#when the pandemic very firmly shut all the doors on me and stopped me getting any contacts in the comics industry

[mekanikaltrifle]

i know notes numbers aren’t a sign of success or anything and I don’t actually like the thought of being really hugely known but. sometimes I feel a little down that I’m sucha  small presence inverse to the amount of work I put in. :( Shit ain’t a meritocracy, I know.

[fountainpenguin]

Upcoming Fanfic Preview - WordGirl

Obligatory "Doesn't have links so it will show up in tags" post

So here's a funny story! Back in 2018, I started a multi-chapter WordGirl 'fic about Kid Math adjusting to life on Earth and bouncing between foster families because he keeps blowing his secret identity and/or picking fights. It's called "Factor It In!"

The 'fic was shelved because of school, pandemic, and job, but I always wanted to bring it back. If you liked my "WordGirl and Kid Math show up at villain karaoke night" one-shot, "AlgoRhythm," you might like this sequel fic too.

Full cover image + links on my blog June 16th!

Chapter 1 goes live on FFN + AO3 on June 16th (FountainPenguin), plus I'll do my usual announcement post for blog followers. Enjoy! :'D

Factor It In - First 1,800 words under the cut!

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Minor content warning for this snippet - Canon-typical implied backstory trauma (Potatoes, bruises, neglect).

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FACTOR IT IN

Order of Operations

.:: January 3rd - Saturday ::.

"One must be taught his place if orderly structure is ever to be maintained."

(Ancient Hexagon proverb)

➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗

Psst! Look for the words independent and uneasy

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It's a chilly winter afternoon in the home of Milo and Miah Pirakell, who have just received a familiar visitor on their doorstep…

HELP!

The word hovers like a sugar cube on the end of his tongue. H-E-L-P exclamation point exclamation point… Milo stands there, as frozen as the snowboy, snowgirl, and snowmonkey in the yard across the street, quietly goggling the woman waiting for him on the front step. She isn't very tall, though the high heels help a ton with that. She smiles back at him. It's a pretty smile, her lips a sparkly glossy pink. Is she as nervous as he is? She's rocking back and forth on her toes, and he can't help but follow every movement.

Sandy blonde-brown hair. She kept it tied back in a bun. Does he know her? She looks sort of familiar, but this silent revelation doesn't stop the panicked heartbeat bouncing up and down inside his chest.

Help…

Maybe he's seen her face smeared across the newspapers or thrown across the TV screens. Is he about to be robbed blind in his own home? Does this woman have some sort of knock-out gas in that briefcase? He tightens his fingers on the door frame, saying nothing, until his wife's careful, loving hands grip onto his shoulder and pull him aside. Like a slug, he oozes at her command.

"Clarissa!" Miah - his beautiful, smiling Miah - pushes the door a little more open. "Please come in. Milo, you remember Mrs. Argent, our case manager with the foster system."

Milo peers at the sandy-haired woman again. Clarissa Argent, our case manager with the foster system. Yes. Yes, he does know her, though he's grateful for the set-up. He's struggled with memory problems all his life and Miah always grants him context like this when introducing someone he might not recall. Name. Job title. Location. Easy peasy.

Yes. He remembers. Her name's been on the calendar since yesterday, and he's been counting his heartbeats all this time. Clarissa Argent has eyes as silver as her surname, and she smiles up at Milo and switches her briefcase to her left hand. She extends the right for a shake. Milo blinks back at her, then uses two fingers to carefully adjust his glasses on his nose.

Clarissa. Case manager. Foster care.

"Would you like to come in?" he asks. His voice trembles when he says it, but neither Clarissa nor Miah mind at all. He grasps Clarissa's hand and gives it a shake. Sweat drips down his palm and smears across the creases of her fingers. He winces, but Clarissa's smile never wavers.

"Thank you so much for letting me visit. I wanted to get right down to it."

"Have a cookie," Miah offers, waving her into the living room. Milo stands blankly by the door, watching them go, until Miah glances back at him and gently motions for him to shut it so the snowflakes stay firmly outdoors. Right. He pushes it shut and locks it out of habit. He always locks the door when he's inside. Fair City is teeming with wild villains who could snap a lock like this in seconds, but it eases the anxiety very, very faintly anyway. Milo keeps his forehead to the door for three seconds, clicking through his memories and trying to remember why they're meeting with Clarissa.

Something's wrong… Help, help…

The girls are already chatting in the living room. Miah just redecorated in October, freshening up the place with a much more modern look. Clarissa hasn't visited since last April, so she's astonished by the changes and has to comment on every one of them. They even replaced the bulging, waterstained wood with nicer carpet.

Help…

Why is she here? This breaks the routine. Milo curls his fingers against the white door, blinking over and over as the world sways beneath his feet. Usually when there's a kid who needs a place to crash for the weekend, they get phone calls. Half the time, they aren't even "real" foster kids- just kids who temporarily lost track of their parents in some sort of villainous mishap like a cheesy tidal wave, a thunderstorm of bread slices, or a giant robot crushing the subway lines.

He's been there. Milo remembers all too painfully the chaos of his own youth, stranded and shocked in the road in the middle of a rainstorm while his house crumbled beneath the weight of potatoes before his very eyes. He'd been home alone after school. He was only eight. He's held a lot of shivering kids in his lap, rocking them back and forth while they watch something happier on the TV than the news. Even if he's fidgety, desperate to stay up to date with this crazy world they live in, and he can't resist flipping through the channels once he's safe inside his own bedroom.

Help…

Clarissa's personal visit does not take his anxiety down. But she's here, with Miah, and there are chocolate chip cookies waiting in the other room. And somewhere out there, one file folder away, is a kid who needs more help than he does. Milo inhales through his nostrils, counts to six, and exhales between his teeth. Though still uneasy, he peels himself from the door and trudges down the hall to join the two women in the living room.

Okay.

You have to take a step down from the hardwood floor to venture into the new living room. Milo does so, keeping his hand braced on the short handrail as he moves. He blinks at the bright lights, blinks at the snowflakes twirling on the other side of the open blinds, and blinks at Miah as she scoots closer to the pillows to make room for him beside her on the gray couch. Pleasantries are exchanged. Small talk. Milo, fidgeting, zones out for part of it, until he hears Clarissa shift the topic to the kid in question.

"He does need a close eye on him. Someone experienced with home security, who won't let him jump down from second-story windows. That's why I wanted to ask you in person. He's a very sharp-minded boy, Mr. and Mrs. M. Pirakell. Very kindhearted too."

Milo glances at Miah. She glances right back at him. "But…?" she prompts the case worker.

"Just… extremely independent." Clarissa drums her fingers against the top of her briefcase. "He's a loner. Very detached in conversation, struggling to pick up on social cues. He shows very little interest in anything beyond math, science, and music. Oh, and cross stitch. We're worried that the neighborhood kids he's currently around are bullying him in secret. He keeps slipping out through the windows and coming home an hour later covered in bruises. We were hoping to place him in a home where we can trust he'll be closely supervised, and the Pirakells are always the first to come to mind."

Of course they are. It's who they are. It's what they do. Milo stares at his toes, his heart plummeting towards the floor, even as the Narrator lets out a soft, breathy sigh above him. It's relief and amusement and gratitude all rolled into one, though nobody acknowledges it and the Narrator says nothing else. Miah glances uncertainly at Milo, then carefully speaks on behalf of them both.

"Clarissa… is this kid charmed? Is that why you're here to visit us in person?"

Charmed.

Silence.

"Well, yes."

Help…

"Didn't…" Milo fiddles for a moment with his wedding ring. "Um, didn't we put in our file that we might not be a good fit for charmed children right now?"

Clarissa rocks back and forth in subtle hesitation. Her long fingernails, painted turquoise, tighten in the ruffles of her black skirt. We did, Milo reflects, but says nothing as Clarissa drops her gaze to the file in her lap again.

"I saw you made that request, but… we're still facing a shortage of families, especially with the holidays. He's really struggling to get along at the group home. The staff suspects he and one of the other boys got in a fight just yesterday. If you reject the placement then I'll understand, but I at least wanted to meet with you in person so we could discuss any questions openly and face to face. His status is a little odd."

Help, help…

Miah slips her hand in Milo's then, tightening her fingers around his own. And he's grounded for a moment, firmly planted on the soft gray couch. No one's wailing for him. There are no invisible children on the floor.

There are lots of things he should probably ask. If the kid has siblings who have also been pulled into foster care. If any extended family members are known. If the kid will be transferring schools. If there are special food needs to keep in mind. If he has any appointments with doctors, dentists, sports teams, or music recitals just around the corner. If he likes to walk. Milo does a lot of walking, though Miah prefers long drives along the coast. What's the child's cultural background? Did he have a nice holiday? Are there parental visitations planned? If he and Miah say yes, will the child arrive tonight, and if so, has he had a chaotic morning? All these questions are things he can, and should, probably ask first.

But he doesn't.

Because his heart is pounding and his fingers look like dancing worms.

"Well…" Milo draws in a long, careful breath. He slowly releases it again, lowering his chin to his chest along with it. It does help him focus, but it doesn't calm the rapid kicking in his heart. "Okay, then. If he's charmed, what, uh, range of powers does he have? L-let's put that in the open first, before we talk about anything else."

There. He feels guilty just for saying it. He can feel the Narrator's wispy silence like the breath of a ghost above his head. It makes the hairs behind his neck stand on end. Milo bites his lip, squeezing Miah's hand, and she squeezes back in gentle reassurance. Maybe it's not an unfair question. Even though it nibbles at his skin.

But it's important. It might make a difference. He can't do invisibility again. He can't.

The lines around Clarissa's eyes crinkle with relief. She pulls her briefcase on her lap and clicks it open. Idly, Milo glances at the numbers on the combination when she tilts back the lid. Then he hates himself. Clarissa picks up a manila file folder and passes it over to Miah. "Yes, we've been looking into that… He's been staying in the group home over the holidays. So many families are out of town right now. I promise, I wouldn't come to you about this if I felt there was anything extreme in his file. He only has two powers that we know of. His skin will rapidly repair any open wound… and he can fly."

[ Factor It In - Full Chapter 1 available @ FFN / AO3 on June 16th (FountainPenguin) ]

[ladyinwriting18]

The Principal's Office (Modern AU Kylo x Reader)

Title: The Principal's Office Summary: Kylo Ren is your school's new principal. Everyone is intimidated by him but you just can not stop yourself from thinking about how beautiful he is. What will happen you are called to the principal's office after school? Words: 5,382 Warnings: Dom/sub dynamics, boss x employee dynamic, use of the term Daddy/Master, Spanking, Fingering, PIV, Male orgasm while receiving oral Author's Note: I will be the FIRST to say that this one is not my best work. It was the first creative writing I had done in over 4 years as well as my first Kylo fic that I wrote the first week of the pandemic. Which if I'm 100% transparent I dreamed this, sat up at 3AM and wrote it. Re-reading it now I think I've 100000000% improved but people seem to really like this one so I'm posting it here. I hope you'll enjoy!

Dear Ms. Y/N

I've heard complaints from some of the faculty that you are dressing too inappropriately. I run a very respectful school and will not tolerate such things. I need to see you in my office after school today. 4PM sharp! Do not be late. -Principal Kylo

You re-read the note for what seems like the one hundredth time. It baffles you so much that you find yourself reading it over once more. You scan your memory and try and remember a time where you've might have dressed inappropriately but nothing comes to mind. You work hard and love your job- you would never do anything to jeopardize that. You attempt to remain confident that this is all just a misunderstanding….. but the thought of being alone with the new principal makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

It’s not that he frightens you…. he is just extremely intimidating and so very handsome. The way the muscles in his arms strain against the tightness of his button up shirts. The way his deep voice sounds when he wishes you good morning. The way he towers over you even when you wear your highest heels. The way you've imagined his strong hands sliding up your-

You shake myself back to reality and continue walking towards his office. You can't be thinking such things around him. Principal Kylo runs a tight ship. He is passionate about the student’s education and has been known to put staff in their place for not taking their job seriously.

You however take my job very seriously, being a teacher brings you great joy.

You decide you must be firm and deny these horrible allegations against me! Letting that fuel your anger, you bravely march into his office and right up to his desk.

“Principal Kylo, I am shocked that you would believe such things! I would never purposely wear inappropriate clothing to work! I'm one of your best teachers on staff. I wouldn't dare do such a thing and I am very upset that you would accuse me! It's your male faculty that stare and whisper dirty things under their breath about me. And I'm sure that this is just some trick to get me in trouble with you since I refuse to sleep with any of them. I know you are new to the school but I’ve never given you any reason to believe such things!”

He stands up from his chair and makes his way to the door of his office before shutting it firmly. You lose my nerve for a moment, feeling that familiar feeling of intimidation and desire. The sound of the lock of his door clicks into place followed by his steps as he makes his way back over to you. 

He still hasn’t said a single word.

You are frozen in your spot, heart pounding in your chest. You're so focused on trying to calm down your heartbeat that you don’t feel him standing right behind you until it’s too late.

His hand grips your left forearm firmly but not painfully. “Bend over the desk, Ms. Y/N.”

Your mind spins and your first instinct is to pull away but his body blocks your way--trapping you in place between the desk and his body. “Principal Kylo? What are you doing? Le-Let me go!?”

You are clearly panicked but he leans against your ear and shushes you calmly. “Shhhh, just relax…Look at me.” You turn your head and look up at him so your eyes can met. His eyes are so dark and deep that you find yourself wanting to stare into them forever. He smiles slightly and uses his free hand to gently brush some hair out of your face and behind your ear. 

You shiver at his touch but don’t move away.

When he speaks again his voice is deep and calm. “I never said I believed those pigs on my staff, did I? I know how you dress everyday Ms. Y/N. Classy and so fucking desirable.”

Your cheeks flush at his words and he chuckles at the sight before continuing to talk. “I know you would never dress inappropriately at work but I don’t have any more restraint. I can’t just keep watching you from a far.” He’s still holding you in place but now his free hand slides down the front of your body. “Now I need to touch you.”

“Touch me?? So…. so it was all a lie? To get me in here???”

“Mmmmh. Such a smart teacher I have on my staff.” He praises and begins unbuttoning your shirt. “Tell me Ms. Y/N, I know I’ve seen you looking at me but have you ever slept with one of your principals before?”

You try to make sense of what is happening, his hand slipping inside your blouse now and lightly stroking the tops of your breasts. “I….I…no never…. but I have always fantasied about being dominated by a supervisor.”

His movements halt at your honesty and before you can think or say anything else he turns you around to face him fully. He grips the back of your neck to hold you still. Your eyes meet, the heat of his gaze feels like it could burn you. “Say that again for me.”

You repeat yourself and he groans in response. “How did I manage to hit the jackpot?”

He brings his face closer to yours and whispers. “So I have a little submissive on my staff? How fortunate…. I think I’ll make you mine. Would you like that Little One?”

His grin is wide and cocky as if he already knows what your answer will be. “Principal Kylo I’ve never….. I’m not sure…I’m nervous…. I-“

“Nothing to be nervous about Little One. We will go as slow as you need to. Somehow I knew you wanted to be dominated and now you’ve said so yourself…. but I need you to tell me exactly what it is you want because I will not force you.”

You scan his face, still feeling uneasy but you see nothing other than desire and patience. The tension in the room is thick but you feel comforted being so close to him. You try to meet his gaze to answer him but feel too shy. Your cheeks burn red and you look down, extremely embarrassed as to what you are about to admit to him.

“When I was in college my roommate took me to a club in the city. I had no idea it was a BDSM club. I was intrigued but the men there were so pushy…. they wanted me to just take my clothes off and let the other people there watch. I was so embarrassed and nervous that I ran out. But, ever since then I’ve-…. Well I’ve fantasied about being dominated and owned.”

Your nerves get the better of you; you start worrying about being judged. “I know that must sound strange to you. I’m sorry, I-”

Your silenced by his kiss. His lips are soft but his kiss is full of hunger. His arm comes around you, pulling you to his chest. The other cradles the back of your head.

You melt, sinking into him. Trembling hands gripping the front of his black button shirt. Too quickly the kiss is broken, you almost whimper at the loss of it, but his words catch your attention and make you ache.

“It doesn’t sound stupid. It doesn’t sound stupid at all. You know what it does sound like? It sounds like you’ve been waiting and aching for the perfect master. Am I right Princess? Have you been waiting for the perfect master to come along and mark you as their own?” He is pushing his body firmer against yours but you no longer want to get away from him.

“Yes. I’ve been waiting Principal Ky-“

He cuts you off suddenly. “No more of that. Only Daddy or Master when we’re alone. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You shiver but reply “Yes Master.”

He kisses the tip of your cute nose and grins. “Good girl. From now on you’re going to be my submissive. I’m going to teach you how to be a good slave, how to worship your Master’s cock and how take your Master’s cock deep inside. Do you like the sound of that Little One?”

His words have you trembling like a leaf. You didn’t realize until this moment just how badly you've wanted this. “Yes Master Kylo. I like the sound of that.”

“Good, but first…. first Master needs to spank you. This ass has been tormenting me from afar for too long. Be a good girl and bend over the desk.”

You open my mouth to protest your embarrassment of having to bend over in his office but the words don’t have the chance to leave your mouth.

His expression darkens when you do not obey. “I will not repeat myself again Little Girl.” His voice drops an octave, his tone deathly serious. “Bend over the desk.” He forcefully turns you around for good measure.

You know you must obey so you start to bend over, his hand grabbing the back of your neck and guide you into place over his desk. Subconsciously a shiver runs through your entire body, scared for just a moment but also excited. His movements are slow…careful, as he grabs the bottom of your skirt and tugs it up to expose your ass. Your pale yellow lace panties are already stained from your wetness- you can feel how they cling to your pussy. You squeeze your thighs together mortified, praying he can’t see.

Both his hands grip one ass cheek and squeeze. His hands are so big and strong the feeling makes you whimper.

“Since the moment we met in September you’ve been walking around with this beautiful looking ass. Fucking teasing me. Any time you walked past me in the hallways I would watch how your ass moved as you walked. I’d always have to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing it…. but you aren’t going to tease me anymore. Your Master can touch your ass whenever he pleases, right Little One?” He spanks your right ass cheek causing you to moan out.

“Mhh! Yes! My Master can touch me whenever.”

He spanks you again, harder this time. You can’t stop yourself from thrusting your hips up to meet his touch.

“Does my Little One like being spanked?” He questions as he peals your panties down off your ass and leaving them bunched up around your thighs.

You open your mouth to answer but he spanks you again and again. Alternating between spanking your right and left cheek. He spanks you hard a few times before returning back to spanking you softer; then hard again. Your cheeks sting but you can’t get enough. Each smack to your ass causing a moan to slip past your lips.

“Your ass is red now Princess. You’ve got your Master’s hand-prints all over it.”

“Mmhmm.” You moan softly in satisfaction. Even though your skin stings from his hand-prints, pleasure pulses through you. You feel his hands gently stroking the irritated skin. A sense of calm come over you, enjoying this quiet moment with your new Master. You feel so calm that you don’t feel his hand slipping down until it comes in contact with your bare cunt.

He nearly growls when he feels how wet you are. “You’re fucking soaked Y/N. Is this all just from me spanking you?”

You look over your shoulder at him and nod sheepishly. “Yes Daddy… I couldn’t help it…. to finally be dominated by my big strong Master drove me crazy.” You start to apologize for being messy but two of his fingers slowly slip inside your dripping slit, trapping the rest of your words in my throat. “Ahhhh! Your fingers are so thick!”

Kylo pushes his crouch up against your backside so you can feel how hard he is becoming through his dress pants. “You feel that Little One? You feel what you do to me? That’s what happens when good girls get wet for their Master.”

You grind your ass against him, trying to get his fingers deeper and his hard cock closer all at once. You press your head down on the table moaning into the wood as his fingers move in and out. Your head is yanked back, a fist full of your hair in his grasp.

“Answer me.” He commands, you finally answer as his fingers start hitting your g-spot.

You can’t hold back my screams. The rational side of your brain silently thanking God that everyone has already gone home for the weekend. “AH! YESSSS! Yes I feel Daddy’s cock! Please dominate me with your cock Daddy. Please! Own my pussy…AHHHH! Y-Your fingersssss, I’m so close!”

He yanks your hair harder, forcing your head around to look at him. “Tell me why I should let you cum? Tell me why I should let you be my submissive? What are you going to do for your Master?”

Your not sure what he wants to hear. Your mind mush from the impending orgasm. "I'll.... I'll come here at the end of each day and let you watch me cum…. I'll come home with you every single day and be your pet. I'll be a good girl and obey. I’ll serve my Master and his perfect cock. I’ll submit to you, be owned by you.... just please.” You reach out and grip his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “Please don’t go Kylo. I don’t….. I don’t want a one night stand. I want to be owned.”

He allows you to pull him closer, deep brown eyes locking with yours.

“Are you saying you want to remain my slave?”

“Yes Kylo!” You plead. “Please?”

He leans in further and kisses you passionately. “Yes Princess. You’re mine and I’m going to teach you to be the perfect slave for me.”

Joy washes over you at his words, causing you to smile at him. He returns the smile before slipping his fingers out of you as he starts taking his shirt off and unbuckling his belt. You watch him with wide eyes as his body starts to be exposed to you. First his shirt is thrown to the floor before he kicks his shoes and socks off. Without thinking you push yourself up from the desk and turn to face him. Your eyes run over the hard muscles of his body. His torso is chiseled like some sort of Greek God. He looks so strong and beautiful...you want so badly to run your hands over every inch of him.

“I was going to teach you the proper way to worship your Master’s cock with that cute little mouth….” He’s fumbling with his belt as he talks. He looks up to meet your gaze before letting both his pants and boxers fall to the floor. Seeing him standing completely naked before you makes your face heat up. You can’t tear my eyes away from his cock--long and thick just like the rest of him.

“But I can’t wait. Daddy’s too needy.” He reaches for you, pulling you flush against his naked chest and kisses you. On instinct you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, squeezing him tightly since your bodies are already flush against one another. You both try hard to not break the kiss while stripping you of your clothes.

You are breathless by the time you are naked before him.

His hands roam over your curves and hips while he covers your neck in licks and kisses. Your dizzy on him- on the passion. You feel overwhelmed but you don’t want it to stop.

“So damn sexy.” He mumbles in between kisses. You kiss and grope each other until your backside is pressed against the edge of the desk. With a sly smirk on his face he bends slightly and lifts you up.

“Eek!” You yelp and grip onto his shoulders but he holds you safely in his powerful embrace, placing you down on the desk. You are almost eye level now, your height difference less noticeable with you sitting on top of his desk. Your legs dangle over the side, feet unable to touch the floor. You watch as his large hands run up your calves to the outside of your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the way. He pulls your legs apart so he can step between them.

Kylo meant it when he said he was needy because he wastes no time in rubbing the head of his cock through your wet folds.

Your breath hitches when the head of his cock touches your clit. You look down and see just how well your juices coat his shaft. “You’re…..you’re so big Daddy..."

“Does my Princess like it?”

“Oh yes Daddy. Your cock is beautiful.”

Taking the head of his cock he smacks my clit with it, making you moan in surprise. “Good girl.” He grins watching your expression closely before repeating his action. “You belong to this cock. It’s your job to serve and please it with all of your slave holes.”

“F-fuck. It makes me so wet when you talk like that….” You whimper, gripping his shoulders with your hands and grinding your hips in time with his teasing.

“Good.” He says with a chuckle. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you were born to be owned. And now it’s time to consummate your slave bond to me.” He takes a fist full of your hair in his grasp and pulls tight. Your eyes lock, you are unable to look away from the tight grip he has on you.

“Repeat after me Little One. This is your slave oath. You will remember it and say it any time I command you to, understood?”

With a nod of your head he starts to teach you your slave oath.

“I Y/N, want to thank my Master Kylo for picking me to be his slave. I want to thank my Master Kylo for letting me worship his cock. I want to thank my Master Kylo for using my hungry little cunt to take his pleasure. It is my oath to serve and please my Master Kylo now and forever.” You repeat his words back to him, feeling your pussy throb as you recite your oath. You're not sure if you feel more embarrassment or lust.

“That’s a very, very, very good girl.” He whispers to you as he lines himself up. The on his shoulders tightens grip tightens as the anticipation builds. You can feel the head of him starting to push itself inside. You groan, tipping your head back. You can feel yourself being stretched, your body tries to accommodate his thickness. You screw my eyes tightly closed and try to relax as he continues to slowly push his cock inside.

“Fuck you are tiiiight.” Kylo groans.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer--deeper. “Aaahhh, you’re so big. Fucking stretching meeee.” You can feel him sinking deeper into you; your pussy opening for him.

“That’s it. Let me in Little One. Every inch belongs inside you.”

His dirty talk turns you on more and makes your pussy slicker. His arms wrap around your waist and he thrust in hard so his entire length is inside. Already you can feel the walls of your pussy pulsing around him. He wastes no time pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, pounding you slowly but so deep. Deeper than anyone else ever had.

“Tell your Master how it feels.” He commands as he reaches out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him but not once does he stop thrusting.

“I-It feels so good. My pussy feels so full with Master’s cock. Please more….I want more.” His pace picks up in the middle of you talking, causing your moans to grow louder. “Yes! Yes Master! Just like that! Fuck my pussy! Yes! Please don’t stop!”

Your pussy creams up the more he fucks you. Kylo growls and grips your hips roughly, you can feel his cock stretching you even more now. You whine at how full your Master makes you feel

“Can you feel how much your hot little pussy is turning me on? You’re hugging my cock so tight- it’s driving me wild. Can you handle being stuffed full Princess?”

You nod your head even though having my pussy so full is beyond intense.

“Tell your Master.” He commands while guiding your body back down onto the desk. The change in angle only makes it easier for him to drive even deeper inside.

It is so hard to form words while being fucked but you try your best to obey. “I-I can handle it Master! My pussy is so full but I love it! I love having your dick inside me!” Your trembling legs grip tighter around his waist as he continues pounding into you.

“Good because from now on you’re going to have this cock inside you every day. From now on this pussy takes my cock only! You wanted to be a fuck slave? Well now you are mine!”

Kylo’s possessiveness makes you shudder. It almost scares you just how easily he knows what to say to turn you on further. You feel perverted for liking it but you also can’t stop your body from responding. Maybe you were always meant for this? Meant to be submissive. Giving into him feels so natural now. You feel high on the feeling of serving your Master.

You notice him bringing his thumb up to his mouth and sucking on it before bringing it down between your legs. Your body nearly jumps off the desk when he brushes it against your sensitive clit. He teases your clit with the same ferocity that he fucks you with. Your clit throbbing under his thumb and it makes your breath hitch. Your inner walls clench around his thick shaft, hot burning pleasure running through your body.

“Is my slave about to cum already?”

You whimper and nod your head. “Uh-huh. Yes. Yes Daddy. I’m so close….So close to cumming! Please can I?”

“You may Princess, but you must say thank you to your Master when you do.” He takes one of your legs and re-positions it so it is slung over his shoulder. He continues talking as he brings his hand back down to your clit. “But if you don’t thank your Master, you won’t cum again until I give you back the privilege.”

His tone tells you how serious the threat is. You whimper not wanting to displease him. You open your mouth to tell him you'll obey but his thumb has found your clit again and the words turn to moans. He applies more pressure now, rubbing your little bundle of nerves harder.

You throw your head back and cry out. The tension in your body builds. Every thrust inside and touch to your clit drives you closer to the edge. You buck your hips to meet his thrusts, needing more. You know you are moaning but can barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart in your ears. The tension becoming unbearable as your hands grip the edge of the desk. You so badly want to break- to cum. To cum for your Master for the first time.

“Give your Master your cum Princess. I want to see how pretty you look when you cum for me for very first time. Show me!”

His words push you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you hard. The muscles in my legs tighten as my pussy grips his cock tightly.

“THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME CUM MASTER!” You scream just as your juices from your orgasm rush out, coating him all the way down to his balls. He stills his thrusts and just rocks against your while his finger still teases your clit. He lets you ride out your orgasm until the air returns to your lungs and you open my eyes to look up at him.

He’s smirking down at you, obviously pleased with his pet.

“Mmmh, such a good girl. You came so hard for Master…that tight cunt almost milked me dry.” He drew his hips back, sliding out of you until only his head was inside. “But Daddy isn’t done pounding you yet.” Without another word he snapped his hips forward, burying his entire length back inside. You scream and arch your back at the sudden force. He fucks you faster and deeper now. You can hear how the wetness of your pussy makes his thrusts sound sloppy and wet. Your face flushes and you find it hard to meet his gaze.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I love the feeling of your juices covering me. So wet and dirty; I love it. Has anyone else ever made you cum that hard before?”

You shake your head ‘no’, your cheeks still flushed.

“Mmmmhh, good I want to be the only one to make you cum like that.” He starts picking up his pace again, fucking you faster. His cock is buried so deep inside that your legs are shaking. The one still wrapped around his waist grips tighter around him. Even though you just came you know with the way the head of his cock is hitting your g-spot will make you cum again. You look up at him, watching how his dark hair falls in front of his face. His jaw is set and tense as he grips both of your hips in his large hands.

You feel like a rag doll in his grasp but a part of you loves it; loves how easily he can overpower you.

You follow his gaze and notice that he is looking down at where your bodies are joined. He groans in pleasure under his breath as his grip on you tightens even more. Tomorrow you'd wake up with bruises from his fingertips. 

It hits you then that watching how well you take his cock turns him on. You can’t understand it, but makes you even wetter. Your juices dripping down your thighs and onto the desk below. 

Shaking hands release the desk’s edge and instead hold onto his biceps as you dig your nails into his skin. “Kylooooo. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop!”

Your pleas catch his attention and his gaze flicks back up to you face. “Do you need to cum again so soon Y/N?”

You nod my head fiercely, the same familiar tension from earlier returning to your body.

“My greedy Little Girl.” He chuckles to himself but you are too close to the edge to feel embarrassment now. The sound of his ragged breath alerting you that he too is close to cumming.

“My Master is going to cum too?” You manage to pant out in between my moans.

A grunt and nod is all the response you receive. His thrusts are more erratic now. Both of you becoming lost in the pleasure.

“Tell me where Princess.” He says suddenly, his tone harsh but not unkind.

You don’t understand what it is he is asking you.

“Where do you want me to cum Princess? Inside? Or do you want to taste me?”

Your eyes nearly roll back into your head at the thought of having his cock in your mouth. If you were honest, you had fantasied about taking him in your mouth since the moment you had met him.

“I want to taste!” You say a little too eagerly.

A knowing smirk comes across his face leaving you feeling mortified.

“As my Princess wishes.” He grins as he reaches down between your bodies to pinch your clit. 

The embarrassment is forgotten as a new wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your mind goes blank as he rubs your extremely sensitive bud in time with his thrusts.

“Master Kylo!! I-I’m gonna! I’m gonna!” Your whole body trembles violently, the tension moments away from breaking. “THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME CUM MASTER!” This time when your orgasm hits you, you see stars.

The tension in your body releases but Kylo is already yanking you off his desk and pushing you onto my knees before him. He runs his fingers through the front of your hair, simultaneously pulling your hair out of your face and tilting your head up to where he wants you.

In this moment, no words are needed. You can sense his needs as if they were your own.

You open your mouth for him just as he thrusts more than half of his length into your mouth. He cums almost instantly, the hot thick taste makes you moan. You suckle as he fills your mouth, making sure to swallow every drop.

He pants heavily above you, his free hand coming down to stroke the side of your face. You release his cock from your mouth and let your eyes meet.

“Stick out your tongue Princess.”

 Without question you obey.

Kylo keeps you in place by the hold he still has on your hair, hitting your tongue with his cock twice before squeezing out the last bit of cum from the head with his free hand. You swallow it down with a moan, closing your eyes.

The grip on your hair loosens and turns into gentle scratches on your scalp. His other hand returning to stroke your face.

“Such a good girl. My beautiful, perfect, good girl.” Kylo whispers softly to you. His praise makes you feel warm and light.

A sense of bliss washes over you. You feel content sitting here at his feet while he touches you softly. You wonder for a moment if this is what subspace feels like.

Kylo crouches down in front of you, cupping your face with both his hands. “How do you feel Little One?”

You open your eyes and smile at him. “Happy. I feel happy Daddy.”

He hums in approval and brushes his lips against yours in a light kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck to keep him from moving away. Instead he scoops you up in his arms, holding you bridal style.

You tighten your hold on him, fearful of being dropped. “I can’t believe how strong you are….” You mumble, pushing your face into the side of his neck.

“And I can’t believe the most beautiful teacher on my staff is all finally mine....”

He sounds so sincere. It makes your heart beat skip. He walks around his desk, sits down in his chair and cradles you on his lap.

You peer up at him in disbelief. “You’ve really been watching me since September?”

He looks down, confused by your disbelief, his mouth set in a hard line. “You said so yourself you’re one of the best teachers on my staff. Your passion for teaching was apparent from the beginning. You work hard and your students adore you. Yes, when I first met you I thought you were gorgeous; but it was how hard you work to help your students succeed that drew me to you.”

His confession fills you with pride, that you caught his attention not just for your looks…that he recognizes your value as an educator. You can’t stop the smile from forming on your face. You want to thank him but he continues.

“Beautiful, hard-working, passionate and the fact you like to wear these goddamn heels and pencil skirts every Friday drove me crazy.”

Your laughter rings out and you hug him tightly. You can’t help but find it comical that someone so stern and serious in front of his staff would come undone for a pair of heels and a pencil skirt. You kiss him deeply, wanting to show him just how happy he has made you.

“I’m very happy that you called me to your office today Principal Kylo.”

He grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, keeping your eyes locked on one another. “So am I Princess.” He crashes his lips down onto yours. 

He kisses you till you're both left breathless.

[13uswntimagines]

Ghosted (Emily x Reader)

Request 1: sonnett where reader is really good friends with a goalie(your choice) and sonnett gets jealous because reader and goalie play for the same club and Emily is in Europe. Do she goes to Lindsey and reader thinks Emily is going to breakup with her and pushes her closer to the goalie and it’s a whole shit show

Request 2: Can you do a Emily Sonnett imagines where her and the reader are together but the reader use to date someone else on the team ( you can chose) and the comments gets to Emily. And the Reader shows Emily how much she loves her?

Request 3: Something with Jane Campbell please

Author’s Note: I thought these three would work very well together, so I combined them. Also, this one takes an interesting turn in the end and if you look closely enough there are hints to a very interesting dynamic and why reader and jane wouldn’t work out. Let me know what you think. I live for interactions and stuff. They help to keep me motivated. 

It had been one hell of a year. It had started with both you and your girlfriend getting zero notice when the thorns traded her to Orlando and you to Houston. Then you had been trapped on opposite ends of the country due to the pandemic. That distance only got bigger when she decided to go to Sweden when Orlando pulled out of the challenge cup. 

But the two of you had made it work. Well, at least you thought you had made it work. apparently, Emily thought differently, if the silent treatment you had gotten the second you stepped into camp 3 hours ago was anything to go by. 

Hell, she wouldn’t even look in your direction. All you wanted was to hold your girlfriend (cause you hadn’t seen her in person in almost 6 months) and it felt like she didn’t even give a fuck that you were there. And Lindsey intercepted you every time you tried to get close. 

You smiled as you approached your blond girlfriend, leaning on the squat rack next to her. Normally you’d wrap your arms around her and kiss her neck, but you didn’t want to overstep with this weird tension happening between you. 

“Hey Em, wanna partner?” you asked softly, almost shyly.

Emily didn’t even turn to acknowledge you.

“I’m already with Linds,” She said tensely. Since when had she been so on edge around you? 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand what was happening between you and your girlfriend. You glanced down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. 

“Oh, maybe-“ You started, poking the squat rack with your shoe. You looked up, only to find that Emily had already walked away and joined Lindsey on the other side of the gym. 

You sighed, finishing your thought into the blank air around you. “we could do dinner or something later. Guess not,” 

You blew out a long breath, willing yourself to hold back the tears. She didn’t even wait to see what you were going to say. Your eyes followed her as she hugged the blond midfielder and laughed loudly at whatever she was saying. It was like a knife in your heart. 

“What’s going on with you and Miss Sweden?” Hands on your shoulders and the voice right next to your ear should have made you jump, but you were too used to Jane’s scare tactics. 

You rolled your eyes and shrugged the keeper off of you, your gaze never leaving Emily. “Honestly, I have no clue,” You sighed deeply. She had never been like this with you before, and you definitely hadn’t expected your reunion to go like this. 

“Maybe it’s just jet lag. You know how she gets when she doesn’t get enough sleep,” Jane shrugged, poking at your dimples, trying to get you to laugh. You batted her hand away. 

“The question is how you know that,” You said, sending her a scathing look. 

She smirked impishly, wiggling her eyebrows. “I live with you, remember?”

You dramatically rolled your eyes, shoving your best friend. “I don’t think You’d ever let me forget,” 

The only good thing about your trade to the dash was that you got to hang out with your best friend every day. You and Jane had known each other since college and instantly hit it off as friends. When you had been traded, Jane also just happened to be looking for a roommate and things had worked out pretty well. 

“Well, if you’re still looking for a dinner date, I’m free tonight,”  Jane hummed, wrapping an arm around you again. 

“Been there, done that,” You scoffed playfully, shoving her again, but she didn’t let go of you this time. 

So maybe the two of you had tried in college. It was more of a fling than anything else, and it had mutually ended on great terms. You loved each other, but you weren’t in love and that was alright. You decided you were way better off as friends than lovers and left it at that. Plus, you had kinda fallen insanely hard for a certain blond cavalier.

“Not that kind of date,” She giggled, letting you shove her ways this time (definitely taking note of how your lips ticked up and patting herself on the back for clearing some of the clouds on your sunny personality away). 

“Whatever you say, now shut up and spot me,” 

The two of you were so caught up that you didn’t see the annoyed blue eyes following you from across the room, or the clenched fists and jaw that would have told you exactly what the issue with your girlfriend was. 

*****

You tried to smile as you entered the dining room, hoping that you would finally have the chance to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering your girlfriend. 

You spotted her from across the room, seated at a table with Rose, Sam, and Mal. You released a breath that you didn’t know you were holding at the absence of a certain blond midfielder. Emily had been attached to her side, and watching them was like a knife in your chest, every interaction a slice at what felt like the tiny thread keeping your relationship together. 

“Hey, is this seat taken?” You asked as you approached the table, stopping short of the seat next to your girlfriend. 

She tensed, and you noted how her jaw clenched with furrowed eyebrows. She opened her mouth, but before she could respond another body slid between the two of you. 

“Yeah, it is,” Lindsey said firmly, setting her plate down right in front of the seat in question. You frowned, and your fingers tightened around your plate. You bit your lip in an attempt to not say the thing that was on your mind. Despite how pissed off you were with the woman, she was your friend too. 

You glanced around the table that was now awkwardly staring at you, your eyes landing on an empty seat next to Mal and across from Emily. 

“Alright, what about that one?” 

“Taken too,” Lindsey said shortly with a shrug. Mal glared at her. “No, it’s not, sit Y/n,”

The team was growing tired of the tension between you, and how sad you looked. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, sliding in beside Mal. 

Silence fell over the table, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. You never felt so unwelcome around your friends before. 

“Well I better get going,” Emily said after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, shoving the chair back and abruptly standing. Lindsey stood up next to her, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. Your chest ached at the hand placement and how Emily leaned into her. 

You shot up too, clearing your throat and extending your hand. “Wait Em, I thought maybe we could talk after dinner?” You said, desperation clear in your voice. The table had never heard you like this before, had never seen a crack in your typically cool and unfailingly in control exterior. 

“She’s already got plans,” Lindsey said with an eye roll, and Emily seems to tuck herself further into the taller midfielder. You gulped down the defeat and desperation threatening to crawl out of your chest. 

“Oh, um maybe I could join you then?” You asked hopefully. 

“Private plans Y/n.” Lindsey snapped, already beginning to guide Emily out of the room, seemingly careless to what you had to say. The blond defender didn’t even give you the courtesy of eye contact as she left. 

“Sure, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. I love you, Emily,” You called after their backs, watching them go. 

Everything in you seemed to deflate. It felt like she was leaving with a piece of you like she didn’t even care you were crumbling behind her. You didn’t try to stop the tears as they fell this time, slumping miserably back into your seat. 

A warm presence knelt next to you, and soft but calloused hands gently wiped the tears burning down your face. 

You met the keeper’s concerned blue eyes and allowed her to pull you into her strong embrace, hiding your face in her neck. 

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” You sobbed. Jane rubbed large circles on your back with one hand and squeezed you tight with the otherHands-onother hand was trying to hold your broken pieces together. 

“I don’t know either,” She said, kissing the side of your head. 

You missed Emily pausing at the door to send you one last look, but Jane didn’t. Her eyes bored into the blond defender. If she thought she could just jerk you around like this with no consequences then she had another thing coming. 

Jane wasn’t romantically attracted to you, but you were her best friend and she wasn’t about to let you continue to get hurt. Emily might be able to avoid you, but she wouldn’t be able to avoid Jane, the keeper would make sure of it. 

****

“Alright cut the Bullshit Sweden, you’ve been ignoring Y/n for a week. What the fuck is your problem,” Jane growled, stepping into the nearly empty locker room and glaring at your girlfriend. She knew you could more than take care of yourself, but this had gone on long enough. 

Emily tensed at the new presence, back straightening and eye going wide. She hadn’t bet on the head of the Houston department of defense to get involved. 

“Fuck off Campbell,” Lindsey said back, stepping so she was standing protectively in front of her best friend. 

“I will not because your best friend there is hurting my best friend,” Jane took another step towards the duo, puffing out her chest. 

“Yeah right, she’s barely even noticed,” Emily scoffed, crossing her arms like a petulant child. 

“See, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that considering she’s cried herself to sleep every night since she’s been here,” Jane said, taking another terrifying step forward, stabbing her finger wildly into the air. 

She had been the one to hold you while you sobbed yourself to sleep because you were sure Emily had fallen out of love with you. The one who watched you agonize over every interaction you had with your girlfriend leading up to camp, trying to find where you had gone wrong. The one who listened to you degrade yourself for apparently driving Emily away and right into Lindsey’s arms. She was watching as you literally ripped yourself apart over this. 

“And what, You didn’t enjoy comforting your new girlfriend?” Lindsey scoffed loudly, shoving Jane’s hand (which was practically touching her chest) away. 

“What?” Jane asked shocked. 

Emily peeked over Lindsey’s shoulder, scowling at the keeper. Anyone with eyes knew what they meant. “Look, I know she’s cheating so you can both drop the friends act,” 

Jane oils to help the laugh that bubbled out of her lips. God, Emily was clueless if she thought you two were anything more than friends. Sure you had tried in college, but there weren’t romantic feelings there. You both wanted such different things out of a partner and agreed that you were better off as friends. Emily was your person, and Jane would be damned if anyone said anything different. 

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she wants anyone but you and if you weren’t so far up Horan‘s ass you would know that. If you wanna break up with her to date Miss Portland then grow some balls and do it, but don’t you dare try and ghost the sweetest person in the world,” 

“You would love that wouldn’t you?” Emily spat. 

Jane rolled her eyes. “No, because it would hurt her more than you already have. She loves you, and I thought you loved her. If you do, then you should show it,”

Emily seemed to soften at Jane’s words. She did love you, more than life itself. She really had to talk this whole thing out with you. Jane didn’t give her a chance to respond, deciding that storming off to find you and make sure you were ready for practice was a more productive use of time (she would never admit that it scared her a little to leave you alone these days). 

*****

Emily wasn’t a jealous person. At least she tried not to be. But it was really fucking difficult when it came to you and your friendship with Jane. Well, it was difficult in the beginning, when she had you next to her, but with you so far away it was nearly unbearable. 

She hadn’t minded that the Dash moved you into Jane’s apartment, but then the comments started and they wouldn’t leave her alone. Instead of turning to you, talking it out with you, she had gone running to her own best friend. And in her effort to run from the fear that you wouldn’t choose her, she had hurt you in the process. 

She watched you from across the field, taking in the slight tilt of your head and slump of your shoulders. You smiled tightly at the keeper as she approached you, but Emily could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes, even from across the field. She also knew it wasn’t the blinding smile you saved solely for her. How hadn’t she noticed it before?

 “Jane was a little crude but she’s right you know,” Lindsey said, wrapping an arm around Emily’s shoulder, her eyes easily finding you. 

She felt bad about how Emily was treating you. 

“About which part?” Emily asked, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. Jane had said a whole lot, and she couldn’t find it within herself to disagree with them. It was childish to ignore you, and for her to be oblivious to your obvious feelings. 

“Don’t play dumb,” Lindsey scoffed, pinching Emily’s side a little harder than necessary. She didn’t like being the middleman between the two of you. You were her friend too after all. 

Emily sighed crossing her arms a little tighter around herself. “I know. I need to talk to talk to her,”

“I’m sure when she finds out what’s bothering you, there’ll be a whole lot more than talking. Isn’t communication one of those rules between the two of you?” Lindsey asked with a smirk, laughing loudly when Emily shoved her. The team knew about your relationship… dynamic and Lindsey was sure Emily was in for it when you realized exactly why the defender had broken your most sacred agreement. 

“Shut up,”

Emily’s cheeks flavored up at the implication. He was sure you’d come up with a very… creative… way to aid her in expressing her feelings next time and show her how much you loved her when you found out what this whole thing was about. 

*****

You watched Emily very carefully from your perch on the end of the bed. She had dragged you here right after practice, and as soon as the door closed the words were pouring out of her lips. 

You sat quietly, letting her finally get out the emotions she had been keeping from you for so long. She explained how the comments on Houston’s latest photo of you and Jane had started this whole shit show, and how terrified she was that you would decide you didn’t want to deal with the distance. 

You let her pace back and forth as she told you about how she didn’t want to confront the issue, so she thought ignoring you would be a better course of action. It didn’t give you a chance to tell her that you didn’t want to be with her anymore. 

She finally paused, turning to look at you with wide tearful eyes, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. 

“I don’t have romantic feelings for Jane,” You said seriously, looking your girlfriend right in the eyes. You wanted her to know how true those words were. She knew that tone and had this been a different conversation it would have sent a chill down her spine. 

“I know I just-“ She started, but you cut her rambling off an eyebrow raise and your firm voice“Got jealous and thought that cutting your losses was better than coming to me,” 

It was a rule in your relationship- communication was king. The only way things got done was if you talked about them. You talked through every aspect of your relationship, every like and dislike, every limit and desire. This situation broke every rule you had established and that didn’t sit well with you. You couldn’t be the only one initiating (or trying to), she had to do it too (especially if she was uncomfortable with something) for this whole thing to work. It scared you a little that she had just shut down and run off to Lindsey. 

Emily nodded slightly, staring a hole in your shirt. 

“I thought you had moved on already,” She mumbled. 

You stood from the bed, gently using a finger to tilt her head so you could look her in the eyes. You raised an eyebrow. “So you got cozy with Lindsey to make me feel as jealous as you were and then wouldn’t respond to me as punishment?”

“I’m sorry, I just thought it would hurt less,” She mumbled, captivated by your y/e/c eyes and the little swirl of deeper emotion hidden inside. 

You nodded. stepping closer so your noises were almost touching and gently grasping her shoulders. “I love you Emily Ann Sonnett, even when you’re being a dumbass and ghosting me,” 

She could feel your breath fanning over her lips, only adding to the weight of your words. 

“I love you too,” Emily said, and you could see the truth to her words in her blue eyes. 

You smirked. “I know,” 

You leaned down and finally connected your lips. She grabbed your collar and pulled you closer, pouting all of her emotions into the kiss, trying to show you how much she loved you and how sorry she was for hurting you. 

Your lips moved together in a very familiar dance, slow and full of all of the emotions between you. At some point, you had flipped the two of you around so Emily was seated on edge of the bed. You pulled back and began to trail kisses down your girlfriend’s neck. 

She tilted her head to give you more room, sighing and moaning as you trailed your way down her chest, stomach, and thighs, placing kisses as you went until you were kneeling between her legs. Your fingers toyed with the waistband of her pants, an annoying cocky smirk plaster on your face when she whined that you were going too slow. 

“No, no baby girl. We’re going to work on your communication skills, so I’m not going to do anything unless you tell me exactly what you want,” 

[nerdzzone]

-More Hearts Than Mine-

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

Especially when a global pandemic is sweeping the world.

With lockdowns and stay at home orders looming on the horizon, the uncertainty of their situation becomes almost too much for Whitney Taylor to handle. Chris suggests that they quarantine together to avoid any potential separations but, given what happened the last time they spent more than a few brief moments in each other’s company, that could cause more problems than it solves…

Chris Evans x OFC

Sequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Part Two

____

Part Three

I did my best to take Scott's words to heart. It was eye-opening and, while it didn't change my concerns about how Grayson would be affected, it helped me soften my guard a little bit when it came to Chris.

We were both in over our heads, stuck with feelings that we didn't know what to do with and insecurities that left us unable to fight for what we wanted. I had doubts and I had questions, but if what Scott had divulged was true then I did have some sympathy for Chris because I knew exactly how he'd been feeling for the last few years.

So, I decided to talk to him. To hash it out, lay it all on the table and see what he had to say. I wasn't entirely sure I would change my mind about the situation, but I wanted to give him a chance to explain his thoughts and feelings unlike how I'd shut the conversation down after Christmas.

But I didn't count on how chaotic it was to be trapped in a house, all day every day, with a child who was almost three. Even with three adults, there were days when it felt like we were the ones who were outnumbered as we took turns trying to keep him constantly entertained and stimulated. To our credit, it was working and we were managing to keep Grayson from being bored, anxious to go out to a park or noticing that things were all that different, but it meant that I had no time or energy to deal with heavy conversations. Things were fine between Chris and I, we were getting along well enough with no more noteworthy disagreements, but there hadn't been a good time for any kind of heart-to-heart.

Things only got more complicated about a week and a half into our lockdown when Chris had to start doing interviews. He had a new show, Defending Jacob, coming out in a few weeks and he had to start the promo for it.

Most people who were working from home these days with small children running around had way more difficult situations to balance than we did, but we knew it would be tricky to keep Grayson from getting curious and barging into an interview. He'd proven to be quite sneaky when he wanted to be and Chris was anxious about the whole thing. He wasn't a big fan of interviews at the best of times so doing it over Zoom made him even more nervous. He spent the whole morning fretting about it being awkward, concerned that he wouldn't be able to relax and act natural, and it seemed like he was channelling his anxiety into his worries about Grayson. He very much liked to be in control of what the world saw of Gray and having him crash an interview wasn't what he wanted. I completely agreed and assured him several times that I wouldn't let that happen, but I could tell he was still stressed about it as he dragged himself off to get ready.

For the first hour or so that Chris was working, things went well. We read a story and played with some Lego, activities that wouldn't get Grayson too excited and noisy, but when Scott suggested that he curl up on the couch and watch Finding Nemo with him, we ran into a problem.

"Okay!" Grayson cheered, jumping up from where we'd been playing on the floor. "Be right back!"

He took off down the hall and I leapt into action, calling his name and stopping him just as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Where are you going, buddy?"

"To get my bear!"

Grayson's room was upstairs, next to Chris' office. He knew where Chris was so I knew there was a good chance he would stop by to say hello on his way past the door.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch with Uncle Scott and I'll get your bear so you don't miss any of the movie?" I suggested. "Is he in your room?"

"No," he shook his head. "He's in Daddy's office."

I held back a groan, knowing that Gray would not be happy if I explained that he couldn't have his bear for the movie because we weren't allowed in Daddy's office right now. But I also knew that now he'd decided that he wanted to watch a movie, it wasn't likely that he would settle doing anything else either.

"Well, Daddy's very busy in his office right now," I explained. "But I'll go upstairs and see if I can sneak in and get him, okay?"

Grayson agreed to that suggestion and ran off back towards the living room as I glanced at the clock on the wall quickly and hoped that Chris was between interviews. I knew he wouldn't be done for the day just yet, but he had a few lined up so there was a chance that he wasn't currently on a call.

As soon as I pressed my ear to the door of Chris' office, my hopes were dashed. I could hear the sound of laughter echoing through from his laptop so I knew he was in the middle of something, but just as I was about to walk away I heard something that caught my attention.

"You have a son of your own, don't you?" The interviewer asked and I cringed, knowing that it wasn't something Chris liked to discuss. His character in the show was a father though so I wasn't surprised it had come up, it gave them a segue that they hadn't really had before. "How is that going with this lockdown?"

Ever the professional, Chris didn't even hesitate before he answered even though I knew he would be annoyed by the line of questioning.

"Oh, it's great! He's staying with me until all this is over so it's great that we get to spend so much time together," he told the interviewer. "I'm lucky enough to be in a situation where I can just take a few months off until things cool down without too much worry so we've just been relaxing, building blanket forts, watching movies and getting in some bonding time that I miss out on when I'm busy. It's had some challenges, but it's been really nice."

I knew I shouldn't be listening, it was rude to eavesdrop even if the conversation would shortly be broadcast to the whole world, but again, the interviewer's next question had me too intrigued to walk away. Despite all the talking points that he could have chosen from Chris' answer, he zeroed in on one thing.

"He's staying with you for the entire lockdown? Is there a rekindled romance we don't know about?" He asked. "Or is his mother no longer in the picture?"

My jaw dropped. I didn't know who Chris was talking with today, but it wasn't like his team to set him up for any interviews where he would be asked questions like that and most interviewers were too polite to fish for the kind of gossip you'd find in a trashy magazine.

"Oh, I'm not gonna get into all that." Chris' tone was much more clipped than it had been moments before - he was clearly not impressed by the question either. "It's not anyone's business really, is it? But I will say that she is definitely in the picture and one of the best moms that I know. She's staying here with us too."

My heart melted a bit at his compliment even though I knew the words he added at the end meant that we were in for a whole new gossip storm.

It suddenly felt like I really was overstepping by standing at the door listening to this conversation without his knowledge so I headed back downstairs. As I got back into the living room, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a message to Chris:

It would appear that you have a stowaway. I know you're busy, but please return Mr. Bear at your earliest convenience.

I put my phone away as I explained the situation to Grayson, but luckily, he was too interested in the movie to pay much attention to what I'd said. By the time Chris came down with the bear, it was like he'd forgotten that he ever cared about it in the first place.

Most of my attention was on Chris at that point though. The way he scurried into the room, avoiding looking in my direction at all. He looked ashamed and withdrawn and I couldn't hold back a sigh when he left the room quickly as I knew that he was beating himself up over the conversation that he didn't even know I'd heard.

-

Chris was sullen for the rest of the day. He perked up around Grayson, but whenever Gray was distracted there was a scowl or a frown firmly planted on his face. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how without confessing that I'd overheard his interview. Given his mood and the ease with which we fell into disagreements these days, that seemed like it would cause more issues than it would help.

The news broke at about eleven that night and I knew because I was suddenly inundated with texts from friends and with follower requests on my private social media accounts. I pulled up the video and watched the interview, feeling another wave of empathy when I saw the annoyance written all over Chris' face as he answered the questions. He'd found a subtle way to shut the interview down almost immediately after the incident and I was proud of him for handling it so diplomatically.

I added it to the list of things that I needed to talk to Chris about whenever I got the chance as I pulled myself away from my laptop and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. However, when I got into the hallway, I noticed a light coming up from downstairs. As far as I knew, everyone had gone to bed almost an hour ago, but I had a good idea whose thoughts would be keeping them awake so I headed down to investigate.

My suspicions were confirmed as I walked into the living room and saw Chris on the couch, his phone in his hand and his brow furrowed.

"Uh oh," I started, making his eyes snap up towards me. "Are you doomscrolling?"

The angry look on his face softened slightly as he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Doomscrolling?"

"Yeah," I shrugged with a smile. "That's what the kids call it these days when you spend too long scrolling through the news or Twitter, just soaking in all the bad shit in the world."

Chris chuckled as I moved into the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch that he was on, tucking my feet underneath me.

"I didn't know you were so down with the kids these days."

"I'm getting old, Chris. I'm almost thirty-two, I have to stay cool somehow." I shot him a wink. "But anyway, what are you reading that's making you look so grumpy?"

Chris sighed and locked his phone, putting it on the end table next to the couch.

"I said something in an interview today," he admitted. "Something that I shouldn't have said."

I watched him for a moment, waiting for him to look at me and elaborate, but when he didn't, I spoke up.

"I hope you're not about to tell me that you regret saying what a good mom I am or I'll be really disappointed..."

That comment brought Chris' gaze back to me, his shock evident on his face until it faded into a grimace.

"You heard what I said?"

"I watched the video," I admitted. "I had a flurry of Instagram activity that tipped me off."

"You didn't read the comments, did you?"

There was worry written all over Chris' face when I shrugged.

"Of course I did. Can't have my self-esteem getting too high, can we?" I was teasing, but his look of gloom only deepened. "Chris, it doesn't matter. I'm no supermodel, they're not saying anything I don't already know."

"See, this is what bothers me," Chris snapped. "My so-called 'fans' are out there spewing all this crap about you and you're acting like it's all true, so who cares? Well, I care because it's bullshit and you don't deserve it!"

"I didn't mean it like that," I assured him, keeping my voice quiet in an attempt to cool the situation.

We'd been here many times over the years and I knew how enraged the comments made Chris. He saw right through me, he knew that I took some of the things that had been said to heart, but who wouldn't? It's hard not to take it personally when someone points out your biggest insecurities, the things that you hope no one else notices, the things that you tell yourself can't possibly be true or as bad as you think in your head. It's impossible not to let it get to you a little bit, but I was well practiced at dealing with it and had grown a thicker skin.

At least, when it came to the comments about my appearance. The comments about how I'm not good enough and how Chris could do better always struck a cord, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

"No?" Chris huffed. "What did you mean then?"

"That I know I'm an easy target because I'm not stick thin with a boob job," I answered, wanting to diffuse the situation before Chris got too upset. "They're cruel and mean, but they're just jealous because they think their dream boyfriend is taken now."

"Well, anyone who claims to be a real fan of mine wouldn't talk like that about someone I care about," he grumbled. "I shouldn't have answered, I should have just ignored the question."

"Actually, I'm glad you didn't. I'm glad you set the record straight rather than have everyone think I've abandoned my child. I would probably get even more hate for that."

"He shouldn't have even asked about it," Chris continued. "It was so out of line. Why can't people just mind their own business?"

"Because everyone adores you and has a burning desire to know everything about you," I teased, stretching my feet out to nudge his leg gently. His lips twitched briefly into a smile, but it faded as fast as it appeared. "Even my friends were all messaging me, asking if it was true like gossiping teenage girls. Everyone wants the Chris Evans scoop."

That comment earned me a chuckle and I relaxed slightly, hoping that he was starting to calm down.

"I'm sure your friends were more interested in the gossip about your life, not because of me."

"I dunno," I shrugged. "They always liked you."

Chris smiled, but a sigh slipped from his lips as he draped his arm over my feet where they rested on the couch next to him. We sat quietly for a moment as I continued watching him, wishing there was something I could say to ease the worry in his mind, but his next words left me a little bit speechless.

"I do get it, you know?" He said, his eyes still fixed firmly on the ground in front of him. "I get why you wouldn't want to be with me. I get that it's a lot to deal with."

My heart sank at his admission and I scrambled to figure out what to say.

It wasn't ideal - discussing our relationship, while he was already feeling quite murderous - but he'd brought it up and it was hard to say when we'd get another chance. Once again, I found myself fighting the urge to bolt for the door, but I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, hoping that this would be a civil conversation.

"Chris, it's not that," I insisted, my voice soft in what I hoped would be a soothing tone. "Maybe they didn't do anything to ease my concerns, but the bullies on the internet aren't what scared me away."

"No?" His eyes flicked up to meet mine. "Then what did?"

He sounded so defeated and I bit my lip to keep my emotions from bubbling up. The truth was that I didn't know where to start. There was too much floating around my head, too many questions and too many explanations that made less sense now that I knew what I knew after speaking with Scott. I was scared, but it was a very justified fear that could only be made sense of by answering his question with another question.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were in love with me?"

Chris raised an eyebrow, but shrugged off the question.

"You didn't seem like you wanted to hear it, Whitney. I told you that I was all in after Christmas and you shut me down pretty fast," he pointed out. "I didn't think blurting out a confession of love would do much to change that."

Had that been what I was referring to, it would have been a fair argument. However, I was referring to long before our latest incident so I shook my head.

"I talked to Scott," I confessed as a slight look of betrayal slid onto Chris’ face. "Don't be mad, he'd had a few drinks and was feeling sentimental. He told me that you were in love with me long before Grayson was even in the picture, but you never told me."

"I slept with you, didn't I?" He questioned, a defensiveness creeping into his tone. "Doesn't that make someone's feelings pretty fuckin' clear?"

"Hardly," I scoffed. "People sleep with people they're not in love with all the time and it becomes even less clear when they meet up afterwards to have a discussion about their relationship and that someone makes no mention of being in love."

"Was it really a discussion? Or did I show up at your apartment just to hear you lay out the ground rules?"

I faltered slightly as I thought back, but after a moment of reflection, I nodded.

"It was a discussion."

"I believe the first words out of your mouth were 'I think we both know that we're better off as friends'," he informed me. "Doesn't leave much room for debate."

"I was scared." That confession came out less confidently, but I found my voice again quickly. "And I assumed that's what you wanted too because you never pushed back."

He cocked his head to the side, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"You weren't the only one who was scared."

"I was the only one who was pregnant," I retorted, my tone growing harsher as my frustrations started to rise. "I was the only one who was trying to make a massive life decision while hormonal and growing another human being inside of them."

"That's fair," Chris nodded, his voice much calmer than I expected after my burst of annoyance. "But I wasn't about to pour my heart out and tell you how I felt when you kept talking about what a mistake we'd made as if you'd never regretted anything more in your life."

"Getting pregnant was a mistake," I clarified. "I love Grayson and I wouldn't change it for anything, but we can't say it wasn't a mistake at the time given our situation."

"A situation that you didn't want to change."

"Only because you never told me how you felt," I shot back. "I didn't want you to commit to something out of a sense of obligation. I didn't want you to put up with me for a few years until you dumped me for someone more in your league who you actually cared about."

There was a look of surprise on Chris' face at that revelation as it became more and more obvious to both of us that we hadn't been as good at communicating as we may have thought. It seemed we'd both been so convinced that we knew exactly how the other person felt that we hadn't bothered to actually ask them.

"But I did care about you," he assured me. "And you never told me how you felt either."

"I slept with you, didn't I?"

There was a smirk on my face as I threw his words back at him despite the anxiety that was bubbling inside me.

"A wise woman just informed me that sleeping with someone doesn't necessarily mean anything," he teased, a soft smile on his face. "But I think it's safe to say that we were both cowards."

"Again, in my defence, I was pregnant," I reminded him. "I was trying to make a logical decision while my brain was muddled with hormones."

"But you could have told me after," he pointed out. "We lived together for year after he was born, Whitney, and you never even dropped a hint."

"Oh, please," I snorted out a harsh laugh. "Do you remember what that year was like? We had a newborn baby who never slept for more than ten minutes at a time and you were flying in and out for the first six months, filming one of the Avengers movies. I was delirious, exhausted and emotionally wrecked. I wasn't in the right head space to give much thought to our relationship."

"So, if I had made a move back then? Would it have made a difference?" He asked. "Because it didn't seem to matter much a few months ago."

This was the real issue at hand.

It was all well and good to talk about the past and how we'd managed to come this far so oblivious to each other's feelings, but the real discussion was where we were at now. And the truth was, that I didn't know.

I opened my mouth to answer, but shut it as my words escaped me. I shifted nervously, shrugging under his stare until a sigh fell from my lips.

"I'm not sure anymore," I admitted. "If you'd told me how you felt back then, if you fought for us to be together then I might've been swayed."

"But now?"

"Now, I think we made the right decision for Grayson."

Chris was still staring me down, his eyes locked on mine as if he was looking into my soul. It was an intensity that was hard to endure and I was relieved when he spoke again, despite how his words made my heart ache.

"But what about the right decision for us?"

"That's not what's important," I insisted. "I've seen so many of my friends struggle through their parents' bitter divorces, I don't want that for Gray. I don't want us to lose our ability to work as a team and put him first."

"Yeah, you mentioned that several times," Chris huffed. "But I don't see why you're so fuckin' convinced that we'd end up hating each other."

His frustration and impatience was shining through and I felt my panic rising again. Chris had made his stance clear and I knew I needed to make a decision soon or my lack of decision would decide for me, but I felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The thought of not being with Chris made my heart ache especially now that I knew the extent of his feelings, but the thought of being with him and the consequences that could come from that set every anxious nerve in my body on edge.

I found myself scrambling for something to say that was non-committal, but would placate the situation. I floundered until, fortunately, a tiny voice from the doorway saved me.

"Daddy said a bad word..."

I leapt off the couch, desperate for any excuse to get away and Chris raised his eyebrow at my swift reaction. I ignored him as I looked at Grayson, who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and clutching his bear in the other. He looked so small, standing there in his little flannel pajamas and I smiled at the sight.

"That is a bad word," I agreed. "Daddy shouldn't have said it. But what are you doing up?"

"I had a bad dream."

His voice was small as he was still half asleep and Chris stood, following me over as I walked towards him.

"I'm sorry to hear that, buddy," he said, lifting him up in his arms. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Grayson shook his head. "It was scary."

"Awe, I'm sorry, sweetheart," I frowned as I rubbed his back, my heart melting at how small he looked in Chris' arms. "Do you want me to tuck you back in or Daddy?"

He rested his head on Chris' chest and pulled his bear so close that his answer got muffled by the stuffed animal's fur.

"I want to sleep in Daddy's bed..."

I looked up at Chris, letting him decide if that was okay, but he was already nodding his head.

"Sure, we can do that," he assured him. "But don't hog all the blankets this time, okay?"

Grayson giggled and I smiled as they headed to the door.

"Goodnight, boys," I called to them before they disappeared. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight." Chris paused to answer me and flashed me a look that made me feel like a schoolgirl being scolded by the principal. "This conversation isn't over."

It felt like a foreboding warning and it left me so flustered that all I could do was nod before he turned and continued on his way to his bedroom.

He was right.

Our conversation couldn't end there unless we wanted another four years of miscommunication and mutual longing, but I didn't know what to do. I wasn't trying to be difficult, but both options seemed destined to lead to heartache. Of course, I had no evidence to prove that we wouldn't live happily ever after, but he was Chris Evans. He was the man that women all over America, all over the world, would kill to be with. And I was just me. Once I fell off whatever pedestal he'd put me on in his mind and he realized how ordinary and unremarkable I was, it wouldn't last.

And I couldn't spend the rest of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With a sigh, I headed to the stairs. My head was a mess despite my hopes that talking to Chris would bring me some clarity. It seemed I was starting a pattern of coming away from late night conversations with more questions than answers, but I was beginning to think that might be due to the fact that I would never be told what I wanted to hear. No one could make this decision for me and no one could make it a fool proof choice.

There was always a risk when it came to love. I just had to decide if that risk was worth it and start being honest with myself about why I was so scared. Were my intentions really as noble as I wanted everyone to believe? Or was I using Grayson as a shield to protect my own heart from pain as much as his?

-

Part Four

Tags:  @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10

[stargazing-enby]

“I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé” + Drarry 😘

Thank you @stavromulabetaaa @secretlycrazyhummingbird and anon for your prompts! I turned them into a New Years story, I hope that's all right 😁 

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 2k | Teen and Up | Fake Fiancés, Auror Partners, Locked Down Together, Love Confessions | Read on AO3

“...And we’re still unsure whether the situation will be safe enough for us to marry in spring, so that’s why we haven’t organised much yet. Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know as soon as we have a date.”

Harry, mind still fuzzy with sleep, empty mug in hand, stopped in his tracks by the living room door. Had he heard right?

“We understand, Draco,” came Narcissa’s voice from the Floo. “But you must understand our concerns, too.”

“I do, mother. But you know this was necessary.”

“We do,” Lucius said. “The most important thing is that we’re all safe right now, even if we missed having you home last night.”

Harry didn’t hear the end of the conversation—didn’t notice Draco walking into the kitchen a minute later; he was too busy frowning at the kettle. 

“Morning,” said Draco from behind him. “Didn’t know you were up.”

“Didn’t know you were engaged,” Harry said without thinking—without turning around, without even understanding why he didn’t want to turn around; didn’t want Draco to see the whirl of emotions unravelling in his chest.

“Oh,” Draco said, voice low. “You heard that.”

Harry shook his head, eyes still fixed on the kettle. 

“Not on purpose.” His words came out strained, and he cursed himself inwardly. Why did he even care? It wasn’t like Draco’s personal life was any of his business. Sharing a flat didn’t make them friends, now did it? No matter how much Harry had grown to enjoy having the git around all the time, and watching him fall asleep while they watched telly together at night, and getting to see Draco’s tousled hair in the mornings—

Draco sighed—a slow, heavy sound—and leaned against the counter beside him. Harry did look up at him then, and the maelstrom of emotion probably still all over his face came to an abrupt halt when he realised Draco was holding back a giggle.

“I’m not engaged, Potter,” he said, grin widening. “You look really upset at the idea, though. It’s a cute look on you.”

Draco’s mirth was beautiful, and so, so good at softening Harry from inside out. Still, Harry crossed his arms over his chest with an indignant huff, grumbling, “Sod off, I thought you were keeping an engagement from me!” When Draco only laughed at him, he added, “Why on Earth do your parents think you’re engaged, then?” 

“I’ll tell you,” Draco said through another giggle, “but don’t murder me. I’m the best Auror partner you’ll ever have.”

Harry just raised his eyebrows at him—curiosity and concern mixing with a subtle hint of betrayal that refused to fade away just yet.

“My parents are…very traditional,” Draco started.

“I’d gathered that much, thank you.”

“Shut up, you giant prick. The thing is, they firmly believe people must live with their parents or on their own until they marry. Sharing a living space with anyone other than your spouse is…improper to them. I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail as to why.”

“You really don’t,” Harry said, grimacing. 

“So when I told them I was moving in with you temporarily, I sort of…kind of…had to tell them we were engaged, and the only reason I was moving in with you before getting married was that we wanted to wait until the pandemic was over to have a big wedding with all our loved ones.”

To Harry’s credit, he didn’t drop the mug full of piping hot coffee all over himself.

He did gape at Draco for a good three seconds, though.

“Your parents think we’re engaged?”

“That’s what I said, yes.” Draco had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “If it’s any consolation, they also trust me to remain chaste until my wedding night, so they don’t think you and I have—”

“Oh my god.”

“I would never, anyway. They raised me well.”

“Stop. Shut up.” Harry rested the mug on the kitchen table—sat heavily on a chair, gaze unfocused. “But didn’t you explain—”

“I did explain to them I was moving in with you because we work together and it’s safest to have you as the only person in my bubble so I don’t put them at risk, yes. They argued I had enough money to rent a place for myself, and I panicked and told them you and I had plans to marry anyway, so it wasn’t all that bad, since they trust me to wait until my wedding night to—” 

“Yeah, yes, got it.” Harry pressed his eyes closed, desperately trying to will images of a virginal Draco Malfoy draped over a white king-sized bed from his mind. “Were you planning on telling me any of this? You’ve been here for weeks…” 

“I was, of course.” 

Harry side-eyed him.

“It’s just—I guess…I was waiting for the right time to tell you, and it never really came up. And don’t give me that look! Remember how long it took you to tell me you weren’t dating Ginny anymore?” 

“That’s different!” Harry said. 

“Potter, you let me send both of you a Christmas card as though you were a couple and replied to it with her because it felt too awkward to tell me you’d broken up!” 

Harry took a sip of his coffee to avoid Draco’s gaze. 

“That may be true,” he muttered eventually, when he looked up at Draco again and found him still looking expectantly at him. “But this involves me directly. I mean, what if I’d answered a Floo call from them while you were in the bathroom and they’d brought up the engagement?” 

“Excuse you, I never schedule anything at bathroom hours!” 

“I...don’t want to know what that means.” Would it be too much for him to bury his face in his arms and fall right back asleep? “What are we going to do now?” 

“We wait until lockdown is over and pretend we’ve broken up and are no longer engaged, of course.” 

“What, so your parents hate me forever?” Harry asked. “No, thank you!”

“What do you mean, no thank you? The alternative, in case you hadn’t noticed, is to marry me, Potter!” 

“You’re making my year start with a headache,” Harry groaned. “I hope you’re happy.” 

“Very much so, actually,” Draco said. “Because you will pretend you’re my fiancé over Floo, won’t you? My parents have been asking to talk with you directly, and if it doesn’t happen soon, they’re going to start thinking you’re a bad husband…” 

“Fiancé! I mean—flatmate. Colleague. Ugh. Fine. Fine. I’ll do it,” he said when Draco just pouted dolefully. He couldn’t resist those puppy eyes, dammit. “But I’ll be cursing you to hell and back in my mind the entire time.” 

Draco’s grin was definitely not worth the sacrifice. 

***

“Harry! What a delight to finally be able to talk to you. Draco says you’ve been busy with work matters lately.” 

“Y-Yeah, it’s been chaos,” Harry said, resisting the urge to glare at Draco and hoping Narcissa couldn’t see the puzzle sitting on the coffee table or the stack of movies by the sofa through the Floo. “I’m really glad to see you, too.” Fuck, that’d sounded awfully awkward. “Happy new year, by the way—let’s hope it’s a better one.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it will be. The year an offspring gets married is always among the best of a mother’s life.”

“Right. Of course.” Add ‘upsetting Narcissa terribly’ to the list of reasons to curse Draco. 

“And I imagine it will be an even happier year for you two, especially if a future heir is in the picture by the end of it!” 

ADD ‘ALMOST CHOKING TO DEATH ON MY SALIVA’ TO THE LIST OF REASONS TO—

“Mother, please, I think it’s a little bit to early for that—” 

“I know, I know, sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m just really excited for you, my Draco. You’ve wanted this for so long…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Harry, you are one very lucky man, I hope you know that,” Narcissa went on, oblivious to the look Harry and Draco were sharing—the colour drained from Draco’s cheeks, a breath caught in Harry’s lungs. “I do hope you will be taking the Malfoy name, too! It would be an honour to have you as a part of our family tree…”

She went on about the Sacred Twenty-eight for what seemed like forever, and Harry was only vaguely aware of Draco interrupting her with the excuse they had to get back to work and ending the call after a round of good-byes. 

For a moment, they both stared into the faceless flames. 

“You’re not going to buy it if I tell you I really do need to get back to work, right?” Draco said after a moment, voice low. 

“You know the answer to that.” 

Draco huffed. 

“Well, then, go ahead and ask what you want to ask. Don’t make me suffer for longer than necessary.” 

Harry sneaked a glance in Draco’s direction. Unlike a few moments before, his face was a dark shade of red, hand clutching the edge of the carpet, knees drawn close to his chest. 

“I don’t want to ask if you don’t want to tell me,” Harry murmured, looking back into the flames. 

“It’s not like I can Obliviate you,” Draco retorted. “You heard what you heard.”

Harry nodded. 

“That you’ve wanted me for a very long time.”

Draco didn’t reply. 

Harry glanced at Draco’s hand again, now playing nervously with the fringe of the carpet, and, after a moment of hesitation that faded with his next exhale, he reached out and rested his hand on it. Draco’s fingers stilled under his touch, and Draco’s eyes found his—wide, scared, vulnerable. 

He dared run the tips of his fingers over Draco’s knuckles, and his own breath caught when he heard Draco’s hitch. 

“Draco…” Harry started, not knowing what he was even going to say. “The past few weeks have been… they’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Draco said, voice strained. “Don’t. Just—” He looked away again. “Just tell me you just want to be colleagues and be done with it, please.” 

“Maybe that’s not what I want.” He slipped his fingers between Draco’s soft own; squeezed them gently. “Maybe what I want isn’t so different from what you want. You don’t know what’s going on inside my mind. You have no idea what the past few weeks have meant to me.” 

Draco didn’t move under his touch—didn’t seem to move at all, except for the quick, uneven rise and fall of his chest. When he talked, the words came out quickly, in a whisper, as though he was terrified to hear himself say them.

“What are you saying, Potter?”

“What I’m saying is I want more of this. More puzzles, and movies, and more of your way-too-salty chicken soup, and more evenings and mornings by your side. I’m saying I hadn’t realised until very recently how much I want more of you, Draco. But I do. Merlin, I do.” 

A sound somewhere between a whine and a choked cackle came out of Draco’s throat.

“You sound like I’ve actually proposed to you, you idiot,” he groaned. Harry rolled his eyes at him, squeezed his fingers yet again.

“I’m being serious!” he said, unable to hold back a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not! I’m just—this whole situation, it’s…”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “But it doesn’t have to be. Things don’t have to be so different now. I mean, we already work together and we’ve been having movie nights every Saturday for, what, three years now? And now we live under the same roof, we cook meals together, we fall asleep together on the couch…Merlin. We’re already like a married couple, aren’t we?” Harry said, horrified. “No wonder your parents bought the engagement story!”

“Wait till I tell you they were actually surprised it hadn’t happened sooner…”

Harry buried his face in his knees to stifle a groan.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, and stood up still holding on to Draco’s hand. “Let’s make some lunch and pretend like this wasn’t the most embarrassing conversation we’ve ever had.”

Draco’s fingers were still comfortably hooked around his as they made their way to the kitchen.

[winterrose527]

have you done an Ella - museum curator, Robb - investor on a tour work??

Ummmm no I had not! And wow was this one cathartic to write. It came out way longer than expected because this is a subject near and dear to my heart...

Thank you for this prompt!!

***

She was so sick of this shit.

Over a year of it. Ever since the governor’s order in April 2020. Back then she’d almost believed it was just a blip, a couple of weeks. A vacation, almost.

But then the ban on gatherings. The shutdowns. Finally the masks.

Every museum in the country had shut its doors along with libraries, movie theaters, and every other place desperate parents could take their children on a rainy Saturday.

Theirs had been luckier than most. An endowment a few years prior, which had been earmarked but not mandated for an expansion had been used to keep the lights on and the staff fed - literally. Their programming had gone virtual and understandably attendance had dropped but not entirely – thanks to a few local artists that had generously donated their time for a last minute plug.

Ever since restrictions had lifted, the crowds had returned somewhat. A rainy spring and summer had helped, but they were nowhere near their ‘pre-pandemic’ levels (and with the Delta variant on the rise she wasn’t super comfortable with the term ‘post-pandemic’ to describe their current state of affairs).

She wouldn’t say that today though.

No, today everything would be rosy – not just the botanical gardens that abutted the museum and had been started in 1853 – no, 1854.

Not that she imagined the potential donor would be fact checking her but nevertheless there was no room for error. She needed to represent the museum well. Her colleagues were counting on her – not to mention the collection itself depended on her.

The board had decided at its most recent meeting if they didn’t get an influx of donations within this quarter they were going to sell off a few pieces from the collection.

There was nothing sadder to a museum than deaccessioning. The staff all loved and protected the collection, and they truly felt the impact they and it had on the community. Myrcella loved to walk through the galleries on Thursday afternoons to see the regulars who’d come to visit the paintings like old friends of theirs, stopping by to say hello to a Baroque oil here or an Impressionist watercolor there.

So if schmoozing yet another prospective donor was what it took to mean that Mr. Poole’s favorite still-life stayed put for his bi-weekly Wednesday morning visit, then she would schmooze. She would schmooze Sansa Stark like her life depended on it.

She knew Sansa Stark sort of. It was the sort of thing where pre-pandemic they had run into each other at half a dozen events every year and always had a lovely chat and discussed getting together and then never did. The North was a small world and they ran in similar circles. But they weren’t friends.

Still, she was her best bet. From the wealthiest and most philanthropic family in the North, of course she was.

And she had to deliver.

The board had all made it clear that they expected results, and it had been suggested that really Myrcella Baratheon shouldn’t have such a hard time finding donors. But all her usual suspects had come to her with their own sob stories full of please tell me you won’t shut your doors but without any promise of relief, and the people she knew down south – the sort that profited from the world being in such dire straits had no interest in a little regional museum. No matter how much she marketed it as a hidden jewel.

To them, there was little worth in a jewel hidden, and they had no interest in having their act of charity buried under the northern snows.

So Sansa Stark was it.

She smoothed her dress, chosen carefully for the occasion. Sansa was always impeccably dressed and favored ladylike, tailored dresses for daytime, just as Myrcella did. Today, which had turned out to be a gorgeous one, she’d chosen a pale blue scallop trim knit dress, her grandmother’s wristwatch her only accessory. Feminine but appropriate. More comfortable than the clingier dresses she only ever so occasionally wore when taking around a male potential benefactor.

“Good luck,” Gilly, their glum registrar said as she raised her wrist to her nose to make sure she could still smell the scented oil she’d spread there that morning.

“Thanks baby,” Myrcella sighed, “Lunch from that naughty salad place when I’m done? My treat?”

Gilly smiled at that, “My treat if you get her.”

“Oh, now the stakes are really high,” she teased and blew Gilly a kiss and walked through the halls.

She felt eyes on her as she went. It was a small, tight-knit team, and it made it all the harder every time she received a sheepish regret. If she couldn’t succeed, one of them might lose their job if the board couldn’t decide what to sell. Even if they could, depending on how long this lasted.

Game face, Baratheon.

She took a deep breath and then smiled for fifteen seconds. She let it drop, knowing that it would still be in her eyes when she walked outside and it felt a little more genuine when her heels clacked along the gorgeous marble floor.

Walking over to the security desk, the smile reappeared on her face.

“Morning Roddy,” she grinned.

“Good morning to you Miss Myrcella,” Rodrick greeted her, “You see the game last night?”

“You’ve known me for four years,” she noted, “When in all of that time have I ever seen the game?”

He chuckled, “There was that one time in 2018.”

“Oh no, I totally lied about that,” she assured him, shrugging, “I wanted you to think I was cool.” She then looked around the empty lobby, “No Miss Stark?”

He grimaced, “Not yet. Traffic is back though, folks still aren’t used to it.”

She nodded, picking at a non-existent thread on her dress and looked around. Her eyes narrowed in on something and she crossed the lobby and picked up a tiny scrap of paper, crumbling it in her hand and then walking back over and tossing it in the trash behind Roddy’s desk.

“I’ve been sitting here for two hours, didn’t see it,” he noted.

She smiled, “Well you’ve been doing less important things like making sure no one robs the place.”

He opened his mouth to say something to her but then his gaze was directed behind her, “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t open until 11 o’clock on Tuesdays.”

“I sort of have an appointment,” the man said.

She knew that voice. She’d heard it before. In a coat closet at Alys Karstark’s birthday party. At the next table over at a charity even in 2019. Deep, stubbornly Northern, as unyielding as Valyrian steel.

She felt her palms sweat and forced herself not to rub them on her dress, rubbing them together instead and then turning around with a bright smile.

“You’re not Sansa Stark,” she greeted him.

He grinned sheepishly, though she wasn’t sure this man had ever had occasion to be sheepish in his entire life, “Afraid not. Myrcella, right? We met at that thing – that um… save the…whatsits.”

She giggled, and she heard the sound echoing garishly on the marble, “I believe that evening we were saving the seals. Or the… tulips, maybe.”

His smile spread slowly across his face, a dimple marking its end like an exclamation point, “Well we did our part even if we can’t remember what it was, I’m Robb Stark.”

She liked that he introduced himself. He’d done so every time they’d met, as though he in no way expected her to remember him. Sansa had done it the first five or so. Must have been how they were raised.

On the other hand, she’d been raised to act as though someone was foolish for not knowing who she was, introducing herself had been something she’d had to learn when she moved north, like parallel parking and salting her stoop.

Her hand extended and his met it, taking hers in his larger one and shaking it firmly as he looked her in the eyes briefly and then her lips slightly longer before purposefully going back to her eyes, “Myrcella Baratheon, and I remember you, Mr. Stark.”

“Well if that were true you’d remember I prefer Robb,” he noted, releasing her hand.

She shrugged, leaning forward conspiratorially, “Old habits. Can I get you something to drink before we begin our tour?”

“No thank you, I’m fine,” he shook his head.

She nodded, “Well it’s beautiful out now, why don’t we start in the botanical gardens. There’s been a bumper crop this year, we recently had the Cerwyn wedding here, did you attend?”

He fell into step next to her and said, “No, I didn’t. I was meant to but they reduced it to just family.”

She nodded, “Right, seems to be happening quite a bit. Will you do the same for your wedding?”

He stopped walking briefly and before she could stop too he had started again, “No… uh, rather than reduce the guest list we decided not to have it at all. We called the engagement off in January.”

“I’m so sorry!” she internally stabbed herself in the throat, “I didn’t know.”

He shrugged, “The nice thing about there not being any events over the past year is that the press didn’t really get wind of it.” Then stopped abruptly, “Not that… it’s not like that makes up for the past year or anything.”

She laughed, “Don’t worry, I know what you meant. I am sorry though, about your engagement.”

“As am I,” he agreed, “But it’s for the best. We parted as friends. Had we gotten married, I’m not sure we could have done so, so I’m grateful for that, and for her.”

A gentleman.

So many men played the part. Opening doors, buying flowers. So few of them realized that manners mattered very little when they were offered without grace.

“That’s lovely,” she noted, pleased for once not to have to lie.

It was a gorgeous day, a perfect seventy-nine degrees and clear blue skies. As though they’d understood the importance of the occasion, the Phlox stood proudly in battle formation and the scent of honeysuckle surrounded them.

“Sansa wanted me to apologize for missing your meeting,” Robb noted.

“I hope nothing’s the matter?” she asked.

A grin overtook his face, “No nothing at all. She’s in labor.”

She smiled, grabbing his forearm briefly. They both looked down at her hand on it and she pulled it back as gingerly as she could.

“That’s wonderful,” she told him, “Her second, right?”

He nodded, “A girl. And I’ve convinced her out of the name Corona.”

She chuckled, “Oh come now, you could call her Corrie for short.”

“And her parents idiots for long,” he noted. Then told her, “They weren’t really going to call her Corona.”

She smiled, “And here I was about to tip off the press…”

He smirked, “Narrow miss, then.” He looked around, “So. Flowers.”

“Not just flowers,” she pointed out, “We have a community garden to the left and down that lane local beekeepers keep their hives.”

“My mistake,” he allowed with a close-lipped smile.

That smile annoyed her. It was the same one she’d heard in the voice of every southern donor she’d called when they’d offered her good luck with her little country museum.

It was the smile someone gave her when she’d already lost.

“Perhaps we should go inside,” she noted, “I can show you our contemporary wing which we’ve recently devoted to elevating female and underrepresented artists. Or perhaps that’s a bit too avant-garde for you. Would you like to see our hall of armor and weaponry? I believe we have a few pieces that your ancestors left on one battlefield or another.”

“I’m sorry,” he noted, rubbing his jaw, “I told Sansa we should just cancel this meeting but she insisted.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark –“

“Robb,” he corrected her.

“No, I’m addressing Mr. Stark right now,” she argued, all of the frustration and helplessness of the past few months bubbling up inside of her, “May I ask what exactly it is about this that you find amusing? Is it the painting that we’re going to have to sell so that it can end up in someone’s climate controlled storage unit and never looked at again? Or is it the leaky roof? Perhaps the pay cut we asked all senior employees to take? Or how about the summer interns who had gone through a rigorous hiring process only to be told we couldn’t take them on at all? I certainly hope it’s not the seniors who used to come here for their Saturday afternoon watercolor classes which we had to cancel because we didn’t have anything to pay the instructor even though it would have been the perfect activity for them because it is outdoors and safe. Or maybe it’s the after-school programs you find so laughable…”

“I’m not laughing,” he pointed out. “But you’ll forgive me if I take your righteousness with a grain of salt.”

“I’m not sure that I will, actually,” she argued.

“No?” he asked, “Well let’s talk about those seniors? Don’t you think that funding is better spent ensuring they have free and safe access to the vaccination that can actually save their lives? Or what about those kids? Sure, the after-school program is great, but how about providing computers to allow them to do remote learning? Now I’m sorry if you have to lose one of a thousand paintings in this place, but if money can be better spent giving people what they really need then I’m sorry – sell the damn thing.”

That was hard to argue with.

But not impossible.

“So you’ve drained your coffers?” she asked.

There was only room for one of them on the moral high ground and she’d always enjoyed the view.

His cheeks had turned blotchy in anger but they paled now, “Excuse me?”

“Are you in the red?” she asked, “Declaring bankruptcy? Let’s not go that far - Taking out loans? Leveraging assets?”

His jaw clenched, revealing a muscle in his left cheek that might have been attractive if she wasn’t about to rip his head off.

“No,” he noted, “But my family’s company and my family have given an exceptional amount this year already.”

“Well,” she pointed out, “It has been an exceptional year already.”

“Are you always this haughty with potential donors?” he asked, stepping ever so slightly closer to her.

A flash in her mind of his hand ghosting across the back of her neck as he secured her coat over her shoulders. That smell.

“Never,” she admitted, stepping ever so slightly towards him, “But you’re not a potential donor, are you? And tell me, is it really because you don’t think it’s worthwhile or because it doesn’t sound worthwhile?”

His face contorted in anger, “You think we’re giving so that people will write songs about us? We want this country back on its feet. We want to return to normal and if we can’t do that, we want to make sure to give people as comfortable an existence until it reverts on its own. Tell me, Miss Baratheon, can you actually find fault in that?”

She shook her head, “No, I can’t.” He looked surprised and she shrugged, “It’s a flawless argument. Just an incomplete one. Giving an exceptional amount right now isn’t enough. You have to give until it hurts, because you can. It is wonderful, exceptional, heroic, to be doing all that you have done so far. But what comes next? What comes after? What happens when the dust settles? When things open? When we get things under control? What happens when people are ready to return to what was before and none of it is left because it wasn’t deemed essential. Because it’s just flowers and amateur beekeepers and pretty watercolors? I understand that we are not on the top of the list and we shouldn’t be. But we should be on the list. We need to do more than survive, Robb. There are things apart from us that we need to endure. Things we need to protect.”

His mouth twitched at that.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t have time to see the armor,” he told her.

She felt the defeat trickle through her veins slowly.

She held out her hand, “Thank you for letting me rant at you.”

He shook it once again, narrowing his eyes at her, “Something tells me you’ve still got some left in the tank. I’d quite like to hear it. Have dinner with me tonight and convince me.”

It was happening to all of her girlfriends. After a year in isolation, their ability to detect a creep from a mile away had withered. She hadn’t thought that hers had too. He’d seemed like one of the good ones.

She pulled her hand away, “That’s not the way I do business, Mr. Stark.”

His eyes widened in horror, “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t get to make these decisions.”

“You’re the CEO,” she pointed out.

“Yes I am but Sansa insisted on inserting a clause into her contract that she gets final say over any philanthropic decisions,” he sighed, “I literally am not even allowed to choose the location of a book drive.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, a tiny bit of hope bubbling inside of her, “So when you said you should have cancelled the meeting…”

“It’s because Sansa’s already decided that we will be giving a donation, she wanted to discuss the structure of it with you – you know whether you’d prefer a lump sum, or whether you want it in increments, if you wanted it to be public to inspire other donors or whether you wanted it to be private so that they couldn’t use it as an excuse not to give…” he waved his hand, “She’s better at the specifics and I’m sure she’ll be calling you in between contractions to fine tune them.”

She laughed, “Please tell her not to. A pledge is more than enough to take to my board, we can map out the nitty gritty whenever she or whomever will be replacing her in the interim has time.”

He nodded, “You’ll have them within the week.”

She was about to thank him but the words caught in her mouth, “So wait a second… did you just wind me up for the sake of it?”

He grinned, a chuckle present in his voice though it hadn’t yet broken, “I’d like to point out that it took very little to wind you up.”

She laughed, because he was right and admitted, “It’s been a tough year.”

He nodded, “For everyone. So, now that you know I have absolutely no control and can hold absolutely nothing over you… have dinner with me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I enjoy arguing with you,” he told her, then grinned sheepishly, “And because I lied. Sansa told me that I could cancel the meeting and I insisted on coming because I wanted to see you. The bad thing about this year is that there were no events where I could have a chance of bumping into you…”

“Oh that’s the bad thing about this year?” she asked.

“Well,” he grinned, then did a scarily good impression of her, “Maybe it shouldn’t be at the top of the list, but it should be on the list.”

[honeypiehotchner]

Alone Together part one -- Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Fuck it, quarantine short story. This is part one. I don’t know how many parts exactly this will turn out to be, but my estimate is around three. (It’s for real a short story, I swear.) Oh, and the gif is the headcannon of what college Bucky looks like in this story (hot, to be brief).

Summary: COVID-19 caused your college campus to shut down, forcing everyone to return home. You have to stay on campus, and you assume you’re all alone, until you run into the school’s biggest flirt.

You practically float down the staircase to the kitchen on the first floor. The entire building shares one kitchen — one stove, one sink, one giant ice maker, but no fridge since you’re allowed a small one in your dorm room. It used to annoy the living hell out of you, sharing this small kitchen with a hundred other kids. But now that you’re alone, you almost love it.

You just wish that there was still a fridge. Now your only annoyance is having to carry your refrigerated ingredients down from your room in a bag. 

You want macaroni and cheese. So bad. 

Because of the lockdown, practically every restaurant is closed. And if they are still open by some miracle, they’re doing orders online or from your car. That’s nice and all, but you don’t exactly feel like interacting with anyone — period. 

Which might be a problem for you. It’s been days (maybe a week?) now since you’ve interacted with another human being that isn’t the police officer that paroles the building once or twice a day. He does so to check on you, but also to make sure no undocumented students are still here.

The officer is nice. His name is Clint. He’s friendly. He reminds you of your dad, what little you remember from him before he passed away. 

You carefully set out your ingredients and start the process of making your personal recipe of macaroni and cheese. It’s something you’ve perfected. 

Just as you’re stirring in the cheese with the cooked noodles, you hear footsteps on the staircase. Thinking nothing of it, you continue stirring, waiting for Clint to come in and ask what you’re doing. He always does that — asks what you’re doing. Even when you’re clearly doing nothing, because what else is there to do?

“That smells good.”

That’s not Clint. Your eyes snap to the stranger’s voice, only it’s no stranger at all. “What are you doing here?” You ask.  

James Barnes leans against the doorway, stupid smirk on his lips and arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing here? I thought I was the lone survivor hanging around here.”

“Me too,” you mumble, not caring at all about hiding your disappointment. Sure, being alone for a long time might not be entirely good for your mental health, but it’s something you were looking forward to. And it’s just the fucking cherry on top that James Barnes is the one to ruin it for you. 

“What are you cooking, Red?”

“Red?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

James shakes his head. “Just a nickname.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.” 

The last thing you need or want is to be the target of James Barnes — the biggest fuckboy at this college. You’ve successfully avoided him all year by being yourself, hanging out in places he’d never be caught dead in, like the library. But of course, now that a global pandemic is on the rise, this is when you’re cornered. 

“You know, I think we’re the only two people here.”

You scoff, turning off the burner underneath your small pot of mac and cheese. It’s finally done, meaning you can escape back to your room.

“Listen,” you start piling your unused ingredients back into the bag. “We might be the only people here, but I’d like it very much if we could go back to the way things were, I don’t know, yesterday.”

James raises an eyebrow as you swing the bag over your shoulder. “Yesterday?”

“When I didn’t know you were here,” you reply firmly, picking up the pot. You step forward, but James doesn’t move an inch. You glare at him. “Do you want me to burn you? I will.”

“No, no,” he steps aside, holding his hands up in surrender. “By all means.”

You decide not to “accidentally” burn him and instead keep your distance as you bound up the stairs. You take them two at a time, glancing behind you once you’re on the third floor to be absolutely positive he isn’t following you. And he’s not.  

You let out a sigh of utter relief when you close your door behind you, clicking the lock into place. All you wanted was some mac and cheese. 

Now you have to deal with the realization that you’re not actually alone. And to make matters worse, you’re stuck here with James Barnes. Of all people, it just had to be him.

+++

“I told you, I’m not having a good time right now.”

Your best friend frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“I was doing so good alone. I was excited, actually, to be alone. But now I have to live here knowing I could run into him around any corner.”

“Well, maybe not any corner,” your best friend slows down your train of thoughts. “He wouldn’t roam around the girl’s floor.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? This is James we’re talking about.”

“Yes, I know,” she chuckles. “But he isn’t all that bad.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything!” She protests. “All I’m saying is that yes, James is a fuckboy. Absolutely no doubt about that one. But he’s...I don’t know. He’s a gentleman. He’s a player, but he’s respectful. He wouldn’t do some of the things I know you’re worried about.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You’re sure?”

Your best friend nods seriously. “Come on, you know Steve?”

“Rogers?” He’s on the football team with James, you’re pretty sure. Or is it baseball? You honestly can’t remember. Hell, maybe it’s soccer.

“Yeah,” she nods again. “They’re best friends.”

“I knew that.”

“My point is, Steve keeps James in check a lot. I’ve seen it, trust me. James might be a player, but if he ever goes too far, Steve is there to get him for it.”

“Well I’m glad someone at least reins him in,” you breathe. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now that he’s here.”

“Stop worrying! You didn’t know he was there two days ago and you were fine.”

“He didn’t know I was here, either, that’s the thing,” you remind her. “But now he knows.”

“Yes, and I’m sure he’s super interested in you, a girl who wants nothing to do with him.”

“I told you how he stood in the doorway.”

“So? Friendly conversation.”

You give her a look.

“Like I said, he’s a gentleman. Besides, he only really goes after girls he knows he can get. He understands messages pretty quickly. So I’m sure he’ll leave you alone. And if you’re that worried, threaten to burn him again.”

You roll your eyes, remembering. That was ridiculous. “Not my finest moment. I wish I had thought of something more clever than that.”

“You will, don’t worry,” your best friend laughs. “I’ve gotta go, I think mom needs help with dinner. I still wish you would’ve come here instead of staying there all alone.”

“I told you, I don’t want to get anyone sick on accident. I’m better here.”

“But James is there.”

“And it would be my honor to get him sick,” you joke. “Go help your mom. Tell her I say hi.”

“I will,” your best friend sighs. “Bye. I love you.”

“Love you too,” you smile sadly, ending the call. 

Well, that didn’t make you feel better like you had hoped. 

+++

Two days pass without a single sighting of James. You call it a win. You almost want to put a little sign on your door that says “Days without an incident” that you can keep track on every time you come back to your room from doing something.  

Currently, you’re doing laundry. Normally you’d retreat back to your room while your clothes are in the washer or dryer, but since you’ve been in there all day, you decided to bring your laptop with you to the laundry room and watch Netflix. A small change of scenery, even though you’re still in the same building. 

It does have you on a bit of high-alert, though. Like the kitchen, the laundry room is shared throughout the entire building. Males and females. 

Which means you’re putting yourself in the position to run into James again. 

You ignore the nerves, trying to focus on the movie you picked to watch.

You look up abruptly when you see a figure skid to a stop in the doorway. James. Of course. You must’ve jinxed yourself by thinking about running into him. 

You press pause on Netflix, looking expectantly at the boy standing before you. “Can I help you with something?”

“Sorry, I…” James pauses, running his hand through his hair. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You stare at him in shock. That’s not at all what you were expecting to come out of his mouth. 

“It’s hard enough right now to be here alone, and I didn’t mean to make it worse, so I’m sorry if I did.”

You nod slowly. “Thanks. Apology accepted.”

He deflates, flashing a small smile.

“Oh, and uh, sorry for threatening to burn you the other day,” you blurt, not giving yourself a chance to think. “That was uncalled for.”

“Thanks,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I kinda deserved it.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” you chuckle awkwardly.

“But you thought it.”

“Oh, definitely.”

James rocks back and forth on his feet, his smile fading extremely slowly. “I know you probably want to be left alone, but if you ever want some company, uh, I’m in 245. We can...watch TV or something, or whatever, you know.”

You don’t know that you can ever recall a moment seeing James this flustered. It almost warms your heart. “Sure,” you smile softly. “Thanks for the offer, really.”

“Yeah, of course,” he shrugs. “I’m gonna,” he nods his head backwards. “See you around.”

You nod. “See you.”

Without another remark or any protests, James leaves you alone. You press play on Netflix, but you hardly pay attention to the movie. You’re too busy trying to process what the fuck just happened.

[writingformadderton]

Panic.

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 4831

Summary: Richard suffers from panic attacks and is in a bad state of mind because of all the news going on regarding the virus. When he gets the flu, it freaks him out constantly and he’s on edge from not knowing if he got infected. Taron helps him through it while they wait for the results of the test.

Additional Tags: TRIGGER WARNING!!!!, panic attack, anxious, soft, crying, sickness, fighting, comfort

Author's note: Please don't read this if you're anxious because of the Corona Virus or struggling with panic because of it. And another important point is that Taron’s way to help Richard through panic attacks doesn't have to fit with everyone. Always make sure to ask how you can help, if touching is okay and so on. Please don't take this as a guide❤️

Taron steps inside the living room and sees Richard in front of the television. He is so caught up in the program that he doesn’t even notice T, who just came back home from a long day at work. T leans in a bit and sees it’s the news channel. The most dangerous program for someone like Richard during these times. No matter where you go, all you can hear is the word “Corona”. A few weeks ago, no one knew it even existed.

Growling softly, Taron walks closer to his boyfriend and grabs the remote, turning the television off. He looks down at Richard’s worried face, which seems to need a moment to process what just happened.

“Why did you turn it off?” Rich asks and looks up to him.

“I just came back home and I wanna spend some time with you, love.” Taron lies and sits down next to him. He leans forward and kisses him, meeting nothing but Richard’s unmoving lips.

“You never complain about the telly in the background.” Rich says and he feels bad, thinking he knows the answer already.

“Richard, come on.” T sighs and fondles over his hair, but stops when he sees the expression on Richard’s face.

“Why?” he asks firmly with cold blue eyes.

Taron huffs and avoids his look. He hates it when Richard’s eyes get all cold and dark, knowing he has a short fuse when someone hid something from him. “I just don’t want you to get worried or worse.” he says slowly.

“Seriously, T, you need to calm down. Not everything going on outside sends me straight into panic.” he says and feels his blood starting to boil. He knows he needs to calm down soon before he says something that would hurt Taron.

It happened often when Taron tried to protect him from his panic attacks. But it annoyed the hell out of him to have Taron building a bubble around him, it was like cutting him off from the world. Yes, he panicked easily, but he hated when T got too protective. It made him feel dumb, even though he would never say it that directly to Taron’s face. He knew it would make him feel useless then.

“Yeah I know, but we’re talking about a virus that is turning into a pandemic at the moment. People are dying and I seriously don’t know what will happen when they decide to lock down the city like they did in Italy already.” Taron says and he wonders to himself as he put the current events into words like this. He usually doesn’t around Richard and, by the look in his scared eyes, he remembers why he doesn’t.

“You think I don’t know that?” Richard growls annoyed and looks away from him. It did scare him. But not knowing what was going on was almost as bad as these bloody panic attacks in his mind.

“I’m just trying to protect you. Because sooner or later we will be affected by it as well. Direct or indirect.” T tries to soothe him and moves to grab his hand, wanting some physical contact between them.

“I don’t need your stupid protection. I’m not a child Taron.” He says angrily and sees how Taron leans away from him, hurt evident in his eyes.

“Fine.” Taron says and takes the remote, turning on the telly again. “Have fun with your crappy news. And don’t come and cry on my shoulder when it becomes too much to handle. Because I warned you.” He throws the remote back on the table and glances at some pictures of the current state of Italy shuffling over the screen. His own stomach turns seeing it and seeing Richard stare at it, stubborn and not letting him win, makes him roll his eyes a bit. Why couldn’t he just take it as it was and avoid these things?

“Fuck off.” Rich just groans.

“Are you serious right now?” Taron asks and folds his arms in front of him, curling his hands into fists, and clenching his jaw. He needs to let his anger out somehow and quick.

“Yes I am. For fucks sake, Taron! I don’t need you to babysit me and wrap me up in a blanket of lies and half true stories. Not everything is a trigger and not everything ends in me panicking. Just stop being overprotective of me and more annoying than my bloody mother.” He spits out in anger and stood up now. “Just back off.” he huffs and closes his eyes. “Please.”

Taron looks at him startled and bites his lower lip. His anger turns into hurt within a few seconds and he knows he needs to get out of this room. “Fine.” he presses out and swallows down his tears. He sees Richard’s look soften a bit. He noticed the change in his tone. Turning around, he walks out and slams the door behind him.

Richard feels his heart racing and doesn’t know if it’s because of the horrible pictures or Taron being upset. He doesn’t like it when Taron is this way, especially when it’s directed at him. It made him anxious, fearful of lose him. The loud noise of a slamming door sends a wave of panic through his body every single time. He turns off the television and sits back down on the sofa, staring out of the window.

Every time Taron and he get into a fight because of his panic attacks and possible triggers, he’s afraid he’ll hear him leaving. Sometimes when it gets too heated, Taron leaves for a walk or a drive to calm his nerves. On those days Richard curls up in bed, his stomach hurting from the fear, and counts the seconds until Taron gets home. Usually it ends in Taron wrapping him into his arms, apologizing, and promising him he won’t leave him permanently.

Taron sits down on bed heavily and leans against the pillow, tucking his legs up. He isn’t hungry anymore and he doesn’t want to spend the evening with Rich anymore. It would only end in tears today and he doesn’t want to make Richard cry and blame himself.

All he wants is what’s best for his boyfriend who panicked so easily. He wanted to protect him and he knows he goes too far sometimes. But at the moment, the news program was simply the worst Richard could do to himself.

When Richard comes upstairs and changes into a shirt to sleep, Taron turns towards the window and pulls the blanket closer to his body. Rich lies down and turns the lights out. He stares into the dark and bites his lower lip, caught up in his thoughts. After a while of breathing deeply and lying still, his normal remedy to calm down, he hears T sniffing next to him.

Fuck, he made him cry. That was even worse than a fight and slamming doors. He hates seeing him cry and being the reason for it.

Richard turns onto his side and carefully rubs over Taron’s arm who lies on his side, curled up into himself. His boyfriend flinches under his touch and Rich bites his lip, feeling his throat tightening at it. “Taron.” he whispers and T doesn’t react, just tries to stifle his cries with his hand in front of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m so sorry.” he says and squeezes his waist softly. Still no response. “Taron?” he tries again softly, fear welling up inside him.

“Mm?” T hums and bites his lips at the sadness in his boyfriend’s voice.

“I know I was very harsh today. I didn’t mean to be.” Richard apologizes.

“s’Okay. Jus’ had a long day. Tired.” Taron mumbles and pats his hand shortly before curling up more. He wasn’t just tired. It hurt him to hear that the only thing he could do, was what Richard hated.

“Don’t try to lie to me just because I can’t see your face.” Rich mumbles and carefully leans over him. He fondles his cheeks and feels their wetness. “Heard you crying, love.” he whispers and Taron just nods slowly. He reaches over him and turns on his bedside lamp. Looking down at his boyfriend, he sees his red puffy eyes, his bitten lower lip and his red cheeks. His heart breaks a little seeing what he did to him and he pulls back, lying down next to him.

Taron turns over to face him and give him a chance to talk. “It’s okay. I know I can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

“It’s not okay and you’re not.” Richard says firmly and tries to make eye contact, which isn’t easy at the moment.

“Yes I am. Otherwise you wouldn’t have told me that straight to my face today.” Taron mumbles and swallows, thinking back on it.

“It wasn’t fair to do so. You’re just trying to keep me safe. I know my panic attacks aren’t fun for you either.” He grabs his hand and squeezes it softly. “I’m really thankful for every time you help me and I know I can be difficult sometimes.”

“I know it’s not easy, just- please don’t be mad when I’m trying to protect you. It’s the only thing I’m good at.” T says and shrugs his shoulders, looking at him again.

“I said don’t lie to me.” Rich whispers and fondles over his knuckles. “You’re amazing at so many things.”

“I just want you to be okay, Richie.” he whispers and looks at him with a weak smile. “Even when you get mad at me for it.”

Richard scoops him into his arms and presses a tiny kiss onto his forehead. “I know, I’m sorry.”

When Taron’s alarm blares through the room the next morning, both of them wake up with a groan. T turns around and shuts it off annoyed and falls back into his pillow, drifting off again.

………………………….

Ten minutes later, Richard turns towards him and rocks his shoulder a bit. “T, you need to get up.”

“I don’t need to do shit.” he says and rolls away from him.

“You’re gonna be late for work.” Rich groans and closes his eyes again. He feels Taron shifting next to him and grunts softly as T crawls in his lap and lies down on him.

“I don’t care.” he growls and buries his face in Richard’s shirt.

“I’m gonna kick you out of bed.” he mumbles and grabs him by the waist. “Come on you’re gonna be late.” he rolls him off and Taron whines softly. “Get your lazy ass out of bed right now.” he says firmly and pats his bum softly.

T lifts his head and opens his sleepy eyes. “Fuck off.” he moans and smacks his arm. “I’m quitting today, I’m sick.”

“Wha-?” Taron presses his hand into Richard’s mouth and calls his director. He tells her he is feeling really bad today and will stay at home. He fake coughs and says goodbye when she wishes him to get better soon.

“I should drive you there personally to apologize for your lie.” Rich groans and turns onto his stomach, hiding his face in the pillows.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t mind me staying home, dumbass.” Taron just says and lifts the blanket, lying on top of Rich. He buries his face in his back and closes his eyes.

Taron wakes up when Richard starts whimpering underneath him. He rolls away from him lazily and rubs his face before looking at his boyfriend. Richard grabbed the sheets and pants into his pillow. “Rich, wake up.” he says and rocks his shoulder a bit. Richard pants his name and curls up, whining. Taron has seen this a thousand times before. He was panicking in his sleep. “Richard.” he says a bit louder and rocks him again.

Richard rolls on his back and shakes his head. “No.” he whines and Taron can see the panic in his face.

“Richard, you need to wake up.” Taron starts fondling over his hair, trying to calm him down in his sleep. “It’s a bad dream, you just have to wake up. It’s okay.”

Rich squirms on bed and wakes up quickly. He turns onto his side and curls up, starting to cry.

Taron lies down next to him and starts fondling over his hair. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re back.” Richard reaches out for him and Taron wraps him into a hug. “It’s okay, Richie.”

“Taron.” he presses out and clings onto him.

“I’m here.” Taron says and rubs his back smoothly. “Everything is okay.”

………………………

A few days later, Taron leaves for work early and feels a bit bad about leaving Richard alone. He didn’t look so good this morning, but assured him everything is fine.

After working on set for a few hours, he spends his lunchbreak watching the news. It was important to stay updated no matter if it affected you in a bad way and made you panicked or depressed. He checks up on Rich, who’s voice sounds a bit raspy but Taron just leave it as it is.

When he comes home in the evening, he finds Rich curled up under the blanket in their bed. Taron frowns and walks over to him. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly and sits down at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, just a bad headache and my throat hurts.” he says and looks up at him tiredly.

Taron strokes his hair back and frowns a bit. “I think you’re running a fever, love.”

“What?” Richard asks shocked and his eyes widen a bit.

“Yeah… You’re probably having the flu.” Taron says calmly and gets up to get the thermometer. He sticks it in both of Richard’s ears and nods. “104°, I’m gonna run you a bath.” he looks down at Richard and suddenly sees the fear in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I- Are you sure I’m just having the flu?”

“Well I’m not a doctor but I mean it’s flu season and-Richard you’re just sick.” Taron says and suddenly gets it. Was it about the virus?

“Mm okay.” Richard just mumbles tiredly.

……………………………..

Taron throws Richard’s clothes into the laundry machine and changes the sheets. He rearranges and disinfects the pillows and gets a glass of water. Taron grabs a shirt and a pair of boxers for Richard and returns to the bathroom. He washes Richard’s hair and dries him with a towel. Richard stumbles a bit as he tries to get into his shirt and boxers and Taron sits him down on a chair. He dries his hair and helps him back to bed. “I’ll go for a quick shower and make you some soup, alright?” Rich nods and Taron presses a soft kiss onto his forehead.

Richard looks out of the window and bites his lips. What if he got the virus and this wasn’t just a usual flu? Don’t panic. Taron is here.

His boyfriend comes back with a bowl of soup after his shower and sits behind him while he plays with his hair. When he’s finished, he cuddles into Taron and grabs his hand. He coughs a bit and sinks down, placing his head on Taron’s thigh.

“You need a pillow. This can’t be comfortable.” T speaks softly.

“This can’t be comfortable.” he mocks him and pats his thigh lovingly. “Bullshit.”

Taron just giggles and watches him drift off slowly. “Okay, you need to lie sitting up a bit, that helps with the cough.” he says and slips away from underneath Richard, who groans in protest. He adjusts him into the pillows and lies down next to him. “You should sleep.”

Richard nods and coughs roughly before pulling up the blanket. Taron plays with his hair and he feels himself getting more and more tired.

……………………………….

When Taron wakes up the a few days later, he can’t move from his spot and looks down confused. Richard clings onto him in his sleep, his face buried in his ribs. T sighs a bit and pats his hand. “I have to go to work, love.” he yawns. Richard just mumbles in his sleep and lets go off him, curling up. Taron wraps him into the blanket and gets up tiredly.

Richard’s fever got worse, going up and down all the time leaving him burning up or shivering cold. His cough is still rough and sounds painful. His eyes are teary and his nose is blocked. It all got worse over the last few days but Taron knows it does with a flu. It always gets worse before it gets better. He continues to get ready for his day as Richard tried to sleep peacefully again.

……………………………….

Taron is on set for two hours when he gets a phone call. After finishing a take, one of the assistants bring him his phone, telling him it’s Richard. He thanks her and takes the call. “Hey, how are you feeling today?”

“I-I don’t feel good at all. Can you come home?”

Richard’s voice is wavering and shaky, and Taron can hear him sniffing.

Taron rubs his face and looks down at his watch. One hour to go “What’s going on?” But Rich gasps for air and whines a bit. Shit, he was panicking again. “I’ll be home in ten minutes, I promise.” He assures his lover and hangs up. T tells his assistant it’s an emergency and she nods understanding. She worked with Taron long enough to know what’s going on and tells the crew T had to leave for a family emergency.

…………………………………

Taron rushes upstairs and finds Richard on the bathroom floor. His boyfriend is pale, gasping for air, pure panic painted on his face. He sits in the corner of the room, his legs tugged up. “Rich?” he asks lowly and comes close very slow.

Richard looks at him with tears in his eyes and his stomach hurts bad. “I’m sorry-I-I thought i-it would b-be okay.” he barely gets out and shakes heavy.

Taron nods and crouches down. “I know. Is it okay if I touch you?” he makes sure.

There were days where Rich needed a tight hug and cuddles to calm down. On others he needed to be alone and didn’t want to be touched at all. But right now, he nods hastily and tears threaten to fall down his cheeks.

Taron rubs his shoulder lovingly and moved Richard’s sweaty hair away from his eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s the fever or an effect of the panic attack. “I need you to take deep breaths with me now, Rich. Can you do that for me?” he asks softly.

Richard nods and focuses on his boyfriend. He tries to follow his breathing and feels how tight his chest is. “I can’t.” he presses out and tries to breathe. “I’m going to die.”

“Breathe, Richard.” Taron says firmly and reaches up to the sink, covering a wash cloth in cold water and pressing it out a bit.

Richard starts sobbing now and desperately tries to get air into his lungs. Deep down he knows he is able to breathe, but the panic coats everything and makes him believe that he really can’t.

“Shh, it’s okay. Breathe in.” Taron does it with him. “Aand out.” Richard’s eyes watch his lips as if his life is depending on it. Taron wipes his face a bit, trying to cool him down and keeps on breathing to guide him into a steady rhythm.

Richard feels his lungs opening up slowly and relaxes a bit. He leans his head against the wall behind him and wraps his arms around himself, shivering. He closes his eyes and listens to his racing heart trying to calm down. Taron’s hand is still resting on his shoulder, a simple gesture to show him he’s there, right by his side. Richard places his hand on Taron’s and opens his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Taron shakes his head and sits down on his knees now.

“I’m - I feel like shit today.” he admits and looks down at his knees. T remains silent, so Richard looks up to him, seeing the worry in his beautiful eyes. “I don’t know if it’s just a flu and it freaks me out with all this shit going on outside.”

“It’s okay. You’re not the only one who feels anxious and scared at the moment.” Taron rubs his knee gently. “But you won’t be alone the next few weeks. I’ll stay at home.”

“You need to work.” Richard urges and looks at him confused.

Taron shakes his head sighing. “No, I don’t. They decided to lockdown the city to stop the spreading of infections, which means we’ll have to stay at home anyways.”

“Oh.” Richard mumbles and feels a bit of relief flowing through his body. Having Taron around assured him at least that he wasn’t alone. “I know this sounds stupid but can we let me get tested?” he asks in a tiny shy voice. He feels so stupid asking this.

“I’ll call your doctor later, okay?” Taron says with a compassionate smile and fondles over his hair. “I have to take a shower. You wanna join me and cool down a bit?”

Rich nods and they get up, undress themselves and step into the shower. Taron turns the water to the cooler side and wraps Richard into a hug. The cold water runs down his boyfriend’s heating body and cools him down slowly. Taron shampoos his hair and body, doing the same with Rich afterwards.

Taron gets some sweatpants and a shirt for Richard, and the same for himself. They get dressed and Taron dries their hair, taking his time with Richard in soft movements and motions.

As soon as he’s done, Richard walks into the bedroom. He lies down and curls up, closing his eyes. He hears Taron stepping out of the bathroom and feels his hand stroking over his hair.

“I’ll go and call your doctor. Try and get some rest, love.” he says and Richard nods weakly. T grabs his phone from the floor. He threw it along with his jacket when he rushed in earlier. Closing the bedroom door behind him, he makes his way downstairs. There were days where Richard needed his full attention after a panic attack, cuddles, kisses, being held and wrapped up in a blanket. But on other days when it happened Richard needed space, some time for himself and often thinking everything over and over again. Those were the hardest days.

Taron dials the number of Richard’s doctor and explains the situation to him. He tells him that he thinks it’s just the flu but it’s freaking Rich out. The doctor, knowing of Richard’s attacks, agrees on an appointment to take the test tomorrow. T walks back upstairs and knocks before opening the door carefully.

Richard sits on bed and has his face buried in his knees. His shoulders are shaking and Taron can hear him crying.

Taron sits down at the edge of the bed and looks at his sobbing boyfriend. “You wanna be alone for a bit?” he asks softly. Richard shakes his head and sniffs. “Okay, then I’ll stay right here.” he hesitantly places his hand on his back and rubs it slowly. “Is that okay?”

Richard sits up straight and looks at him with quivering lips and red puffy eyes. “I’m sorry. If I listened to you a few days ago, I wouldn’t be so panicked about this all.” T remains silent and watches him thinking. “I know it’s my own fault and I’m pulling you into my shit again.”

“Richard, it’s alright. You wanna know what’s going on in the world and I get that. Maybe it would be better if I update you from time to time if there is something important.” he suggests and watches him biting his lower lip.

Richard nods before he starts crying again and reaches out for Taron. The Welsh sits down next to him and leans back into the pillow. He lifts his arm and Richard rests his head on his chest, turning onto his side. T plays with his hair calmingly while they tangle their hands on his chest. “I just don’t wanna die, T. I wanna stay here with you.”

“Love, you won’t die. I promise you it’s just a flu and you’ll be better in one or two weeks.” T soothes him and leans down to kiss him on his hair.

“What if it’s not? I damaged my lungs enough already with all the smoking.” he presses out and cuddles tightly into Taron.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna go to your doctor tomorrow and everything will be alright.” Taron says.

……………………………..

That night, Richard rolls around in his sleep, his body heats up from the fever, and panics three times. Taron tries his best to calm him down and get him back to sleep. The fever is high and Richard is in a kind of delirious state, so Taron tries his best to cool him down.

T eventually falls asleep, completely exhausted. His side of the bed is occupied with a wash cloth, a water bottle for Rich, his cough medicine, and the thermometer.

When Richard wakes up in the morning, he sees how exhausted Taron looks, even in his sleep, and bites his lower lip. Fuck. He sits up and collects all the stuff Taron needed for him last night and wraps him into the blanket, stroking his hair lovingly. Rich sinks back into his pillow with a terrible headache and massages his temples. This shit was getting worse with every passing day and he hates it.

…………………………………..

Coming back from the doctor, Taron falls asleep at the kitchen table after putting a pot of soup on the stove. Richard comes home ten minutes later and sees the soup spilling from the pot and his sleeping boyfriend. He turns the heat down and carries Taron into the living room, lying him down on the couch. Rich eats his soup and sits down on the sofa, placing Taron’s head on a pillow on his lap. He looks down at him, playing with his hair and fondling his cheek.

Taron wakes up after a while, groaning a bit, and rubs his face. He turns onto his back and looks up at Rich. “Fuck the soup!” he jumps up but gets pulled onto Richard’s lap.

“Already handled it. You needed some sleep.” Rich says and kisses his cheek.

“Yeah.” he sighs and closes his eyes again, cuddling into him. It felt good to be the one held from time to time and he knows Rich needed it as well. “I love you, Rich.” he mumbles into his chest.

“Love you too, T.” Rich says and fondles over his hair with a soft smile.

………………………………………

A few days later, they get a call from Richard’s doctor, confirming it’s just a flu. As soon as the call ends, Richard walks downstairs to Taron, who was in the kitchen making Richard a tea. He wraps his arms around him and places soft kisses onto his neck.

T giggles and turns around in his embrace. “What’s going on?”

“Just a flu.” Richard mumbles and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Taron just places a kiss in his hair and Richard loves him for it. There was no “I told you.” or “If you’d listened to me.”. Just understanding and shared happiness. “Thank you.”

“For what?” T looks down at him and meets Richard’s baby blue eyes as he looks up.

“For being here and not thinking I’m overreacting.” he says and smiles a bit.

“I will always be here for you, even when I’m mad or upset.” he giggles and places a tiny kiss onto his forehead.

“Soo, a few weeks of quarantine, huh?” Rich says and rolls his eyes. “Gonna be boring as fuck.”

“Well our first priority is getting you healthy again. And then I bet something will come to our mind to occupy our time.” he strokes down his back. “And you’re just as much a sucker for lazy cuddle days as I am.”

“No appointments, no stressed running around, no flights. Just you and I.”

“Exactly. Let’s make the best out of it.” T winks at him and smiles.

Richard grabs his neck and kisses him lovingly and it only takes a second to feel Taron’s hands on his cheeks, cupping his face as sweetly as ever. “I can imagine worse things than being trapped at home with the one I love.”

“Oh me too.” Taron laughs softly and looks up to him.

Rich bops his nose softly and kisses him one last time before resting his forehead against Taron’s. “I love you so fucking much.”

And Taron just pulls him close, his eyes fully fixated on his lover before he kisses him again. No need for words.

@taron-eggmcmuffin @anxiety-at-the-classroom @maddertonmyheart @madderton-obsessed @sarahegerton96 @primaba11erina @naptitimadderton @multicoloredchicken

[sorrybutnotashamed]

I wrote another little thing.

I just want to ensure you understand that all I’m looking for is hugging. Cas typed, hesitated, typed. This is strictly platonic. Clicked send.

While he waited for a reply, he took another expensive sip of wine. He was doing his best not to chug the glass, but this conversation required liquid courage.

 Yeah, buddy, I hear you. You cuddle, then you help me with my Accounting class. We have a deal?

A huge gulp of wine preceded his reply text. Yes, we have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow at 6. I’ll text you my address.

* * *

His little rented house was always pretty tidy, but Cas still ran the vacuum and wiped down the coffee table with Lysol before his cuddle buddy’s arrival. He was drying his hands on a dishtowel when someone knocked firmly on the door.

Cas slung a mask on his face and swung the door open. “Hi, I’m –“ His brain stuttered to a stop. The man on his porch was extremely well-built with light brown hair and crinkles around his striking green eyes. Undoubtedly his grey-and-black mask covered a smile. Dammit. Charlie hadn’t said anything about his looks. But then again, why would she? She probably never noticed.

“Cas, right?” His voice was muffled by the mask, but it was pleasantly deep.

Cas blinked and rebooted. “Yes, I’m Cas. You’re Dean? Please come in.”

Dean stepped through the doorway, dropping a messenger bag off his shoulder and toeing off his boots. “All right, cuddle first or study first?” He rubbed his hands together and moved into the living room, taking in the second-hand couch and the view from the patio doors into the small backyard.

Cas quickly turned to shut the front door. Get a grip, Castiel. Oxytocin. Remember the oxytocin. “I’d prefer to cuddle first, if you don’t have a preference,” he said. Dean quirked his eyebrow as Cas used air quotes around “cuddle”.

“Um, sure, buddy. Whatever floats your boat. Here on the couch, I guess?” He swung his arms back and forth, like he was stretching for a workout. Cas emphatically did not eye the strip of taut abdomen revealed as Dean’s t-shirt rode up. This is platonic hugging. It doesn’t matter how good looking he is.

Brow furrowed, Cas stepped hesitantly around the couch to face Dean. “I thought we’d do it standing up?”

Dean ducked his head, and looked up at Cas through his lashes, his eyes twinkling. “You wanna do it standing up?”

“Hugging!” Cas blurted, flustered. “Hugging is usually done standing up!”

Dean’s mask clearly hid a grin, but he spread his arms wide. “It’s your party. Bring it on in, man.”

Firming his shoulders, looking anywhere but at Dean’s face, Cas stepped into Dean’s orbit. Immediately Dean’s arms tightened around him, drawing Cas’s head in to his shoulder as his hands splayed across his back. “There we go, that’s not too bad.” Cas felt the rumble of Dean’s words through his chest and shivered.

He didn’t feel calm at all. His breath sped up and he felt uncomfortable in his clothes. Maybe hugging a stranger was worse than hugging nobody. There’s no way he’d be able to relax enough to get the good vibes flowing. Or maybe you’re not giving it a chance, his brain supplied helpfully. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and leaned against him. Dean had an inch or two on him; they slotted together like puzzle pieces, hip to shoulder.

A few minutes passed, the two men standing awkwardly together in the middle of the room. Dean said nothing, and Cas wasn’t sure what to say. This was a bad idea. A dumb idea. Did I remember to put on deodorant? Cas’s shoulders stayed ramrod straight and he did his best not to breathe damply on Dean’s neck, which was hard to do, with the way Dean had pressed his face into his shoulder.

Another minute passed in silence. Dean shifted his weight slightly. “Um, Cas? Is this working the way you want?”

“Yes, exactly as I pictured it,” Cas lied. He moved his hands hesitantly up Dean’s back to grasp his shoulders. He tried valiantly to relax into the hug, while Dean shifted his weight again.

“Could we, ah, talk? As we … hug?”

“Yes, of course. Just not about politics, or school, or –“

Dean huffed a laugh. “I get it. Nothing stressful. Right.” One of his hands rubbed soothing circles into Cas’ back. If possible, Cas tensed even further. Dean sighed. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re huggin’?”  The soothing circles continued.

Clearing his throat, Cas shifted his weight back onto his heels. “The pandemic has been here for a year. I find myself stressed out most days. My schedule only allows for so many runs per week and I’m already eating very healthily. My rental agreement doesn’t allow for a pet,” Cas recited. “Touching another human releases oxytocin, which reduces stress.”

Dean hummed, his hands moving to knead along Cas’ spine. “Don’t you have someone local that you’re close to? Family? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?”

“No, my family’s out West. I’m finishing my fourth year of a demanding program. I tutor students over Zoom and I live alone. My social bubble is very small. Charlie said your bubble is small, as well.” His shoulders relaxed infinitesimally as Dean’s hands continued to rove over his back. Talking distracted him from the weirdness of the situation, and let him enjoy the feeling of touch again.

Dean cleared his throat and swept his hands down Cas’ sides. “Yeah, I was working at Rocky’s before the pandemic but they aren’t open now. Who woulda thought I’d miss checking freshman IDs, right? Or cleaning up a pukey bathroom?”

Huffing a laugh, Cas rested his head more comfortably on Dean’s shoulder. Even through the mask, he could smell Dean’s cologne, and he was positive it would permeate his own clothing. Dean’s presence would linger long after the man himself had left.

“So no special someone?” Dean asked. His hands continued to move, smoothing subtle patterns into Cas’ back and sides.

Cas shook his head. “No. The man I was seeing was doing a term in Scotland, and he decided to stay when the pandemic hit. Long distance didn’t work for us.”

He realized how much of his weight he was resting on Dean when Dean shifted his feet yet again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“No, Cas, it’s fine, that’s why I’m here, right? Lean on in.”

“Um, this is probably enough, it’s, we – we can move on to your homework if you want.” Cas stepped back reluctantly.

“We’ve only been standing here for like fifteen minutes, Cas, and I’m going to take up way more than that with my Accounting questions. I’m fine. It’s fine.” Dean hauled him back in, tightening his arms and shifting his feet on the carpet.

“What if we sit down?” Cas asked hesitantly, fully aware that Dean had suggested that in the first place. His traitorous arms just weren’t ready to let go of the first person he’d touched in months.

“Sure, no problem. Let’s do this.” Dean’s voice lacked judgement, and when Cas glanced into his eyes, expecting to see I-told-you-so humour, he saw nothing but kindness.

Within moments, the couch springs squeaked angrily as Dean sat down and hauled Cas onto his lap. Cas also squeaked, flailing his arms and trying to move off Dean. Dean grabbed his arms and pulled him against his broad chest. He trapped one arm between their bodies and grasped Cas’ free wrist in his left hand. The right resumed it’s meandering path over Cas’ spine.

“There we go. Relax. I figure an hour for an hour, okay? Fair’s fair,” Dean’s voice brooked no argument.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Cas squirmed on Dean’s lap.

“Human touch, you said. Oxy-something? This is the best way for you to get as much touch as possible unless you wanna get horizontal.”

Cas immediately stopped squirming. “No, this is good. This is fine.”

Dean settled back into the couch, stroking from Cas’ nape to his waist. “Do you have an Alexa or something?”

“Yes, over on the table,” Cas responded. “Music?”

“Yeah, music.”

“Alexa, play my favourites list.”

“Playing your favourites list on Spotify.”

A soothing jazz instrumental bled into the living room, making the silence between the two men less awkward. Cas drifted slightly, the gentle motion of Dean’s hand on his back lulling him into a stupor. He jerked slightly when Dean’s fingers splayed across his scalp.

“This ok?” Dean rumbled. He’d dropped his own head to rest against Cas’ crown, but his fingers stilled, awaiting Cas’ response.

“Yeah… yes, that’s fine. It’s quite relaxing. There are –“ Cas swallowed a groan of pleasure behind his mask as Dean’s fingers kneaded his scalp – “there are special sensory neurons at the base of our hair follicles.”

“That so? I thought you were an Accounting major, not Pre-Med.”

“My mother’s a doctor,” Cas slurred. “Dermatology. Skin’s the biggest organ, blah blah,” he muttered. He closed his eyes and splayed his legs out along the length of the couch, settling in more closely against Dean’s chest.

Dean snorted a laugh. “Right. Blah blah.” He squeezed Cas’s thigh and sighed lightly. His other hand slipped almost lazily through Cas’s pandemically-long hair.

It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours later when Cas jerked awake, head still pillowed on Dean’s shoulder.

“Good evening, Sunshine.”

Cas froze, dread filling him. “Oh God, Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He reflexively tried to wipe his mouth, running into his mask. At least he hadn’t drooled on that broad shoulder.

“It’s okay. I guess you really needed some human touch. I don’t mind, but I think my ass is numb and I have to pee.”

Cas blushed furiously and scrambled off Dean’s lap. “Of course, I’m so sorry. The bathroom is just around the corner.”

Dean groaned as he stood, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Various parts of his back cracked and popped. “Be right back.”

Cas ripped off his mask and chugged a glass of water in the kitchen. His hands shook slightly, anxiety pounding his chest. He put his mask back on and dropped his head, leaning against the counter and taking deep breaths.

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on? You okay?” Dean walked right up to him and crowded into his personal space, stroking down Cas’ arms.

“I have Anxiety. I guess that’s probably not a big surprise. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, that really was not my intent. I don’t even know what time it is, I’m so sorry.” Cas’ hands shook slightly as he gripped the counter.

“Cas, buddy, it’s fine. I fell asleep a bit, too. And I could’ve woken you up. I guess maybe touch therapy worked both ways today, huh?” Dean bent down, trying to catch Cas’ eyes with his own.

Blue met green, and Cas took in another deep breath through damp cotton. “I’m sorry, my Anxiety is acting up more lately, with the lockdowns.”

“It’s fine. No need to apologize for being you. As long as you’re fine. Do you need another hug?” Dean opened his arms and wiggled his eyebrows encouragingly.

Feeling sheepish, Cas closed the distance and hugged Dean back. It did make him feel better, but he stepped back a few moments later.

“Should we get to your homework? What do you need to work on?” He turned towards his dining room table, where he had his own textbooks spread out.

“Nah, Cas. It’s late, I’m gonna head home.” Dean headed for the front door a few steps away.

“It’s what?” Cas looked at the clock, and Dean was right, it was almost ten o’clock. He’d slept, snuggled on Dean’s chest, for three hours!

“I can feel you freaking out from here, Cas. I told you I didn’t mind.” Dean finished lacing his boots and threw his bag over his shoulder. Sure enough, his green eyes were crinkled when he glanced at Cas.

“Next time, we’ll start with the homework though, and then the cuddling, okay? And maybe we’ll get a pizza.”

Cas’ eyes widened. “Next time? You’ll come back?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, buddy. Cuddles for tutoring, that’s what we agreed. Let’s just consider this one a freebie. I’ll see you around, Cas.” He saluted with two fingers, and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“’til next time,” Cas said softly to an empty room that did, indeed, still smell like Dean.

Chapter 2 is posted on AO3.

[ismael37olson]

It Was Great When It All Began

What does a theatre company owe to our art form, and to the people who love our art form? Thoughtfulness and artistry. Those of us making theatre, those of us given the great honor of being the storytellers, we all need to respect the material, and not impose our own agenda upon it. I've seen so many productions that "bring something new" to an already brilliant show by misunder­standing and short-circuiting what the show is really about, and imposing upon it a nonsensical period, setting, or other High Concepts Por ejemplo... Rocky Horror has to be set in the early 1970s because it's really specifically about how Americans reacted to the Sexual Revolution of the late 60s and 70s. Tommy has to be set in post-World War II London, because it's really specifically about Western Civilization finding itself spiritually lost after the war, while drowning in postwar conspicuous consumption. When you change the setting of these stories, either explicitly or through set and costume design (the biggest warning sign is the random use of Steampunk), you betray the work, its authors, your audience, and our art form. We may see resonance in The Rocky Horror Show for our own times, but the more specifically it lives in the seventies, the easier it can serve as a metaphor for today, allowing us to stand back from our own times and see them objectively. Frank is presented as a glam rock star because that was the only period of rock and roll during which gender was both fluid and irrelevant (the same reason Hedwig, of The Angry Inch fame, finds her home in that subgenre). The dissolution of gender roles was one of the things straight America feared the most during the Sexual Revolution. Frank’s lack of clear gender is his real monstrosity, which is why it’s always a mistake for productions to re-imagine Frank as anything other than a glam rocker. It's not just about drag; it's about gender in our culture. To take the seventies and its issues out of Rocky Horror both emasculates it and short-circuits its social satire. No one working on the 2000 Broadway revival seemed to notice that the leather and S&M themes in the costumes went exactly opposite to O’Brien’s original intentions of innocent, campy, goofy sexuality. Rocky Horror is not soft porn; it’s a satiric cartoon of sexuality at a particularly clumsy time and place in American history. But director Christopher Ashley and his designers didn’t understand that. Only the Wall Street Journal could still see Rocky’s smarts behind all the distractions, and its reviewer Amy Gamerman wrote, “The carnival atmosphere of The Rocky Horror Show is so enveloping that it takes awhile before you notice how clever the show itself is – a smartly calibrated blend of salty, sweet and sarcastic, with its pierced tongue lodged firmly in its cheek.”

Rocky is a brilliant, insightful social document, and the directors and actors who don't get that are missing everything that's really wonderful about the show. After all, modern-day Puritans weren’t the only ones who thought the Sexual Revolution was a bad thing. Others disliked it because they felt this new movement took all the mystery and magic – and most important, the romance – out of sex. In Rocky Horror, Eddie’s song “Whatever Happened to Saturday Night?”(aka “Hot Patootie”) addresses this issue of how the hippie movement and the Sexual Revolution "ruined" everything. There’s even a reference to the change (for the worse, in Eddie’s opinion) in American pop culture and music, away from the romance of 1950s rock and roll, and toward the politics and disenfranchisement and nihilism of 1960s acid rock, embodied in the image of rock icon Buddy Holly’s premature death. This song is far from the pointless interruption of the show that some people claim. You'll always look foolish if you condemn Grease, Hair, ot Rocky Horror as empty-headed silliness. Just because you may not see the substance doesn't mean it's not there... Eddie’s song is a pointed commentary on the way the Sexual Revolution (in the person of Frank) was changing sex and romance in America (in the person of Columbia), a last, metaphorical stab at stopping the tide of the Sexual Revolution, and a final warning as the show’s first half comes to a close that Brad and Janet’s world is gone. Frank and the Sexual Revolution are too strong, and they silence forever the simplicity and purity of 50s rock and romance through Frank’s act of murdering Eddie, in effect also shutting the door forever on Brad and Janet’s old-fashioned world of sexual innocence.

This is also a theme addressed, though more subtly, in the show’s opening, “Science Fiction Double Feature.” A close reading of this lyric shows a real longing for the innocence of the 1950s, when sex was all subtext and metaphor. The song starts by taking us back to that idealized time when movies told Americans what was good and bad, right and wrong, acceptable and “deviant.” And they told us all this very carefully and indirectly. But subtextual sexuality couldn’t stay hidden forever. Rock and roll would emerge, alongside drive-in movies, and these forces would change sex forever. Which is the central through-line of Grease, by the way. This opening song in Rocky Horror sets up the central conflict of the show, though like the movies it celebrates, it does so subtly. It positions open, overt sexuality as not just a threat, but also a despoiler of the innocent, sweet, teen sexuality of the 1950s, a kind of innocence that existed more on the screen than in the back row of the local movie house. In this song, O’Brien is talking about the very center of the culture of the fifties: the nexus of sex, drive-ins, and rock and roll, the forces that were changing America in profound ways. And a big part of the drive-in experience was low-budget science fiction, often in double features. “Science Fiction Double Feature” is O’Brien’s statement of purpose. This will be a story about the (false) moral perfection of the 1950s as it slams up against the wild explorations of the Sexual Revolution, here rendered "in the back row." Rocky Horror explored American sexual hang-ups, the excesses of the Sexual Revolution, and the sometimes cruel myth of the American Dream. It used as its vocabulary pop culture icons like Charles Atlas and muscle magazines, Frederick’s of Hollywood, old sci-fi movies with scantily clad women, horror movies with barely sublimated sexual fantasies, glam rock with its blurring of gender lines – all icons that represented the history of Americans hiding sex behind other things.

And perhaps it’s Rocky’s underlying condemnation of America’s sexual puritanicalism and hypocrisy that keeps the show relevant today. Rocky satirizes sex in America by personifying in Brad and Janet the two responses American society had toward the sexual revolution of the 1960s and 70s, and the revolution itself personified by the gender-vague, pansexual Frank N. Furter. In the real world, half of America (Brad) responded to the Sexual Revolution by fighting even harder than before to stop the progression of sexual freedom, to demonize homosexuality, to condemn sexual independence in women, to blame all of America’s ills on sex, to brand (or rebrand) otherwise healthy expressions of sexuality as dirty and inappropriate. The other half of America (Janet) responded with an almost manic sexual celebration and a kind of aggressive experimentation that today may seem outrageous. Both reactions in the real world probably made the early stages of the AIDS pandemic worse than it should have been. And Rocky Horror rightly satirizes both reactions. Both sides went too far. You can't transplant this story to another cultural context. The Rocky Horror Show is about a time in America when our nation stood at a crossroads. Sexual oppression was ending (or at least, beginning to fade) and America had to decide how it would move forward. But neither the people who celebrated this new era or the people terrified by it acted responsibly; neither side caused AIDS, but both sides helped it spread. Of course, Rocky Horror is not about AIDS, but it is about consequences. It was written in 1973, but it is about sexual politics in America then and now. Watching it today, we can see a moment in time when it wasn’t yet too late, when the devastation of a generation of innocent men and women should not have been inevitable. We can love the music, laugh at the jokes, and sing along with “The Time Warp,” but we should never forget that Rocky Horror is about something. Something very specific.

You wouldn't set Grease in the 80s (although the 1994 revival tried), so don't don't do it to Rocky. It's not just a sex farce or a drag show. Why some directors feel the need to impose a "vision" or a metaphor on shows is beyond me. Just tell the fucking story. And this story is about America in the early 1970s, a moment so sui generis there is no adequate substitute. So let's do "The Time Warp" again and again, but let's leave the leather harness at home. Long Live the Musical! Scott from The Bad Boy of Musical Theatre http://newlinetheatre.blogspot.com/2017/10/it-was-great-when-it-all-began.html