#you can actually see where I started losing steam but I wanted this finished tonight damnit

[riggsink]

@star-sparkler I humbly offer this comic of August, she is light itself and perfect in every way

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[dontshootmespence]

Possessive

Summary: After months of denying his feelings for you, Spencer sees you dancing with another man at a bar. Jealousy takes over and everything bubbles to the surface.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Word Count: 1,648

Warnings: Shameless smut, oral and anal sex, anal fingering, use lube folks, jealous Spencer, fuckinggg.

A/N: I have had quite a few requests for more male reader fics with Spencer. This anon asked for one where Spencer and the reader like each other but are just friends because they’ve never wanted to cross that line, but after Spencer sees the reader dancing with another guy at the bar he takes the reader home and shows him who he belongs to. :D

After watching Y/N flirt with nearly every man at the bar, Spencer couldn’t take it anymore. With a determination he should’ve had long ago, he shoved his way through the throngs of people to where Y/N stood with someone else. “Spence, what are you doing here?” He asked, his million-watt smile flashing across his face. 

“Just here to let off some steam after the case,” he replied. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he knew Y/N could see it. They were all profilers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out there were unspoken feelings bubbling to the surface. “You?”

“Same.” He replied. For a moment, Y/N turned his attention to the man standing next to him. “John, this is Spencer. Spencer this is John.”

John leaned casually against the bar, all cool smile and endearing charm as he extended his hand to shake Spencer’s. But instead of taking it, Spencer just returned with his usual awkward wave and a curt ‘nice to meet you.’ “So John,” Spencer started, “How do you and Y/N know each other?”

Leaning over, John grazed his body against Y/N. “Just saw him on the dance floor and had to get to know him, you know?” Spencer understood more than John could ever understand. If it weren’t for those damned social niceties, he would shove himself in between John and Y/N right now. “We’ve been having such a good time I decided to buy him a drink.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek to keep his brain in check but it was growing more and more difficult by the second. 

“Were you planning on meeting Y/N here?” John asked. “Or was it just a coincidence?”

Confidence oozed from him in a way it hadn’t in years - maybe ever. “Actually, I was hoping to run into him. Could you excuse us for a second?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Spencer grasped Y/N by the forearm and walked toward the front door. “Spence, what are you doing? John and I were having a good time?”

“Well, I don’t want you to.” Spencer replied quickly. “Not with him.”

Y/N pivoted onto his back leg and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?” The ‘I want to hear you say it’ was implied. They’d been dancing around this for too many years for him not to know what was going on.

Spencer sucked on his bottom lip. “Because you should be having a good time with me. We should be going out. You should be dancing with me. For years, I’ve been too much of a bitch to say anything. I’m sorry it took until now for me to say it, but I want you. With me. Not him.” God, that felt so much better. Even if Y/N were to turn him down right now, there was something about just getting it out there that pulled the weight off his shoulders. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Y/N sought out John’s face at the bar and gave him a cursory wave, the kind that let him know he wasn’t coming back to finish that drink. Like the gentleman he was, Y/N pulled out a 10 dollar bill and waved it in John’s direction, willing to pay for his own drink considering their impromptu date didn’t go anywhere. John, in turn, shook his head and waved Y/N off.

In an instant, Spencer whisked Y/N outside and toward his car. “Let’s get out of here.”

Y/N laughed, the earlier tenseness easing from his voice. “You gonna take me home?”

Spencer smiled for the first time since seeing Y/N and John at the bar. “Finally, so we can do what I’ve been imagining for years.”

“What have you been imagining?” He asked, slipping into the passenger seat of the car.

Spencer clumsily put the key in the ignition, his previous confidence starting to fall away as he stumbled over his words. “Making you - making you mine in every way imaginable.”

Swallowing against his growing need, Y/N bent over and reached into Spencer’s pants, releasing his cock from its confines just as Spencer sped out of the parking lot. “Before that, I need to do what I’ve been thinking about for years.” He spit into his hand and wrapped it around Spencer’s shaft, moving slowly up and down as he licked at the tip and tasted the tang of his pre-come. He moaned when he felt Spencer tense above him. “If you can’t control the car, the safe word is banana,” Y/N laughed.

“Are you really going to make me say banana?” Spencer jerked the wheel left as soon as the light turned green. 

“I’m basically just hoping I can make the calm and collected Dr. Spencer Reid scream banana.”

“You’re mean.”

“You love it.”

“I’m going to get you back for this, you know.” Spencer stated.

Y/N didn’t care. As Spencer’s free hand snaked into Y/N’s hair, he wrapped his lips around the head of his cock, rolling his tongue around it and pressing against that sweet spot that he knew from personal experience could drive a man insane. “Fuck, Y/N, that mouth is something else.”

Encouragement was one of the best drugs in the world, Y/N thought to himself as he took more of Spencer’s hardening cock into his mouth. Road head was always made out to be glamorous. It really wasn’t. The angle made things especially difficult. But that wasn’t going to keep him from trying. Hearing Spencer moan was too heady not to deal with a little discomfort.

Reaching into Spencer’s pants, he cupped his balls and massaged them as he bobbed his head up and down, allowing the building saliva to drip down his cock. They were going to need to use someone’s jacket to get up to the apartment if they didn’t want to make it completely obvious that Y/N had just had Spencer’s cock in his mouth. “Fuck, Y/N. I can’t...the car...I-” Spencer eased down on the brake, thankful to whatever deity existed for a red light.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Spencer managed to choke out. Slipping his free hand into Y/N’s hair, Spencer gently pushed down on his head before cursing at the light for turning green. That light always took forever, but not now apparently. As the muscles in his stomach coiled, he saw upcoming traffic and knew he wouldn’t be able to control the car. “Banana,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m going to combust. and crash if you don’t stop.”

Easing off, Y/N chuckled and wiped the spit from his mouth. “It’s almost worth it, but I need to see what else you have in store, so I’ll give you a break.” On the rest of the way home, Y/N lazily stroked Spencer’s cock, pulling away just as he was about to come. 

Spencer parallel parked with the expertise of a NASCAR driver, desperate to get inside. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around his waist. “Let’s go. I’m ready to lose it.”

“What do you want to do to me?” Y/N asked, huffing and puffing with need and slight exhaustion after running up three flights of stairs.

Once inside, Spencer slammed the door shut and pushed Y/N against the wall, his stomach pressing against the cool wood of Spencer’s front door.  “Believe it or not, I’m not so great with the words right now. I’ll show you. The second I saw you with John I realized I couldn’t do this anymore.” 

With hurried hands, Spencer unbuckled Y/N’s belt and pushed his jeans and boxers down around his ankles before reaching into a nearby furniture stand to grab a bottle of lube. “Prepared for this?” Y/N chuckled softly, whimpering when Spencer scratched his nails up Y/N’s ass. 

“I’m always prepared.” Spencer nibbled down Y/N’s neck and shoulder as he squeezed some lube into his hands. He rubbed quick circles around Y/N’s ass before slipping a finger inside and watching as his mouth dropped open. “Been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Me too,” Y/N groaned. “Long enough for me to know I don’t need the foreplay tonight.”

Spencer laughed and pulled Y/N’s head back by his hair. “Do you want my cock?” Y/N nodded. “Say it.”

“I need your cock in my ass, Spence. Fuck me.”

Quickly, Spencer lubed himself up and pressed the head of his cock to Y/N’s ass, pushing slowly as he eased himself passed the tight ring of muscle. Moaning, Y/N pushed back to take him deeper. “Fuck me. Show me how desperate you were when you saw me with John.”

At the mention of the other man’s name, Spencer sunk into Y/N’s ass and grunted. “Fuck.” Spencer reached one hand around the front and grasped Y/N’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. He wanted, needed, to overwhelm him with sensation. He bit down on Y/N’s earlobe and marked his way down, practically branding him with teeth marks.

“Spence, I’m gonna come,” Y/N breathed as he slipped a free hand into Spencer’s hair and pulled. “Come in my ass.”

Without another word, Spencer buried himself in Y/N and let go before feeling Y/N tense in his hand. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Spence. I never knew you could be so possessive. I think I like it. I know I like it,” he laughed, turning around and pulling Spencer’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Spencer walked Y/N back toward his bedroom and began stroking his cock again. “Believe me, that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the things I’ve imagined doing to you.”

It was going to be a long and delicious night.

[sweetestlamb]

Flashlight

Author's note: Wasn't episode 8 just lovely? I just couldn't get this out of my head, they're becoming so dependent on each other. Be still my beating heart. They're reminding me of my MoonMun couple so much and I think that explains my obsession and the amount of fics I've written thus far lol.

Summary: Just for tonight he'll be selfish.

"Are you okay now? Is there someone there?" He moves towards the dark alley that she came bolting from looking as frightened as he's ever seen her. He feels his muscles coil ready to protect her by any means possible. But before he can move she's tightening her hold on him, clinging to him now he can feel her warmth all around him like a blanket.

"No! Don't leave me." Hearing that scared plea causes a blurry memory to resurface in his mind, he can almost feel the words swimming in his mind but the memory is foggy and it evaporates as quickly as it formed.

Strange.

"Okay, okay. I'm not going anywhere. Let's go inside." He starts to maneuver her toward her house at first she moves with him but then she stills, letting out a small sound of recollection.

"My phone." She whispers into his chest, they are pressed so closely he can feel her heartbeat still pounding through her chest into his. He strokes her back in a lazy soothing manner, shocked when she melts into his embrace further. Nothing is making sense at this moment but he doesn't care enough to stop, this.

"What about your phone?" He redirects the conversation and she continues, "I dropped it in there when I ran away."

"Okay. I'll go get it, wait here." He starts to gently untangle her hands from his flannel but she lets out a whine, gripping his shirt even stronger and moving with him.

"I'll---let's go together."

She's trembling now, positively shaking in her spot and he wants to argue with her to just go inside and wait for him but her earlier plea echoes in his ears. He can't leave her alone not right now, so he steps forward feeling her move with him, one step after another until he sees the rectangular object on the ground.

"I'm going to bend down to get it." He can feel her shifting beside him looking around wildly but thankfully no ominous figure appears, they are alone.

After a moment she nods, letting go enough for him to bend and retrieve the device and he checks the screen noting happily that it's not damaged but when he touches the screen it doesn't turn on so he tries again.

"It's dead. I forgot to charge it." She admits, taking the phone from his grasp.

He turns to her with a sharp stare, "You stayed out late after what happened and didn't charge your phone? Are you that fearless?" He chides, frustrated with her lack of awareness and disregard for her safety. If anything ever happened to her he would.... He would.......

"It wasn't on purpose. I didn't realize. I know it was irresponsible."

It's not a response he's expecting, the Hye Jin he knows would argue back, hardly taking shit from him ergo her meek uncharacteristic reply makes him feel worst, he shouldn't be blaming her especially after seeing first-hand how scared she is.

"Let's go inside now, it's cold and you're shaking." They both know the temperature has very little to do with her tremors but she doesn't disagree and carelessly he enters the code when they reach the door, ignoring the jolt in his chest that erupts as he enters his own birthday and the door clicks open. He thought she would have changed it by now.

He's grateful she hasn't.

They both take off their shoes, standing side by side now her arm around his waist and his around her shoulder. It's a small space and they can barely move but they work around it, reluctant to release each other.

"Thank you." Her voice is barely above a whisper, he thinks that he almost imagined it. He had an excuse prepared this time, he was merely patrolling and happened to pass her house. That was the lie he intended to go with, but something in her voice stops him from saying those deceitful words. He's tired of hiding and making up excuses for being around her.

"You're welcome. Here sit down, I'll make you some tea." Thoughtlessly he moves towards the kitchen, taking two steps until he can't move anymore. She's holding onto him tightly, he turns around looking at her small closed fists and then her trembling pretty face.

With a soft sigh, he takes her hand rubbing a thumb across the smooth skin.

"Just come with me." Immediately she steps forward pressing into his back, he tries to calm his heart taking the teapot and filling it with water, then he opens the cabinet retrieving a mug and setting it aside.

"I like honey. And a squeeze of lemon." He smiles at her soft demands.

Now that sounds more like his dentist. The bottle of honey is in her top cabinet and he grabs a fresh lemon from the fridge cutting it in half.

They stand silently as the water boils and he finally feels his anger boiling away as well. Angry that he was almost too late and that his town isn't safe anymore, angry that someone was able to shake this immoveable woman.

The shrill ringing of the teapot breaks him from his impasse, on autopilot he pours the water on the tea bag, then squeezes the honey in the steaming water, "I like a lot of honey." She's attached to his back her voice vibrating straight through him, he freezes when she wraps her arms around his waist. Her closeness is messing with his mind, but he tries to finish his job and get them on the couch maybe with some distance between them.

For his sanity.

"Let's go sit down." He grabs both mugs walking over to her couch, placing her cup on the far right and taking a seat on the far left putting a sea of distance between them. But immediately she sits down right next to him, leaving no space between them she might as well be in his lap. He squirms in place, standing up to get some reprieve but she grabs his hand staring up at him.

"Where are you going?" Fear bleeds into her voice and he lets go of his hesitations, tonight is not about him.

Leaning over he grabs her cup, tugging it closer.

"Nowhere, I'm not going anywhere. Drink your tea."

She blinks slowly at him before nodding and bringing the warm beverage to her lips. Her hum of satisfaction warms him all the way down to his toes.

"It's good. You really are good at everything." He preens at the compliment, thinking of all the times this week he wasn't needed or was cast aside for Director Ji. He's been swallowing his jealousy all week. So her words fill a hollow space in his chest.

He watches her drink the entire cup, ignoring his own growing cold on the table.

"I need to charge my phone." She suddenly says and he stares before nodding, taking the opportunity to drink his lukewarm tea. But then he notices that she's not moving despite having the phone and charging in her hand.

"What's wrong?" He raises an eyebrow in confusion.

She looks embarrassed now, unable to meet his eyes and he's flabbergasted at her reaction.

"Come with me?" He stares at her, feeling the same pride bloom as when she sat next to him instead of her sunbae, she's leaning on him.

He spots an outlet across the room, "Okay let's go there." She looks relieved at his lack of teasing, together they walk over to the outlet and she bends to plug in the charger and puts the phone on the ground.

In seconds the phone comes to life and he feels a sharp pain in his chest as a barrage of messages light up her phone, the majority from one person. When she clicks to open the message he instinctively looks away, not wanting to witness their conversation.

"He messaged so much." Her voice is filled with awe and childishly he moves away. He'd almost forgotten that she didn't actually need him. He was just conveniently there.

"I should go now. You're safe. Make sure to come home earlier from now on, maybe ask him to walk you home." It hurts to utter those words but it's easier than being replaced later, it's okay if he's the one that pushes her away first. "I'll see myself out."

He stands ready to leave, pointedly not looking back before he changes his mind and stays forever.

She was just scared, tonight didn't mean anything.

He grabs his fallen bagpack thrusting it on his shoulder, hopping into his boots all ready to head out. But it's unusually quiet, the silence is so deafening that he can't stop himself from looking back over at her. It's a mistake, a huge one at that. The phone has fallen from her hands, abandoned to the side and she's looking at him with the most desolate stare he's ever seen, moisture pooling in her huge round eyes.

"What's wrong? Why are you cry--"

"You said you wouldn't leave me. Why are you changing your mind? What if someone is still there? What am I supposed to do without yo--u?" Her voice cracks on the last word and his heart follows, she needs him. Nobody else has this week but here she is breaking down because he tried to leave, she needs him.

His decision is made for him in that moment.

As soon as he's close enough to touch she's clinging to him once again, he only absently realizes that she's trying to lead them to her bedroom but even he's not saintly enough for that so he stops her.

"Let's go to the couch. You'll feel more comfortable."

She doesn't question him seemingly happy to follow his lead.

The couch is comfy but definitely not intended for two grown adults, leaning over the arm rest he tries to get situated and once he stops moving she's snuggling into his side curling around him like a cat.

"Whenever I was scared, my mom used to stroke my hair."

He stares at the wall in front of them, wondering if she's aware of just how many lines they're crossing tonight- no catapulting over. But he's tired of second guessing himself so he stops thinking and just listens, bringing the hand that is curled on her shoulder up to her head before dragging his palm down her soft hair, gulping when she moans at the ministrations.

Her breathing starts to deepen and he feels her body losing its tension, she's falling asleep and once she succumbs he can finally make his escape, that's his plan. But he doesn't expect her to start stroking him too, her hand delicate on his chest.

"You've worked hard. Stopping a scammer and saving me all while recovering from a cold."

It's nothing. It's what he's supposed to do.

But it feels so good to hear those words, words that he hardly heard growing up.

"Go to sleep." He says instead of thank you, instead of kissing her like he's wanted to since he saw her outside and she ran straight into his heart.

It's a miracle but she listens to him, drifting to sleep her head heavy on his chest and he knows that he should wait a few minutes and try to extract himself but he can't, not tonight. Just for tonight he'll be selfish.

"You're making me want all sorts of things." He whispers to her sleeping face, terrified of her and all that she makes him feel. Feeling emboldened by their almost kiss initiated by her, he pushes her hair behind her ear taking a second to really looking at her face. She really is that beautiful. It doesn't seem fair. Leaning down he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, her skin is sleep warm and perfectly smooth. He presses a second one shamelessly. Her lips are right there and heavens knows that he's tempted but he can't take advantage, can't bring himself to do anything else. That's enough.

He doesn't know when he fell asleep but he wakes up to Mi-seon throwing a blanket over them, he keeps his eyes tightly shut mentally berating himself for that leaving when he had a chance.

"Just friends my ass. Just admit that you like him, look at the way you're clinging to him."

Somehow they traversed further down the couch in their sleep, both laying horizontal now with her body on top on his and her head tucked under his chin.

"I've never seen her sleep so peacefully though. She looks so young."

He tries not to think too deeply into what that might mean, listening to the retreating footsteps of her roommate and feeling himself losing the battle with sleep. She'll probably be embarrassed to find them this way tomorrow but that's a hurdle for another day.

Just for tonight I'll hold her. Until I'm not allowed to hold her anymore.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Selfish Part 2

Pairings | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader (kind of?)

Warnings | angst, crying, swearing

Word count | 1669

Summary | y/n and Bucky struggle to deal with Steve's selfish choice

A/n | I'm thinking of writing a part three? Let me know if you'd want to see that!l

Masterlist | Part One | Part three

"Oh god," Bucky groaned the second he entered y/n's room, lifting his arm to cover over his nose teasingly as he walked in, "you know I love you, Doll, but it's starting to smell as if something's died in here." Bucky over exaggerated, pacing quickly to the windows and pushing them open.

The man let out a long sigh when he finally faced y/n after she made no response. He was so used to her quipping back to his and Sam's jokes that the past week felt as if y/n was gone, too. And in lots of ways, she was.

It had been a week since Steve left, and y/n hadn't moved much since. Bucky had sat down at a table three times a day with her, refusing to leave until she finished her meal and a cup of water. But apart from that, she'd done nothing but stare into space.

As much as he was still grieving, Bucky was used to this. Losing people, that is - not his best friend leaving him and their girl for someone they loved 70 years ago. No, he was out of his area of expertise on that one. But Bucky was used to losing the people he loved. And by now, he'd managed to cut his dazed and broken phase of grieving to a few days, so by now he was only really upset at night.

That's when he would cry into his pillow, feeling more and more alone. Sam was still running missions; just because aliens had invaded didn't mean any human threats had warned off.

It'd been him and y/n for a week in the compound, and it was now that Bucky realised that the girl hadn't even been capable of washing herself. Yikes, she was taking this bad.

"C'mon, Doll. You gotta shower at some point. Or I could run you a bath?" Bucky suggested, huffing another long sigh when y/n looked straight through him. Bucky's jaw clenched and he carded a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath before putting on a kind face.

The next thing y/n new, she was sat in the shower. She vaguely remembered Bucky throwing her over his shoulder and walking swiftly to the bathroom, telling her how she still needed to look after herself even though Steve was gone.

God, those words hurt. As in that Steve was gone, of course. Although Bucky telling her she needed to actually clean herself every-now-and-then because she smelt like somebody had died stung a little, it didn't hurt her.

The water pricked at her skin, slates of chilling droplets pelting down on her. She'd been sat there long enough for the water to run cold and her thoughts to run dry.

The only thing y/n could picture was Steve's lifeless body. His eyes void of life, that amused sparkle that'd glint beneath the baby blue when he'd tease her, make a joke, burnt out into emptiness. The bright smile that used to grace his lips when he'd see y/n the fist time after a mission, no matter the length, gone.

She'd also thought about how he died. Did Thanos murder him himself? Had he been saving someone? Did one of Thanos' cronies get to him? Did he fall, or get crushed? The possibilities were endless, but one thing was certain: Steve was gone.

A soft rasp of knuckles against the bathroom for momentarily pulled y/n out of her daze, her red eyes shifting upwards for a moment as she followed the noise with her sight through the steamed-over glass shower door.

"Doll? You haven't drowned, have you?" Bucky's gentle voice sang from the other side. Y/n could physically feel her muscles relaxing at the sound of his thick voice, her mind relaxing, too. Although she hadn't spoken in days, it didn't mean she didn't want Bucky to talk to her.

No, it was quite the opposite, really. Y/n was thankful for Bucky's mindless chatter and conversations, his caring questions and constant check-ups. It grounded her, gave y/n a reason for still being here if someone wanted her company.

Sighing, the girl pulled herself to her feet. She stumbled out of the shower, having to poke her head back in and turn the water off after forgetting initially. She picked up the fluffy towel that Bucky had left folded up for her and patted herself dry before wrapping the cloth around her body. Y/n ran her fingers through her now-damp hair before heaving another sigh.

"She's alive." Bucky smirked as y/n stepped out, clutching the towel to her chest. He was perched on her bed, facing the bathroom door with his hands bracing the edge of the mattress. "I thought you'd never come outta there, it's been over an hour, doll." Bucky explained as she hastily walked over to the drawers on the other side of her bed, pulling out a pair of panties and some shorts before tossing them to the bed.

She bent down more this time, pulling a t-shirt from one of the lower draws and throwing it to join the other clothes on the bed without really looking at what it was. She let the draw shut with a snap, turning to the bed and picking up the panties.

Bucky kept facing away, wanting to give y/n her privacy as she pulled the clothes on under her towel. Bucky could sense y/n still the second she reached to grab the shirt, her hand stilling mid-air.

"You okay, doll?" Bucky mumbled, not wanting to turn and face her incase she was still not fully dressed. Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat thickly, her mouth becoming dry as she hummed.

"Mm hm." It was short and cut off, the affirmative noise the closest she'd come to speaking in a week. She turned around again, pulling out another shirt before putting it on.

Y/n walked around the bed again, patting her wet hair between the towel. Bucky's eyes followed her the whole time, cerulean blue watching closely as she dumped the towel in the hamper.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bucky murmured as she climbed into bed, his weight pinning the duvet down on one side. Taking y/n's silence as a yes, Bucky moved to stand up.

"Wait." Y/n's voice was a meek thing, disjointed and hoarse from its only use for seven days being sobbing against her pillow. Yes, the one that still smelt like Steve. "Can you-" y/n took a breath as Bucky looked at her, a happy glint to his eyes. "Would you stay with me? Tonight? I don't know if I can be alone again..."

Bucky's lips tugged into a small smile, the super solder clambering into the bed beside y/n. He nestled in beside her, pulling the girl to his chest as he laced his hand with hers. Their intertwined fingers lay over his chest, his metal arm wrapped around her shoulders.

For a moment all that could be heard was the soft whirring of the metal plates in his arm, and the controlled breathing of the two people.

"Bucky?" Y/n asked, swallowing her fear as she looked up at him. Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, playing with y/n's fingers as he waited for her to speak. "How did- h-how did Steve...you know, die?" Y/n bit through the building tears.

Bucky felt his stomach drop at her question. He didn't expect that right now. Eventually, yes. But not whilst they were curled up on her bed. The words seemed to get stuck in his throat, sticking to his skin as he tried to pry them out.

"I-" he couldn't lie. He couldn't. It would be cruel, to do so. She loved Steve, so she deserved to know the whole truth. "Y/n, Steve didn't- he didn't die." Bucky grated through gritted teeth, tongue like a weight in his sandpaper throat.

"W-what?" Y/n mumbled, eyes widening with shock, fear, hope, anger. She sat up, turning around in his grip to face Bucky. A scowl had settled across her features, plaguing her gorgeous eyes with a hue of hurt. "Then where is he?"

Bucky sighed, his eyes sliding closed as the words fell from her mouth.

"Bucky. Where is Steve?" Y/n spat, her tone morphing into something harsh, something unlike her. Bucky swallowed thickly, but it seemed to do nothing. Y/n watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, arms coming to fold over her chest.

"Steve left, doll. He's not- he's not coming back." Bucky breathed, his face dropping into his hands.

"What do you mean?" Y/n whispered, voice cracking with a bubble of pain. "Why isn't he coming back?"

"Because he left to be with Peggy, okay? He left us, y/n! For some fucking dame that he loved over 70 years ago!" Bucky had finally snapped, his own tears collecting against his flushed cheeks now. Maybe the grief hadn't quiet passed.

Y/n's face dropped into one similar to the day bucky first told her Steve was gone. But, the subtle hint of difference was menacing; this time, rage fuelled her emotions.

"I-I don't understand, why would he-?" Y/n couldn't bring herself to finish her question, the answer already dancing around in her mind.

"I don't either, doll. I miss him, and yet I hate him for what he did. To me, to you, to us." Bucky's voice was barely above a murmured mutter, eyes downcast as he picked at the hem of his shirt.

"I-" y/n opened her mouth before closing it, a croaked sob interrupting a hiccup as she fell back into Bucky's embrace.

Steve, her Steve, had become a selfish, selfish man.

Part Three

Taglists

Bucky Barnes One-shots, Drabbles and Headcannons | @buckysgirl101 @quxxnxfhxll @anakinsslag @macylawz @zaphdekota @ihavemajordaddyissues @theoldermanswhore @addriaenne @thegirlwiththeimpala

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[lovecinnatwist]

How would you go about writing omega Jason with Alpha Dick?

Man oh man- Omega!Jason with Alpha!Dick is always such a bop.

It depends really! I see so many fics with insecure Jason thinking Dick is too good for him which is nice and definitely in character- but sometimes it makes me crave the other end of the spectrum?

Like a confident, sexy Jason who teases Dick with his scent and body until the alpha wants to implode? I also like the idea of Jason being raised by an Omeganist!Alfred and Omega!Talia to be badass, sassy and sensual. Bras? Suppressants? Painful heats?

Not for Jason Todd!

He embraces his Omega-ninity and it wreaks havoc on Dick's hormones. Dick being a more conservative alpha would definitely find himself overwhelmed but enamored!

Here's something playful with a clumsy Alpha!Dick and confident pack Omega!Jason!

Tiddies Out - JayDick

Tags: Omegaverse, AlphaDick, OmegaJason, Pining, Crack treated Seriously, Lactating, Heat Cycles, Omega Tim, Alpha Bruce, Pup Damian- Just Dick being an obvious pining idiot and Jason enjoying his reactions-

Jason doesn’t mind being an omega. How could he when it’s one of the superior options? While Alpha’s often lost themselves to aggression during rutting season and beta’s scrambled to placate them- Omega’s got to sit back and watch the show.

Being the object of an alpha’s fascination has many perks. First off? The gifts. Lavish offerings make their way to him with little to no effort. Weaponry from Talia, Expensive silks and poisons from Ras, The latest tech from Tim and Bruce. It's an endless parade really. One of the few things that make this more bearable to put up with.

He’s a heavy milker. Always has been.

Maybe it’s from growing up in an abusive household. Perhaps it's in response to being closer to the pack’s pups or hell, maybe his body is just gearing up for the imaginary children it wants to have. Regardless of the reason Jason’s tits are aching.

They seem extra tender tonight. The cold dingy air does little to ease the tension under his armor. He shifts and the way his pads squish under bullet proof chest plates is a pain. He curses and tries to ignore it. Something that’s getting harder as the cotton under his clothing reaches its limit. Tsk- 4 hours his ass. It’s barely been 2 and he’s about to make a mess of his gear.

As annoying as it is. He reluctantly reaches into his kit to get two fresh napkins to change. Other omega’s might be shy to do this in public but Jason has always been more practical about it. Breasts are breasts, no reason to get all crazy about it.

Though it probably didn’t hurt that Jason himself had a nice rack. He knows what the other heroes say about him behind his back. His figure has never been more appreciated than now in his prime. The dip in the pit did wonders at helping him bulk up. Thighs thick, emphasising his trim waist. In the throws of season his ample chest gives him an illusion of an hourglass figure. While some people would say omega’s should be small and dainty, he has yet to meet an alpha or beta who can resist him.

Not to be vain but he is nothing else if not attractive.

He’s got his top half way off when the sound of a near violent thud echoes out in the darkness. The hiss of pain gives away the alpha before his scent can. Jason doesn’t even turn in his direction. Instead he keeps his attention on the sopping pads under the compression shirt. He hisses as the gentle adhesive pulls from his throbbing mamories.

“ You alright over there goldie? “

He gets a groan for an answer. A nicer person would have maybe let the other man know about his current state of undress. Too bad that Jason isn’t exactly known for being ‘nice’. He carefully wraps up one cotton cloth. Once he’s clean and dry, he applies another. It’s quick and easy work. The slight chill does wonders against his flush skin.

The worn form of Nightwing crawls from the side of the building. There’s a pretty good bruise on his cheek Jason is 90% sure that the acrobat had a less than graceful landing. He’s always been weird about nudity. Even back when they mostly had the same parts. He rolls his eyes as the man pointedly tries not to look at him. He can’t help scoffing at the false modesty.

“ Hood. You shouldn’t do this out in the open like this. Anyone could see you. “

Everyone knows Jason is an omega, by extension that means Red Hood. It’s one of the reasons why his territory is so well protected. No one wants to cross an omega. While the fangs in their mouths were now more for scruffing kits, no one had forgotten the days when they were for hunting prey and tearing out throats.

He would flash his at Dick but he’s wearing his helmet and would probably just looks stupid. He manages to get the other pad off. It’s absolutely drenched. His left teet is definitely working harder than the right. The sheer weight of the cotton makes a loud squelch as it hits the little plastic bag at his feet.

He snorts. “ And you know what they’d say N? Best tits in Gotham. “

The alpha’s face is anything but amused. The furrow of his brow and spike in his scent is territorial and aggressive. It’s laughable really considering the fact that between the two of them, Jason is actually the one in charge of protecting the pack. It’s all a part of being the lead omega.

Whether Bruce or Dick want to accept it or not.

“ Stop objectifying yourself like that. “

Jason enjoys the feeling of being clean and dry as he gets the other cotton adhesive on. It’s a welcome sensation. Especially when he straightens his armor and it’s a little less chafing and tight.

“ It’s only objectication if I say I’m only a nice pair of tits Wing. Luckily I’ve got a nice set of thighs too.“

He pays Dick no mind as he stands and packs away his used pads to be thrown away later. He might have to call it an early night at the rate. With the way fall is quickly approaching his heat is just dying to make an appearance. Perhaps he could get away with offering himself to the foster system. With the amount of milk he’s making now it would be better for the pups who need it to benefit instead of it all going to the trash.

“ Hood! “ The sound is a scandalized growl. It’s funny enough that Jason throws his head back and laughs free and clear. With the voice modulator it’s mean and menacing. Amusement bubbles in his chest. He can’t help taking off his helmet so that Dick can take in just how wide his smile is.

“ Sorry Wing. I’m a pretty girl. What can I say? “

Talia is nothing but progressive. While many omega’s in the west suffer from low self esteem. Jason learned his worth quickly. Confidence is beauty. The more one loves themselves, adores them selves and takes time to know themselves the more they blossom. It’s a deep healing that not everyone gets to understand. A privilege for a few chosen omegas. He cocks his head and smiles and see’s the exact moment Dick starts losing his footing in the conversation.

The alpha is tongue tied.

“ That’s not what I mean and you know it Hood. “

Jason shrugs. Once he’s got his stuff away he’s ready to run roofs and actually get some work done.

“ Sorry Goldie. It’s 2021 and haven’t you heard? Red Hood says free the tiddies. “

He doesn’t wait for a response as he makes a running start towards the edge of the building. It’s always such a thrill. He tucks a bit to clear the gap. The moment his legs touch the concrete the sound is silent despite the bulk of his frame. Dick calls after him but he loses the words in the wind. Laughter bubbles up in his throat. He wouldn’t be a prude just because his family wanted to be sexually repressed more than they wanted to be happy.

Dick doesn’t try to catch up with him and Jason finishes the night patrolling with Tim and Stephanie.

He manages to get an entire three hours out of the next set of pads. Instead of changing out in the open he accepts Alfred’s invitation back at the manor for a warm bath and cookies. Tim stares at his chest while Jason gets himself decent.

Tim is a gorgeous omega, with a slender petite frame and porcelain doll-like features. He always seems to get shy in the presence of Jason’s more unconventional curves.

Jason knows what low self esteem looks like. The younger omega wears it no matter how much bravo he tries to exude. Jason brushes against him briefly and lightly. His usual fragrance is marshmellowy from the sweetness of milk that clings to it.

There’s an immediate blush as Tim ducks away. Clearly he’s embarrassed from being caught. Though in reality where is the shame in a little boob appreciation amongst omegas?

“ You know Timmy, you gotta stop wearing bras. Maybe if you show a glimpse of those pretty pink nips Kon would take the hint. “

Tim goes red from his ears to his chest. Jason can practically see the steam coming from his ears. He slaps his hands over his petite breast quick enough to hurt. Jason wants to let him scamper off but instead he presses into his space even more. Long gone is the perfume of pup, now that Tim has come fully into his omega hood. Every day his scent leans more and more towards caramel and sugar.

“ Uhg you’re such a jerk. “

Tim tries to dodge out of his hold but Jason gets him anyway. The omega yelps and Jason ducks him right between each swollen peck. They are red and tender from patrol. He hasn’t put on new pads yet so some milk beads at his nipples. The little shriek Tim lets out is hilarious.

“ You’re going to get milk in my hair! Jason stop- God you suck- “

The omega fights and Jason lets him go before the two actually get into it. It’s light and playful. Well for the most part. Tim gets some milk on his face and the teen honest to God looks terrified. He curses all the way to the shower stall to take another quick bath all while Jason cackles at his misfortune.

“ I swear to God, when I start milking I'm going to get you back Ten fold! “

Jason rolls his eyes. As if.The last thing Jason’s afraid of is milk. It’s a natural thing. God everyone in this pack is repressed.

“ We’ll see about that Timberella! “

The omega hisses and Jason has to hold back a laugh as he leaves the shower. He’s so light and high from the interaction that he completely for gos a shirt. Not that he really wants to wear one. Not with how milk heavy and tender his chest is. Alfred’s always been pretty cool about it too. Being from the 60’s and all that jazz.

Jason maybe gets half way through the cave before the sound of metal crashing draws his attention. Dick walks cleanly into one of the metal tables in the middle of the lab space, knocking over tools and gadgets.

Bruce is thoroughly unimpressed from where he’s helping Damian stretch before bed. He’s in half of his costume, suppressors and scent blockers gone. The sheer disappointment in Damian’s gaze is astonishing.

“ Richard, please control yourself. “

The alpha looks like a deer caught in headlights, his mortification absolutely palpable in the air.

Jason does catch his eyes on his chest though. He smirks and sees the moment horror grows in those bright blue eyes. Instead of heading towards the stairs he decides to circle back towards the group.

Bruce chuffs from his position on the floor. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing but does tilt towards him in reverence. It’s been the biggest change in their dynamic. Bruce finally learning to respect Jason as not only a pack mate, but the pack omega. He greets him with a scenting.

Unlike Dick the alpha seems to pay little attention to his milking.

Damian’s puppy nose twitches as he leans towards him. It makes his heart flutter really. While Damian would never ask, Jason has thought of offering his breast many times. While Technically too old for it, they’ve all done their fair share of growing up too quickly. Something that Jason Laments as well as appreciates.

He scents Damian more thoroughly than Bruce, making him bristle. The boy tries to move out of his hold, hands swatting him away.

“ Todd cease your pestering immediately! If I smell of milk my peers will assume I still breastfeed. “

Jason snorts and pulls back from the prickly pup. Bruce gets a stupid fond look on his face and for a brief moment he feels it echoing on his lips.

“ And what’s wrong with that? If your pack omega is milking of course as a pup you’re welcome to it. “

Damian’s green eyes widen a fraction. His mouth opens in disbelief. Clearly, Damian in fact did not know that. Bruce stares as well, his scent turning into a sweet blend of ‘love-admiration-awe’. It draws a shiver up Jason’s spine. The tender mix of affection from his pack blankets over him like a net of spun sugar.

Jason doesn’t know why he feels drawn to look at Dick. The alpha hasn’t said anything in the past minute. He cuts his gaze to the stone still alpha and his heart flutters in excitement. The looks of jealousy and want is so strong that his intentions sparkle clear like aquamarine in shallow ocean waters.

The alpha is so much more honest when he thinks Jason isn’t looking.

He grins at Dick.

The alpha immediately shrinks in shame and embarrassment.

“ And of course any alpha spending my heat with me. “

[rentsturner]

Jealous | Obi Wan Kenobi

req: Congrats on 300, Liv!!!!! I'm so proud of you! May I request 16 with Obi? 16 - claiming you

wc: 1.7k

warnings: modern!au, creepy behaviour from a side character, hint of self deprecating thoughts, obi being a little possessive and jealous but in a hot way. Fluff at the end.

a/n: this started as a blurb but it got too long . Thank you Brit for helping me with this idea. Sorry it’s taken so long.

The bar was packed, the chatter and bustle of a Saturday night almost drowning out the thumping beat of music playing from large speakers. You and Obi-Wan had been invited out for a friend’s engagement celebration, expecting to find a small gathering when you got there but instead being faced with an enormous party in full flow. But you’d taken it in your stride, catching up with all your friends, exchanging stories and jokes, and soon time was flying by.

Obi-Wan was engrossed in a game of pool with Anakin, leaving you to fend for yourself for a while. It was fine of course, you were perfectly comfortable with your friends, and you knew how often he missed out on spending time with his own mates. So you had taken yourself over to the bar to get another Diet Coke, sliding onto the stool and grabbing the server’s attention.

A rustle of clothing alerts you to another man’s presence at your side, a clipped voice straining to be heard through the bar’s non-stop noise.

‘I’ll have what they’re having.’

You had hoped to be left alone while picking up your drink, but you could feel this man's gaze burning into the side of your head. With a silent huff of indignation, you turn towards the newcomer and you’re faced with brown eyes, dark buzzed hair with a few nicks at his temple, clean shaven angular jaw and cheekbones, and a wide grin.

‘Hey, how have you been? You remember me, right?’

The man continues grinning, arms opening outwards and he turns his body towards you. No. You don’t remember him. You stare at his face a little harder, wracking your brain for a name. After a few seconds, you recognise the man as one of Padme’s friends. Michael? Matthew, maybe?

‘I’m Mitchell? Mitchell Connor?’

Mitchell looks at you with wide eyes, seemingly upset that you’d forgotten him. You nod quickly, not wanting to cause a fuss.

‘Of course, Mitchell, hi.’

You offer a small smile and he takes it gratefully, offering to buy you another drink and making conversation. He asks you about your life, your job, your family, even your opinion on politics. He barely gives you time to breathe with his onslaught of questions. But you answer dutifully, Mitchell seems friendly enough. Even if he is weirdly interested in your taste in men.

Thirty minutes later and Mitchell is still talking to you. You had left the bar a while ago and wandered over to Mace and Padme, talking to them in an attempt to throw off Mitchell. But it hadn't worked. He’d just tagged along and slotted himself into the conversation, standing next to you and inching ever so slightly closer as the minutes passed by.

Padme gave you a confused look from across the small circle, gesturing to Mitchell with a questioning gaze. Her brows furrowed in concern. She was your best friend, after all, and she could tell Mitchell was getting on your nerves.

‘Where’s Obi?’ she mouthed silently at you.

You just shrugged and looked away, not wanting to draw Mitchell’s attention to you even more. He was getting uncomfortably close now. You shuffled to the side a little, but he just followed you. You could see his arm in the corner of your eye, twitching slightly by his side as if he was tempted to take your hand in his. The idea of it made you shiver, and not in a good way.

Where was Obi-Wan? Surely his game of pool had finished by now. You looked around, trying to find that familiar head of auburn hair but the room was so packed in some places it was hard to tell where one person ended and another began. An unbridled thought rushed through your head. What if Obi had seen someone else at the party? Someone better looking than you, more interesting? What if -

A strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a lean muscled chest. You jumped slightly, squirming out of the grip as you thought it was Mitchell pulling you closer. But instead a soft, welcome voice whispered into your ear.

‘Are you alright, darling? You seem a little nervous.’

A sigh of relief left your chest and you turned to look at Obi’s familiar face, his eyes bright with concern and his hair hanging slightly out of place. The pool game must have gotten competitive. You just squeeze his forearm tightly in reassurance and whisper an affirmation.

‘I’m fine.’

A small smile. You don’t want Obi to worry, not when he’s obviously been having a good time.

‘And who’s this then?’

Mitchell’s voice is too loud, too intrusive, even though it’s paired with that wide grin. A fake grin, you’re sure of it. Obi-Wan’s arm tightens around your waist and he seems to draw himself up to his full height, obviously confused to why this man is so comfortable with getting close to you. You can feel his heart begin to thud violently against your back. Obi-Wan had never seemed like the jealous type to you, but apparently you had assumed wrong. Maybe he’s realised that this overbearing stranger is the source of your concern. But Obi stays silent and just watches Mitchell as they both wait for you to answer.

‘Obi-Wan, this is Mitchell. Mitchell, Obi-Wan. My boyfriend.’

You emphasise the ‘boyfriend’ as much as you can without making it too obnoxious, hoping that Mitchell gets the idea. He doesn’t, of course.

‘Well, we were just talking about ideal partners actually. It seems me and y/n have got a lot in common.’ Mitchell smirks.

Your jaw drops. Did he seriously just say that? You absolutely have nothing in common. You grit your teeth in frustration. What an idiot.

You can practically feel the hostility rolling off Obi-Wan as he takes in Mitchell’s words. His other arm comes to wrap round your waist, pulling you into him even tighter. Obi’s jaw clenches as he looks Mitchell up and down with furrowed brows, before slowly turning to you.

‘Don’t you think it's time that we were leaving, love?’

Obi’s voice is raised slightly, making sure Mitchell can hear him. He kisses your cheek softly, tilting his head so that his stubble nuzzles against your skin as he stares sternly at Mitchell, who has decided to speak again.

‘You don’t want to stay longer? We were having fun -’

Mitchell stops suddenly as he watches your boyfriend’s attention turn to your ear. Obi-Wan’s actions are slow and deliberate as he kisses the lobe, moving up the edge and letting his bottom lip drag obscenely over the skin, eliciting a shiver that runs up your spine. You have to stifle the moan threatening to leave your mouth. Obi-Wan nips the cartilage at the top of your ear, his tongue darting out to sooth the bite before finally pulling back. He stares Mitchell dead in the eye with a devilish smirk, almost daring him to continue talking, daring him to make his move. But for the first time in the whole night, Mitchell’s mouth closes and no more words come out.

‘We’re perfectly fine thank you.’ Obi’s voice is a purr in your ear, seemingly friendly, but the notes are dripping with an unspoken threat towards Mitchell. ‘Aren’t we, darling?’

You turn, kissing Obi’s stubbled cheek happily and taking in Mitchell’s equally shocked and annoyed expression with a burst of satisfaction. You’d never seen this side to Obi-Wan before, usually such a gentleman, but tonight his possessive side was coming out. And you were loving it.

‘Yes. Let’s go.’

You push past Mitchell as he stumbles back, seemingly lost for words after Obi-Wan’s display. Quickly, you offer your goodbyes to all your friends, promising to speak soon. And then Obi is leading you out into the fresh air, the claustrophobic atmosphere of the bar left behind as you step into the cool car park. Obi chuckles, swinging your hands up and down as you walk.

‘He seemed to like you. A little too much’

‘Tell me about it!’

You were glad that Obi had calmed down a little now, all too aware of how tense he had been only minutes ago. But there are subtle signs; the clutch on your hand that was just slightly tighter than usual, the shaky exhale of breath steaming in the cold air, the slightly wild look to his usually composed countenance. They were all signs that remnants of adrenaline were still rushing through Obi-Wan’s veins. He’d never say it out loud, but you knew that Obi still got insecure about your relationship sometimes, the fear of losing you for good always present in his mind. Sometimes he just needed a bit of reassurance.

You cup his face in your hands, tugging him down slightly so you’re face to face. His eyes are deep pools of blue, staring into yours, just tempting you to dive into their depths. So you dive.

‘You know I love you, right?’

Obi-Wan’s cheeks flush a light pink, a grin spreading across his face as he moves his hands to mirror yours. His hands are cold against your skin but you shiver into his touch, craving more contact, more of him. He rubs his thumb over your cheekbone before leaning in to press a chaste kiss on your forehead.

‘And i love you too, my darling.’

An idea pops into your mind and you grin widely in excitement.

‘Movie night?’

You look up at Obi-Wan with the wide eyes that he can never resist. Not that he would want to say no anyway. Obi’s love of cheesy rom-com is notorious among your group of friends, and you had spent many evenings cuddled under a mountain of blankets and pillows, crunching on salty popcorn and giggling through all of your favourite films. He’s a true romantic at heart.

Strong hands pull you into a warm hug and you can feel Obi-Wan’s deep laugh vibrating in his chest as you rest your head there, his woollen jumper soft against your cheek. It’s warm and it’s comfy and it smells of him.

‘Of course. It’s been a while since I watched 10 Things I Hate About You anyway.’

~*~*~*~

obi tags : @ohhellokenobi @doublesunsets @snips-n-skyguy0501 @karasong @callmearwen @thedevilwearsbeskar @rosionis @profkenobi @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @fenharel-enaste @corellians-only @weirdfangirl2416 @a-seeker-of-imagination @saintlaurentkenobi @justanotherpadawan @hawkerz12 @crazycatladyjenga @xxinvisiblexx @million-dollar-legs @imafatassmess @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @thejunkster @fishswimbetterunderwater @katsav17 @haydens-moles (Taglist link in bio)

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

Can I Have This Dance? (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating: PG - Fluffy 

Word Count: 2,689

Synopsis: 4 times the reader asked Steve to dance with her and one time Steve her.

Info: Written for @cockslut-padalecki​’s Not My Ninth Challenge in celebration of 9k followers! Also Happy Belated birthday, I hope you had a great one. I choose, How Do I Live by LeAnn Rimes and Wedding Ceremony. The dividers are by @firefly-graphics​ 💘 I’m posting this on my barley working laptop, so forgive me. Also all mistakes are mine as this is not beta read.

1st Time:

Honestly what possessed her to wear her favorite white denim overall shorts to Sam’s barbecue? They were now stained with all all kinds of food and handprints from the children of the Avengers children asking to be held by her. Admittedly seeing everyone so happy and spending the afternoon with her fiancé made it worth it. Also Natasha would probably be able to show her how to get the stains out.

“Want to queue up the next song?” Sam nudged her handing over his phone that was connected to speakers. Giddily Y/N took the phone and went through the approved barbecue playlist as Killer Queen started to play, she continued to scroll as her head bopped to the song. Finding the perfect one she handed the phone over to Sam’s significant other Lou who kissed her on the cheek. 

Bucky and Steve were sharing a phone screen laughing at whatever video it was they were watching, probably one of Alpine that Bucky had taken. Getting up from her chair Y/N stood beside Steve’s and brushed her right hand across his broad shoulders, goosebumps started to rise on his skin as she leaned in to brush her lips beside his ear. 

“Come dance with me, Stevie please?" the blonde's face blushed as his fiance turned away from him making her way back towards the dancing couples. “Punk if you don't I sure as hell will.” Steve turned to give his best friend a glare just as the baritone voice sang out, jumping to his feet.

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt. Why were you digging? What did you bury? Before those hands pulled me from the earth.” Steve rushed to Y/N’s side, a small smile on her face her fiance placed his face at her time taking in the scent of lavender and mint, while his hands rested at her hips. Y/N’s arms circled his neck interlocking her hands, eyes closing she placed her heads against his chest over his heart. As Hozier sang the couple just swayed from side to side, loving each other.

“I could not ask you where you came from. I could not ask and neither could you. Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we could just kiss like real people do.” As the song came to an end Steve and Y/N’s eyes met, she was biting her lip, a look of worry was in her eyes. 

“What?” Looking placed his hands on Y/N’s face doing everything he could to ease the worry in his fiancés face. 

“Just, how would I live without you?” Steve scoffed and pulled Y/N into his arms, hugging her close, “You’ll never have to live without me, I’m going anywhere. I love you.”

2nd Time:

“Well son her mother would have loved you and I’m so proud to have you joining our family.” Andy clapped his daughters fiancé on the shoulder, before looking out on the dance floor to see all four of his children dancing together to the Macarena having a good time. 

“I’m lucky to have her Andy and I love both her and this family.” Steve assured Y/N’s father how much he loved her as the song came to an end. The DJ for the reception started to walk towards Y/N’s  sister and her husband. 

Y/N stood between her brothers playfully nudging each other like they used to do as kids. Suddenly it was quiet in the reception hall, both her and Steve were looking at Y/N’s sister and her husband who smiled at everyone, but they were staring at Y/N. 

“I need my sister Y/N and her fiancé Steve to come up here for a second.” Y/N’s brothers pushed her forward, suddenly glad she had exchanged her heels for converse 4 or 5 songs back. Steve and she met halfway there, hands grasping at each other as their fingers intertwined. The blonde leaned over and kissed the crown of his fiancé's face making her blush as they reached Legacie and Michael. 

“This weekend was actually supposed to be the weekend that Y/N and Steve got married, but 6 months ago I came to my sister and told her I was pregnant. Y/N knew Michael and I would want to move our wedding up, Y/N and Steve immediately asked if I would like to take their wedding and for that we are so thankful. The thing about my sister is she is just like our mom, always giving and so loving, it makes so much sense why Steve fell in love with my little sister. I got to thinking a way to thank you and that is dedicating a song to you, your favorite song as a kid.” Legacie passed the microphone back to the DJ, before she reached over kissing her little on the cheek. Y/N looked at her sister before her jaw dropped and her cheeks turned pink as the keyboard of the popular ’90s Australian pop singer hit started to play. 

“I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish. I'll be your fantasy, I'll be your hope, I'll be your love. Be everything that you need.” Y/N still holding onto Steve’s hand turned to stand in front of him and looked up at him. 

“Will you dance with my love?” with a smile on his face, Steve didn't even verbalize his answer, he just gave a tug of her hand pulling her body closer to his, as other couples joined them on the dance floor.

“I wanna stand with you on a mountain. I wanna bathe with you in the sea. I wanna lay like this forever. Until the sky falls down on me. I wanna stand with you on a mountain. I wanna bathe with you in the sea.I want to live like this forever. Until the sky falls down on me.” As they continued to dance among Legacie and Michale's family and friends, he tried to imagine how he would live without her in his life. He had an answer before the song was even over he knew a life without Y/N was no life at all. 

3rd Time:

She was trying really hard not to cry but it felt but it was 3:12 in the morning, it was raining, it looked like Bucky had finished off the rest of her Ben and Jerry Star Spangled Berry Swirl, and Friday was playing her I got the blues playlist. Boy did she have the blues, she shouldn’t though, it was November, the holiday season was in full swing, but it was as if her heart wasn’t in it. 

Then the piano kicked in and the tears really started. 

“Look into my eyes, you will see what you mean to me.”

Steve down the hall in bed they shared hearing sniffles of his fiancé, got out of bed, grabbing her cardigan from ottoman at the foot of the bed. Y/N stood at the kitchen island sipping a cup of hot tea as Bryan Adams sang. 

“Darling?” Steve came up behind her and placed the over side article of clothing over shoulder, kissing her temple. Setting the steaming cup of lavender and blueberries down, Y/N turned around to look him in the eyes, with tears still coming down. 

“Dance with me Stevie, please?” with a little lift of the right side of his lips. Steve pulled Y/N to him, placing her head over his heartbeat, he encased her his arms and started to sway them. 

“Don't tell me, it’s not worth fightin' for. I can't help it, there’s  nothin' I want more. You know it's true, everything I do, I do it for you.”

“I can’t live without you Stevie.” Y/N whispered into the night as she looked out at the rain coming down in the night. 

“And you won't have to," Steve promised. 

4th Time:

It was finally the New Year, 12:01 on January 1st to be exact and everyone was partying at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, thanks to Pepper and Tony. Peter Quill and his friends had made it, Thor with Jane, Carol Danver, Monica Rambeau with her friends Jimmy Woo and Darcy, Fantastic Four, Peter Parker had brought his best friend Ned and girl friend MJ, all the Avengers were there, even the Wakanda gang was accounted for, the place was packed. It seemed as if the bad guys were in need of a day off. 

Steve stood a few feet away from Y/N who was dancing with Natasha, Clint, Shuri, Peter, MJ, Wanda, Scott, Johnny, Groot, Darcy, Sam, Lou, and Jimmy Woo, they were all dancing to thank u, next, laughing and having a good time. Lou was currently on Sam's shoulders making the Bucky who was beside Steve, hoot’d, as he took a shot from the Asgardian mead. It was great for Steve to see all his friends and family to be letting loose. 

Y/N walked over as the song came to a closure and pulled Steve in for a kiss earning a cheer from the group they had surrounded themselves with. Blushing they pulled apart as the familiar violin started to play across the room, making the room erupt cheers yet again. Tonight’s crowd was easily pleased, who knew all it took was alcohol, food, friends, and good music? 

As the drum kicked in, Y/N’s head started to bop her foot tapping along, grabbing Steve’s hand she started to pull him towards the group, grabbing Bucky’s hand along the way. 

“Steve can I have this dance?” Looking over her shoulder as she got ready to start jumping up and down, Steve looked at her as if he had to think on it, but stopped when Bucky hit him in the bicep. “Not with the metal arm, and yes!”

“Come on Eileen! Oh, I swear, what he means. At this moment you mean everything, you in that dress. My thoughts I confess, verge on dirty. Oh, come on Eileen.” The group's form of dancing was jumping up and dancing, moving their heads side to side, throwing in mixed moves, like the sprinkler or epaule here and there. It was just about letting go. Steve and Y/N danced together with the fingers of their left-right hands interlaced jumping up and down, throwing their heads back and forth like they were at a rock concert. 

As Bucky danced with his best friend and the girl that had become like a sister to him, he couldn't picture their lives without one another. There was no Steve without Y/N in it, no Y/N without Steve. They were so madly, deeply in love, that to lose the other it would be close to losing themselves. He vowed at that moment to do whatever it took to always bring Steve home and to always protect Y/N for him. 

The 1 Time Steve Asked Y/N to Dance:

“This is the best birthday gift I could ever ask for!” Bucky raised his glass of bourbon to the crowded room, before he leaned down to place a kiss on Y/N’s cheek. He had just given his best man speech congratulating his best friend on finding his soulmate who made him happy, and on his retirement. Lou leaned forward putting their arms around Y/N’s shoulders swaying, making the bride laugh as the best friends hugged. 

Steve took the microphone from Sam and pulled Y/N away from her best friend, confused she looked up at him. The room was silent with all eyes on them, as it had been since the moment she stepped out onto the wooden boardwalk Pepper’s people had built leading to the dock, everyone’s eyes had been on them. 

“Through this whole wedding process my wife has been so incredibly patient with me. Originally I just said whatever you want Y/N it’s your day, but she would scrunch her face up, for her family they know what I’m talking about, the one where she doesn’t like something or doesn’t understand, anyways. Lou, Y/N’s best friend and the perfect person for Sam came to me said,

“Rogers for a superhero, you are pretty dense, the wedding day is both your big day. This is a day you both are going to look back on, tell your children about and share with your family and friends. Don’t make her plan it and make all the choices on her own.” Steve looked down at Y/N and smiled, as his wife laughed and gave her best friends hand a tight squeeze before letting it go. 

“So I did what I could, your napkins I chose, thank you very much, your centerpieces though, you are going to have to take that up with the my beautiful wife’s cousin, Willow, she handmaid these beautiful pieces for us, so we could reuse them in our winery and barn.” Willow blew the couple a kiss making the crowd laugh as Y/N caught it and stumbled back, before throwing one back just as extravagantly. 

“Anyways the reason I’m up here is because I really didn’t do that much, but I made a promise to my wife that I, the man out of time, could pick the song we dance to as a married couple.” Turning his body so now the newlyweds were now facing each other, Sam took the microphone holding it up to Steve's mouth, as Steve held both Y/N’s hands in his.

“Steve we’ve talked about this you’re right where you need to be.” Steve just nodded his head and kissed her on the lips getting a few people in the crowd cheering. Bucky, Sam, Lou, and Y/N’s siblings are motioned for the crowd to quiet down. 

“I admit I waited till last night to e-mail our DJ Ned and tell him our song. But to be fair if it hadn’t been for a talk I had while sleeping at Sam’s and him playing this song we probably would just have some random song. Thank you Sam for saving the day.” Sam pulled the microphone telling the couple it was no problem really. 

“With that all said and done, Mrs. Rogers can I have this dance?” Laughing Y/N nodded as they made their way around the tables holding hands waving to their family and friends. Ned Leeds, was the nights DJ, thanks to coming recommended by his friend Peter Parker, this was his hobby by a means to pay for college and his growing obsession of Star Wars Legos. As soon as the couple had made it to the center of the faux hardwood dance floor, he hit play.

“How do I get through one night without you? If I had to live without you, what kind of life would that be?”

Y/N let a gasp slip past her lips as the familiar country song played. Her arms held onto Steve’s shoulders, while he held onto her hips, they did their usual sway, there was no need for fancy footing or putting on a show. This was just them being them, in love, sharing that love with a room full of their closest family friends. 

“I promised you, you wouldn’t have to know what it was like to live without me, and you won’t either of you.” Y/N looked up at him placing a kiss on his soft lips, letting a few tears of happiness slip. This is what contentment felt like, to feel whole, be loved, and find that perfect person. 

“How do I live without you? How do I live without you, baby? How do I live?”

[darkisrising]

BobaDinLuke bdsm fic, by DarkIsRising

Can’t decide if this is something to continue or if this is as far as it goes. So, I’m just gonna dub it a Tumblr fic for now. If it picks up steam then I’ll add to it, edit it, and throw it onto ao3. CW: Very very spicy, bdsm, a host of other stuff probably but rest assured everything here is consensual.

They meet at a sex party, which in hindsight shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s just about the only time Luke can be talked out of leaving the house these days.

He shows up in a hood that hides his features save for somber brown eyes and the plush spread of his lips; the black latex so shiny that Luke can just about see his own reflection in it. He wears leather like a second skin and even without being able to make out a single feature on his face, save those eyes and lips, or a single detail of his body, save his exposed cock, he is the most beautiful man Luke’s ever seen.

Luke, of course, is naked. His knees are hitched up to his chest, held there by his own arms that he knows better than to lower, and the words Load Count are scrawled in extra wide Sharpie from one nipple to the other. He’s already gone two rounds and there’s two lines beneath the words to show for it. Boba’s turn came first, of course. It was his privilege as Luke’s dom and he'd taken it with one finger hooked around the collar that marked Luke as his. And then after Boba there had been a guy that Luke hadn’t recognized with a nice enough cock and a regrettable tribal tattoo across his shoulder.

There’s something about this third man that gives Luke pause. Something in the way he takes his place at Luke’s ass— something so hesitant and careful and precise and apologetic as he pulls himself hard enough to sink into Luke’s body— that is awfully endearing. Luke wishes he could tell him it’s okay. That he’s here because he likes doing this sort of thing. That his dom is somewhere nearby, watching from the shadowed corners of the room, to make sure that despite all the calls to wreck that twink’s ass and fuck him up! and do it so hard he won’t be able to walk no one actually does anything that Luke isn’t into.

He can’t, of course, because his mouth is where Boba’s left the Sharpie, a neat solution since the last time they’d played this game the Sharpie had been lost to the dungeon’s dark and sticky floor within the first five minutes. Instead he tries to show it with a widening of his eyes and an encouraging grunt for every tiny thrust he gives as he fucks inside of Luke, the wet from lube and release slicking his way. When he’s all the way in he rests for a moment and it feels like the kind of moment that Luke could live a lifetime in for the way he meets Luke’s eyes, the way his gloved thumb reaches down to rest against Luke’s chin, the way he stretches Luke’s ass with just the right amount of cock to set the base of his spine sparking, but not so much that Luke’s worried he’ll be split in two. 

“Ready?” he asks and his voice is so low it very nearly gets lost to all the moans and groans and demands for more that writhe like eels through the air. His eyes gleam dark in the dim dungeon and Luke can’t look away. He nods, entranced, and for the first time that night Luke’s not thinking about all the men that are going to follow, he’s only thinking about the one that’s inside of him. 

I want to kiss him. The thought hits him— blinding as a bolt of sunlight that’s been hidden behind a cloud— and it’s the most that Luke’s wanted something so chaste in so long he doesn’t know what to do with it. Not that he has many options in this position with a Sharpie clenched between his teeth. All he can do is stare at this man’s lips and yearn with an intensity that carves into his chest as this man’s cock carves into his ass and Luke can’t say of the two sensations which is more intimate. 

“You’re so tight,” the man rasps out and Luke can’t stop himself from clenching down, his hips jerking at the compliment. It’s something he’s heard a million times from countless, faceless other men, but oh the way this man says it makes him flush all over.

It’s over before Luke’s really ready, but one glance over the man’s shoulder and Luke can see a line is forming. Usually it would make him hard in anticipation, to see so many that want to use him and fill him until he’s leaking. This time he wishes he could have more time with just this one.

The man takes the marker out from between Luke’s teeth and Luke wishes he’d replace it with two of his leather-covered fingers. He doesn’t, though, only marks a line on Luke’s chest and then in the same soft, sincere way he’d told Luke he was tight says “Thank you,” and in that moment Luke is pretty sure he’d do just about anything for this man. 

Which is a terrifying, thrilling thought. And a dangerous one, seeing as his rash, unchecked impulsiveness is why he needs a guy like Boba to keep him in line to begin with. 

Before the man can cap the Sharpie again, Luke darts to snatch it out of his hand. The weighted shape of Boba coming out from the shadows, called forward by this change of script.

Luke ignores him. He ignores the line of waiting men stroking themselves hard as they watch Luke with interest as he grabs this man’s hand.

“May I?” Luke asks in as submissive a voice he can muster, and Boba would be so surprised to hear it come out so easily, but Luke can behave when he wants to. Most of the time. “Please, sir,” he adds when the man says nothing.

A slight incline of his head is all the answer he gives, and Luke wastes no time in peeling away his brown leather glove. He writes out his cell number as clearly as he can with a marker that’s a little too thick for it and then, when he’s done, he holds that brown gaze as he bends down to blow the ink dry. 

“Thank you, sir,” Luke husks, heart beating wildly. The man doesn’t say anything back, he only takes his glove and works it back down over his hand and then he’s gone, swallowed by the dark.

“Is there a problem?” a voice growls near Luke’s ear. Tugging on the collar around his neck brings Luke’s attention to Boba’s familiar, scarred frown.

“No, sir,” Luke says, turning his face into Boba’s neck, nuzzling in, but Boba steps away, keeping him at arm’s length.

“That’s only for good boys that finish what they start. Are you going to finish what you started, little one?” It’s a warning as clear as the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail: dangerous and low.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Two hands take Luke by the shoulders and lay him back down. The marker is plucked from his hands and recapped with a snap. “How many loads have you had tonight?”

“Three, sir.”

“And how many did we agree you’d take?” Boba asks, catching Luke beneath his knees, hoisting them back up against his chest and into position. 

Luke shivers, as the humid air meets the wet of his hole, breathing cold, while the hot, hungry gazes of the waiting men meet among the slick. “Eight, sir.”

“Then get to it.” The Sharpie is slid back between his teeth and then Boba’s hands are winding through his hair, pulling just enough to bring a jolt of pain. Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “No distractions this time.”

Soon enough another guy is penetrating Luke, brought forward by Boba’s commanding nod. He’s rocking into Luke, fucking him with an intensity that makes a dull thwack every time their bodies meet. The next guy is huge, so big that Luke has to bite down on the plastic hull of the marker in his mouth to keep from screaming. Tears squeeze from Luke’s eyes, wrested out with every incredible thrust in. Luke loses track after that. The pain becoming pleasure, the pleasure never quite becoming enough to spill over into satisfaction, only transforming into something else. Something intense and terrible and blessed and more. The men change, the girths and lengths that hold him open and fuck him apart change, and Luke takes them all.

Through it all Boba stays where he is, supervising with an unforgiving hand in Luke’s hair, the pain a constant that Luke can depend on, focus on, until it becomes awash with a dull, glowing haze. This is what he’s here for—  this feeling— this euphoria where he’s horribly small and he’s unfathomably large, together. He’s an object to be used and discarded. He’s more precious, more vital, more necessary than he can comprehend. 

A kiss on his forehead cuts through the fog, and Luke realizes he’s not being fucked anymore for all that he can still feel a phantom grinding between his cheeks. His fingers are made to unclench from where they’ve dug like claws onto his flesh and his legs are lowered. The wet mess that’s been left to leak out of him is a turn-on but even that is a distant thing. There’s no immediacy to it, no driving need to slack his lust, just a thrum of appreciation for this proof that every man that’s had him tonight has left behind.

Drawing him in, Boba cups the back of his head until Luke’s pressed into the cradle of Boba’s neck. He was denied this privilege earlier. Now it’s being freely given. The difference sets him shaking, or maybe that’s just the come-down.

“That was good.” Boba’s voice is a rumble that Luke can feel through the places they are pressed together. The steady jump of Boba’s pulse is calming against the bow of his lips and Luke closes his eyes to savor it.

Time gets away from him again, and somehow he’s been cleaned enough to stuff his legs into pants and a warm sweatshirt is pulled over his head. The black hood comes up, as good as blinders on a horse, and then he’s led out to where there are sofas and water and people speaking soft as a passing brook.

The lip of a water bottle is pressed to his mouth and Luke obediently drinks from it without thinking. Boba sits in a plush armchair and though he’s shorter than Luke, there’s so much of him that Luke can curl into his lap and disappear behind the safe, steel beams of his muscular arms. 

“Your boy did good out there,” Fennec says, dropping into a nearby seat and Boba’s agreement is another rumble for Luke to savor with his eyes closed. “I haven’t seen you two in months, I was surprised to see you came out for this.”

There’s a question in her words, a careful line to walk between curiosity and concern, that normally sends Luke into a tailspin in the outside world. Here, though, he isn’t Luke Skywalker: wounded veteran and broken hero. He’s a pet— Boba’s pet— and he lets his dom navigate the social interaction while he sinks deeper into his embrace.

To Boba’s credit, he makes no mention of the malaise that’s grabbed hold of Luke lately, pinning him to the bed and keeping him there for days. Instead he huffs a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe if Fortuna hadn’t turned this place into such a shithole we’d be over more.”

“Can’t argue with that. Say what you like about Jabba, but at least things weren’t always breaking on his watch. Did you hear about the ceiling that collapsed a month ago? When someone was in the sling, too.”

“Oh, shit.” Boba says and then they are off, trading gossip and wry quips. Luke is content to close his eyes and listen, secure that the only thing he needs to do is exactly what he’s doing right now. Every now and then Boba strokes his back through the thick cotton of his hoodie or turns to nuzzle at Luke’s temple, and every time Luke’s contentment spreads thick like molasses.

He surfs this subspace all the way back home where he lets Boba get him clean and dressed in pajama pants and poured into bed. The last thing he does is release the buckle on Luke’s collar and then, with one final squeeze to the scruff of Luke’s neck, the scene is over.

“How are you doing? Want me to grab the ibuprofen?”

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Luke answers, shifting so that the ache in his ass becomes a little more noticable. “Been awhile since I did anything like that.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Was proud of you, though.” There’s a chair by the bed and Boba sits there, staying close but careful to give Luke his space now that they’re done for the night. “That’s two more than the last time you took on a train.”

“Mmm,” Luke agrees lazily. The writing on his chest hadn’t totally come off in the bath, and he pushes his blanket down enough to trace the lines on his chest, lingering on the third one.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about with number three?”

Number three. He of the shiny latex mask and the deep brown eyes and the lips that Luke can almost feel against his own for how much he’d wanted them to be. It’s enough that he almost asks Boba to bring him his phone so that he can wait around like a lovelorn teen for a call or a text, but he’s still coasting enough on endorphins from earlier that he doesn’t want to completely tank his chance at sleep by keeping vigil over the glow of a phone screen all night.

“Not really,” Luke admits at last. “Wasn’t anything bad,” and Boba accepts that with a nod.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. Let me know if it becomes anything I need to worry about.”

“Always.”

Boba stands to leave, a lumbering swing to the motion that Luke knows means his prosthetic is giving him problems, but he knows better than to mention it. “Don’t worry about making breakfast tomorrow. Sleep in. I’m in meetings all morning, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay.”

When Luke closes his eyes, the ache from his over-used, well-fucked body is finally enough to quiet his demons. For once, sleep is swift as death, and just as inescapable.

[brunos-beloved]

I really love your Fugo x reader fics and I was wondering if I could maybe a request something a bit fluffy with a reader who has a crush on Fugo and really likes his stand and is really patient and gentle with Purple Haze and just wants to show him love to calm him down? Perhaps the reader has a stand that could handle the virus but maybe Fugo doesn't know that too much and is scared for their safety? Sorry if this isn't very clear, I know anything you do will be great though! 🥺❤

calm : fugo pannacotta x reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: gentle reader comforts Fugo through his anger.

(sorry i didn’t really include purple haze in this one, i kinda just had an idea and went with it)

—✧—

His anger didn’t make you uncomfortable, even in times maybe it should’ve. Fugo didn’t scare you, nor his stand, and you don’t think either of them ever could, even with a rage as seething and escalating as his. This was because despite his misgivings, you trusted and cared for him, all of him, and as you fought alongside Passione, those facts only seemed to grow more true.

“Fugo,” You grabbed his attention, using it as a way to warn him of your intervention. From earlier times you’d found the boy didn’t quite like being touched, mostly by surprise, the last time a curious hand had sneaked onto his shoulder nearly sent him reeling, a tight hand on your wrist in a millisecond, a fire in his eyes. But upon realizing it was just you, a person he trusted, the blonde settled, and apologized sheepishly. Although you hoped that this time, with warning and caution, he wouldn’t mind, or at least wouldn’t be so startled. The thought of someone rejecting your touch pained you, but leaving someone in need of comfort without even an offer was far more worrying. Reacting to your softly stern voice, the blonde looked your way, frustration still creasing his features. You held his eyes and pushed a palm onto his shoulder blade. Awaiting a harsh reaction that never came, you continued, and rubbed a small circle into his back. “You seem really stressed, this isn’t worth losing your head over.” Stress was a guess, the evidence the redness on the edge of his eyes and the bags that had settled underneath them. “Give it a rest and take a break alright?”

“But I...we weren’t even close to being finished this chapter. If I stop now-”

“Fugo, you need to stop now. You’re burnt out enough.” You sent him a small smile as he held onto your kind eyes. You were always so gentle towards him, Fugo wondered if he even deserved such treatment, then thought you probably just looked at everybody that way. You were soft, calm, and nearly always composed, everything he wasn’t. A soft hum brought him from his thoughts. “How about this...You take a break tonight, and if you really need to finish this chapter with Narancia I’ll finish it for you! Math was actually my best subject after all. I’ll probably even remember some of it...“ A broken smile made its way to Fugo’s lips, trying to imagine the two of you seriously studying Math together. Narancia was childish, and though you were quite mature he brought out the kindred spirit in you with his own childishness. He could see you teaching Narancia some things, but then quickly trailing off and suddenly Math Class became random tangents and bubbly discussion. Not much would get done, but at least something might. Fugo leaned into the table, an elbow down and a hand in his hair. The exhaustion that shone through his pose worried you to no end, and you let out a sigh. “I’d get you espresso, but you need sleep not caffeine.“

“It’s eight, I don’t think sleep is quite an option yet., madre” You narrowed your eyes at him, a hand still behind him, the expression would’ve made him chuckle if he hadn’t been so weighed down by the sudden fatigue. The moment he’d stopped yelling and chasing everything seemed to slowly crash within him.

“Tea it is then.“

Your determination knew no bounds. Though Fugo forced himself to remain awake, you brewed him a chamomile tea, and quite a strong one. Chamomile was a herb known for making yourself drowsy at night, a trick you used when sleep didn’t seem like an option. The night sky was still a navy blue, but began to descend into its usual rich black, the moon shining through. You’d dragged Fugo to the terrace along with a couple blankets, sharing an outdoor sofa there. With soothingly warm cups of tea in hand, the steam warming your cold noses, the two of you discussed topics of utmost importance. When Fugo started to drift the conversation over Narancia, you switched it to the origin of Chamomile, anger didn’t go nicely with sleep, which was your hidden goal in the end after all. Though you watched his violet eyes blink more and more often, watched his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, so did your own. And with passing time you realized Fugo’s determination to stay awake was much fiercer than your own. Despite everything though you continued on, chatting around and giggling about the tiny things the both of you were irritated by:

“His shoes? Really Fugo now you’re reaching-”

“He’s short enough to be an elf y/n how do you not see it!”

Trailing off and giving up on finding reason to such a statement, you burst into the chuckle you’d been trying to hold back. It seemed to Fugo, even something as innocent as Narancia’s shoes and height had become a problem. Though, you could tell it was not only lighthearted, but that Fugo had crossed the line of exhaustion where a person’s filter was completely lost and got rambly. But you didn’t miss the yawn that escaped him while you snickered at the diss. Your yawn followed his, and you stared into his violet eyes for a moment. The moonlight brushed his cheeks and ran through his hair, strawberry earrings swaying at the breeze.

“Are you tired?” You whispered, the trance broken between the two of you. He murmured something along the lines of not wanting to go the his room yet, though the dark tint under his eyes betrayed him. You hesitated, “You can lay down if you like,” The blonde rose a brow, quietly hoping the lack of room didn’t mean your departure. But when you patted your blanketed thighs he understood, blood rushing to his cheeks. “It’s almost a pillow, a lot more comfortable than sitting up.” You prayed, prayed he didn’t laugh or scoff. The pause made you nervous, but he replied before you could take back the offer.

“I couldn’t...Then you’d be sitting.” Fugo kicked himself for considering the offer and turning it over so many times in his mind. He wanted to, his tired back ached to, but Fugo wasn’t used to any kind of affection, and dejecting it seemed the easiest for his pride. But a smile rose to your kind face, and he was once again filled with uncertainty.

“I don’t mind, really. You look like you need it.” The expression on your face made his heart pound, the boy stared. Eventually Fugo sighed, and his frantic mind finally surrendered, the chamomile aiding his tired conscious to just accept it. He gulped and mumbled in agreement, slowly sinking into the comfort of your lap. Your own heart quickened at the sight, watching the tension leave the troubled teen. Your fingers hesitantly landed on his golden hair, running through the waves as the boy sighed in relief underneath your touch, you couldn’t help but smile and stare.

The night went on, the sky dark enough to show a fuller potential of its stars. You hummed, still running caring hands through Fugo’s hair. Your heart nearly sunk as he shifted, face looking up at you. He’d dozed off only ten minutes or so, the thought brought a small frown to your face. Though when he didn’t sit up, you heart rose again. After a bit of silence,

“Why are you so nice to me?” You were slightly taken aback, did you really need a reason to be? You supposed that was just how Fugo’s brain worked. Not being able to take without giving or losing and vice versa, you wondered if he always badgered himself for reasoning in scenarios that felt natural like this. Must everything follow rules, must everything have consequence? Your tired mind wished against it.

 “Because, I care about you, lots actually.” The raise in his brow and widened eyes made you heart throb, a blush settled on his cheeks again as you stroked his hair, a thumb brushing lightly across his freckles.

“Wh...why?” You almost chuckled at that.

“Well I was hoping you cared for me too but...” Before Fugo could panic at the supposed misunderstanding and sit up, you placed a hand on his chest. You couldn’t muster the words to explain yourself, at least not yet. You settled for holding his cheek, and leaving a peck on his temple. The action was performed as graceful as possible, as not to startle him, but on the inside you were practically vibrating. “Let’s sleep now, alright?” He seemed stunned, and you burned the cute expression into your memories before pulling away further, and leaning back into the arm of the chair. “Buona notte, Fugo.” You got a quiet response, but a response no less, falling asleep on the terrace with the boy you cherished and managed to soothe.

—✧—

[roman-writing]

bring home a haunting (1/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 11,511

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” - CS Lewis, Till We Have Faces

—

I: 1987

—

The sound of water sloshing through the pipes was a constant drone in the air. Dani stared at herself in the mirror. Her hand rested on the tap, holding it open. Steam crept in along the edges of the mirror as hot water continued to stream into the white porcelain bathroom sink, pale tendrils framing her face like smudged fingerprints against the glass. She was still dressed in pajamas, her hair a rumpled mess. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her face felt puffy and her stomach heavy, but above all else she just appeared tired.

There was movement behind her. The bathroom door opened and her head jerked up in surprise as the door frame squared around Eddie's tall silhouette. In the misted mirror, his glasses seemed to reflect all light, obscuring half his face in a gleam like the sun glancing across the surface of a windscreen.

His reflection smiled. "You still getting ready?" he asked. "We need to go in ten, if I'm giving you a ride to work."

Abruptly, Dani twisted the tap, cutting off the flow of water. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. No. I'll — I'll drive myself."

"You sure? I don't know if your poor little car will make it."

"No. It'll be fine," she assured him, trying to sound far more confident than she felt. Never mind that the local mechanic had given her a list of incomprehensible ills that plagued her car the last time she had taken it into the shop after it had broken down again. "Thanks, though."

"All right," he said, but still he did not turn to leave. "You know, I was thinking. We should probably sell it."

"Hmm?"

Dani had opened the mirror door to reveal a jumble of bottles and toothpaste and toothbrushes, only some of which were hers. She scouted around for what she was looking for. Even after a few weeks, everything still felt so displaced. She struggled to find the smallest item these days, be it her favorite sauce pan or a bottle of — oh, there it was.

"Your car," Eddie was saying behind her. "Don't you think we should sell it? We don't really need two. Not now that we're living together."

Dani froze with her hands cupped in the water of the sink. She could see her own reflection weaving and waving from the disturbance until her face looked disjointed. Like some sort of Picasso. An eye here. A jaw there. Scattered into separate chambers.

Without answering, she leaned down and splashed her face, rubbing at her cheeks until a foam lathered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Well?" Eddie asked.

She bought herself a moment by rinsing the suds from her face and reaching blindly for a towel that she had perched on a nearby rail for just that very purpose. When she spoke, her voice was muffled through the cloth, "I don't know. I just think —" She lowered the towel and wiped at her neck. "Wouldn't it be inconvenient? You having to drive me around everywhere?"

In the mirror, his outline shrugged. "I don't mind. More time spent with you, right?"

She offered him a weak smile, drying her hands and folding the towel neatly back on its rack. “You’re sweet,” she said. “But really. I mean — What if I need to pick up groceries on the way back from the school? Or what if I want to visit your mother? Or —?”

“All right. All right. You win,” he laughed, softly. He came up behind her, hands settling on her waist, gentle but heavy all the same. “Just think about it. Okay?”

The steam at the edges of the mirror had begun to fade, and Eddie’s features came into sharp relief. Looking at their reflection was like looking at the picture in their living room where they were posed for prom. Eddie’s hands clasped at her waist, and Dani still with that deer in the headlights smile. It was almost perfect. It was almost enough. Being a fresh-faced fiancée. Wearing rumpled pink pajamas. Living together. Watching a life unfold before her as though it belonged to someone else.

She shrank away from him in order to turn around. “I should finish getting ready,” she said. 

He let her go but leaned down for a kiss. Instead, his glasses bumped the side of her face. Laughing, she pushed the glasses up his nose as he retreated with a wince. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Her hand was still lingering on the side of his face — scratch of stubble beneath her fingertips — and Eddie pressed a brief kiss to her palm before striding from the bathroom. Dani stood there, clutching her hand back to her chest, listening to his retreating footsteps down the hall. Something curdled in her stomach, though she hadn’t eaten anything yet this morning. She passed it off as hunger instead of guilt. 

Eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching into a fist at her sternum, Dani inhaled a deep steadying breath. Then, opening her eyes once more, she turned back towards the mirror and reached for a hairbrush. 

—

The coffee in the teacher’s lounge was always dark as sin and tasted of battery acid. Dani pulled on the tap, filling up her styrofoam cup until her hand burned and she had to hold it gingerly from the top with her fingertips. Enough creamer followed so that the coffee resembled milk more than the original brew. She tested it with a sip, crinkled her nose, and added sugar until it was barely palatable. It would still strip paint in a pinch, but it would also keep her going throughout the day. 

With a resigned sigh, she carried the coffee over to the round table in the back corner of the lounge, where her piles of notes and textbooks waited. The binders sported multi-colored tongues, every section marked with a tab and her broad loopy handwriting, and there was a satchel of pens and markers in every hue under the sky. Taking a sip of her cup of paint thinner, Dani pulled out a plain black pen. She trailed her thumb down the tabs until she reached the desired section, and flipped open to the correct page. There, she began to record her meticulous notes. She would pause every so often to flip through a textbook and double-check some figure or another that she had convinced herself she had forgotten.

The lounge was mostly empty but for her. It was still an early hour, even for her colleagues. Here, she felt like she could actually work. Back home she would inevitably feel like she had gotten in the way. Not of Eddie. Not usually. Though sometimes he would wander over to the table while she was trying to arrange a lesson plan and distract her with talk of banalities that always made her hand slip, that always made her lose her place on the page. Other times he would complain about how her work sprawled and took over the whole dining room.

Mostly it was the house itself. Still so fresh and new and clean, walls pressing in like a stomach lining. Spreading all her work notes out felt like she was intruding upon the space of the napkins and cutlery. As though all of the items people had bought them for their engagement were more at home there than she was. A house of cardboard boxes. Of clothes. Of china. Stuff. Things. Their things. 

Dani’s writing had slowed. She shook her head briskly and straightened in her seat. Another sip of fortifying turpentine, and she was scribbling away again. 

“Enjoy the summer holiday?”

Dani glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice. Hannah Grose, seamlessly elegant in a wine-dark skirt suit, stood with her hand on the back of one of the chairs around the little table. 

A smile broke across Dani’s face, and she said, “Yeah! And you?” She gestured towards the chair with her pen, adding, “Please.”

“Not much to report on the western front.” Hannah sat, delicately leaning her elbow upon the table so as not to disturb the sprawl of Dani’s notes. “But I hear that’s not the case in your camp. Congratulations are in order.” 

Dani could feel her cheeks strain with the effort of keeping her smile in place. “Thanks!”

“Well?” Hannah asked, her eyes agleam with warm curiosity. “Go on then. How did he propose?” 

“Which time?” Dani joked half-heartedly. When Hannah gave a little huff of laughter, Dani said, “No, seriously. He’s been asking me to marry him since we were kids.” 

“Well, congratulations,” Hannah said. “Do you have a date planned? Or is that still in the works?”

Dani fiddled with the pen between her fingers, repeatedly removing the cap and sticking it back on with a nervous jab. The plastic clacked dully against the unfamiliar band of gold around her finger. “Oh, no. Not yet. We — uh — we’re going to wait a bit. Eddie just started his new job, and I’ve — well. You’re the one who asked me to teach sixth grade this year. And I’m excited, but also I feel so unprepared for a whole classroom of twelve year olds.” 

“Don’t be nervous, dear,” Hannah said, and though her tone was soothing her small smile was teasing. “They can smell fear.”

Dani’s laugh was slightly too breathy and too short to be heartfelt. “Oh, I know. It’s just —” She made a flighty gesture with one hand, “— getting a new batch in. It’s always a little nerve wracking. There are so many names to memorize in the first week. And sorting out the dynamics of them all, how they interact, and — well, you know.”

“No, I don’t. Not really, anyway,” Hannah said. “I came up the ranks through an administrative route. Never had any classroom time to speak of.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Dani said.

Hannah gave Dani’s notes a nudge with her elbow. “What was it you were just telling me about the trials and tribulations of homeroom?”

This time when Dani laughed, it was far more relaxed. “The kids are the best part. Really. That’s why you do it.”

Hannah gave her a knowing look. “Yes. And that’s why I hired you.”

“Have I thanked you for that, yet?”

“Only once a year for three years.”

“My next gift basket is in the mail tomorrow, then,” Dani joked.

“Hang the basket and bring me a slice from the cafe instead.”

“With coffee?” Dani asked, grinning when Hannah wrinkled her nose at the idea. “You got it, boss.”

“Tea,” said Hannah primly, “is perfectly serviceable. Thank you. It’s eight thirty, by the way.”

Dani’s eyes widened and she checked her watch to find that Hannah was, in fact, correct. “Oh, shoot!” Hastily, she scraped together the loose papers, shuffling them back into their notebook. Tucking it beneath one arm, she snatched up her styrofoam cup and made a dash for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Grose.” 

“Don’t forget to bring back a receipt for the slice!” Hannah called after her. “You must let me pay you back this time!”

“Put it on my next remuneration review!”

—

The kids were all filing into class, and Dani was hesitating at the blackboard. She held the tip of a piece of chalk against the dark grain. Her hand had frozen on the final downward stroke of the 'M' when she thought — should it still be 'Miss'? 'Ms.'? What were the rules?

The sounds of children jabbering away behind her, chairs scraping, things being thrown, urged her into action, and Dani wrote the name she had always written before turning around.

"All right, let's settle down, please." She waited until twenty-five faces were turned towards her in relative silence — as good as she could hope for given the circumstances — before smiling. Then, she set aside the chalk and picked up a clipboard full of names. "Hi, everyone. I'm Miss Clayton. Welcome to homeroom. Let's go through names. Make sure everyone's here."

It was the same, she told herself even as she meticulously took roll. How different could a bunch of twelve year olds be to her usual ten year olds? She even recognized one or two names from when she had taught a previous class. One of her former students waved at her from the back of a row of desks, and Dani smiled in return.

She skimmed right over the roll call and into the first introductions to the year. It happened so fast, that she hardly even registered a familiar looking name on the list. The boy in question merely raised his hand upon his name being called out, and Dani forged on to the next. With so many new faces to memorize, she did not even pause to mull over the presence of a Michael Taylor in her class. There were too many of them. Always too many. She never could keep track. Always remembering faces, but never names. Maybe if there were fewer of them, she thought. Maybe if they were younger. 

They never were.

—

Even after two weeks back in the classroom, the bell ringing never failed to make Dani jump slightly. She nearly dropped her chalk from where she was drawing on the blackboard. Already behind her she could hear the scrape of chairs and the excited babble at the arrival of the weekend. 

Setting down the chalk, Dani turned around and began wiping her hands against her skirt. She had to lift her voice to be heard. “All right everyone, don’t forget your permission slips for a trip to the community library! If you don’t bring back a signed form, you won’t be able to go, and you’ll have to stay here! And, Michael? Can you stay behind for a minute, please? I want to talk to you.”

Michael’s head whipped around at the sound of his name. A few other students shot him odd glances and his shoulders crept up around his ears. He shoved his books and notes into his bag — a dark blue canvas with silver stars that looked like they’d been painstakingly drawn on — then slouched at his desk until the others had all left. 

Sitting behind her own desk, Dani brushed at the chalk handprints on her skirt — she was always a mess by the end of a school week; chalk everywhere — and gestured for Michael to come closer. He hesitated before pushing himself upright and walking forward until he stood in front of her desk. His brow was furrowed but his head was bowed, looking contrite, as though waiting for some sort of reprimand.  

Dani gentled her voice. “Michael, I just wanted to -"

"Mikey."

She blinked, faltering. "I'm sorry?"

"My name," he said very firmly for someone who stood with such a stoop. "It’s Mikey. I don’t like Michael."

With a smile, Dani said, "Of course. Mikey. You’re not in trouble. I promise.” With a light tap of her palms against the surface of the desk, she pulled out a piece of paper from atop one of the stacks and slid it towards him across her desk. “This is your homework from Monday. Do you remember this problem here? Number eleven?”

Shrugging at the weight of his backpack, he nodded. 

“Well, I kind of messed up,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward as though revealing a secret. “And I copied this problem from the wrong section of the book. The back section of the book, I mean. Most of the others didn’t even try to answer it, and those that did got it wrong. Except —” Dani tapped a finger against the edge of the page, “— for you.” 

Mikey did not say anything. His gaze remained dropped, as though he were studying his shoes.

“Do you know what this ‘x’ is?” Dani asked, pointing to the math problem in question.

Mikey shook his head. “No. I thought it was like a question mark?” 

“Yeah.” Dani smiled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He glanced up at her, saw her watching him, and then hastily lowered his eyes again, shuffling his feet. 

Leaning her weight on her forearms, Dani said, “I know you’re a transfer student this year, and you came from somewhere out of state. Did your other schools teach you algebra by any chance?”

Again, he shook his head. 

“Okay.” She ducked her head down in an attempt to look into his eyes. “I told you: you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to know — do you like math? Because it seems to me you’re really good at it.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack. “Can I go now?”

Dani toyed with the edge of the page of homework. Then with a sigh she leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, you can go. Have a good weekend.” 

He murmured some pleasantry in response, but in the next moment he was gone from the room so fast she thought she must have imagined it. For a moment, Dani frowned after him. She pulled his homework towards herself, studying the page. Mikey’s handwriting was cramped and messy, but there was no mistaking the fact that he had written every answer only once. There were no eraser marks to be seen. He even showed the steps he took to reach his answers. 

Her thumb traced over his name at the top right hand corner. Then, with a little shake of her head, she set the page back atop the stack of other papers and began to clean up. 

Even after the kids had mostly left, there were always a few stragglers left behind. Some trotted through the halls in packs on their way to whatever extracurricular activities their parents had signed them up for. Dani kept the door to her classroom open, and the squeak of their shoes echoed down the corridor along with the sound of their fading voices. Tilting her wrist to check the time, she pulled out the latest round of homework assignments that had been handed back to her earlier that day. The set she hadn’t had a chance to mark yet. 

Best to just get it done with now. Her car was clinging to the last vestiges of life and had landed itself back in the workshop earlier that week. She would be here a while until Eddie got off work. 

She grabbed a red pen and pulled the first page towards her. The pen flicked officiously as she scanned through the questions, barely pausing until she circled the final grade at the top and set the page aside in favor of the next. And so on. And so forth. It was almost relaxing. As relaxing as a known constant could be. She could always rely upon the dependability of homework that needed grading. Just like she could rely upon the dependability of death and taxes.

She glanced up only rarely from her work whenever a flurry of movement flitted across the corners of her vision. A bird darting from a tree branch here. A janitor sweeping the floors there. Dani paused to push her seat back from the desk and make small talk, asking after the janitor's wife and kids until he shuffled along with a wave, pushing his long-handled broom, which looked more like a breed of shaggy dog than a cleaning implement. She had almost finished grading the stack of papers, when she glanced out the window towards the street. She looked back down at the papers, then did a double take.

That was a student sitting on the curb. She recognized that blue backpack with silver stars. Dani checked the time again. Nearly four in the afternoon now. With a hum and a frown, she returned to grading, but her gaze would wander after each finished page back towards the window.

Finally, she capped the pen and set it down atop the finished stack of papers. She would need to enter those grades into the system later, but that could wait. For now, Dani swept everything into her bag before slinging it over one shoulder. Her keys jangled from their lanyard as she locked up and made her way outside.

Mikey was still crouched on the sidewalk when she approached. Her shoes clacked dully against the pavement, and he turned to look over his shoulder at who was approaching him.

Dani smiled brightly. "Hi!" she said. "You’re still here?"

Mikey nodded, but gave no verbal reply. Some sort of magazine was hanging loosely from his fingers, half open and tucked between his legs as though he had been caught red-handed.

Setting her bag down on the ground, she sat beside him and craned her neck to get a look at the cover he was clearly trying to hide. "Wonder Woman, huh?"

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he refused to look anywhere near her direction.

"You know," Dani said. "I used to wait up at night to catch all the episodes of the show as they were airing. The Lynda Carter ones? You ever watch it?"

His eyes were wide when he finally turned to look at her. He nodded. "Yeah. I love that show."

"I recorded them all," Dani confided in a whisper, as though the two of them were in on a secret. "Still have them on tape at home, though I haven't watched them in forever."

"My sister gets annoyed when I rewatch stuff too often," Mikey said. He had straightened his legs, and now the comic book was sprawled across his bony knees to reveal a few inked pages.

She nodded towards the thin paper booklet. "I never read the comics, though. Are they any fun?"

It was like opening flood gates. Suddenly, she found herself being regaled about the entire publication history of Wonder Woman, while Mikey gestured wildly with the comic so that the loose pages rustled with every motion of his hands. His face came alight when he spoke. Dani listened with amusement. She perched an elbow on her knees and propped her chin on her hand, nodding along, asking appropriate questions. Once she asked what was obviously a dumb question, for he made a face and explained her error in great detail.

The early autumnal sun was slanting through the trees by the time a boxy silver sedan rolled up to the other side of the street. Dani could see a familiar mop of dark hair and the gleam of glasses through the windows. The car puttered to a halt, engine idling, and Eddie pressed down on the steering wheel so that the horn blared briefly. 

Dani waved in his direction and said to Mikey, “That’s my ride. Are you going to be okay out here?” She glanced down the street for any approaching cars. “Someone’s coming to pick you up, right?”

In answer, he held up the issue of Wonder Woman. “It’s okay, Miss Clayton. My sister will be here soon.”

“Okay, then,” said Dani. Slapping her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to her feet, bag hanging from one shoulder. She walked towards the car with a smile and a wave back at Mikey. “I’ll see you next week!”

He did not answer. He was already nose-deep in his comic book again. Shaking her head with a small chuckle, Dani continued towards where Eddie was waiting for her, tapping at the dashboard. It wasn’t until her hand was on the chromed door handle that she finally registered what Mikey had said. 

A sister. He had a sister. At first she’d thought — well, a sister who got annoyed with a brother who hogged the television set would surely be a younger sister. But a sister who drove to pick him up from school was definitely not a younger sister. 

“Danielle, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice made her jerk half out of her skin. She hadn’t even realized he had rolled down the window. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Yeah. Can you just - Can you wait a second? I’ll be —I’ll be just a second.” 

Dani shoved her bag through the open window into her seat, then whirled around and marched back across the street. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She could feel the bite of her short nails into her palms. Something acidic boiled in her stomach, twisting it into knots, until she stood over Mikey, struggling to find her voice. 

“You said you had a sister?” she asked. “An older sister? And — And your last name is Taylor?” 

Looking puzzled, Mikey shrugged. “Yeah?” 

This was impossible. There was no way. For a long moment, Dani stared at him, his brown hair, his brown eyes, his narrow shoulders, the almost familiar shape of his nose and face. 

Dani cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “And what — uh — what’s her name?” 

With a quizzical frown up at her, Mikey turned a page of his comic book to where Wonder Woman was punching stars from one of her foes. “My sister?” he asked, as if it were the most bizarre question in the world. “Jamie. Her name’s Jamie.” 

“Right,” Dani breathed, feeling like she’d just received a blow to the space beneath her ribcage. “Right. Of course. Sorry. I’ll just — Bye.” 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back towards the waiting car. She willed her breathing to even out, even as she felt something coil around her sternum and tighten with every step. Yanking open the door, Dani slipped into the car. She pushed her bag down to her feet and pulled the door shut behind her. 

“Everything good?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Dani lied, her voice sounding oddly high even to her own ears. It was difficult to swallow; her throat felt too tight. A rush of blood flooded through her ears in a deafening crash. She stared fixedly at the reflection of her own clenched hands in the slanted windshield, willing them to relax even as her knuckles went whiter. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” 

And Eddie didn’t question it at all. He merely shrugged, put the car into gear, and drove away.

—

It stayed with her afterwards. Like a bruise upon her skin, blue and purple, tender to the touch. That cloying sense of the air too thick. Molasses on a hot summer day, the dark shadow that clung to her heels in sunlight, haunting her every step. She couldn’t breathe with it, couldn’t escape it.

Jamie. Jamie, here. Jamie, home.

Somehow Eddie didn’t notice. It completely passed him by, the way her eyes darted around as they stopped to pick up groceries, her clenched fists held tightly to her sides, consumed with the uneasy notion that she might turn around the corner and Jamie would appear, as if summoned by the gravity of Dani’s pounding heart. 

It should’ve been easy — like most things eventually — locking it away. Erasing it. She had managed now for years, days, months. Except now the very thought of Jamie being so near again, so tangible again, made her somehow indelible. As if she’d always been there. Waiting. As if she’d never gone. It felt altogether at once like being peeled and stripped away, down to an exposed nerve. 

Dani wished she could say she slept easy that night. Instead, after spending much of the witching hour staring at the ceiling, she finally succumbed to the sound of Eddie’s soft snores, his arm splayed across her waist, only to wake up feeling as if she'd been cracked open and hollowed out. Somehow, in between the moments of stumbling out of bed and driving up to the blue bungalow across town with Eddie in the small rental truck behind her, Dani managed to go through the motions of call and response. Her limbs moving, her mouth speaking all of their own accord, and she could only watch it happening. She pulled on the turn signal. The click of the light like an errant drip of a tap. It was only when she was cutting the engine to stare up at the house that was once hers, that something tightened in her chest, shunting her back to earth. 

Carson met them by the front steps where he sat in his studded leather jacket that he wore regardless of the weather, two takeout cups in hand. 

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled, standing and offering one of the cups to Eddie who reached him first. “Thought I was gonna have to drink these myself before they got cold.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, taking the cup. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he drawled before helping himself inside the house without a backwards glance, taking a long sip from his cup.

Carson stared after him for a moment before turning to Dani with a smirk, and said, “Someone’s in a mood.”

Managing a chuckle, Dani folded her arms around herself. “Yeah, he uh, he’s just eager to get it done, you know? Realtor wants the place empty by three today.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, holding out the last cup, his smirk softening to something kinder. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking it. The brush of his fingers against hers was warm and welcome. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure, I did,” he responded with a shrug, and nudged her to take a drink, “Go on.”

At the first sip of what Dani had thought was coffee was instead a sweet and rich hot chocolate. Her eyes went wide. 

Carson laughed at the expression on her face. “Thought you could use a little something sweet today.”

She smiled at him over the plastic top and took another longer sip. “Thank you,” she said, “For coming. You didn’t need to, but —”

“— You needed some extra muscle, which I’ve plenty of.” His grin seemed rueful. There lingered in Carson more of the boyish youth that Dani had seen in Eddie so many years ago. He wasn’t as gangly or as broad-shouldered as his older brothers, but he was always, without fail, a comforting presence in an otherwise rowdy O’Mara household. 

“And yet none of your other brothers showed up, I see,” Dani said. 

“Yeah, well,” Carson shrugged against his leather jacket, hands stuck into the pockets. “Guess, I’m just the only responsible one.” 

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you best.” 

He winked and lowered his voice. “Don’t let Eddie hear you say that.”

With a snort, Dani reached out and ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair so that it more resembled Eddie’s unruly curls. He ducked his head and swatted her away with a whine of complaint. She laughed when he stepped away to carefully fix his hair in the reflection of her car window. 

“You leave your pomade at home again?” Dani teased. “Thought you never left without it.”

She could just make out his face in the reflection, nose scrunching up as he raked his fingers through his dark hair until it was suitably tamed. The door of the house one over opened, and a young man strode out, wearing a bathrobe and clutching a mug of coffee. Immediately Carson straightened, as though he’d been tapped with the wrong end of a cattle prod.

Dani waved. “Hi, Jason!” 

Her neighbor lifted a desultory hand while he fumbled with his letterbox. “Last day?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep.

“Taking the last of it now,” she said. 

Jason shut the letterbox and scooped up the newspaper that had been tossed onto his lawn earlier that morning. “Let me know if you need an extra hand.” 

“I should be all right. That’s what Carson’s for.” She gestured with her hot chocolate towards Carson, who had his hands jammed back into his pockets and was now leaning against her car with an odd expression on his face.

Jason glanced over and nodded, no more than a jerk of his chin up, before walking back into his house with the newspaper tucked under one arm. The muscles in Carson’s jaw were clenched, standing out like the ropes of a sailing ship. 

After the door to Jason’s house had swung shut, Dani asked, “I thought you two were friends?”

Carson grunted a wordless note. “We had a falling out a few months ago. Anyway —” He turned on his heel, grin back in place, and started making his way towards her house. “Show me the heavy stuff. Come on!”  

By the time they first made their way inside, Eddie was already hauling out boxes filled with her things. The tops and sides of each cardboard box had been painstakingly labelled in Dani’s hand, the letters neat and blocky. Carson slipped by Eddie with an exaggerated pose as if squeezing through a tight space as they passed one another in the door. Eddie paused, arms laden, and turned his face to Dani while she climbed the steps leading up to the entryway. The extra step allowed her to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and, mollified, he continued on his way towards the truck. Once inside, she found that Carson was already heaving an armchair up with his hands. She moved out of the way so he could trot after his older brother, leaving her momentarily alone.

The house was bare. Most of her things had already been carted away the week before. The transition into their new shared home had been gradual, just like everything else in their relationship. Eddie settling in first and coaxing Dani along as though she were a particularly nervous show dog that had slipped the collar. Looking around now, hands on her hips, Dani felt like an intruder. Like she was an archaeologist who had wandered into someone else's burial site with a rusty torch and hammer.

It almost looked bigger now that it was so empty. Her footsteps echoed too loud on the wooden floors, the sound traveling further and longer. The bare walls once peppered with paintings and photos now like a skeleton expanding its ribs, waiting to expel her in one long sunken breath. Her thumb gradually drifted to her mouth as she took it all in, biting hard at her nail and skin, fixedly eyeing the spot where once a small reading nook used to be. 

The sound of footsteps behind her was harsh and loud to her ears. “Hey, what did I tell you about that?” Eddie said from beside her suddenly, his hand gently pulling Dani’s away from her mouth.

She swallowed heavily and pulled her hand carefully back to hold into a fist by her side, and said, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just —”

“I don’t like you hurting yourself,” he said, frowning. She couldn’t help but let her shoulders slump at the concern in his eyes, and only managed to give him a tenuous smile and a nod. “Look, we’re almost done. Soon we’ll be out of here in no time and we can finally just focus on our home. Just let me and Carson do all the hard work.”

“I can help,” Dani said. “I want to help.”

He sighed. “Danielle -”

“I have my inhaler in the car. I won’t keel over and die,” Dani said.

“Hey, Ed, buddy, what happened to that deadline, huh?” Carson said, leaning heavily on the wall and pointing behind him to the kitchen, “You gonna help me with this thing or not?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and briefly placed a hand on her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen with muttered grumbling. Dani grinned after him before catching Carson’s eyes, chuckling and shaking her head as he winked at her before following Eddie.

“Gotta give her a minute to breathe, Ed.” Carson’s voice was soft, but still Dani heard it all the same and wrapped her arms tight around herself. 

Clearing her throat, she strode off in the direction of her old bedroom. The bed had been taken away and put in their new spare bedroom for guests who might come to visit. The carpet still bore indentations from where the posts had once sat. Eddie had already been in here; the boxes were gone. Dani glanced around for any last remaining items that might have been forgotten. The closet door was slightly awry, and with a frown she pulled it fully open. There was a single wire coat hanger hooked on the bar that stretched across the closet. Her hand reached out to take it, when she froze.

There, tucked away into the corner beneath one of the built in shelves, was a small wooden box. She could hardly remember the last time she had seen it, let alone opened it. A layer of dust covered the top. Kneeling down, Dani pulled the box out and into her lap. She blew the dust off and had to wipe a bit more with the edge of her sleeve. It was made of plain wood with a bronze latch fastening the lid shut. Her thumb teased the corner of the latch. She worried her lower lip between her teeth before steeling herself and lifting the lid open on squeaky hinges.

Nestled inside were a series of photographs, faded with age. Something clenched in her chest as she touched the first one with trembling fingers.

She and Jamie looked so young, and they were. Barely fifteen. Jamie's arm flung around her shoulder, arm outstretched to snap the photo while she pressed a kiss to Dani's cheek even as Dani laughed and elbowed her ribs. Swallowing down the urge to be sick, she slipped the photo aside to see the next. Jamie was younger still. Her arms were outstretched as she balanced her weight on the narrow steel bar of the abandoned train tracks beyond the fields that surrounded the town. Dani could remember the day she took this with crystal clarity. The days of summer in those years had been longer somehow, stretching on into warm endless nights. 

She was a furtive grave robber, flicking through picture after picture, exhuming a past that she hardly recognized herself in now. And pictures weren’t all that were stored here. There was a band shirt that had been half eaten by moths over years of neglect. An old Zippo lighter with scratched edges along the chrome plating. A necklace that was actually just a worn old half dollar coin pierced through and hung from a cheap chain. A cassette tape labelled Jamie’s Mixtape (1978) in a messy slanted scrawl, long missing its protective case. And finally, an old battered copy of Valley of the Dolls, where if she were to flick it open, she would find a pressed blue morning glory hidden among the pages. 

She gently ran her hand over them, still trembling as if the living memories within the treasure trove thrummed under her skin with its own heartbeat. 

In the distance, she could hear footsteps and the back and forth between Carson and Eddie in the living room as they manoeuvred a couch through the front door. When the footsteps drew closer, approaching down the hall, Dani hurriedly stuffed everything back into the box and shut the lid. 

Carson leaned in the doorway. At some point he had shed his leather jacket, so that now he only wore a white undershirt that was two sizes too small, tucked into his jeans. “You good here? We’ve loaded the last of it into the truck.”

“Yeah,” Dani said. She pushed herself upright, clutching the box to her chest as though it were an heirloom. “Yeah, that's everything.” 

His eyebrows rose and he nodded towards the box. “What do you got there?” 

Dani’s grip tightened. She could feel the grooves of the box pressing into her skin. “Nothing important.” 

—

Dani went about her routine on edge. At the supermarket, gripping the shopping cart between her hands and turning down the different aisles. At the gas station, stepping out of her beat up old car to work the pump. At the school, peering out the window at all the parents dropping off their kids in the parking lot. At the local cafe nearest the elementary school, picking up a newspaper and a slice for Hannah. Hoping for a glimpse of Jamie and dreading any encounter with her all at once.

Except Jamie never appeared. And Mikey sat at the back of the class, doodling in his notebook, not paying attention but knowing all the answers regardless whenever Dani called on him to participate. She could always see him after school sitting on the curbside and reading a new comic issue, or thumbing through a book from the paltry school library or scratching at his homework with a pencil. Not once did Dani loiter long enough to see him get picked up, and she felt a stab of irritation that he should be left alone for so long. But it wasn’t her business, and he got along well enough with the other kids during recess. 

Dani was still stewing silently over the whole affair at dinner with her future in-laws. She sat at the dining table, chewing at the skin of her thumb, with Carson at one elbow and Eddie at the next. Mike, Judy’s soft-spoken stooping husband, sat at the head of the table, while Judy herself set the last of the platters down and invited everyone to tuck in. 

“How’re the kids this year?” Judy asked as she spooned peas onto her plate. 

Dani made a noise in the back of her throat, before lowering her hand into her lap. “Yeah, they’re great! I — uh — I actually have a transfer student.”

Judy made a sound to indicate that she was still listening even while she passed a platter across the table to Eddie. 

“He’s really smart,” Dani continued. “I don’t really know what to do with him. He — well, he always looks a bit bored, to be honest.”

“Don’t they have some sort of advanced program for kids like that?” Mike asked. He had already tucked into the food even though his plate was only half full. 

“I’d need to talk to the parent or guardian first,” Dani said, her stomach flipping at the thought. The peas had made their way around the table to her now, and she slowly scraped the last of them onto an available corner of her plate. Swallowing heavily, Dani concentrated hard on the steady movements of her hands, and said, “Judy, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of anyone new coming to town?” 

Judy’s mouth was full. She frowned thoughtfully as she chewed, and swallowed before answering. “No, I haven’t, now that you mention it. I’ll have to ask around the ladies at the book club if they’ve seen anyone.” 

Any hope Dani might have nursed of learning something new about Jamie’s presence in town flickered out like a snuffed candle. “Thanks,” she said, already feeling the conversation wander towards other topics. “Can you pass the salt, Carson?”

—

Sitting here in her Sunday best with Eddie’s warm hand in hers and a book of hymns in the other, Dani was sandwiched in the pew between her fiancé and her mother. Karen smelled sharply of cheap mall perfume, her dress pressing in tight on her ribs. The priest’s voice echoed from his place declaming near the altar, but Dani wasn’t listening. She was too preoccupied with the way her heart pounded in her chest, the clench of her stomach and the restless nerves that someone might have seen her. 

She hadn’t planned on going to the movies yesterday, not at first. Not until she had seen the ad in Saturday’s morning paper, an art house theater two towns over advertising a one-time showing of Desert Hearts. It had caused such a stir in the community a few years ago that any curiosity Dani had felt toward it had died and shriveled up inside of her. Yet her Saturday afternoon had been free, and Eddie had been mercifully busy after helping her move the last of her things. 

And now Dani sat in the same church she’d been going to her entire life, feeling like a marionette whose mouth was puppetted by invisible strings as she joined the others in song. The priest leading them through a hymn wasn’t the same man who baptized Dani as an infant. The bench she was sitting on wasn’t the same she sat in week after week. The woman on her right was virtually nonexistent. The man’s hand she was holding loosely in her left wasn’t the same man who she grew up with, he wasn’t the boy who asked her again and again to marry him. 

This Dani, this new Dani, lied to her fiancé and drove an hour out of town the day before with a whispered prayer on her tongue for her car to just hold on for once, for just one more day to see a film that left her blushing scarlet and her stomach dropping not uncomfortably, sitting alone in the dark with a carton of untouched popcorn. This Dani would return to her car, and her first thought would turn to whether this would be the kind of movie Jamie would have picked as her choice of their weekly film showing — knowing immediately that the answer would be 'yes.’ And just as abruptly as the thought appeared, she promptly squashed the idea of even contemplating such a question. 

Dani’s voice faltered, wavering over the words as a flash of guilt washed over her when the heat returned to her skin. She looked up at the cross, hanging on the back wall over the priest’s head, and glanced furtively at Eddie to see where he was in the verse, praying no one had seen her stumble. When service finally ended, and the ritualistic gossip on the front steps had been entertained, she allowed herself to be led outside. Eddie’s hand was warm and steady, completely enveloping her own, pulling her to the warm air where it finally felt like she was able to breathe again. 

She felt a heady rush of relief when her mom begged off brunch, claiming to suffer from a headache as she walked to her car with a half-hearted wave. Relieved two-fold when Eddie needed to run off to the office for preliminary work for Monday, kissing her on the cheek in a goodbye that she barely registered before rushing off to his car. Until she was only left with Judy. 

“So,” Judy asked, and for a brief terrifying moment Dani thought she might know, she might have finally seen her. In the end though all Judy said was: “How about that lunch?” 

Judy linked their arms, pulling her in close until all Dani could do was smile and say, “Lead the way.”

The bistro Judy directed them to was relatively new, Dani had passed it multiple times over the last couple weeks but had never actually gone in, always driving by with casual curiosity and a bemused but charmed smile at the name: A Batter Place. 

“You’re gonna love it,” Judy said, guiding Dani in with an arm linked in her own, “Their macaroons are to die for.”

Gamely, Dani smiled along to Judy’s enthusiasm as Judy pointed to various fixtures of the restaurant, steadily ignoring the strain building in the back of her neck. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Judy made her nervous. There were too many good intentions behind her warm eyes and her warm hugs, always with her hands full of containers of hearty food, always holding on a little longer than Dani expected, like she was afraid Dani would drift away. Judy, she knew, at least cared. 

Perhaps that was why, after settling in their seats and ordering their lunch, Dani hid her hands under the table, fingers trembling as they picked at the skin of her thumb. 

“So, how have you been, honey?” Judy asked over her cup of coffee, smiling that kind, good-intentioned smile. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you since school started up again.”

A small pressure valve released in Dani’s chest, and she finally allowed herself a real smile. “I’ve been keeping busy, and well — you know how it is with a new school year. This year especially is different.”

“Because of the higher grade?”

“Right. And I just — I want things to be perfect, you know?” Dani said, and chuckled ruefully, “Though twenty-five twelve year olds will certainly be a challenge.”

This she could manage. This she could at least be grateful for, the way Judy allowed the conversation to steer towards something that filled Dani with a sense of purpose, smiling proudly at her over the din of conversation around them with no mention of Eddie or long overdue wedding planning. 

Judy took a pointed sip of her coffee. “Well, I know you like the challenge, but you can’t forget to take care of yourself,” she said, her lips pulling into a familiar smile. One to be used when nearing a cornered animal. Dani’s stomach sank, when Judy continued, “Now, I know you and Eddie need time to get used to living together, doing all the things couples have to learn to do alone but, you don’t have to steer clear of the house forever. I know we all recently just had dinner together but —”

Dani glanced away. 

“— You could come over at any time. Like yesterday! What were you up to yesterday? I would have made lasagna for you.”

“Oh, uh —” Dani gave a nervous breathy chuckle, hoping to hide the grimace at the memory of the two women who had stared brazenly at her when she had exited the art house theater yesterday, Dani in her too bright blouse and high jeans, looking frazzled and out of place. She took a long sip of her coffee, hoping to hide the same feeling under her skin now. “You know. Busy.”

Judy waved her explanation away with that same smile. “Oh, well, never mind that. It doesn’t matter now. There’s always next weekend,” she said, and her hand reached over to clasp Dani’s before she could hide it again. “I’m just hoping I get more time to spend with my favorite future daughter-in-law before things get too crazy. Wedding planning and teaching a class of twenty-five kids is one thing, but thinking about raising a baby is another.”

A moment passed before Dani could process the words. A baby. Of course. 

“Oh,” was all Dani managed to say, a polite smile frozen on her face as Judy’s grip on her hand tightened in a way that anyone else would have found comforting. The hand that Dani so wanted to pull away, to press against her chest. A pressure building inside her ribs, pulling her skin taught and straining at the edges. A ringing in her ears that sounded more and more like the whistle of a tea kettle or the whine of an over-revved engine. 

She was only saved by the grace of their food arriving, the pressure abating to something manageable as Judy freed Dani’s hand to make room for their plates. It gave Dani the opportunity to down half of her coffee, hot enough to scald, and to clench a fist under the table, her nails pressing hard into the soft skin of her hand.

At the first bite of food, Judy hummed and sank back into her seat. “Now that is delicious,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “Go on, take a bite.”

Dani took advantage of the moment, letting the previous topic of conversation pass over them untouched as she pulled her own forkful of food in her mouth. She blinked in surprise. 

“Wow,” she said after swallowing, sharing an incredulous chuckle with Judy. “That is really good.”

“I’m telling you, this new chef knows what he’s doing,” Judy said with a grin, as if she had known exactly how Dani would have reacted. 

It should have been comforting, being so well understood. And for the most part it was. Afterall, Dani had spent much of her youth at Judy’s table, being fed day in and day out as if she were Judy’s own. Always having a safe haven. A home away from home, where she would be welcome. No questions asked. It should have been an absolute solace. Yet somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being made of glass. As if she were standing there and Judy was looking right through her at someone else that didn’t exist. 

The bell attached to the door rang as it swung open, and the sound drew her back to the table, almost startling her. She swallowed down an unexpected thickness in her throat, ignoring that steady pressure in her ribs, and shared another unassuming smile with Judy, taking a second bite. 

“We should come here again,” Dani said, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure that was building in her lungs. 

“Then it’s a date. Next Sunday.” Judy smiled wide. 

It was so easy, making Judy happy, making her smile wide and bright like she’d won the lottery. It was something Dani was good at, pleasing others. The very thought of speaking up and potentially ruining the moment was enough to cause a vein of dread to thread its way through her. Yet something in that moment caused Judy’s smile to flicker, the sound of the bell ringing again as the front door swung open with a squeak of unoiled hinges. Judy’s eyes glanced over somewhere behind Dani’s shoulder and they slowly widened to an expression Dani had only seen once before — when Eddie announced their engagement during family dinner. 

“Jamie Taylor?” 

Dani tensed and turned around, and sure enough, there she was. Jamie Taylor herself. Dark jeans, big work boots, and a brown jacket, strolling into the bistro like she’d never left town. Like the air from Dani’s lungs hadn’t been sucked out by a gut punch releasing every single pressure valve at the very sight of her. 

“Oi, Sharma! Whatever happened to you saying you could fix those hinges without my help?” Jamie’s voice rang clear across the room.

“Danielle, honey, you didn’t tell me that Jamie was back,” Judy said in a rush of breath, already out of her seat and walking toward Jamie like a woman on a mission, as if there wasn’t a hurricane forming within Dani’s chest. As if a swell of feeling wasn’t rushing through her as she sat unmoving with wide eyes attached to the lines of Jamie’s back, to the curl of her hair, unchanged, unkempt, and yet completely different. 

Whatever Dani had expected to feel upon hearing that voice again, it wasn’t to feel all of it at once. She didn’t know which feeling to land on, watching Jamie turn at the sound of Judy’s voice, catching sight of the familiar lines of Jamie’s face as they twisted in surprise and fell into a charming smile as Jamie conceded to a tight hug from Judy; the fluttering of happiness, the rush of anxiety, the desperate desire to flee, the shock that belied the anger and muted resentment. 

In the end, Dani just sat there, unable to move and unable to look away. 

The pair pulled out of the hug, with Judy briefly and affectionately framing Jamie’s face with her hands like she used to. And Jamie rolled her eyes good naturedly with a crooked smile, burying her hands in her pockets. It was like no time at all had passed. They were teenagers again, and Judy was sending them off back home from dinner with warm hugs and piling their hands with leftovers in tupperware. 

When Judy gestured over towards their table towards Dani, it was all she could do to not run and excuse herself to the washroom, to not slip out the back door. But it was too late, tension coiling in her body as Jamie’s head turned towards Dani and their eyes finally met. 

It was suddenly incredibly hard to breathe. Dani blinked, and the look on Jamie’s face at the sight of her — startled, mouth agape — was gone, and all that was left was something entirely unfamiliar. A polite placid smile as Judy talked her ear off, answering Judy’s questions and gesturing across the counter towards a handsome man with a thick moustache wearing an apron. Even so, Jamie only had eyes for Dani, her gaze occasionally roving back, her expression unreadable. 

Before Dani could do more than stare, Judy was guiding Jamie back to their table, a hand on her back. Dani’s stomach twisted itself into a knot at their approach. Her heart began crashing against her ribs until it was all she could hear. Jamie was looking at her with that crooked grin, and Dani didn’t know what else to do but stand from her seat, faintly dazed, a hand brushing against invisible lint and wrinkles along her sky blue dress. 

“Look who I found!” Judy said as they pulled up to the table, as if Dani hadn't been on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the last minute. The last decade, if she were being honest with herself. 

All Dani could do was give a trembling smile. “Jamie,” she said, almost breathless, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. “Hi.”

Jamie’s grin shifted into something like a smirk, gaze drifting over Dani so fast that she felt it on her skin like a flash fire. “Danielle,” she said, and Dani’s smile faltered. “Been a minute.”

“It has,” Dani said in between barely gritted teeth, the feeling in her stomach souring. 

“I was just telling Jamie how this is the first time I’ve brought you here,” Judy interrupted, oblivious as ever. Jamie’s smirk dropped back into something softer, an eyebrow quirked and her head tilting curiously. “How today of all days, that we all walk in the same restaurant together. It must be kismet.”

“Don’t know about that, Mrs. O’Mara. Was never much one for kismet,” Jamie said with a shrug, looking so much like she’s sixteen again that a dull pressure returned to Dani’s chest. “World’s too chaotic for that.”

“And yet here you are.” Judy shuffled back into her seat and gestured to Jamie. “Come, come sit. Just for a while until your takeout is ready.”

It was only by the grace of luck and Judy’s affection for Jamie, that she gestured toward the chair next to her instead of Dani. Jamie didn’t argue, taking the seat, and Dani following after, almost a second delayed from the shock of it all. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she settled in her chair, but Dani kept her attention low and focused on her food, feeling distinctly like she was in a dream.

“Danielle, truly, I can’t believe you neglected to tell me Jamie was back,” Judy admonished with a teasing grin. 

She clenched her teeth. Dani had a hard time believing it herself. “Must’ve slipped my mind," she said.

“How long have you been back again, honey?”

“About two months now,” Jamie said. At the admission, Dani finally pulled her eyes away from the table to look up at Jamie, lounging back in her seat like she had all the time in the world, noticeably avoiding Dani’s gaze.

Two months. Two months, and not even a phone call. Not even a letter. Dani took another heady swallow of her now lukewarm coffee in an effort to ground herself. Some things just never changed, she guessed. 

“We were so worried when you left, after — after everything, especially. We all were. I thought about you for so long afterwards. Kept you in my prayers,” Judy said, and while the words were sobering with the memories of those days, Jamie’s expression remained unchanged, detached and ambiguous, the corner of her mouth quirked. 

“Then I guess I have you to thank,” Jamie said, “All that praying must’ve done something good. Mikey and I have been getting on quite nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Judy gasped, a hand clutching at her chest. “Oh, Mikey! That sweet boy, how is he? Oh, I can’t believe it’s been so long. He must be — what? Eleven now?”

“Twelve actually,” Jamie said, then chuckled. It was something new. The way her eyes turned just a bit brighter, her smile more gentle, as she reached into her pocket to dig out a beat up leather wallet, flipping it open towards Judy. Judy gasped again, holding onto the wallet with a laugh. “Twelve years old and already reaching my chin," Jamie continued. "The little gremlin’s gonna have me beat by next year at this rate, I swear.”

“He’s wonderful,” Judy said, her eyes alight with emotion, “Gosh, he looks just like you. Except for the eyes, those sweet brown eyes. He’s definitely going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Not on my bloody watch,” Jamie grumbled. 

“Have you seen him yet, Danielle?” Judy held out the wallet to Dani, who had to refrain from recoiling back, as if Judy was holding out a live snake. 

“I have,” Dani admitted quietly, “He’s one of my students, actually.”

“Oh, so that’s what all those questions were about the other day,” Judy said, and tapped Jamie playfully on her arm resting on the table with her wallet. “What did I tell you? Kismet.”

Jamie flipped the wallet shut and returned it to her pocket. “Mikey did mention the name once or twice. Miss Clayton this, Miss Clayton that, and I thought: what are the chances?”

Dani swallowed down a scoff and the bitterness brewing in the back of her throat. Her left hand ached from clutching it so tight in her lap, knuckles white, crescent-shaped grooves in her palm. She stretched her hand out and ran it through her hair, her fingers trembling as they smoothed down the gentle waves and curls she put in that morning. 

“Ah, so he’s done it then,” Jamie said, apropos of nothing. She leaned forward on the table, staring so abruptly and intently that Dani shifted away in her own seat slightly, hoping she hadn’t noticed. 

It was the first time Jamie had fully addressed her since that singular hello. Dani frowned, that ever present knot in her stomach twisting tighter. “Sorry?” 

“That nice big shiny rock on your hand.” Jamie gestured down to the aforementioned rock, and sure enough, there was her engagement ring, shining bright against the afternoon light pouring through the window. “Must’ve cost a damn fortune.”

Dani had thought the same, when Eddie had dropped to his knee, proffering up the box where the ring lay, his face flickering through a wide array of emotions — adoration, anxiety, hope. At the time all Dani could think, staring down at the large square cut diamond, was that it looked heavy.

“But isn’t it gorgeous?” Judy gushed, reaching out to grasp Dani’s hand to pull it closer for Jamie to see. Dani breathed out an awkward laugh at the sudden motion but let herself be dragged along. “I went to help him pick it out, and — gosh, well, we all know how many times he’s asked over the years. Our Danielle always liked to keep him on his toes. I just about died at the news when they officially announced the engagement a few months later.”

Jamie whistled low. “I can imagine,” she drawled.

Judy continued to ramble about the announcement. She released the hand that Dani tried to surreptitiously and swiftly return under the table, hoping to hide the desire to shrink under the table as well. Meanwhile Jamie seemed to be only half-listening, watching Dani with a tilted head and a sharp glance that left Dani feeling like a strip of overexposed film. Her eyes strayed to Jamie's old scar against her will, landing on the long stretch of a pale line that started from her lower lip and descended down towards her chin. It was usually hard to see, but today it was easy to find in the light of the room.  

Dani swallowed thickly and glanced away. 

“So, how’d he do it?”

“Mmm?” Dani looked back up, a little dazed. 

Jamie’s head tilted pointedly towards her. “Ed,” she said. “How’d he go about it this time? To be honest with you, I had my bets placed on senior prom night, like he’d always planned. Flowers in the park after the dance, and all that rubbish.”

“He told you that?” Dani frowned. 

“Wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Oh.” Dani fiddled with the ring, glancing down at it. “No, it was um — “ She smiled, a frail subdued thing, only to fold her right hand over it, covering the diamond so that it dug into her palm, “ — it was during a dinner date.”

Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “In public?”

Dani nodded. “Yeah.”

“Christ,” Jamie breathed, looking somewhat horrified. 

“Language, sweetie,” Judy piped in, seemingly instinctively. 

And like clockwork, Jamie ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. 

Judy laughed, patting Jamie’s arm. “Gosh, just look at us,” she breathed, her eyes shining as they bounced between Dani and Jamie. “I still can’t believe it. Me and my girls back together again. Who’d have thought?”

Dani breathed out a chuckle, her cheeks aching from the force of holding a smile in place, not knowing what else to say. And what could she say, really? That none of this felt familiar? That it all felt so wrong? That after years of absence, to finally be just arm’s length away from Jamie, only to feel like she was meeting a stranger wearing a familiar face?

No. No, that wasn’t right. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but Jamie had never stopped watching her. A shared look passed between them and it was there, finally, that she found something warm and tangible. The ghost of a memory of sitting across the table from each other at Judy’s during dinner, sharing a secretive knowing smile, while Judy gushed over Dani’s help in the kitchen, or admonished Jamie for yet another skinned knee. A smile pulled at the corners of Dani’s mouth, slow and real. Jamie blinked, her gaze softening as she mirrored Dani’s smile, and for the first time in a long time, Dani felt something in her chest unspool.

A bell rang. Jamie glanced away, and the moment was gone, leaving Dani chilled in its absence as if she had stepped out from a warm building and into a storm.

“That’s my cue,” Jamie said, sounding just as she had before, as if nothing had transpired between them. “Can’t let the kid starve without some lunch.”

She moved to stand but Judy’s hand held her in place. “Don’t think you can get away again this time without at least letting me give you my number,” Judy reprimanded not unkindly. "We got a new one at the house, you'll be surprised to hear."

Grinning crookedly, Jamie said, “And I imagine you’ll be wanting mine, then?”

Judy pulled out a pen from her purse and waggled it back and forth. “You know me too well.”

Grabbing a spare napkin, Judy jotted down a series of numbers. “Now don’t you forget to give me a call, all right? I want to hear all about your time away,” she said, handing over the pen and napkin for Jamie to rip out her piece, and note down her own number. Dani’s eyes strayed down to the confident, angled numbers, just barely able to decipher them from her vantage point. “And I hope you know, you and Mikey are welcome any time over for dinner. I want to meet that young man. See if he’s anything like his older sister.”

The words were fond, but Jamie snorted all the same. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. O’Mara. He’s my better half.”

Dani rose to her feet out of politeness when Judy stood to give Jamie a parting hug. For a terrifying moment, she thought Jamie might expect one from her as well, but Jamie only lifted her eyebrows and nodded before turning towards the counter to collect her order. She didn’t glance in Dani’s direction again as she left, pushing through the glass door and striding off down the street with the breeze in her hair. Dani watched her go, jaw aching from how hard she was clenching her teeth together.

Judy sat, and Dani followed suit as though she were simply mimicking Judy’s movements. “Jamie Taylor back from the dead after ten years. Imagine that.” Judy chuckled to herself and picked up her fork. “Feels just like old times, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dani breathed. “Just like old times.”

[softsebnbuckystan]

Souls ties - Part 3 (Bucky Barnes au)

"I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met"

The sun had set a while ago and the band had been replaced by speakers, meaning the party was coming to an end, even though you still hadn't properly talked to Bucky. You  knew you probably should've payed more attention to your own husband but Darren seemed to enjoy himself more around his college friends. It would've driven you mad, had it been a regular party. Oddly enough, his behaviour that night didn't bother you as much as it should've. One might say your attention was elsewhere. It was late, and you were thirsty for water after all the champagne and hors-d'oeuvres you'd had. You were positive your rosy cheeks attested for it. At the bar, you took a minute for yourself and sat down, taking this occasion to relieve your feet from your high-heel shoes. The night's fresh air made the hair on your neck stand on end and your body's instinct was to shiver, even though the weather was still quite nice. Your body tensed up as you felt a presence at your side.

"Feeling a little tired there?" he asked. You were starting to know this voice now, and it was like music to your ears.

"I needed to be away from the crowd for a moment," you confessed.

"Oh, I can leave if you want."

This made you look at him instantly. "No, stay." You realised how pressing you must've sound and chuckled at his confused eyes – which had a beautiful shade of blue in the moonlight. "I mean...I didn't want to get away  from you, specifically. Sorry if it sounded that way."

"I'd get it, you know," Bucky said. "What happened earlier..."

"...was disturbing for us both, I assume."

Bucky didn't say anything about you interrupting him. It felt natural, actually, almost like finishing his sentence rather than rudely stopping him mid-speech.  "Yeah, exactly," he continued. "I'm really sorry if that caused you...any pain or something."

"What? The coffee?" you asked naïvely. "Don't worry, it wasn't that hot," you said with a wink.

A faint smile appeared on Bucky's lips, making you notice both how he hadn't smiled much until then and that it lightened up his face in a touching way.

"I meant pain as in fear, or anxiety. Your wedding mustn't be the place you expected to hear those words." He looked you in the eyes and you  shivered once more. "Are you cold?"

You shook your head no before looking down to your knees. His eyes on you were making you  feel all sorts of ways you wouldn't dream of sharing with anyone. "No, I'm not," you said. Taking a careful breath in, you decided to glance at him. Your eyes paused at the same time as your lungs, taken away by the beauty of the man's face. Something behind his blue iris was beyond description and drove you even more eager to get to know him, his story, his passions and pet-peeves, his everything. He'd seemed to have stopped breathing for a second as well, but you weren't entirely sure it hadn't been a figment of your imagination.

"Maybe we should go back to the others," you whispered. You tried getting off your stool and slipped next to your shoe. Bucky moved fast to grab you with his arm and prevent you from hitting the ground. His grip was firm –  exaggeratedly firm. You brushed off the sensation of his leather glove on your back and thanked him hastily before going back to Steve.

"Are you okay?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"Yeah, sure." You knew he wasn't fooled by your answer ; Steve knew you better than you knew yourself. Bucky stayed silent for a while after that, and neither of you seemed to fathom what to do next.

---

"Ready to go, honey?"

You opened surprised eyes at Darren's question. It was barely past midnight.

"Darren, we can't leave before the other guests, c'mon..."

Your husband looked disappointed and now that most of your shock had gone away, his attitude was slowly driving you mad, especially when you gave deeper thought to his actions and words throughout the day.

"Do you even want to be here at all?" you asked him, somewhat dryly.

"Calm down, y/n. We've been here forever and I wanna rest for the night. Is that too much to ask?"

"Resting on your wedding night? Yeah,  that's a lot to ask for," you replied. "I thought we were going to party until the end and have fun with our friends before going home. Consensual marriage is supposed to be celebrated, don't you know that? Ugh, you really are a buzzkill sometimes."

"Wow, easy there. If you want to stay,  fine. But I'm going home."

"Are you serious right now?" Your stomach was burning with anger and disappointment. You loved Darren, but this kind of behaviour had become a habit of his. "You're going to leave me alone at our wedding party?"

"You're not alone, you have Steve and Wanda and...whoever that guy is over there. Enjoy the rest of your night."

"Damn it, Darren, that's not fair!"

Wanda's eyes turning towards you made you realise how loud your voices had been and you lowered yours a notch.

"Fine, go home. But don't expect me to be all smiles when I join you, if I even do."

Upon those words, you turned around and walked away from him. You were perfectly aware that there was no point in reasoning with him at this point. You ended up going back to your group and were surprised to see that Steve and Wanda had walked away as well, leaving Bucky alone.

"Where are they  going?" you asked, still angry from what'd just happened.

"They're grabbing more drinks. Wanda said she'd choose something for you since you were...busy."

You brought your hand to your forehead, ashamed that he'd heard you losing your temper.

"Sorry about that. He's just...difficult, sometimes."

"I saw that," he said with his hands in his pockets, "and no need to be sorry." You could see him take a deep breath in before he kept talking, even  though he was trying hard to look as calm and composed as possible. "Come, let's take a walk. It'll help you blow off some steam."

You followed Bucky through the garden and as you drifted away from the crowd, hearing less and less voices, a soothing feeling filled your body and mind. You took deep breaths in and deep breaths out, taking in the bucolic smell of the close-by forest. The only thing left bothering you were your shoes, and you made the call to take them off, leaning on Bucky's shoulder without even thinking about it. He stopped to let you do it.

"Here, let me hold them." He gently grabbed your shoes by the heels and carried them for the way.

"Thank you." You took a peek at him and smiled. "How did you know a walk would calm me down?"

"I...I  just did," he answered with a shrug. "Did it work?"

"It's starting to." You smiled at him ingenuously, taking in some of his features at the same time. The slight crook of his nose, the rebellious hair on his neck...  A question was burning your lips. It was just the two of you, so you might as well just ask. "Did you ever give much thought to what your tattoo said?"

He didn't seem taken aback by your question. At least you didn't think he was, even though his emotions were hard to read.

"Not really. I just assumed someone would pay me a compliment out of the blue  and confuse the hell out of me." He chuckled for the first time since you'd met him and you got a feeling that didn't happen often. He stopped quickly, as would a kid caught red-handed. "You?"

"I had lots of scenarios in my head. Someone bumping into me, stepping on my feet or even running me over with a car...I mean, that sentence could've been said at many occasions, really."

"It's true, though I don't think saying 'shit, I'm sorry' would be an appropriate apology after running somebody over with a car."

You laughed at his remark and nodded in agreement.

"True. It is only an appropriate apology for spilling coffee all over someone," you teased.

You couldn't even hear the music the speakers were playing anymore, only the insects buzzing and leaves brushing against each other. As you walked, you got dangerously closer to Bucky. You knew what your body was doing, where your legs were taking you, but you had no idea why  they were doing it. You shouldn't have been standing so close to him, especially on your wedding night. Your hand accidentally brushed against his leather glove and he moved away. His movement wasn't big enough to call it an act of repulsion, but you also didn't know why exactly he didn't want to be close to you.

"I'm sorry," you said. "I just..."

"...want to be close. I know." He sighed and stopped walking. "It's a weird feeling and I didn't think you...I thought you weren't feeling it."

"What? The feeling that draws me to you and that I can't control? Of course I feel that. I've...I've met you hours ago, and yet..."

"You feel a connection that dates to much longer than that," he finished.

"Exactly. I couldn't really put words on it but...yeah. That's what it feels like."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Steve wanted me to come here for some reason and I..."

"Don't say you shouldn't have come, please."

He looked back at you and saw you'd been staring at your feet saying that sentence. His face changed in an instant.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. Not at all, actually... If I hadn't been there tonight, you might have actually enjoyed your wedding."

"I did enjoy it," you replied in a hurry. "Just not the way I imagined." You stared into his eyes,  trying to understand what he was feeling in this very moment. "We'll see each other again, right?"

"That might not be a good idea, as much as I would want to."

"But...as my sister always tells me, soulmates don't have to be romantic. I can be happily married and still get to know you....can I?"

He tightened his lips, thinking about his answer. His face gave you no clue as to what he truly wanted, but the answer he gave you might have been an indication.

"You can try. I can try."

---

Part 3 is where I chose to start the fluff haha! I hope you enjoyed this part. It felt quite cute writing it, so I hope the final result is :)

tag list:

@ginger-swag-rapunzel

[fragileizywriting]

locker talk (chapter 2) is out now!

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 8,961 / 16,208 (in total) chapter: 2/3 rating: E summary: “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Did something happen at Uni, again?” “I’m peachy,” Multimouse wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.” Luka barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks.

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

Thank you so much for the love you've given me for this fic! I appreciate every single one of you so much 💕💕💕💕

The third chapter will be posted very soon!!!

She’s showered. She’s shaved. She’s gotten shampoo in her eye.

She hopes the redness isn’t noticeable.

Multimouse is many things— friendly, approachable, known as Paris’s sweetheart with many sweet bakery treats named after her using puns, such as Multi-feuille, or Multideleines— but they have no idea that she sits on top of the Liberty’s roof, wiggling her toes over the Seine, trying not to bite her lips raw at the thought of trying to seduce the guy she’s already had a feverish moment with.

It’s a soft night, with small dots of twinkling stars that burn and force their way through the light-polluted Parisian night, but she doesn’t mind how it’s dark enough out that no one can really see her unless they purposely go looking for her. She’s practically invisible, with the closest street lamp to her still being too far away for her to be illuminated by it. No one knows that she’s here— no one knows that she’s hiding in the shadows.

Quiet— quaint— small and hidden away like an actual mouse that sticks to the shadows so that she isn’t seen. She’s not sure if it’s Mullo’s instincts that coerce her to stick to the shadows or if it’s just her nerves.

After all— getting here, onto the Liberty, was half of the battle for her.

She’s never done this before. She’s never even considered this an option… how does she do this? She doesn’t even have a solid plan.

And Multimouse never not has a plan.

Even if she knows that Viperion— no, Luka— likes her, thinks about her sexually— she just can’t shake the feeling that her confession isn’t going to work out in her favor, that she’s going to walk away embarrassed and humiliated.

She can prepare and prepare again and over prepare for whatever she’s planning all she wants— but it’s the actual doing part that she usually gets stuck on. She can shower, she can shave, she can get shampoo in her eyes— she can text Juleka to maybe casually imply that she’s going to try to confess to her brother, not mentioning that she’s going to do it as her superhero identity instead of Marinette, and actually get Juleka to push everyone out of the house on one nice and evening Friday night— but none of that matters if she doesn’t actually get here.

She got here.

And now is dawdling on the next step— actually talking to him.

She has to try. Juleka had cleared the boat of stragglers in record time when she found out that she’d been planning on confessing to her brother— Multimouse seriously has no idea how the girl managed to get her mother off the boat, but she’s gone. It’s just him in there now. She’s grateful that she doesn’t have access to her nails to chew them through, because she’s shaking like a battery from how much her nerves consume her.

She plays with her necklace between her hands as she leans forward to put her elbows on her thighs, looking out to the water below— looking down at how the only open-blind window on the boat flickers with light as he passes next to it.

It sounds like he’s finished taking his shower— but all of it is really muffled, given that he lives in the equivalent of a metal can with sails— but either way, she stands up and starts to creep her way towards the front entrance of his house before she can convince herself that this is a bad idea and that she should turn around and book it and pretend that she never thought of this idea in the first place. Besides, it can’t be that bad of an idea, right?

This is a bad idea.

This is a very bad idea— oh— oh no.

She barely finishes knocking on the window next to the door before he pulls it open with a yelp and a curse spilling out of his lips, halfway through putting on his shirt. She stands there, transfixed, trying not to burst into flames as she catches the sight of toned and defined muscle from years of hard-earned wins against Hawkmoth disappear behind the widest shirt in existence with a heavy-metal band logo she’s never heard of, and how those muscles trail down and disappear into very low-riding sweatpants.

She knows he has muscles— she knows how big his arms are and that the pattern of his scales on his suit aren’t just to give the illusion of abs— because she’s seen him many times before with barely anything of a shirt on when the summer heat in Paris is too rough and everyone piles onto the Liberty to attempt to catch a draft.

She’s seen the way his back muscles move when he’s helping tear down stage sets for his band— she’s had many glass bottles of soda slip out of her hands at the sight of him naturally keeping up with Ivan and Kim’s strength— she’s seen all of it. Luka is nothing short of strong.

But now she knows just how it feels to have those same muscles pressed up against her. She might faint. “Uhm.”

“Hey! Sorry— I didn’t know you were going to come over tonight— you scared me with that knock. I thought I had the whole boat to myself.” Luka smiles at her, using his arm with the snake tattoo that wraps and coils around his forearm to pull out a couple necklaces of his own from underneath his shirt. Even though the shirt is wide, it seems to have a bit of a problem wrapping comfortably around his shoulders— and the neckline is wide enough to show his collarbones.

What does she even focus on? What does she want to look at the most?

“Sorry—” She blinks fast. Shirt. Chest. Arms. Sweatpants. Smile. Lips. Lips that bruised her neck so badly she had to keep her hair down for the entire week just to hide it from Alya’s enthusiastic gaze. Kissable lips. Lips she imagines all over her body all the time. Lips that— “S-sorry! Uhm. I’m just, uh— I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“I’m kidding, Mousey—” He’s all teeth when he smiles. She knows how those feel on her skin now, too— she knows how it feels to have him drag his mouth and lips all over her jaw— she has to lean against the door frame to stop herself from collapsing from how much she wants to feel it all over again. Her skin feels sensitive just at the thought. “I just got out of the shower and it was totally quiet out there. Really did think it was just going to be a quiet night by myself. Even mom’s out— probably went to go harass that last cop that gave her warning for the noise complaint. What do you think?”

Had he thought about her in the shower? He’s not flushed at all— nothing indicative of anything he had said inside the closet about how he’s always thinking of her— but Luka’s usually not one to lose his cool. It’s impossible to get a gauge out of his emotions when he hides it— something he’s incredibly good at when he’s Viperion. She’s shown up after his shower— presumably the time where he thinks about her in the most private way— and there’s absolutely nothing telling her that it’s true.

She never would’ve known if he hadn’t told her in the closet.

Assuming he even was telling the truth…

“Mousey?”

She snaps back into focus. “Oh! Right! Uhm— are you busy? D-do you want me to leave? Come back another time? When you’re not busy? Very busy?”

“Busy? Yeah, right,” He snorts good humoredly. “Busy on my laptop watching videos, probably. This place is an absolute bust when there’s no one here— you’re doing me a favor by being here.”

“S-so you don’t want me to leave?” She eeps. If he even makes one single implication that he doesn’t want her to show up, she’ll turn around and leave with no hesitation— her nerves are eating at her to the point where she’s ready to run anyways.

“No, of course not. Stay. Please.” He adjusts his necklaces to stop tangling with each other. They jingle when they hit together— a pleasant clinking noise on a pleasant night, but she’s busy taking in how shiny and pearlescent his arm is with the beautiful blue color on the coils of the snake’s body and how it matches the gold diamond shapes in strategic places. “You’re always welcome here, you know. I love it when you’re here.”

“Yep— yes. Totally.”

His hair is so much blacker and so much more bluer when it’s wet. She can’t stop staring at him, her mouth shaped into a circle, as he looks down at her with a shift in his brows when he’s stopped focusing on his necklaces. “You okay?”

“Wet.”

He blinks very slowly, speaking to her so softly, almost as if she’ll scamper off if he startles her. “Oh. Are you?”

“I meant— I meant your hair—” She squeaks, trying her best not to catch on fire from the way her cheeks heat and steam, waving her hands in the air, steaming harder when he laughs. “Sorry— oh my gooseberries I’m so sorry— that was so weird I didn’t mean to say that outloud, I mean, I just, I didn’t know you wash your hair at night— uhm— it just caught me by surprise!”

“Take a breath,” He smiles.

“Sorry,” She does.

“You need to work on your meditation again, you’re not focusing as well as you usually do.” He tilts his head with a wink. She tries her best not to follow the drops of water down his neck, down to where there’s a very obvious bruise on the side of his neck. Oh. Oh. She did that. She… she did that. She bit him. And grinded on him. And listened to him talk about how much he wanted to finger her— “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Something happen at Uni again?”

“I’m peachy,” She wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.”

He barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks. “Alright, let’s backtrack for a bit so you get your focus back. Do you not wash your hair at night?”

She’s so thankful for this man.

“My hair is too thick for that, I need to wash it in the mornings or it’ll never dry.” She ignores her voice crack. What is she doing, talking about hair care at his door, eyes missile-locked onto the bite mark on his neck? Why is she like this? “A-anyway! Sorry to— drop in on you— I know it’s really late— uhm— I just wanted to, uh— talk? To you? Maybe? But, again, it’s okay if you’re busy— watching videos is always really fun, isn’t it? I totally won’t mind—”

“You’re thinking too much, Mousey.” He grins. “It’s fine. I’ve never not wanted you here before, right? Let’s shut the door before someone sees you.”

As if Paris would believe anyone gossipping about Paris’s sweetheart dropping by a houseboat in the middle of the city, chatting up a man only a year older than her during the night time. She’s pretty sure that everyone is convinced that she’s perpetually stuck at the age of fifteen, instead of twenty four— always too small and too cinnamon roll and too pure to be sneaking into men’s houses, because that’s not what Multimouse does.

Sometimes being adored by millions and being put on a pedestal by this city is taxing. She doesn’t mind being considered sweet and friendly— but it’s exhausting to have to hear the slight infantilization the city ends up pushing on her. Maybe she should try cursing in public during a fight— see how many people she ends up disappointing.

She wonders if Luka hates being considered the silent, brooding type. He’s approachable— but most people on the internet and Alya’s commenters on the blog assume that he’s dark— mysterious— handsome and well spoken almost like a prince.

If only.

He has a mouth of a sailor. She’s seen him get coffee foam up his nose from laughter whenever she tries the aerial rope and continuously ends up failing. He doesn’t know how to swim, even though he lives on a boat— he writes so much music in his notebooks that his room is an absolute mess of paper that he tries to keep organized using folders and binders and sticking loose leafs of poetry on the walls.

The last time they watched a documentary about penguins, he’d cried the whole way through, talking about how he wishes he could help all the exhausted and freezing little chicks. Not to mention whenever there’s a documentary about rodents on the television, he ends up crying too, smothering her in hugs that makes her face burst into flames.

The comments did get it right about the handsome, though. Very handsome.

“A-are you sure?”

“Come on. I want you inside.”

She closes the door behind her, making sure that her tail isn’t snipped off on accident, trying not to loop the words come and I and want and you in her head. Even with all the nasty, absolutely dirty things he’s said to her already— somehow that manages to get her knees to almost buckle.

“So, uhm, is your family home? Juleka? Maybe?” Her voice is absolutely not this high! Get it together!

He blinks at her curiously, thinning his lips as he no-doubt tries to keep his laughter in. Luka’s always been a tease. “You know the answer to that, don’t you?”

Does he mean that he knows that Marinette was supposed to show up to his house? Oh, no. What has she done? Was it a bad idea telling Juleka to possibly go to Rose’s house, and maybe spend the night there, if all went well? How does she get out of this one? “W-well— I—”

“Best hearing in Paris, after all, right? You’d be able to hear if anyone else was on the boat with us.”

Duh. God, she feels like an idiot. “Y-yeah. I know. I just— I just wanted to know. To hear you say it, I mean.”

“Did you?” His face transforms into one full of humor, and she can do nothing but bite her lip raw at how handsome he is when his eyes crinkle in that boyish way of his. “What did you want to hear me say, Mousey?”

Anything. Everything. As long as he keeps talking, she’ll be miserable— but loving every moment of it, and he’ll have no idea because Luka doesn’t know that she knows he’s Viperion and thinks about his voice so often that she’s constantly balancing on a hair trigger.

“Uhm—” She taps her fingers along her thighs. “I— you know— I just wanted to hear you say that we’re alone.”

“Only that?” He hums, turning around to go probably drop off his towel back in the bathroom.

“Yes?” She’s never been so unsure before in her life, and she flounders as she follows him further into the boat, following him into his room just past the kitchen. “I mean yes obviously— why would I— need or want more— uhm— that would be— weird and definitely wouldn't make any contextual sense— I mean it’s not as if I—”

He pauses to look at her. She does her absolute best not to burst into flames. “You know, I’ve never realized it until now— you are absolutely one horny girl, little mouse. Dropping by and immediately asking me to start pillow talking you—”

She doesn’t even hear him, bouncing on the balls of her boots, squeaking a floorboard that is always loose no matter how much the Couffaines try to glue or hammer it down. She’s certain she’s watched them rip out just to put back a new floorboard— and yet it still continues to squeak. “That’s not true! That’s totally not true I’m— you know— I’m just—”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that your voice is melodical— it’s so soothing and you know I have anxiety and things but being able to hear your voice always makes me calm down— it’s so nice to just— just relax— and let someone else think of things for me—”

“Breathe, Mousey.”

“Thank you.” She gasps in air, proving his point for him.

His eyes shine with something as she sucks in her breaths. “How long have you been waiting for me to pull you inside and take care of you?”

She whines, crossing her arms. “You’re being totally unfair right now, Luka, you can’t just start talking dirty to me—”

He laughs, pulling open the door to his room. “I’m not talking dirty to you, not yet.”

“And just assume that I’ll listen—”

He pauses again to look at her, and it’s enough to make her bite her lip by how absolutely jaw-dropping he looks. “Oh, you won’t? And here I thought that’s what you wanted. Is that not what you wanted?”

“What do you—”

His eyelashes are black smudges against his cheeks as his gaze drops to her lips when he brushes her jaw with the back of his hand. “Do you not want me to take care of you in the way you want? Do you not want me to tell you all of the filthiest things you want to hear?”

“Gooseberries you have no idea how much I’ll listen if you do because I will— I promise you I will— I mean I’ll do anything as long as you keep talking— I promise— I’ll be good for you, I promise—” She almost smacks her forehead in an attempt to stop squeaking out her words, instead choosing to nearly rub her cheeks raw with her gloves.

Gentle and giant hands reach for her wrists with such slowness it almost boarders asinine. “Hey. Don’t hurt yourself— that looks like it hurts.”

She drops her hands from her face without question, letting him pet and smooth away the redness from her skin. “But— I— come on, I have to focus first! At least let me try to say what I came here to say, don’t just immediately flip the script back on me!”

He turns to walk into his room, leaving her standing there, looking around and wondering if that was an invitation to start talking. He’s cleaned his room a bit— there’s no laundry on the floor this time— but his room still continues to look like a snake’s den from how cluttered it is.

He sits down comfortably in that pouf chair of his, the one she’s always wondered how it fit through the front door. Maybe they floated it in through the window, she’s not sure. It’s massive— huge— full of stuffing and fun to sit on whenever she’s here for a party and is starting to feel drunk, or here to goof off in his presence whenever it’s just the two of them and she has nothing better to do. It’s close enough to Luka’s bed that it feels like a challenge, for her, and she always feels victorious whenever she manages to convince herself to sit there.

“How long have you known, Mull?”

“K-known what?” She freezes at the doorframe, finally realizing what’s happened when he simply spins the leather strap of his miraculous on his wrist, looking at her with raised brows. “Uhm.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh oh. Oh no. Oh no. How did you—”

“I don’t think you make it a habit of begging any man you come across, unless you know who they are already.”

“I— yes— only you, Luka. I’ve only begged for you.” She nods very slowly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” Some form of a thought twinkles in his eyes as he says it. “Not yet, at least. Don’t freak out, it’s okay that you know. I kind of figured you knew. It’s okay.”

“Y-you did?”

“Of course.”

“But—” She gestures around. “How?”

He tilts his head, looking at her with such a curious face. “Intuition, I guess. Or maybe paranoia. Hey, have you known for longer than a year?”

“Ah—” She shifts on her feet. “No. Sort of. I kinda was guessing it, but— I mean— I got genuine confirmation about a month ago.”

“Have you been showing up because you knew?”

“No, no. I didn’t know when I first started showing up— I’ve been showing up because I really like you— you as in Luka, that is. And then I found Sass playing hide and seek with Mullo when I went to the bathroom, and, well I totally didn’t know what to do when I found out that you were actually in fact my partner— and then I couldn’t stop thinking about you and by then I— I had already— fallen in— uhm— with you on both sides—”

This takes him by surprise. “You’ve been here detransformed?”

She pinches her eyes shut. “Uhm—”

“We know each other, don’t we?” He exhales. “That— I mean— that does make sense. You are always so conveniently close by whenever there’s an Akuma that attacks the Liberty— and only god fucking knows why it’s always the Liberty. You’d think my mom would learn after a while to stop picking fights with the cops. Or the government in general. This place is a breeding ground for Akumas— Hawkmoth is one day just going to set up camp around here, I think.”

He taps at his jaw as he thinks. No doubt he’s trying to place her as one of his friends— or maybe his sister’s.

“It’s a good thing Couffaines know how to party, right?” She eeps into the silence, trying not to bolt for the door. Would he try following her? Would he grab her and pin her down so she can’t try to give up from how embarrassed she is? Would he let her go? She’d be far too easy to catch, if he did go after her— she’s weak at the knees at the idea of being in his arms again. “I mean— It’s always so much fun being here but I understand if you don’t want me to— to show up— anymore— and—”

“Little mouse, I hope you know I’m not mad. I can’t be mad at you.” Those six little words makes her legs weak by how thankful she is. She could weep— already starting to feel how her eyes water at the words. “I’d never be mad at you for knowing. I just— I wish I knew sooner, too.”

“I didn’t know what to do—” She hunches her shoulders, trying her absolute best not to curl in on herself but not having too much of a say in it as her body goes through the motions on its own. “I couldn’t just stop showing up, cause then you’d suspect it—”

“It would’ve been okay if you had told me, just like there’s nothing wrong with you telling me now.” He extends out his arm, asking for her hand.

She hides her face in her gloves. “I’m sorry. I really, really am sorry, Luka— I really f-fucked up.”

“No you didn’t.”

Those words fill her stomach with butterflies, stopping her from forming any more tears. “I— I didn’t?”

“Of course not, Mull. It’s okay.”

“But I—”

“It’s alright— I know why you didn’t tell me— it’s okay. I’m not upset at you— I’m not disappointed.” He gives her a smile. “Come here. You look like you’re about to cry— I don’t want you to cry.”

She crosses into his room, making sure to step over the scattered amps and repeaters— his guitar case, too— willingly reaching for his hand by giving him four of her fingers. His smile widens when she makes contact with his hands— his fingernails nearly as black as her suit.

His thumb rubs against the hexleather that wraps around her knuckles, and she tries her best not to sound so needy when she drops to her knees so they can be at a better height with each other. She doesn’t like it when she’s taller, so she fits between the opening of his legs just enough so she can place her forearm on his thighs, looking up at him with what she hopes is a thankful smile, even as her eyesight wavers.

“Congratulations on saying your first curse word,” He pets underneath her eyes with a laugh. She can’t feel it, because of the domino mask, but it’s comforting enough to her that her eyes squint at the sensation. “I never thought I’d be the one to hear it first.”

“I’ve cursed before,” Her smile twitches as she tries not to giggle despite the tears that collect at the sides of her eyes. “I just don’t make it a habit.”

“Oh yeah? What other curse words have you said?”

“I think I’ve said ‘ass’ before.” She has to think about it, much to his amusement. “Well. If I hadn’t before, I guess I have now.”

His laughter consumes him. “What a milestone.”

“You’ve been many of my firsts,” She smiles with him. “Maybe hopefully all of them can be with you, too?”

His face blossoms in color— she’s never seen him caught so off guard before. Maybe he isn’t as cool and collected as she’s always thought— maybe he does actually get satisfaction when she says what’s on her mind about how she’s wanting to have everything with him. “God, who are you, Mull? Who’s the girl of my dreams who keeps telling me she wants everything I can give her? Is it even a good idea to tell me?”

“You can know,” She nods, shivering as he brushes her jawline with his black nails and back of his palm. She likes these gentle touches— she likes the way it feels to have such a loving hand on her. “It’s only fair.”

“Hmmm, no. I want you to tell me if you want to tell me.” His eyes narrow at her. “Don’t tell me just to even the playing field. If you want to remain anonymous, I don’t mind.”

It always worries her at how plain kind and loyal he is. He would be completely right if he decided to kick her out— or to turn her away— but instead of any anger or resentment he’s simply there.

He’s always there for her— always making sure that she’s okay. If she’s eaten. If she’s going to get home safely, when the Akuma attacks are at night. It’s hard not to fall in love with a man who cares about her in the way he does. He’s always been a nurturing man— he’s never hard on her, even when he has the right to be.

Well. He’s only hard on her when they’re stuck in a closet together.

“You don’t?”

“Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a lie,” Luka smiles as he looks down at her. His sweatpants are soft against her cheek as she continues to blink slowly up at him, trying not to purse her lips in want. “I’m very curious about who you are, Mousey. I’ve always wondered who’s the girl underneath— I’ve known you since we were fifteen. Of course I want to know more about the girl who takes up so much of my notebooks.”

“I don’t mind you knowing.” She eeps.

“You don’t?”

“No— not at all! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, really, Luka. Our friends kept telling me to try asking you out— god, Jules especially, but I— I really couldn’t do any of it, I kept chickening out.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And then I found out that it’s so much easier to talk to you when I’m in the suit— so I— I kept trying to get the courage to ask you out in the suit and then I found out that you’re Viperion and I just didn’t know how to handle it— so I just— and then the closet— and I made up my mind to tell you— you— today about my feelings. Pretty sure your sister was going to fillet me alive if I texted her saying I couldn’t do it. ”

Something clicks in his head, she can see it. “Marinette.”

“Well, yeah, I mean I could’ve tried as myself but I mean I don’t have any faith in myself at all—” She almost bites her tongue. “What?”

“Marinette?” He tilts his head. “The only person I know that could be your height— could be your size— and a girl I’ve barely been able to get a couple of sentences out of.”

“Hi.” Multimouse says, trying to swallow, but somehow not being able to. “Yes. That’s me?”

“Hi,” His smile softens. “That makes sense, you know. Juleka even thought that the hickey on my neck was from you when she saw it, and I didn’t understand why.”

How mortifying. “S-she did?”

“Oh. Oh. That’s why you ended up in my bed that one night, isn’t it? Because you like me and you were too drunk to stop wanting to cuddle?”

She worries her lip between her teeth. His gaze drops to watch her chew her bottom lip almost raw. “Oh. Yes— that’s— uhm. Please don’t hate me— I’m sorry— your bed has always looked so comfortable— and I really wanted to sleep next to you—”

“Take a breath, Mari.” His eyes glitter when she sucks in a breath on command. She would feel embarrassed by how easy it is for her to comply, but all she feels is warmth that starts to coil in between her legs whenever he tells her to do something. “It’s okay. I’m so happy it’s you.”

“You are? You don’t hate me?”

“Absolutely don’t hate you. I’d never be able to hate you— how could I hate you?”

“No?”

“Never.”

“Not even if I got us stuck in a closet together for an hour—”

“Definitely not then, either.” He grins. “Fuck, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. About you.”

“M-me neither,” She confesses easily, trying not to shift too much between his legs. “I— I’ve been wanting— uhm—”

“Ah, yes. That. You can say it, can’t you?” He leans forward so that she has to lean back in order to not get her face shoved into his chest from the angle. “Can you say it for me? I want to hear you say it, if you’re willing.”

She cranes her neck up to look at him square in the eyes, still sitting on her folded knees and calves, looking at the way his mouth quirks to the side as he licks his teeth. His necklaces dangle— jingle like dog tags between them— hitting her lightly on the collarbone but with just enough pressure to make her make a noise that sounds like an unf. “I— uhm— I’ve been wanting more. Ever since we did it in the closet.”

He almost looks surprised at her admission. “Good job, Mull.”

She feels a little brave. “I want to— if you’re willing— spend the night with you. Please.”

He groans. “Of course I want to spend the night with you. Every night. Keep you here in my room for weeks— you don’t have to ask if I’m willing— but it’s nice to hear it. It always reminds me at how good of a person you are.”

Warmth explodes on her cheeks as she blushes. “I’ve— I’m— I have to ask.”

“I know.”

“I know that I’m the one that is always so shy and timid— but— you deserve to have your boundaries respected too, Luka.”

“I think I like this better than when you call me Vai,” He laughs. He kisses her on the cheek— below the eyelids— where the lip of her domino mask meets skin— missing her mouth entirely even as she turns to try to meet him. She tries not to whine as she grips the fabric that bunches at his knees. “Not that the nickname isn’t good— it’s perfect— but you don’t understand just how many times I jack off while thinking about you calling me by my real name, Mousinette.”

She squeaks at the nickname, trying not to blossom into a full-body red. “I— how many times?”

“Every night,” He says simply, like he’s relaying the weather. He has no idea how his words burn in her core— why her tail becomes so agitated, even if it’s only half sentient— why exactly she gasps as she feels a sharp zing that settles between her legs. “I’m so glad that Marinette ended up being the little mouse I think about every night.”

“Every—?”

“Imagine my surprise, getting out of a shower after thinking about nothing but you and all the noises you made in my ear and seeing you stand there in front of my door.” He grins against her skin. Will he bite her? Snatch her and keep her? Use her as nothing but a bed warmer? “Fuck, Mousey. If I hadn’t been debating on whether or not you knew I would’ve dragged you into my room and onto my bed without even saying hello.”

“Please. Please.” She swallows, the idea of never leaving his burrow almost making her want to pounce on him. “I want that.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to stop thinking about you when you’re gone.”

“W-why?”

“You don’t think I can forget about you after that wonderful performance you gave me, do you?” Even when not transformed, and he doesn’t have any fangs, his teeth graze along her skin in a way that makes her toes twitch in her boots. She shivers as he follows her neck up to the patch of skin behind the ear, nosing into the sensitive area to the point where she pants. “I’ll be honest, I came home that night wanting more.”

“I— I can— give you more,” She tilts her head to the side, letting him kiss and suck bruises into her skin. She bruises like a peach, usually, and for the second time in her life she’s so thankful for how pale her skin is. “S-so much more.”

“Can you?”

“Please— I can give you anything you’d like, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it—”

“Within reason, of course.”

“Within reason,” She parrots, but more out of politeness than anything else. It’s only fair for her to agree— she obviously doesn’t want to be uncomfortable throughout any of this— but her list of potential no’s is definitely dwindling as the nights go on and she is subjected to fantasy after fantasy of what she wants him to do with her. To her. The preposition isn’t important anymore. She wants it all. “But I’d do anything for you, Luka. I— I may not have done much— any— at all before, but I want to. I trust you not to do anything damaging, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“No— of course not. I wouldn’t dream of putting you through pain.”

Something cold whooshes in her stomach. “N-no?”

“I’m not a brute, you know— you deserve something gentle— I want to be gentle with you— I’m still worried you’re afraid of me. Besides, I don’t like the idea of hurting you in general, it wouldn’t feel right.”

“No? Not… even a little tiny smidge? Maybe?” She squeaks out that last part, feeling self conscious about the way he pauses. There’s a question forming, she can tell by the way his brows pinch together— she bites her lip to stop herself from making a noise.

His gaze drops to her lips, and instead of responding to what she’s proposed, he whispers out: “Don’t hurt yourself, Mousey.”

He kisses her. Hard— almost painful, ironically— with the way he clicks their teeth together as she whines. He slides his hand to keep it at the back of her neck, kissing her in the same way they had in the closet. There’s a pull at her wrist, and an arm snaking underneath her shoulder, and she finds herself being deposited onto his lap.

Oh, she’s missed this.

Sweet gooseberries. She can already feel how stiff he’s starting to get in these criminally low sweatpants of his— and she hasn’t even done anything besides kiss him a bit and just tell him how she really feels. The man underneath her is honest, and never would be able to lie to her about his feelings— he really is enjoying this.

She wants him to enjoy everything.

Everything.

“What kind of hurt are you into, Mousinette?” He hums. His voice feels like pure ecstasy in her veins as he rumbles out his words, and she nearly loses feeling in the very same legs that prop her up when gives her a swat on her ass, causing her to gasp. The impact is lessened by the properties of her hexleather— but it’s enough to make her face flush and lashes flutter. “Oh. Oh. So you mean that kind?”

“Luka—”

“You’ve never done anything and yet you already know that you like getting spanked. Incredible, little mouse— do you practice on yourself with the things you like?”

She nods. “I’ve only been able to— to try out things on myself, but, yes— I know a lot about what I like— and— and don’t, by trial and— error—”

“Fuck that’s hot. Just how far do your fantasies go, I wonder?” He laughs. “Tell me, please. I want to know all of it— you know, I never got to hear what you think about when you’re fingering yourself— even though you promised.”

“I did. You’re right— I really did. But maybe later, we have other things to do—” She tries kissing him again, but he tilts his head enough so that she ends up kissing the corner of his mouth, and she whines. “Luka, please— I want—”

“I can’t do what you want if you don’t tell me what it is,” He mouths against her jaw. “Please tell me. What was the last idea you fingered yourself to?”

“I thought about how I want you to pin me down—” Her breath hitches when he follows the curve of her spine with his fingers. “I thought about how I want— I need— you to bend me over— and— and take off my clothes— I can be totally naked for you and you can wear every single piece of clothing on you, I promise it’s okay— let me be yours, Luka—”

He hisses. “Shit, Mousey. Where do you want me to fuck you?”

“On your bed— your kitchen table—” She scrambles to come up with answers as he continues to move his fingers up and down her back, petting her so gently it almost feels like a tease. “Outside, too, o-on the— on the deck—”

“Oh, you liked the outside idea, didn’t you?”

“Yes— yes—”

“What do you want me to do to you?” At her whining and begging, he smiles at her with such gentility she feels like she’s melting. “Please. Please tell me.”

She whooshes air out of her lungs. “I want you to finger me like you said you would— finger me until I come three times.”

“Four, Mousey.” He amends. “I won’t be satisfied until you’re gushing all over my fingers. I’ll make a fucking mess out of you.”

“F-four.” She parrots, feeling her eyesight go hazy at the idea. She hears her tail hit something— probably the side of his bed— but she can’t focus enough to pay attention to it. “Eat— eat me out, too. Please. Uhm. M-maybe finger me and— and maybe suck my— my clit at the same time.”

She has to pause so that he can kiss her, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. He sucks on her tongue like he’s trying to prove something to her— she’s not sure what— but regardless of whatever it is, it’s enough for her to whine and pant, gripping his wet strands of hair between her fingers to stop herself from rubbing herself all over his chest and abs.

“You’d do this all outside on the deck of the Liberty?” He hums when he breaks away, licking the bridge of saliva that formed between their mouths.

“More than just that, but, yes—”

He gives a noise of approval that makes her wetter. “What do you think Paris would say if they ever caught a glance of Viperion breeding Multimouse on rooftops across the city, or finding out that you beg for it and don’t stop begging until you’re satisfied? Do you think they would be upset with you because you weren’t behaving like the proper princess everyone thinks you are?”

She wants it. She wants it so badly. The idea is so tantalizing that she can feel that low buzz of an incoming dry-orgasm, never even touched— never even fingered. Oh, how this man is everything she’s ever wanted. Just being able to sit in his lap is enough to get her to want to stain her suit.

“I don’t care,” She breathes, and she really does shift, then, her knees not being able to handle holding her up in any way any longer. She sits on his thighs, her legs spread wide so that they can go over his— everything about him is massive and so much bigger than her. “Anywhere— anywhere you decide on taking me, Luka— I want to do it anywhere you want to, I don’t care if people find out that I’m not their sweetheart— that I’m not their sweet little angel saving the city—”

“Oh, you’re all of that for sure— you just happen to be one horny little mouse, too.” He laughs against her mouth when she moans and grinds her sex against one of his thighs like she knows how to do. Sparks of color bleed against the back of her lids as she chases the orgasm that continues to build and build and build.

He shifts his leg, giving her a better angle. There’s a gasp trying to spill out of her mouth— heat curling between her legs as she continues to rub herself almost painfully hard on the thick muscle that makes up his thigh— trying not to exhaust herself as she rubs and rubs and rubs and— “Luka? Please?”

“Are you asking me permission to come?” He says it like he doesn’t believe her, looking at her with almost an awed look to his face.

“Please,” She repeats, nodding her head hard enough for it to hurt.

“Alright,” He whispers. “You can do it. Come for me without me even touching you— go on.”

She does.

He tightens his grip on her waist and the curve of her spine as she places her forehead down on his shoulder, riding wave after wave of heat that washes over her. Her legs feel like liquid— the space between her thighs even more so. She’s completely and totally doused in a fever that almost makes it claustrophobic to stay in her suit.

“That’s it,” He kisses her ear— her temple— whatever’s closest to him on the side of her face. “Good job, Mousinette. Very good job. You did so well—”

“Luka—” She sighs, trying not to accidentally crush the charms on his necklaces with her fist as she grips them with a hand, trying to get her strength back. “Luka, I want more.”

There’s a bit of an edge to his voice, “Oh, do you? Are you unsatisfied?”

“No— not unsatisfied— I want more. I just want you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” He laughs. His voice feels like satin on her sensitive skin. “Not that watching you wasn’t good— I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sit in this chair ever again without thinking of you fucking my leg. That was fucking hot, Mousey.”

“Sorry—” She doesn’t really mean it, feeling like she’s on the edge of her seat, even as her body continues to slow down and fill her with good emotions, making her feel as viscous as honey as she curls in his lap. “I’m so sorry— I just— I need— more— Luka— one isn’t enough— I need you—”

“Detransform for me so we can do exactly that, Mousey.” His eyes look dark, pupils blown wide open as he smiles. “Let me fuck you.”

She’s never nodded harder in her life. She calls off her transformation, the necklace that rests on her chest glowing before unleashing her kwami. Mullo blinks wide at the sight of the two of them in an obviously precarious position— the little mouse kwami grinning wide as the suit is done unstitching from Marinette’s body, leaving her in her clothes she wore before leaving her house, her hair falling against her ears and down her back. “You confessed? You confessed! You actually did it!”

“Lolo—” She mumbles into Luka’s collarbone, trying to hide her blushing cheeks. “Come on. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh— but— I’m so happy, Princess! I can’t believe you did it! You spent so long freaking out in your room I thought I was going to have to force a transformation on you!”

“Lolo!”

“Hi, Mullo. Sass is upstairs, I think, probably near the sails.” Luka grins, cutting Marinette off with a hand to her mouth before she can continue responding. She squeaks behind his hand— how the rings on his hands feel cold against her skin. “No doubt trying to cover his ears from the noise.”

“A sensitive one to sound, isn’t he?” Mullo winks, giggling behind her paws. “Well, well, you know what to call out if you need us! Try not to be too loud for Sass’s sake, okay?”

Luka makes her lean back from his lap when Mullo disappears through the ceiling. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She whispers back, muffled by the hand that covers her giggles.

“So. You really are the girl of my dreams and fantasies, huh?” There’s a tilt to his head as he says it, looking her over appreciatively. “Give me a second to look at you— I can’t believe I missed all the obvious signs of you being the girl I love.”

Something flatlines in her head. “D-dreams?”

“And fantasies,” He adds, shifting her in his lap with a laugh. “Come on, little mouse. You already know that. You can definitely feel it, too. I’m not lying when I said all I can think about is fucking you.”

“I— I know. I did just spend— I totally just grinded on you until I came, but I mean— it’s— it’s a little harder to believe— when I’m not—” She’s blushing, finally able to feel just how exactly stiff he is in his pants— she cuts herself off with a needy whine. “Oh, gooseberries, I’m sorry, Luka— you know I stutter a lot when I’m very shy.”

He kisses his palm over where her mouth is. “It’s okay. You’re doing okay— great, actually. There’s nothing to be shy or afraid of, Mousinette, even if you’re willingly walking into a snake’s den while being this cute.”

She giggles.

“You really do need to get out of your boat more often, Luka,” She pouts behind his hand. “You’re going to spend so much time on this boat that you’re going to end up landsick if you ever get off of it.”

His eyes drop to her shirt, a teasing look on his face. “Well, if that was your goal for tonight, I’m sorry— I have other plans involving you. You smell so good— are you wearing the perfume that I said I liked on you?”

“I might be.” An impulse buy for sure at the makeup store, but worth every single cent with the way he looks at her now. Ever since she’d worn it that first time and Luka had complimented it in passing when hauling a subwoofer the size of Rose’s full height outside to the deck of the Liberty, she’d known that she’d wear it every day of her life if it meant to get him to look at her for even a smidge longer. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did. You always smell expensive when you have it on— you went stiff as a board the first time I complimented you. I thought I broke you, and I didn’t get why Jules just kept laughing when you ran off to go help Kagami with the banner— I understand why now.” He laughs. “So, what are you wearing, then? If you went through the hassle of smelling good…”

It’s a shame he can’t see the smile she gives him, a shy and teasing quirk of her lips. “Just my pajamas.”

“Uh huh. I don’t believe you, you’ve got something up your sleeve, I know that look in your eye. Show me what you’re wearing,” He doesn’t pull his hand away from her mouth, and quirks his lips to produce yet another boyish smile when she kisses his palm. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything under that shirt, little mouse.”

“I have something under it,” She mumbles under his palm, but it doesn’t come across well enough.

He takes in the wide shoulders of her shirt— how she’s absolutely swimming in the sleeves that end up at her elbows. She can tell the moment he recognizes the band shirt’s logo on her shirt— a fun and edgy screen-printed design with neon blues and neon pinks with the word kitty section below a logo— because his breath stops.

“Oh, shit—” He uses his free hand to hold her at the rib cage, pressing his thumb inwards, presumably trying to find the band of her bra that she’s potentially wearing— he almost seems to relax when his fingertips finds the wire. “Marinette, I like this.”

She preens under his words, sitting in his lap at a better angle to let him continue petting her heavily under her bust, thumbing at the wire under her breasts. “Oh. Do you really?”

“Fuck— I can’t believe this— this is such a turn-on. As if I needed to get any harder. Whose shirt is this?”

“I don’t know,” She tries to stay still in his lap to no avail when he moves his palm so that he can pet at her lips with a thumb. She melts in his touch, how each touch feels like heaven and soft. “It was one of the leftovers of the first batch we made, I’m pretty sure. I’ve kept it for years.”

“Really?”

“I like sleeping with it,” She tilts her head to the side, letting her hair fall behind her shoulder. The shirt is soft— comfortable— it’s gotten a very lived-in feel to the fabric after the long years of gentle care. She hand washes it to make sure that none of the colors chip away. “Makes me feel comfortable, thinking I’m with you. I— uhm— I—”

“Don’t hesitate, little mouse,” He smiles easy. “You’ve been doing so well already.”

“E-ever since I found it, I’ve been pretending it’s yours,” She tries not to steam red at her confession. She’s grinded on him in a closet, grinded on his leg mere minutes ago, begged for him to fuck her— and yet she still feels embarassed to admit this, too?

Well, to be fair, it is his band’s shirt. After all, what kind of a— best friend? Lover? Budding-relationship partner?— is she, if she doesn’t support his band with all their friends? Even if she didn’t have any romantic or sexual feelings for the man who continues to blink wide at the sight of her in the shirt, she’d still keep the merchandise for sentimental values. It’s one of the few originals— a homemade shirt that they had bought in a batch so that they could at least have merch to sell.

Every time they leave for a tour, now that they’re much better in terms of fame, she keeps it close to her. She nuzzles into the fabric, dreaming that it’s actually him in her arms and him in her cunt as she masturbates to the thought of him, wishing she was in his hotel room across the hall instead of hers.

His face turns pink. “Have you?”

She blinks at the way he seems to turn pinker and pinker the more he continues to look at her. Is that— is he blushing from the idea of her wearing his clothes? “Uhm— I— I mean I obviously don’t have any of your shirts for real, but, it’s nice to pretend—”

“You now have free reign of my closet whenever and wherever.” He almost twitches underneath her. “Please wear my actual shirts anytime you want, little mouse, holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. I’ll start begging if you need convincing— god.”

“Y-you don’t need to do that.” She laughs.

His smile curls dark. “You’re right. Your begging is much prettier than mine.”

She nearly jumps when his hand at the top of her shirt smoothes down her spine, teasing the hem of the shirt, making her shiver from how gentle he is. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear.”

“What’s underneath?” He asks, his eyes glittering with a tease that she can read he’ll come back to her request later. “Do you want to show me?”

She nods, giving his thumb a kiss. “Maybe just a peek. I h-have something I want to do, too— i-if you’re interested?”

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Words: 2241 (only a short one)

Summary: Charlie and his girlfriend are separated by work.

Requested: Sort of. The lovely and talented @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ got this request. Charlie x reader where the reader is on a tv show like ahs or something that’s not necessarily “kid friendly”. But as she’s not taking them atm, I decided to swipe this one. I hope the anon who requested it doesn’t mind.

TW: Swearing, alluding to sexual intercourse. That’s it I think. If I miss anything, message me so I can edit.

Author’s notes: I’m baccccckkkk. This was my way of getting back into writing reader fic. It’s been a while, and I hope y’all haven’t forgotten me. Also, while I’ve seen Tiny Pretty Things, I know nothing about the cast, so anything I’ve written, is completely made up.

Being back at home in my parent’s home was both reassuring and strange all at the same time. I’d been living in L.A. for almost two years, hundreds of miles away from home. While I missed my family like crazy, I loved being out in the world, being independent, and chasing my dreams.

However, rejection after rejection after rejection were beginning to weigh heavy on me and I had been starting to regret making the move. I’d been considering heading back home and teaching dance to kids. Then, I met Charlie through a mutual friend.

From the moment I met him, there was something that drew me to him; it wasn’t particularly hard. He was charismatic, funny, and crazy talented. The good looks were an added bonus. From that first meeting, we’d been inseparable and after six months, I gave up my apartment and moved in with Charlie and his friends.

We both booked jobs on upcoming TV shows within a week of one another, and we’d celebrated the news hard. A week of partying with your friends had wrecked the apartment, but it had totally been worth it. The main difference between our shows were the target audience. His, Julie and the Phantoms was aimed at a younger demographic to mine, Tiny Pretty Things. I was just glad to be using my ballet background as well as my acting abilities. He was also playing a main character, while I was to be in the background.

I was jolted from my memories by my phone ringing, Charlie’s face filling the screen. With a smile, I answered the facetime call.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, babe. I miss you.” Charlie was still in L.A., but he was at a boot camp thing that the legendary Kenny Ortega was running.

“I miss you too. How’s it going?” in answer to my question, he held up his hand. I could see band aids wrapped around his fingers. “What did you do?”

“It’s nothing. Guitar war wounds.”

“Poor baby.” I snarked, grinning at the mock upset look on his face. “Oh please. You’re loving every minute.”

“Babe, I really am.” His grin was wide. “When do you fly out to Toronto?”

“Not for another three weeks. I’m back in L.A. the day after tomorrow though. Will I get to see you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we get any time off before we head up to Vancouver for filming.”

I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks, and I was going insane. It was one of the reasons behind my trip to see my family. They were enough to distract me, at least until I climbed into my childhood bed, the bed that only held me at night. That was when I missed him the most.

“That sucks.” I felt the lump in my throat, an indication I was close to tears.

“I know, babe. I know. I’m gonna try and get back, even if it’s just one night.”

“Please do.” I missed him, missed waking up next to him, missed just goofing around and hanging out with him. He was the man I loved, and I hated us being apart.

:: ::

I’d been in Toronto for almost six weeks. A month and a half had passed since I last saw Charlie, and it was killing me. It wasn’t as if I was alone, far from it. I may not have been playing a main character, but the entire cast of Tiny Pretty Things were close, even those of us in the background. We’d all been put through our dancing paces until we were exhausted – that had a habit of bringing people together.

Charlie and I spoke most days, if we could, and when we did, we were often interrupted by cast mates. Through our facetime calls I became friends with Jeremy, Owen, and Madison, and he became friends with the girls I was rooming with, and Brendan who played Shane. He and I had been partnered up during rehearsals and had become close. It didn’t bother him I wasn’t a main character and he was.

I had a rare night off while the main cast were working hard on some night scenes, so I was able to kick back in my room and relax. And I made the most of it. While a hot bath was running, I connected my phone up to my speaker and hit play on a relaxing playlist Charlie had made for me before we’d had to say our goodbyes and fly to opposite end of Canada.

I’d just sank into the steaming water, bubbles up to my chin when my phone rang. Reaching over, I managed to pick it up, and saw Charlie’s face on the screen. Quickly swiping, I answered the call, despite wanting to stare at the photo I’d taken almost a year ago when we’d gone camping.

“Well, if I’d have known you were in the tub, I would have called sooner.” He grinned as he spoke, making me roll my eyes.

“Charles Gillespie, you’re a damn perv.” I attempted to scold him as he pretended to try and look around the screen to see if he could see anything. Joke was on him, the bubbles came up to my neck.

“Only for you.” I laughed at the corny line. “Hey, why are you in the bath anyways?”

“Because I ache like a motherfucker and I don’t have any night shoots tonight. So, a hot bath is in order. I’ve been dancing almost non-stop for ten hours a day for six weeks. I never did this much when I was with the company.” I knew I was whining; knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I needed to get it off my chest. All of us in the cast moaned to one another, but it wasn’t the same as venting to my boyfriend, no matter how much I loved my job.

“I’m sorry, babe. If I could take the aches away, I would.” I knew he would too.

“I know. Ignore me, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. How’s your set?”

We chatted for almost an hour, Charlie making me laugh about his previous night’s filming eating what he said felt like hundreds of cold hot dogs, making me laugh so much, my stomach was starting to hurt when I climbed out of the bath – much to his enjoyment – and wrapped myself up in a large, soft towel. We carried on talking as I made my way into my room and got myself ready for bed.

“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” I couldn’t help but sigh when the call ended, and as I snuggled up in bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, I also couldn’t help crying. It was the longest we’d been apart in over six months, and even though I was loving my job, it hurt how much I missed him.

:: ::

When I walked onto set the following day, it felt as if everyone was acting a little shifty. No one seemed to look at me directly and whenever I initiated a conversation, they either found something else to do, or the director made us begin working.

“Hey, we’re all going out for dinner and karaoke tonight. Make sure you look pretty.” Brendan whispered in my ear as we got into position in the ballet class, ready for our scene.

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He gave me a smile before walking away.

We’d all be out a few times during filming and the rehearsals we’d had before, but this was the first I’d heard about plans for tonight. Rolling my neck and stretching my arms, I put it out of my mind as I followed the instructions of the director as the scene began around me.

By the end of the day, I was yet again exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out. But, as I packed up my gear, putting my comfiest shoes on, Brendan came over.

“Don’t forget we’re going out. We’re all meeting up in about an hour. Make yourself pretty.”

“Can I give it a miss? I’m ready to have a shower and crawl into bed.” He knew how I was feeling, I could see it etched onto his face too.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Attendance is mandatory for all.” He flashed me a wide smile before spinning away from me, no doubt off to get ready.

When I got back to the apartment I was sharing with a couple of the other female background cast, they were almost ready. The three of them ushered me into the bathroom to shower, telling me to find a nice dress.

The shower did reinvigorate me, and by the time I was dressed and applying my make-up, I was feeling much better, and was even looking forward to some great food and a good night. There were no shoots the next day, so we were able to let our hair down for the night.

When we all met up, the atmosphere was electric. We’d all worked so hard, and were more than ready for a night of not having to worry about getting up early or having to be in hair and make-up at the crack of dawn.

“Ready for a great night?” Brendan asked, linking arms with me as our huge group began to walk to a restaurant nearby we’d all been to on more than one occasion.

“I am actually. Thanks for making me come.”

“No worries, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning to talk to the two guys behind us.

:: ::

Moving from the restaurant after dinner, we all made our way to a club where all of us were able to let go. I got myself a drink from the bar, and stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching my cast mates and friends having the time of their life, showing off their dancing skills. Laughing, I finished my drink, I put my empty glass down and joined them, losing myself in the deep bass. Brendan was in the center, lapping up the attention in a way only he could. He and Barton, who played Oren in the show, were busting out one of their routines from the show and had attracted a hell of a crowd.

As everyone whooped and hollered, I moved away, needing to head to the bathroom. I pulled my phone out of my purse to check if I’d missed any messages or calls from Charlie, but my screen was blank beyond a photo of the two of us. Disappointment flooded me as I shoved the phone back into my purse. Just as I zipped it up, I crashed into someone, strong hands grabbing my waist to stop me falling over.

Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as my senses were invaded by the aroma of Charlie, the aroma I knew as well as my own. I looked up to find my boyfriend smiling down at me.

“What… how… huh?”

“Surprise, by airplane, Brendan organized it. Hew knew you were missing me as much as I missed you, So Kenny gave me a couple days off while Madi does some scenes with Jadah.”

“You’re really here?” I still wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.

“I’m really here, until tomorrow afternoon.”

With a squeal, I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him. The evening suddenly got one hundred percent better.

:: ::

Waking up wrapped up in Charlie’s arms was the best thing. I’d missed it so much, and I knew I was going to struggle when he had to leave again, but I felt so happy being with him.

After he’d surprised me at the club, we’d mingled with my friends for a while before slinking away, going back to the apartment and making the most of the quiet as we got reacquainted with one another, multiple times, all night. So much so that when I managed to untangle myself from Charlie’s arms and legs to go to the bathroom, I ached in a completely different way I had been from work.

Once I was finished in the bathroom, I swiped my phone off the counter in the kitchen and sent a text to Brendan.

Thank you. I owe you one.

Once it had sent, I set the phone down and crawled back into bed with Charlie, making the most of having him with me. Especially naked.

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Tagging: (strikethrough unable to tag) @dream-a-little-bigger-x​​ @calamitykaty​ @crybabyddl​​ @xplrreylo​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @lovesanimals​​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​ @echocharm17618​​ @kinda-really-lost @n0wornever​ @all-in-fangirl​ @5sosmukefan​ @kcd15​ @charliesmountains @amazinggracy​ 

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[feliix]

Patio Penetration ✦ PJM (18+)

✦  Pairing: Jimin x Reader ✦ Word count: 2k ✦  Rating: M 

✦ Genre: Smut, Romance, Fluff(ish), Established Relationship!AU ✦ Warnings: pwp, unprotected sex, explicit sex, creampie, fingering, teasing, dirty talk(?), Jimin has a big dick, like no foreplay, semi-public sex (maybe?), dom/sub themes (dom!jimin),a tiny bit of begging ✦ Summary: you burn your tongue on some takeout food and Jimin kisses it better

✦ Requested by @hobiance​ “time to unleash all of the requests ive been wanting to send u but didnt know i could heheheheh okay lets get this started. JIMIN + WINE.” and this anon “Hello!! I saw the drabble and thought maybe I could request from one of my favorite writers? 🥺 Could I have wine with our Jiminie? Maybe something about dates too 👉👈”

✦ A/N: Posting this at 3am because I have 0 self control and because Lainey told me to. also not edited bc its 3am and I’m nothing if not a mess ✦ Written for the BHQ Drinks and Drabbles game hosted by @bangtan-dreamland​​

It was a Saturday, and that meant it was date night. Tonight, Jimin had decided to pick up some takeout on his way home to have a little make-shift picnic on your patio. It wasn’t all that fancy, but it was intimate and it was special – just the way you like it.

Unfortunately, on Jimin’s venture home from the shop the food had become a little too cold for your liking. So naturally, you just threw what you could in the microwave for a minute or so and it was good as new.

Hot steam wafts off of your noodles and into the air, but that doesn’t stop you from digging in. Patience was a virtue, but it was not a virtue that you had ever learned.

Right on impact the hot noodles burned your mouth. Your immediate reaction is to suck air in through your teeth, attempting to cool down the temperature and relieve some of the pain from your burning tongue. An agitated groan leaves your mouth as you find the strength to chew and swallow your food – wincing from the burning feeling that was destroying your tastebuds.

Jimin glances in your direction, his eyes full of concern as his eyebrows quickly raise. By instinct he grabs the water placed beside you and hands you the glass. Graciously, you take it from his hand, chugging the ice cold liquid to soothe the blistering sensation garnering your mouth.

“Ow,” is the only word that you can muster out as you finish swishing the water around your mouth, momentarily easing the pain. With a deep sigh, Jimin raises from his seat, walking around the table to stand over you.

“Let me see,” he says, hand reaching for your chin to lift your head in his direction. As you tilt your head back you stick out your tongue for his viewing, the light chill of the air slightly easing the pain. He analyzes it closely, eyes narrowing in concentration as he looks at the affected area.

Sun still shining brightly onto your patio, you close your eyes. Once again you forgot to put on sunglasses before coming outside, big mistake. And then you feel it. His hot breath fanning over your face as he inches closer and closer. Your natural reaction to him being this close to you is to get turned on. How could you help yourself? He was just that attractive – even if he was just trying to be sweet and check your tongue for burns.

But you underestimate how sweet his intentions actually are. Or maybe they are, and the soft yet savory kiss that he leaves on your tongue was meant to be a sign of care. It could have been nothing more than just a nice gesture, but the arousal beginning to pool in your panties said otherwise.

You suck in a quick gust of air promptly in reaction to his plump lips meeting your tongue once again; you know this is no longer a gesture filled with good intentions. Snapping your head back into place, you meet his lust filled gaze. His eyes are narrowed and his tongue runs across his bottom lip enticingly. He’s taking in every inch of your body as he looks you up and down, and your stomach flips at the thought of him having you right here.

In an instance you are looping your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to you. When your lips meet his you feel a rush of relief, the heat traveling through your veins and to your core awakening as his hands begin roaming your body. His fingers trace the hem of your top, lifting it swiftly while breaking your heated kiss to remove the garment. The light breeze brushes against your now bare stomach, small goosebumps rising to the surface as you connect your lips with his once more.

“Here?” You ask in a whisper, your foreheads pressed together as your gaze turns downward to his crotch. Just as you suspected – he was already growing hard.

A mumbled “yes” was Jimin’s only response – well that and ripping your pants off your body so fast that you almost fell off the chair you were seated on. “Flip over,” he says as his hand meets the small of your back, guiding you to stand up. Hands placed down on the chair you were just sitting in, you bend at the waist, ass  pointed in his direction as he fumbles with the buckle of his jeans.

Your heart raced as you waited for him to make a move. Desire was growing high and arousal was dripping down your thighs. Of course, this didn’t go without Jimin noticing. His hand parted between your legs, grazing its way up your thighs as he made his way to your entrance. The last thing on your mind was the lingering burning sensation on your tongue.

“Already so wet for me,” you shiver at his words as his fingers circle your entrance. All you could focus on was his erect member rubbing at your ass as the pads of his fingers smeared the wetness along your slit. As a digit brushes past your clit you instinctively wince, so sensitive to his touch it was becoming difficult to control your body. A high pitched moan leaves your throat as he begins rolling your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly, making you keen over in pleasure.

His fingers trace the extent of your slit back until they meet your entrance once more. Swiftly, his fingers dip into the arousal pooling out of your core. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. The slow movement of just one finger plunging into your depths taking your breath away in an instant.

As arousal drenched his fingertips butterflies erupt in your tummy. It was getting harder and harder for your legs to support you and your arms were wobbly and unstable. “I can’t hold out much longer,” you say between breaths , doing everything in your power not to lose control right then and there.

“Not yet,” he orders, an arm wrapping around your stomach to stabilize you as he hovered over your shaking body. With this new position you could feel his tip poking against your entrance, teasing you. And with that was the tip of the iceberg. Clamping your thighs together, Jimin’s hand became immobile; trapped between your legs and no longer able to tease you.

“Jimin if you don’t stop I’m going to cum,” you choke out, tears beginning to gather in the corners of your eyes from holding back your much needed release. With a sneer like laugh he retracts his hand, leaving a quick slap to your ass cheek on his way back. Your muscles tighten one again, the knot in your stomach slowly starting to dwindle as he takes his member in his hand.

Jimin slowly begins pumping his shaft, making sure to gather the precum at his tip and coat his member in a beautiful mixture of the both of your juices. Your legs remain clenched together as you try to suppress the desire flooding your system. All you wanted was him to fuck you right here and now, and you were in no mood to beg tonight.

Leaning slightly forward onto your elbows, you arched your back lower, lifting your ass higher to try and get his attention. He was taking far too long and focusing on catching your breath was more important than asking for what you wanted at this point. What better way to tell him to fuck you already than to rock your hips back, causing the tip of his cock to rest against your ass?

“Use your words, Princess,” a smirk grows onto his face as he takes notice of what you’re trying to do. An agitated whine soon leaves your mouth. You were too tired to beg, and he had already wound you up enough.

“Jimin please,” you moan, “please just fuck me already.” Leg bouncing impatiently as you wait for him, he finally lines himself up at your entrance. A steep gasp passes through your lips as his cock slides itself into you; your velvety walls squeeze the veiny ridges of his member as you take him in.

A string of curses leaves his mouth as his shaft slides into your cunt. The arousal spilling from your hole coating his cock as you clench around him. Jimin’s hands find their place on your hips, holding you steady as you adjust to his size. Even after all this time together, every time you have sex feels like the first. Maybe it was cliché to think so, but acclimating to his size would never be easy. 

It was comfortable. Even though you were on your back patio where your neighbors could see you at any moment, the setting was beautiful and everything in this moment was perfect. The sun was just beginning to set and the passing breeze chilled the perspiration beginning to gather on your skin. You’ve never felt better than you do in this moment – speared on your boyfriend’s cock while you waited for your food to cool.

As Jimin began thrusting in and out of you, your hands took grip on the sides of the chair, holding on for dear life knowing what was in store. His movements were beginning to quicken rapidly, the sounds of his skin colliding with yours and the deep moans echoing from his throat filling your ears. Your chest heaves deeper and heavier with each of his movements, soft whines bubbling past your lips as he meets new places within your core.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he groans, teeth clenching as you squeeze tightly around him. The familiar knot in your stomach was making its way back to you. The repetitive tap of Jimin’s tip deep inside you had you too far gone. With one powerful thrust, you were coming undone around him. Your legs soon begin to crumble underneath you before his arms wrap around you to catch you from falling.

A gentle scream escapes your mouth as you ride out your high, Jimin’s pace only quickening to chase his own. The familiar tingling sensation begins to rush through your veins as oversensitivity starts to set in. When your eyes slam shut all you can see are stars, small white blotches blinding your vision as your pussy continues to spasm around him.

You aren't even able to catch your breath as your orgasm begins to subside. Jimin is too busy pounding into you, his hips meeting your ass with a slap as he bottoms out.

“Don’t pull out,” you say quietly. All that's on your mind is being filled to the brim with Jimin’s cum. You’re aching for his release, squeezing your core as hard as you can to ease it from him. The grip he holds on your waist tightens, his face scrunching as he focuses on chasing his high, “want you to fill me up.”

And with that, he was. Collapsing over you, he held you close as he reached his high. His heavy breathing fanned over the back of your neck, your shirt sticking to your back as beads of perspiration soiled the fabric.

“Love you,” he whispers in your ear, kissing just below it. You can feel the rise of his cheeks against your skin as he smiles. It was comfortable here, with him like this. Almost too comfortable for having sex out in the open like this, but it was past the point of caring as he held you tight in his arms.

“Love you more,” you whisper back as a grin stretches wide across your face.

“I think we might have to heat up the food again,” he chuckles before pulling out of you to look at the food placed neatly on the table.

“I’ll make sure I wait for it to cool down this time,” you giggle as you stand upright, legs still feeling jello-like as you search for your pants.

“I can think of something to do while we wait for it to cool,” Jimin smirks as you turn in his direction. His eyebrows are lifted suggestively, winking at you when you make eye contact. “Round two?”

'Patio Penetration’ is copyright 2020 @parksfilter​​​, all rights reserved. Pleas do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.