight of knowledge spreading out in all directions, the rows and rows and rows of books—

Astarion blinks a few times, trying to force out the foreign images, and when he looks up, he sees the other man is touching his own temple, wincing slightly – the women, too, have their eyes screwed shut, and Astarion feels a painful sense of connection between the four of them, a sort of invisible, psychic link.

“What is this?” he demands.

“The ship we were imprisoned on, the nautiloid, was a mindflayer vessel,” the man says, rubbing at his temples with very neatly painted nails, black. “We were each of us kidnapped by those mindflayers, and they inserted these tadpoles into our heads – into our brains. It’s created a bond of sorts between us.”

“I see,” Astarion says lowly. “And what, the lot of you are now banding together?”

“These tadpoles, they don’t just create a connection between us,” the other elf says. “Our gith companion informs us – and we observed on the vessel proper – that they are the beginning of a mindflayer transformation. They will grow inside us, better insinuate themselves in our brains, before the transformation takes us over.”

“Takes us over?” Astarion repeats faintly, and he feels his stomach give a painful lurch – he remembers his first transformation, remembers the pain as his body died and came back just a little less alive than before, remembers the pain in his teeth as they were forced out of place by his new incisors growing in, remembers the gnawing, agonising hunger inside him, so much worse than anything he’d experienced before.

He thinks of the tentacled things on the vessel, these mindflayers – their tentacles, their huge, bulging heads fattened with enlarged brains, their clawed hands, their sunken, glowing eyes.

“You mean to say,” he says, thinking of the warmth on his skin from the sun, wondering how it will feel when his flesh is slick with snot-like mucous, wet and swarming with tentacles, “that if we keep these things inside us, we’ll become like them?”

“We don’t know,” the man says, glancing back to the gith. “We should feel symptoms already – should be impacted in some way other than this, at least. You’re welcome to journey with us, if you’d like.”

“He just pulled a knife on us,” says the pale girl, her dark eyes almost cartoonishly wide.

“He is right not to trust too freely,” retorts the green one. “Would you have had him welcome us with open arms, that we might strike with our blades, and catch him unawares?”

“What, so we should trust him?”

“He needn’t trust us, or us him,” says the elf, and he seems approving as Astarion sheaths his dagger. “He can come with us, and learn what we learn, or go alone – and have no forewarning if and when the tadpole consumes him. What would you two choose – what did you?”

Astarion stares at the other man, at his unchanging gaze, at his overwhelming, genuinely frighteningly calm – stepping closer, he sees that the other elf’s eyes aren’t as dark as he had first thought. Where the sun hits them, the dark brown of them show flecks of green within them, glittering flecks, much like ore or gems do shine amongst dark rock.

“My name is Lilen Anmactíre,” says the older man. “My companions are Lae’zel,” he gestures to the gith, “and Shadowheart," he gestures now to the pretty girl.

“Shadowheart?” Astarion repeats, not bothering to keep the mocking tone out of his voice, and Shadowheart gives him a somewhat vicious, equally sarcastic smile. “You can call me Astarion, if it suits you,” he says. “Forgive me for pointing it out, but you seem to conduct yourself with a particular authority. What makes you the daddy of this little party, with you leading the way?”

Is he doomed to go from one madman and a crew of constructed siblings to another so-called family forever more, pending the next transformation? Will it go on forever?

He doesn’t feel ill, doesn’t feel any sickness or any looming evolution burning under his skin – surely, if these tadpoles haven’t begun their work yet, they might be staved off further. Surely, he might retain the benefit of this thing in his head, this new power, this ability to walk in the sun and tread over running water, and not become one of those… things?

“By all means, Astarion,” says Lilen, bowing in a mocking way that makes him feel as though he’s standing in the legal halls once again, “feel free to lead us. I don’t carry the fore by patria potestas – take my stead, if it suits you better.”

“I’m not really meant for the spotlight, thank you,” Astarion says, and takes a sliding step behind the three of them. Patria potestas. Is this man a magistrate, or was he? Is that what makes him so…? “I don’t mind standing at the back.”

“Better placed for the backstab, I bet,” says Shadowheart, and Astarion looks at her mock-offended, resting his hand on his chest.

“Darling, please. With that pretty face, those big wet eyes? I’d never want to stab you from behind.”

Shadowheart’s tut barely disguises her almost-snigger – Lae’zel’s huff of approving laughter is a low growl.

Lilen doesn’t laugh, but he does smile faintly. It makes the scars across his mouth shine as they shift in the light.

“Where are we headed?” asks Astarion.

“Good question,” says Lilen, and starts walking forward again. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 7

masterlist  /  playlist for reading

After we've arrived at the lowest point of this love triangle mess, it's now time to put the pieces back together. Eivor has to get a grip on things and the reader finally has to tell her how they feel. 

CW for blood/open wounds, food mention

inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

Promise

You were woken by movement behind you - Eivor had sat up and was cursing under her breath. As she stood up, you turned your head slightly to see what she was doing. The right side of her tunic was dark with dried blood.

With shaky fingers, she rolled up the fabric to reveal blood-soaked linen underwear and stained red skin. The tunic seemed to stick to the wound. Eivor pressed her lips together and ripped it off in one upward motion, letting out a small whine and immediately biting her knuckles to silence herself.

The gash on her hip started bleeding right away. It looked horrible. The flesh around it was purple from the impact and the wound was deep and gushing blood. You sprang up from the mattress and rushed toward her. Birna yelled in fright and protest and hid under the bed.

 “Eivor, oh God! Why did you not say anything yesterday? This requires stitches!”

The warrior was breathing heavily, trying to keep her composure as blood already started pooling at her foot.

“I thought it would close overnight, but my belt and the fabric must have made it worse,” she said, sounding both desperate and confused. “What do I do now?”

You were already rummaging around for the needle and thread you had used to mend her clothes a few days ago and threw her a clean rag.

 “Here, press this on the wound.” She caught it and leaned back against the table to keep her balance, then she folded the cloth and pressed it on her hip with both hands.

There were still a few last smoldering coals in the fireplace, so you added a few twigs and hung up the kettle with a small amount of water while you waited for the flames to come. The water started to boil quickly and you threw in the needle and yarn, then you tore up cloth into stripes and also put them into the water.

“Come here,” you ordered and Eivor stepped around the bed to stand next to you in front of the fireplace. Her face was ashen-pale. You took the kettle from the fire and fished out one of the fabric stripes with a spoon, letting it cool for a moment until you could touch it without burning the skin off your fingers.

You gently moved Eivor’s hands and the blood-drenched rag from the wound and pressed the hot fabric to her skin. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, but stayed still and let you proceed. You washed the skin around the wound with the clean cloth and then went on to clean out the gash itself. It pained you to put Eivor through so much suffering, but you needed to prevent the wound from getting inflamed and foul.

Finally, you grabbed your sewing utensils and started closing up the wound. Eivor’s hands were now shaking vigorously and she buried her fingers in the furs on the bed trying not to move or cry out. You apologized over and over again while you tried to work as quickly as possible. When you were finished, you pressed the last hot rag on the wound and cleaned off the last of the blood.

 Eivor let herself fall back on the bed and put an arm over her face, trying to regulate her breathing. You sat down next to her and stared at your bloody hands. It had all happened so quickly, you were questioning whether you were really awake yet.

When you turned to look at Eivor, she was staring at the ceiling, a single tear running from the corner of her eye into the intricate braids. You laid down next to her and followed her gaze to the wooden beams above you. Your hands were lying next to each other between you, not touching but so close you could feel her warmth.

“I owe you an apology,” Eivor began quietly, “but I am at a loss for words. Where can I even begin? I put you into a cage even though you were wounded and scared, and I only noticed you were hurt when it was almost too late. I let Randvi treat you like a traitor even though you only helped us. I forced myself on you last night and you had to carry me back here because I was too drunk to stand. And now you save me once again, even though I have done nothing to ever deserve it.”

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. Should you tell her that you saw her with Randvi? She sighed.

“If you wish to part ways now, I understand. Sigurd will welcome you into the clan tonight. I will make sure to provide a roof over your head somewhere else in this village and you are free to do as you please.”

Her words were a dagger to your heart. She was setting you free, knowing how much pain she had caused you. But everything inside you was screaming at you to stay, to get closer, to stop speaking of separation, to only feel her lips on yours again. You felt your eyes well up. Carefully, you moved your hand in Eivor’s direction until your knuckles touched. The sensation made breathing harder, but it felt warm and consoling.

“However, if you stay despite everything I have done, I will be forever grateful to you. Everything feels wrong when I am without you, like thick fog limiting my vision and robbing me of all sense of direction. You guide me home.”

One of her fingers moved to brush over yours. Your heart was beating so loud that you were sure Eivor could hear it, too. You had to tell her. If this was your chance of resolving this mess, you had to tell her.

You pulled your hand away and turned to her, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Eivor, there is something you need to know.”

Her eyes widened and you could see the fear behind them, fear of losing you forever.

“The night before the second raid, I went out looking for you.”

She understood immediately and closed her eyes, breathing out slowly as she waited for you to deliver the final blow.

Suddenly there were steps coming closer to your door and you could hear Valka’s voice singing a happy “Good Morning, Eivor! I brought food!”

Eivor shot up and pulled down her bloody tunic before rushing to the door, followed closely by a white ball of fur. You sat up as well.

Birna slipped out as soon as Eivor opened the door, then Valka stood in the room. She had brought a basket with bread and dried fruit as well as a bottle of a dark greenish liquid. She seemed surprised to see you here but greeted you just as enthusiastically.

“Seeing as you had to be carried to bed last night” - Eivor groaned and pressed her hands to her head - “I thought I’d come by to make sure you are still breathing. But first, would you mind telling me why you are drenched in blood? Did Y/N finally have enough of you?”

The healer gave you a sisterly smirk and placed the basket on the table. Before Eivor could even react, Valka had pulled up her tunic and let out a sound of surprise.

“Freya’s tears, what happened here?” She turned to you, still holding up the tunic. “Did you sew her up?”

You nodded and went to inspect the contents of her breakfast bundle before remarking that it probably would be best if she took another look at it to make sure it would heal well. Eivor was visibly annoyed at the fuss about her, but she did not dare to object. You popped some dried cherries into your mouth and lifted the green bottle against the light from the window.

“What is this?”

“Oh, the perfect brew for a morning after heavy drinking,” Valka explained, lifting the tunic over Eivor’s head. The warrior had bound her chest with strips of linen and now crossed her arms over her almost bare upper body. “Peppermint, ginger, and several bitter herbs. It tastes horrid, but it wakes you up and soothes an upset stomach.”

You threw Eivor a fresh tunic and she gave you a grateful nod, quickly pulling it over her body. Valka decided it was best if you joined her at her hut where she would prepare a fresh salve for the wound. Birna accompanied you on your way up the hill and, once inside, immediately chose Valka’s bed as her new throne.

Eivor bickered with her for a moment, then the cat moved over so Eivor could sit down next to her. You watched closely as Valka heated up oil and beeswax until they melted together, throwing in calendula and daisy petals, lavender, and buckhorn. The herbs soon started spreading their wonderful scent throughout the room and the oil slowly turned a greenish-yellow color. You helped filter the mixture through a clean cloth and caught it in a small clay pot, placing it on the windowsill to let it cool.

In the meantime, Valka had heated up water and thrown in a few cloves of crushed garlic. Now she placed another round of hot, wet fabric stripes on the wound and gently pressed them down with her palm. Eivor was clenching her jaw and clutching the blanket beneath her, but she endured the procedure without complaining.

Valka explained to you that garlic fought off illness and cleansed wounds even better than plain hot water, but she was happy with you for thinking of cleaning the wound before sewing it shut. She was also satisfied with your needlework on Eivor’s skin - the wound had stopped seeping and seemed to close up well.

As you both sat next to Eivor, waiting for the cloth on her hip to cool down, the silence grew thicker. Eivor kept her eyes closed the entire time, not showing any emotion. Valka was unusually late in recognizing that something was wrong. She gave you a questioning look and you just pressed your lips together and lightly shook your head.

After a while, the healer threw the wet rags into a basket and stood up to grab the salve from the window. She gently rubbed it into the bruised skin around the wound and handed the pot to you. Then she took a long bandage from a box and wrapped it around Eivor’s hips several times, fastening it with a knot.

“Here are two more bandages.” You took them from her. “Change the dressings twice a day and boil them after every use. Clean the wound and put the salve on before every new dressing. We should be able to remove the stitches in a few days so it can heal on its own.”

You helped Eivor up and thanked Valka for her assistance, promising to come by later so she could prepare you for your welcoming ceremony.

As you walked back to Eivor’s hut, she suddenly stopped. You turned around, raising your eyebrows at her.

“Y/N. I have been thinking about what you said. You saw me and Randvi, is that right?”

You nodded, feeling your throat close up.

“There is no excuse for what I did. I betrayed my brother and I turned from you after drawing you closer for days. Randvi and I were together for some time, but I ended it a while ago. She still wanted me and she found me at the right moment last night. All I can say for myself is that I was drunk, so drunk I could not think or feel anything anymore. I was lost, I was looking for love and I thought I could not place that burden on you, so I grasped my chance when Randvi came after me.”

She took a deep breath, holding your gaze.

“I should have never kissed Randvi, not the first time and not the last time. I was weak and astray, I still am. I often drink to find joy, yet I only find misery every time. I know that I should have come to my senses much earlier, I should have told you how I felt and I should have never kissed you without asking what you wanted.”

Her outburst shocked you; she had never been this honest and open with you. You could see she was hurt and ashamed, trying to save whatever still was left between you. You reached out a hand and she caught it between hers, her eyes full of fear and pleading.

“I can never make up for all the pain I have caused you. But if you choose to stay, if you choose to walk through that door with me and continue to be by my side, I swear to you by everything that is dear to me that I will never betray you, I will never lie to you and I will do everything in my power to make this work.”

She squeezed your hand with shaky fingers, her voice cracking at the last words. Your insides were in turmoil, you were completely overwhelmed with everything that had happened. But there, somewhere inside you, a tiny spark lit up. The smallest flame licked around the coals at the bottom of your chest. It was hope that had returned to you.

You knew that Eivor meant every word she had said. She would be lost without you, that much you knew already. You placed your free hand on top of hers and took a step closer.

“My wolf-kissed lady. It is true that you have caused me a great deal of pain. The last few days there was so much resentment inside of me. But we cannot choose who we love and we all lose our way sometimes. If you will let me, I would like to pull you back on a new path, one destined for us both. That path requires sacrifice, hard work, patience, and vigor. At your side, I am willing to try.”

Eivor pulled you to her and you wrapped your arms around her, careful not to press your body to her wounded hip. She stayed stiff for a moment, then she let out a relieved sigh and held you tightly, pressing her cheek to the top of your head and mumbling foreign words into your hair. Something brushed against your shin and you looked down to find Birna wedged between you, meowing for attention.

You smiled at Eivor through your tears and she picked up the cat, holding her to her chest and gently rocking her side to side like a newborn. The three of you made your way down to the cottage and Eivor opened the door for you, gently lowering Birna onto the bed. You closed it behind you and leaned against the hard wood.

Eivor stood a few feet from you, just a little bit further than an arm’s length away. There was an awkward silence as neither of you knew what to say, then you decided to relieve the tension. You sat down on the wooden trunk.

“I do not know how fast we will heal. But I don’t want to make you suffer, I believe you have put enough blame and hate on yourself already.” You looked down at your hands, rubbing them together nervously. “I know how you feel about me. I have felt the same way for some time. The things I saw the night before made it impossible for me to enjoy our kiss last night and I don’t think I could do so just yet. What I need is for you to prove to me that you mean it, show me that you are no longer interested in Randvi and that you really want us to be together. Once I know I can count on you and that there is nothing left standing between us, I will gladly find my way into your arms again.”

A weight was lifted off of you, now that you had finally lent voice to all your tumultuous thoughts and the feelings that had been waiting to spring free from your chest.  Eivor stepped closer to you and took your hands in hers again. Her eyes were clear now and she was standing upright, no longer carrying secrets and guilt in front of you.

“I devote myself to you, little bird.” She shook her head and huffed. “Who am I to call you little, when you have shown such courage and grace? I am the one who is small before you.” She suddenly chuckled. “Someone once called me a lovely dove. I was offended at the time, thinking she was mocking me. But is there a bird more devoted, more graceful and exquisite?”

Eivor smiled down at you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I promise that I will do right by you, sweet Y/N, my delicate dove.” Her face was so close now that you could see the tiny hairs on her cheeks and the depths of her blue eyes. Her lips were almost touching yours. She was beautiful. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes.

The next thing you felt was her lips on the back of your hand and when you opened your eyes again, Eivor was still looking at you, kissing your knuckles one by one. Then she took a step back and nodded, determination visible on her face. She would do everything she could to prove herself worthy to you.

[frostsinth]

The Secret We Keep - Pt. 2

Part 1 - MasterList

Good morning, my dudes. Have a new part of the new orc story to celebrate me hitting 300 followers. As always, my eternal love for your support. I am grateful to have such wonderful feedback and overwhelming support for my work.

Thank you, and keep being you! Please comment and reblog with your thoughts. I read every single one. Multiple times. It is my sustenance. Feel free to DM or shoot me an ask if there’s something you’d like to see or any questions you have.

I was humming to myself as usual while I swept out the front shop when a huge shadow fell over me. I started, spinning with a tiny gasp. My hand even went to clutch at my breast in surprise. But as soon as I recognized the disheveled looking behemoth before me, my face split into a smile instead.

“Hans!” I exclaimed excitedly.

I beamed up at him as he bowed his shoulders to duck into the little shop through the door I had left propped open. His slate eyes roamed around, as if looking for something. Not much had changed in the week since I had last seen him. The cow haunches had been replaced by goat’s legs, the mackerel by trout. I had some fresh wild pheasant on the fire in the corner, and its juicy aroma filled the air. I leaned the broom against the wall and smacked the dirt off my hands.

“Welcome back! I was hoping I’d see you again!” I told him eagerly. “Hungry?”

He turned his big eyes on me, frowning. When he made no move to come deeper into the shop, I rolled my eyes in amusement. Perhaps he still wasn’t used to such friendly greetings, I decided as I went over and closed the shop door. Then I took up his big hand in both of mine and gave a gentle tug. His eyes dropped down to my hands, which looked like delicate glass compared to his meaty sausages. Of course, my tug had probably hardly even registered to him. If I was being honest, the effort of lifting his hand with both of mine was almost difficult.

But he allowed me to coax him out the back. I dropped his hand as soon as he started moving and turned to lead the way. A pair of deer were smoking today, and a wild turkey. There was a small pig’s head on the chopping block, its meat skewered and its ears put out to leather on the rack. I had left the door to my room open to let in some of the fresh summer air, and nodded to it.

“Go ahead in. I’m sure you’re sick of venison if you’ve been traveling. How about turkey?” I suggested. “The pig still has a few hours. I’ve got some salmon if you’d prefer.”

He didn’t go immediately to the house nor answer me. I saw his eyes considering the broken gate and the still empty stables. They drifted up to the makeshift skylight, then the crooked door and bent and beaten skewers. A frown tugged his lips in a deep, downward pitch. I hummed a few more lines of my previous song patiently as he looked about, dipping a smaller bucket in the barrel of water by the gate to bring in with us.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” I told him as I hoisted the bucket over my shoulder, “Not long after you left. Erlif and his men were found hogtied and bloody in the old prison. Nobody knows how they got there!” I laughed. “I heard they were shipped off to Osfar. They have a bounty on their head there.” 

I waited by the door of the house, but he didn’t seem inclined to follow yet. I saw his eyes considering the meat on the skewers, and I thought I saw his tongue dart out to lick his lips. I felt a little ashamed of the wild meat on the coals. A good butcher would have only cooked and sold domestic grown meat. Raised themselves, if possible. While I was reduced to taking anything I could bargain for.

“You don’t say.” He grumbled in his deep, quiet voice.

“Good riddance, in my opinion.” I replied distractedly, looking a little forlornly at the meat on the skewers. “Sorry about the slim pickings today. Can’t afford to pay the farmers for their stock if I don’t have enough people buying the meat. And if I don’t have enough meat to sell, I won’t be able to buy the stock.” I shrugged. “Endless little circle. Luckily the hunters will sell their game cheap,” I tried to sound cheery at that, but wasn’t sure I managed, “Though I can’t ask for as much as I could for beef and pork.”

Hans scowled at me, and he drummed his big fingers on his ax head. His slate eyes looked me up and down again, and I raised an eyebrow curiously. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking. I sighed quietly, brushing one hand through my hair. I ducked into the house, placing the bucket of water by the door and going over to the barrel nearest the stove. After digging around inside for a moment, I brought my findings back outside.

The orc seemed surprised to see the little coin purse held out to him in my tiny hand. His slate blue eyes shot back up to me, and a fresh scowl settled on his face.

“It’s all there.” I assured him, shifting my weight to my other foot.

He rubbed one rough hand at his scruffy beard. “It was payment for your services.”

I scoffed, leaning back and smiling. “What service? A little kindness to a stranger who helped me out?” I shook my head. “I manage well enough to do that.”

A growl formed in this throat, rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. He slowly reached out and wrapped his huge hand around the pouch. My skin tingled where his fingertips brushed against mine. His brow was knotted, and his lips still set into a deep frown. I considered that for a moment, then smiled.

“It’s nice of you to worry, but I assure you. I’m fine.” I said, then rested my hands back on my hips. “So, are you hungry or not?”

The orc grumbled unintelligibly. The way he looked around my yard, I had a feeling he didn’t quite believe me when I said I was fine. He chewed at his lip thoughtfully, staring at me. I met his gaze, unabashed, and smiled. He grunted, then shook his big head. He tucked the pouch back into his belt slowly.

“Well, I would offer you a drink, but all I have left is water.”

I turned to go into the house, gesturing for him to follow me. Perhaps I could offer him some bread, though I only had a little left. But I paused in the doorway when I realized he wasn’t following. Instead, he turned, making his way over to the gate on the back wall. I followed him after a moment.

“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

Before I could say more, he wrapped one huge hand around the top and bottom of the old broken gate. With one tug, the large gate shattered, ripping off its hinges. I was so surprised my hands went to my mouth. The big orc brought the pieces over to the wall, leaning it against it. Then he considered the scrap wood there before selecting a piece and a few nails.

I bustled over quickly as soon as I realized his intent, holding up my hands. 

“You don’t have to do that!” I protested.

He gave a loud, almost startling snort. “I’m not asking.” He growled.

He considered the tiny hammer by the pile, then kicked it aside with a grumble and pulled out his ax, spinning it deftly in his hand. I continued to protest, even going so far as to place my hand on his huge bicep. He froze under my touch, and my words died in my mouth. I looked up at him, meeting his stormy blue eyes. We stayed like that, perhaps for a moment too long. Then I yanked my hand back, taking a little shy step away. I felt a little heat in my cheeks, though I wasn’t sure why. I swallowed a few times, smiling stupidly, flustered.

“W-well, then you’ll have to let me feed you. If you insist on fixing my gate.”

His responding grunt sounded affirmative. Satisfied he wasn’t going to fuss about it, I went back to the house. I adjusted the fresh flowers in the pitcher, trying to sort my thoughts and looking around as I thought about what I could offer him. Then I went over to where I had some dough rising, readying it to put in the oven. I stoked the coals until the little clay stove was back to baking temperature and slid the dough in. Smacking my hands together to get off the excess flour, I pulled out a pair of hollow horns and dipped them into the cool water. I took a sip myself, and brought the other outside to the big orc, placing it on a stump near him. It was a very hot day, after all.

Hans had already neatly trimmed and hammered two slats into place. Even as he worked I felt his eyes on me while I moved about the yard. I went over to the pits, seasoning the meat with some gravy and vinegar as well as dried herbs. Then I took up a hanging cloth and wiped down a few dishes by the water barrel, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He was still watching. I couldn’t help a small, amused smile on my lips as I stacked the wooden plates before taking them inside to place on the small shelf by the larder. 

It was only late afternoon; starting anything now would have it dried out and chewy by the time he finished the gate. I would just have to preoccupy myself with something else in the meantime. But I felt guilty letting him work alone in the heat.

So I gathered up my basket of herbs and carried it out on my head to the little yard. I dragged another stump over to the doorway of the shop and set the basket by my feet as I sat down. I would be able to hear if any last minute customers stopped by that way. I took up a few and began braiding them together. My small hands worked nimbly at the familiar task. It was mostly mindless, and allowed me to watch the big orc work.

“Do you have business in the area again?” I asked him conversationally.

He gave another positive sounding grunt, and I smiled, looking down at the forming garland of wild garlic in my lap. What a mystery he was! But I decided, looking at how efficiently he was repairing the gate with just his ax and a pile of scrap wood, my original assessment had been right. He was a laborer of some kind. I berated myself quietly for forgetting about an orc’s sense of pride. Of course he would insist on some sort of payment for the food I had given him last time. Orcs rarely took handouts. I snuck a look at him under my lashes, hiding another smile. Same as me.

“I wish I had more to offer you than water,” I mused aloud, interrupting the soft song I had been humming absentmindedly to myself. “And would you rather the pig or some goat for dinner?”

Hans straightened, reaching up one hand to wipe the back of it over his sweaty forehead. He snatched up the horn of water, guzzling it down. I watched his gullet move as he swallowed, and found my chest tingling at the sight. I blinked a few times to clear my head as he replaced the horn and reached for his belt again.

“Here.” He grunted, holding out a gold coin. I started to protest, but his growl silenced me. “Get a bottle of wine… or whatever you womenfolk like.”

At first, I was torn. My own pride would not allow me to take the offered coin; but my desire to be a good hostess reasoned that a bottle of gin would go quite well with the goat. I sighed, relenting to my latter argument. I replaced the half finished garland in the basket and held out my hands. He delicately placed the coin in my palm. Again, our skin brushed, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Swallowing, I stood, skittering over to the house. I hooked the bucket of water over my arm and brought it out, resting it in the shade before refilling his drinking horn.

“I won’t be long.” I promised, untying the straps of my apron hesitantly.

I glanced at him, then at the gate. I was unlikely to have any customers come knocking, but it still felt a little strange leaving him there in the yard all alone. Still, I knew the distillers shop just around the corner wouldn’t be busy. I could be there and back pretty quickly. I draped the apron over the stump, lingering.

He gave another hearty grunt, picking his ax back up. “Go. I’ll keep working.”

A little over half an hour later, I was back, the biggest bottle of mulberry gin they had on hand under my arm. It’d still cost less than the whole gold piece, and I carefully patted the silver coins in my pocket lightly. In my other hand was a fresh bundle of the wildflowers I had seen growing at the corner of the road that led out of town. I hadn’t been able to resist stopping to pick them. I brought them up to my nose to smell as I went to the back wall of the shop.

I nearly dropped both as I came round the corner. The sun was beginning to set, and dusty orange rays splashed across the yard. The air almost hummed with the heat of the day slowly starting to rise up from the ground as the air cooled. But it was the sight of Hans that had me frozen in place like a startled doe.

He was lifting a final slat of wood into place, and the sweat that trickled over his skin caught the orange sunlight making his dark green skin seem to glow. And there was quite a lot of skin to look at. The big orc had discarded his armor and his tunic and was now stripped bare down to his hips. Each movement had his muscles coiling and rippling with raw power. I swore he was less a man and instead simply one giant  corded muscle as he reached for his ax and rotated it in one meaty hand to use the back of its head to hammer the final nails in place. Unlike those on his arms and shoulders, his muscles on his chest and abdomen were not defined. His was not the body made for show; they were the muscles made for work. Thick and tough, they did not jiggle or sag when he relaxed them, but they were more uniformed in shape and not distinct as individual muscles. Rather an entire torso designed to get the job done. And certainly, he was getting the job done; the gate was almost finished. Like watching a snake move through the grass, I found myself transfixed, unable to move.

It took him taking a step back and placing his hands on his hips as he admired his handiwork for me to come back to my senses. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to recover, for the big orc turned, as if sensing my eyes on him. I quickly fumbled a sheepish grin, blinking rapidly and letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I hope you like mulberry gin,” I told him breathlessly, finding my feet well enough to close the remaining gap between us, “I thought it would pair very well with the goat-”

A soft ‘eep!’ escaped my lips as my foot caught on an errant board. I tumbled forward, arms going wide. My hands scrambled for the bottle, dropping the flowers in favor of saving the glass. I braced myself for impact, clutching the bottle to me and squeezing my eyes shut.

It came as a surprise when I didn’t suddenly feel the wind knocked from my lungs. Or the sting of the ground against my shoulder. In fact, I actually almost felt weightless, and a soft tingle of air hit the back of my neck as my hair lifted from it. A deeply rich smell filled my nose, and there was something firm but gentle at my back.

I cracked open an eye, and found it met by dark stormy blues. Slowly, I opened the other, feeling my breath hitch and my heart race beneath my skin.

I was delicately cradled in Hans’ arms, with one of his hands at my back and the other beneath my legs. He had dropped to one knee in his lunge to catch me, and bent over my body with his heavy brow knotted up. As he looked down at me, his hot breath splashed against my face, and I drew in another whiff of his thick scent. He seemed equally surprised to find me in his arms, but neither of us moved to change positions. I found myself simply staring, lost in his big eyes.

Finally, he gave a soft grunt, and slowly, carefully, lowered my feet back to the ground. I found myself quivering, and took a deep, steadying breath. The big orc dropped his hand almost reluctantly from my back, straightening up. I smiled at him again, dropping my eyes.

“Sorry.” I mumbled bashfully, thumbing the bottle between my hands.

He shrugged those huge shoulders, reaching up one hand and scratching at the back of his neck. I had to work hard not to stare at his broad chest and solid looking abdomen as he did.

“I shouldn’t have left shit lying around.” He grumbled, reaching down to pick up the offending piece of wood. He chucked the huge plank off to the side with about as little effort as swatting at a fly. “Just gotta mount the gate.” He finished, glancing over at the opening I had just walked through in the clay wall of the yard.

“O-oh! Right, yes.” I stammered, feeling heat rising to my cheeks again. I pushed my hair back from my face, looking about. “I’ll finish searing the meat while you do.” I frowned a little sadly, noticing the scattered flowers littering the yard. “You can wash up at the trough after if you’d like. The water is fresh.”

He followed my gaze around the ground, nodding. When he turned back to the gate, I bustled quickly into the shop to grab the goat. Focus, focus! I scolded myself, expertly taking the meat down and adjusting the coals to a hotter blaze. I shifted the pheasant to the side, letting it keep warm without continuing to cook. I’d have to slice it later and leave it to salt overnight. I reached under the table and grabbed my herbs and molasses, quickly spreading some over the outside of the leg. It sizzled as the coals burned hotter under it, and I used my handheld bellows to breathe a little more air onto them until they glowed orange. Kind of how Hans had in the sunlight. I shook my head, scolding myself again.

If only my father could see me now! Losing my head over a man. And an orc at that! He would have been in stitches on the floor. Would have teased me endlessly. At first, the thought of my late father warmed my smile. But then his memory and loss sobered me, and I slowly turned and braised the leg in quiet thought. Things had gotten a lot harder since his passing; this little run down town had a bad reputation, and a young, unmarried woman living alone was as dangerous as too much bellow work on hot coals. I sighed, turning the leg again and considering the crust that had formed. I would figure it out though. I always did.

A short while later, the leg was done. I grabbed my carving knife and put the leg on a wood slab, turning and ducking back out to the evening air with the gin under my arm again. It was refreshingly cool after the hot day, though I was certain it had probably only dropped just a few degrees. Still, without the sun beating down overhead or the fire on my face, it felt marvelous.

As I crossed the yard, I snuck a look at Hans out of the corner of my eye. He was testing the gate, swinging it slowly open and closed. He was still shirtless, and I greedily soaked up the sight of him. I shook my head again, clearing my throat and ducking through the open door of my house. No time for that now!

I quickly set the table, clearing the clutter and trying to rearrange the wilting flowers. It was a shame the new bouquet hadn’t made it; these could really use refreshing. But they would have to do. The bread in the oven had just finished, and I took it out and drew in a deep breath of its warm scent as I brought it over to the table. Gin, drinking horns, leg roast, plates, carving knife. I had just about everything set. I turned back to my little larder, thinking to myself a few snap peas would be a nice side for the roast. I heard splashing outside, and knew my time was going to be limited.

I hesitated by the bowl of water on the barrel by the stove. I reached up and twirled a strand of hair between two fingers thoughtfully, looking down at my worn old dress. It was covered in blood and gravy stains, and I smoothed my hands over it restlessly. Looking about, I went over to the pile of things on my bed and pulled out a fresh apron. Less dirty, at least, I thought to myself. Then I rinsed my hands and splashed water at my face, smoothing over my messy locks. I chided myself quietly, not entirely sure why it mattered what I looked like, but couldn’t help but untie the thong in my hair and brush my fingers down its length a few times before retying it.

The shadows had begun to lengthen with the departure of the sun. So I lit candles about the room and went back over to the larder with a small basket. I heard his footsteps, followed by the sound of his shoulders scraping against the door frame.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” I told him, reaching in and scooping a few handfuls of the snap peas into the basket, “I’m not sure if orcs like vegetables too, but I thought-”

My words caught in my throat as I turned back to face him. He was wearing his tunic again, but not his armor, and his hair was slicked back. I could still see the water droplets in his beard. It did nothing to impede how very handsome he suddenly looked. He fiddled with something in his hands, not quite looking up at me. When I managed to tear my eyes away from his now clean face, I noticed the wild flowers clutched in his huge, meaty fists. They looked a little rough, with a few bent stalks, missing petals, and pulverized leaves. But the sight of them had a smile blossoming on my own face.

I walked over, placing the snap peas on the table. Hans awkwardly held out the flowers, peeking at me through dark lashes. My smile grew as I reached out to take them. I couldn’t resist letting my fingers linger on his as I gently slid them from his grip. The touch had him looking up, meeting my eyes with his. I felt my cheeks turn a little pink, and brought the flowers to my nose to give a light sniff.

“Thank you, Hans,” I breathed, running my hand over the petals gently, “That was very kind of you.”

He gave a rumbling grunt that seemed to come from from somewhere deep in his chest. But his brow looked a little less scrunched than usual, and I could have sworn his lips weren’t quite so scowly. I decided he was pleased with himself, and hid my smile as I emptied the old flowers from the pitcher and replaced them with his. As I did, he slowly settled himself back on the bench, looking over the food.

I settled opposite him, bringing the carving knife over to me. I made quick work of the leg, separating it from the bone and cutting it into manageable pieces with a few well placed strokes of the blade. Hans watched quietly, and I thought I saw his cheek twitch and his brow soften even more. Was he impressed? I gave him a shy smile.

“You won’t make it far as a butcher if you don’t know how to handle a knife.” I told him, then speared a piece of the leg roast on the tip and held it out to him. “Here, tell me what you think.”

He eagerly took the offered piece between his thumb and index, bringing it to his mouth. I heard him suck on it, chewing it slowly. Savoring the flavor. He gave a resounding sound of enjoyment, his tongue darting out to keep escaping juices in his mouth. I smiled, picking a piece for myself and nibbling at it.

“Hmm. More bay leaf next time, I think,” I mused, rolling the flavor around in my mouth critically.

Hans was already reaching for another piece. I uncorked the gin and poured some into the horns. Never a short supply of those around here. I snapped a pea between my teeth, chewing quietly as I swirled the gin beneath my nose. The orc took a deep draught, and gave a happy ‘ahhh’ as he drew the cup back.

I smiled at him. “You act like you’ve never had a good meal!” I teased, sipping at my own gin. The tart liquor paired well with the sweet molasses I had braised the goat with.

He grunted again. “Not often.” He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “Not like this.”

I refilled his cup and took up the bread, breaking it in two. I made sure he got the larger piece. I took up another piece of the meat and offered him the snap peas curiously.

“Well, whenever you’re in the area, stop by.” I told him shyly, and he took a few of the peas in hand, sniffing them thoughtfully. “I’ll make sure you get one.”

Hans seemed to enjoy the crunch of the peas, and took another small handful. I placed the basket back on the table and used my bread to sop up the juices on the cutting board. I sipped at my gin, then refilled the horns again. I could already feel its warmth seeping into my cheeks and the tips of my ears.

“You are alone?” Gurgled the orc conversationally, using my example to sponge the sauce and juices with his bread before bringing it to his mouth.

I nodded. “It used to be my father’s shop. He was an excellent butcher and cook. Taught me everything I know. But he passed away almost a year ago…” I dropped off, burying the sudden pang of loss with another sip of gin.

“Sorry.” Growled the orc, and though his voice was rough, I decided he sounded sincere.

I gave him a smile. “It’s alright. He died peacefully in his sleep. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

He grunted. I remembered suddenly exactly what orcs thought about a so called ’peaceful’ death. I remembered my father once telling me that they considered any death other than that on a battlefield almost shameful. I wondered if he found my statement insulting, and quickly tried to recover.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, feeling flustered, “I hope you don’t mind me saying as much.”

Hans snorted, shaking his big head. “I don’t care.”

I took up a handful of snap peas, popping them one at a time into my mouth. “The only things I know about the world are from what others have told me. I’ve never been outside this village,” I confided in him, “I’m not sure what I would do out in the great big beyond!” I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head.

He looked about my little room, and I felt a blush returning to my cheeks. I could almost hear the question he posed with his gesture. I thought about it for a little, following his eyes around my childhood home. Then I shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t mind moving, perhaps someplace quieter, but I like my work.” I said. “No matter where I go, I think I would find myself just setting up shop, same as here. Though I suppose I could see myself on a farm, out in the countryside.”

“No cities?”

I laughed again, finishing off my cup and pouring myself another. “Oh Gods no! I can’t stand crowds of people. And the noise!” I shook my head, looking around, “I enjoy the little things; what I’ve earned with my own two hands.”

He gave another sound, deep in the back of his throat. I thought it sounded approving. I smiled at him, then glanced down at my cup bashfully.

“Do you often have business in the area?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He raised one big, bushy brow at me. “...Sometimes.”

I shuffled my feet under the table. The plates before us were empty, and the shadows of the setting sun had long since disappeared. I considered the bottle of gin between us. It was hardly an excuse to keep him here, I thought, disappointedly, but it was the only thing I had. My head spun with the realization that I wasn’t ready for the orc to leave just yet. I stared numbly down at my cup, trying to find some courage.

“Come.” He growled suddenly, breaking the silence and standing.

I looked up at him, surprised, but followed suit without questioning. He certainly wasn’t much of the conversationalist, but it seemed the big orc never did anything without forethought. Whatever he had in mind, I decided I was curious enough to wait to find out. He took up the gin bottle and ducked his head to pass through the door. I was barely a step behind, holding my own horn nervously between my hands.

Out into the night air, I noticed the finished gate and smiled. I walked over, resting my hand against it. I couldn’t remember the last time the gate hadn’t looked like it would fall apart with a stiff breeze. It was obvious the gate had been repaired; the different types of wood interlaced with each other without much sense or pattern. But it was very sturdy. I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone unwanted coming through there. I traced my fingers over the wood, still smiling to myself.

I heard a soft grunt, and turned towards the source. The big orc had shuffled the stumps together against the side of the house, and was sitting on one. He didn’t look at me, but pulled out the cork of the gin with his teeth and refilled his horn. I slowly wandered over, wringing my hands. He leaned back against the house with a sigh, stretching his long legs out and letting his knees naturally fall apart. I watched quietly, edging a little closer, sipping at my drink.

He took a deep swallow, leaning his head back. I used the opportunity of his distraction to slip even closer. Coming up to his side. I glanced at the stumps, then around the yard. Beyond my tiny little haven, the soft sounds of the town closing up for the night echoed. Doors closing, windows shuttering, and calls of farewell. Trudging boots and soft laughter. Slowly, I lowered myself to sit on the stump next to him.

Hans refilled his cup again, then turned, leaning over me. I stiffened a little, but he merely poured some more gin into my horn. I felt his shoulder brush mine as he did, and my ears felt hot. All too soon he was leaning back again, recorking the bottle and placing it on the ground between us.

“Thanks.” I murmured, looking down into the cup.

He gave a rasping huff, reaching up and running his thumb along his bottom lip. I swirled my drink for a moment, then brought it back to my mouth. I liked the warm feeling wrapping about my core. And though I wouldn’t admit it, not all of that warmth was because of the liquor.

I wasn’t sure what else to talk about. Wasn’t sure if talking was what the big orc had in mind when he had brought us outside. I chanced a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw his head back. Dark eyes looking up at the stars.

I followed his lead, leaning back against the house and tilting my chin up. I sighed deeply, forcing myself to relax. Took another sip to aid the process and tucked my ankles comfortably against the barrel. The position had my knees falling dangerously close to his thigh, but I tried to ignore that fact. Wondered if he noticed how closely we were sitting together. Or if he even cared.

“...You know, I had a man come to my shop the other day and tried to sell me his dog. His dog!” I giggled, finding the edges of my words slightly slurred. “And no matter what I told him, he kept trying to convince me the meat would ‘taste like chicken’...” I glanced at Hans out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t seem to mind the story. I took another deep sip of the gin. “The man was drunk as a skunk, and I almost took him up on the offer. Not for the meat, mind,” I added quickly, “I don’t frown at any kind of meat, but that skinny hound would have been gamey as hell. Would have just been bad business to buy him for that. No, I wanted to buy him because I didn’t like to see the way he treated the poor thing.” I sighed. “It probably sounds hypocritical, but I hate to see an animal suffer-” I tapped my chin thoughtfully “-You know, maybe I should get a beast like that for around here. I’ve sure got enough bones lying around.” 

I smiled, taking another sip and glancing at the orc again. He seemed to be listening quietly, his head tilted slightly towards me as he looked up at the heavens. He took a deep drag from his horn, and I watched his lips curl around the cup with a hungry eye.

“Though I’d want a big dog,” I said quickly, dragging my eyes away from his face. “Those tiny yappers they keep around in those big houses are only good for kindling.”

That garnered me a short, huffing snort. I thought it might even be a laugh. I grinned, tracing the rim of my cup with my thumb.

“Would be hard to find one around here, even if I had the coin to buy it.” I shrugged, tossing back the last of my gin and reaching for the bottle. “Probably better I don’t. Big old hound like that would probably stink…”

I dropped off as my hand brushed his, also reaching for the bottle. We froze again, and I craned my neck back to look up at him. His big eyes met mine, and I felt my mouth drop a little to see the way the moonlight glimmered there. Somewhere in the distance, a lute started playing amid the soft chatter of the tavern through an open door.

He turned his hand suddenly, catching mine in it and swallowing it up in his palm. I blushed a little, feeling my ears burning hotter than the midday sun. But I didn’t pull my hand away. Slowly, he brought it up, looking down at it. Running his big thumb over my knuckles. His hand was firm and strong, and quite warm, but despite the callouses, his touch was very soft and gentle. He turned it over, thumbing open my fingers to trace his fingers over my rough palms.

“...Worker’s hands…” I murmured apologetically, feeling suddenly a little ashamed I didn’t have the soft, pristine hands of a lady.

He shook his big head, his thick locks like a lion’s mane about him. “... I like them.”

He brought my hand up higher, unhurried, bending down slightly to meet it. Then he haltingly traced my knuckles lightly in a line along his lips. My breath fluttered in my chest, and I was sure my heart skipped more than one beat. In fact, I was pretty sure it had stopped all together. His large tusk brushed against my finger as he moved my hand slowly back and forth, sending a little shiver of excitement racing down my spine.

I had subconsciously shifted a little closer, and when his eyes lifted again, I was nearly leaning against his huge bicep. Our eyes met again, and we sat in silence for a long moment.

“I should be going.” He rumbled finally, beginning to straighten up.

“Oh…” I breathed, finally finding the air returning to my lungs in a rush. It came ladened with more than a small helping of disappointment.

But he didn’t release my hand as he stood, so I stood as well. Standing perhaps just a hair too close to him than was necessarily appropriate. My eyes flicked to his big lips, and I saw them twitch slightly under my scrutiny.

His free hand went to the pouch at his belt, and he turned, digging through it for a moment. He turned over my hand as he did, then pressed three gold coins into my palm and closed my fingers around it.

“But-”

“I want to buy a pig.” He interrupted before I could finish my protest. “A whole roast pig.”

I was surprised, and looked down at his hand clasped around mine. “Three gold would buy you two pigs! Maybe three!”

He shrugged. “Then I want three pigs.”

“But-”

“How long?” He interrupted again, and I felt him squeeze my hand in his gently.

I fell silent, breathing in the warm night air. Each breath I drew felt thin, and my heart pounded so loudly against my ribcage I was sure he could hear it. I tried to find a reasonable answer to his question amid my spinning thoughts.

“Four days.” I replied finally, then remembered something, turning to dig in my pocket with my own free hand. “Wait, I have your change from the gin-”

“Keep it.”

“But-”

He growled softly, effectively cutting me off again. My eyes jumped up, but his big brow seemed smoother. Not angry or annoyed. He studied my face for a moment, then reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Get some more gin… it was good.”

He finally dropped my hand, shuffling in place for a moment before turning with a grunt. He walked over to where his armor rested, draped on the fence. I watched him, unsure what to do with myself in that moment. Finding myself at a loss for words.

Gathering up his armor, he tossed it over one shoulder, then looked back at me. I gave him a cheery smile, but dropped my gaze shyly. I heard him shift his weight.

“Four days.” He promised.

I didn’t have the strength to lift my head until I heard him opening the repaired gate. Then I watched him disappear into the night, my head spinning.

...

UPDATE: Part Three HERE

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [1.2]

Masterlist

Trigger warning: here is the first round of smut!! 😈😈 I need a shower now...

"Your candy floss mind

And sugar cane lips

Have me hooked on an

Endorphin rush,

You're too sweet to ever resist..."

The sound of keys typing coincided with the bubbling of boiling water in a pot. Eva looked up from her screen now and again, watching Remington from the island counter as he tried to handle making dinner on his own. His own way of surprising her, it was a baked vegan mac and cheese. A particular playlist on his Spotify was echoing through the kitchen and he was singing along to it. She loved listening to his voice; it was so raspy and yet so comforting.

Despite how calm and collected he appeared, Remington wouldn't dare let it slip that he was actually struggling hard. His cheese sauce wasn't thickening, instead it had the viscosity of running water.

Eva smiled to herself when her gaze fell over Remington's newly dyed pink hair, an event in itself as she insisted on helping him. He had his head in the tub of his bathroom, closing his eyes at the pleasant sensation of her nails massaging the color into his scalp. The dye only sufficiently covered his blonde tips, his brunette roots more prominent now. Afterwards she had wet a cloth and sat on his knee to wipe the leftover dye from his face. His hands braced her waist and his dark brown eyes pierced into her blues.

"You think it'll turn out okay?" he asked.

"I think it's gonna' look fantastic," she smiled and kissed his nose, "You're hot enough as it is. Throw in hot pink hair and you've broken the scale,"

Forty-five minutes later Remington washed out the color and shampooed his new hair. Eva watched the flashy color and bubbles swirl down the drain, already in awe at his new look.

"To quote The 1975: you look so cool," she drawled with a smile, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Well, I had a pretty great assistant," he ran a hand through his damp hair before bringing himself down to kiss her. He then handed her his phone.

"Can you take a picture for me?" he asked. Eva obliged and chuckled as he pulled a face and made the rock-out sign with his hands. Then he took the phone and pulled her back into him.

"Are you gonna' post that?" she asked, curious as he set up the camera again.

"Yeah. Although, this one is just for us," he placed Eva in front and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head and positioning the phone at her chest level. Eva leaned into his embrace, smiling though not looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She didn't take a lot of selfies, so she opted to look at Remington through the reflective surface.

It was some time after that Remington proposed he'd make dinner for them. And so Eva sat at the island, watching him shake his head at the sauce pot while she went between typing a new poem and working on her next article.

"You can part my lips with

White chocolate fingertips,

And I'll beg you to let me taste

The syrup that drenches over

Your teeth and saturates your tongue..."

She pushed the computer away and wandered over to the stove. The cheese sauce certainly smelled good, though she did notice it was quite runny.

"I don't know why it's not getting thicker," Remington said huffily.

Eva glanced at the recipe he had open on his tablet, then at the menagerie of ingredients he had behind them on the counter. Nutritional yeast, coconut milk, garlic powder...

"Did you put any flour in it?" she asked.

Remington then realized where he'd gone wrong, "Ah ha! I forgot the flour!" he then dashed to his cupboard. Eva chuckled endearingly.

"Do you need any help?" she offered.

"Would you mind straining the pasta?"

"Of course,"

Remington quickly remedied his sauce and he transferred it and the pasta into a baking dish. As he sprinkled on the bread crumbs, Eva swiped some leftover sauce from the pot and held it up for him to taste. He took it gladly, smiling then licked the cheese sauce off her finger. She giggled before doing the same for herself.

"Very nice. You should cook more often," she said.

Remington smirked, "So, am I turning on to veganism?" he simpered.

"You're turning me on, but not just with vegan food," she shrugged, giggling as he playfully gawked at her.

"Naughty girl!" he gasped, taking some more sauce on his finger and swiping it over her cheek.

"Hey!"

"Oh here, let me get that," he grinned. He grabbed her waist and licked up the sauce with a wet kiss, but he didn't stop there. He moved his lips to her ear then onto her jaw until finally on her neck where he began to suck and bite.

She sighed, running her hands up his arms, moving her head to the side so he could access her neck better. He was on his third mark when the oven dinged, signaling it had reached full heat.

"Rem -- Remington, the oven's ready," she giggled.

"It's not going anywhere," he mumbled, squeezing her hips, his thumbs drawing circles on her exposed skin.

"C'mon, I'm hungry!" she said.

"I'm hungry too," he smirked.

"Clearly. Put the pasta in and we can pick up in a minute," she promised, shoving him away gently.

He grunted but did as she said. She adjusted her shirt, watching him pick up the casserole dish and checked out his ass as he bent down to put it in the oven. He caught her and he smirked.

"Were you checking me out?" he asked even though he knew she was.

"Why the hell would I do a thing like that?" she scoffed and waved him off.

"C'mere!"

He lifted her in his arms and she squealed, and he collapsed onto his couch with her straddling his lap. He rid her of her sweater so she was just in a tank top with her chest in front of his face. With one look she connected their lips together and they made out, and before he knew it he had her lips dragging across his neck.

Remington rolled his head back onto the couch as she sucked expertly on his skin. He silently thanked Emerson for not being home. His large hands held onto her waist, he rocked her slowly against him, moaning at the friction between them. Tied with her mouth on his neck, if Remington died right there he'd die a happy man.

"Baby, you're so good," he moaned as she continued to suck on his skin.

Eva chuckled into his ear, "I'm good at something else, too," and her hot breath fanned over his skin, eliciting goosebumps.

Before he could retort she'd slipped off his lap onto the floor, and began to undo the button of his jeans. She was meticulous and took her time with his zipper as he stared wide eyed as this beautiful girl before him, he shucked his pants down his thighs. He gulped when her finger lightly traced around the perimeter of his head. It twitched in response and she smiled.

"Can I?" she asked, fluttering her big beautiful Bambi eyes up at him.

Remington's voice had disappeared on him, so he resorted to nodding.

She lifted him into her palm, Remington was aching when she pressed soft kisses up his shaft and then a wet one over his slit. She continued to kiss him before her tongue poked out in between.

"Fuck, baby, don't tease," he panted, feeling his skin burn in the most delicious way.

"What do you say?" she asked, and Remington was alarmed that she had a small dominant side to her. But he fucking loved it.

"Please, baby," he exhaled, lifting his hand up but then dropped it back to the cushion. He didn't want to grab her hair yet, he didn't want to push her.

She smiled again (God damn) then spat heavily on his head, watching it dribble down before she took him completely in her mouth. Remington couldn't contain his moan from feeling her mouth wrapped around him. He'd imagined it when he was in the shower or thinking of her late at night, but the real thing was so much better.

She lathered him up by moving her head up and down and when she was satisfied, she began to pump her hand up and down as well and Remington's mind went blank. The mac and cheese was forgotten. The day was gone. Hell, his own fucking name had escaped his him.

The only thing he could focus on was watching his pretty girl bobbing her head up and down his cock, taking him as far as she could without gagging and what she couldn't take she squeezed gently with her fingers which surprisingly felt good.

He was a moaning mess and she'd say 'yeah?' and 'does that feel good?' which caused vibrations and more sensations and he couldn't form a coherent sentence so he just kept moaning and nodding. When he was getting close she sucked on him like a literal lollipop and then her fingers begin to fondle his balls, and he felt the tight knot in his stomach begin to unravel.

"I don't swallow," she said quietly, but she kept working at him and he didn't care.

"That's fine, don't stop ... I'll tell you when," he gasped and bucked his hips slightly.

The sound of her slurping sent him over the edge and then he was pushing her off him with rushed 'baby, baby, stop, stop' and he was coming over his own fingers. Her small hand was beneath his though and she helped him release until he'd fallen back against the couch, hot and bothered and totally satisfied.

He didn't even notice her leave until she was sitting beside him with a wet paper towel in her hand and cleaned up his hand and thigh. She rolled it up in a much larger dry piece of towel and he rolled his head to the right to look at her dazedly.

"You okay?" she giggled and he gave her a lazy smile back.

"You're fuckin' incredible," he sighed then pursed his lips. She took the hint and leaned in close to peck his lips.

"I wanted to make you feel good," she shrugged, her dominant demeanour now replaced with her typical sweet and shy persona.

"You exceeded. I think that was the best blow I've ever had,"

"Oh, please," she giggled again, and then the oven timer went off. Remington groaned, about to get up though he realized his dick was still out with his pants still around his thighs.

"Shit," he mumbled, shuffling them back on while Eva was laughing beside him, "Oh quiet, you helped make the mess," he wagged a finger at her in warning and she stuck her tongue out at him while he headed into the kitchen.

The mac and cheese was delicious, and Eva had to admit that she didn't mind vegan food so much anymore. They packed up what was left and Eva helped Remington with the dishes, despite him assuring her that she could relax. With the way he was thinking, she would need all the relaxation she could get.

He told her to head up to his room and pick a movie for them. She was more than happy to oblige. He was buzzing with excitement as he quickly finished cleaning up and grabbed the can of whipped cream from the fridge.

Coming into the bedroom Remington grinned as he heard the opening lines of Spirited Away. Eva was sat cross-legged on the bed and he closed the door behind him. She smiled at him as he placed the can on the bed, though she glanced at him quizzically before glancing at the can.

"What're you gonna' do with that?" she asked, sounding more perplexed then nervous.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, coming to kneel on the bed.

"To an extent," Eva shrugged.

"To an extent?" he mocked. She giggled as he reached forward and tugged her by her ankles towards him, "What does that mean?" he stared down at her with sheer adoration.

"Depends on what you're gonna' do to me," she blushed.

"Well, are you okay to take off your shorts and underwear?" he smiled reassuringly. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, but he was happy when she obliged him. She kicked off her clothes onto the floor behind him.

"Good girl," he mumbled, kissing her cheek, "Now can you lie back for me?"

She nodded and slowly lowered herself onto the duvet. Remington grabbed her ankles yanked her further down the bed so her naked bum was on the edge. He kneeled down and grabbed the whipped cream and pushed up her top so it rested over her ribs. He slowly and meticulously sprayed the cream from her bellybutton to her mound, and on the inside of both of her thighs. She inhaled sharply at the cold but tried to relax. He set the can on the floor next to him.

He hummed as he looked at her, she looked delectable and she was throbbing already as her dark blue eyes meet his. They were wide with excitement and lust as she realized his plan.

"You're my dessert, tonight," he rasped, then attached his mouth to her stomach.

The cold cream on her warm skin was pure gold on his tongue. He took his time in licking and sucking it all off. When he reached her thighs some of the cream had slid onto his duvet but he was hardly pressed to give a fuck. He swiped his tongue at the rogue sweetness dripping down her thighs and glanced up at her once more before pressing his mouth into her.

Eva gasped at the chilled sensations of his lips and the cream but he began to move his tongue in intricate patterns and she mewled happily. Her fingers clenched at the duvet but Remington dragged her hand into his newly dyed hair and she pulled at the spikes.

He lifted her thighs over his shoulder as he devoured her rapidly and without pause. She was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted and his tongue worked her with expert precision. Soon enough she began rocking her hips into his mouth and her moans were sinful; her fingers continued to pull harder as he felt her come for the first time. He watched her writhe and gasp for breath, his tongue still working her as she came down. He smirked on her pussy lips, proud because he hadn't even used a finger yet.

"Fuck, Rem," she whined when he didn't stop.

She was panting hard and wiggling like mad, her thighs clenching around his head and she came again. He peeked at her through his lashes and her mouth was slack in ecstasy, and her eyes were screwed shut and he hoped she was seeing stars.

When her hips slowed again he removed his mouth and kissed the inside of her thighs, biting lightly to mark her up as she collected herself. He rested his cheek against her thigh and stared up at her as she finally opened her eyes.

"You okay, honey?" he mimicked from earlier.

Eva breathed slowly, her skin tingled no matter what little movements she made, "Okay, I trust you now," and he laughed against her skin.

"Fructose and adrenaline permeate my body,

And I'm losing all control on this sugar high

You've set me on.

It'll take me a long time to come down.

But I keep coming back for dose,

After dose,

After dose.

I'm an addict always itching for my next fix

Of your honey-soaked, sickly sweet affections,”

[madiletio]

Snow Kissed

The 'chaos', otherwise known as their families meddling, had started in the late fall after Lance was given the all-clear from Samuel. It had seemed relatively easy initially- Go out, pick out a ring, light some candles and get on one knee to ask her the big question that would change their relationship- hopefully for the better.

Except there was one flaw in his plan and even now, ten miles away from his family home with Katie sitting right next to him, he wasn't sure how exactly he was going to ask. To make matters worse, he made the mistake of telling Veronica about the ring who then relayed that information back to his mother and before he even had a chance to speak, almost the entire Serrano clan was in on his secret.

Of course, he knew that they meant well and he was glad that they were excited, but it still didn't stop the weekly "Have you proposed yet?" question from being asked. And as much as he adored his family, part of him was worried about what they would do the moment they stepped foot out of the car.

"Ance-"

He snapped out of his thoughts once he heard Katie speak to him. "Hm?"

"You okay?" She asked softly, concern adamant in her tone."We missed the turnoff like five minutes ago?"

"Oh shit-" he muttered before doing a U-turn in the middle of a back road.

He felt his cheeks burn from the embarrassment and any mindless thoughts had long since been thrown out the window. Once they were back on track, Katie asked him again. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah!” his voice gave a little crack and he quickly tried to cover it with a cough. “I was just thinking about how good it’ll be to see my mom again. I promise I’m alright.”

Katie raised a skeptical brow at that but thankfully to his relief, she didn't push the issue further. The rest of the car ride settled back into a comfortable silence and by the time they reached the turnoff for his road, his strangeness had seemed forgotten.

Rows of snow-covered rose bushes lined the driveway and he couldn't help but smile once the faint blue of his childhood home came into sight.

"I hope your family doesn't mind me intruding on your holiday.." Katie mumbled.

That  took him by surprise, truth be told he didn't even think Katie would think that she was imposing.

"What?" he asked. "You aren't intruding. In fact, they're probably going to be buzzing around you."

Katie gave a slight hum but didn't say anything else. He knew that sometimes she'd get a bit anxious, especially when it involved socializing. So instead of trying to say anything, he reached over and took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles

"They love you. Trust me."

-

The moment they had parked the car, Sylvio and Nadia came barreling out of the house, closely followed by Veronica and his mother.

"Lance!" His mother exclaimed and wrapped him up in a tight hug. "It's so good to see you home."

"It's good to be back." he gave a contented sigh.

His mother took a step back, taking a moment to look at him before clapping her hands together and then turned her attention towards Katie.

"Katie! It's so good to see you again!" she exclaimed as she walked over to her, giving her a hug as she had just done to Lance.

Katie shifted awkwardly as his family started to jump from him to her. Sylvio and Nadia were tugging on her jacket, trying to drag her back to the house while his mother began talking her ear off. All he could do was mouth a quick "sorry." Before she was out of his sight.

"They haven't been able to shut up about you two all morning." Veronica chuckled and held out her hand, offering to help take some of their bags.

He grinned at that. "What can I say? We're just two phenomenal people." that earned him a jab in the rib.

"Mom had strict words with Abuela before you guys arrived." Veronica started "Hopefully she'll be able to hold her tongue long enough for you to propose first."

"I hope so." He chuckled and both of them made their way towards the house.

-

It had barely been ten minutes since they stepped foot into his parent's home and already the pair of them had been swept away in different directions. His mother insisted on showing Katie a full house tour (despite the fact she had already stayed at their home on more than one occasion.) All the while his Abuela cornered him in the living room, digging for answers.

"Lance!" she exclaimed and pulled him into a soul-crushing hug. "Look at you!"

All he could do was smile as she pinched his cheeks before stepping back to give him a once over. "You've matured so much."

Without giving him an opportunity to thank her, she had already grabbed his hand and was dragging him towards the dining area. He figured that she was either going to make him have a snack or she was going to really start her interrogation.

"Take a seat, take a seat." she fussed.

He was already screaming internally.

"Abuela, if you're going to ask if I've asked her, I haven't."

Disappointment was clear on her face but she was quick to shrug it off once she caught sight of Katie entering the room, with his mother following her from close behind.

"Well that concludes the house tour!" his mother exclaimed. "You two must be starving no?"

He nodded. "Very."

Abuela clapped her hands together and ushered him to stand. "That won't do in the slightest. Come with me!" she exclaimed.

-

Dinner, for the most part, went by uneventfully much to his relief. While he had been in the middle of eating some of his mother's garlic knots, Luis had mentioned going to the Christmas night market the following day.

Everyone seemed to beam at the idea and it was quickly decided that they would go.

Once dinner was taken care of and everyone was beginning to wind down, Lance managed to sneak out to the porch for a brief moment alone.

Veronica had managed to wrap him into helping her doing the dishes earlier and the conversation they had was still hanging over his head.

"It doesn't need to be perfect you know," she said, breaking the silence.

"What?" he asked

"Your proposal," she whispered, "We can all tell you're causing yourself unnecessary stress."

"But what if I say something wrong?" he sighed "Or what if she refuses to marry-"

Small footsteps caught him off guard and he turned around to find Nadia standing behind him with an empty glass. She tilted her head innocently at him "Who's refusing to marry who?"

Fuck.

Veronica quickly swooped in before he had a chance to say anything. "Oh we were just talking about a show we've been watching. Did you want some more water?"

The younger girl nodded, seeming to believe Veronica's excuse and got her drink without any further questions. Once she had left the room, the pair of them let out a breath they had been holding.

"Nice save." he chuckled.

"Thanks, you owe me one.” 

-

The following day went by fairly quickly, much to Lance's surprise. Katie and him had woken up earlier than the rest of the Serrano clan and had spent the morning making pancakes for them, which was met with great delight, especially from Slyvio and Nadia.

Before they had a chance to clean up after breakfast, however, his mother was already shooing them out the door, claiming that Lance needed to show her the town. Of course, that confused Katie, considering she had been to his town on more than one occasion. But of course, he knew that this was his mother's way of getting him out the door in hopes of him proposing. She had never been the sutle even if she tried hard to be.

So they had spent the last two hours driving around town before finally stopping at a local bakery for lunch.

The warmth hit them immediately as they stepped foot into the building, and the aroma of freshly made bread made them more eager for their lunch.

Once their orders were placed they managed to find a small table that was tucked away behind a corner. It was a perfect spot for them.

"I'm glad it hasn't snowed today," Katie commented as she sat down.

He gave a hum of agreement. "It would have made driving a lot more difficult that's for sure."

It was cozy within the bakery, leaving the pair of them feeling very content.

"I hope my family hasn't been too much," Lance chuckled "I know that they can be a bit overbearing at times."

Surprise took Katie's face and she put her mug of hot chocolate down. "What? No! They have been nothing but sweet!"

Relief washed over him, as he got her reassurance. They hadn't made any attempts at trying to wingman his proposal, not yet at least.

"I'm glad." He reached over the table and took her hand in his.

Everything felt peaceful. They had some delicious food, warm drinks and it was relatively quiet inside. There wasn't an awkward silence but instead a comfortable one between them. It just felt right.

It felt like the right moment to do it.

"Katie," he breathed, trying his best to hide his sudden nerves.

She nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue.

The back of his neck felt warm, and he could only imagine what his cheeks looked like. He hadn't even started his speech yet and he was already getting flustered.

"I just wanted to say that you-"

His phone began to vibrate on the table, distracting them both. And if it weren't for the fact they were in a public environment, chances are he would have thrown the phone out the window.

"Ah shit," he mumbled. "It's my dad."

Katie smiled at him and nodded for him to answer it, which he hesitantly did.

"Hello?" he asked.

Expecting to hear his father's voice, he was taken aback when it was Veronica who replied back. "Sup?"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "What do you want V? I was kinda in the middle of something."

"Oh sorry about that," she said dismissively "I'm at the grocery store with dad right now and he wants to know if there's any food Katie would like."

"Peanut butter cookies. Bye." He shot back and hung up on her before she had a chance to draw their conversation out even longer than necessary.

He ran his hands through his hair, annoyed that their moment was now well and truly ruined. Katie on the other hand still looked content as anything as she sipped away on her hot chocolate.

There would be another opportunity to ask her. He just had to be the patient one.

-

They had spent the rest of their afternoon back at his parent's house and decided to lounge around until it was dark enough to leave for the market. Somehow Nadia and Slyvio managed to wrap Katie into a serious game of monopoly and near the end of it Luis and Marco had joined in too.

Meanwhile, Lance was lying on the couch, beginning to feel conflicted as he tried to think of a way to propose to Katie without making it cringe-worthy. He had thought about doing it on the ice, but the chances of him losing his balance while getting down on one knee was enough to make him stray from the idea.

Before he had a chance to further his existential crisis, his mother walked in, already tying up her coat and calling for them to get ready to leave. In an instant, everyone shot up from their game and the kids went running to find their coats.

It took his family almost half an hour just to leave the house but once they were all out, Lance realized he had forgotten the ring and quickly turned on his heel and headed straight back towards the house, claiming that he forgot his keys.

Much to his relief, the ring was still in the last place he put it and he shoved the box in this jacket pocket and hurried back out.

"Did you find your keys?" Katie asked once he reached her.

"Yup!" He said and held up his keys as proof. "Are you ready to go?"

Katie gave him a nod and off they headed for the night market.

-

Twinkle lights lined stalls and hung lowly on the bare branches of the trees, making the atmosphere feel all the more magical. People could be heard shrieking with laughter as they tried to skate and the warm scent of cinnamon doughnuts was very much welcomed.

Since his family wanted to do multiple different things, they had decided to split up for an hour and meet back up in the town center. Truth be told, he was a bit relieved to be walking the market alone with Katie and he could tell that she felt a little bit more relaxed once it was just the two of them.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they walked, occasionally making sure that she wasn't cold.

"Everyone is so talented," Katie mumbled in awe, as she looked over the market stalls, taking everything in.

He gave a hum of agreement but truth be told he was paying more attention to her than he was the vendors.

"Do I have something on my face?" She asked, catching his attention.

Quickly, Lance gave a cough and shook his head. "No! Not at all. Your nose is getting a little red though."

Katie scrunched her nose up at the comment. "It's not my fault it's so cold out."

He gave a small hum of agreement "That's what happens when it snows."

 They continued to browse in silence, looking at the various handmade items the locals had made. They would occasionally chat, pointing out things they liked to look of or showing them something the other missed.

The longer they were out, the colder they started to feel. They were huddling close together trying to get warm from their combined body heat and just when they were about to turn back and head for someplace warm, Lance spotted their saving grace.

A coffee truck.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" He asked. looking at her.

At the mention of hot chocolate, she seemed to perk up. "Oh my gosh yes!"

Thankfully, much to their luck, the queue wasn't long and they had their hot drinks relatively quickly. The warmth of the cups made them both sigh out in content as they started to warm back up.

As they made their way through the streets, Lance caught sight of the lit-up gazebo in the town's community garden and was instantly drawn to it. It was like he got hit with a familiar feeling as he pointed it out to Katie, asking her to walk with it.

He felt certainty with every step he took towards the gazebo. This was the place he was going to ask. It was perfect.

Katie was in awe at the sight of the lit-up trees and the way the garden looked, it looked like something out of a fairytale. Eventually, they climbed up the stairs and Katie immediately went to the other side to continue looking at the snow-covered garden.

This was his chance, and he knew it. Quietly he pulled the small velvet box out of his jean pocket and got down on his knee behind her. It was at that moment he realized he didn't need to read out a long speech that he had been agonizing over.

Slowly he got down on one knee and held the box out and held his breath until Katie turned around. Her eyes widened the minute she caught sight of him.

Tears started to fill both of their eyes but he tried hard not to let them fall before he spoke.

"Katrina Holt." he breathed in a shaky breath. "You are the light of my life. I know I'm not perfect and I don't have much to offer you now but what I can promise you with absolute certainty is my love you and you alone."

Katie didn't say anything as she started to approach him, her own tears streaming down her face. He took a moment to hold back his own before continuing his speech.

"So Katrina Holt, my Katie, will you do me the utmost honor and marry me?"

She only managed to give a small nod before lunging herself at him, hooking her arms around his neck and kissed him- barely giving him a second to hold onto her. Because of this, they ended up fumbling to the ground.

There was a brief moment of silence as they stared at each other in surprise before he broke the silence.

"It looks like I've fallen for you again."

Katie couldn't contain her smile as he cupped her cheek and brought her in for a kiss.

The amount of relief he felt now that the main part of the proposal was over and done with was quite rejuvenating. Also, Katie saying yes was a bonus.

Once they broke the kiss they both sat up and he grabbed the box to put the ring on her finger. It was a thin band with three small pieces of emerald in the center. It was dainty but practical- just like her. It slid on like a glove and once it was on he brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles.

"I love you" He whispered.

"I love you too" She replied and wiped the remains of her tears from her face.

They stayed seated in the gazebo for a little while longer, before getting up to regroup with his family.

-

When they approached his family in the town's center, he could tell right away that both his mother and Abuela were holding their breath. Katie and he shared a look, barely able to keep their own excitement under wraps before telling them.

"So we have something to tell you.." he started, unable to hide his grin.

Katie held up her hand, showing the ring to his family, all the while trying to hide the blush on her face.

Immediately his mother let out an excited squeal and pulled the pair of them into a tight and warm embrace. After that, all of his family took turns to hug and congratulate them.

"So!" his Abuela said with a clap of her hands once everyone had settled down a bit. "We'll need to start the wedding planning."

Both of their faces paled at that and his mother jabbed his Abuela in the side.

"She's teasing." his mother reassured.

Katie seemed to visibly relax at that but Lance still had a tiny bit of dread. They still had a week of staying with his family left. And if his Abuela had any say in the matter, they'd be walking out of his house carrying wedding planners.

"Anyway!" Veronica interjected. "Let's go ice skating and then go home."

Everyone agreed in unison, and they all followed one another to the outdoor rink. And despite his families meddling ways, his heart felt so incredibly full and from the way Katie squeezed his hand from time to time, he could tell she felt the same.

It was a perfect night and they couldn't have been happier.

[masieofthevalley]

All I Really Want is You (Spideypool) - Chapter Thirteen

Find the Masterlist for this fic here! Read this fic on AO3! Check out my Ko-Fi if you would like a commission!

Summary: “Who are you, the big bad wolf?” She snarked. She mentally congratulated herself that her voice hadn’t betrayed the fluttering in her gut.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?”

Peter Parker is an exhausted and overworked student in her senior year of college. Sleep-deprived and running on coffee and fumes, Peter really just wants to get through this semester. On a rare coffee run to ensure that she doesn't fall asleep on patrol or in her textbooks again, she quite literally stumbles upon Deadpool. Try as she might, she just can't stay away from him, and along the way, she finds herself in the middle of a nefarious plot between HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter is Chapter Thirteen: Accidentally in Love. This chapter is named after the song Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows. 

I tried to look up a page of phrases you should say to order in Italian, but it didn’t go very well, so I’m very sorry about that. I used Google Translate when Wade was speaking with Italian, so please forgive me for that!

As always, there is a playlist for this fic, and you can find it on YouTube and Spotify. Spotify won’t play in order unless you have Spotify Premium. You don’t need to listen to it in order, but each chapter has a specific song associated with it. There is also a song associated with the entire fic, which is She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds of Summer.

This chapter does include NSFW content, and it’s toward the end of the chapter!

If you liked this chapter, like, share, and reblog, and please leave comments! They make my day, and I will gladly respond. You can also head over to my AO3 and comment there, and I will also respond there! Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen: Accidentally in Love

Chapter Summary: Peter and Wade’s date ends in a surprise visit to a skatepark, and Peter makes a startling revelation. 

“Right this way, Bambi. Best seats in the house,” Wade proclaimed with a sweep of his arm, indicating that Peter should climb into the booth. They were at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant; Peter wasn’t sure how far away they were from Sister Margaret’s because she had been distracted during their walk by the chatter coming out of Wade’s mouth, but it couldn’t have been that far from the bar. There were two tiny windows on either side of the restaurant’s door, but they were blacked out, creating a suspicious-looking building, at least from the outside. Until the moment they had walked in the door, Peter was worried that Wade had taken them to the wrong place. But, no, they were in the smallest restaurant that Peter had ever been in, and it was very warm and smelled like garlic and parmesan cheese. 

Peter climbed into the booth and put her coat down beside her. Compared to the frigid temperatures outside, the restaurant was a tropical paradise. Wade showed no sign of discomfort from the heat, however, as he sat down opposite her on the other side of the table. Peter noted that not only had he chosen the only table in a corner, but he had also sat on the side of the table that would grant him the view of the entire restaurant. She wondered if that was leftover ingrained training from his time in the Special Forces, or maybe it was a part of his mercenary training instead? Knowing the layout of a room seemed like an essential skill for someone with Wade’s job. Bad Peter, focus on Wade, not his job. 

And like that, she was zeroing in on Wade, who was squirming around in his seat while looking at a handwritten menu made out of cardstock. Peter picked hers up, and after realizing that she couldn’t read any of it but the names of a few types of noodles since it was written in Italian, she quickly set it back down. Wade perked his head up, and his mask raised an eyebrow. 

“Need some help there, Bambi?” Peter shook her head and played with one of the napkins that were on the table. Her cheeks still had yet to recover from their almost kiss back at Sister Margaret’s, and the heat in the restaurant was doing nothing to calm the redness in her face. 

“Order anything you want, Baby Girl. Tonight’s on me,” Wade cheerfully announced, setting his menu down too. 

“I have money, Wade. I can pay for me if not both of us,” Peter argued, frowning at him. Irritatingly, Wade just laughed in response. 

“No can do, Baby Girl. If I let you pay, you’d be bankrupt into next year. You don’t know how much pasta I can put away yet, but you will pretty soon,” Wade chuckled, mimicking wiping a tear away from his eye lenses. Peter scowled; it seemed that Wade didn’t know exactly how much pasta she could put away either. 

“I mean it, I just got paid. I’m good!” Peter promised, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Wade stopped laughing and tilted his head. Not for the first time, Peter wondered what he was thinking. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Honey, or offend you,” Wade said softly, one hand coming up and across the table to cup Peter’s cheek. She desperately wanted to lean into it, to feel his fingers tangle in her hair, but she also wanted to stand her ground. 

“I’ve just got a lot of money laying around that I never spend, and I’d rather you spend your paycheck on things you actually need like groceries or something. And I eat a lot, Sweetheart, I’m afraid I’d put you out on the street,” Wade continued, his thumb running back and forth over Peter’s cheek. It was so close to her bottom lip, she could almost taste the leather. 

“I know you make a lot of money, it’s just, I can take care of myself too,” Peter muttered, wholly distracted by Wade’s hand. He pulled it away, setting it down on the table between them, and Peter had to restrain herself from letting loose the most desperate whimper known to man. However, she must have done a horrible job at disguising her desires because Wade barked out a laugh. 

“Fine, you brat, here, take it back,” Wade conceded quietly, settling his hand back on Peter’s cheek. Peter allowed herself one sigh, and she held onto Wade’s hand for a few seconds with her own before she put both of them down on the table. Sheepishly, she looked back up at Wade. The smile stretching his mask was blinding. 

“I’m not denying you can take care of yourself, Peter,” Wade finally said, rapping the knuckles of his free hand on the table. “But I did pick the restaurant after all, and I’d just like to spoil you a little. Let me? Next time, you can pay, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!” 

“M’not sure that’s how that goes,” Peter shook her head with a small smile before straightening as she realized what Wade had said. “Next time?” 

“Well, if tonight goes well, which so far, it is,” Wade smirks with a pointed look at their clasped hands. Peter’s blush burned brighter. “I’d like there to be a ‘next time,’ Bambi.” 

“Me too,” Peter confessed, her voice barely audible. Their quiet moment was interrupted by a waitress coming up to their table. They had been talking while they waited for at least half an hour, but the restaurant was completely full. 

“Cosa vorrebbe ordinare?” she asked, leaning her hip against the table. Peter, now feeling self-conscious, hastily tried to let go of Wade’s hand, but his grip was steel tight, and he refused to let her go. 

“Una grande ciotola di spaghetti per favore,” Wade said confidently, and Peter was pretty sure he butchered every word of that sentence. It sounded like Wade had just spoken directly from Google Translate. Like she agreed with Peter’s thoughts, the waitress rolled her eyes and turned to Peter, raising an eyebrow as she waited for him to speak. 

“Grande lasagna,” Peter said with a straight face, knowing good, damn, and well that she sounded like an American tourist. It looked like the waitress was fighting a grin, but she just nodded with another roll of her eyes and left. She came back almost immediately with two cups of water and plopped those on the table. 

“Where’d you learn Italian?” Peter asked Wade as she drained half of her glass, suddenly nervous that she was left alone with him again. What the fuck was wrong with her? 

“Google Translate,” Wade deadpanned, and Peter nearly choked on her drink. She coughed a few times and took one more sip before putting her cup down. 

“No wonder it sounded so bad,” Peter snarked. “I never said Italian was my specialty, you brat,” Wade squawked, “I took Spanish in high school, if you must know.”

“Oh, so what can you say in Spanish?” Peter played along, eyebrows raised in questioning. 

“¿Donde esta la biblioteca?” Deadpool asked with a shit-eating grin on his mask. Peter burst into laughter, snatching her hand back so she could clutch at her stomach with both hands. Her face hurt from the smile stretched across her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed this much. 

“Holy shit, Petey-Pie, keep on smiling. Baby Girl, it’s gotta be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Wade marveled, his own smile gentle and warm. Peter continued to giggle softly until her amusement was gone, leaving her with a pleasant and tender feeling in her chest. 

“Oh, please teach me your ways, Professor Wilson,” Peter teased, batting her eyelashes coquettishly. Even though she wasn’t looking at Wade, Peter could feel that the air between them was stretched thin with tension. 

“Oh, Baby Girl,” Wade growled, and Peter immediately felt her insides twist together in a knot. “There are so many things I’ll teach you, just you wait.” 

Peter swallowed, and against her wishes, the smallest of whines left her throat. Wade closed his eyes in what looked like restraint and groaned quietly, shifting in his seat. Before either one of them could say another word, their waitress was back, sliding large pasta bowls in front of each of them. The smell of fresh tomato sauce and mozzarella broke through the fog covering Peter’s brain, and her stomach gurgled. 

“Grazie!” Wade chirped, tucking a napkin into the neck of his suit. The waitress rolled her eyes with a laugh and a smile in Peter’s direction before walking off again. 

Peter grabbed her fork and dug into her plate. She moaned at the first bite; it was the first proper meal that she’d had in weeks. Her paychecks had been small the last few months; Triple J hadn’t been giving her nearly as many assignments as usual, and that meant ramen noodles for every meal except breakfast. Breakfast was always one cup of - usually, instant - scalding hot coffee with entirely too much sugar. God, she hadn’t even had Starbucks since that first week after she met Wade. What she wouldn’t give for another cappuccino. 

Peter looked up, trying to distance herself from her longing thoughts of Starbucks, and noticed that Wade hadn’t started eating yet. His mask still covered his entire face, and he appeared to be making no effort to remove it. 

“Wade? Aren’t you hungry?” Peter asked, wiping away the sauce that was probably all over her mouth. She tilted her head to the side as the expression on Wade’s mask remained the same. 

“No, you go ahead, Baby Girl, I’m fine,” Wade said, his voice almost sounding authentic, but Peter knew better. She could hear the false notes in his tone, and his posture was too stiff to be relaxed. 

“Look, if it’s the mask, it’s no big deal, it’s fine, really!” Peter promised, her hands gripping onto the edge of the table. Wade shook his head. 

“No, Honey, honest, just go ahead and eat-”

“Look, I’ll put on my beanie.” Peter stuck her hand in her coat pocket, grateful that she had brought her hat after all. “And I’ll just keep my eyes down, and you can just eat like normal, it’ll be fine!”

“God, I do not deserve any of this, don’t deserve you,” Wade whispered, and if Peter hadn’t had gotten enhanced hearing from the Spider Bite™, she never would have heard it. 

“Keep your hat off, Sweetheart. You shouldn’t have to cover up your lovely face just so my ugly mug can eat. Just don’t want you to lose your appetite is all,” Wade insisted, putting a hand over Peter’s. She cautiously dropped it onto the table with a raised eyebrow and looked down at her food anyway when Wade started to roll up his mask. 

“You can look. Just make sure you lean over when you blow chunks,” Wade muttered, and he picked up his fork and started to poke around at his spaghetti. Peter looked up in a cursory glance, and her next bite of lasagna never made it into her mouth. Instead, her hand stopped dead in its tracks and just kind of dangled there in front of her face. 

Wade had only rolled his mask up to the bridge of his nose, but Peter could still tell that he was gorgeous. His jawline was sharper than it looked through his mask, and Peter wanted to cut herself on it and watch the blood drip down his neck. Wade’s skin was pale pink and covered and crisscrossed with scars that were just slightly darker in color, and each of them appeared to be different. There wasn’t any pattern or rhythm in them that Peter could make out. Wade’s nose was slim, and Peter’s eyes were finally drawn to his lips. They were full and flesh-colored, covered in the same scars that made up the rest of Wade’s skin, but Peter didn’t care. Peter’s mind went blank with want, the urge to kiss Wade so strong and present, and she had to restrain herself from crawling across the table and plopping herself down in his lap. 

“Well, you don’t look like you’re going to projective vomit everywhere,” Wade commented, shoving another bite of spaghetti in his mouth. He was eating at a pace that rivaled Peter’s, and the only thing that made Peter even slightly squeamish was the fact that he had talked with his mouth full. 

“Huh?” Peter asked, still looking at Wade’s lips. 

“Earth to Petey-Pie, I”m up here,” Wade said, chuckling a little at the end. He waved his hand a few times in front of Peter’s face, and she shook her head as she broke herself from her trance. 

“M’sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” Peter muttered as she picked up her fork again. When had she dropped it? She managed to eat two more bites before the thoughts floating around in her head left her mouth. 

“Just really pretty,” Peter whispered, cheeks burning hot. “Your lips are like wow, and your jaw is like woah, and your chin is really pretty and your dimples, s’nice.” God, she wished she could stop talking. Why couldn’t she stop talking? She used to do this shit with Gwen too, and she would just laugh and kiss Peter to shut her up. Would Wade do that? She wanted him to do that. 

“You are just a dream come true, Baby Girl. Never gonna let you go,” Wade murmured, a soft look coming over his face. His face was so much more expressive - how was that even possible? - without his mask, and Peter nearly swooned. She bit back her response, hiding it under her tongue. Even though his comment had been a little extreme, especially for a first date, Peter had a feeling that “Yes, please,” wasn’t the right response. At least, not yet. 

They made idle chit-chat through the rest of their meal, and Peter was extremely pleased that Wade didn’t roll his mask back down when they finished. While getting ready to leave, Wade asked what was wrong, and Peter was forced to own up to the grumpy expression on her face. 

“Don’t wanna go home yet,” Peter confessed, tugging on the ends of her coat. A big smile coated with mischief crossed Wade’s face. 

“I know just the place, Sweetheart,” he said, scooping up her skateboard from the floor. He offered it to her, and she carried it out of the restaurant in her freehand. 

Full and content, Peter left the restaurant, happy to let Wade guide them to wherever he had decided they needed to go. They walked for about fifteen minutes, going up one street, across another, and then making a left onto one final street. Their destination appeared to be a skatepark, and at almost 11 PM at the end of October, it was entirely empty. 

“Figured you could skate off dinner if you wanted,” Wade said with a shrug, nodding his head to Peter’s board. “Y’know, ‘he was a skater boy, she said see you later boy,’ and all that shit.” 

Peter laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s cool with me. You want me to show you a few tricks?” 

“If you want,” Wade agreed, leading them into the abandoned skatepark. Once inside, he fell back, so Peter took the reigns to guide them further into the park. She’d been here once or twice before, so she took him over to one of the half-pipes and gestured that he should sit. Peter shrugged out of her coat, much to Wade’s protests, and she threw it at him with a grin over her shoulder. 

“Keep it warm for me!” She shouted as she took off down the half-pipe. The coat was too thick to skate with comfortably, and she’d get too hot too quickly to have any kind of fun. When she looked back at Wade, he was snuggled up beneath the fabric, and she laughed. It looked like doll clothes spread out over his lap like that. 

“Yeah, keep laughing, Short-Stuff! I’ve got the best view in the house right here lookin’ at you, Honey-Buns!” She was wondering when Wade was going to make his first ass comment of the night. 

Peter spent a few moments getting her momentum, just going up and down on the half-pipe. She hadn’t been to a skatepark in a while, and she was a little rusty as far as tricks went. She did a few basic ones for Wade, pausing between each one to smile at his clapping and cheering before moving on to some of the more complicated ones. She skated around the park a few times before making her way back to Wade. She set her board down gently in front of her. 

“How’d I do?” she asked, shaking her fringe out of her face. Wade stood up with a leer, and Peter gulped. Wade moved toward her, and she backed up, matching him step for step. He moved gracefully, like a predator, and Peter’s blood started to race as she realized that this was the first time since she became Spider-Woman that she was the hunted instead of the hunter. She liked it, liked feeling like prey when it was Wade who was the predator. 

“It’s a 10 from me, Sweetheart,” Wade crooned, stepping even closer. Peter looked from side to side, trying to figure out if there was somewhere for her to go. She took a few steps to the right, and Wade matched her pace, pushing himself even closer. She had a thought of making a break for it, Wade chasing after her, his hot breath panting down her neck. That made her insides warm even further. She’d save that for another day. 

“Did you like performing for me, Bambi?” Wade asked, pressing himself flush against Peter. Her back was pushed up against the chain-link fence, and Peter tangled her fingers in the links on either side of her, trying to resist from reaching out and touching Wade. 

“Asked you a question,” he reminded, gently, his voice firm but still warm. Peter opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. She just nodded, her body on fire from Wade’s touch. 

“Saw you looking to the side, looking around like you were gonna run, Petey-Pie,” Wade continued, running his nose down the side of Peter’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed at the feeling of his skin just barely brushing against hers. 

“You wanna run, Baby? Want me to chase after you?” Wade’s lips were at Peter’s ear, and she shivered, the metal from the fence digging into her fingers. One of Wade’s hands reached out and gently grasped onto her hands one at a time, freeing them from the cold fence. He gathered them both in his hand and held them against his chest, letting go when Peter tangled her fingers in the straps of his suit. 

“You’d like it, running around with nowhere to go,” Wade whispered, licking a wet, hot stripe up Peter’s neck. It contrasted with the biting cold of the wind, and the whimper that left Peter’s throat was strangled and torn apart. She couldn’t remember ever making a noise that sounded like that.

“You might be fast, Bunny, but I’m faster,” Wade suddenly growled, biting down at the junction between Peter’s neck and shoulder. She cried out, head falling back against the fence. It bent beneath her weight, but she didn’t care. 

“Please, Wade, please, please,” she begged, but she didn’t know what she was begging for. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to bite him, she wanted to touch him. 

“M’here, Sweetheart, I have you,” Wade assured her, his lips caressing her jaw. She whined. His mouth was so close and yet so far from where she wanted it.

“Mm, please? Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Peter gasped when Wade’s kisses turned sharp and biting on her neck, sucking so hard it was bound to bruise. Good, she wanted the marks, wanted the reminder when she looked in the mirror. 

“Gotcha, Honey, I gotcha, don’t worry,” Wade murmured, bringing his lips up to Peter’s. Much to her displeasure, he didn’t immediately kiss her. Peter whined as he brushed their lips together. He was tall, Wade was so tall, so when Peter tried to rise up on her toes to chase after him, he easily broke apart from her. He waited until she settled back against the fence, and then he was on her again, body pressed against hers as close as possible. Peter arched her back and whimpered, trying to press closer, trying to get his mouth back on hers. 

“Spoiled, spoiled, little Petey-Pie,” Wade chuckled, taking his lips away again. Peter growled in irritation; he was just being mean now, and he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“You’re being mean!” she snarled, pulling down on the straps of his suit so that he was leaning over her again. Wade smirked and held himself just a few inches out of reach, and Peter stretched up on the balls of her feet while simultaneously pulling Wade toward her. Finally, he was within reach, and she bit down on the free, beautiful skin of his neck. It wasn’t gentle. 

“Fuck! That hurt, you brat!” Wade growled playfully, caging Peter in against the fence. She bared her teeth at him right back, and even though she couldn’t see something in his eyes, she swore she could see something change in them. Before she could try to think about what that something could be, Wade finally kissed her. 

Peter had only kissed approximately three people in her entire life: Mary Jane, Harry Osbon, and Gwen. She and Mary Jane had ended long ago, as had her and Harry, so her last experiences with anyone had been with Gwen. Gwen had been sweet and gentle, and the furthest they had gone was the furthest Peter had ever gone with anyone: exploring each other’s tonsils and playing footsie under the table. Gwen was sweet and warm and gentle, and Peter would never, ever forget her. 

But this, Wade, was hot and harsh and unyielding. It was everything that Peter had ever wanted but had never been able to have. Wade’s mouth was rough, skin uneven from the scars that she had longed to taste, but he tasted of marinara sauce and home. He tasted like hope and electricity. 

Peter didn’t have a good track record with relationships, with keeping people, but her heart whispered Wade’s name over and over again as they kissed, and she thought maybe this time, maybe she could keep this one, this time. 

Peter wrenched her head back with a gasp, unhappy to part from Wade but needing to breathe. He seemed inclined to agree as his mouth just moved to her jaw, sucking what she was sure was going to be another bruise in a few hours. Peter fell into a fit of soft whimpers, trying to get him to suck, bite, harder. Any marks that Wade made would just disappear before tomorrow, and she wanted them to remain as long as possible, so she could remind herself tomorrow that this was real, that Wade was real. 

“Have you ever done this kind of thing before, Baby Girl?” Wade murmured against her skin, lips moving back up to her own. She caught his hand before it could tangle in her hair, and she tapped on his glove in a questioning manner, hoping he would get the memo and take them off. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, needed the relief that skin-to-skin contact would bring. 

“N-not really, no,” Peter whispered, surging upwards to kiss Wade again. “Want this, want you.” 

“Are you sure, Sweetheart? You tell me to stop, we stop. Push me away now, tell me red, tell me anything but yes, and I’ll stop right now. We can just go home, and it’ll be fine,” Wade said firmly, lips gently resting against hers. Peter nodded and whined. 

“Yes, I want you, Wade. Yes, please, yes-” Peter’s cries were cut off as Wade took her lips in another kiss. She didn’t think she was a very good kisser, and she didn’t really know what she was doing, but she mostly just tried to copy what Wade was doing. Tentatively, she slid her tongue along his, darting back into the safety of her own mouth when he chased after her. Peter whimpered at the taste of Wade, sharp, salty, almost metallic, and Wade growled in response, pressing her back against the fence. It bent further, but neither of them seemed to care. 

“Gonna take care of you, Sweetheart, don’t you worry,” Wade promised, sliding one hand up her stomach and under her shirt toward her breasts. Peter groaned as he reached her bra, hand slipping underneath to stroke and gently pinch her nipples. Her body was on fire, and she was on edge, suddenly rocking forward against Wade’s thigh. He moaned, his voice muffled from where his head was pressed against her shoulder, and shoved his thick leg between hers, tensing as she squeezed her thighs on either side of his leg. Wade was so much, shoulders so wide and muscles so big, that Peter felt dainty and small in his arms even though she knew that they probably weighed around the same amount. Her legs would dwarf a normal person’s, but Wade’s, full of thick, corded muscle, gave her a run for her money. She arched her back again and ground against Wade’s thigh, letting him know just how much she appreciated his size. 

“So big,” Peter gasped out, head falling back as Wade continued to toy with her nipples. It was like he knew exactly where to touch her, exactly where to pull and push. He pinched one of nipples and flicked the other one, earning himself a high-pitched whine of his name. His other hand tangled in Peter’s hair, pulling her toward him, and Peter bit his lip when he kissed her again. That earned her a growl. 

“S’good, fuck, right there, Wade! So right, want you, more, please?” Peter begged. Wade obliged her, and Peter lost all of the air in her lungs when his hand slipped in her pants. Peter cried out as Wade’s fingers swiped against her, warm, thick fingers moving quickly over her underwear. 

“Christ, you’re fucking soaking wet, Baby Girl,” Wade groaned, nosing at her temple. Peter cried out as his fingers moved faster, circling her clit. “This all for me, Honey?” 

“Just you, Wade.” Peter could barely breathe. “More, more, please, fuck, right there.” 

“The mouth on you, little Bunny,” Wade growled, his voice sounding more animalistic than before. His body was tense and firm against hers, and Peter couldn’t help humping against his leg and fingers. It felt good, too good, she never wanted this to stop, oh why hadn’t they done this sooner, it was so good. 

“Almost there, Petey-Pie? Gonna be a good girl and come for me, hmm?” Wade’s voice was feral, and Peter could feel his interest, hot and hard against her hip. He ground his hips against her, moving his fingers across her clit and nipples in a rhythm that Peter couldn’t follow. 

“Please, please, can I, Wade, more, please,” Peter begged, catching Wade’s lips. “Please, let me, c’mon, wanna come, wanna come on your fingers, please, please.” 

“Be good and come for me, Sweetheart, c’mon, c’mon, Baby Girl. Come for me,” Wade urged, fingers moving at the same pace, and Peter had no choice but to obey. 

Peter’s body shivered and locked up as she fell over the edge. As she came and collapsed against Wade’s chest, she felt like she was laying outside on the grass on a summer day. She could feel the warm, comforting rays of the sun on her skin, and her whole body tingled from the pleasure coursing through her veins. She vaguely realized that Wade’s fingers hadn’t stopped moving on her body, and she shivered as the direct stimulation on her clit became too much. Usually, when she used either her hands or the toys in her bedside drawer, she stopped touching herself almost immediately after her orgasm. She was almost always too sensitive for another orgasm immediately, and her hands would fly away from herself as she fell over the peak. Wade, however, continued to touch her until she squirmed and whined and begged him not to. 

“Too much, too much, Wade,” Peter panted, even as she continued to rock her hips against him. Wade, she realized, was panting too, and he slowly stopped moving his hands over her body, slipping them from beneath her clothes. Peter tried to straighten up, but her knees were weak, so she continued to slump against Wade as she righted her clothing. Wade chuckled and kissed her, lips moving almost lazily against hers now. 

“So good, Baby Girl, so sweet, absolutely perfect,” Wade said, his voice almost a purr from how low it was. 

“Was it good for you? It was, oh my god, it was absolutely perfect for me, but, you, was it good for you?” she asked, suddenly worried because she hadn’t touched him at all. God, she still wanted to touch him. “Did you, ya know.” God, the gesture she was making toward his dick was so stupid. “Oh, did I,” Wade laughed, pulling Peter against him with a soft groan. “I came when you did, Sweetheart. That look on your face when you came will haunt all of my wet dreams for eternity. It’s enough spank bank material to last me until I’m old and gray.” 

“Wade!” Peter laughed, hitting his chest playfully. Wade joined in her laughter, and they rested against each other and the fence, a soft smile on Peter’s lips as she waited for her heart rate to calm back down. 

And right there in a vacant skatepark, just a few minutes past midnight, Peter realized she was in love. Oh, fuck.

[shortythescreen]

come over chapter 3: the party.

Warning(s): Dysfunctional family dynamics, Octavio’s parents being assholes, misuse of stim, kind of abrupt ending, fem reader, NSFT/18+.

Relationship(s): Octane/ Female Reader. 

Author’s Notes: Last chapter you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. I’ve had so much fun writing come over and hope to write for Octane again soon <3 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3. 

The rest of your ride to Psamathe is smooth. You and Octavio sip at that Aguardiente but about a half an hour before you two are due to arrive, you make him put it away. He protests, trying to tell you that in order to deal with his parents, you were going to need to be at least kind of buzzed. You two stash the drink anyway, drinking water all the way over, and Octavio eyes you up in the silence that follows.  

Octavio probably could’ve given you head right after you finished with him but you were insistent about not looking sex ruffled – which would be a lot harder to hide with your hair fucked up, and that dress you’re wearing.

This is technically a job for you. He bats the thought away, trying to tell himself you came out as a friend. As your ship lands, though, and you lug your giant camera tote he told you that you didn’t need to bring out of the ship…

It’s not discouraging. There’s nothing to be discouraged about.

Which is what Octavio tells himself as you two approach his childhood home.

You react like most people do to the sight of where he grew up: your jaw drops, your eyes widen, and you take the time to look the manor up and down. Ma always complained she’d wanted a bigger mansion. Considering she and Pa had only had him, that had never made a lot of sense to Octavio. Their room was empty most of the time, let alone all the other ones that he or the housekeepers didn’t occupy.

“Holy shit,” you mumble to him and he offers you the crook of his elbow. You turn your head to look at him and blanch. Octavio stares at you, foot beginning to tap impatiently. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you my arm. You’re my plus one. This is what rich people do, amiga,” he tells you. He distinctly leaves out the fact that he had etiquette training from the time he could walk until he was thirteen and purposefully jumped off the top of the stairs mid-lesson. His arm was broken, and he was in a sling which meant he didn’t have to go through which spoon was the right one again.

“I forget you’re a rich person,” you say.

“Makes one of us. Take the arm, mami, c’mon, let’s get this over with.”

You raise an eyebrow at him but slide your hand into the crook of his elbow anyway. You two stroll up to the way too big, double doors of the mansion and a large man Octavio doesn’t recognize opens one of them.

Inside the foyer, there’s a line of men in black suits, clearly some kind of security detail. Your heels click across the porcelain floors and when he chances a sideways glance at you, he sees that you’re unable to flush your face of the awe written across it – the vaulted ceilings and the crystal chandelier glittering in your eyes. You turn your head, looking up at the portrait of him, and ma, and pa, and he tugs your arm a little closer, trying to take your attention off of the grim looking little boy he didn’t see himself in.  

He turns his gaze ahead and instantly his arms tense. Mami stands in the threshold of the ballroom, eyes stabbing through his.  

Last he’d seen her, she’d had the beginnings of grays at her temples. Predictably, she’s dyed it back to its original brown, and stands with her back poised straight, hands folded in front of her. When you two are close enough, her pinkened lips pull upwards, into a smile that shows her teeth but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mijito,” she says, opening her arms. She wraps them around him, and they press their cheeks together in a brief kiss. “This is your photographer?”

“Si mami,” he murmurs, using the hand you don’t have captive to gesture your way. He tells Mami your name and how every piece of media that’s come out of Apex’s headquarters has been yours. “She’s incredible at what she does.”

“I should hope so. We expect nothing but the best,” says Mami.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva,” you say, offering your hand out. Mami’s smile doesn’t fade but if it didn’t reach her eyes before, it definitely doesn’t now, anger flaring in them.

“Ms. Silva, cariña,” croons Mami, and Octavio cringes away from the way her voices oozes, thickened by sweetness she doesn’t truly have. “I divorced from Octavio’s father a long time ago.”

“Oh, I-” you begin, probably going to apologize for information he hadn’t given you. Octavio doesn’t want you to do that. As a matter of fact, he kind of wants his mom to apologize for looking at you so coldly when she hadn’t publicized her and Pa’s divorce to begin with. Octavio jumps in, cutting you off.

“She didn’t know, ma, back off,” he bites. Ma’s blazing eyes turn on him and he glares back. Before she can say more, Octavio is hauling you into the ballroom.

“She can set up in the corner, near the bay windows!” Ma calls after him in Spanish and Octavio’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t feel like playing translator for someone who speaks English just fine tonight, but he has a feeling she’s going to rope him back in, make him play the dutiful son just for talking back. The bar’s already set up and kitchen staff are putting out a long buffet table of food. In the corner that Ma said you could set up in, there’s a long drape rolled out with Silva Pharms logo all over it – in bright, stim green.

“Oc,” you say, catching his attention as you two pull up to where you’ll be stationed for a majority of the evening. The hand on the inside of his elbow squeezes and he turns his head to look at you, at the little furrow between your brows, at your other hand moving around to squeeze his. “Hey, it’s okay. Some people don’t like to even think about being married to someone they divorced. I get that.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” mutters Octavio. “She was a lot meaner than she seemed.”

“Well, I didn’t notice. So, it’s fine,” you say. Your hand encompasses his and he watches your tote fall to the crook of your elbow instead of your shoulder. You don’t try to adjust it though, focused on him, and that makes his shoulder relax as much as it makes his pulse rapid. “It’s okay, Oc, seriously. We just got here. No one’s here yet. Help me set up and then we’ll grab some food before your parents’ guests arrive, okay?”

That… Sounds like a good plan. Octavio tries to shake the nervous energy from his limbs, remind himself that at least you’re here, but he can’t quite get rid of it. He feels like a dog backed into a corner by handlers with sticks but instead of beating him, none of them are moving.

To take his mind off it, he rapidly puts together your camera. You scold him several times, reminding him to be careful with your equipment.

“Octavio, you have to screw that in, not push it-”

“I knew that!”

“You did not!”

Octavio only cackles when you tell him the right way to set up your camera, but he does do it the way you tell him to. Once your camera is put together and placed on its little trifold, you and Octavio meander over to the buffet.

Whoever Ma hired to cater (because Ma always does all the organizing for these things; Pa just shows up) likes colorful dishes, bright blue and reds staring up at you two. There’s some leviathan meat in the corner that Octavio will definitely getting his hands on before the night is over, cooked medium rare with some kind of garlic and herb butter spread over it, the juice pooling in the plate beneath. More important than that though is finding the chicharron that Octavio knows is here.

It only takes him a minute to pull up the rind, with large, square knots of pork along it. He grins at you, coming closer, the meat recklessly flopping with every step.

“You gotta try this,” he says as you bend over the other edge, eyeballing what he’s pretty sure is some kind of cheesecake, placed just beneath the chocolate fountain. You twist around with an empty plate, hovering it just beneath the chicharron before it can drip onto the floor.

“You need a plate,” you reply and Octavio snickers. Despite your words, you lean in, biting the edge of one of the protruding cubes of pork. You sigh at the taste and Octavio grins, showing all his teeth. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, baby!”

You and Octavio eat before the guests arrive and as people begin to filter into the ballroom, you take your place at the corner where you’ll be taking pictures. Octavio isn’t too far away, pacing the big, empty space just beside the tarp with all the Silva Pharm logos. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone he doesn’t recognize comes up to him, laughing about how Octane can never sit still, huh?

Octavio smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he agrees. That’s one of the things he’s always hated about these stupid fundraisers or events or whatever the hell this thing is. He usually doesn’t know half the people there, or even a quarter, and they all walk up to him like they know him. Even more so now that he’s made Octane.

“Octavio,” someone says, and he glances up to see his Ma fast approaching. She doesn’t look angry, though. Maybe a little annoyed but Octavio has learned that she always looks like that, one side of her mouth pulled up a little further than the other, brows low on her face. At least, she always looks that way around him. “Come and say hello, the photographer isn’t going anywhere.”

Octavio sputters, though Ma places her hand on the inside of his elbow and without thinking, Octavio bends his arm to meet her. Octavio doesn’t think a lot anyway, but it feels like a low blow to use you to make his brain work a little less. He glances back at you, standing with your back straight, waiting for someone to come get their photo op. You smile at him. He smirks back.

It makes sense that mostly old people invest in a pharmaceutical company but that doesn’t mean Octavio doesn’t find them totally, completely boring. They talk about things like their most recent vacations, or something silly their butlers did, and Ma laughs along, placing a hand over her chest as though these stories are the funniest things she’s ever heard.

Maybe they are. Octavio wouldn’t know. He stopped finding the staff’s misfortune funny around the time Señora Luz told Pa she was pregnant, and she suddenly didn’t have a job anymore. He wasn’t allowed to open the door for her either.  

Ajay’s parents approach and Mami greets them warmly, pulling them into big hugs and giving them kisses on each cheek. On principle alone, Octavio is a little less familiar, waving their way, and they all laugh about how they’d never known him to be shy.

They didn’t know the first thing about him anyway.

“Oh, but where is his blazer?” Ajay’s mom asks and Octavio grunts. Ma turns her cold eyes back to him, calculatingly sizing him up. She must not have noticed when he walked in that he wasn’t wearing one. He’d almost gotten away with it, too.

“It’s so hot in here, don’t you think?” Ma smoothly covers and Octavio taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh. He’ll hear about it later.

Octavio finds himself getting restless. His fingers itch and his toes curl in his overpriced shoes. He wants to run. Maybe even turn and jump out the bay window. Or go out back and see if Ma still has horses on this property or if she finally got sick of the memories of Pa in these halls.

He glances your way, finding you hunched over your camera. The couple at the other end of it smiles and you snap three shots, back to back. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, but you’d know if the angles were different, or if one had flash and another didn’t. When they walk off, you stand upright and catch his eye.

Your wink sends a powerful burst of something through his chest. It makes his blood pump faster but also makes his shoulders relax and fuck. He’s so, totally fucked. You’re the one thing keeping him from doing something stupid. Which means he’s fucked.

“Mijo,” he hears, though this time it isn’t Ma, and Octavio curses to himself. Yeah. He’s fucked.

He turns, not bothering to paste on a smile. If nothing else, amongst themselves, the Silva’s aren’t fake. Ma is busy with the Ches and a group of people that like to laugh at other people’s expense. Octavio hasn’t seen his Pa in awhile but he looks just like Octavio remembers – his thick eyebrows are trimmed, arched like he’d spent way too much time having someone do them, his dark hair graying at the edges. Unlike Ma, he doesn’t dye it though, claiming the silver makes him look more refined, that his most recent wife likes him gray. He’s surprised she’s not clinging to his arm, in something way too tight and tiny that would piss Ma off if she saw it.

“Where’s Gloria?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Gloria’s young, grossly so, closer to Octavio in age than Pa. She’s nice, though, and last Octavio heard, she and Pa’s marriage was going swimmingly.

“Who knows?” Pa asks back and Octavio subtly rolls his eyes. Leave it to Pa not to know where his wife is. He doesn’t outright berate her though, which means they must still be together, so she’s somewhere around here. Octavio should say hi. He’d be happier to see her than Pa, or Ma. “You look nice tonight, hijo. Thank you for bringing a photographer – you know your Mama won’t let anyone I hire work.”

Octavio does not know that and doesn’t really care to, but he nods along anyway. His eyes keep flickering over to you, eager to go make stupid faces in the background of your pictures or tickle your sides so that you lose focus.

“Ah, I see,” Papa says. Irritated, Octavio turns his gaze back to him.

“You see what?” He asks.

“You’re fucking her?” Papa asks and Octavio feels his shoulders jump up to his ears. His whole body braces, like he’s about to jam stim into his thigh, like he’s about to take off in the middle of a firefight.

“What the fuck, papa?” He hisses back, not even realizing they’ve switched to Spanish until a second after he’s speaking it. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“C’mon, son, you wouldn’t be the first one to fuck the help,” sniffs Papa, and the way he says help makes Octavio bristle all over. “It’s okay. She’s cute!”

“That’s none of your business,” seethes Octavio, practically baring his teeth. “Don’t compare her to Luz. This is different.”

“Luz? I wasn’t talking about Luz,” says Papa. Then, his eyes narrow, and he looks a little bit more hostile, stepping into Octavio’s space. “What do you mean different? Octavio, did you get her pregnant? You know we can’t afford that kind of a scandal-”

“Oc!” You suddenly chime from his right and he and Papa both jump. He spins to face you and you look at him, bug eyed, hands risen like you’re trying to declare a cease fire. “-Tane. Octane. Buddy. Some people are asking you for a photo-op… Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all, sweetheart,” Papa says, moving forward to introduce himself. Somehow, it’s worse than Mami not doing it at all, especially with the sweet smile you give him as you shake hands. “Go, Octane. The people want you. Here, take a vial with you, get into character.”

Pa hands him a vial of stim and Octavio’s fingers close tightly around it, knuckles white with frustration. You jam your hand into the crook of Octavio’s arm and drag him away. He’s still fuming, hot all over with his rage, and you move a little closer to him as you guys stroll across the ballroom.

“You okay? That looked kind of heated,” you say, and Octavio looks down at you, doing his best not to fixate all that fury on you.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s-it’s fine- did someone really want a photo-op or did you just sneak me out?” He asks, realizing that you must’ve seen that something was going on between he and his papa. The sheepish smile that tugs your lips confirms it. Octavio laughs, trying not to bend at the waist so he can keep walking. “Bad girl.”

“Sorry,” you say, but Octavio kind of wants to kiss you for it, “but I can keep you for a little while with that photo-op thing. These people won’t turn it down.”

Okay, yeah, Octavio really wants to kiss you. Not only did you save him from an exchange with pa (about you, but he pushes that part to the back of his mind), you’re now offering to keep him from him indefinitely.

“You’re the best,” murmurs Octavio. His lips barely brush your ear and he doesn’t miss the little stutter of your breath. Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to repay you for earlier on the ride back to the Apex City.

Octavio lines up and that really seems to get people wanting to come over for pictures. Two old men he doesn’t recognize give him a cigar and he wedges it and the stim vial between his teeth, pointing at the camera with two of them. When a woman walks up, he dips her low, cackling while she swoons. More people come and Octavio makes stupid faces at the camera, even getting one old timer to throw up horns with him. You make the shoot fun and for once, he thinks he might have to pat Ajay on the back. Or apologize for lying. Maybe both.

“Mijito,” Octavio hears in the middle of another picture with two women. One has her hands on his chest, her leg swept up, and the other presses against his back while he holds up his arms in some silly superman pose. He peers over the head of the one in front of him, seeing not only Mami, but Pa standing at the very edge of the tarp. Fuck.

The picture’s taken and you lift yourself from behind the camera, glancing between him and his parents. He shoos away the two women, who thank him for the time and then swarm you to get a look at the picture. You fumble with your camera, clearly preoccupied with making sure his mami doesn’t bite his head off. With no other option, your gaze turns to the photos, and Octavio tries his best to keep his chin held high as he walks over to his parents.

“Your papa has told me something interesting,” says Mami first. Octavio’s jaw clenches and whatever tension he’d been accumulating earlier returns full force. The urge to run or fight hits him hard but he stands his ground. “Is that photographer pregnant?”

“No,” groans Octavio, reaching up to scrub at his face. “God, what is wrong with you two? Why is it if I look at someone you have to tell me to not get them pregnant? Or assume I will?”

“You haven’t been responsible with anything else. Why would we expect you to be responsible with sex?” Mami demands. If he weren’t already seething, Octavio might be embarrassed at this conversation. He is, though.

“I was responsible with Navi. And with every other pet you got me. And with my stim. I’m here, aren’t I?” He growls out and Mami holds up a finger instantly, drawing a little closer to try and hide the look she’s giving him.

“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Pa says and Octavio whips his head to look at him, instead of his mother’s icy glare.

“What way? I’m just telling her the truth. I’m here when I didn’t want to be. I brought you guys a photographer,” growls Octavio.

“For no one else’s benefit but your own,” hisses Mami, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t do something like this without an ulterior motive. Does she have something on you Octavio? Is that why you brought her here?”

“No! She’s a good photographer and I needed someone other than you two here!” Octavio snaps, the words rolling off like venom and Mami’s chin tilts down, eyes flashing.

“Oh, of course, bringing a chew toy to a PR event must make you feel so much better,” Mami scoffs. He reaches up, pushing a hand through his brightly colored mohawk, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t talk about her like that,”

“I’ll talk about whoever I want however I want, and-”

“Not her!”

“God, you are just like your father, Octavio. We cannot afford to have you in trouble with the Games, and certainly not for some-”

“Ma, I’m not doing this with you. I’m here, I’m promoting Silva, and unless you want me to leave, you will not speak about her the way I know you were just about to. You will not.” Octavio outright barks and this seems to draw the attention of those strolling by them. Mami’s face slackens, her eyes flashing. In them, in the clench of her jaw, the curl of her fist, he sees something. Something like recognition.

He doesn’t care, too busy fuming about the fact they’re even having this stupid fucking argument. Octavio barely notices Pa, standing off to the side, looking as useless as he always does when he and Mami argue, or the short, porky man that hurries up to Mami’s left.  

“Excuse me, Señora Silva,” the butler says, cutting their staring contest short. “There’s something requiring your attention in the kitchen. A wine shipment hasn’t arrived?”

“Hijo de gran puta,” snarls Mami, throwing her hands up. She turns away from his glower and it feels good to have won one of those standoffs. Even if it was technically a foul. Mami stomps into the distance and that leaves Octavio and Pa.

“Son, you know it’s not a good idea to-” begins Pa, but Octavio doesn’t let him finish. He hates when he does things that remind him of Mami but he turns away from him anyway, looking out at the rest of the ballroom as though he’d just gotten into an argument with everyone in it. He wants to run. He wants to jam the stim into his thigh and carry himself all the way back to the ship port, maybe roll in some mud to get this stupid crisp button up dirty. He wants to-

“Hey,” your voice chimes gently. He feels your fingers on his cheek and you turn his head, making him look at you. Your face is soft, and vulnerable, and open, and he’s so fucked. “C’mon. Show me to the bathroom.”

Octavio snorts. He offers you his elbow, but you don’t take it, instead interlocking your fingers and pulling him towards the exit. He notices your camera is still set up on the way out, but you’ve draped something over it to signify your booth is closed for a little while. Realizing he’s supposed to be taking you somewhere, Octavio pulls you up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the many rooms of his childhood.

Being the son of preoccupied billionaires with too much on their plates to bother handling a rambunctious little boy, Octavio had a lot of rooms growing up. He had a game room, and a homework room (which was supposed to function as an office, when he got old enough to take over some of Silva Pharms mountains of paperwork). This room was always his favorite though. He slept in it most nights and even when he moved out, he hadn’t changed anything about it.

The full-sized mattress in the corner has racecar sheets. Octavio can’t drive for shit, but he always liked to watch old movies when it was common for everyone to use cars. The noises of engines rumbling with motor oil, of rubber on pavement… When he was a little boy, he told Luz he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. She laughed but on every holiday from then on out, she bought him a model race car.

All of them are lined up on the very top of a shelf, which has a bright red racing strip painted down the side. He’s got posters of old Nascar drivers on the wall, people who have been dead for centuries but who got to do super cool, fun things. Who sometimes even wrecked their cars.

“Hope you didn’t actually need the bathroom,” mutters Octavio, locking the bedroom door.

“What if I did?” You ask. He looks over his shoulder at you, checking to see if you’re serious, only to see you lounging on the edge of his mattress, peering around the room.

“Your room’s really cute,” you say, and Octavio snorts as he joins you, collapsing onto his old bed. It was way too big for him as a little kid, and even now as a young man, his slight frame doesn’t take up much of the larger beds offered to him. “Who even likes cars anymore? No one drives them.”

“We have a Bugatti in the garage.”

“Of course you do.” You two sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the party downstairs just barely reaching you. “So… you wanna talk about it?”

Not really. Talking about it means telling you what it was that got him and his parents into an argument in the first place. “My parents are just… The worst.”

“I got that.” You say. He glances your way, appraising you, and you hold your hands up. “Hey, we call them like we see them here.”

“They just, um.” Octavio frowns. Should he tell you? He feels like he shouldn’t. “My dad kind of saw me looking at you and asked if we were fucking.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you says anything, unsure of how to proceed. Octavio’s knee begins to jiggle, and he huffs out a big breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“I told him it was none of his business, so I guess he decided to tell my mom. Which was… What that was about,” explains Octavio, waving his hand noncommittally. “They thought you were pregnant.”

“Ouch,” you say, and Octavio giggles. He peers over at you and you’re smiling, eyes soft, shining in the low light from his stupid race car lamp. Your make up has smudged a little, the vermillion on your lips mostly gone after you two had your share of food. Yet he can still see the remnants of it, especially as he sees the little upwards curve of your lips.

Fuck.

Without thinking, Octavio reaches up, hand cupping the back of your neck so he can haul you into a kiss, trying to take the remnants of that pretty red you’d been wearing. You go willingly, matching his vigor, his speed, and that’s one of the things he loves about you. One of the things that’s been driving him crazy, keeping him up until ungodly hours as he tries to figure how someone could affect him this way. You always keep up, even if you’re not ready to run into the line of fire.

You rest your hand on his chest, tilting your head, and Octavio instantly wedges his tongue between your lips. You part them readily and you still kind of taste like whatever chocolatey something or other you’d gotten your hands on earlier. His other hand settles on your hip, and he wants to pull you on top so badly, wants you to scream so loudly that they know what’s going on downstairs. He wants you to look at him like you just were but maybe forever.

He wants to tell you. He wants to tell you what he said to you that night, what’s had him so bugged out. The thought alone feels like a rush.

You pull away from him pressing kisses across the taut flesh of his jaw. He sighs, head moving away, and your teeth clink against the black studs he has in his ear lobes. His blood pumps in his veins, the hand on your neck gliding down the length of your spine.

“Te adoro,” he murmurs between kisses. You pause, pulling away to meet his eyes. Your hair tickles his cheeks and he reaches up, tucking it behind your ear. “Eres en mi vida todo mi tesoro.”

“What?”

“Quiero decirte. Pero tengo miedo,” continues Octavio, fingers slipping into your hair. He tugs you down, catching your lower lip between his teeth, and you shudder in his grasp. You’re half on top of him, your body hot, your mouth swollen, and he wants. “No quiero perderte.”

“Oc, I don’t understand,” you breathe. Rather than telling you, though, he kisses you hard, lips moving across yours, and you melt into his arms.

“Jesús,” groans Octavio as his hand slides beneath the high cut on the side of your dress. He grabs at your panties, trying to yank them down your thighs. The twist of your torso to lean over him makes it hard. “Get those things off.”

“What did you say?” You huff out, though you obediently rise, dragging your panties down.

Rather than answering you, Octavio grabs you by the waist, pulling you back on top of him. He doesn’t stop you at his cock, though, half hard and tightening his pants. Instead, he helps you up, hooking your legs beneath his shoulders, your thighs on either side of his head and you whine, burying your fingers into his soft hair as you realize what he’s doing.  

His hands travel up your naked thighs, to your ass, gripping it tightly. He looks up at you, at the dark look in your eyes as you pull the fabric of your dress aside, spreading your legs wider, clit even closer to his mouth. He huffs a breath against your cunt, damp but not wet, and his cock demands that he rectifies that right now.

With no further warning, Octavio’s mouth finds the shape of your cunt, molding against it, wetly kissing the pretty pink flesh. You quietly gasp, fingers wrinkling your dress, and he swipes at your slit with gentle flicks of his tongue, letting the musky taste of you linger on his lips.

That doesn’t feel right, though, not for the urgency at which he feels the need to move, so he flattens his tongue, sliding it through your slickening folds and up to your clit, slowly peeking out. The minute he feels it, firm and juicy and wet beneath his tongue, he sucks it between his lips.

The unhinged moan you let out is only emphasized by how you tighten your grip on his hair. You try to spread your legs further and Octavio fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your ass. Octavio helps you fuck your clit against his tongue, using his grip to make you grind against him, and the moan that leaves you sends a painful jolt to his dick.

His eyes flutter briefly open and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, Dios. Your hair frames your warmed face beautifully, mouth open to heave in desperate little pants. Your clit is needy, twitching against his tongue, and your hands are fisted into the fabric of your dress, partly for leverage and partly to give him access to you.

His tongue slips down to your hole, the tip of it pushing, pressing it apart to gather up even more of your taste. You shudder above him, trying to roll your hips forward, and Octavio quickly takes the hint. His tongue moves back up to your clit, flicking back and forth, moving swiftly, and he feels your thighs tense, ass cheeks clenching in his hands.

“Oh, Oc, don’t stop,” you whimper, and he sucks as you thrust forward, uncaring of the way his chin drips with you. He’s going to smell like pussy. “God, right there, right there, Octavio, yes, yes, yesyesyes-”

You cum with a noiseless gush and Octavio groans at the sensation of your juice trailing down his chin. He doesn’t care that you slacken in his grip, that he’s momentarily suffocated by your cunt, just wants you to grind against his face as much as you can, try to ride out that orgasm you just had. You shudder, pushing at his head. Octavio pulls away, letting you scoot back down the length of him. The second he can reach you he kisses you, open mouthed and dirty, letting you taste the salty cum on his lips.

“Fuck.”

“Si, I’m trying,” he says, pressing your hips against his slacks. The noise that leaves you is half laugh, half moan, your clit hypersensitive against the fabric. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes,” you say, “please, yes. Yes, let’s fuck.”

“Yes, good, okay,” Octavio babbles. He taps your ass with two fingers. As you roll off, he undoes his belt, tossing it to the side. He unzips his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband, only to find you reaching down to help him. He raises his eyebrows up at you and you smirk, seemingly having caught your second wind. “Si?”

“Si?” You taunt, reaching down to tug his pants down. You only pull them just enough that his cock can spring out, erect from eating you out, and you sigh at the sight of it.

He grins, trying to scoot his pants down a little more, only to pause at the sensation of something cool in his pocket. You climb on top of him, parting your dress again, and he watches you carefully.

With one hand, Octavio rolls that sweetheart neckline down your shoulders, to your elbows. It puts you in an odd position, unable to move your hands, but your tits fall out and, fuck, if that isn’t the sexiest shit he’s seen.

“I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

You snort. Unable to move your arms, your dress caught around your biceps, Octavio has to reach down to position his dick beneath your wet cunt. It opens beautifully for him as he drags the blunt tip along your lips, drenched with your earlier orgasm, and when it bumps your clit you jolt. Finally, gratefully, he finds your hole, and without further teasing, you sink all the way down onto him.

Your mouth falls open and you both groan in unison. Octavio’s thighs clench, trembling, because it’s only been a few hours since he’s cum and he’s not sure how much it will take for him to do it again. You feel so good, though, your pussy pulling him in.

“God, Oc,” you groan, falling forward, and your hands find purchase on his firm abdomen, tits squishing together as your index fingers touch. Before he can say something back, you’re moving, breasts jiggling with every bounce of your hips.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tips of his fingers digging into your thigh, and he’s pretty sure you can feel his pulse thumping through his dick. He bucks up into you, making your tits bounce harder, and you gasp as the tip of his cock thumps against something that feels different than the rest. “God, there?”

“There,” you moan back. As your eyes flutter shut, he slowly, carefully, pulls the neon green vial from his pocket. You’re lost in your own bliss, only sliding halfway up his cock. He waits, waits for your eyes to flutter open and when you finally look at him again, eyes heady and dark with lust, he jams the stim into his thighs.

Your jaw falls open, eyes widening as his veins bulge green, eyes brightening. He grins, wolfish, heart pounding. In the games, the stim makes him want to run, to shoot something. Now, all it does is make him eager to fuck you harder, faster, faster, faster.

 The vial rolls out of his hand and he seizes your hips, holding you in place. You whine, desperate and he’s quick to oblige you. He thrusts up, cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur, tirelessly fucking you from the bottom, his thighs tensing at the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock.

 The soft hair around his cock is already slick with you, worsening as he fucked into you with all the energy he saves for the ring, saves for when he’s Octane. Your chin drops against your chest, and he devours you with his eyes. He catches the way your teeth sink painfully into your lower lip and something primal comes over him, an animalism for your noises to overpower the ones from the party downstairs.

 One of his hands shoots to your stomach, thumb blurring down to your clit. He fondles the hard, wet nub, and groans at the sensation of your pussy muscles clenching hard around his throbbing cock.

 You borderline scream, trying your best to smother it with a scramble of your hand. It doesn’t help, the noise choppy with every powerful thrust of his hips into your cherry red cunt.

“Oh! Octavio! Oc!” You cry, the fingers of your opposite hand digging into his button up, grasping for purchase. He doesn’t know whether you lose your balance or just can’t keep yourself upright, but you plummet into his chest. He doesn’t flinch, just uses the angle to fuck you down the length of him, panting into your ear. Your pussy makes wet noises as he pounds you down onto his cock, tongue flickering out over your ear.

“What did you say?” You suddenly whine. It startles him and his rhythm stutters with his surprise, breath hitching in his throat. He holds it until he’s lightheaded, staring past your head at the ceiling. You weakly grind against his cock and he realizes he’s practically stopped moving, body only moving because of the stim being force through his veins like adrenaline.

“Oc,” you huff out, turning to press your brow against his throat. He can feel his pulse hammering in his jugular and he can’t tell if it’s because of the stim or because of you. “Please.”

Octavio abruptly sits up beneath you. His hands wrap tight around your waist, lips placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones.

“Te amo,” he murmurs into your skin, lowly, like maybe you won’t hear him if he speaks quietly enough. Recognition flashes in your face. The arms of your dress slide back up your shoulders as you suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders You use him for leverage to lift yourself up and down his cock, your wet cunt squeezing, hugging. Sloppy noises make their way out and he vaguely recognizes that his pants are going to be ruined.

“Say it so I can understand you,” you demand and he’s helpless, a slave to your desires, every sweet roll of your hips sending bolts of lightening through his gut. He grunts, fingers digging into your lower back.

“Fuck,” he hisses and you twist your head, biting into his throat. He moans, the noise low, strangled, drawn out as you continue to raise and drop your hips, only moving part way up his dick as you do. “Fuck, fuck, baby, porfa, I need-”

“Say it!” You gasp, the friction of his pubic bone against your clit sending you into a frenzy, making you use your grip on his shoulders to raise yourself up higher, until only the tip is inside. Your thighs work to keep you up but you slam back down and Octavio shudders.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, and you turn your head into his hair, wailing near his ear. He whimpers at the noise, trying to roll up. In this position, though, he’s at your mercy, and you fuck yourself onto him once, twice, three more times until you’re shaking into a wetter, softer orgasm.

He hisses at the sensation, at how your cunt clutches him, trying to keep him inside even as you continue to drag your body along his dick. He presses his face to the space between your breasts, smelling your sweat, and your perfume, and he pulls you all the way down so you’re sitting on the very base of his cock, rocking you along it. Almost there, right there, yes, mierda, so good…

“Fuck,” he hisses out loud as he cums. It’s weaker than the one in the ship, little spurts gushing out of him instead of erupting. He keeps his forehead on your chest, catching his breath, your cheek resting on top of his head as you do the same.

“So…” you say, softly, and your voice is hoarse, even though you hadn’t been doing a whole lot of noise making. Shame flushes through Octavio, the last of the stim ebbing from his system. He’ll need to get his dialysis machine to wash away the shreds of it but he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything but what he said to you.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m,” he says, grabbing your hips, trying to push you off. You clutch him tighter and your fingers cup his chin. You bring his gaze up to yours and his breath hitches at the way you look at him, at that soft, gentle look that he wanted you to give him forever.

“I love you too.” You say. The world freezes. The noise from downstairs fogs out of his ears, the wet, sticky sensation of you on top of him gone as he stares up at you. You, who has been here for him this whole night, who started off as a hook up.

He moves quicker than lightening, quicker than he’s ever moved, yanking you into a kiss. Your lips move together, hurried, passionate, making up for all the time he didn’t know. He pulls away, lips making a wet, popping sound.

“I could listen to you say that all day,” he huffs out. You giggle and he holds you tightly to his chest for a long, perfect minute, your fingers carding through his short hair.

Octavio hurtles back onto the bed, arms flopping above his head and you snort, still sitting in his lap, his dick inside of you. You don’t seem in a hurry to get it out though. Octavio strokes your thigh. “I really wish you would’ve told me that before this. I could’ve come as your girlfriend.”

Octavio’s lips twitch up in a little smile and he reaches up, placing a hand on your cheek. You make a face at the sweat there, but you don’t move away, your eyes a little softer, a little more open than he’s seen them before.

“You could’ve told me. Ever thought of that, chica?” Octavio asks. He throws his head back, laughing when you lean away from him, climbing off his lap to flop next to him in bed. You loop an arm around his shoulders, interlocking your fingers and nestling against the one closer to you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and he kisses the top of your head, humming.

“You love me.”

“I do. I do.”

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 1

This is the first chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on AO3. 

Next

Eren doesn’t know why he let Mikasa and Armin convince him to come out tonight. 

As much as he would’ve loved to eat in a restaurant like Kuchel’s Kitchen a few months ago, he can’t help but be appalled as he stands like a traffic cone in the doorway, large and obviously out of place and in the way of everyone nearby. It looks nice enough from the outside—a little brick building squeezed between the local bookstore and a discount department store—but the inside smells like cheese and herbs and garlic, and Eren simply cannot believe his friends thought this was a good idea. 

His nose is already burning, but Mikasa has apparently grown tired of his hesitance and tugs on his arm.

“Come on, Eren, you can’t stand there all night,” she says, yanking him hard enough that he’s forced to stumble inside. 

“Can’t we eat somewhere else?” he asks, casting a wary glance around the restaurant. 

It’s close to closing, and most of the tables are empty. The white and yellow tiled floors even look freshly mopped. Eren winces when he makes eye contact with the red-haired waitress across the room and lowers his voice, quickly shifting his gaze away from her curious green eyes. 

“Anywhere else,” he hisses. “I mean, seriously, Italian?”

“You love Italian food,” Armin pipes up from behind Mikasa’s shoulder.

“I know, but—”

“You said you wanted to try being normal again, and this was our normal,” Mikasa says sharply, though her face suddenly twists and her dark-eyed gaze drops to the floor. “As close as we can get, anyway.”

When her grip on his arm loosens, Eren’s stomach painfully knots itself together, and he places his hand over hers. Armin comes closer, his hand coming to rest over Eren’s, and Eren heaves a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as they begin to burn as badly as his nose, though for different reasons. He lets himself take a deep breath for a moment, and he allows the smells to really hit his sensitive nose. Though the restaurant seems fairly new—Eren’s certainly never been here before—there’s familiarity in the smell of freshly-cooked food. 

“Okay,” he says after a moment, “let’s try to be normal.”

The waitress who watched their strange display of affection comes towards them, menus in hand, when they finally settle down at a table. Her gaze lingers just a bit longer on Eren, and he stiffens, pulling up the collar of his turtleneck, wondering if something has given him away. Did his sweater slip down and she saw the scar? Is it the turtleneck itself? It is the middle of summer, but it’s late and beyond its covering aspects, the sweater helps him deal with the way his body now runs cold. Surely, the night time chill is a good enough excuse.

The redhead walks away with the promise to bring their drinks—waters all around—without a word to Eren, but that gaze has him pulling his long hair out of its bun, hoping to cover whatever he can.

“Eren,” Mikasa says, nudging his foot under the table, “relax.”

“I’m trying,” he says. 

Trying to be normal again. That’s what they were going for. Trying to pretend that Eren hasn’t upended his entire schedule, changed jobs, switched all his classes to their evening sections, dropping them when it wasn’t possible. Trying to pretend that his family was okay, that there isn’t something burning within him, something that he hasn’t been able to shake for months now. 

Trying to pretend that the smells don’t hurt his nose, that his teeth aren’t too big for his mouth. That he’s not thirsty in the way the water won't fix. 

Yeah. Perfectly normal. 

He keeps himself busy with the menu and tries to think. Tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice when Armin and Mikasa sneak nervous glances in his direction.

The red-haired waitress is back within a few minutes, and Eren makes a point to not meet her gaze; he instead focuses on her messy pigtails, her short stature, and the movement of her hands as she quickly writes down their orders.

He completely averts his gaze when it’s time for him to make his special request. 

“With the lasagna,” he begins, and he feels like his neck is burning, like she’s staring right where his scar is, even though he knows that it’s covered. “Can it be made without garlic? I have… an allergy.”

“Uh… I’ll ask?” 

Eren makes the mistake of looking up and catching the funny look she sends his way before she walks back to the kitchen. He drags his hands across his face with a sigh. 

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to do this,” Eren grumbles, glaring at his friends between his fingers. 

“We didn’t want you to continue rotting in your bedroom,” Mikasa says. 

“When you taste the food, it’ll all be worth it!” Armin adds with a smile, but Eren just sinks down in his chair, sipping at his water with a frown.

They’re silent until the waitress returns with their orders, and the sight of the steaming dishes does allow Eren to perk up for a moment. He pulls himself up to sit up straight, inhaling the steam rising off of his plate of lasagna. He notices when Mikasa and Armin smile at the sight of his actions, and he smiles back at them, grabbing his fork. His nose is still aching and twitching, but he puts it up to being the scent of the restaurant, or probably because of the close proximity to Armin’s shrimp and pesto pasta.

That thought is what makes the instant burn in his mouth such a surprise. He feels it, feels the way the forkful of lasagna seems like its burning through his tongue, like the sauce is acid. And then he hears it, hears the unpleasant sizzle, and it’s his body's instincts that make his teeth feel too big, too long, too sharp in his mouth. He nearly swallows the thing before Armin practically lunges across the table and presses a napkin to Eren’s mouth, reminding him that he needs to spit the thing out, not attempt to digest it. 

Eren feels like a kid as he spits into the napkin in Armin’s hand, wincing as that little bite slides across the expanse of his tongue, leaving a burning, painful trail across his taste buds. He coughs and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, startling himself when part of his breath comes out in a puff of smoke. Even with the food out of his mouth, the pain lingers, and he hears the flesh in his mouth sizzling and popping, like his saliva is carbonated. 

So much for normal. 

Mouth aching, but the immediate danger decidedly passed, he finally looks across the table at his friends. Well, friend, Eren notices with some confusion. Armin has gone back to his seat, staring miserably at the little napkin that he’s folding around the lump of just barely eaten lasagna, but Mikasa is suddenly nowhere to be found. He twists around in his chair, about to scan the room for her and then—

“What part of garlic allergy do you not fucking understand?!”

And like that, he’s found her. She’s cornering the waitress by the door to the kitchen, towering over the red-headed woman. Her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s practically shaking with rage. Eren can’t see her face, but knowing her for as long as he has, he can imagine the glare, the murderous intent in her eyes. 

“Sorry,” Eren hears, but it’s Armin’s voice, not the waitress’s. “I… I wanted to… Because I thought it’d be a good idea to let you have something similar to Mrs. Jaeger’s cooking—” 

“It’s fine,” Eren says quickly, struggling around his injured tongue and enlarged teeth. 

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not on their failure of a normal night. 

So Eren is grateful when Armin falls silent. 

Desperate to distract himself—both from the pain and from Armin’s guilty expression as the blond continues to wrap the lasagna lump in napkins like it's a little gift—Eren hurries to his feet and rushes over to where Mikasa is still bullying that poor waitress, though she has at least bothered to lower her voice a bit. 

“I swear, I thought I wrote it down—” the waitress begins.

“Well, either you didn’t, or your chef’s a selfish asshole who doesn’t care about his customers.”

Eren watches as the waitress's attitude suddenly shifts, green eyes narrowing into a glare. 

“Don’t talk about Levi like that,” she says, her voice low. 

“I’ll talk about him like that if he’s the idiot who fucked up my friend’s order,” Mikasa snapped back.

“Mikasa,” Eren warns, reaching out to grab her by the shoulder, to pull her back. 

“I said don’t—”

Whatever the waitress was going to say devolves into a screech as the door she was leaning on is abruptly pulled open, sending her toppling to the floor. The man with his hand on the handle looks down at the woman now sprawled on the floor with a frown. His gaze slowly rises to Mikasa and then shifts to Eren. Something instinctual, something he doesn’t quite understand makes Eren straighten up once that gray-blue gaze settles on him. 

“What’s going on?” the man asks, his gaze dropping to the waitress again. 

“Levi!” she exclaims, “I can explain—”

“One of the two of you nearly killed my friend, even though we specifically told her that he can’t have garlic,” Mikasa snaps, shaking off the hand that Eren forgot he still had placed on her shoulder. 

“Nearly killed is a bit of an exaggeration,” Eren says because they’re already making enough of a scene, and he seriously doesn’t know how he’s going to explain that his garlic “allergy” nearly burnt a hole through his tongue.

The man—Levi—wipes his hands on his apron, and Eren takes in his appearance. He’s a short man, black-haired, and despite the situation, Eren is distracted by the fact that the man is also wearing a turtleneck. Eren's grateful that he’s not the only one, that the stupid worry that he was sticking out like a sore thumb because of his clothes was probably just that—a stupid worry.

“Isabel,” Levi says to the waitress, “I don’t remember seeing a note that one of the dishes couldn’t have garlic.”

“I wrote it down, I swear!” Isabel quickly gets to her feet, careful to keep her distance from Mikasa all the while, and then she quickly pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket, presumably what she wrote their orders on. 

She leans closer to Levi, pointing to a spot on the page that he gazes at impassively.

“Isabel, that’s says ‘no gar.’”

“Yeah,” she replies, frowning up at Levi. “No gar. No garlic.”

Levi heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

“You can’t just make up new abbreviations without telling me—”

“I thought it was obvious!”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t. Why didn’t you just write out the whole word?”

“It’s not my fault that—”

Levi silences her with a heavy hand on her head, forcing her to dip her head in apology, and Levi quickly does the same. 

“I’m sorry for the actions of my employee,” Levi says, and it’s robotic, rehearsed. Eren wonders how many times the man has had to say these same words.

“It’s okay,” Eren says quickly, taking the chance to step in front of Mikasa and gradually nudge her away from the two restaurant employees. “Sorry about the fuss.”

“How bad was it?” Levi asks suddenly, his head still lowered. “The allergic reaction.”

Eren immediately turns to glare at Mikasa, who grows pale. How the hell is he supposed to explain? He doesn’t have any real allergies. He has no idea what they’re supposed to be like, but he’s eighty percent sure the trouble usually starts after the food’s ingested, not right when it hits a person’s tongue. 

“Not too bad,” Eren says after a moment, even though his tongue still feels raw and when he’s not careful he brushes the sensitive flesh with the sharp points of his teeth, which are still too fucking big, goddammit. 

“We’re lucky we noticed quickly,” Mikasa pipes up from behind Eren.

“I’ll compensate you,” Levi says, raising his head finally, and Eren doesn’t miss the way Isabel tries to shift her head and get the man to meet her gaze. A silent question that the man seems to pointedly ignore. “Are you old enough to drink?”

The word “drink” makes Eren freeze up, even though he’s sure that the man doesn’t mean it that way. He knows that there’s no way the man would know. But Eren's body goes rigid, and Mikasa’s nervous fingers clutching the back of his sweater don't ease his suspicions. He tries to swallow his nerves, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth and now there’s too much saliva and it just feels like he’s quietly choking. 

“Drink…?” he asks hesitantly.

“Are you of age?” Levi asks.

“I-uh, yeah, I’m—” Eren clears his throat, trying to get his mouth to catch up with his mind. “I’m twenty-two. So yes.”

Eren isn’t sure what part of his answer makes Levi raise a thin black eyebrow at him, but he’s just relieved the man was talking about alcohol. 

“Head back to your table,” Levi says, and he glances sidelong at Isabel. “I’ll serve you myself.”

The man turns on his heel and marches into the kitchen without another word, and Isabel quickly follows behind him, though she throws a final glare at Mikasa before closing the door behind them. Eren rubs his eyes with his cold palms and barely holds in a frustrated groan. 

He’s tired and he’s frustrated, and his injured tongue is not helping his thirst. If anything the pain is activating his body's desire to heal, and it's realizing it has nothing to work with. 

“Sorry,” Mikasa mumbles as they walk back to the table. 

Eren waves his hand at her dismissively, no longer in the mood. He’s just grateful that the restaurant was practically empty; he has no idea what he would do if there were even more people around to witness that disaster. He wants to go home, but he sits at the table and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t know what would be more suspicious at this point; staying after Mikasa was so clearly upset, or leaving without getting whatever drink Levi is offering as compensation. 

“What just happened?” Armin asks, and Eren reluctantly raises his head out of his hands. “I couldn’t really hear from over here. What are we doing? Are we leaving?” 

Mikasa looks at Eren, which makes Armin look at Eren, so Eren stares at the table. He notices that Armin has tidied up their table, piling their utensils and barely touched plates. He’s already laid out cash to pay for the food too. Knowing Armin, he probably already calculated the tip. Eren sucks in a breath. They could probably leave now, with everything prepped for their quick departure like this. 

He tentatively presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and immediately flinches from the pain. His mouth is still hot, and although he’s concerned that alcohol might aggravate the injury even more, he would love something to cool his tongue down. 

“We’ll wait for the drink,” Eren says, “and then we leave and never come back.”

Armin nods, and Mikasa pulls up a chair, and the three friends wait in tense silence. Levi arrives within a few minutes with a glass of wine that he places in front of Eren. 

“I hope it suits your tastes,” Levi said, but his tone is surprisingly cold in comparison to the polite words. 

Eren slowly reaches out for the glass, not at all thrilled to have waited just for wine, which he’s never been particularly fond of, but when he feels the cool glass beneath his fingertips, he quickly changes his tune. 

As he pulls the drink to his lips, he catches the scent, and he can’t tell if he’s been smelling too many herbs or if the wine really does smell as delicious as Eren thinks it does. He takes a greedy sip without another thought, at first surprised because it’s a bit thicker than he remembers—

He chokes.

Mikasa’s on her feet in a second, and Armin is hurrying to Eren’s side of the table to see what’s wrong, but Eren’s too focused on Levi because he can’t believe—there’s no way that this man, this stranger, has willingly handed Eren a glass of blood.

Levi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a single muscle in his face, even as Eren stares up at him incredulously. 

“You’re not going to finish?” the man asks after a moment of tense silence. “That stuff’s not cheap.”

Levi rolls his wrist, and Eren’s gaze is drawn to the movement, and he notices that there’s something beneath Levi’s sleeve, a lump that circles around the man’s wrist and extends a bit towards his forearm. 

Eren’s tongue is cool and his teeth are big and his mouth is dry even though that’s the first drink he’s had in months. He slams the glass down on the table, still half full with blood, and he gets up quickly, not even flinching at the screech of his chair dragging across the tile floors. He tries to wipe at his face with his sleeve but now that delicious smell is just smeared on his face and on his sleeve and Eren wants to down the rest of the blood in the glass but he also wants to vomit the amount that’s already in his stomach.

“Thanks for the food,” he says curtly, pushing past Levi. 

For the briefest of moments, Eren thinks he sees the man’s eyes widen, but it doesn’t matter because Eren is grabbing Mikasa by the arm and leading her out, and Armin is following and Eren never wants to set foot in this fucking place ever again. 

[mxblurps]

in public

genre: boyfriend!wonho x fem!reader, fluff, a lot of smut

word count: 4.0k

summary: you and your boyfriend, wonho, always had a thing for public scenes. you were never shy and always tested to see how insane it would get. this place, was familiar yet new.

“baby, come on!” you shouted.

you and wonho had scheduled tonight as date night. it has been a while since you two have had the chance to go out and spend some time alone. the two of you were way too busy with work to have fun nights like these. so when you got the chance, you snatched it.

tonight you you chose to go out to your favorite restaurant. you had made a reservation for 7:30 pm, and it was about the time you would be heading out. if it wasn’t for your boyfriend staring at himself in the mirror, you would’ve been in the car leaving right now.

with the special occasion, you decided to wear a nice white dress that fit the curves of your body. you wore nude heels and a clear gloss on your lips. you hair was down with curls bouncing at the ends of them. as you were glancing at yourself in the mirror making sure everything was fine, wonho finally stepped out of your shared bathroom.

wonho was wearing nice khaki pants with a navy blue button down. he gelled his hair back, making sure his forehead was showing. he wore nice dress shoes and wore a few rings around his fingers. he had his sleeves rolled up just enough so you could see the tattoos on his arms. you were practically drooling at the sight in front of you.

“earth to y/n,” he chuckled.

“let’s go knucklehead, we have a reservation!” with that, you locked hands and headed towards the car.

the drive to the restaurant wasn’t that long, it was just around the corner. wonho finally found a parking spot in the busy lot and put the car in park. he rushed to get out of the car to head to your side and open the door for you. what a gentleman, you thought.

the two of you linked hands and found your way inside of the restaurant. the waitress grabbed menus, and escorted you to your table. the table was round and sat right by the window. the sun was setting and the two of you sat and enjoyed the view together as you waited.

“do we know what we want to drink?” the waitress asked.

“just water for now, please and thank you,” you answered.

as the waitress went to grab your waters, you two glanced at the menus to see what you would be getting for dinner.

“what are you thinking of getting, my beautiful angel?” he questioned.

you answered through a blush, “i think i’ll get spaghetti. what about you?”

“i was thinking of the same thing,” he smiled.

the waitress walked her way back to you and set the drinks on the table. “are you ready to order?”

“yes, please,” you said. “i think we’re both going to order the plate of spaghetti-i,” you stopped abruptly.

before getting dressed for dinner, wonho had suggested that you wore the underwear that hid a vibrator inside of it. you tried your best to fake a complaint, but deep down you were excited to wear it. the two of you always had a thing for doing things in public. as you got dressed you slipped it on, and that was the last you thought of it. the scenery of the restaurant and your handsome boyfriend in front of you had you in a trance. it wasn’t until he pressed the button on the remote in his pocket while you were ordering when you remembered.

you cleared your throat and continued. “i’m sorry about that. we each would like a plate of spaghetti, p-please.”

“would you like a basket of garlic bread as an appetizer before your meal?” she offered.

“that would be lovely,” you smiled and she walked away to place your order.

you took a minute to stare at your boyfriend who was sitting innocently across the table.

“was that necessary, i was talking.” you hissed.

“which is exactly why i did it, baby.”

you couldn’t help but forgive him. this type of thing was normal for you. you would always fake being angry with him, although he always knew you loved every moment he toyed with you. he owned you.

for the rest of the night, the two of you were sharing your enjoyment of the food with each other, having conversation, and fooling around with each other. wonho loved using the remote every time you were talking to the waitress. his motive was to see when and if you would break.

on your ride home he finally gave you a break. you drove around the city for a while, enjoying the views the sky gave you. from the pink and purple colors from the sunset, to the bright stars in the night sky. that’s one of many things the two of you shared a love for.

while driving, the two of you stopped to get ice cream and ate it in the car. while enjoying the ice cream, the radio was on and the two of you sang the songs that you knew together. you loved listening to wonho sing. he had such a beautiful voice. it is truly one of your favorite things about him.

the ice cream was gone, and you found yourself back in the parking lot of your apartment. wonho, once again, opened the door for you. he grabbed your hand and led the way to the front doors. you took your usual trip up the elevator and down the hall to your apartment.

as you entered through the front door you immediately walked straight to your bedroom. you flopped on the bed due to exhaustion from your long day. wonho could sense your exhaustion and helped you undress and helped you get ready for bed.

he first slid off your heels and placed them nicely with your other shoes. he then unzipped your dress and helped you shimmy it off of your body. he took off your undergarments and threw all of your clothes in the laundry basket.

wonho walked to the closet and got you one of his shirts to sleep in. he knew you slept best when you wore his clothes. he didn’t know why it was such a drastic change for you, but he accepted it because he loved seeing you wear his clothes. you were much smaller than he was so his shirt looked like a dress on you.

he then got ready for bed himself and slid into bed beside you. he laid beside you and leaned his head on his hand admiring your face. you two were facing each other while his other hand played with your hair to help put you to sleep for the night.

the next day when you woke up, you could smell and hear the fresh bacon sizzling in the kitchen. you smiled to yourself knowing it would be a good morning. you laid in bed contemplating when you wanted to get out of bed. you ended up forcing yourself to roll out of bed and head into the kitchen. you didn’t bother changing out of his shirt and only threw on some panties before you made your way out of the bedroom. finally opening the door, your smile grew bigger the closer you got to the kitchen.

“well good morning, my sunshine,” he spoke to you.

“good morning, my love. what are you cooking for breakfast?” you smiled while you rubbed your eyes adjusting to the light.

“just some bacon, hash browns, and eggs. you hungry?”

“not for what’s on the stove, but i’ll take some,” you winked.

wonho put the plate he made for you on the counter and slid it towards you. “just stuff your mouth with this for now,” he joked.

the two of you sat on the couch enjoying the food he had cooked and talked about whatever was going through your heads. you couldn’t help but stare at him here and there. he was wearing a white shirt that fit his muscles nicely. on his bottom half he wore grey sweatpants. you took in every detail of him.

looking up from his plate, wonho caught you staring and smirked to himself. he could see you were in your own world and he loved every second of it. he knew you were weak for him and he abused his power with you.

he suddenly moved off of the couch and took both of your plates too the kitchen.

“hey! i wasn’t done with that,” you hollered.

“for now you are,” he stated. you could feel the butterflies in your stomach and your face blush with a shade of pink.

wonho walked back over to the couch once he was done and picked you up. he carried you wedding style to the bedroom. you giggled as he picked you up, knowing what was to be expected.

as he walked into you into the room, he dropped you on the bed. you moved to where you had your head resting on the pillow and he moved to hover above you.

“so what was all of that staring for, babygirl?” he whispered next to your ear which sent chills down your spine.

he started kissing your jaw and down to your neck as he waited for your response. you couldn’t find it in you to speak, and you were only able to let out small moans.

“words,” he demanded.

“mm, you just look s-so good,” you whined.

once again, wonho smirked due to your actions. he loved knowing how your body worked and how easily you came undone for him.

“that’s it, baby,” he cooed.

he had his hands pinned next to your head as he maneuvered around you. he then moved one of them to your side to rub along your skin. he had moved your shirt up a bit to make it easier for him.

“please, please, please!” you begged.

“what is it, princess?” he asked. he knew exactly what you wanted, but played as if he knew nothing. his motive was to get every last word out of you.

“i need you inside of me, now.”

as you finished your pleading, wonho started to take his time to peel your clothes off. he was one for teasing, making sure you were begging for him before he even touched you.

“mm, baby, please!” you begged once again.

“only because you asked.”

wonho moved to unclasp your bra and threw it on the floor. for now, he decided to keep your panties on you. only scooting them to the side, wonho slid his finger up your slit.

“holy, shit,” you choked.

“my baby, so wet for me already and i barely touched you.”

all you were capable of doing was nodding your head, agreeing to his statement. he didn’t expect to get any other words out of you so he settled.

he then dipped his head down to get a taste. his favorite taste. your legs started to shake from the feeling. he was just starting with you, but you could feel the knot in your stomach forming. your hips were involuntarily grinding against his tongue, and he grounded his hands on them to halt the action. you didn’t care to complain since his tongue did wonderful things to you on its own.

“i-i,” wonho shushed you.

“i know you’re ready, baby. cum on my face.”

as he spoke, you were spreading your release all over his lips. he made sure he devoured every last drop of you. your legs twitched with every lick from over sensitivity, but you enjoyed every ounce of it.

wonho gathered your clothes off of the floor and attempted to help you put them back on. you tried to decline his help, but he insisted.

“i didn’t get to help you out!” you groaned, obviously annoyed.

“don’t worry about it, sweetheart, we have plenty of time.”

for the rest of your day the two of you just lounged around enjoying the last day of this weekend before having to go back to work.

at 6 am this morning you woke up annoyed. your alarm was blaring and you didn’t have any motivation to get up. you had a feeling that today would not be a good day.

when you finally rolled out of bed you decided it was time to start getting ready for work. once you were fully dressed and ready you walked your way into the kitchen to make some breakfast. you had checked the time and saw that you didn’t have that much time left until you had to leave so you settled with a bowl of cereal. when you finished eating you quickly put coffee into a to-go cup and left for work.

today was a slow day for work. you had nobody coming in and none of your favorite coworkers were here. it was morning time so the time seemed to go slower than normal. you couldn’t help but keep checking the clock to see if time had changed at all. all you wanted was to go home.

“hey, y/n?” your boss spoke.

“yes, sir?”

“do you have any work to do today?” he questioned.

“not that i know of, do you need anything?”

“i do not, thank you. i just came by to let you know you were allowed to go home early if you would like,” he stated.

you internally cheered to yourself. it was like your wishes had been heard. 

your boss turned and walked away, and you quickly packed up your stuff to leave. you looked at the time and realized it was only 11:34 am. wonho was at work right now. 

wonho works at the local gym in town. he is super big on staying fit and helping others. either he is running the place or being someone’s personal trainer. to others it would seem like a downgrading job, but it was his passion. and you loved that he was doing what he loves. 

since you were done work early, you decided you would go see wonho and workout and workout while you were at it. you quickly drove home and got dressed for the gym. you threw on a pair of black biker shorts and a matching sports bra. you put on the shoes you worked out in on, grabbed your phone and keys, and left the house. 

the drive to the gym wasn’t too far away so you were there in just a short amount of time. the closer you got the more butterflies you could feel in your stomach. yes, you have been dating wonho since high school, but those butterflies are always there as if you just met.

you arrived at the gym and parked your car in the first spot you could find. you grabbed your keys and phone and got out of the car. walking up to the front doors of the gym, you couldn’t help but have the biggest grin on your face. you were so excited to surprise him at work.

as you walked in the girl at check in smiled and waved, already knowing who you were.

“do you know where he is?” you asked.

“i believe he’s in his office right now,” she answered.

“thank you!” you waved bye.

you walked up to his door and knocked. you patiently waited for him to come and open the door. excitement sat in your stomach as you waited.

the door finally opened and you jumped, “hello!” wonho quickly pulled you in his arms and laughed at your cute expression.

“what are you doing here?” confusion written all over his face, but he was absolutely happy no matter the reason.

“my boss let me out early, we’re having a slow day,” you explained. “i figured i could stop by and say hi, as well as get a little bit of a workout in.”

a smile plastered on his face. “well you have fun, baby. i have an appointment,” he looked down at his watch, “right about now actually. i’ll let you workout and i’ll come find you when i’m done?”

you nodded at his suggestion. he pulled you in and kissed you on your forehead. he walked towards the front desk to wait as you walked towards the equipment. 

the first place you went to were the stairs, you wanted to workout and look good for wonho at the same time. it has been a couple minutes in, and although you were focused on your workout, you could feel his eyes burning into your skin.

wonho knew his appointment would be walking through the door at any second, but he couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you. you were highly attractive to him, always, but in this setting he felt weak in the knees. you were investing in his passion as if it was your own. he could see the concentration on your face along with the sweat tracing your hairline. your skin was shimmering under the lights as sweat glistened over it. he adored the sight in front of him. he wished he could see this at work every day.

“wonho?” your appointment spoke.

“oh, yes, hello,” he greeted and smiled.

he led the way for his appointment to a certain place in the gym. he was helping the person work on certain parts of his body that he wanted to work more on. wonho helped him to the best of his ability while also making sure to tell him which workouts would benefit him best. 

wonho continued to help the gentleman out, but whenever he could steal a chance to look at you, he did. he didn’t know what it was, but something was different. he ate up every bit of you. he loved seeing you so focused and so worked out.

sooner than later, his appointment had finished up and he was free of appointments for the rest of the day. he quickly found where you were, like he said, and stormed over to you. you had headphones in so he tapped your shoulder so that way he didn’t frighten you.

you took one bud out and gave him a questioning look. he pulled on your wrists hinting at you to follow his lead. his pace was quick as he walked towards his office but you were able to keep up. 

in one swift move he opened his door and pulled you in front of him for you to go in before him. as soon as he was inside of the room, he shut the door and pinned your body up against it. he had his hands on your waist and you could feel his breath fan over your lips due to the close proximity.

“look at what you did to me,” he glanced down for you to follow. you could see a solid outline of his cock through his shorts. 

“you walk around here in these tight shorts and bra and expect me to keep calm?” he rhetorically asked.

as he was done talking his lips were quick to latch onto your neck. as soon as he made contact, his first move was to mark you up. he was going to make sure that as soon as you walked out of here everyone would know what happened behind this door. 

you had no words for what was happening and your only reaction were the moans escaping through your lips.

he suddenly moved his mouth away and moved his hands to his waistband. you knew exactly what he was getting at so you moved yourself to the floor. the carpet was itchy on your knees but you didn’t care at the moment. all you were worried about was pleasing him.

as he pulled down his shorts he also pulled his boxers with. once they were both down far enough, his cock sprung free. your mouth was open and you could feel the drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. he was fully hard and you could see the vein that ran underneath. the tip was an angry shade of red and he was pulsating.

“suck,” he demanded.

you knew that you two didn’t have that much time until someone came knocking so you swiftly wrapped your lips around him. you started with a slow pace to adjust to his size but you were quick to pick it up. you bopped your head up and down making sure to go as deep as possible. reaching all the way down to his base was a challenge but you always managed to relax yourself and reach it. as soon as wonho felt you relax, he gripped a fist full of hair and starting forcing himself down your throat. you stopped all movements and let him have full control. 

wonhos thrusts were starting to falter and you knew he was close. as soon as his thrusts starting to tremble he was quick to pull out of your mouth.

“the desk, now,” he demanded yet again, pointing a finger to said desk.

you made your way over to his desk as fast as you could making sure to pull down your shorts and panties as you got there. after doing so, you bent yourself over the side of his desk already knowing he would’ve told you to do so.

“mm, my baby is so wet, hm?” he mewled while swiping a finger up your slit. the movement caused your entire body to shiver under him. 

neither of you cared to prepare yourself for him. he instantly slid himself inside of you. he paused for a second for you to adjust to him as well as taking a moment to feel you. once he knew you were ready he started pumping himself in and out of you. in the moment you couldn’t care less if someone could hear you. all you could think about was the feeling of wonho stretching you out.

the idea of being caught by someone excited you even more. at that thought, you were quick to clench around him, the action causing wonho to groan.

wonho quickened his pace, his intentions to make you cum as soon as possible. he lifted you slightly and wrapped his arm around your front to circle his fingers around your clit.

with the feeling of him inside of you and the pressure on your clit, you were sure you would fall apart at any moment now. the knot in your stomach tightened with each thrust he took.

“cum,” he blurted his final command. and with that, your legs were shaking as your wetness drenched his cock. you could feel your juices drip down your leg, and wonho could feel the same. you could feel goosebumps jump all over your body.

soon after, you could feel wonhos thrusts start to shake. he was getting sloppy with just wanting to reach his own finish. you could feel the over sensitivity hit as you started to push back against him to help him, but you were more concerned with assisting him. he started cursing out moans as his high hit him.

“oh-h fuck, baby,” he moaned.

wonho pushed as deep inside of you as he could and came. you could feel the hot strings of cum hitting your walls nicely. your bodies relaxed together, finally calming down from the activity.

“thank you, my love,” he cooed into your ear.

he eventually slowly pulled out of you, and you winced at the sudden emptiness. the two of you pulled your clothes back on and pulled yourself together before walking out of the door. you helped fix his hair and he wiped away the sweaty strands sticking to your face.

“i hope you have a good rest of your day, baby,” you teased.

“oh, it’s a great day already,” he winked.

you made sure you had everything before kissing him goodbye. you opened up the door to his office and walked towards the front doors to leave.

“did you two have fun,” the girl at the front desk said teasingly.

“what do you think?” you laughed.

you went home and showered due to everything that had happened today. you settled down on the couch once you were done cleaning yourself. you waited for wonho to be done work and come home as you watched tv.

you were in for a fun night.

i’m posting this at half past midnight, so i’m sorry if this is late for you! i hope you enjoy!!💗✨

[lokislytherin]

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night. word count: 1988 + 1808 + 

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

The next few days are mostly uneventful.

Taehyung visits and shamelessly beats your ass at Mario Kart when he steals Seokjin's DS, only to have his older brother return and beat his ass in an act of revenge.  Taehyung begs for rematches, and the amount of times Seokjin wins is alarming.  That day, you learn that your roommate is surprisingly competitive when it comes to Mario, games, and Mario-related games.

You also meet up with college student Kim Namjoon, who has kindly volunteered to tutor you in math.  In the span of your one hour-long session, Namjoon manages to misplace both his wallet and his phone while rambling on about trigonometry and Greek mathematician/philosophers.  Thankfully, he finds both in the cafe booth you've been studying at.  You bear him no offense, but you're glad for the distraction your new friend's disastrous luck and tendency to babble offers you, if only for a short while.

Even though he tries not to show it in front of you, you can tell that Seokjin is still suspicious about what happened - or rather, didn't happen - the other night.  You shut your own worries down, telling yourself firmly he's better off not knowing.  If he found out that you met a vampire, he'd flip out and pitch a fit, or have a heart attack.  Perhaps he'd do both, and proceed to lock you in your room and never let you out without him being by your side.  He's never been good with horror films, but again, neither have you.

The next time you find yourself alone, it’s night-time again.  All your friends are busy – most of your friends from school are already asleep or being insomniac gremlins; Taehyung is doing some last-minute studying for a test the next day; you're not desperate enough to contact Namjoon, and not familiar enough with him either; and surprisingly enough, Jin is on a date.  Despite your initial irritation at him ditching your movie night, you’re happy for him – he needs to get out more, and his good looks deserve much better than to go to waste with him being a bachelor for the rest of his life.

You sigh as you attempt to brush out the tangles in your damp hair, envying Seokjin’s effortless beauty.  No matter what he does, he's flat out gorgeous, and he knows it, even if nobody else notices.  But you? You're not exactly society's image of 'drop dead gorgeous'.  All your previous relationships have gone to shït, even though you will admit that it was not your fault.  You glare at your reflection, and the girl in the fogged-up mirror glares right back at you.

You turn around, sick of looking at your messy, knotted hair – and scream.

There’s a boy.  In your bathroom.  A boy with dazzling blue eyes and gleaming white canines, a boy that doesn’t appear in the mirror.  A boy that clearly can't be human, no matter how much his other features almost lull you into a false sense of security.  

He grins.  “Hi.”

Did I mention the boy is in your bathroom? Had he arrived a few minutes earlier, you would've been naked.

You scream again, right in his face.  It’s the bloodsucker from several nights ago! You quiver upon realizing that his fangs are even sharper up close. He cute though, the voice in your head supplies helpfully.  It's not wrong. He winces, immediately clamping a hand over your mouth.  His skin is cold, cold as ice, whereas you are warm, face flushed with terror and mild embarrassment. Enclosing you in his arms, he carefully pulls you away from the mirror, setting you down on your bed.  Your eyes are wide, brain frozen in fear, body unable to move of your own free will. You seem a little less scared of him than he is of you as he pulls his hand away from your face, but reflexively presses a finger against your lips to shut off another scream from you.  You go cross-eyed at the contact.  Is he trying to kill you, or flirt with you?

Boys are confusing, you decide.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he says quietly, almost bashfully, “I keep forgetting I’m not a human anymore.” If he were human, he’d probably be blushing, but he’s not, and his face is pale, without any sign of a flush.  He looks a little paler than he should be, but that’s it.  He carefully sits down beside you, leaving a large gap in the middle.

“Thanks for calling me cute, though,” he says, incredibly forward but somehow even shyer than before (and shït, Y/N, you realize belatedly, he’s not supposed to be this cute! He’s dead!).  He doesn’t meet your eyes.  “You’re not too bad yourself.”

You finally gain control of your tongue (and your brain).  “I don’t mean to be rude, but who the fück are you and what the fück are you doing in my house?”

You know it’s probably unwise to swear at an undead being who could drain you dry of blood and life in less than a minute, but right now you’re too angry, scared (and honestly a little turned on) to care about that.  Besides, the vampire boy doesn’t really look like he could hurt you. “I’m Jeon Jeongguk, and I’m a vampire. I won’t hurt you; I swear.” You narrow your eyes.  The primal instinct inside your head still screams at you to run, even as you see how he looks a little lonely, a little sad.   “You’re still scared of me, aren’t you?” You nod, and he pouts.  Eyebrows knitted together, he closes his eyes in intent focus, and you watch in fascination as his fangs retract into his gums to reveal normal human teeth.  “Again, I’m really sorry for scaring you the other day.”  

He cracks a wry smile.  “I’m not me when I’m hungry.”

To your surprise, a giggle escapes your throat.  “You’re a vampire.  How do you know about Snickers?”

He looks wounded.  “Why wouldn’t I know about Snickers? I'm not too big a fan myself, but I still know about them.” He sighs.  “Believe it or not, I was human too.”

You resist the urge to hug the stranger upon hearing the sadness in his tone, instead just softly patting his arm.  “How old are you?” You blurt curiously.  The question’s been on your mind for a while.  He looks young, not much older than you are.  But how old is he really?

Jeongguk pouts.  “I hate it when people ask me that. I’m so shït at counting.” He tries anyway, counting with his fingers and looking confused.  “I was turned a year ago? I was twenty-one, but I haven’t physically aged since then. So, does that make me twenty-two, or am I still twenty-one? Am I supposed the years I’ve been alive for? But I should be biologically dead, because my heart’s not beating anymore and I'm fueled by blood and magic-”

He stops and sniffs the air.  “Actually, I think your roommate’s back.” He closes his eyes, sniffs a little more and promptly looks disgusted.  “He doesn’t seem very happy.”

You cock your head. “Emotions have scents,” he explains, “irritation and self-deprecation smell the worst.” He wrinkles his nose with a small pout.  “Werewolves can distinguish scents better, though.  They're like dogs, especially near the full moon.”

You coo inwardly at the pouty look on his face, and jump when you hear Seokjin's key twisting in the lock.  Your room is further away from the door than Jin's, and if Jeongguk can smell Seokjin from here he must have one hell of a nose.  Briefly, you're tempted to pull out some garlic bread.

“Well, that's my cue to leave.” Jeongguk smiles so brightly you're a little dazed.  He looks like a bunny - adorable - and it's so cute that you're squealing and dying on the inside at the same time. “Bye!”

That said, he jumps out the window.

You almost scream and throw yourself out after him, only to remember he's a vampire with far better reflexes than you.  You see him downstairs, a blur of black in the shadows.  He stops and waves goodbye, like an energetic puppy of sorts.  With a light blush on your face, you wave back.

You flinch away from the window as the door creaks and swings open, hearing a disheartened looking Seokjin stomping in. You hope he doesn’t notice the lingering blush on your cheeks.  You'd feel bad if you snagged a cutie and he didn't, after trying for so much longer than you have.

“I take it that the date didn’t go too well?” You ask, testing the waters as you walk out to greet him.  An angry and heartbroken Seokjin is never a good Seokjin to deal with.

Seokjin mumbles something unintelligible, and you hum to get him to clarify.

Seokjin throws himself onto the couch.  “She ditched. She didn’t even call, or text! I waited for an hour.  Alone. In the dark.” He sniffs, pouting.  “These dates are so stupid. I feel so stupid.  Why do I even bother anymore?”

You sit down beside him, patting his shoulder reassuringly.  “Oh, darling.” He’s a little older than you, but he’s used to your fond nicknames.  “You’ll find the perfect one for you soon enough.”

He huffs. “You say that every time,” he retorts bitterly. “Well, maybe you’ll find someone who appreciates you.” He sighs heavily, barely giving you time to move your arm before he flops backwards dramatically, almost boneless.  “I hope so too, Y/N.”

Seokjin switches on the tv, mindlessly flipping through the channels.

“Still up for movie night?” You suggest.

Your roommate nods gratefully.  “Hell yeah.”

You take the remote from him, laughing.  “Good, because I’m picking the movie.”

He groans dramatically.  “Oh, what a nightmare.”

You move to flick his forehead, but he ducks out of the way.  “Just for that comment, we’re watching Twilight.  Now get the chips.”

He obliges, albeit grudgingly.  Neither of you are big fans of the vampire movie franchise - or the books, for that matter - but your sassy jabs at the characters never fail to make Seokjin feel better.

You won't tell him about your ulterior motives - after a vampire named Jeon Jeongguk barreled into your life, you've never related to Bella Swan so much.

[captain-s-rogers]

Have A Little Faith In Me

(gif credit to the creator)

Part Two

Master List

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC // Clint Barton x OFC Word Count: 2,090 Warnings: none? A/N: Here’s the second part of the rewrite of my first ever Marvel series! Special thanks to the best bestie in the world, @arrowsandmixtapes​ , for making sure all of my work isn’t absolute garbage! If you want to be added to my tag list please let me know! Feedback is cool :)

The few days that passed before Steve called to arrange their date were nearly torturous. Sophia checked her phone every few minutes, tried to keep as many calls to her office phone as she could, and wondered how a dance and a drink had left such an impact on her. 

When Steve did finally call, the both of them agreed not to wait any longer; they scheduled the date for that very evening. Steve suggested a restaurant in Little Italy, and Sophia quickly agreed. She was familiar with the place and simply thinking of the menu had her mouth watering. 

“I really need to go shopping,” Sophia groaned, falling back onto her bed next to where Lucy was seated. Sophia had just torn through her entire wardrobe and, no matter what Lucy told her would be pretty and perfect, not one outfit seemed right to Sophia. 

Lucy got up and surveyed the contents of her friend’s closet. She chuckled, “You don’t need to go shopping, you just need to breathe. You’re nervous and excited, so nothing looks right. Tell me again, where are you going?”

“Luciano’s, in Little Italy? You went there with me once before, that time Mom came into the city for her birthday. It’s small but not necessarily casual dining. Remember, she had too many glasses of wine that night and kept calling you Luciano? She couldn’t believe you wouldn’t tell her you had a restaurant named after you.”

Lucy remembered, and she giggled at the memory as she thumbed through the dresses in Sophia’s closet. After a brief consideration, she pulled out a green skater dress and a cropped black cardigan. She put them on a hanger together and held the outfit up for Sophia to see. 

“He’s tall, so you can get away with pairing this with those cute black pumps I’m always trying to steal,” Lucy noted. “And this shade of green always compliments your complexion.”

“That. Is. Perfect! I can’t believe you managed to find something in all that mess.” She took the dress and sweater from her friend and immediately stripped of her comfy clothes so she could get dressed for her date. 

“Well,” Lucy replied, reaching to put the hanger back in a free space on the rod, “I do know you pretty well, and I’m not freaking out at the moment.”Lucy winked at her friend, then left Sophia alone to finish getting ready. 

It took another hour or so, but Sophia was finally dressed, hair and makeup done. She had decided Lucy was right about shoes and had slid her feet into her favorite pair of black pumps. Once she had packed a few essentials into the clutch that complemented her outfit, she let Lucy know she was headed to meet Steve. 

“I won’t be out too late, promise.”

Lucy laughed. “Let’s hope you are. Have fun, be safe!”

The cab ride from their shared apartment in Manhattan to the agreed upon restaurant in Little Italy was nearly thirty minutes, and Sophia was brimming with excitement. Her nerves were as active as ever; her hand shook when she handed the driver a few bills for fare plus a decent tip. 

After working her way through the crowd at the front of the restaurant, Sophia approached the hostess. 

“I’m meeting someone, we have a reservation.” She tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered at the idea of giving someone’s name besides Lucy’s or her own. “Rogers, party of two.”

The hostess reviewed the reservation list and nodded. She plucked two menus from a nearby basket and smiled at Sophia. 

“Of course, we have your table waiting. Follow me, right this way.”

The table was in the middle of the restaurant, but still spaced out enough from the others that they would be able to hold a conversation easily enough without the background noise making it difficult. Two taper candles in pretty holders were lit on either side of a votive of flowers in the middle of the table.

The waiter was quick to approach; Sophia let him know that she was waiting for her date. 

“He shouldn’t be too far behind, though.” She glanced at the drinks section of the menu. “Would it be all right if I ordered a glass of wine while I wait?”

“Yes, of course. What would you like?”

Sophia gave the young man her wine order, then sat back to peruse the food options and wait for Steve to arrive. 

Choosing black dress pants and a pale, blue button down shirt had been easy for Steve when it came to dressing for his date with Sophia. The black pants seemed appropriate for the occasion and venue, and he knew that the blue shirt would bring out his eyes. The tie, on the other hand, was the tough choice. He had narrowed it down to three, holding each one up in front of him, eventually narrowing the choice down to two. Before he could eliminate another choice, a knock sounded loudly from his apartment door. With a frustrated sigh, Steve tossed the ties on his bed and headed to answer the door. Hopefully it was some kid selling candy he could toss a five dollar bill at and go back to his ties. 

The knocking persisted, even as he walked toward the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

He was ready to give the visitor the brushoff, as he was already running a few minutes later than he would have liked, but he stopped abruptly when he saw S.H.I.E.L.D. director Nick Fury standing in the hallway. 

“How often do you make house calls?” Steve quipped. 

Fury walked into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “When someone isn’t answering their phone, a house call sometimes becomes necessary.”

Steve groaned. He had left his phone on the kitchen table while ironing his shirt earlier, and hadn’t thought about it again -- he was too distracted thinking of Sophia. 

“Yeah, I was ironing a shirt and --”

“Suit up, Cap. We need you.” Fury’s interruption didn’t leave much room for argument or discussion, but that hadn’t stopped Steve before. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you sure you need me? I’m all for answering the call of duty, sir, but I kind of -- I have a date.”

The reason for his hesitancy seemed weak, even to his own ears, once it was out in the open. He was Captain America, after all. The mission should have been his priority. 

“The head of the UN has been taken hostage in Russia, so unfortunately, your love connection is going to have to be put on hold. This is time sensitive, Captain.”

Steve went to the kitchen for his phone, but Fury stood in his path. Like a bothered teenager, Steve rolled his eyes, remembered who he was and what he stood for, and went for his suit and shield. 

Thirty minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of Steve. Sophia checked her phone, disappointed that she had no messages waiting to tell her what might be holding him up. She ordered another glass of wine and waited, answering some work emails from her mobile, hoping Steve would come and interrupt her. 

“Is your other party still on his way, miss? Would you like to go ahead and order?”

This was the third time the waiter had asked. She checked the time to see she had been sitting here alone for an hour now, no word from Steve. Apparently, she had been stood up. She ordered another glass of wine, a double order of garlic knots to go, then paid her check and caught a taxi home. 

She had been excited and nervous on the way to Luciano’s, but now Sophia felt irate and hurt. Steve had seemed so eager to go out with her after they danced -- hell, even when they had talked to set up the date earlier that day -- she was baffled by the fact that he hadn’t shown up. She wondered silently if she should have waited a little longer, but told herself not to be silly. She’d waited an hour. That was plenty long enough. If Steve Rogers was the kind of man who played a woman and set a date without the intention of showing up, Sophia decided she was better off. 

When she finally returned home, all Sophia wanted to do was have a few glasses of wine, take a hot bath, and go to bed. She sighed as she let herself into the apartment; no doubt Lucy would still be awake and have a lot of questions about her night. 

“Brought home garlic knots,” Sophia announced, setting the box on the coffee table in front of where her friend sat on the couch. 

“Yum,” Lucy said, perking up at just the smell. She immediately got into the box, picking up one of the knots and tearing a piece off. “Delicious.”

Sophia smiled. “I thought you’d like them.”

“You’re home way earlier than I thought,” Lucy frowned. “Ooh, did he turn out to be a dud? Did the conversation suck? Is he just good looks with nothing to back them up?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sophia sighed, toeing off her shoes, “he never showed.”

“You’re kidding!” Lucy exclaimed, tiny crumbs of garlic knot sputtering out with her surprise. She covered her mouth and apologized. Shaking her head, she reached for another garlic knot. “You know what, Soph, fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you. If he knew --” 

“Luce, I love you, and I appreciate the my-best-friend-deserves-the-world sentiments, but right now I only want to have some wine, take a long, hot bath, and go to bed.”

“Soph...” 

“Really, I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been stood up, I’m sure it won’t be the last.” 

“I know, but this guy is -- he’s, like, stupidly handsome.”

“Lucy.” 

The other girl winced. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll shut up about it. Go get your bath ready, I’ll open a bottle of wine.” 

The mission to save the head of the UN was flawlessly accomplished. Steve had gotten the man out of the hostage situation safely, sat tiredly through the debriefing at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters and was now finally back home. He peeled out of his suit, set his shield against the wall, and turned to retrieve some pajama pants and a t-shirt from his dresser. He saw the shirt and pants and two ties discarded on his bed and sighed to himself. One victory, one loss for the night. Good thing he didn’t need much sleep at this point; he wasn’t going to get any. 

He went to the refrigerator for a drink and spotted his phone on the table. He was still getting used to the device, which was likely why he hadn’t thought much of its absence while he was getting dressed, and why calling Sophia hadn’t been his first thought coming into the apartment. Not to mention, every clock in the house was telling him it was after three in the morning; calling now would be unwelcomed for a number of reasons, he was sure. 

“Should have just called her anyway,” Steve sighed, wishing he hadn’t obeyed that part of Fury’s orders. 

But, if it was this hour, maybe she was sleeping and wouldn’t answer. With a fervent hope that her voicemail would pick up and he wouldn’t bother her while she was sleeping, Steve found Sophia’s number in his contacts. He pressed the green button to make the call, letting out a relieved whoosh of breath when her voicemail picked up after a few rings. 

“Sophia, it’s Steve. Steve Rogers. I’m so sorry about not making our date tonight. Something important came up, and I couldn’t get out of it. I swear, I wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t an emergency. Is there any way you’d want to reschedule? I would still love to take you out. Just give me a call back and let me know either way. It’s Steve, by the way, not sure if I mentioned that. Right, okay.”

He hit the red button to end the call and tossed the phone away. The voicemail was a feeble attempt to get her to talk to him, and Steve could only hope that she would at least agree to talk to him so he could do a better job of apologizing when he wasn’t a couple hours out from a mission and his mind wasn’t so worn out.

@arrowsandmixtapes​​ @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​​ @growningupgeek​​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​ @captain-rogers-beard​​ @kitkatd7​​ @patzammit​​ @sagechanoafterdark​​ @what-is-your-plan-today​​

[oh-obrien]

Brother’s Best Friend

Relationships: Dylan O’Brien x Original Female Character

Word Count: 7,214

Warnings: Underage Drinking, uhhh making out

Author’s Note: Hey y’all I’m very excited to post this one. Sorry it took longer than expected because mono is currently kicking my ass!

Emerson finished brushing her hair out after she had showered, grateful to have washed off the layer of sweat that had built up on her body after her afternoon run. She set her brush down before turning sideways so she could see herself better in the mirror. She sighed and pulled the legs of her Nike Pros down a little bit more before flattening out the waistband so it sat right under her bellybutton. She huffed before pulling on a long sleeve ‘Texas Softball’ shit and tucking the extra into her shorts. 

Jake, Emerson’s older brother, had insisted that Dylan said it tonight would just be a casual get together, she should be fine. She looked over her outfit once more before pulling on her fuzzy socks and grabbing her phone before she flicked off the guest bathroom light. She picked her water bottle up off the dresser in the guest bathroom as she passed before making her way downstairs. She heard music coming from the speakers in the kitchen and knew that’s where she would find her brother and his best friend.

She rounded the corner into the large kitchen and saw Jake slipping something into the oven while Dylan dug in the fridge for something. She watched the muscles in his shoulders ripple as he reached up to the top shelf to grab a glass bottle of minced garlic. His hair still slightly damp from his own post-run shower. Oh fuck here we go, she thought to herself. “What can I help with?” Emerson asked leaning on the counter. 

Dylan turned around and Emerson had to force herself to not look down at his abs before he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, obviously thinking. “Umm, Jake is finishing the mac and cheese bites, he needs to bake them and I just need to finish the mini garlic knots, if you wanted to help with that.” He set the glass bottle down on the counter before grabbing the melted butter out of the microwave. 

“Sounds good,” Emerson nodded, looking at the center counter that had already been filled with plates of finger foods. “You two didn’t want to just cater this?” She asked the two boys. 

Jake stood up after slipping the mac and cheese bites into the oven. “We don’t usually cater this kind of thing, whoever is hosting usually cooks. Everyone brings drinks over and we just kind of vibe.” He shrugged. 

“Sounds fun,” Emerson watched as Dylan mixed the garlic butter and handed her a brush that looked almost like a paint brush. 

“Just brush the garlic butter over them while I pull some stuff out of the oven and we should be just about done after that,” he stretched his back out. Emerson tried to focus on the mini dough balls in front of her so she wouldn’t have to look at Dylan. “Jake said you were fine being around the alcohol, but I just wanted to make sure you didn’t care?” He asked her.

Emerson mentally rolled her eyes before nodding. Sometimes she forgot she was still four years younger than Jake and most of his friends, and she also forgot that she wasn’t of legal drinking age yet. “Yeah it’s fine with me, as long as you don’t care if I snag a couple drinks,” she tried to sound casual about it. 

She didn’t want to be the ‘best friend's little sister’ anymore. She had turned eighteen, which was still four years younger than Jake and Dylan, but she wasn’t a little kid anymore. “Damn Jake,” Dylan looked to his roommate, “didn’t tell me she drank, and she’s not even twenty-one.” He fake gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, his mouth forming an ‘o’. 

“And I bet I can hold my alcohol better than you can O’Brien,” Emerson rolled her eyes while she picked up the tray of mini garlic knots. “Can one of you idiots open the oven for me?” Dylan nodded and grabbed the oven handle, slowly pulling it open and stepping back so Emerson could slide the pan in. 

After she slid the pan in she turned away from Dylan, who bent over to close the oven. She found him attractive, she wouldn’t be a creep who would stare at him and oogle him the six entire six weeks she would be staying with him and her brother in Los Angeles. Emerson had just graduated high school and had wanted to spend her summer before college, and her last summer when she wouldn’t be completely tied down by D1 athletics, somewhere other than her hometown.

Jake had offered for Emerson to fly out to California to stay with Dylan and himself for the six weeks before she needed to move into her dorm. Jake had moved to California four summers earlier to play college baseball at UCLA and upon graduating he signed with the Los Angeles Dodgers. With Dylan no longer living with his co-stars from Teen Wolf, and with Jake also needing to get more of a permanent place out in Los Angeles, the childhood friends decided that they could share a large Bachelor Pad in the city. 

Emerson had grown up with the boys and knew their energy had often been unhinged and hard to control, so when she pulled up to the boy’s home and walked in to see it nearly spotless, except for a few pairs of shoes strewn about the entrance way, she had been shocked to say the least. She had also forgotten the crush she had on Dylan years ago, and with never having had a relationship, she would be pining after him again, much to her misfortune. 

Dylan had greeted her in the living room with bed-head and a pair of gray sweats hung low on his hips. He had a five o’clock shadow and had clearly just woken up when he offered her a warm hug. He mumbled something about how much she had grown up since he’d last seen her before wandering into the kitchen to make his morning coffee. Emerson had also noticed how much more Dylan had grown up, he now had a six pack, accompanied by a dark happy trail and was now clearly able to actually grow facial hair, something he complained about not being able to do when he had been younger. 

Sighing, Emerson pushed herself up on to the kitchen counter and watched as her brother took inventory of what alcohol they had in the fridge and cabinets. “Tyler said he would bring other stuff right?” Jake asked closing the bottom drawer of the fridge after pulling out two beers. “You still drink hard lemonade right?” He turned to Emerson.

“Yeah T-Pose is bringing a bunch of shit. Holland is bringing wine I think,” Dylan fake gagged. “Also hard lemonade?” He asked Emerson. She shrugged as her brother handed her a can, opening the pop tab on top and taking a sip before speaking.

“I’m a craft beer snob, as all my high school friends called it,” she set her can next to her on the counter. “We have the summer house out on the east end, Long Island is basically the craft beer capital.” Emerson had gotten used to drinking all the expensive craft beers her junior and senior year when her parents would let her and her friends use the east end house. Now she wasn’t able to drink any of the big brand names because they tasted absolutely disgusting in her opinion.  

Dylan leaned back on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, defining the muscles in his arms more and his abs peeing out from underneath. “That summer house was always a blast man,” he looked over to Jake. “I miss that kind of shit.”

“I miss it too man, trust me,” Jake took a long sip of his drink. “We’re out here now though, it’s still pretty fun, it’s like high school again but this time we can buy the drinks ourselves.” Jake laughed, pulling the last of the food out of the oven and setting it on the counter.

“That part I can drink to,” Dylan tilted his beer towards Jake before taking a long sip of it. Emerson let herself watch as the golden liquid drained from the bottle and also noticed how  Dylan’s adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. He pulled his phone out of the pockets of his sweats and set his bottle down, quickly replying to a message before slipping it into his pocket again. “I’m going to throw on real pants and a shirt, Tyler will be here in a few minutes so if there’s a knock it’s him.”

Emerson watched as Dylan walked out of the room, his feet dragging on the tiled floor while he rounded the corner to exit the kitchen and his footsteps being heard while he made his way up the stairs. “You’re back on this trend?” Jake asked when his little sister looked back over to him. 

“I guess so,” she lifted up her glasses to run a hand over her face. “Fucking sucks,” she mumbled. Of course Emerson had tried to date in high school, she had been one of the top ranked softball players in the state, there had been a period of time where guys were basically tripping over their own feet to have a chance with her. 

“That football player you went to prom with didn’t work out?” He asked his little sister, leaning on the counter opposite her. Emerson forgot she hadn’t really been able to update her older brother on her life much since she had seen him at his graduation nearly a month earlier. Sure, they texted and called each other from time to time, but Jake had been extremely busy now that he had officially signed into the major leagues. 

Emerson took a sip of her hard lemonade to distract herself before drumming on the can with her fingers. “No,” she shrugged, “he got back with his ex that night actually.” She watched as Jake’s gaze softened. Emerson had really liked Alex, she had a crush on him since sophomore year, and when he had asked her to prom at her senior night game, it had been a dream come true. However, the night of prom Alex decided to go to the prom house his ex had been invited too instead of the house on the shore Emerson and her other friends had rented. Looking back Emerson now felt more than happy she didn’t remember a majority of that night, as awful as that sounds.

“Well,” Jake let out a long breath, “can’t believe I’m about to say this. Dylan’s a good guy, he’s single too,” Jake laughed at himself, not believing that he just told his little sister he felt perfectly fine with her being interested in his best friend and roommate. “He’s been looking around but nothing’s worked out. I can’t say I’d be unhappy if you two happened.” Giving her brother a confused glance Emerson didn’t respond for a couple minutes. Trying to think of an answer that would be okay to give her older brother. 

She slid her glasses back on and pointed to Jake, “so you're telling me,” she pointed to herself, “that you would be perfectly okay with me getting with your childhood best friend and roommate? Sounds kind of convoluted if you want my opinion.” She paused when she heard a knock on the door. “But I’m not complaining!” She called after her brother.

“Not complaining about what?”Dylan asked, as he walked back into the kitchen. He had changed into a pair of dark jeans and a Mets t-shirt. Emerson quickly whipped her head around before trying to think of a witty response.

“About how bad you smell,” she shrugged before watching her brother walk into the kitchen, another guy around his and Dylan’s age trailing in behind him, both boys carrying a twelve pack of beer. “More shit beer? Jesus Jake, did you learn nothing living at home for the first eighteen years of your life?” She saw the other guy, Tyler, look at her with slight shock. “Sorry if that offended you, just want to offend my brother.”

Tyler set his case down on the counter, laughing. “She’s cool, she can stay,” he told Jake and Dylan. “I’m Tyler,” he held his hand out for Emerson to shake. 

“Emerson,” she shook his hand from her place on the counter. After their short introduction, Tyler walked over to the fridge to grab a cold beer and helped put the other two cases away to chill. Emerson watched the three boys move around each other while they pulled out plates, shot glasses and kitchen utensils from different drawers and cabinets, clearly having done it before. 

Dylan paused to steal a mozzarella stick off the plate on the counter, “did you know when the other hooligans are coming?” He asked around his mouthful of food. 

“Uhh, the girls said in the group chat they were coming together around six and I’m sure Hoechlin will be here a little earlier,” Tyler replied. “Sprayberry and Cody will probably be a little late, like they usually are. You fill her in?” Tyler nodded to Emerson.

Dylan looked at Emerson who just shrugged before he nodded, “she knew my castmates were coming over.” He leaned on to the counter next to where Emerson sat and picked up her lemonade, taking a sip before she could grab it from him. “That’s actually not bad. When Jake picked them up the other day I had been kind of confused at first.”

Emerson pulled her sleeve down to wipe at the lip of the can before she took another drink. “Confused as to why he was getting hard lemonade or confused as to why he was getting me hard lemonade?” She asked with a slight quirk in her lips. “Because it is my go to if I’m being honest.”

Dylan grabbed the can out of her hand and took another sip, letting the alcoholic lemonade sit in his mouth a little longer this time, “I could actually really get behind this.” He held it up to his lips again and Emerson hit his shoulder trying to get him to give it back. “You’re not legal, it’s mine now,” he held it closer. 

“Jake!” Emerson yelled her brother’s name, pulling him out of the conversation he had been in the middle of with Tyler. “Make him give it back!” Jake looked down to where Dylan had her drink in his hand and waved his little sister off. 

Tyler laughed watching Emerson glare between her brother and Dylan, “they always like this?” He asked eyeing the two who were arguing over the can still. “Because you know what I’m about to say right?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Jake took a long sip of his beer. “They’ve always been like this with each other, and she’s into him which makes it even worse.” He watched as Emerson gave up and pushed herself off the counter, walking over to the counter island to grab a mac and cheese bite.

Tyler watched Dyaln’s eyes follow Emerson as she moved around the kitchen, refilling her water bottle instead of grabbing a drink. “I mean, I know him pretty well too man,” Tyler grabbed one of the mini garlic knots and dunked it into the bowl of marinara sauce. “He seems at least a little bit interested in her himself. Might just be the age thing he has to get over.”

Emerson had just finished filling up her water bottle when she heard another knock on the door, knowing more of Dylan and Tyler’s friends had arrived. “I got it!” Dylan set the empty hard lemonade can down on the counter while he went to answer the door. 

“Wanna help move some if this?” Jake asked Emerson who watched as he and Tyler picked up plates of food. She nodded and grabbed two plates of the finger foods and followed the two boys outside on to the covered patio. “We’ll usually chill out here,” he added. 

Trailing behind the pair as she walked back inside, she saw Dylan in the kitchen laughing with three other girls and felt her heart sink a little bit. His eyes crinkled at the corners while he spoke and the girls around him were also laughing as they set wine and desserts down on the counter. “Emmy!” Dylan called out to Emerson.

“I- fuck,” she sighed walking over ot him, “I hate that I let you call me that,” she glared at him before looking at the three girls. “Hi, I’m Emerson. He’s called me Emmy since I’ve been like twom don’t mind him,” she gave them a smile.

The redhead stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, “I’m Holland and this is Shelly and Arden. You’re Jake’s younger sister right?” She double checked. Emerson nodded as she hugged the other two. 

“And you’ve known Dylan for how long?” Arden asked. 

Emerson laughed in the back of her throat, “since before I was born. Him and my brother have been friends since they were three. Dylan actually came to the baby shower my mom had for me and him and my brother dropped the cake,” she smirked at Dylan who had started to turn red. 

“Wait, I didn’t know that one,” Tyler interrupted as he also greeted the three girls. “Is that true?” He asked Dylan who just nodded in reaction, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in when he heard another knock on the door. 

He walked past Emerson and bumped into her shoulder when he passed, “brat,” he mumbled so only she could hear it. 

“Asshole,” she replied at the same volume and snorted when she saw Dylan flip her off behind his back while he walked to the entryway. She suddenly realized how many people were staring to fill up the kitchen and swallowed the spit that had been sitting in her mouth for far too long. “I’m going to go outside for a few minutes,” she told Jake who asked if she felt okay by just raising his eyebrows. “You know how I get,” she grabbed her water bottle before slipping out into the backyard. 

She felt lucky to be in the position she currently found herself in, but sometimes too many new people too fast got her overwhelmed. She’d always been that way though. She sat down on one of the patio chairs and watched the water in the pool ripple from the filter running, picking at her cuticles that were already torn up. A few minutes later the door opened and she felt someone sit on the chair next to her. 

“You still get like this sometimes?” Dylan asked her, moving his chair a little closer to her now that she knew it had been him who came outside. 

Emerson shrugged, “it happens, happened at all my college visits, happened at states, it’s normal.” She spoke the truth, her anxiety got to be a bit much sometimes and she knew when she needed to pull away for a few minutes. 

“Yeah it happens,” Dylan pulled her right hand away from where she had been picking at the cuticles on her left, “doesn’t mean someone shouldn’t check on you.” Emerson went to speak but he cut her off, “and yes Jake told me you went out for a minute but I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Emerson bumped her shoulder into Dylan’s before she nodded, “all good now,” she stood up and nodded towards the house. “You have some more people to introduce me to.” Dylan smiled as he stood up, running  a hand through his messy hair.

“The rest just got here,” he followed Emerson into the house and she felt her brother and Tyler’s eyes on them. So much for telling Jake she still had a crush on Dylan, he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. 

Another hard lemonade that Dylan had stolen half of later, Emerson found herself outside sitting in a circle next to the fire pit in between Dylan and Shelly, who she had quickly gravitated towards. Most of the food Dylan and Jake made had been eaten and only a few desserts were left on the large glass table, but what had been left out would probably be gone within a couple of hours anyway. 

She had listened as Dylan and his castmates shared stories about set and filming and her brother seemed to fit right into the group. When asked about herself and her relationship with Dylan and her brother, Emerson had a few funny stories of her own to share that had Jake and Dylan groaning and red cheeked. “So,” Tyler Posey sat up a little straighter after the conversation had started to fade. “Anyone up for a little game, straight face, thumper?”

“Never have I ever?” Cody suggested and it had been met with a few hums and nods in agreement. “See I have good ideas sometimes,” Cody laughed, setting his beer down in front of himself.  Emerson shifted uncomfortably once she knew they would be playing never have I ever. It’s the one drinking game she hated playing. If she knew it would  be played at a party in high school she would often excuse herself for the game to go get fresh air or another drink. 

Emerson stood up and Dylan gave her a confused look, setting his bottle of beer down. “I’m just going to grab my water bottle and some Motrin, still a little jet lagged.” She told him. “Everyone can start without me.” She addressed the whole group.

“You’re good?” Jake just wanted to make sure his sister felt okay, but he had been flirting with one of Dylan’s castmates all night and she didn’t want to stomp on any chances he had, unsure if it h.ad been an ongoing thing or not. Emerson nodded and waved him off while she wandered inside, flicking on the kitchen light while she tried to find her water bottle. 

She unscrewed the top and filled it with ice before opening the fridge and grabbing the pitcher of filtered water, pouring it into her bottle. She left it open on the counter while she went to find the motrin in her backpack, opening up the orange bag she found the bottle and dumped two pills into her hand. She hoped to push off the migrange she felt coming on until the morning so she could at least sleep.

Walking back down stairs, shaking the two pills in her hand, she noticed Dylan dumping leftover food into the garbage can and filling up a recycling bag with bottles and cans. “Need help?” She asked before slipping the pills into her mouth and taking a sip of her water before closing it. 

“I actually just came to see what was up with you, figured I could clean up while I waited,” he shrugged, putting a few plates in the sink. “You got out of there pretty quick.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter while Emerson slid up into the spot she had been sitting on earlier. “Your dad used to yell at you for that when you were younger.” Dylan pointed out.

Emerson reached up to run her fingers across the scar that sat on the bridge of her nose. “Then I fell off and cracked my face up,” she dropped her hand, “I think he just assumed I had learned my lesson after that.”

Dylan grimaced at the memory of her falling off the counter, he had been over for a superbowl party when that happened. “Clearly didn’t,” he laughed a little bit, “why’d you need to come inside though? Ran off a little fast just to grab a drink and motrin, and thought you said earlier you were amazing at drinking games.” 

“Okay, first off you know I get migraines,” she reminded him. “Second I like drinking games,” she emphasized the word game. “Never have I ever isn’t much of a drinking game, not really a fan.” She shrugged wishing she could curl up in a ball and disappear. She wasn’t about to spew her lack of experience in life out to Dylan, of all people. 

Dylan uncrossed his arms and braced them on the counter behind him, “okay but it’s still fun to learn about all the embarrassing and sometimes slightly illegal things your friends have done,” he knew he was currently pushing the issue. He knew how to push the issue to hear what he wanted to from Emerson, he’d been doing it for years now.

“You see, this is where it gets hard to follow Dylan,” she pointed at him motioning for him not to speak for a few minutes. “It’s not fun when you haven’t done anything normal let alone embarrassing or slightly illegal. So you just sit there twiddling your thumbs the entire time because you lack zero life experience except being related to an MLB player and you’re really good at softball,” she let out a long breath before looking down at the water bottle that sat between her legs. “So no it’s not fun,” she mumbled before looking up.

She watched as Dylan chewed on his bottom lip, probably deciding what to say while he watched her nervously fiddle with her water bottle. “Is it that you just haven’t found anyone to do that kind of thing with?” He asked her. Emerson let her legs uncross and swung them in front of herself, making a thumping noise each time they hit into the cabinet under her. 

“Umm,” she hesitated for a minute. What would he be expecting her to tell him? She currently had feelings for him? The one guy she had actually been interested in during high school got back with his ex the night he took Emerson to prom? “I mean, there had been one guy I was interested in, but he wound up getting back with his ex the night of prom.” She tried to shrug it off. 

“And there’s no one else you’re interested in?” Why did he keep pushing so hard? What would be the outcome if he eventually coaxed it out of her? 

Emerson took a moment to run through all the possible answers to the question in her head. She could just tell him, she was interested in someone, but then he would definitely continue to push the issue. “I mean, yeah there’s people I’d be interested in, but it’s unrealistic to pursue if I’m being honest.” She cleared her throat after and watched as Dylan pushed himself off the counter, moving closer to Emerson. He stopped when he stood in front of her, his knees almost brushing hers. 

Emerson looked up and noticed his five-o’clock shadow that she wanted to reach out and brush her fingers over. She wanted to know what it would feel like if she cupped his cheek in her and. What it would feel like if she kissed him. She also wanted to know what his lips would feel like on hers, if they would be soft or slightly chapped. She had kissed boys before, but none of the kisses she had turned out to be ‘good’. Dylan was older than her, more experienced, he would most likely know what to do, he’d easily be able to guide her. 

“Well,” his eyes flickered down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. His warm eyes searching hers for any sign of discomfort or uneasiness, “I also know there’s people I’m interested in, but I wasn’t sure what the consequences would be if I pursued said feelings.” He moved even closer to Emerson, her legs moving so he could stand between them. 

Her breath hitched in her throat when she noticed that she could feel Dylan’s body heat radiating off of him, he felt very warm, and very close. “At- at least it’s not unrealistic,” she told him, never breaking eye contact. 

He lifted a hand to rest under her chin and his thumb ran across her bottom lip. Emerson sat stunned, she felt paralyzed, Dylan felt too close to her and he was touching her in what she classified as a very intimate way. “You tell me if this is unrealistic,” he lifted Emerson’s mouth even closer to his and she felt his breath fan across her lips, she could smell the alcohol on his breath but the sweetness of the lemonade element overpowered it. He was sober. She was sober. It was fine to kiss him. 

“I don’t think it is,” she quietly replied. 

Dylan swiped his tongue over his lips and they pulled into a slight smile. “Can I- can I kiss you?” He asked before swallowing thickly. Emerson responded by pushing up and slotting her lips against his, a long breath releasing from her nose as she finally felt slightly relaxed for the first time that night. Their lips seemed to move together much smoother than any kiss she had before, and it didn’t feel messy or rushed. 

After a few seconds Emerson pulled away to breath and Dylan rested his forehead against hers, a breathy laugh falling past his lips while they both smiled. “I cannot believe I just did that,” Emerson mumbled before laughing herself, her forehead falling to Dylan’s shoulder as they both tried to laugh any awkwardness out. 

“It wasn’t bad though right?” Dylan asked and Emerson could feel him smiling against her shoulder. “Because there’s no pressure but I’d really like to take you upstairs for a little while and try that again.”

Emerson’s eyes widened at Dylan’s words and she picked her head up, waiting for him to do the same before she spoke. “You’re serious?” She asked with slight unbelief in her voice, “because the answer is that felt fucking amazing and the answer is yes,” she had to be dreaming right now, she really had to be. Dylan pushed away from the counter and held a hand out for Emerson to take. “Thank you,” she gripped it as she slid off the counter and her feet planted on the tile floor of the kitchen. 

“My pleasure,” Dylan gave her a purposely terrible wink as he dragged her towards the staircase by her hand. Emerson followed him up the stairs, trying not to trip while they both laughed like little kids  who were trying not to get caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. Once reaching Dylan’s room he pulled Emerson inside and closed the door before pressing her against it, chest to chest, his hands on either side of her head. 

The pair caught their breath and just watched each other for a few moments, taking the situation in before Dylan dipped down and pressed his lips to Emerson’s. His hands came up to rest on his shoulders, one of his slipping down to grip her waist and pull her tighter against him. “Wait,” Emerson pulled away, “everyone’s gonna wonder where we went,” she breathed out.

“So,” Dylan pulled her away from the door and pushed her onto his bed, her letting out an ‘oof’ when her back hit the mattress. “Let them wonder,” he shrugged, crawling above her. Emerson reached up to wind her arms around his neck, her fingers running through the hair at the base of his neck. “Because I am very happy right here,” with that he leaned down to kiss Emerson again.

Emerson closed her eyes and tried to melt into the feeling of kissing Dylan. She felt as if she was on cloud nine, kissing the boy she had a crush on for well over half her life, and she didn’t want to let it slip away too fast. She took a breath through her nose when she felt Dylan’s teeth pull on her bottom lip and she pulled away from the kiss way too fast, his teeth catching on her lip as she jerked away. “I’m sorry!” She wanted to crawl under the bed and hide. “I just didn’t - I wasn’t,” bhe she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say. 

“You haven’t gone that far before and you weren’t sure what to expect?” Dylan asked her as they both sat up, her legs swinging over the side of his bed. Emerson nodded and bit down on her bottom lip, not wanting to actually admit she had as little experience as she actually did. “And that is perfectly fine,” Dylan rested a hand on her thigh and started to rub circles into her skin. “I don’t see that as a problem,”

Emerson turned to face him, “and it’s fine and dandy you don’t see it as a problem, but I do! It’s embarrassing Dylan! I’m starting college and don’t even know how to properly kiss a boy when all my friends were having sex their sophmore or junior year!” She felt herself wanting to crawl under the bed more and more with every word she spoke but Dylan sat back against his head bored and pulled her with his so she straddled his lap. 

“I mean, we’re here now right?” He slipped his hands under her shirt and ran his thumbs along her hip bone sending goosebumps around her entire body. “And if you trust me enough to take the lead I can show you how this whole kissing thing works,” he pinched her side making her laugh and grab his hand, “it can be quite nice when you actually relax.” He gave her a sideways smirk.

“I-” Emerson paused, “okay, yeah. I trust you.” She nodded her head and relaxed in Dylan’s hold, waiting for him to make the first move.

He reached down to pull off her glasses and folded them closed, placing them on his nightstand. “Well first off, it’ll be a lot more comfortable without these in the way,” he smiled and leaned forward to peck her lips before he got a firmer grip on her hips and flipped her over so she again found herself underneath him.

He braced himself on his forearms above her, his stomach pressed against hers, “now just let your lips follow mine, ‘kay?” He leaned down to attach his lips to Emerson’s. 

She closed her eyes and found her left hand gripping the front of Dylan’s shirt, the right reaching around to settle in the soft hair at the back of his head. She felt his lips moving against her’s and tried to copy his movements unsure of what else to do. Dylan smiled against her lips when he picked up what she had been trying to do and decided to run his tongue against her bottom lip and gauge her reaction for where to go next. When Emerson didn’t pull away Dylan decided he could probably go a little further and allowed himself to pull away to take a breath.

“I’m sure you’ve at least heard about using tongue to kiss,” he laughed lightly when Emerson scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve heard about high school boys who don’t know how to do it right,” he told her. “I told you I’m showing you how real guys kiss, not high school scum.”

Emerson took a deep breath before she leaned forward to reconnect their lips, her teeth pulling lightly on Dylan’s bottom lip this time. “Then stop talking and show me.” She mumbled. Dylan felt a groan bubbling in the back of his throat and swallowed it, instead opting to lean forward and run his tongue over her bottom lip before he even attached their lips. 

Emerson’s mouth had opened slightly against his and took it as his opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, he felt her tense slightly but then she quickly relaxed. He wrapped his tongue around hers and pulled it slightly into his own mouth before pulling away, dragging her bottom lip between his teeth as he did. He kissed the corner of her slightly swollen lips, and rested his forehead against hers. He felt himself start to grow uncomfortable in his jeans but pushed the feeling away, this needed to be about him making Emerson comfortable, not about him getting off. 

“Damn,” Emerson laughed as she felt Dylan’s slightly heavier breathing fan across her lips. “You’re pretty good at this.” She let her hand that had been gripping the front of his shirt slip underneath it, running up and down his abs. 

Dylan shivered before offering her a smile back, “not too bad yourself,” he threw her another terrible wink. “Gets even better though,” he added, “could show you that too if you were still up for it.” Emerson nodded when she heard everyone outside still laughing and talking slighter louder than they needed too, their voices drifting through Dylan’s cracked window. 

“I mean, sounds pretty good to me,” she hummed, “I just feel bad, I’m not like doing anything for you.” She watched as Dylan’s gaze softened. 

He reached up to cup her jaw with his left hand, just his right hand holding him up now. “Trust me,” he leaned down to peck her lips, “this is more than enough for me.” Dylan moved his hand down so it gripped her chin and turned her head slightly to the right, exposing the left side of her neck to him. Emerson swallowed thickly when she felt his lips attach to the left corner of her lips, he started trailing kisses up to where her jaw met her neck and let his teeth scrape gently across the area, his tongue running across it after. 

He continued the trail of kisses down her neck again until his lips reached her pulse point. He felt Emerson stiffen in his arms and knew he found exactly what he has been looking for. He started sucking on the spot lightly and felt Emerson’s grip on his hair tightern slightly. After a few seconds he bit down lightly on the skin and he heard a small noise slip past her lips that sent her pulling away from him. 

“I’m so-” but he cut her off.

“That’s natural don’t be sorry and let me finish what I started, and don’t make yourself stay quiet. I find it quite hot when I know I’m making a girl feel good,” he mumbled and attached his lips to the same spot again, intending to leave a very nice hickey there. 

Emerson laid plaint in Dylan’s hold and tried to let herself fully enjoy the feeling of his lips against her neck. She hoped he wasn't lying when he said he liked hearing that he made girls feel good because she let a quiet moan slip past her lips when he bit down on the area again. He continued to suck a little harder on the area and soothed it with his tongue every few seconds. 

Dylan continued his actions until he knew there would be a bruise forming on the area and pulled away to admire his work. A dark bruise was in fact starting to form exactly where he wanted it to and he leaned down to run his tongue across it a final time before he kissed his way back up to Emerson’s lips. 

She felt more comfortable this time and decided maybe she could try and take more of a lead, not wanting to leave Dylan high and dry. She pulled on the hem of Dylan’s shirt while they kissed and he pulled away to pull the fabric over his head, dropping it on the floor next to his bed. Emerson let herself admire his body for a moment before she spoke, “can I try?” she asked quietly.

Dylan let himself let out a quiet groan at her question before nodding. He gripped her hips again and flipped them over so she straddled his lap, her ass resting right above his growing ‘problem’. Emerson leaned forward to kiss his lips before she ran her tongue under his bottom lip, slowly and slightly unsure. Dylan parted his lips and allowed her to move her tongue into his mouth, tangling with his for a moment before she pulled away.

“Just like this?” She asked as she grabbed his chin and turned his head to the side. Dylan gave a hum in approval and closed his eyes when he felt Emerson attach her lips to his neck. Her left hand splayed out over his abs while her right shakily held his chin still. 

She remembered one of her friends saying something about her boyfriend loving it when she pulled on his earlobe with her teeth while they were making out and decided it was worth a shot if it could possibly impress Dylan. She allowed her lips to trail up his neck until they were right under Dylan’s lips and felt him shiver when she planted a kiss there. Closing her eyes and hoping for thr best she pulled on his earloble lightly with her teeth and heard Dylan let out a breathy ‘fuck’. 

Happy with herself Emerson trailed her lips down his neck again until they met his adams apple. She bit down lightly on the skin before she began sucking on it, trying to mimic the actions he had done on her neck a few minutes earlier. She soothed her tongue over the skin after a little while and felt Dylan’s grip on her hips tighten as he let out a louder groan this time. “Damn you learn fast,” he mumbled as Emerson sucked on his skin again before pulling lightly on it with her teeth. She left a gentle kiss on the area before sitting up, admiring the dark mar forming on his skin. 

“Thanks,” she smiled leaning down to peck his lips. “I had a great teacher,” it was her turn to offer Dylan a wink. She laid her head down on his chest and his arms came to wrap around her, hugging her against him. “We should probably go downstairs and see what everyone’s doing,” she said after noticing it had fallen quiet outside now.

Dylan laughed and it shook her entire body, “yeah sporting matching hickeys and swollen lips,” he replied. “But I think you’re right.” He unwrapped his arms from Emerson and pulled her down into one final, lingering kiss before she sat up fully. She grabbed her glasses off the nightstand and slid them on straight.

“Here,” she bent down to hand him his shirt, “might want to put that back on,” she shrugged as she wandered out of his room and to the staircase. 

Dylan rushed to pull the shirt over his head as he followed Emerson down the stairs, “hope you know you’re staying in my room tonight!” He told her while she grabbed her water bottle.

“Yeah,” Emerson took a sip, “and you might want to put your shirt on right side out before you go outside,” she patted his chest while she walked past, pulling the sliding glass door open and stepping outside. Leaving Dylan in the middle of the kitchen, red faced while he turned his shirt right side out.

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hurts A Little Less

Summary:  Bucky knew he was never at his best. But you were a constant, helping him on the days where things were difficult. 

Features/Warnings: Minor angst; mentions of Bucky’s trauma 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Notes: Based off of ‘Hurts to Know’ by 1551, which I highly recommend you listen to while reading. Spot the Hallmark Channel reference 😂

Word Count: 2394

He stood, staring blankly out the window. The sun was shining, but you knew a darkness was battling inside. You stood by him, day in and day out. The line between friends and more had blurred a long time ago. You sighed as you stood from where you sat on the couch, heading for the kitchen. 

You loved him, more than you loved anyone before. You had been down that road before, thinking you could fix someone, heal them. You knew you couldn’t. It wasn’t a healthy mentality to have. He wasn’t a broken toy. He was a human being, one who had been through unimaginable things. You knew the only thing you could do was make sure he knew you were there, that you cared, that you loved him. You couldn’t fight that battle for him, as much as you wished you could. It was the one battle he had to face one on one. At the end of the day, when the fighting became too much, you would be there to hold him, to support him, but you weren’t the one healing him. No. That was something he had to take charge of. 

He stood, staring blankly out the window. Thoughts swirled around his head. Every failure. Every life he had taken. In startling clarity. The Starks hit hardest, especially now that he had worked through that trauma with Tony. It had taken multiple counseling sessions for them to reach an understanding, to reach common ground. It had surprisingly been Tony’s idea. 

“If we’re going to work together, you and I have problems to resolve and Pepper has informed me that punching you repeatedly is not a productive way of resolving our issues,” Tony said. Bucky looked at him with an unreadable expression.

“Buck?” you asked, looking at him with concern. 

“What’s the catch? You would’ve killed me if Steve had let you,” Bucky said. Tony glared at him.

“You killed my parents. I think I’m entitled to a bit of anger. You in or not? Because we’re not going on missions until we resolve this because no one trusts that we won’t kill one another,” Tony said. 

“Okay,” Bucky said, stunning everyone in the room. Tony opened his mouth, prepared to continue arguing his case.

“Wait...you agreed?” Tony asked. Bucky nodded. Dr. Thornton had been telling him he needed to start working through accepting his past. She had been encouraging him to work things through with Tony if Tony approached him. Elizabeth Thornton was a force to be reckoned with. Her husband had been a SHIELD agent, close to Fury. She worked with the children and adults involved with the Avengers initiative now. 

“Well, alright then,” Tony said.

Their sessions had been filled with tension to start. You were the one constant, always there like his own Northern star, guiding him home again, back to some sense of stability. You gave him space to breathe, to exist, to process. Steve was well meaning, but his oldest friend could be overbearing at times with his need to check in on Bucky. Sam, as much as Bucky hated to admit it, had been a help there. Reminding Steve that Bucky needed to adjust on his own terms. You were different. 

You were a quiet person, in his periphery from the day he set foot in the compound after he was cleared and the Accords were thrown out. You didn’t give him looks of pity. You didn’t crowd his space. You would enter a room and sit down in his line of vision. Sometimes you had a book, other times some sort of handheld device, what he had learned was a Switch. You were there, existing in the same space, but giving him his. 

The dark days had outnumbered the good days back then. And when it was dark, it felt like no light could break through. Like he would never be able to move forward. And then you’d ask him a question, something off the wall. At first he wouldn’t respond. He wanted to be left alone. God, did he want to be left alone. But you persisted. If it wasn’t an off the wall question, you’d launch into a story about the team, about your childhood, anything that came to your mind. Slowly it had gone from an annoyance to something he looked forward to, something that pulled him away from the dark turn his thoughts constantly took. He remembered the day he told Dr. Thornton about you.

“How have you been since the last time I saw you?” she asked. Bucky was quiet for a moment, looking around the familiar office. Her desk had a photo of her with a group of people, friends from home, he guessed. She came from a small town in the Pacific Northwest, Hope Valley. 

“I don’t know. There’s this agent. And she’s annoying,” he said, a small smile on his face. Elizabeth kept her expression neutral, writing something down. It was the first time she’d seen him smile about something that wasn’t long since passed. It was progress. He launched into a rant about you.

“But she’s real nice. Doesn’t make me try to talk like Steve. Don’t get me wrong, he’s like my brother...but...he can be overbearing,” Bucky said.

“And how’s your relationship with Sam?” she asked. At this, Bucky laughed. It was a rare sound. Elizabeth wrote that down too. He might not have seen it himself, but James Buchanan Barnes had made progress since the first day in her office. He was starting to let the walls down for someone who wasn’t Steve Rogers. She knew you well. You popped in from time to time, sometimes after a difficult mission, other times because you needed to talk. 

When Bucky left his appointment that afternoon, he had a soft smile on his face and you on his mind. 

Bucky was pulled from his thoughts by your voice. He turned to see you sitting on the couch, two mugs of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream in front of you. 

“I think today is a favorites kind of day, what do you think, Buck?” you asked him, a small smile on your face. He nodded. 

“I think that’s a great idea, doll,” he said, his voice low. You still heard him. He made his way over to you, picking up his mug. You had learned since meeting Bucky that sometimes on his bad days, if you gave him choices on low effort things, it helped him. There were days where he wanted to be left alone entirely. On those days, you would make sandwiches for him and leave them in a container on his desk in his room after making sure he took his medication. What you would do after varied. Sometimes it was shopping with Natasha and Wanda. Other times you would sit and talk with Steve for a while or resort to baking if you wanted to be alone. If it wasn’t baking, you would sit and journal, occasionally checking in on Bucky through FRIDAY, something he had given you permission to do. 

“Can we order pizza? And mozzarella sticks?” Bucky asked quietly. You nodded. It was one of the things Bucky had slowly adjusted to. Being his own person again. Having agency and making decisions for himself. He had had time to start adjusting while he was recovering in Wakanda. But coming back to the US had presented new challenges, new decisions to be made, and a society that hadn’t been ready to accept that he was an Avenger until at least part of the truth had come out. 

“FRIDAY can you please order that for us? And two orders of garlic knots,” you said. FRIDAY knew your usual order. 

“The usual then?” the AI asked. 

“Yes please. Thank you,” you said. Bucky stifled a laugh at your manners. You always made sure to say please and thank you to the AI when asking for something. It was something he found endearing. 

“What?” you asked him. 

“Nothing, nothing. Just you,” he said, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. You took a sip of yours, coming away with a whipped cream mustache. He laughed a little before swiping his finger across your upper lip.

“You had a little,” he said, holding up his finger. The two of you got comfortable, turning on a movie he hadn’t seen yet.  As the movie credits started to roll, you looked over at him.

“How have you been sleeping, Buck?” you asked him. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. The two of you weren’t at the point yet of sharing a room and you had been gone all week on a mission. He always hesitated before telling you when things had been bad. He didn’t want to place that burden on you, no matter how many times you insisted you wanted to know, that he could tell you anything. He was scared. Scared that if he told you some of the things on his mind that you would walk away, even though everything he knew about you told him that wasn’t who you were. 

“Not great. Nightmares,” he said. You nodded. 

“Did you try the tea?” you asked him. It was one of the new things you were trying. Something to help settle him down. Whether it was a placebo effect or not, it had been helping at least a little before you left. 

“Wasn’t the same as when you made it for me,” he said.

“Fair enough,” you said. The two of you sat talking for a bit. He was more relaxed than he had been earlier. As the two of you spoke, you smiled as you thought about how far he had come from those early days. 

A few days later found you sitting on the balcony late in the night. You hadn’t been able to sleep. A sense of something being wrong had settled in and you couldn’t shake it. You drained your cup of tea before checking on Bucky. You were alarmed when FRIDAY told you he was in distress. She usually was on top of letting you know, and if you weren’t there, letting Steve know. 

You barreled into his room to find him hunched over. You sat beside him as his shoulders shook. 

“May I touch you, Bucky?” you asked. He shook his head. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” you asked. Again, he shook his head. You stood up and grabbed a bottle of water from where they were stored in the refrigerator and looked around for the other things you needed. It used to be more frequent that he would have nightmares bad enough to shake him like that. More like memories, you had thought. He had said they hadn’t been to that level while you were gone, just bad enough to keep him from wanting to go back to sleep. 

You handed him the bottle of water while you busied yourself in the kitchenette making a cup of tea for him. It was routine now. You never pushed him. He would talk if he was ready. If not to you, then to Dr. Thornton or Steve. If he really didn’t want to talk, he would write about it. It was progress from where he had been when you met him, when the two of you weren’t even friends. Back then he never spoke, unless it was short sentences, and even then it was mostly to Steve. 

You brought him the tea, sitting down beside him. He reached for you after finishing the tea, pulling you on to his lap and into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him more than he was holding you. 

Bucky’s thoughts were still racing. You were there. You were alive. You were okay. His nightmares had taken a new turn. One that saw you ending up hurt or worse because of him. His biggest fear now was hurting you. He knew he wasn’t perfect. He knew that his trauma would be a lifelong process of working through. He knew that he would never fault you for walking away. But you still hadn’t. You stayed, patiently waiting, listening, helping. You were his reminder that there was still good. It wasn’t you alone, but you were who he was around most.

He saw good in how Wanda would sneak off to volunteer at the children’s hospital, reading to the kids and spending time with them, entertaining them with her magic, a reminder that she wasn’t only a force for destruction. He saw it in how Peter Parker helped out at a local soup kitchen, both in the city and near the compound. Peter Parker, who had taken time to explain to Bucky what the hell a meme was, knowledge that Bucky had one hundred percent weaponized against the team, making them groan on more than one occasion. Bucky saw good in how Natasha spent some of her time off helping victims of abuse, in how Tony had started an actual internship program for students from low income backgrounds. He spent a lot of time watching, observing while lost in his own head. He wasn’t sure the team knew what the others really did in their free time away. None of them ever broadcast those things. But Bucky saw them. It grounded him, in a way. Another beacon of light, of hope.

You felt Bucky slowly start to relax. His arms loosened and you pulled back a little. He was looking at you, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” you asked.

“Everything you do. You don’t have to do the things you do for me, but you do,” he said. You shook your head.

“Because I love you. Our friends love you. And we never want you to forget that you’re loved, Bucky,” you said. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew the road was long, but with you by his side, with his friends by his side, he knew it would be easier. It would never be easy, life so very rarely was. But if there was one thing James Buchanan Barnes was sure of, it was that he would never be alone, not truly, and that made all the difference. 

[cagestark]

WIS for Keyz

Happy early birthday to one of my personal angels in the fandom, @starkerkeyz​. I hope your day is half as lovely as you are <3

About this drabble: SFW. WinterIronSpider. Bucky and Peter coax Tony out of the lab and pamper him.

-

“Hey handsome,” Bucky murmurs, his breath a warm plume against the back of Tony’s neck. His body doesn’t even shiver though, not with the complex circuitry in front of him. Reaching up, he taps at the goggles he wears until the lenses zoom in. “Can I get a ETA on when to expect you upstairs again?”

“Give me another hour,” Tony murmurs, barely moving his mouth, diverting his very breath away from the circuit board in front of him. There’s something wrong, something with the capacitors not holding charge efficiently. Sighing, he reaches out for the soldering iron and presses it against the solder joint, slipping into his work more seamless than another man might slip into sleep.

Bucky clears his throat. Tony glances up and sees that Peter is beside him, more than half a head shorter, though their twin expressions of disapproval make them look remarkably similar. I’ve messed up, Tony thinks. What’d I do?

“The hour will go by faster if you don’t interrupt me, lights of my life,” he mutters, eyes slipping back down to the circuit board.

“The hour went by, Tony. It went by an hour ago,” Peter says.

Tony blinks. He glances at the digital clock displayed by his work station, but he has no context for it, no idea when Bucky last came down into the lab, no idea even whether the time on the clock is AM or PM. All at once he feels the aching hollowness of his stomach, the greasy heaviness of his unwashed hair.

“How long have I been down here?” Tony wonders.

“Since Thursday, boss,” FRIDAY says. Unhelpful, considering Tony isn’t even sure of the day at this point.

“Too long,” Bucky translates. “Up you get. Don’t make me manhandle you.”

Manhandling sounds—well, Tony would hardly mind. He plays up that lasciviousness, leaning heavily on his stronger lovers to disguise how his knees ache from being bent for so long, how his head goes foggy from low blood pressure.

There’s a scent, one that makes his mouth water, throat ache. How he can smell it in the elevator when the penthouse is floors and floors away, he has no clue. When he relaxes his head, nuzzling against Peter’s neck, he smells it there: garlic and marinara.

“Have you been cooking?” Tony asks. “You could have ordered out, kid, charged the card I gave you. No need to expend the effort on my behalf—“

“None of that or I’ll gag you with a piece of garlic bread.”

Tony opens his mouth wide as the elevator doors open. He lets out a groan at the aroma of fresh tomato and basil. There’s wine on the counter, and three glasses—Bucky and Peter are both familiar with Tony’s personal rule that he never drink alone. Considering his lovers don’t care much to drink, this must be a special occasion.

“God, it’s our anniversary, isn’t it,” Tony slurs. “I’m so sorry. I meant to send flowers, four dozen roses or—“

“Our anniversary is in the summer,” Bucky reminds him. Glancing over at the windows, Tony sees the dark, cold evening sky, the swirl of snow. He blinks. Nudging him forward, Bucky leads him away from the dinner. “Bath first. You stink.”

“Can’t smell anything over that garlic bread—bath? Excuse me? What am I, a toddler?”

“I’m thinking about bending you over my knee like one if you don’t start stripping,” Bucky says. His eyes glitter though while he sits on the edge of the porcelain tub (big enough to fit three, Tony knows from pleasurable experience), watching Tony strip off his t-shirt singed with holes. The bath fills with water so hot it steams, and it isn’t until it’s half full that Bucky stands and begins to strip himself.

“Is it that kind of bath then?” Tony wonders. “Because we can skip the foreplay and get straight to the main event. I’m easy like that.”

“Peter,” Bucky calls, loud to be heard over the rushing water. “Bring that garlic bread gag!”

“Okay!” Peter chirps.

Bucky gets in first, leaning his back against the curve of the tub, legs spread wide. It’s clear that he wants Tony to take up space between those thighs. Swallowing hard, Tony enters as carefully as he can, a water-warmed metal hand helping keep him stable as he slips down under the water, groaning at the immediate relief it gives his aching muscles.

“God, that’s good.”

Bucky hums, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist, coaxing him to lean back against that broad, strong chest. All at once, Tony feels choked up, eyes stinging, throat working to swallow the knot that rests there.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” Tony says, struggling to keep his voice even. “A few days down in the lab is nothing. Before you two, I’d become very good at being alone. I can take care of myself.”

“You’re good at taking care of yourself,” Bucky mutters, his voice a warm rumble against Tony’s back. “Now we’ve got to get you good at being taken care of.”

“A tip?” Peter says, three empty glasses held in one hand and a plate of garlic bread in the other. The wine bottle is tucked under his arm. “Just lay back and take it. Here, garlic bread first.”

Tony shakes his hand half-dry and reaches out to take a piece of bread. It’s still warm, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, slick with olive oil. He can’t help but groan and lick his fingers clean. Peter seats himself on the floor beside the tub and pours three even glasses, offering one to each of them.

One of Bucky’s hands comes up and begins to work to dampen the hairs at the back of Tony’s head, breath ghosting over his neck and—yes. Now he gets goosebumps. I could get used to this, he thinks.

And, well, practice makes perfect.

“Want to wash my hair?” Tony mumbles, half-asleep.

Peter takes the wine glass from his hand before it can slip free on its own, and Bucky presses a soft kiss in the hollow between Tony’s neck and shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask.”