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dontsaypetertingle · 2 years

Note

AHH I'M SO GLAD YOU WRITE FOR TASM NOW okok what if the reader has to go away for a few days and Peter can't come with cause he needs to stay in New York for Spider-Man business. He keeps bugging you about phone sex and you finally do it? aj;df ja;wifj wef it's been so long since I requested -🥦

Miss Your face

The way that I've had a phone sex fic just sitting in my drafts and then u request this.... I need to bring back emoji anons for this reason.

A/N: This can be interpreted for any Spider-Man! I kinda wrote this in my mental image of Andrew's Peter Parker but there's very little external plot so you can imagine it how you please!

Word count: 2.5k (Part 2 coming soon)

Pairings: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you have to go out of town for work Peter gets lonely and a bit needy. An innocent call home to check on him becomes a lot more intense than originally planned.

Warnings: (NSFW! 18+) MINORS DNI, soooo much dirty talk, pet names (Angel, Dove, Baby, Bunny, Pretty girl ect.), Peter is referred to as daddy twice, mutual masterbation. Dom!Peter giving orders. (Casual drinking and slightly tipsy characters??)

Your shoulders slumped and you let a heavy sigh escape you as the hotel room door shut behind you. You truly loved your co-workers, but an entire week with them was a bit too much. At least corporate got you all semi-nice rooms. All you really cared about at the moment was the queen bed on the far end of the room.

You quickly kicked your heels off at the door and your work clothes went on the floor beside it. Left in only panties and a bra, you step to your bag in the chair next to your bed. You dug Peter's shirt out from the bottom and slipped it over you. Not only was it comfy and smelled like heaven, but it was also funny as hell. A little bit after Peter told you his secret you saw a man on the street selling Spider-Man t-shirts. You bought it and gave it to him as a funny little gift.

Finally in some comfy clothes, you flopped on the bed like a starfish. You loved Peter, but he was a total bed hog. Having a queen bed all to yourself was incredibly satisfying. After taking it all in you checked your phone for the time. You were exhausted and it was only seven o'clock. You unlocked the screen to see a message from Peter.

'Hey baby, just checking in. Totally bored tonight. Went swinging for a bit, but it's quiet out. Miss you.'

You smiled at your phone. Peter was the kinda guy who needs to tell you every detail of his day before bed. The text was short, but you could tell by the 'totally bored' that he was looking for some attention. You decided to call him up.

"Hey, baby!" He answered before the second ring.

"Hey, Peter." You smiled.

"Can you video call me? I miss your face."

"Yeah, hang on." You rolled over on your tummy and propped your phone on the nightstand next to the bed. You hung up and called back on a video call.

"There she is!" He smiled at the sight of you upon answering. Peter was sat on the couch in your living room. He sat his phone up on the coffee table in front of him. All he had on was a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low so his boxers peeked out of the top. Totally not up to anything. He was sat back on the couch with his knees apart so you could see everything through the thin fabric. Your table wasn't much taller than your couch so his phone was angled up towards him between his legs while he slightly looked down at it.

You knew exactly what he was doing. He'd asked for it a million times, but you'd never had a good opportunity until now. You played innocent and continued to lay on your belly facing the camera. Your feet were in the air behind you casually swaying.

"Hey, Pete." You smiled. "Full warning, I have a little bit of tequila in my system from the hotel bar and I'm not responsible for anything I say."

He moved his right hand into view of the camera to show you a beer he was sipping on. You cursed his camera quality for not being sharper as he took his final sip from the bottle. His jawline was on perfect display as he turned his head up, his pink lips rubbing together when he pulled it away. "Yeah I'm done with patrol tonight so I figured a beer wouldn't hurt." He set the empty bottle on the table behind his phone.

Sitting back up he observed you on his screen. "Are you wearing that shirt you bought me from that street vendor? You know, I've been looking for that thing."

Now was your time to really start up your innocent act. You sat up on the bed with your legs in the 'w' position."Yeah, I took it with me so I had something to get cozy in." You grabbed the collar of the shirt and pulled it up to your nose, exposing your panties and the lower part of your belly. "Plus, it smells like you."

You could hear Peter take in a sharp breath. "Did you remember to lock the door, Dove? Wanna make sure you're safe. Wish I could be there."

That nickname made you swoon, he knew it did. You were so entranced by his low voice that you almost didn't realize you had in fact forgotten to lock the door.

"Oh shit, yeah hang on let me go do that." You got off the bed slowly, making sure Peter got a good look at your ass when you got up. You locked the door and then came back to the bed. You slowly crawled up, again, giving him a nice view of your ass as you did so.

You heard a little impatient groan coming from the phone.

"You okay Petey?" You smiled cutely as you returned to your seated position with your legs in a 'w'. Something you knew turned him on. He'd always ask you to tuck your legs in like that when you rode him. Made things easier for him when he wanted to take control.

He let out another sigh. "Take off that shirt."

You blushed and looked at your phone innocently as you grabbed the hem. "You want me to take off my shirt?"

"No, bunny. I want you to take off my shirt. Now."

Shudders went down your back from his stern voice. With your hands still grabbing the hem of the shirt, you very slowly snaked it over your torso, revealing you in your bra and panties. Your cheeks were stained a pale red from the slight embarrassment and tequila.

A sly smile crept on his face as you so quickly followed his command. You noticed a bulge forming beneath his sweatpants. His eyes were glued to the phone. "Good girl. Don't be so shy bunny, you look so pretty." He reassured.

The back of your hand came to your face to soothe your burning cheeks.

"Uh-uh." He protested. "Dove, look at me. Let me see your face."

Reluctantly you moved your hand and looked at Peter. You rested your palms one on each thigh.

"There's my girl. Are those the panties you bought for my birthday? Let me get a better look."

You scooted yourself closer to the phone so you took up the entire screen.

"Good girl. Such a pretty body. Why don't you touch it, angel?"

You let out a flustered sigh. He knows how wet you can get when he speaks so sweetly to you. Pet names turned you into a puddle. He wanted you to be a mess on display for him.

You kept your hands on your thighs and lightly massaged them. Your right hand lifted and gently grazed your belly. Every touch of your fingertips on yourself made you ache.

"Like this?" You asked looking into the camera with doe eyes.

You heard a quiet "Fuck" escape Peter's lips under his breath. "Just like that baby."

Your left hand shifted closer to your inner thigh while your right continued further up to cup your right breast over your bra. You lightly massaged and let out a small breathy moan.

Peter's right hand rested on top of his crotch, you could tell he was rubbing himself just a little.

"Fuck sweetheart" he started "Go ahead and take that off."

You freed up both your hands and reached behind your back to pull open the clasp. You let your bra slowly fall down your shoulders and arms before you laid it on the bed next to you. You were left only in soaking panties, your chest bare and exposed to him. You resumed where you were. Left hand massaging inside your thighs, dangerously close to your aching core. Your right hand gently massaged your exposed right breast, taking a moment to gently play with your nipple between your fingers. Your left hand migrated up so you were playing with both tits. Eagerly massaging and playing with your nipples. You let out a high-pitched moan and huffed his name "Peter."

Peter was now palming himself through his pants very obviously. "Keep going, bunny." He cooed.

You continued to massage your breasts, making sure to put on a good show. Pressing them together accentuating your cleavage, giving your nipples a gentle tug as you whined his name again. You were getting needy and started to wiggle your hips to relieve the pressure building up between your legs.

"What's the matter, baby?" He chuckled watching your figure twist, aching for relief.

"W-wanna t- need to..." Your voice trailed off in a combination of shyness and neediness.

"C'mon angel use your words."

"C-can I touch myself?"

A grin spread across his face and his hand dipped below the elastic band in his pants. "Only good girls get that. Are you a good girl?"

The way he spoke to you only made you wetter. You could feel yourself soaking up the blanket below you.

"Yes sir, I've been a very good girl. Haven't touched myself the whole time I've been gone."

Your response was obviously a good one because Peter's hand-picked up pace under his sweatpants. "Such a good girl. Go ahead, Dove."

You immediately slipped your dominant hand under your panties and ran a finger up your slit, coating it in your arousal. You used your slick fingers to rub your aching clit. A begging whimper tumbled from your lips as you finally broke the tension between your aching thighs.

Peter removed his hand from himself and slid his bottoms down to the middle of his thighs. His length bobbed up and rested on his stomach before meeting his right hand again.

"Fuck, Princess. Get those panties off let me see what you're doing."

You quickly obeyed, sliding your panties down your thighs and off your legs you were now sitting with your legs open, propped up on the bed with your non-dominant hand. You returned to your aching core, sliding two fingers up your slit and spreading it with your fingers. Peters whimpers and moans as he tugged on himself only made things more intense.

"Jesus, Angel. That's perfect. Tell me all about it."

Peter loved making you vocal while you were a flustered mess. His favorite was pounding into you in missionary and making you talk. 'What's the matter, baby?' 'You gonna be able to take it?' 'Tell me how good it feels baby.'

You propped yourself up on pillows to free up your other hand. The two fingers that were running up and down your slit were now slowly pushing inside you. You made sure to inch it in, giving Peter a front seat view of just how wet he could make you. After a moment you began to pump your fingers in and out. "F-feels so good. Wish I could feel you, Peter." You tried your best, but you could barely get out a word.

"Look at you." He mummed between moans. "N-not even there and you're soaking wet moaning my name. M'gonna ruin you when you get home tomorrow."

Your thighs clenched together over your hand as you listened to his words. You had barely started this and he had you thinking about tomorrow night.

Peter abruptly stopped stroking himself. "No, no, no baby. that's not how this works. Open your legs and show me that pretty pussy."

You whined at the loss of pressure as you slowly opened up your legs. Just enough so he could get a good look.

"Hm-mh not good enough. Wider Bunny. Let me see everything."

His demands had you dripping and you did as you were told.

"That's perfect, good girl. Fuck, you look so good dripping for me like that when you're all alone. Keep going. I wanna see you use both hands."

You eagerly brought your left hand to your clit, slowly circling as your right resumed pumping into you. Your walls tightened as you continued to pick up speed and fingerfuck yourself for him. Your thighs were slick and all Peter could think about was stuffing his head between them and lapping you up.

"Ugh, Y/N. Talk to me, Angel." He pressed again for you to be vocal. His grip on his cock tightened as he watched you.

"It's so good." You whined breathlessly as you kept your pace. "Wish it was your cock in me, daddy." You moaned.

Peter's dick twitched as he discovered his new favorite nickname you've given him.

Your speed increased until you couldn't take it anymore. Your walls tightened as you curled your fingers inside yourself. It was so intense even your thighs were throbbing. "Peter I- I think I-." You let out an ungodly moan. The person in the room next to yours surely heard.

"You're gonna what, baby?" He teased, about to reach release himself.

"I'm gonna- oh god can I please cum daddy?"

Your words melted him into the couch and started fucking his hand faster.

"Go ahead and come, Angel. I wanna hear my name."

Your legs shook and your toes curled as you were finally allowed to release, you continued working your fingers as your head fell back and a pornographic moan slipped from your lips. You sputtered out a slew of curse words along with the occasional "Peter".

Peter came just after you. You heard him through the phone as his head fell back. "Oh shit, y/n. Oh fuck, Bunny. Baby, you're so beautiful."

You laid back against the pillows catching your breath. When your release finally ended you took a few breaths before slowly removing your fingers from yourself. Your knees were weak and shaky.

"Damn." Peter huffed picking his head up and catching his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow and took some final glances at you. "Okay baby I gotta uh, I gotta go clean up. Holy fuck though, I wasn't kidding. Don't wear any panties when you come home. It's over as soon as you walk in that door."

Should I do part 2? Like, when y/n is coming home to Peter the next day?

#peter parker #peter parker smut #TASM!Peter Parker x reader smut #Peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #The Amazing Spider-Man #Andrew!Peter Parker #andrew garfield #Andrew!Peter Parker x reader smut #TASM!Peter Parker x reader #spider man #headcannons

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char-lotta · 3 years

Text

Never alone

Pairing: Jake x MC

Words: 4,1 k

Summary: Someone couldn’t handle herself while texting Jake and there is no turning back.

Warnings: If sex scenes aren’t your thing, this fic isn’t for you. 🔥

My native language isn't english, so forgive me the possible grammar errors.

Never alone

Jake: Can you focus on what we are doing, please?

You read the message and something large clogged your throat. Is it possible that he knew what you were doing?

MC: I am focused. I just got distracted for a second, sorry about that.

Jake: Good. So, are you on board for this? It isn’t too hard task for you?

Oh yes, it is, and you know it. How can I possible focus on anything while discussing with you? It was so strange feeling, since you had never seen his face, but you imagined him as tall, with dark hair and well-built. You had dreamt about him for weeks now, even while you were awake. It has almost become an obsession to you, and you checked your phone probably a hundred times a day, just to see those sweet three words… Jake is online.

MC: So, what is exactly you want me to do?

You saw the pencil mark as a sign that he was writing and apparently deleting the written message few times. There was this tingling feeling in your toes and you felt slightly nauseous. You were longing for a message, where he would tell you to take off your shirt and give you a new instruction. You knew that he could told you to do anything, and you would oblige easily without a doubt. Your nipples went hard even for that thought and you had this longing sensation, like an ache, between your legs, demanding and pulsating. The top you were wearing was a long gone and you laid on your back on the sofa and the only light in the room was the light coming from your phone. Your hands wandered through your body with light brushes, occasionally rubbing your breasts, and you closed your eyes. You imaged that those hands weren’t yours, but Jake’s. You drew circles with your fingers at the surface of your skin, ending up on the waist band of your panties. Slowly, you touched yourself in a trembling hand, and small moan escaped through your lips, waking you up from this daydream and the imaginary picture of Jake in your mind vanished. Frustrated, you took your hand away and put the shirt back on. But he would never do that, and you just knew it. You had confessed that you liked him, and he said that he liked you too. The warming feel with those words was overwhelming and you had returned them many times, just to remind yourself that he had feelings for you too. But I like you too, is such a vague impression after all and could be just a compliment too. How could this ever work since you didn’t even know where he was?

Jake: I don’t want you to do anything what compromises your safety. You know that, right?

Jake: So, forget all your plans going there loudly with cavalry. Since all you have, is me, and I hardly am “the cavalry”.

But you are all I need and all I want, you wanted to respond. But something held you back, and you were afraid that Jake would go offline. You tucked a lost strand of hair back to behind your ear and sighted. Why, why on earth this was so fucking hard. And for god’s sake, you two were just texting and you couldn’t contain yourself. You imagined meeting Jake in person, but how embarrassed you would feel, since you could not even say those things via text, how could you ever say them aloud?

MC: I do know that. I will be discreet, no one will see me.

Jake: Be careful. We will talk again after your mission.

You had feeling that your discussion was coming to an end and the tears started blurring your sight. You just wanted to be close to him, even though it was in opposite ends of two screens between you two. You had been in this situation many times before, and each time it felt harder. It was so utterly crushing to lose contact now and you typed so quickly that you didn’t have time to even think about what you should say to him. Knowing that you were alone the next few weeks.

MC: Don’t go. Just don’t leave me now. I miss you so much. I love you. Don’t go.

When you saw your own words flashing through the screen and realized that you had lost your self-discipline, those tears that you had tried to not let loose, came like spring water, draining your cheeks. You didn’t want to look what Jake replied (or did he even reply?) and you felt so powerless and weak, and those feelings had been inside you for a very long time suppressed. You threw your phone back at the sofa and paced around your living room, cursing under your breath. You fucking idiot, why would you say that? He doesn’t love you back, you stupid girl. If he would, he would have come and get you already.

You heard that you got messages, multiple messages, but you didn’t want to see them. Jake was probably telling her now that they two together were too dangerous and he was wanted by the government… But you didn’t care. If he just would have asked, you would give up your life as you know it without a hesitation. You could move and go no-contact with your friends and family, you would give up your job, that you loved. Because you loved him more.

You loved him.

And this was the thought last on your mind when you cried yourself to sleep.

****

You had no idea what time it was, but it was night since it was so dark that you couldn’t see anything. The silence was overwhelming and pressuring, and you laid without moving on your bed covers, and suddenly you just knew, that you were not alone. The only noise in you could hear was your own breathing and you stopped it for a second; but you couldn’t hear anything. You opened your eyes carefully and looked your apartment. Since you lived in a studio, you could see the whole room from your bed. Your heart was pounding so loud and fast that you were afraid it would escape through your ribcage any second now.

You looked thoroughly the room and you couldn’t see anyone or anything moving. Slowly you pulled out from your bed and turned the light on. There was no one in the room. You searched your apartment cautiously, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. Just when you were going back to bed, you noticed that the window in the separate kitchen was open. Had you forgot to close it? You looked from your window to the yard, but there was nothing. You shut the window second time that night and stared at the darkness, but still, there was nothing to be seen. Remembering last nights text messages made you frown, but you would deal it in the morning. You yawned and turned around.

Just when you thought you couldn’t handle your heart anymore, it stopped and felt ice-cold. There was this dark figure in the corner, just a few footsteps from you. You saw the dark figure was a man with a hood and it was covering his face, so you couldn’t see who he was. But you didn’t need the to see anything more, because you knew who was standing in your home instantly. It just wasn’t possible...

“Jake?” you whispered in utter disbelief. This must be a dream. You pinched yourself from your thigh so forcefully, that it hurt like a hell.

The hooded figure seemed to be alarmed and hesitant, but he didn’t move or say anything.

“Jake? Is it really you?” you asked softly, and the man slowly nodded. The movement of his head was so small, that you weren’t sure if you were seeing correctly. You had no idea what to say anymore, this situation had surprised you fully. You had had these dreams, but now when he was really here, you were so lost on what to do.

“Has something happened?” you asked, voice trembling. Your knees felt that they were going to betray you any moment now. Suddenly the man made a noise, and it took a while when you understood, that he was actually laughing. The laugh didn’t sound joyful, it was more a bitter tone.

“Apparently I have gone mad”, he said in a raspy voice. “I swore that I would protect you and here I am, putting you a more danger that you ever have been.”

You shifted the weight of you to another foot, trying to understand what Jake had just said.

“What do you mean by that? How am I in danger?”

“What else this could be? I am wanted by all kind of people and none of them are on the good side” Jake spat angrily, and you felt his eyes piercing you, even though you couldn’t see his eyes. You suddenly came very, very aware that you didn’t have any trousers on, just the panties. Your hands moved to cover yourself but at the same time, you had dreaded this moment since you ever had chatted with him in the first place. But why was he so angry?

“Could I see your face?” you asked, and you didn’t recognize your voice anymore. Since when you had sounded like that? Maybe your wildest dreams were happening, and you couldn’t believe it.

“No.” His voice was harsh and cold. You felt instant disappointment roaming thorough your body, crushing your hopes.

“But why? You can see mine.”

“Let’s not make this any more complicated than it is”, he frowned and took a step back, adding more shadows in his figure.

“Why are you here then?” The now unrecognizable voice was mad. You felt anger rising somewhere inside of you, making room for itself pushing all the hopeful thoughts aside. “Why the fuck are you in my home in the middle of the night if I can’t even see you?”

Overwhelmed, you turned around and felt so frustrated. Jake was in your home; you finally had met him, and he forbid you to even look at him. This was nothing like you had imagined, there was nothing romantic in this situation.

“I needed to see you”, you heard him answer and waited more. His voice was not so harsh anymore, but maybe… desperate? You peeked him with corner of your eye. He hadn’t move from his spot.

“Why would you say those things? Why didn’t you answer my messages anymore?” he asked and now he’s voice was definitely trembling. You thought that he was longing something and didn’t know if you could give it to him. You turned back to him and took a step closer to him. You slowly reached your hand towards him, but he didn’t budge. For a second you remembered your semi-nakedness but who the fuck cares. This was more important than a missing pair of jeans.

“Jake”, you said lightly and even saying his name aloud gave you a light blush. Get yourself together, you command yourself. “Are you that daft?” you burst, and this was clearly not the answer Jake had expected since you heard offended huff from the darkness.

“I was so embarrassed with my own words, who betrayed me coming out like that, because I had agreed with myself that I would not vocalize my feelings towards you. But I do love you which is absolutely crazy and how on earth I could love something I haven’t never seen or heard before? That would freak out anyone, let alone you, who is forced to work with me to find his sister” you ranted, now looking on anything else except him.

“I don’t expect you to love me back, and I am so sorry for distracting our search towards Hannah. I won’t do it again, I promise. We can never talk about this incident again.” You feel those stupid tears again and flickered your eyes. Oh no, don’t cry NOW!

Everyone who has ever heard silence, know how disturbing it can be. The silence what landed between you and Jake was so thick and full of fear and anxiousness and you waited -, no, - you feared his response. It felt like a small eternity when he finally responded.

“MC…” he said, and that was all he said. Nothing else. You waited but there was nothing more. Feeling so defeated and humiliated, you just wanted to get away from him and started walking out of the kitchen.

But he finally grabbed your hand and pulled you in to the shadows with him. Your confused brain could only register his musky smell and his other hand on your lower back when he pulled you closer. His lips carefully brushed yours and your head felt like exploding. Adrenaline flushed through your veins so fast that it made you feel dizzy, and you grasped his hoodie to stay balanced. You leaned towards him and felt his breath on your face, and you opened your lips, welcoming his.

You had never been kissed like that and it had never felt so good. His lips were demanding, and his grip tightened on your hand; your hands were in his hair, trying to get him closer. You both gasped air between the kisses and his hand moved from your back to your bottom, and you tangled your leg behind his. He let go of your hand and lifted you to his lap and turned you two around landing you on the counter top and you could hear cutlery dropping on the floor. Your brains screamed with joy and happiness, wishing this moment could continue forever. There was only you and Jake in this world, and nothing couldn’t stop you two, you wouldn’t care if the Man Without a Face would have entered the room.

He moved his lips from your mouth to your neck and every kiss he made, left you with a burning sensation and you could not do anything else than moan. You could feel his lips changing from gently kisses to more intense and rougher around your neck and he nibbled behind your earlobe quite forcefully.

“Jake…” you moaned again with pleasure and sent your hands exploring his body, you just wanted to have all of him.

“This is incredibly stupid” you heard him say somewhere lower and you can’t help but giggle a bit. “Why does it feel so good then?” you asked, and he answered by cupping your breast and squeezing it gently and sucked your earlobe at the same time. You could see that the darkness had lifted since moon was shining from the window, lighting the room. He had a dark hair, as you had imagined, and it seemed that other of your predictions had done well too. Jake let go of your ear and looked at you and you could see his blue eyes were full of lust and something else… He stroked your cheek with his thumb, and you pulled him closer between your legs with your feet.

“You are so fucking beautiful, MC”, he said in a raspy voice, still looking at you. “But I did actually know that already. I just needed to see you with my own eyes”. I presumed that he meant that he had seen my social media profiles, and probably something else, that I wasn’t aware of, since he was a hacker.

“I presume that I am not alone with my feelings?” you asked and did not know, what made you so courageous. You two looked each other and time had stopped. Still caressing your cheek, Jake sighed.

“I am not good with expressing emotions. And still, this is incredibly stupid.”

Now was your turn feel offended. How could this burning feeling inside of you be stupid? And why couldn’t he just admit that they were more than pen pals from mystery series of Duskwood? Maybe he didn’t care you as much as you liked to think.

“Yeah, maybe you are right”, you said in a hurt tone and lowered your gaze. “If I am the only one here with feelings, this is going to be a torture for me if we continue.” You let your hands rest on your lap.

“Who’s the daft now?” Jake asked amused and lifted up your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I didn’t come all the way here to tell you I didn’t love you.”

“What are you telling me then?” You didn’t dare to hope for any answer. Jake kissed you again, but you broke the kiss soon (even though it was incredibly hard) and looked him desperate.

“Jake… Please”, you whispered.

He looked you and looked defeated.

“If I say it, there’s no turning back. I feel like I’m trapping you with me, and trust me, it isn’t comfortable place to be in life at this moment.”

“I want to be trapped with you with every cell of my body” you assured him quickly. And you meant every word you said, because this, right here, was where you wanted to be. With Jake.

“I…” he started, and you stopped breathing. You had longed for this moment ages and could not believe that this was happening. Your whole body waited for he to continue his sentence.

“I never want to be separated from you” he whispered. “You are amazing and beautiful, and still so frustrating and stubborn. I came here to tell you that we are better off just friends for both of our protection, but now I am with you and you are just… you! You just look at me and I forget everything I was supposed to say and all I want to do is pull you closer and never let go.”

You exhaled and noticed that he was shaking, and you were surprised to see that you were too. “Well then don’t let go”, you whispered back.

He grabbed your waist and shift you closer to him and kissed you passionately, your tongue met his. He nibbled your lower lip, and his hands were wandering again through your body. You wanted to be touched everywhere by him and leaned little bit back so there was room for his hands. He took eagerly your given chance and moved his hands under your shirt. You felt dizzy again and didn’t even notice that you were moaning again when his lips found a way to your cleavage. He looked up as a gesture making sure that this was okay to you.

“Don't you dare to stop”, you gasped.

He didn’t need more confirmation and pulled your shirt up, revealing your upper body. He took a moment to look at you properly and you felt something getting harder inside of his trousers. Your thoughts moved to the forward where he would finally enter you and the pulsating, aching feeling was back. Jake took your nipple between his lips and sucked it gently and for a moment you were so sure, that you would pass out for the pleasure. He caressed you with his hands and mouth, moving the hands slowly to the waistband of your panties. You tried to take of his shirt, but he gently pushed your hands off back to the counter top as he focused on you; you had no choice than enjoy the ride.

His fingers felt warm when he finally touched you under the panties. You knew that you were soaking wet, but when he started rubbing your clit, you could see the star constellations. Your moans weren’t subtle anymore, and with each noise you made, he seemed to get more fuel on his actions. Jake pulled your panties off easily, revealing you completely. He took he’s moment again to admire you and before you knew, he was continuing rubbing your clit with his thumb and the other hands fingers were inside you, fastening the pace with every moan you let slip. You could feel his tongue on your nipple again and you grabbed his hair. All you felt was pleasure, you had never felt so good in your life; all your emotions from last month while texting Jake and developing one-sided feelings towards him came to final conclusion – you weren’t alone in this after all, and this made you so utterly happy. Your vision started to blur, and you lost your sense of everything else except the overwhelming feeling of relieve when you orgasmed. When you finally came back to your senses, you felt Jake gently lightening his pressure on you and you breathed heavily, trying to get some air. Your smile was contagious, and Jake grinned while watching you.

“What?”

“Like I said”, he murmured, “you are amazing.”

You pulled him for a kiss which deepened shortly. At the same time, your hands found his belt and you started undressing him with his help. When you got rid of his shirt, you saw scars on his torso, and you looked them in confusion.

“Another time, okay?” Jake asked and you nodded and same time you felt butterflies in the bottom of your stomach. Another time…

He opened his belt and lowered his trousers revealing black underwear with a promising bulge in the groin, and you could not wait to get rid of these barriers anymore, Jake was laughing for your enthusiasm and this time, the laugh sounded like it should be; light, happy and a bit teasing.

“I cannot wait you to be inside of me” you confessed, and he did as you told. You could feel him in your entrance, dipping in just the tip. Your whole body was ready, and your mind was yelling you all kind of naughty words and Jake looked you just like he could hear them. He kissed you playfully and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jake”, you moaned, “you are driving me crazy.”

“Now you know how I feel”, he said and took a good grip from your hair, pulling your head back and forced his lips on yours. You felt him entering inside of you and you moaned so hard, that it was a more of a shout than a moan. The thrusts went harder as he listened you carefully first, and all you could do was to say “yes”.

The sex wasn’t like you had imagined, but it was better. It wasn’t gentle and loving, it was rough and needy, and you felt both of you were pouring out all of those long-suppressed feelings and dreams of you two, the desperation with the dangers and the times you two tried to forget each other’s as it was just mad to fell in love with stranger. But here you two were, having sex in your kitchen, against all the odds.

You grabbed the cupboards above you trying to hold your position as Jake pounded in you and you kept drifting in the back of the counter top. Jake suddenly pulled you down from the surface, turned and bent you over, and entered you again, going in deeper with every thrust. You could hear his breathing tightening up and getting faster, as well yours. He grabbed your hair again, which you didn’t know that you liked before, but oh boy, how it made things better. You felt the orgasm coming again and you couldn’t help but scream and arch your back with incoming wave of pleasure. You didn’t hear yourself, but you were screaming Jake’s name, and that was the final straw for him, as he came inside of you.

****

You sat on Jake's lap and laid your head to his chest, as your fingers draw circles on his chest. He kissed you on your forehead and played with your hair.

“Jake?” you asked. “What happens now?”

He looked you in deep with his thoughts and you were wondering, would you even want to hear answer to your question.

“Well. This definitely complicates things”, he said finally.

“You can’t go offline now”, you teased him, trying to lighten the mood. “Can we solve this together?”

“So, we’re together now?” he asked with one of his eyebrows up and you bump your fist in his chest lightly. “That is not how to respond to a lady who has just had sex with you”.

“That is correct”, he frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any objections at the topic of us being together?” you asked, and he could hear the worry in your voice.

“Well, I said it before. There’s no turning back now”, Jake gazed you intensely, caressing your cheekbones, “You’re stuck with me now.”

Knowing how hard it was to him say these things aloud, you took this as a victory and snuggled to get better position on his lap. He did love you as much you love him, and both of you know that.

“Just where I want to be. With you. No matter what.”

#duskwood #everbyte studios #duskwood jake #jake x mc #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood smut #duskwood jake x player #jake x player

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softboywriting · 3 years

Text

Little Moments | Billy Russo

Summary: Tension in familiarity leads to confessions after a terrifying event. [Billy Russo x Reader] [Violence] [Blood] [Gunshots] [Assistant!Reader] [Alternate Timeline - Castle family not mentioned/never happened] [Fluff]

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This is my first Billy Russo fic, we’ll see where this goes yeah?

Just over a year ago you took a position as an assistant with Anvil. The job wasn't too bad, basically you took care of paying the bills for the facility, keeping inventory of supplies and equipment, scheduling appointments and keeping track of who was deployed where and why while keeping tabs on them and their duties while on deployment from Anvil. You had done work like this before, managing in a grocery store in your early twenties. It wasn't all that different, just instead of managing products you managed people. No the job was not difficult but your boss. Well. He was something else.

William "Billy" Russo was a force to be reckoned with. Intelligent, handsome, cunning. His smile could kill. His eyes...they were something all their own. To say Billy was attractive was an understatement. But attraction was only part of the problem. The other part is his sharp tongue, quick wit and dry sarcasm. A year of sharing an office with him had put you on edge. You never know what he would do next, what he would say next. Some days you wish you could fuck him right there in that expensive leather rolling chair behind his desk. Other's you want to rip his leg off and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. The two of you got close, going back and forth with playful banter almost daily. It's like you’re always on the edge of being something more, if one of you would just make the first move.

Things finally come to a head one day when you've got a particularly large workload on your plate and Billy has decided to go on one of his little rants about who knows what, you tune him out. He is always coming into the office and talking to himself. Maybe he is talking to you, but you rarely participate in the conversation. At first you thought he was on a call, using a headset or something, but no. He just talks, and he talks a lot.

"Can you shut up for five fucking minutes?" You snap, head pounding from eye strain. You've been at the computer for six hours now, and you're trying to transcribe a call from one of his units over in Turkey about a job. Billy's mindless chatter has gotten on your last nerve today.

Billy stops, falling silent somewhere near his desk. The room becomes thick, heavy with tension as you both remain silent. You've never snapped at him, not seriously. You've told him to go fuck himself but in a playful way. This was too real. Too loaded. He's your boss. Fuck.

You're not one to apologize when you're not actually sorry though. You remain silent, knowing he expects you to say something. He wants you to take back your words but you won't.

"How much work do you have left?"

Your eyes flick from the screen to him. He looks flushed. Angry? No. His eyes hold no malice. He looks aroused. No way. A cold sweat runs down your back. He must be livid. "I'm transcribing a call right now then I have to make copies of some invoices, order new foam guards for the weight benches and-"

"Finish the call. Then go home."

"Yes, sir."

Billy pushes off his desk and exits the room, leaving the door open behind him. You know that he isn't happy with your little outburst. You just don't know why he won't say as much. He looks turned on if you didn't know better. Or do you?

The rest of the call goes smoothly now you don't have to pause every few seconds to rewind and listen to it to make out exactly what the unit leader was saying over Billy's chatter. You wrap up and head out as you were told. On the way out you pass Billy with a few of his higher up employees.

"Good night, Mr. Russo." You say softly with a hand raised in a wave. You always call him by his last name around other people. It's not much of a gesture but you want to keep things calm and civil. He nods, face unreadable, and gives a little raise of his hand as well. More than you expected, and it puts you at ease that you might keep your job.

_____________________

"I'll have my assistant arrange the payment from you after the contract is finalized."

You stop by the door to the meeting room to listen in. The men in the room with Billy are potential clients, men who want private security for multiple locations. You had greeted them when they arrived and showed them to the meeting room. They rubbed you the wrong way. You met a lot of men and women in your year at Anvil, a lot of different people from different walks of life. None of them made you as uncomfortable as these men had. You step away from the door and go to the office. If Billy wants to get in bed with them then let him. That's not your call.

"Let me grab the paperwork from my assistant." You hear through the closed door and Billy steps in, closing it behind him. "Can you give me a new client contract?"

"Sure." You pull open the file drawer on your right and thumb through the papers. "They must be very promising work."

Billy leans on the side of the desk, quirking an eyebrow up at you. "What's got you so mouthy lately?"

You cut him a glare and he chuckles.

"You don't like them?"

"I'm not fond."

"Why?"

"They feel wrong." You extract a thick booklet of paper and hand it to Billy. "But let's not pretend you care what I think, Mr. Russo."

Billy rolls his eyes at the formalities. "You know damn well I value your input just like I do from any other person who works for me. Talk to me."

You sit up and lean back in your chair, eyes on his, your heart pounding. He's looking at you so attentively it's hard to focus. Those eyes, so soft and warm staring back at you. Fuck. He could make you spill the truth about everything without trying. "They give me a bad feeling. The second I greeted them they just...felt bad? I can't explain it."

"We work with a lot of morally gray people in our line of business, sweetheart." Billy leans back, hands spreading out on the desk. His hands, fuck they're nice. "But I will never ignore a gut instinct."

"So you won't sign the contract with them?"

"I'll do some more investigation before I do. Talk to a few friends in high places."

You nod and slide forward to sit at the computer, closer to him. What a mistake. You can smell his cologne, his heat is pouring into your knee beside his. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes forward on the computer. He reaches over and lays a hand on your shoulder, making your body flush with heat. Why did he have to touch you?

"Yes?" You ask, sparing a quick glance up at him. Mistake. He's staring down at you with those beautiful obsidian eyes. God they're so big and he's such a-

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me. You've never come to me like this before about a client. I like it."

"Oh. Well it's your business so-"

Billy leans in close to your ear and you feel that cold sweat return from when you told him to shut up. This time it's not fear or panic, it's arousal? The closeness is getting to you, your head is swimming. "You're just as important to me as this company. Remember that."

You nod.

"Couldn't hear you."

"Y-yeah. Yes. I will."

He pushes off the desk and slides the papers he had been leaning against closer to you before he picks up the contract and smacks it against his hand a few times. "Will you set up a meeting with the Rodgers Estate for later?"

You grab a pen and scribble it in your planner. "Got it Mr. Russo."

"One more thing." He says and you look up. His hand is on the door handle. "Have a drink and relax? You're a little wound up lately. And drop the Mr. Russo shit, call me Billy when we're alone. You know that." He smiles and gives you a wink before slipping out the door to meet the clients in the hall.

A drink? You need a week off, a spa getaway and a new career. Billy Russo is driving you up a wall and he doesn't even see it. Or maybe he does. Shit.

_____________

A week later. Just before eight in the morning you're settled into your desk, ready to start going through some new shipment invoices when you hear a commotion downstairs. It isn't unusual for the trainees to get out of hand from time to time, fights break out, things get heated. You dismiss it and go about your work.

"Six new treadmills? What the hell are these people doing to them?" You sigh and type the invoice number for Sports Equipmentz LTD into your system. "Billy is gonna get an ear full for this one."

There is more comotion and you look at the closed door. Another fight? Billy doesn't stand for that kind of stuff on the training floor. He would have stopped it by now. Actually, no one should be in the facility except you and Billy this early. What the hell is that noise.

You push up from the desk and go to the window beside the door, peeking through the blinds. From what you can see nothing looks out of balance. Then you hear gunshots and your stomach churns, cold and sick. There is no live fire allowed in the facility. All firearm training is done off site.

"Fuck." You flip the lock on the door and look around for something to barricade the floor to ceiling window beside the door. There is nothing you can move alone. You flip off the light and head to your desk, grab your phone and dial Billy's number.

No answer. You sink down under the desk and pull the chair in close. Maybe if someone does get in they will think the office is empty and move on since the desk looks unused. You reach over and shut down the computer tower, then reach up and pull down all your paperwork to clear the desk.

Thumping from the bathroom on the other side of the office makes your heart pound. Someone is on the upper floor with you. A gunshot. Tears well up in your eyes. Why didn't you let Billy get you a conceal and carry? Why didn't you do that gun training six months ago? Because you're afraid of guns and you couldn't trust yourself not to hurt someone on accident. Fuck. Fuck!

The door handle jiggles. You cover your mouth and try dialing Billy again. The phone disconnects as soon as it rings once. Goes straight to a voicemail. You can't remember if he is with a client today. There are voices outside the door, then a gunshot so loud you know it's just on the other side. You close your eyes, press your face into your knees and try to imagine you are invisible.

The door opens, not with a kick, but unlocked and you can't breathe. You can't move. They're moving around the room. Billy's desk first. Papers are rustled, then the footsteps grow closer. You shrink yourself smaller, arms in pain from holding your knees so tight.

"If they took you, I swear to God I will-...there you are."

You look up and Billy is knelt down, arm on the desk as he looks at you. He's a fucking mess of what you can only assume is blood and God knows what. "Billy, oh god for fucks sake." You cry and he shoves the chair away to pull you out onto his lap.

Never have you clung to someone so hard in your entire life. You press your face into his neck, hand digging into his back harshly as you cry in relief.

His hand slides up your back and cradles your ribs on the left. "Hey, hey." He murmurs softly and you stop crying so hard. " What did I promise you when I hired you?"

"That I would be safe. That no matter what I would be safe and a-all I had to do was paperw-work."

"That's right." Billy pulls you back gently, tugging your shirt to guide you. He looks horrible, but none of it seems to be from his own injuries. "Aw, fuck. You're a mess now."

You look down at your shirt and it's got blood on it. "Oh god. Oh god wh-who..."

Billy shakes his head. "Don't think about it too much." He presses a kiss to your temple, hand on the back of your head. "Close your eyes, don't look at it."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later."

"I didn't know what to do."

"Hey, no, no shh. You were a good girl. You stayed quiet, stayed down and locked the door." He rubs your back and pats your side. "We're going to get out of here and I'll handle the situation from the apartment."

You nod and peek your eyes open for a second. "It's bad out there isn't it?"

"It's not pretty. I'll get you outside and we'll get out of here, don't worry."

"Okay."

_____________________

You had never been to Billy's place. Never had a reason to go. It's more industrial than you expected, modern industrial chic. Posh. Very expensive obviously, but that was Billy. Well dressed, well spoken. He looked the part to play the part.

He set you up in a large bathroom and gave you clothes, a shirt and a pair of pajama pants. They might fit alright, Billy is quite a bit slimmer than you are in the hips and thighs.

You look in the mirror and clench your jaw. Your peachy colored blouse is ruined, your sweater is fucked. Your face. God your face has someone else's blood on it. Across your cheek and nose where you had pressed your face into Billy's neck.

There is a pile of washcloths and you grab a few, soaking them and scrubbing at your skin. You pull your clothes off fervently, desperate to be clean of strange blood. The shower is large, open and ready to be used. So you do. You get in and turn the water on and sit on the floor, processing. It was all a blur. Everything happened so fast. Was it even real?

Some time passes and you see the door open. The water is getting lukewarm as it cascades over your skin. You don't even care if he sees you naked you're so out of your own head.

"I'm going to head to Anvil. The police have arrived to investigate the break in."

"Okay." You croak, not looking away from the wall opposite you.

"You can stay." Billy walks into the room and leans over the shower to turn the water off. He squats down beside you and offers you a towel from the warmer by the toilet. "Mind getting out of there for me?"

"Billy, what happened?" You look over at him and he looks...normal. He's in a blue sweater, dark jeans, boots. It's the most casual you've ever seen him. He's always been a suit man to you. Here he looks like a guy you'd meet at a bar and share a few beers with. The guy you'd take home and laugh about jokes with from stupid comedian on TV. It's strange, but warming.

He helps you up and wraps you in the fluffy gray towel. "Your feeling? About the clients I met with?"

"Yeah?"

"You were right." He slicks your hair back off of your face. "They got wind that I was looking further into why they wanted my employees. It was for a human trafficking operation. I don't do human trafficking, and I was going to decline the offer. Some snitch at the Rodgers Estate let it out that I was asking questions. I guess they thought they could clear their tracks by killing me."

"O-oh."

"Mmm. I didn't think they would do something in broad daylight but here we are. Amatures." Billy steps back and runs a hand over his hair. "I called the police, said that I got a notification that the building had been beached through an unauthorized entrance. It's not a lie. Technically they did. Thankfully I wasn't there."

You step out of the shower and grab the clothes he gave you from the counter. "But you were. You...you killed those men."

"No, I incapacitated them." He crosses his arms and pulls his lower lip between his teeth. "It was me and you or them. We were the only ones in that facility. I wasn't going to let them hurt you."

"H-how do you explain that?" You sit on the toilet and Billy leans on the doorframe. "What if-"

"That's my job sweetheart. You worry about yourself, here. I gotta go meet the cops." He pats the wood a few times and looks out into the hall. "Call me if you need anything. I promise I'll answer no matter what."

You nod.

"I'll be back later."

____________________

Hours pass and you become familiar with the apartment. It's huge, the penthouse of a very expensive building downtown. It has two bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen and dining area, a living room, a balcony that wraps around and has a fire pit and a small private pool. It's more luxury than you could ever afford. Not that Anvil doesn't pay well, because it does. This is just far more than you could ever make.

In Billy's room there aren't any personal touches. It's clean, picture perfect even. Like at any moment someone could come and take photos to sell the place. There is a picture on his bedside table, the only thing that isn't straight from a design catalog. It's you and Billy with a few investors. Your first meeting he ever brought you to. How could you forget? He bought you the dress literally an hour before the meeting because yours ripped in the back. It was possibly the most embarrassing thing you've ever done in front of a boss. He didn't make you feel bad or anything, he simply asked your size, stopped at a shop on the way to the dinner and got you a dress. It was just that easy, that normal.

You set the photo down and lay back. Your eyes close and you imagine what Billy is like outside of work. Of course you've gotten a taste of that, all the banter and shared stories. Nothing too deep but enough to keep conversation going. You probably shared more than him, way more. It was like when you started talking to someone you couldn't stop. You just, information overload the poor person. Usually people get spooked away, or they tell you that they don't care or don't need to know. Not Billy. He just listened, gaze fixed on you while you talked. Maybe that's why you like him so much. He listened. He cared.

"Cozy?"

You roll over and open your eyes to find Billy in the doorway to his room. "You're back. I didn't hear you come in?"

"There is a bed in the other room y'know?" He chuckles as he goes to sit at the end of the bed and pull his boots off. "Or do you just like mine because it's bigger?"

"Oh yeah, yours is much bigger. Comfier too."

He hums. "Go through all my shit?"

"You know it."

"There's my girl." He looks back and he's smiling. "I was getting worried about you. You seemed pretty shaken up."

You sigh and shake your head. Of course Billy doesn't think about how you've never been in a dangerous situation short of falling from a tree when you were ten. To him gunfire and blood were in a day's work as an ex marine special operations. "I think I'd be more worried about you."

Billy turns and crawls up the bed, leaning with his head on his hand, elbow propping him up. "Why's that?"

"Been a while since you saw live action hasn't it? You're not worried about PTSD?"

"I've seen plenty of action since I got out. I know the risk I take running the company I do. It hasn't happened before now but it was bound to eventually."

"Right, yeah."

"Do I scare you?"

You shake your head. "No, not really. I know you've done things, seen things that I couldn't even imagine. It's part of who you are, who you were."

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that. It was them or us. You know that right?"

"Y-yeah. I know." You pick at the bedspread and he bumps his hand against your knee.

"You alright? I tried to keep you...away from it. I know you aren't like everyone else."

"I'm not ex military you mean." You feel your chest tighten. "I'm a civilian. I can't defend myself."

Billy sits up and lays a hand on your back. "Hey, hey."

"I shouldn't stay at Anvil. I should just go somewhere else. I can't do this, Billy, I'm scared what if this happened again?" Tears spill over and down your face. "I-I can't."

"I will never let anything happen to you." He turns your face to look at him. He's warm, his lips plush, eyes on yours. "You can work from home if you want. I'll stop by and bother you and make you tell me to shut up." He smiles a little as your lips turn up at the telling him to shut up part. "You like that?"

"I don't know, but I think you do."

Billy laughs softly, his smile wide. "Maybe I do. You noticed that?"

"Maybe." You wipe your eyes and he brushes a stray tear away with his thumb. "Why do you care so much? I'm just your assistant."

"Because I love you."

"W-what?" You hiccup as your breathing stops for a moment.

"You're like family. I trust you with everything, I tell you everything, you're my girl." Billy runs a hand through your hair. "I can't lose you."

"I don't-...I'm just-"

His lips press against yours and your eyes fall closed. It's an innocent kiss, soft and loving. "If I read this wrong all this time, you gotta tell me." He murmurs, head pressed to yours.

"No, you didn't. I just, you just caught me off guard."

"Yeah?" He smiles, nose scrunching up against yours. He places his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up to kiss you again briefly. "You're sure it's okay?"

You nod and he pulls back to kiss your temple, holding his nose to your hair and cradling the back of your head.

"Get some rest, I've got some calls to make." He climbs off the bed and heads for the door.

"Are you leaving?"

"No."

"Good."

He walks back quickly and kisses your cheek. "I mean it. Get some rest."

"I would if you'd just go already."

"Oh. You think you can just get rid of me?" He crawls back on the bed and you fall back as he straddles your hips. "You think you can boss me around huh?" He starts tickling your sides and you squeal, thrashing under his surprisingly strong hold.

"Stop! Stop! I yield!"

Billy stops and bends over, bracketing your head with his arms. "I knew you'd be fun to torment outside of that stuffy office."

"I hate tickling."

"Oh that's very obvious. I've made a mental note, highlighted it in yellow and everything." He bumps his nose against yours. "I'm gonna find everything that makes you tick."

You reach up and run a hand over his hair that's flopping forward from lack of product. "Expect to get as much as you give."

"Oh I do." His lips ghost over yours as he speaks. "I look forward to it."

You shove his head to the side and he flops over. "Don't you have calls to make?"

"Maybe."

"Go make your calls. I'm going to stink up your bed and rifle through your drawers more."

"I expect no less." He says, getting up and going to the door once more. "Let me know if you find anything you like, yeah?"

"Get out!"

He just cackles and you close your eyes. This is really happening. Funny how the world works in mysterious ways. You never thought you'd be the one to snatch Billy Russo off the market but here you are, and you're pretty damn proud of it.

The end

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Header image by delicate-venus

Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support content creators. -A

#the punisher #billy russo #ben barnes #ben barnes characters #the punisher series #the punisher netflix #punisher fic #billy russo x reader #billy russo fic

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suneatersupportsquad · 3 years

Text

red handed; colby brock

request: im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.”

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

#colby brock #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock one shot #colby brock fanfic #colby brock imagine #fanfiction #the trap house #bug.oneshots

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kaepop-trash · 3 years

Note

I finished Unintended Consequences two days ago and I still can't get it out of my head. How do you do it? How do you make him playful and funny one moment and sexy the next? I can't get the Epilogue out of my mind!!! This might be too much to ask since you mentioned that you've been working on a few WIPs, but I've been reading your fanfiction for a long time now and I know you sometimes answers asks with small bits of extra plot. I need Daddy Johnny, I can't stop thinking about it.

Please! Ask anything, I love doing these. Finding out someone wants to see more of characters makes me giddy because I focus on characters the most in any story. You can ask about any character from any fic at any point of time in any situation and I will gladly write it. This is maybe on of my favourite things to do, like an excercise in character. If you have more please don't hesitate to ask. But for now, here's daddy Johnny. Enjoy!

Her bottom lip puckered and she look at her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. Johnny laughed softly, changing the gear as the traffic light turned green.

"What has gotten into you today?" He was still chuckling to himself.

Her eyes traced the rain covered streets as they passed by slowly. Taking in the sight of her city, her home.

She turned to face him, devilish intention in her eyes. "A lot of things. Unfortunately, none of them were you." She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She took pleasure at the sight of the humour dropping away from his eyes.

She looked out through the windshield, her voice turning back to conversational. "I appreciate that you came to the airport. Though I'm not sure I enjoyed how blatantly Isabelle was eyeing you." She frowned, remembering her colleagues shameless giggles and elbow touches.

"I thought Isabella was married?" He said off handedly.

She resisted the urge to smile, noticing his deliberate effort to mispronounce her name.

"All the more reason to dislike it. Isabelle should laugh at her husband's jokes." Her forehead creased together.

She sighed as they stopped at another red light. New York traffic aged a person more than the pollution.

Johnny turned to face her as he turned off the ignition, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I thought you weren't the jealous type?"

"I am the possesive type, remember?" She pointed a finger at him. "I don't doubt you for a second. But I still don't see why Isabelle needs to stroke my Daddy's arm." She saw his nostrils flare, a sudden fire in his eyes. On her part, she bit back a smile.

There was a moment when he just watched her like a predator sizing their prey up while her breathing hitched with every passing second.

Then a horn blared behind them.

Johnny peeled his eyes from her, looking back at the road. His jaw set tight.

She turned back to the road as well, going back to filling him in on her work trip. "I did manage to squeeze in an amendment in the budget bill. Though I had to corner a senator in a bar for it. How was your week?" She questioned.

It took more than two hours, but they finally drove into the garage. Johnny got out and took out her suitcase, still mostly silent.

She tapped her feet on the ground as they waited for the elevator.

"Is there any food? I'm famished." She sighed as her stomach growled.

His eyes widened the smallest bit, "There's some cold pizza on the counter. I think there's an orange in the fridge." He thought over it.

She sighed, her head falling. "I leave for seven days and you've already given up food? Johnny Seo I've told you to at least have a decent dinner." She shook her head.

"I missed you too, (Y/N)." He said it absent-mindedly, practically fluent in her habit of missing what was really bothering her.

She was so deep in love with this man.

"What are you in the mood to eat?" He asked as the elevator dinged open. He lifted her suitcase and placed it inside as the elevator closed them both in.

Without too much of a malicious intent, her lips tugged at the corners.

"Jesus fucking Christ, baby." He huffed, "You need to stop." He warned.

"Why?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "I can say what I want to you. You're my boyfriend." She smiled at the word, still not used to the butterflies it gave her after almost three years.

"Wait till we get home." He sighed.

"But this is more fun." Her lower lip puckered up again, "Look at how impossibly red your cheeks are right now. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"What should I do to your cheeks when we get back then?" He raised a brow, a flick of a switch for heat to pool in between her legs.

"Kiss them lovingly." She smirked, ignoring the intentional play on words.

His lips tugged on one corner, shaking his head as a chuckle slipped out his lips and looking away to the screen as they rose through the floors.

"Cold pizza is fine." She spoke, earning a distracted hum from him.

Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he looked down to lock his gaze on hers. She sat on her knees at the edge of the bed, looking up at him with big, eager eyes. Wearing lingerie he once bought for her, the sight milking every last reserve he had.

The delicate cream-beige silk was thin despite being opaque, teasing his senses as her nipples currently stretched against the fabric.

He knew she wore it on purpose.

"Did you enjoy it? Constantly saying things that almost made the car crash?" He clicked his tongue.

"You aren't crashing any cars at 12 miles an hour." She mumbled.

His fingers grabbed her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. Humour dancing in his eyes, but a deliberate frown on his face.

"Look at me when you speak, princess." His voice impassive. "We're feeling very brave today, are we?" She blinked, batting her lashes in a slow deliberate move that made him groan.

"You always have more self-control than I do." She pouted. "All week I craved you. I just wanted to see some of that in your eyes."

His thumb brushed against her lower lips, pulling on the skin and letting his gaze linger on the plump flesh, before bringing it back to her eyes. "I'm always craving you." He bit the inside of his cheek when her lips parted to wrap around his thumb, flicking small licks against the pad of his thumb.

He clasped her jaw, "Wretched girl." He groaned.

"I missed you so much." She whined against his thump, letting it fall from her now wet lips with a soft 'pop'. "I was even sitting in a conference room before a meeting looking at your pictures. That bitch Isabelle peeked in and then would not stop asking who you were." She frowned.

His eyes danced with amusement. "What did you do then?" He dragged his thumb down her throat, dragging his wet finger down the skin.

"I told her exactly who you were." She sounded indignant.

"And what is that?" His fingers brushed over her breasts with a feather light touch, enjoying the sensation of the soft silk under his knuckles.

"Mine."

His eyes snapped back to hers, his lips parting.

She continued like her words didn't knock the ground from under his feet, "She looked like she didn't even want to believe me." She rolled her eyes.

Johnny raised a brow, "Is that why you grabbed my ass in the middle of the airport?" The smirk that lifted the corner of her lips drove him insane.

"Maybe." She bated her eyelashes. "Isabelle needs to pay more attention to her own husband." She frowned again.

"Can we not talk about Isabelle in our bed?" He snapped.

She gave him a soft nod, looking to the floor. Johnny grazed his lower lip with his teeth till the skin broke.

He lifted her chin to look at him, "Say it again." He demanded.

She scoffed, "You just said–"

"You know what I mean, princess." He narrowed his gaze at her. Her lips tugged. Otherwise patronising nicknames sounded like filthy praises when they came from his lips.

She looked up, unfaltering ease in her eyes. "You're mine."

"Again." He growled, his breathing down to a shallow mess of strong effort.

She sat up on her knees, coming up to make her eyes level to his, "Johnny Seo you belong to me."

He presses his lips to hers. She wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other to grab his sweater, pulling him till he was over her.

He pulled away from the kiss, lips still pressed on hers, "Turn over." He ordered.

She obeyed, lying on her stomach on the mattress, looking back to watch him do quick work of undressing.

"Did you miss me?" She questioned, knowing the answer already.

"Every fucking hour." The words filled her with pride anyway.

"Hmm. You don't seem like it. Telling me off like you are." She hid her smile in the pillow. He dragged a stray finger down her spine, the air in her lungs stuttering on it's way out.

"You've become a little tease do you know that?" His fingers lingered on the curve of her ass. She pressed it further up in the air, enjoying the sound of his soft exhale.

"Learning from the best." Her voice was softer.

When the first smack landed on her ass she gasped from shock. He rubbed the flesh softly, soothing the sting from a second ago.

"Anything else to say?" He questioned. She pictured the raise of a single brow, the challenge in his eyes. She sucked in her breath and parted her lips to speak.

The second smack landed on the other cheek, making a moan leave through her lips instead. She buried her face in the pillow, feeling like she'd go mad with desire.

"That's what I thought." He hummed, "My precious brat needs a little encouragement once in a while, doesn't she?" He kneaded the flesh of her ass. "Speak." He demanded.

"Yes, Daddy." She spoke through her teeth.

The third made her wince, his palm landing in the middle, impossibly close to her increasingly wet hole. She jumped, burying her face further and whining.

"Are we good?" He questioned, stroking her behind again.

"Yes." She lifted her head to gasp out.

Johnny was so good at pushing her till the very brink of desire, but never pain. His touch was stern but never harsh. And he was foremost gentle.

She turned her head to press her cheek into the pillow instead of her face. "I love you."

"I love you too, (Y/N)." His voice was soft. "I'm crazy about you." He huffed.

Two of his fingers stroked down her clothed slit. When he pressed her folds right above her clit she bit down on her lip.

"You're so wet." He growled, pressing a finger through the silk of her underwear into her.

Her leg jerked at the sensation.

"Absolutely soaked." His voice was dangerously low, "Turn over." He took his finger away too quick.

She turned over, lifting her torso on her elbows to look at him.

Her lips parted as she finally realised that he was completely naked. She was certain she could see it everyday and still not get used to how he looked without clothes.

Johnny bit his lip, "Do you know how beautiful you look right now? Flushed and needy for me. In that beautiful lingerie that I'm trying my best not to tear off of you." He groaned, eyes drifting all over her body.

"Johnny." She whined, his breath caught in his throat at the plea, "Come here. Touch me, please." She shivered.

He gave her a gentle smile, one full of love. That one thing, she thought, despite everything else at hand, could move her to tears.

He crawled up to her, eyes meeting hers as he cupped a cheek in his hand. "I don't know what life would have been without you, my love." He whispered.

Her heart picked up so fast that she was sure she saw spots in her vision. Her face turned red and she covered her face in her hands, groaning.

Johnny laughed, kissing her fingers. "That makes you blush?" He chuckled.

Unintended Consequences

#nct johnny #johnny smut #nct smut #nct scenarios #miscellaneous #unintended consequences #nct #johnny #nct 127

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

Text

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John!

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic).

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @sevenseasofcats @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @allauraleigh @bluutac @johndeaconshands

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else��until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

#queen fic #john deacon fic #fic series #72 hours in montreal

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my-robot-heart · 3 years

Text

this ficlet is especially for @smalltownmo for her birthday🎂! she requested a fic with Red removing the infamous gun belt/holster seen here haha... let me know if I did it justice. hope you have a great one later this week, friend!

It had been some time since they'd talked. Quite a long time, actually, if you considered the fact that Lizzie had gotten used to seeing Reddington daily, if not multiple times a day, when they'd been working together with the Task Force. Weeks, months even, had now passed without a single word exchanged between them. And, despite herself, Lizzie realized that she missed it - missed him. The exact specifics of what she missed were fuzzy: was it the light banter that she'd come to expect from their exchanges? The deeper, more intense conversations that came about every so often, when one or the other of them would share a tidbit that had previously been held close to their hearts? The meaningful glances they'd exchanged, which Lizzie thus far hadn't quite been able to decipher? Or even the almost-but-not-quite-accidental touches-- a brush of the fingers, a hand placed on the knee, a quick not-embrace that was over before she could wonder what its meaning was?

Whatever it was, perhaps even a mixture of all of these things, Lizzie felt a newfound ache that she didn't want to dwell on. She knew it had something to do (perhaps everything to do) with Reddington, or rather the lack of him.

As she wandered through her days, she tried not to let herself think too much about the why of it all. That was too much. Instead, she would try to focus on one task at a time, however mundane, hoping that with time, this feeling would pass. It had to pass. It just wasn't sustainable.

____

The first time a message came, Lizzie was at work. Her phone buzzed quietly on her desk where it lay, facedown, in an attempt not to be distracted. She glanced at it in a despairing sort of way. Who could it be? Everyone she knew was here, at the Post Office. Surely Ressler could stand his lazy butt up and walk over to her desk if he had something to ask her?

It buzzed again. Two messages. Hmm. Maybe she'd just take a peek-

Unknown Contact. Unknown Contact?

She clicked on the message, curiously.

Lizzie. I'm not sure exactly what time it is for you, but make sure you look out the window around 10:00 p.m. There's a meteor shower supposed to pass over your location.

Then:

It only happens every 355 years. I hope you see it.

That was it. Those were the messages. She knew, of course, who they were from. No one else called her Lizzie. No one else sent messages from an unknown number, after months of silence. No one but him.

Carefully, she saved the new contact under Nick's Pizza, deleting the old number that hadn't worked (because of course she had tried it). Her fingers hovered over the reply button, brain searching for an appropriate response. Nothing came.

Instead of typing, she clicked the off button on the side of her phone and placed it back, facedown, on her desk. That was a puzzle to solve some other time.

(But that evening, she did of course step out onto her balcony at 9:55 p.m., gaze set on the sky above, searchingly, until minutes later the meteor shower appeared, and it was glorious. She sat outside in the chilly air for some time afterwards, looking at the messages on her phone screen, not able to type anything in response).

____

The next time a message came, she was more prepared. Nick's Pizza flashed across the top of her screen as an alert, and Image beneath that. She was in the grocery store, and she stopped her cart beside the canned soup to open the message.

It was a photo of a boat. The name of the boat was painted on the side: Elizabeth II. Clearly someone had named it after the current Queen of England. She knew this. But she also knew that Red had seen it and thought of her, and not only thought of her but wanted to let her know he was thinking of her. The realization brought a flutter of something to the pit of her stomach.

Again, she couldn't reply.

(But that night, faced with the choice of hundreds of different programs on TV, she mystifyingly selected the one on Sailboats and Sailing, allowing her mind to wander only just the slightest in his direction, wondering if he was on a boat like the ones in the program, or on land, or perhaps somewhere entirely different).

____

The third message arrived when she was at home. She had just hunkered down on her couch with what she hoped would be a relaxing read, and a cup of hot tea, and her phone buzzed beside her.

It was Red.

She opened the message.

Lizzie. Are you asleep?

This time, she wrote back without thinking.

I'm awake

Good, came his reply, I was hoping that

She gazed at her screen, wondering what on earth he meant.

But then, her phone started ringing.

Nick's Pizza. Of course.

She almost didn't pick up, but curiosity won out in the end over any awkwardness she was feeling, and she swiped quickly to answer it.

"Hello?" (She wondered why people still answered phones this way, even in an age when they usually knew exactly who was calling. Why not just greet the person by name?)

"Lizzie. Hello." His voice- his voice, it sounded even more present than she remembered, coming as it did directly into her ear in a rather intimate way. She swallowed.

"Hi Red."

There was a pause, and she thought she could hear him take a breath, but perhaps it was her imagination, or some other noise in the background.

"Lizzie," he repeated, making her realize how deeply, yes deeply, she'd missed that: hearing him say her name. "It's... overwhelmingly healing to hear your voice."

She bit her lip. What did that mean? He had been the one to disappear for months without a trace. He had been the one to change his already secret phone number so that it was impossible to reach him. And he was saying now that it was healing to hear her voice?

Just when she was about to erupt into a diatribe including most, if not all, of the above thoughts, she heard him continue, and her mind stopped its imaginary argument.

"I've missed you. I'm so sorry it took so long for me to reach out to you."

She felt her mind quieting, and her grip on the phone eased slightly.

"I'm... really glad you called. And sent those texts, even though I didn't- couldn't- reply." And that was the truth, she realized. She was glad he had called. An indefinable ache she'd been carrying around with her had suddenly lessened its weight.

"I'd like to talk to you in person. Would that be alright? Tomorrow, if you have time?"

"I have time."

"Good." The relief in his voice was palpable.

"You can come by my place, I'll be home. What time were you thinking? Are you already in the city?" She heard her own voice, urgent and full of questions.

He didn't seem to mind.

"I should be there early next morning. Is nine o'clock too early? I can bring breakfast...?"

"No, nine's fine. It's good. It's... I'll see you then. And yes, breakfast."

"Okay. Nine it is. Sleep well, Lizzie."

"Goodbye, Red."

____

He arrived at 8:53 a.m. the next morning, but Lizzie had been awake for hours and opened the door immediately when she heard footsteps, catching him slightly by surprise, if his expression was any indication.

And there he was, impeccably dressed, as usual (well, what had she expected?) long jacket, fedora, three-piece suit, and all. She stepped aside to let him in, murmuring something about not minding the mess, though she knew full well she had spent the last hour and a half tidying to ensure that the evidence of no such mess existed.

He lifted off his hat, which she took and placed on her side table, and coat, which she hung in the closet. Beneath it, she now saw that he was still wearing his gun holster, which he caught her eyeing in surprise and removed apologetically, as well, setting it beneath his hat on the table.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I came here straight from-- well."

Straight from where? She wanted to ask. Where have you been? And doing what? And with whom?

But instead she said nothing. Just stood, eyes moving away from the holster and hat, and up towards his face, where, she now saw, he was looking at her with an unreadable expression.

Damn it, she thought. Always unreadable. The man was a cipher, and no one had the decoder ring. As a trained psychologist, she was unused to being stumped by peoples' expressions, and yet here he was, right in front of her, meeting her gaze with his own, and she was completely at a loss.

"Come in-" she started to say, and at the same time he held out a large kraft paper bag of delicious smelling food.

"I didn't bring coffee," he said, stepping in further to her apartment, and she led the way to the kitchen (though of course, he had been there before, hadn't he?) and told him that she'd brewed a pot.

He placed the bag on the table, and she was about to step towards the coffeemaker and pour them two mugfuls, but instead Red took a step toward her in the same instant, and almost against his own will, it seemed, took her into a firm embrace against his chest.

Oh.

She let herself soak in the feeling of being held, noticing the way his suit carried that familiar smell of something she hadn't realized she'd come to think of as his scent; the way his strong hands felt against her back; the way he seemed to be burying his face in her hair.

Oh, that-

Peripherally, she became aware of the fact that he was saying her name, softly, repeatedly.

She wondered if it was okay to stay like this forever, or at least long past breakfast. She wondered who, if any of them, would be the first to pull away. She knew it wouldn't be her.

Oh, that was-

She was right. It was him, but instead of pulling away completely she merely felt him adjust the space between them slightly, so that she was no longer resting her head on his chest but was instead a few inches away from his face. His face. And this time, his eyes didn't belie what he was feeling. This time, she saw in his gaze a reflection of her own feelings, her own thoughts. Namely, that-

Oh, that was what the look had meant.

She saw in his gaze both need, and adoration. She marveled at the fact that it had taken her this much time to figure that out. And she leaned toward him with the desire to make him understand that she (of course!) felt the same way.

Meeting his lips with hers, she willed him to understand this: I've missed you, too. I didn't realize it, but I love you. I've loved you for a long time, now. I'm so glad you came back, back to me.

Breathlessly, he kissed her back. His hand traveled up her spine (leaving a trail of electricity in its wake) and to the back of her neck, her head. His lips moved to the corner of her mouth, causing her to reach out to the back of his head and pull his mouth back toward hers.

"Lizzie," she heard, in a thrillingly deep whisper.

"Mmmhm," she returned, which was the best she could manage under the circumstances.

He pulled away slightly once more, seeming to need confirmation from her that this was what she wanted, too- (but how could he doubt it? she wondered how could he wonder?)- and in her eyes he must have found it, that confirmation, or at least something like it, because she then felt him move them both slightly towards the countertop, pressing her up against it and deepening the exploration of whatever inch of skin he could reach.

She tugged at his vest, her fingers trying to work at the buttons without being able to see them, and he noticed this and seemed to remember what was happening, and where they were.

"Lizzie, wait-" he said finally, and she blinked a few times, also coming back to reality. Her fingers moved down from his vest to his hands, weaving his fingers with her own.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We-- have to... shouldn't we-- talk about...?" He was at a loss for words, but she knew what he was trying to say.

"Not now, Red-" she said, shaking her head slightly before placing a kiss right at the hinge of his jaw. "We don't have to talk right now."

He seemed somehow to remain unconvinced, so she kissed him again, where his collar opened slightly at the nape of his neck.

"Please."

And, if there had been any remaining doubt in his mind, she saw it disappear in an instant, felt his arms come back up to wrap around her in an embrace that was at once powerful, and restrained. Leading him out of the kitchen, and down the hall to the bedroom, she paused a moment to grab both the fedora and holster from the table.

Meeting his inquiring look with a mischievous one of her own, she simply placed the fedora atop her own head, and tugged at his arm, pulling him further and further towards his most precious dreams.

____

(And, if you were worried about the lovely bag of breakfast they left on the table without, so it would seem, a second thought, well luckily it was full of the most wonderful pastries that reheated perfectly, much, much, much later in the day. After they'd talked as much as two people could ever hope to talk, and decided that they'd make, then and there, very certain that they'd never spend that much time apart, again).

#lizzington fic #lizzington #fanfic #smalltownmo #oneshot #fluff #red and lizzie #happy early birthday!

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helenazbmrskai · 4 years

Text

Not Alone

Title Not Alone

Pairing Yoongi x OC

Summary University is kicking your ass so you always make sure to dedicate a day for yourself and take time to pamper your body and soul. However, you’re cautious around Yoongi your roommate and double-check the d-day to prevent accidents. You're not a fan of revealing any skin because of your insecurities but it’s just happening to be the day when you are - not so alone.

Genre university au, roommate au, romance and fluff, smut

Warning(s) smut (body worshipping, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, messy sex, first time, virgin reader, dirty talk, vanilla sex, yoongi has a virgin kink but not explicitly mentioned) implication of insecure reader, shy and curvy reader

Word count: 9k

Masterlist

This universe is related to my other fic I wrote recently ’one time boy space friend’ you can read that one here.

Washing the excess shaving cream off of my hand I grab my phone I previously placed on the toilet’s folded lid lightly humming the outline of the song currently playing. The new playlist Yoongi recommended is full of bangers as always I have no doubt his fate was eventually to end up as a music major. I take a glance at my reflection when I was able to secure the new position for my phone on the laundry basket with the top slightly open reminding me that I need to do laundry if I want to have clothes to wear.

I take a glance at my reflection removing the fog that made the lines of my face blurry with a towel hanging next to the sink on a hook realising later that I used Yoongi’s looking back at the sheepish smile that greets me in the mirror I placed the fabric back hoping that Yoongi won’t mind.

An unknown rap song’s first beats suddenly interrupted by an incoming call that the familiar piano version of my favourite song signalled. I smile seeing the callers ID, placing the toner back to its dust-filled spot next to Yoongi’s shaving cream I make sure to use the right towel this time to dry my hands with before swiping right on the call.

”Hey, What’s the matter?” I answer it with a huge grin plastered on my face making my cheeks ride up into a chipmunk-like smile.

Our class was cancelled at the last minute so I wasn’t expecting a call from her she told me while we were waiting for the instructor to arrive that she has plans with his boyfriend Jimin. Only having calculus that day after an exchanged heated curses for our lazy professor for not e-mailing about the reschedule I happily took a sweet nap and made an easy breakfast I normally don’t have time to consume or even make in the morning I was able to get my relaxing time to start earlier so it meant more time for me since Yoongi supposedly took the afternoon shift.

This piece of information I remembered while chewing on my sandwich as I thanked the gods that I overheard his conversation about the shift change last night when I went to get my late-night snack but seeing the date expired on the comfort food I had to engage in a yoghurt instead.

”Y/N. Are you home?” She asked matching my good mood in the background I heard clinking noises of a pan she must be cooking. I insert my head through the large black t-shirt’s hole as I started to freeze standing here only in my undergarments the effect of the hot shower faded leaving me in the significantly colder bathroom.

”Of course. I started my pamper routine. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be hairless. If only my hair would grow this fast.” She chuckles hearing my banter the faint sounds of crepitation usually the hot oil makes overpowering her giggle for a few seconds. I remember the sandwich I ate this morning around ten-ish that did not prove to be enough. I get sidetracked with what should I make for lunch.

”Oh, so Yoongi is working?” Knowing about my only one rule regarding this d-day I like to call it is that no man should be around when I’m wearing this revealing clothing. He only saw me wearing jeans and yoga pants before these jelly-like legs cannot make a debut in front of eyes outside of mine.

”Yep.” I confirm. I take a look at the time I still have lots of time to relax before I should start that assignment I postponed.

I have everything planned out since Yoongi usually comes home from work in a grumpy state he likes to shower first and then he retreats into his room to do his assignments and sometimes he writes a song or the song even could be the assignment itself I honestly don’t know how’s everyday life as a music major. Yoongi is not exactly the talkative type.

My silent activity is helping his concentration and the best thing is that I have the apartment by myself to do what I please and leave the comfort of my room wearing what I please without worrying.

The best would be if I could rent out my own apartment but I know I wouldn’t be able to pay it by myself and the fact that Yoongi and I share the expenses of the bill makes things so much more easier.

”Why did you call though? I’m sure it’s not because you already miss me.” Tired of holding the phone up I place it back where it was before leaving the call on speakers so I can rub the cocoa scented lotion into the skin on my legs.

”Right. I almost forgot. Jin taught you that Mexican dish that I don’t know how to pronounce its name, right?” Her voice fades a little mid-sentence probably changed ears hearing the cooking noises seeping through the background she seemed very busy.

”What about it?” I question closing the lid of the lotion after I rub the remaining cream on my hand onto my neck so nothing goes to waste.

”I need the recipe.” She demands. I laugh how desperate she sounds through the phone. I make my way out of the bathroom I need my notebook since I didn’t memorise the dish I only made it once and as it was previously stated with the help of Jin.

”Hold on I don’t remember where I left the notes.” I arrive at the kitchen area placing the phone on the counter I begin rummaging through the drawers bending down to peek at the content of each. Spoons and forks. The second one where Yoongi placed the aprons and towels my notebook must be in the last one. ”So, what are the plans for today?” I ask while still searching for the black shiny cover of my notebook.

”Well, I wanted to cook something Italian since Jimin told me once he wanted to try it out but a crucial ingredient is missing so I thought about making that one you told me about a few weeks ago at Jin’s birthday party. After I’m finally done with this shit I’m going to sneak into his room to give him the blowjob of his life while he’s playing some shit games boys do and tell him lunch is ready.” The huge breath she took before starting the word vomiting makes me praise her lung capacity.

Finally. The book was under the aprons what a hassle. I straighten up turning the pages when I hear the front door opening and shut soon after. I turn to see the face of the intruder as I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen with my hair evidently wet from the shower I took earlier only in my panties and a huge ass shirt to cover myself with.

Yoongi drops his coffee-stained shirt by the foot of the couch the angle is letting me see the living room area without a problem but he can’t clearly see the kitchen from there but my relief is not long-lasting as my friend decides to choose that moment to speak drawing Yoongi’s attention to where I’m standing.

”Y/N are you still there? Shit. I burnt my finger.” Grabbing the phone off the counter I switch off the speaker option and push the device against my ear.

”Yeah, um, I’ll send you the recipe via message. Good luck. Bye.” I aggressively push the red phone button at the bottom left side of the screen until the call ends. Hearing my voice Yoongi walks through the door separating the living room and the kitchen to halt his steps when he takes the image in.

It’s not one of those best times to ponder over how good looking he’s after finishing work and how he always smells like freshly brewed coffee which is not a surprise knowing the fact that he works at a coffee shop near our rented place.

He doesn’t wear the shirt uniform it must be the one he got rid of because of the stains today he wears a simple white t-shirt with washed-out blue jeans. Focusing on his face again I see that his eyes no longer studying my face instead his gaze dipped lower and I swear he's not so subtle about ogling at my exposed legs. My legs!

”You’re … early.” I talk first considering my options. A, I can still make a run for it but the damage is already done. He saw me. Or B, I can try to make small talk pretending that nothing is embarrassing at all just to later enter my room and dig a hole with all of my self-pity and scream into my pillow.

”Um, there was a shift change but I finished 2 hours early in return.” He explains this time his gaze was on my face the entire time no more strayed glimpses. Fuck. I should have paid attention to the whole conversation. ”Don’t you .. have class normally this time around?” He trails off a faint trace of blush appears on his porcelain skin. I use the notebook to hide my panty line that peeks out of the shirt.

”Class cancelled.” I’m horrified how my voice sounds so high pitched the embarrassment paints my cheeks bright red. ”Um, I have something to do in my room so I’ll be there.” I use the lame excuse to escape from Yoongi when I close the door behind me I close my eyes as well because of the extreme humiliation I had to go through.

My phone buzzes in hand I suddenly remember the recipe I promised. I write a quick message to her attaching the picture of the ingredients and notes to help her with the preparations. Now since I’m done with the responsibilities I can swim in my tears for the time being.

I can’t believe after months of caution fate decided to take away from me the deserved me time days. Yoongi is probably weirded out by me too I don’t know how to look him in the eye from now on and it’s a serious problem. For lords heaven, we live together! There’s no way I can avoid him without being obvious about it.

I mean maybe I’m just overreacting. It’s Yoongi we are talking about. He most of the time doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything he certainly won’t mention it and for obvious reasons I won’t either so I can just leave things like that. Just acting as usual like he didn’t saw my legs and my black underwear not to mention he is the very first one to see it I mean outside of my family of course. He’s a boy. No. A man. And he saw me underdressed like that.

It’s okay Y/N, let’s see the bright side at least he saw me when I was shaved. Well, that doesn’t help. Not at all.

”Shit. I’m hungry.”

I waited an hour and forty minutes to be exact despite the rumble of my stomach I sat down to start the book one of my friends lent me to read and I’m over a quarter of the pages when I decided enough is enough.

I waited long enough so he must be cooped up in his room slash studio for the rest of the day. But to be extra cautious I peeked out before fully leaving the safety of my room. I stop once I step into the corridor listening for any noises that might indicate Yoongi has indeed occupied his nest the soft sounds of the synthesizer helps me to relax I leisurely make my way then in the direction of the kitchen.

As I flip the switch the room is enveloped in light. My favourite mug is sitting on top of the counter even though I don’t remember leaving it there. I walk to take a closer look the mug is filled with coffee it’s in a light brown colour so it must a latte. It smells like latte indeed.

My favourite drink. There’s a note glued to the bottom of the mug it’s a messy handwriting and I don’t have to guess to know to whom this belongs to. How did he know my favourite coffee order?

”Sorry for startling you earlier. - myg”

The simple worded note even had his initials at the end. Realising that I never tried out his coffee made me curious about the taste. He works as a barista so It cannot be bad. I’m always late for class so I never had the chance before going into the shop when he’s on duty and order a drink from him.

Most of the time I’m saving on it and just use the shared coffee machine. Don’t blame me I’m just a broke university student.

But if I drink this I won’t be able to sleep it’s pretty late. Fuck it. I’m going to drink it. Not that the unholy time for coffee consumption deterred me before and picked up on some of Yoongi’s personal characteristics I think I can confidently say he doesn’t care either.

I bite into my lip while carefully straightening the lines out on the sticky note. After I was convinced the note won’t come off of his door I leave to go to bed.

”Thanks for the coffee. I liked it. – Y/N.”

***

”Can you guys stop shovelling food into your mouths for a millisecond. I’m serious!” Hitting the table for further emphasis.

Rori and F/N digging through a pile of food before our morning class is something I got used to first as I befriended them and it doesn’t bother me any other time but I wanted some serious advice for once and they don’t even stop digging to say well that’s was awkward. Or shit that sucks.

Not that I don’t know that without them telling me. I appreciated the note and the subtle apology he didn’t phrase it like hey dummy I’m sorry for seeing your sausage legs my bad. Also, it would be unlikely, too wordy for him he’s tight-lipped even in messages. I don’t remember he ever told me like a two full sentence in one go.

”Serious for what Y/N? He saw your underwear and legs. Tell us if you display your boobs or something. Now, I would be interested.” Rolling my eyes at the sarcastic remark I steal one of her favourite apple pie sticks for good measures.

”Hey! I was going to eat that.” She pouts but I take another big bite out of it. It’s too sweet for my liking but everything for the even sweeter revenge. If there’s one thing I learned about these two throughout the years of knowing them is that they take their food very seriously. ”Look. We love you, that’s why I’m going to tell you this. It’s not a big deal.” She pats my cheek before picking up her fork again.

”So what happened F/N. Did you gave Jimin the blowjob of his life?” I used a quote mark at the end of the sentence just how she phrased it yesterday. Rori is more interested in that, of course, there’s nothing more important than sex.

”Let me say the food was cold once we were finished.” She chuckled bashfully. Do I have the right set of friends? Maybe I should be pickier about who I call as a friend.

”So he’s big?” Rori asked with a smirk and I almost spitted out the diet coke onto the dining table. We are in a fucking coffee shop for god damn good. Thankfully not the one Yoongi works for but I think he has morning class so he won’t be working either way.

”Please don’t go into details.” I plea and Rori presents me with a devilish grin while picking the chicken breasts out of my salad.

”It’s fine Y/N. I was a virgin too before Jimin. Your time will come, not that it’s a choice.” F/N tries to console me.

”It’s a choice just not mine.” I murmur it under my nose stabbing my salad with the fork before chewing on it without the meat it’s quite sour.

”Yeah. It’s because you and F/N are both have big sticks up your asses.” Used to her blunt remarks I’m not even hurt or surprised for that matter. The busy cafe drowns out the voices of their inappropriate talk at least.

”It’s not our fault that you fuck every man with a pulse.” F/N retorts back with a giggle satisfied with the remark we exchange high fives.

”How do you know it’s a requirement?” Rori lifts one of her brows making us do gagging motions.

”Ugh, That’s disgusting.” I abandon the food on my plate that was a bit too much and we are in the middle of breakfast.

”A person cannot even joke here? I wasn’t serious. Duh.” I should really search for those new friends.

”That’s something I can believe.” The insult wasn’t even spoken out too loud but she heard me all the same and it earned a kick under the table from Rori with his high heels, I returned the glare she sent my way.

***

”Oh, hi.” I step aside to let Yoongi enter, he furrows his brows in concentration if I wasn’t running late I would ponder over the fact how he measures my body by centimetres. I fidget with my earrings but without a mirror, it’s a difficult task to carry out.

”I thought we’re going to meet with the guys at 8.” Realising the motive behind his stare I nod furiously.

”Yeah. But Rori accepted that guy’s offer to taste wines and she’s afraid she’s going to be abducted so me and F/N will accompany her.” I tell him and he doesn’t seem pleased I wasn’t either at first but I hope he won’t do anything with three girls there.

”Be careful. Anyone else knows about this?” He asks with evident worry lacing his voice he steps closer helping to finally get that chape snap into place.

”Jimin knows and I think Jungkook knows too.” Once he’s done he restores the distance between the two of us. ”Also you know F/N she’s apt to be violent.” Yoongi nods.

”Fuck. I’m late.” I swear as I look at the time. With hurried steps, I pick up my boots and size up my keys ready to leave.

”See you later.” Hearing his voice calling out to me I look back smiling a little managing to whisper back a ’see you later’ of my own. I think this was the longest conversation I held with him so far, what a shame I couldn’t stay to talk more.

The wine tasting went better than I expected. That guy is filthy rich he gave us a little tour around the house before letting us each pick out 5 wines of our liking. We learned that he’s a sports major he’s a swimmer and he told us stories about his practises with the swimming team and talked awfully long about his wins and trophies. To be honest he seemed like a bit eccentric and pompous for me but Rori liked him.

We were late because our taxi on its way to the bar got into a little traffic jam. I got a text from Yoongi at the same time F/N got one from Jimin they were curious about where we are and how we are. We wrote back a short text that we’re almost there.

”So? Whose’s the guy?” Jin asked once we are seated down. F/N took her place next to Jimin and Rori beside her leaving me with the only option of sitting down next to Yoongi at the other side of the table.

Once I’m comfortably seated I look around the table I catch in the corner of my eye Namjoon and Jungkook taking shots. Yoongi grabs his alcoholic beverage before him from the table our shoulders brush against each other due to the motion. I bite the inside of my cheeks don’t want to fidget in place.

”He’s a sports major.” Rori told Jin she told him about our little tour but she conveniently left out the offer about a threesome that I politely declined.

”Oh Y/N you remember that guy who wanted to get your phone number?” Scrunching my nose as the scene flashed before my eyes, of course, I remember. That was one of my most awkward moments and believe me when I say there’s a lot of option to choose from on my list and it’s still the worst. As far as I know, that guy was a sports major too and he was very persistent.

”Yes, what about him?” I nod. I try to shoo the pictures out of head but a forming blush creeping up my neck quicker than I realise.

”Well he’s here. And he’s coming this way.” F/N tells without looking my way her eyes trained behind my form probably to report back his every move. I physically have to hold myself back from whimpering and its not the good kind.

”Shit.” I bite my lower lip don’t want to make things more obvious I don’t turn around to confirm it.

”Oh. I remember. You gave him Rori’s number, don’t you?” Jungkook, you traitor. He was with me when it happened I was flustered enough that he asked Jungkook is my boyfriend or not that I didn’t want to expand my suffering so I gave him my friend's number. She told me if someone I don’t want tries to get into my pants and bothers me I can use her number as a bait knowing her even though my pants were not on the line I still did that. Well, she did more than that after.

”Then what’s the problem?” Jin asks so invested in our conversation that I want to smack him on the neck.

”I was sexting with him and we fucked.” She shrugs. That was what I tried to say. I really don’t want to face that guy.

I stand up with so much vehemency that I almost knock down a glass from the table it’s Yoongi’s empty glass at the bottom of it there’s a thin line of whiskey left. Yoongi grabs my thighs to stabilise me. Looking over his shoulder I saw that said guy indeed walking into this direction.

”Uh, please dance with me?” I grab Yoongi’s hand surprising him for a moment or two but lets me pull him up.

”You have a habit of running away, huh?” I look back to get a grip at the situation. I led Yoongi into the dance floor even though I don’t even know how to dance. He sees the panic settling in my face so he starts guiding me with his hand flat against my lower back. There’s a lot of bodies to avoid so Yoongi is extremely close.

”I don’t like confrontation.” I subtly hide behind his broad shoulders I can see it on him how he tries to stop himself from laughing. I like the sound of his laugh.

”I’m aware.” He purrs into my ear pulling me closer by a hand wrapped around my waist the sweet scent of his cologne hits me like a tone of bricks. I’m painfully aware how his body touches mine my breast pushed against his flat ribcage I can feel him inhaling and exhaling the used oxygen.

”Y-your hand Yoongi.” His hand is dangerously low on my back I’m sure he feels the curve of my ass under his fingers. The bar is dimly lit so my blush remains subtle in a certain extent seeing me blush so many times I wouldn’t be surprised if he would recognise it before it fully blooms on my face.

”What about it?” He clearly wants me to say it but there’s no way I’m going to bluntly say that his hand touches my ass. Rather die.

”What are you doing? Are you drunk?” I defensively ask answering the question with my own questions. He openly finds my antics amusing because this time he laughs. That gummy smile makes my knees weak for him he strengthens his hold on my waist like he knows it.

”My car is here. I’m as sober as I can be.” The hand I placed on his chest when he suddenly pulled me closer itched. He’s touching me and he’s sober. Heaving a sigh he replaces them around his neck I can’t relish in the feeling as his hand on my ass beyond doubt gone since he places it back soon after even lower. The grin he shows me makes me want to give him my fist instead of my virginity.

”Then why are you touching me?” My confidence wavered significantly as he lowered his head his lips closer than ever but instead of kissing me, he blows air into my ear riling me up with the gesture.

”This makes you uncomfortable?” I wanted to say yes, but the full truth would be it’s undeniably uncomfortable and exciting it makes my blood boil under my skin and it scares me how much I want him to touch me tossing aside my insecurities just to feel him like this. At least he knows his boundaries. I don’t know what would I do if his hand suddenly moved.

”No. I’m just embarrassed.” I nervously twist a hair at the nape of his neck didn’t realise the act just when I did it.

”You ran away because you were embarrassed yesterday too?” I stop toying with his hair once the words register in my head. Is he talking about the kitchen incident? And here I thought that there’s nothing more that could make the situation more awkward.

”Y-yes.” The confidence I felt before left me I shy away from his eyes the way he sized me up that day still vivid in my head.

”Why?” A perfect arch of his eyebrows indicating that he wants his answer this time and I am about to give him.

”Because you were staring at me.” I tell him oh so matter of factly. He practically beams at the offered answer the glint in his eyes telling me that’s the answer he seeks in the first place and he has his own set of words in return.

”Wanna know what I thought about while staring at you?” His eyes pinning me to my spot I wouldn’t dare to move away even if I wanted to he seemed determined to get under my skin and maybe under my clothes too.

”No.” I challenge drunk by the boldness maybe the gin tonic I consumed earlier and the wines finally appearing be to be the liquid courage I needed. Reading between the lines Yoongi tells me despite the answer.

”I imagined how you would look like wearing my shirt. It would cover you below your knees since you are tiny. Tell me you’re wearing one of those black panties I saw before?” I don’t answer but I let him pat my knee I can feel his warm palm under the fabric of my jeans he continues with more words even bolder than the first.

”I imagined how you would look like under me on my bed wrapping those long legs around my waist.” Affected by his words I mirror his hungry expression. He’s normally not a man of so many words and hearing him talk this much makes me feel special that he’s talking to me because he feels the need to let me know what’s plaguing his mind. I entertain the idea that maybe he wasn’t sure how to convey the message since I’m so shy he didn’t have a lot of opportunity cornering me before the kitchen incident. Perhaps it was the undo he needed.

”Tell me Y/N. Do you find me attractive?” His fingers stroke the flesh of my jaw he’s getting confident as I don’t push him away.

”You are attractive.” I tell him honestly and he grins but not in a malice kind of way his grin more like a boyish grin that boys wear after hearing that their high school crush likes them back. The happy kind of grin.

”Have you thought about me too? Like I did.” The next question hits differently it’s not so innocent and I wasn’t in the illusion he is.

”Yes.” Holding onto the boldness I agree.

”Tell me.” He urges. He’s sober I remember. Avoiding his stare I let my shyness getting to the best of me he brushes a strand of hair behind my ears coaxing out the reply. It feels nice to be touched by him.

”It’s embarrassing.”

”I told you mine. You have to tell me your fantasies so I can make them come true.” He trails a finger following the line of my collarbone my outfit leaves literally everything to the imagination the only skin he can feel is on my arms.

”You’re unfair.” I whine the words out Yoongi stops his movements to see the emotions behind my eyes. He seems confused by my conflicted expression. His eyes were always expressive and I loved staring at them. Those rare moments shared, eating together at the weekends letting me hear one of his song he proudly introduces.

”How so?”

I take a deep breath cupping his cheeks. ”You look good with dyed hair but I prefer it black. You look the best when you come home from work all sweaty because the air conditioner still not gotten repaired in your workplace so you always take a shower before doing anything else.” There’s glint catching the light in his orbs watching me closely while I tell him the things I locked away in my memories. He caresses my wrist with a raised hand the other directly resting upon mine as it's his face still trapped between the heels of my palms.

”I like your voice.” I let the words flow out like a river caught up in a thunderstorm. ”I always wanted to know how it would sound like moaning my name. I like your hands too.”

”What about them?” A big smile stretches his face knowing too well he won. I don’t feel the frustration of losing I’d gladly accept this fate again and again if it will give me the same results at the end of this.

”Yoongi.” I whine.

”Did you imagined this? Or this?” His hands leaving their position fondling the flesh on my hip hiding me behind his body he walks a hand up my decolletage.

”Stop, we are in public.” I hiss.

”No one pays attention Y/N. But I’ll gladly take this to the bedroom.” The offer temps me but I remember the boys.

”We can’t. You are the only sober one and the guys need their ride home.” I reason and Yoongi groans in frustration. He forgot about them already. He looks at the booth the others are drinking and laughing.

”If I tell Namjoon to stop drinking he would be sober enough to drive them back.”

I shake my head it would be too dangerous and considering he competed with Jungkook about who can take more shots I bet he’s drunk like a donkey alongside with the younger boy. ”I’m drunk too.” I tell him when he tries to come up with more solution.

”Fine.” Yoongi hugs me close probably to hide his displeased face doesn’t want to sound so desperate maybe he’s embarrassed.

”Don’t be like that. I promise if in the morning when I sobered up you still want to do it I’ll let you.”

He perks up gently pushing me away to look into my eyes. ”Let me do what?”

”Let you take me.”

***

I feel something warm tickling my sides a sudden wave of cold air hits my stomach but the cold soon replaced with a warm and wet feel against my skin. My eyes narrowly open I try to fidget away wrapping my fingers around the comforter when I feel that wet and warm feeling on my thighs.

Hands and tongue. The fog in front of my eyes clears I don’t remember when did I fell asleep or how did I end up here. Where am I? I spot the synthesizer in the corner Yoongi’s synthesizer. Yoongi’s room.

”Yoongi, what .. ah” My voice raspy from sleep the way he rubbed his nose into my neck just to deliver a long kiss to it after halted my question before I was able to voice it out.

”Did I wake you up. My bad.” He smiled into my skin loving the way my heart beats erratically with his every touch, his hand above my breast feeling the movements of it.

”You don’t sound so sorry about it.”

”Do you have a headache?” He caresses the side of my face helping to curl the locks behind my ear that interfered with my vision. The thoughtful gesture made me smile up at his face mirroring his expression of tenderness.

”No I’m good. I didn’t drink that much.” My fingers itch to touch his face maybe it’s because of the dreamy state I’m currently in that I have the confidence in doing so. I brush my hands through his bangs his eyes closing the caress urges a smile he grabs my hands once I’m about to pull away to move it against his mouth giving a small kiss onto my palm before intertwining them with his much larger ones.

I could get used to this. The image of him looking so raw and so vulnerable his eyes puffy with sleep lazy motions of his fingertip exploring my body under the duvet. My shirt is rolled up just below my breasts the shirt’s neck hangs around my shoulder in a loose coverage it smells like Yoongi just like the covers. Looking down I realise it’s not my shirt. It’s his.

”Glad to hear that. I want you to repeat your promise to me.” Yoongi burrows his face into my neck again his hair brushing against my bare skin the hand that’s not holding mine drops under the covers finding my hip guiding me to drape my right leg over his waist facing each other sideways.

”Promise? Can you be more specific?” I boldly move my hand caressing with feather-light touches his side I can feel his bare torso and hips under my fingers he shivers and not because of the cold. He’s shivering because I touched him and he’s not wearing a shirt. The thought crosses my mind that the shirt I’m wearing is the one he did wear the whole day but not now. Every other day I would be embarrassed but I quite liked the idea of wearing his clothes in his bed.

”A tease I see.” He recovered quicker than I would like he gave a quick peck onto my shoulder where his shirt didn’t cover that much skin. He cupped my breast above the fabric of my bra the sudden feel of him squeezing me there I whined a little bit too loudly. I pulled my hand away shielding my face due to embarrassment.

”Yoongi.” I shyly call his name. He let his hand stay there but he remained motionless giving my hands each a kiss just where my eyes would be if I didn’t hide behind my limbs. His hand felt warm against me where my bra wasn’t covering his two fingers rested directly on the skin of my breast.

”Do I have your consent baby?” I gulp my shy personality says no but my body says yes for me.

”You can have anything.” I place my palm against his that lays on my body my eyes still closed but I don’t shield my face anymore. The words came out as whispers even though I wanted him to hear me say it. I wanted him to go on.

”Love. Answer me.” I open my eyes again when I feel his hand leave my boobs to cup my face with it instead.

”You can have me. You can fuck me. Did it answer your question or should I be more specific?” I wet my lips poking my tongue against the inside of my cheeks trying to calm down the rapid movement of my heart my hands shook as I grip his hair moving my mouth against his to not just say but show my consent. I want this. I want him.

”No. I think it was explicit enough, I like seeing you blush.” Hearing him say that makes me blush harder and he gifts me with a gummy smile basking in the responsive reactions. I would be more embarrassed if I wouldn’t feel the sticky substance dampening my underwear.

”Do you have something in mind? A preference? Or can I surprise you.” The way he explicitly asks about my sexual preferences makes him appear hotter a new wave of arousal hits me making me grind my thighs together forgetting that Yoongi’s leg is between them. I know he felt the wetness but doesn’t comment on it he instead pushes his knees further up parting my legs.

”You d-decide.” I moan when his knee brushes against my crotch. He hummed delighted by my answer. Placing back his hand once more squeezing my breasts before undoing the clasps behind my back. He slowly lets the material fall he strictly looks into my eyes not wandering downwards seeking out my every reaction. I gave him a little nod he takes it as the permission he needed he moves the cover so he can take a look.

”So pretty.” He sighs into my skin he turns my body to be flat against the bed the cold sheets meeting with my back goosebumps travelling up my spine. ”So soft.” He mumbles the endless of praises dragging his fingers over a nipple before licking it with his tongue a choked moan leaves my parted lips his hair gently caressing the skin. He circles the nipple with his poked out tongue kneading the other neglected one with his free hand. Mewls and sighs, in turn, filling the room trying to keep my voice quiet but it’s hard since the only thing I can concentrate on is his mouth on me and his hands those long fingers as he drags them down on my body a finger slides under the waistband of my panty he stretches the material out before letting it snap back into place. The uncomfortable feeling of it sticking to my folds gets frustrating by every passing minute.

”You smell good.” His raspy voice helps me return from my sudden astonishment I scrape his scalp with my long nails as I weave my fingers through his hair he lets out a low growl my skin covering up the noise the vibration he sends up my body by it makes me tighten my legs around his waist my underwear covered cunt pressed against his firm chest forces a not so silent whine out.

”It’s m-my lotion.” I reply absentmindedly. He hums into my collarbone not sure my answer registered truly in his brain I feel him taking a big inhale before pulling away he pushes himself up with the help of his hands planted beside my head looking with heavily lidded eyes taking in my hazed eyes and swollen lips before connecting our mouths. I almost forgot how good of a kisser Yoongi is.

The light touch against my inner thigh makes my hip jolt up in surprise Yoongi’s eager mouth swallows all the sounds and whimpers. ”Relax.” He purrs aiming for my hips soothing circles into my skin. I take a few deep breaths Yoongi waits patiently for me to calm down a little the way his eyes sizing me up like I’m some kind of goddess eases some of my nerves. Once he’s positive I’m not going to run away he lets his palm touch me the barrier that’s my underwear stays in place as he drags his fingers directly onto my heat. I feel it throb under his ministrations having confidence after a few moans I let out he gets bolder using more pressure to dip between my folds the underwear’s silky touch lets him move smoothly. ”Can I feel it? I want to make sure you’re wet enough before I do anything else.” Nodding even before the question was fully out I anticipate a laugh or something to tease me about my eagerness. I don’t think I wanted someone this bad before to touch me. But he doesn’t laugh he seems as eager as I feel. He slides a finger under the damp material but he retreats too soon. ”Please, can I take it off?” To persuade me further if his plea wasn’t enough he rubs his fingers where my clit is over my panty. The plea was enough but I’m not complaining. I manage to signal him with a breathy yes. Don’t have to tell him twice he slides the ruined material down my legs his big warm hands gripping my inner thighs preventing my legs from closing before he can take a look.

”Look at that. So pink and swollen for me.” Previously he was careful with every move waiting for approval before doing anything bold but like he’s lost all the continence in him Yoongi drags two fingers up my folds coating his fingers with my arousal letting just the tip of his fingers penetrating just to pull back. I let out the loudest moan blushing as I realise just how loud I sounded but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, not at all. He wanted to coax more of those sounds as he bent down parting the lips with his tongue letting out his own moans while tasting me and if it’s even possible at this point I feel more turned on than ever.

”Warm too. Sorry, my love, my hands are a little cold but I hope you don’t mind.” He finally slips a finger in my eyes slightly open he watches me with a grin loving the way I squirm wanting it chuckles deep and I don’t mind at all. The stretch his one digit means feels familiar reminding me when I was chasing relief on my own but his fingers are so so much better longer and thicker. I can’t wait to feel the second one.

”I want to make you cum on my tongue.” Delivering a kittenish lick sucking on my clit for the demonstration before he goes on. ”Just to bring you another orgasm with my fingers.” Yoongi curls the one finger in me rubbing it into my throbbing walls ”Lastly let you cum around my cock.” He throws his head back moaning sinfully just thinking he’s about to make everything he said come true. ”You deserve at least three orgasms but I shouldn’t be greedy your virgin cunt can’t handle three.” He eases another finger in this time the stretch is a bit more uncomfortable.

”Let’s start with two.” He says settled with the idea he places a wet kiss onto my hip before finding my abused clit again sucking and rolling it around his tongue my walls contacts around his two digits I feel the sticky substance coating my inner thighs and dripping onto the sheets the mess, the way Yoongi’s hair tickle my thighs, the way he moves his fingers inside me, the pleasure gets overwhelming something starts to build up promising a relief I never had the chance of feeling before.

”Yoongi fuck, Yoongi” His name spills from my mouth and it seems to encourage him to be faster.

”It’s fine.” He tells before sucking harshly on my clit. ”Cum for me.” The proud grin he forms still buried between my legs and the vibration of his hum makes my legs shake I let my head fall back into the pillows closing my eyes until I see literal stars.

He stops lapping my juices once I’m finished the proud smile still plastered on his face licking his lips capturing the remaining of my pleasure. He looks so hot. I never knew I’m capable of coming this hard.

”Good?” Placing a kiss onto my nose he caresses my arms I didn’t realise I was grabbing onto the sheets this tight I let Yoongi place my hands onto his shoulder blades he moves to get between my legs once more.

Instead of answering, I can’t help but impatiently point out. ”You’re still wearing clothes.” I grab his hips pulling on his sweatpants playfully.

”Wanna take it off?” He asks smirking. I roll my eyes at his cockiness not that he’s all talk when it comes to his skills but he has more ego than he can manage and I’m not going to increase it for him.

”So what? Don’t tell me you are not eager even more than me to bury your dick into my virgin pussy.” His eyes grow bigger for a split second before it regains its original state, so he can be startled too. I’m surprised by my boldness, but god, it’s worth it seeing him so fucked up by those words.

”You’re playing a dangerous game Y/N. I need my self-control right now.” Something shifted in his eyes he looks like he’s about to devour me. Yoongi shifts onto his knees to get rid of the final barriers between us. I close my eyes my shyness returns too soon but Yoongi doesn’t mind it I open my eyes again as he positions myself above me placing a firm kiss onto my lips he senses I’m anxious.

”Do you trust me?” Seeing the open vulnerability in his shiny orbs, not entirely clouded by lust makes my head swim with a lot of suppressed emotion. I feel the urge to smile lifting my head from the pillows beneath me I give him a peck.

”Of course I am.” I kinda like you. I bite into my lips before the next sentence could slip through we’ll talk about this another time. Right, the only thing I want to focus on is Yoongi. Only Yoongi. His tip brushes against my stomach, shit, I haven’t seen how big he is. His lip pressed to mine swallows the tiny moan leaving my lips as he pushes the first inch inside parting my walls in a painful stretch. Fuck. He’s big.

”Tight.” Yoongi moans, more in pleasure than I am currently in but it’s ok. He made me cum I want to see him cum too. ”Relax for me angel I won’t hurt you I promise.” Relishing in the way he caresses my side I try to relax my body he pushes another inch in slowly his tip must be fully buried by now.

”That’s right. You’re doing so well.” He praises his eyebrows knit together in concentration he’s holding himself back because of me. Touched by the gesture I move my hip to meet his advances he slips in deeper than he intended his groan significantly louder by the sudden pleasure.

”Does it hurt?” He pulls himself together to keep the eye contact he caresses the skin under my eye I nod before answering.

”A little.”

”Let’s try a few more thrusts if it still hurts after that I’ll stop and eat you out again. Shit. Maybe I should have made you cum again for the extra lubrication.” Yoongi regretfully gazes at my face.

”It’s fine. Just go slow.” I say the burning is bearable I’m getting used to the feeling slowly but not sure if I can cum again.

”My baby is so tight.” I’m definitely a sucker for those pet names. It helps me focus on his words instead of his slow thrusts. ”I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. Feeling you wrapped around me a dream come true.” I experimentally squeeze around him and he lets out a loud moan his head nestled into my neck groaning and moaning between filthy words his pace got quicker but I don’t stop him even though it’s not feeling as good as him eating me out. I want to please him though and by the sounds, he seems very pleased.

”Are you alright?” He stops after hearing a louder whiny moan on my part but I don’t let him I circle my hips in place dragging out moans from him but he forces himself to reset his previous slower pace. I’m not having any of it. I want him to cum and want it soon.

”Yoongi” I whine out his name an idea foggily forming at the back of my head. ”Yoongi, I wanna ride you.”

”Are y-you sure?” He stills inside of me waiting for the confirmation and I nod inviting him into a kiss that turns slopy by time. I feel his hands grabbing at my waist to change position this way he sinks in deeper.

Holy shit it feels so much better.

”Fuck. Do you like this?” He grips my hips dragging his cock touching every sensitive part in me as my walls swallow his shaft he pulls me up just to let me sink down with a needy moan I’m starting to feel the appeal.

”Yes. I-ah-think.” I can almost picture the way my eyes roll back behind my skull right now. What was I saying? ”Go faster.” I choke out and Yoongi with a following set of groans obligates I’m too far gone to pay attention to how Yoongi watches with hungry eyes that I ruin the bedsheets.

”I like that you are so messy.” He places a stray hair behind my ears our chests pressed together so he can thrust up faster and harder. Yoongi holds me in place taking control the way his eyes shuts involuntarily and his member twitching inside of me signals that he’s close.

He’s breathtakingly beautiful as he reaches his high he’s so lost in the pleasure my walls provide so tight around him that he doesn’t have the mind to kiss me back so I just press them together for a minute longer. My legs ache because of the exercise but I let him use me to ride out his high the pretty sounds and satisfied look he gives me once seated firmly inside me with our mixed cum spilling out he looks down where our body connects rubbing the skin of my hip lovingly while watching me ruin his sheets. He likes that I’m messy.

”I hope you like me back because I don’t think I could fuck anyone else from now on.” I end up in a pit of laughter leaning my head on his shoulder he feels my body shake with the motion Yoongi whines in overstimulation when I accidentally squeeze his spent member. I peck the skin where my head previously rested before searching for Yoongi’s eyes.

”I do like you back.” I admit it shyly even though there’s nothing to be shy about his dick is still inside for fuck’s sake.

”Glad to hear that.” His grin returns faster than the speed of light. ”I thought I fucked your brains out when you suddenly started laughing. I was concerned for a minute.” I try to hit his shoulder but he’s faster grabbing my hand by the wrist and gives the flesh an attentive kiss the gesture is sweet and melts my heart.

”How are you feeling?” It’s cute how he seeks my reassurance. He lets me move away careful when pulling out so I can finally take the previous position lying down.

”Hm, sore but good. I just need .. some time. I don’t think I can stand up just yet.” I offer my honest reply burying my nose into the duvet that got tossed aside. He leaves the room making me confused but once he’s back with a towel in hand I pierce two and two together. It’s his towel. The thought is enough to make me blush furiously.

”Spread your legs for me.” I take the request as an order shyly spreading my legs so he can clean me up. ”There. All cleaned up.” The bed squeaks under the weight of his one knee pushing me further into the sheets. Yoongi bows down to kiss me his tongue teases my lips as we kiss asking for permission that I eagerly permit.

#btsghostie #yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts university au #bts roommates au

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hikarimiyanaga · 3 years

Text

I'll Always Be Yours (Part 5)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Fifth Song: Dahan (Gently)

You stop trying to fight your stubborn heart. Just wanting to live a lonely life without her.

A/N: Officially completed and I'm starting on my Wanda fic now!!

Might take weeks to finish that one though...

Oh well.

Dialogues that are in parenthesis are spoken in Japanese.

Warning: Angst

No more tears

I won't force it anymore

You are my love

Until eternity

No more listening

My mind is confused

I hope you know

You are the one I love

You hum as you draw. It took you a week until you can finally draw your sketches again. Another week to pick up a paintbrush and actually paint.

It’s been four months since then. Your only missing at least two more paintings so you could open another art exhibit. You hum as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Shouldn’t you stop?” You raise an eyebrow at Silvia.

“That’s your third cup already and it’s only 11 am.” You shrug at her and continue sketching.

“Will the last one be Natasha?” You stop and contemplate Miyuki’s words. You haven’t sketched her since you broke down.

“Most probably.” You’ll probably use one of your older sketches. The ones where the woman you draw was the one you knew. Not Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow and Avenger but just Natalia, the little girl who turned into a gorgeous woman. Natalia whom you loved with your every being.

“Maybe sell it this time?” You frown at Silvia. “You rejected the last offer for the portrait!” You shrug. “It was 20 million!” Miyuki whistles at you and you smile.

“I still don’t want anyone to monopolize her.” Silvia sighs in defeat and Miyuki consoles her.

You start painting her portrait again and you can’t help but smile. You just hope that wherever she is. Whomever she was with. That you’re still holding onto your promise with her. You’ll always be waiting for her. Loving her. You stretch your body as you pause for the day. You really did meant forever.

“Silvia?” Silvia opens your door and peeks inside.

“Yeah?”

“Can you contact Professor Asuna? See if there’s any willing gallery that I can rent for a week?”

“Okay. Got it.”

“Thanks, even though you’re only my bodyguard.”

“It’s called assisting. I do that too.”

“I know!” You chuckle as she closes the door. You open your phone and lay down on the floor. You begin watching videos of the love of your life.

“Natasha.” Nat ignores Clint and stares at her portrait. “Hey.”

“What?”

“There’s a kid that wants to interview you?” Natasha sighs and turns around.

“Why?”

“About the painting, I think.”

“Where?”

“In front of Mona Lisa.”

Natasha approaches the kid who smiles at her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Colette. A big fan of Master Y/N.”

“Have you met her?” Natasha sits besides the kid and they both look at Mona Lisa.

“Yes. Many times. Through her exhibitions. Never got to buy any of original painting though, just the postcards one.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just answers.”

“To what?”

“Do you and Master Y/N know each other?”

“Knew.” Natasha answers with a sigh. “Before I became an Avenger, I knew her.” Colette hums.

“To what extent?”

“What?”

“Your relationship? Friends? Lovers? Enemies?”

“Lovers.” Natasha says with a sad smile.

“Ah. I knew it.”

“What do you mean?” Colette shrugs and smiles.

“Do you know that she still loves you?” Natasha gulps and looks at Colette. Colette smiles and gives Natasha an envelope. “It’s all just postcards but you can compare them to your portrait here. The strokes and the color aren’t matching. She must’ve spent days on your portraits and only hours on the landscapes. Granted they’re the ones she sells all the time.”

“She never sells my portraits?” Colette chuckles.

“Never. She said to a buyer once that she doesn’t want anyone to monopolize you. That you’re better taken care of if you’re seen by the world.” Colette bids her goodbye and Natasha looks at the miniature version of your paintings, she goes back to her portrait and her heart stops. Colette was right.

You do still love her. She can’t stop her smile and Clint smiles at her.

“You okay?” Natasha smiles.

“I’m good.”

And if it’s not for me

The love that you offer

Then I won’t hope anymore

To be kissed again

You sigh as Silvia and Miyuki cuddle each other while you were behind them. You insisted on this arrangement so you could deny that you know them. You pay attention to the screen and flinches when Steve appears. He says that warning that every movie theater does before showing the movie itself. You sigh and you look and see that the two are looking at you. You chuck them a piece of your popcorn and they look at the screen.

“The movie was so good!” You yawn as Silvia gushes about the movie.

“Yeah!” Miyuki agrees as you stretch your body.

“Boss? You going back?”

“Yep. You two go on a date or something.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I’ll go take a nap before painting.”

“How many more days till you finish it?” You grin at them.

“Probably just one more.”

You wake up and see Natasha’s portrait staring down at you. You yawn and smile. Your phone rings and you see that it’s Asuna.

(“Hey.”)

(“You ready for it?”)

(“Yup. I’m just going to have the final one in center.”) Asuna hums.

(“Another portrait of her?”) You look at it and smile.

(“Always.”) After you hang up, you send an email to Tony Stark, confirming his invitation to your new exhibition.

Slowly release

My heart can't resist

Because once you left

It’s been Extremely difficult

You put on your suit and hum at yourself. You clean up nice.

“Is that an appreciative hum for my fashion sense or are you just being narcissistic?” Silvia asks and you roll your eyes. You get out of your room and Asuna smiles at you.

(“Finally. After hours.”)

(“Only an hour. Don’t compare me to you.”) Asuna gasps and Miyuki snickers.

(“Hush, you. Now, come on.”) You smile as you all leave the Ryokan and into your gallery. You laugh as you look around and your new paintings are displayed.

(“Asuna! Thank you! This is amazing!”)

(“On such short notice too.”)

(“Anything for the master. As long as you save me one painting.”)

(“Pick one.”)

(“Wait, seriously?”)

(“Yeah? There are a lot more than the usual so pick one.”)

(“This one then.”) She presents the portrait and you raise an eyebrow.

(“Anything except that one.”) They laugh and you shake your head.

(“This one then.”)

(“Ah. Your hometown?”) Asuna hums and you nod at her.

(“It’s yours. I’ll tell Norah not to auction that one.”)

(“Thank you, Y/N.”) She hugs you and you smile.

(“Okay, then! Two more hours till we open the doors!”) Miyuki shouts and you smile.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Of course.”

“It’s your call.” Natasha hums as she approaches the gallery with Tony.

You smile as visitors gush about your paintings. Exhibitions are still the one thing that you do make an appearance at. You were about to be approached when you see her. Natasha… she’s alone and looking at her portrait. Your heart beats faster and everything seemed to close in on you. FUCK. She’s here. DAMN IT!

“Boss?” Silvia calls out but you don’t hear her. “Y/N?” She shakes you and you finally look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Air.” You simply answer and Silvia nods. She escorts you out of the gallery and Miyuki follows after.

You clutch your chest as you try to breathe normally.

“In and out, Y/N.” Silvia guides you through your sudden attack.

“Did something trigger it?”

“Not something.” You answer with hoarse voice then drink the water that Silvia gave you. “Someone.”

“Natasha?” You nod in confirmation. “Damn it.” You stop Silvia from going back inside.

“Don’t kick her out. Don’t be rude.”

“Then-“

“I’ll leave. I’ll come back tomorrow.” They nod and you sigh. “Tell them that I got sick or something. Just go.”

“You’ll be okay by yourself?” You nod and bid them goodbye. You walk back to the Ryokan to clear your head.

Natasha looks at the stage where Asuna got a hold of the mic.

(“I’m sorry to announce that Master Y/N cannot be here tonight.”) She hears disappointed murmurs go through the crowd. (“It seems that she suddenly got sick and had to leave early. She did say though that she’ll try her best to be here tomorrow.”) Asuna gives back the mic to the Dj and goes among the crowd again.

Natasha tries to find her and sees that Tony actually got to her first.

“Excuse me, Miss-?”

“Ah. Yuuki. Asuna Yuuki.” Natasha shakes her hand and they nod.

“What exactly happened to Master Y/N?”

“I don’t exactly know. Her bodyguards just told me that she got sick and left early.”

“Is she okay? Did something bad happen? Where is she-?” Tony gets ahold of her arm.

“Okay. Sorry for the sudden barrage miss Yuuki. We’ll be going now.” Tony drags Natasha away from Asuna.

I will not allow it anymore

You hurt me

That again and forget

Our past

Can't you hear

My chest throbbed

It's getting away from you

My feelings

You take a deep breath and fix your suit.

(“You ready, Y/N?”)You nod at Asuna and she opens the doors to your gallery once again. People immediately flock to you. They’re asking how you’re feeling. Some about the paintings. Some about the portrait.

“PEOPLE!” Silvia’s booming voice freeze them and she drags you away from them. (“Stop mobbing the master! She’ll talk to you if she’s feeling any better! Understood?”) They nod simultaneously and Miyuki gives you a glass of water.

“You okay?” You nod and drink the glass in one go.

“You sure about that?” You nod again and give the empty glass back to Miyuki.

“I’m fine now.” You tell them and go to a visitor.

You’ve managed to avoid both Tony and Natasha as you talk to everyone else and it’s the last day of your exhibition.

“Miss Y/LN.” You hum as Tony approaches you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’re with miss Romanoff.”

“Ah… do you not like her?” You scoff.

“It’s nothing.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” You sigh and wave your hand.

“As I promised, a million dollars.” He gives you a check and you shake your head.

“No. The exhibition is free for all. Keep it.”

“You sure?” You nod. “Then I’ll just have to bid all of your paintings.” You chuckle.

“And where will you put them?”

“Avengers’ Compound and Stark Industries.” You hum. He bids his goodbye and you smile.

You laugh as Tony bid 5 million on the last painting that Norah auctioned… he just spent 125 million dollars on all of your paintings.

“How about the portrait? A special gift for someone who just got you 125 million?” You go to the stage and Norah gives you the mic.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. But that portrait will be donated, not bought.”

“Come on, Y/LN!” Silvia growls and you put up your hand to stop her. “125 million! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“It means everything Mr. Stark. But that woman in those portraits also meant everything to me.” You get off the stage and get something from Miyuki.

“Instead of that, please accept this.” You give him the canvas that is covered.

“And this is?”

“A painting for her. I know she’s with you.”

“She had to leave early tonight because of an emergency mission.” You smile.

“And you can just half all of your bids, I don’t mind.”

“No. You earned those 125 million. Pepper will be happy with these pieces.” You hum.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell her not to come looking for me again.” You bid him goodbye and leave.

Tony tried to find you again but he huffs in frustration. You were too good at hiding your own trail. He hoped to find you before Natasha gets back from her mission but as he hears the Quinjet land softly, he knew that he failed. He runs a hand through his hair and look at your paintings.

You really were a master.

#Natasha Romanoff x reader #Marvel #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #Black Widow x Reader #mcu #natasha x you

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bevioletskies · 3 years

Text

spare me a little (of your love)

summary: Klavier always liked to express his love with flowers, so sending a beautiful bouquet to his boyfriend every now and then seemed like the obvious thing to do. However, there’s just one little problem - Apollo is very, very allergic to pollen.

word count: 5.3k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day two of seven (prompt: "flowers"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. My source for flower meanings can be found here. Fic title is from the song Spare Me a Little of Your Love by Fleetwood Mac.

“The language of...flowers?”

“Oui, oui, mon ami!” Athena chirped, nodding eagerly. “That’s just one of the many languages I speak, y’know.”

Apollo eyed her skeptically over the top of his laptop screen. “...right. Elaborate, please.”

“Well, you know how people usually give roses to express their love?” Athena said, leaning across the gap between their desks. She didn’t even blink when she accidentally knocked over Apollo’s calendar and pen holder in one fell swoop. Apollo, on the other hand, shot her an affronted glance that she deftly ignored. “Well, each flower actually has its own specific meaning. It even varies from color to color! Par exemple, white roses symbolize innocence, while yellow roses symbolize friendship.”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated,” Apollo remarked. “Don’t most flowers come with a card? Why can’t people just write their messages instead?”

They turned at the sound of a disappointed groan coming from the middle of the room. “You’re so unromantic, Polly,” Trucy complained, peeking at them from over the back of the couch. “I almost feel bad for Mr. Gavin!”

“Hey,” Apollo protested. “I can be - I-I’m romantic!”

“If you say so,” Athena giggled, poking him in the shoulder. Huffing, Apollo prodded her back. Athena reached for a rubber band, fully intending to escalate things. She lowered her projectile dejectedly when Apollo raised his hands in surrender; he had no interest in losing an eye today.

“Sunflowers and tulips are supposed to symbolize happiness, right?” Phoenix asked. “Those are pretty much the only flowers I really know, so.”

There was a long, uncomfortably drawn-out silence. “...Daddy, your ex-girlfriend’s name was Dahlia. Her real name was - is - Iris.”

“Oh...right,” Phoenix chuckled, only mildly embarrassed. “Speaking of, do you know what dahlias and irises mean, Athena?”

Athena’s eyes were practically sparkling now. “Oui! Dahlias symbolize elegance and dignity.” Phoenix made a face. “...but, they also symbolize dishonesty and betrayal.”

“That’s more like it,” Phoenix muttered under his breath. “And irises?”

“Faith, wisdom, that kinda thing,” Athena shrugged. She then paused. “Y’know, if you want some ideas on the kinds of flowers Mr. Edgeworth would like, I can make some - ”

“Nope, nope, I-I’m good,” Phoenix interrupted swiftly, his face reddening. He had a vase of daffodils sitting on his desk, which Edgeworth had sent to the office a few days ago. None of them believed Phoenix when he claimed they were purely intended for decoration. “So why the sudden interest in flowers, Apollo? Is this, er...is this about Gavin?”

“If you’re not talking about your prosecutor, sir, I’m not talking about mine,” Apollo said firmly, turning back to his laptop.

“Sure, except I think your prosecutor’s fair game when he picks you up from work most days,” Phoenix teased. His tone was eerily similar to Trucy’s. If Phoenix wasn’t both his boss and his sort-of stepfather, Apollo would’ve picked up a rubber band himself.

A few hours later, Apollo was locking up the office for the evening when he heard the roar of a familiar-sounding motorcycle coming up the street. He turned, biting back a smile as Klavier pulled up beside the sidewalk and turned off his engine. “Your bike really is as obnoxious as you are.”

Klavier removed his helmet, pouting. “Achtung, is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

“It is for me,” Apollo replied, kissing him briefly. “Hi.”

“Hallo,” Klavier murmured against Apollo’s lips, grinning as he pulled away. “Dinner?”

“Yes, please,” Apollo said, reaching for Klavier’s spare helmet. “I’m feeling...pizza and all the cheesy garlic breadsticks. Or maybe we can just get cheesy garlic breadsticks.”

“As nice as that sounds, you need more vegetables than the little bits you get in your cup noodles, baby,” Klavier said, patting Apollo’s hip affectionately. “Pizza, breadsticks, and a side salad, ja?”

“Fine, fine,” Apollo grumbled, settling in behind Klavier. “Turn me into a rabbit, why don’t you? Buy me a bag of carrot sticks the next time we go to the grocery store. Stuff my mattress with straw and newspaper - ”

“And people think I’m the dramatic one,” Klavier lamented, shaking his head in amusement.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were sitting on the floor of Klavier’s living room, pleasantly stuffed with pizza and breadsticks and a mediocre amount of Greek salad (“I’m not a fan of olives, you know.” “Not surprising, since the color doesn’t work with your complexion.” “Klavier, I swear to - ”). A random made-for-TV movie was playing in the background on mute, though neither of them were particularly interested in watching it.

“How was work?” Apollo asked, taking a much-needed gulp of cold water. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get the taste of garlic out of his mouth.

“Boring, unfortunately,” Klavier said with a grimace. “Herr Edgeworth didn’t have anything but paperwork to offer me. No trials, no investigations, nichts. You?”

“Same,” Apollo replied. “Mr. Wright’s mostly working with Athena this month, so they’re taking the big clients while I get stuck with the smaller cases. Not that I’m complaining, I mean - it’s a nice change from Khura’in. I don’t want every trial to feel like I’m going under, you know?”

“Nein, that would be terrible,” Klavier agreed. “Exciting, sure, but the stress wouldn’t be worth it. I already found a gray hair the other day, ach.”

Apollo snorted. “Just one? You should see mine - I’m gonna be completely gray by thirty-five at this rate.” He shuffled closer so he could snuggle up against Klavier’s side, letting his head drop to Klavier’s shoulder. “So...turns out, Athena knows all about the flower language thing. Figured she might.”

“Flower...language...thing?” Klavier echoed, confused. He then brightened. “Ah! From our video call with my mama the other day, ja? I didn’t know you were actually interested.”

“I wasn’t, not at first,” Apollo admitted, squeezing Klavier’s arm. “But...I want your parents to like me, and since she said she was taking an interest, I thought, y’know, why not look into it? And it sounds kinda...contrived, not gonna lie. But I guess it’s kinda sweet, too. Like a secret language between just two people.”

Klavier’s face softened. “Ja, exactly. My parents used to write love letters to each other when they were in school, so I think this is Mama’s way of starting a new tradition - buying Papa flowers so he can plant them in his garden. You should see our family estate in the summer, it’s absolutely stunning.”

“Sounds like it,” Apollo said, smiling. “Your parents’ lives sound so...peaceful. Baking, gardening, travelling...I know it’s a little early to start thinking about retirement, but still, they’re living the dream.”

“They’re not retired yet,” Klavier chuckled. “And stop making me feel like I’m dating an old man, bitte. You complaining about your back makes me feel like I have to start complaining about my back.”

Apollo hummed, tracing random patterns along Klavier’s forearm with his finger. He was pleasantly sleepy from a number of things - his long, if uneventful day of work, the amount of cheese and carbs he’d just consumed, and the warmth of Klavier’s skin against his. “Sorry we can’t all afford chiropractors and massage therapists, sheesh,” he teased, unable to hold back a yawn.

“Maybe we can get a massage together someday,” Klavier suggested, stretching luxuriously. “Ah, before I forget - since we were talking about my parents just now, they asked me the other day if it would be alright to text you and send you things, little gifts and whatnot.”

“Huh? They would do that?” Apollo exclaimed. “I only just met them, like, a week ago!”

“They’re a bit...much,” Klavier said carefully. “Even when I was in high school, every friend I brought home was a potential lover to them, you know? They wanted to know everything about them, to shower them with gifts and affection. Even when I started working, I would ask Papa if I could have some flowers from his garden - you know, an arrangement to thank Herr Edgeworth for giving me a raise, a bouquet for my manager when we got our first record deal - and it was always the same story. Achtung, it’s embarrassing, but they mean well. You don’t have to say ja if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I - it’s okay, I’d love to get to know your parents more, I’m just surprised,” Apollo admitted. The thought of them liking him this easily made him both relieved and unnerved at the same time. “Should I, uh, get them something in return?”

“Nein, nein, let them spoil you.” Klavier cupped Apollo’s face in his hands, kissing him softly. “Just like I do.”

“Sap,” Apollo murmured, kissing him back.

_____

It was a sort of gradual thing, for the most part. Barely a day had gone by when Apollo found himself in a group text with Klavier’s parents; he quickly discovered how witty and sweet and whip-smart they both were. Klavier’s father sent gorgeous photos of his garden - and calling it a garden seemed almost too modest when it seemed to be the size of a soccer field - while Klavier’s mother sent book recommendations, even the occasional movie recommendation.

“I never thought I’d be at that point in my life where my boyfriend’s mother sends me three long paragraphs about how she ‘discovered’ the Legally Blonde musical, but here we are,” Apollo had mused to the other agency members.

“Did you tell her that Klavier reminds everyone of that song, the one that goes - ”

“No, Athena, I did not. I want her to like me, remember?”

Soon after that, gifts started to arrive. Apollo had requested they send them to the agency, given how little he trusted his apartment building’s security after they nearly let his cat escape not too long ago. Unfortunately, it was too late before he realized that sometimes, he trusted his co-workers - or more specifically, his sister - even less.

“Trucy, do you know who ate the last piece of pie? Y’know, the one I was saving for today, to celebrate the end of my trial?”

“...huh. No idea, sorry, Polly!”

“Wait - th-there’s graham crumbs on Mr. Hat, what the hell - ”

His sister’s betrayal aside, Apollo felt good about things, almost unusually good. He soon started texting Klavier’s parents just as frequently as he did his own mother, thanking them for their generosity whenever they sent the occasional box of pastries or discounted event tickets. They also exchanged anecdotes about Klavier, along with stories about their own lives. He even received celebratory emojis whenever he told them about his victories in court - over their son, no less.

“I’m starting to think they like you more than they like me,” Klavier had lamented, though he seemed pleased all the same.

Then, a month into their budding familial relationship, a problem arrived on Apollo’s desk in the form of a bouquet the size of his head.

“Ah-choo!”

Trucy and Athena, who had been standing by the latter’s desk, both startled at the sound. “Ay Dios mío!” Athena exclaimed, clutching her heart in shock. “Are you okay, Apollo? That was some sneeze. I thought we were having another earthquake!”

“Har, har,” Apollo said dryly, reaching for a tissue. “It’s just the - achoo - flowers, that’s all.”

“They’re beautiful - very classic,” Athena added, dropping into Apollo’s desk chair so she could get a closer look. “Red roses and white lilies, claro. Ooh, I see some red carnations and white chrysanthemums, too!”

“Well, I see a card,” Trucy said, plucking a small white notecard from between the leaves. “Let’s see what it says!”

“That’s for - achoo - me, thank you very much.” Apollo snatched the card out of her hands, then squinted through his watery eyes to read it. “I...oh. Klavier says his mom helped him make the arrangement, with flowers from his dad’s garden.”

“How sweet!” Trucy gushed, taking a moment to sniff them, inhaling deeply as her eyes drifted closed. “Ooh, and they smell amazing. Mr. Gavin is such a good - ”

“Ah-choo!” Apollo sniffled, wiping his nose carefully. “...dammit.”

“I didn’t know you were allergic to pollen, Apollo,” Phoenix commented; he was on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of tea. “You never had any problems with the flowers Edgeworth sent to m - I mean, to the office.”

“Maybe it’s a freshly-cut thing?” Athena guessed, ignoring Phoenix’s awkward laugh. “Or, y’know, some flowers are worse for allergies than others. Dahlias, for example, are the worst.” Phoenix made another face before turning back to what he was doing.

“You should tell him you’re allergic,” Trucy said, patting Apollo’s free hand in sympathy. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But…” Apollo hesitated. The others braced themselves, anticipating another sneeze. “...this is from Klavier and his parents, you know? I can put up with a sneeze or two if it makes them happy. He loves sending flowers, and his dad’s really into gardening, so...if I tell them, they’ll stop doing it, and they’ll be too understanding, and I - I can’t deal with that. The, uh, the niceness, I mean.”

“Poor you, having the sweetest in-laws in the world,” Athena teased, pouting exaggeratedly. Oh, the humanity, Widget added. Apollo would have glared at them both, had he not started sneezing again. “Como tú quieras, I guess.”

Hours later, when Klavier met Apollo at the agency, the sight of his face brightening when he saw the bouquet confirmed Apollo’s fears. “Ah, how wunderschön,” Klavier declared, beaming. “I was worried they wouldn’t hold up during delivery. Do you like them, liebe?”

“They’re beautiful,” Apollo said, as honest as he could be. “Thanks, Klavier. I, uh, I hope it didn’t take you too long to put together.”

“You know how picky I can be,” Klavier hummed, carefully drawing a carnation out of the vase between two practiced fingers and bringing it up to his nose to smell. “I don’t settle for anything less than perfekt.” He turned, smirking. “That’s why I’m dating you, after all.”

“Gross,” Apollo said, wrinkling his nose; the effect was ruined by his affectionate laughter. “Hey, is it okay if I press them after they’ve wilted? I was thinking I could keep ‘em in my journal as a nice little reminder.”

Klavier chuckled, reaching over to squeeze Apollo’s hand. “Of course, Forehead. They’re all yours, you don’t have to ask for my permission. And I’m sure Mama and Papa would be delighted to hear you’re planning to give Papa’s flowers a second life. We’ll have to send you more in the future, ja?”

“...ja,” Apollo said weakly, his heart sinking.

_____

The next bouquet arrived two weeks later, bigger and bolder than before. According to Athena, it consisted of pink and orange roses, pink lilies, and yellow alstroemeria. However, it seemed to be the handful of sunflowers that topped everything off that left Apollo’s nose running all day.

“I think the only sunflower I can stand to be around is my attorney’s badge,” Apollo had bemoaned.

After that came an arrangement of white daisies, red gerbera, and white limonium (or, as Trucy liked to call it - she liked practicing tongue twisters when she was bored - “linoleum”). Then green hydrangeas and Queen Anne’s lace, which admittedly wasn't so bad, followed by purple daisies and pink gerbera, which was very, very bad. Apollo did not like the fact that he was getting used to the taste of Benadryl. He did manage to get some reprieve when Klavier sent him a simple vase of pink peonies.

“They’re hypoallergenic,” Athena had informed him. “But...mein Gott, Apollo, just tell him already!”

“But if I do, i-it’s…” Apollo had gestured wildly, unable to find the right words. Athena and Trucy had exchanged glances, then shook their heads in eerily synchronized disappointment.

Pink carnations and pink alstroemeria, purple irises and white aster, yellow daisies and orange roses; Apollo was starting to think the Gavin family garden was endless. And while his journal had never looked prettier, every page decorated with carefully pressed petals, every other page detailed with a date and a description courtesy of Athena’s expertise, his nose had never looked worse, his skin pink and dry and irritated. He was getting too used to the smell of CeraVe as well.

Finally, a bouquet of red roses - thankfully, also hypoallergenic - arrived with Klavier himself. He seemed delighted to be at the agency while everyone else was present for once, chatting happily with Athena and marvelling at Trucy’s card tricks. He and Phoenix seemed awkward around each other, though Apollo supposed that was to be expected. Even now, they hesitated whenever Apollo brought the other one up.

“So what’re you doing here, Mr. Gavin?” Trucy asked after she’d successfully duped him three times in a row. Apollo had to stop her before she started charging him for it. “Is it date night?”

“Not exactly,” Klavier said, turning to Apollo. “I came here to ask you something in person, liebe.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not suspicious at all. What’s up?”

“I think it’s about time you meet my parents in person.” Klavier took both of Apollo’s hands in his, smiling hopefully. “So, if you’re ready...are you free this weekend? We could go to my family estate, spend the day - Mama would love to teach you how to make those puff pastries you like, and Papa wants to show you around the garden so you can see where all your wunderschön flowers came from.”

“I...oh.” Apollo’s face fell for a split second before he quickly regained his composure. “Sorry, Klav, that sounds incredible, but I-I was gonna stay with Mom this weekend. Maybe another time?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, still smiling. While his smiles usually made Apollo feel warm and fuzzy, now all he was feeling was gnawing guilt. “Let me know when you have a free weekend, ja?”

“For sure,” Apollo promised, pecking him briefly on the cheek. “And thanks for the roses, even though I, uh, kinda ruined the occasion.”

“Ruined?” Klavier repeated, chuckling. “Ach, it’s no big deal, you’re busy. We have time, don’t we?”

“Of course!” Apollo exclaimed, far too loudly. Klavier didn’t seem to mind, though; he leaned down to kiss Apollo properly, humming all the while.

“Anyway, I should get going before Herr Edgeworth notices I’m not in my office,” Klavier said, reluctantly pulling away. The look on Phoenix's face suggested he knew that Edgeworth had figured it out long ago. “Auf Wiedersehen, süßer!”

The second Klavier left, Apollo let out the breath he’d been holding. He didn’t even need to look up to know the others were staring at him very judgmentally. “...I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You really shouldn’t lie to your boyfriend, Apollo,” Phoenix said gently; his voice had taken on the sort of “dad” tone that made Apollo feel even guiltier. “Er, that is, you shouldn’t lie to anyone, but you know what I mean. Are you really protecting his feelings by doing this?”

Sighing, Apollo collapsed into his desk chair, dropping his forehead to his desk with an audible thunk. “I know, I know. It was stupid from the start, but...I-I honestly wasn’t expecting him to send this many! I thought it’d be, y’know, for special occasions only, like every few months or whatever. Then I could deal with it, and he would never have to know. Not, like, just ‘cos he felt like it. Though I guess I really should’ve seen it coming, knowing him.”

“You really gotta tell him,” Trucy insisted. “Next time you see him, okay? Or else you’re never gonna say anything!”

“I will, I swear,” Apollo insisted, combing his fingers through his hair. He could feel more grays coming in by the second. “I have no interest in being the worst boyfriend ever, believe me.”

_____

It didn’t take long for Apollo to realize that while he was perfectly fine - or, at least, reasonably fine - with confrontation in the courtroom, he was very much not fine with confrontation in his personal life. The flower arrangements came less frequently now, and when they did, they seemed to be exclusively hypoallergenic. Klavier’s invitations, on the other hand, seemed more persistent.

“I don’t mean to push,” Klavier would say. “It’s just that exam week is coming up and, being professors and all, they’re going to be very busy soon. I was hoping we’d be able to spend some time with them before then.”

“Yeah, o-of course,” Apollo would reply, his stomach twisting every time, knowing full well he was about to turn him down again.

Another weekend went by, then another. There always seemed to be something, whether it was Apollo’s sudden frequent visits to Thalassa’s, Trucy’s sudden need for a magic show assistant, or that Apollo was just too tired to be good company. Eventually, Klavier seemed to simply stop asking. In fact, he seemed to stop asking him about anything at all.

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Apollo had once asked Klavier while they were both packing up after the end of a lengthy trial.

“I don’t know.” Klavier had sounded tired, subdued; he refused to look Apollo in the eyes. “I think I’m just going to head back to the office and catch up on my emails. Take care, Herr Forehead.” He’d quickly swept out of the courtroom before Apollo could even say goodbye.

Apollo’s group text with his parents seemed to slow down, too, especially when it came to Klavier’s papa’s photos of his garden. Klavier’s mama, on the other hand, sent him short, stilted messages, now seemingly out of obligation instead of affection. Their near-radio silence, Apollo had to admit, was well-deserved. He knew he had to do something before it was too late, if it wasn’t already too late.

“I was surprised you wanted me to join you today,” Klavier said one morning as the two of them were taking a leisurely stroll around People Park, hand-in-hand. “Lately, I feel like I’ve been dating a ghost, achtung. We only ever see each other in court. Maybe at crime scenes, too, if we’re lucky.”

“And I’m surprised you agreed to come,” Apollo admitted. “I missed you, Klavier. Only...I, uh, I know that’s really my fault, not yours.”

“You do, do you?” Klavier sounded bitter. His grip on Apollo’s hand was looser than usual, like he was ready to pull away at any second, like he wanted to run. The thought made Apollo’s chest ache. “And here, I thought you were as oblivious as ever.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested, frowning. Then, he sighed. “No, you - you’re right. This is on me. Will you - I - listen, I have something for you, back at the office. Can we go get it before you head to work?”

Klavier nodded shortly. While his eyes had softened, his smile was still strained. “Ja, let’s go.”

Thankfully, the agency was empty when they got there, save for a certain something sitting patiently on Apollo’s desk. He set his bag down, then turned on all the lights, his heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage. “So these aren’t as nice as your dad’s, but, uh. This is for you...and your parents.”

“What do you - ah!” Klavier approached Apollo’s desk with wide, disbelieving eyes, his gaze fixated on the beautiful arrangement of white lilies, yellow tulips, and white orchids wrapped in white decorative tissue paper. “Apollo, these are...they’re lovely! Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Athena helped,” Apollo said, hovering nervously. “She said white lilies are for humility, yellow tulips can mean forgiveness, and white orchids symbolize strength. Fitting, since I wanted to...apologize. For being a horrible boyfriend.”

“I don’t know about ‘horrible’,” Klavier said, gently running a finger down the length of one of the orchids. “...but you have been distant. If you’re not actually interested in meeting my parents, or if you...if you want to end things, just say so, will you?” His voice cracked. “I might like a bit of drama every now and then, but not in my own life. Not in my own relationship.”

“What?! No, no, I-I don’t wanna end things at all!” Apollo exclaimed, his voice filling the room. He took a few deep, even breaths to calm himself. “Just...will you hear me out? Please?” Klavier nodded, though he refused to look at him. “I’m...I’m sorry for avoiding you and your parents. And before you ask...yes. I was doing it on purpose. It’s nothing that - none of you did anything wrong, okay? It’s me, i-it’s - it - I - ah - ”

Klavier turned on his heel, worried. “Apollo? Are you - ”

“Ah-choo!”

Klavier jumped. “Ach - Apollo?”

“I forgot there were asters in there,” Apollo grumbled, reaching for a tissue. He wasn’t sure which was redder now, his nose or his cheeks. “It’s - I - achoo - ”

“Apollo,” Klavier said slowly; if Apollo didn’t know any better, he would've thought he was trying not to laugh. “Are you, by chance...allergic to pollen?”

Apollo sniffed sharply. “...yes, dammit, yes! That’s literally what I’ve been trying to say - achoo - just now, until - achoo - my sinuses decided to - achoo - speak for me!” He was half-doubled over at this point, clenching a fistful of tissues in both hands.

“Baby, have you been rejecting my invitation to meet my parents because you’re allergic to all the flowers we’ve been sending you for the last several weeks?” Klavier sounded more incredulous than angry.

“...yes. Yes, I have, yes, I’m an idiot and an asshole and - achoo - I’m so sorry, Klavier, I - achoo - ”

“Bitte, say it, don’t spray it.” Klavier held up Apollo’s tissue box for him, keeping it - and Apollo himself - at a good distance. “Mein Gott, Apollo, I thought you wanted to break up with me! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?!”

It took another minute or so before Apollo finally stopped sneezing long enough to get a full sentence out. He sniffled again, wiping his nose completely clean. “...have you ever told, like, the tiniest lie to make someone happy, only for it to turn into a big...thing? And then you know you have to come clean, that it’s what you’re s’posed to do, but the thought of doing it makes you anxious, even if not doing it also makes you anxious, and then...it just...it, uh, it stays with you.” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Not that that’s an excuse, it’s just - that’s just what happened. I’m sorry, Klavier, I really am. I really do want to meet your parents, they’re so sweet and friendly a-and funny, I’m just...I’m bad at this. Really, really bad at this.”

Klavier sighed. Apollo held his breath, anticipating the worst. Then, Klavier wrapped him in his arms, letting out another sigh of relief. “I understand, liebe, and...I forgive you. Danke for explaining yourself.” He kissed the top of Apollo’s head. “Maybe we should’ve stuck to sending you pies, ja?”

Apollo laughed wetly. “I don’t know how you’re joking right now. That’s usually my job.” He lifted his head from Klavier’s chest to look up at him with a grateful smile. “I really did love the flowers, you know. When they weren’t attacking my respiratory system, that is.”

“Still, let’s not push it any further,” Klavier said wryly. “Now - two things, if you don’t mind. First, let me give you some moisturizer for your poor, poor nose. I’m not kissing you until I’m sure your skin won’t flake off in the process.”

“Ew, thanks for the gross visual,” Apollo grimaced. “And the second thing?”

Klavier smiled. “If you're alright with it, I’d like you to tell my parents what happened...in person.”

_____

The garden was just as beautiful as Apollo imagined it to be, given the dozens and dozens of photos he’d gotten from Klavier’s papa. It was full and lush and vibrant, with towering trees that provided ample shade, a beautiful gazebo with a built-in fireplace, a gorgeous two-tiered fish pond, and of course, a plethora of flowers, as far as they could see. Everything was especially beautiful, in Apollo’s opinion, from the relative safety of the conservatory.

“We’re not throwing you to the wolves, darling,” Klavier’s mama insisted, as if she were talking about actual wild animals and not her husband’s hobby. “We’ll stay in here for high tea so you can admire the garden at a safe distance, yes?”

“Yes, th-thank you,” Apollo stammered, relieved. “High tea?”

“Today’s menu is German chocolate scones and mini-sandwiches. With the crusts cut off for my fussy baby boy, of course,” she added, pinching Klavier’s cheek with a devious grin.

“Mama,” Klavier protested, embarrassed. His papa chuckled, settling into the chair across from his son; he still had a smudge of dirt on his nose. “I’m a grown man, achtung. I have my own health insurance and everything!”

“I really am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gavin,” Apollo said sincerely. Despite their kindness and generosity, he was still somewhat intimidated by them, by how tall and beautiful and well-spoken they were. As much as he didn’t want to think about his former boss, Apollo could see where he and Klavier got their good looks and charm from. “I wanted to make a good impression, but I, uh, I didn’t go about it the right way. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now, but...I kept it from happening for a dumb reason, and it led to me hurting your feelings and Klavier’s feelings. I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Klavier’s papa insisted, waving a hand. “Just promise you’ll stop by every now and then, alright? Our doors are open to you, Apollo. Consider us your parents, too, if you’d like.”

Apollo smiled softly. “I would, sir.”

“It’ll be a good, allergy-free time, I promise,” he continued with a teasing wink. “We’ll bake some bread, watch some home movies...are you interested in seeing - ach, what do the kids call it - Klavier’s ‘goth phase’?”

Apollo’s mouth dropped open. “...his what.”

“Papa, nein,” Klavier whined; he really did sound like a child now. “Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here, liebling.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Apollo said, his grin widening. “I would love to see Klavier’s goth phase. Did he dye his hair?”

“Oh, did he,” Klavier’s mama said slyly with the exasperated sigh of a parent who had dealt with too much. “It’s a miracle he managed to get back to blond at all.” She then got to her feet, smoothing out the front of her apron. “Anyway, Papa and I should go check on the scones now. You two sit tight, okay?” Before Apollo could blink, she’d dropped kisses on both his and Klavier’s foreheads, then disappeared down the hallway and into the kitchen, her husband in tow. He turned to look at Klavier, who was watching him nervously.

“I love them,” Apollo admitted. “They’re so sweet, Klav, they - stop looking at me like that, will you?”

“You can’t blame me for worrying,” Klavier said, kissing him briefly. “But I’m glad to hear it. Ich liebe dich, schatz.”

“Love you too, dork,” Apollo murmured against Klavier’s lips. “...so. Did you have a lip ring, or snake bites, or - ”

“Get out of my house,” Klavier huffed, pinching Apollo’s arm with an exaggerated pout.

“Hey! This isn’t your house, it’s your parents’ house, and they said their doors were open,” Apollo teased, laughing. Rolling his eyes, Klavier pulled Apollo into his arms, the two of them snuggled up on the loveseat. In the distance, they could see birds and butterflies fluttering among the flowers, a stray squirrel or two sniffing curiously at the edge of the fish pond. It was peaceful, serene. If it wasn't for the pollen, Apollo could see himself staying outside for hours at a time. “...but seriously, I’m looking forward to the video evidence.”

“I’m sure you are,” Klavier sighed, giving Apollo one last kiss before his parents returned with a large tray of sandwiches, scones, tea, and a vase with a single red rose for decoration - hypoallergenic, of course.

_____

a/n: Welcome to my second entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fourth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. Today, I have projected my allergies and anxiety onto Apollo, because that's what fanfiction is for, right? I hope y'all like my version of the Gavins; I've written them as cold and distant a couple of times, but I usually prefer to write them as warm and witty so that Klavier has a good support system in his life.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #sorry these previews are so massive!!#today's and day four's are probably the most lighthearted

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

Text

bad day blues

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 10,418 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit and end up spraining an ankle?” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.” “I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.” “You’re not.” Luka kisses the top of her head as a punctuation to his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.” “One of the worsts in a while,” Marinette nods into his shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?” He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.” Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.” AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

Here's some more Lukanette! Don't worry, there's plenty more incoming, too. This series is so wonderful to write, I'm having so much fun!!! Especially since Luka is my favorite character 🥺

Enjoy <3

She’s having a bad day.

Like, a really bad day.

There is that whole cake ordering business that her parents live off of, that she helps out with. She’s rolled so much fondant out that her arms hurt, and they’re barely attached to her body when she’s rushing out of the door to get to her class when the second bad part of the day happens.

She spills coffee all over herself.

Well, it isn’t her coffee. Her dad’s been getting into the habit of walking around the bakery and the pantry with his mug she got for him for his birthday, a delicate piece of ceramic that is absolutely dwarfed by her father’s large hands. She’d knocked into him while scarfing down some breakfast of her own, where she’d tried to get bits and pieces of it into her mouth while rolling out fondant for that particular eight-tiered cake that is surely going to be the death of her that she still has to pipe and decorate when she gets back from class.

Her blouse is stained, and it’s warm. It doesn’t seep far into her shirt, because her dad presses his apron right on the stain to soak up as much moisture as possible, but she yelps anyway out of sheer instinct.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry for making you spill your coffee, baba. Are you okay?” She waves him off with a little smile. These things happen, it’s okay. Besides, smelling like coffee isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t the smell of a particularly expensive perfume, but she can hardly say no to smelling like coffee when she’s lived at a bakery for the entirety of her life.

“I ran into you, sweetheart, not the other way around,” Her dad shakes his head. “Go change your shirt while I get you some packed food to take with you to school for you and Mullo.”

“Thank you! I’ll be right back.” She kisses him on the cheek, making sure to stay clear away from his mug. She rushes up the stairs, trying her best not to accidentally tear her skirt, but isn’t as delicate to her blouse as she could be. The side rips open. She squeaks while getting it off. “Oh, no! I just bought this!”

“Oh! Is everything okay?” Mullo peeks out from the little cubby Marinette’s made into her own little room.

“Yeah— I’m okay! These things happen, don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt into something better and then we can head out, okay?” She snaps open a drawer, tossing her soiled top into the laundry bin near her desk. She’s not opposed to wearing other shirts with this particular skirt, but… she really likes wearing that peter pan collar. This is fine. A normal button-up will go fine with the skirt, even though now she looks a lot more formal than she wants to be.

It’s a good thing her bra is nude-colored. She’s already in a rush as it is.

She hasn’t learned a single thing since school was at a walking distance, clearly, because she’s rushing to get to the metro, running back down the stairs, tugging her backpack over her shoulder with Mullo zipping into the pocket of her skirt, and kissing her dad goodbye and thanking him for the food— all the while trying her best to go over the list of things she needed to do before heading off to class.

Feed Mullo, though the little mouse can definitely go scavenging for blueberries whenever she wants. And yet… Mullo starts to whisper that she’s hungry the moment Marinette makes it down the stairs of the metro and goes pawing for her metrocard. She’s grateful that she’s placed a small container of fresh blueberries inside her backpack, with even a portion of small chocolate chips in the screw-top compartment of the container, just for the little mouse— and the small kwami is giggling and back to being happy before Marinette can even blink.

She looks for her metrocard. It’s on the inside of her phone case, which is good, so she’s able to go through the ticket booth with no problem— thank goodness. She doesn’t need another stressor for the day— but she needs to make sure she repays the bill for her monthly pass before the next month arrives so that she isn’t late trying to pay for it the day of, and hopefully she can remember this thought for long enough to write it into her agenda so she doesn’t forget during the week.

Oh, gooseberries. Hopefully she’s not late.

She checks the time on her phone once she’s safely situated inside a subway car, only to look at the turned-off screen with a confused noise. She tries turning on her phone but blinks with so much confusion when the black screen refuses to light.

Wasn’t one of the things on her list to make sure that her phone was charged last night?

What in the world happened to her phone battery?

She tries to think about it, pinning down that the only real reason it would be out of battery would be if Mullo wanted to use it to watch videos or listen to music while Marinette was asleep.

She makes sure to unzip her bag, peering down at the little mouse kwami with inquisitive eyes, trying to understand why her only communication device isn’t charged, speaking in a hushed voice to not alert anyone in the subway car with her. “Lolo, did you watch videos last night?”

Mullo is asleep. At least she remembered to put the lid back onto the container, which is some good news. Marinette can’t feel too upset, looking at the little creature. It’s a good thing she packed her bag and made sure to grab her portable charger— it’s not often that Mullo gets in the habit of overusing Marinette’s phone— but she’s always prepared, just in case. Mullo likes texting Sass, too, though all their texts look like gibberish to her and Luka whenever they try to reread it.

She opens the front pocket zipper with the cute little mouse charm attached to the handle and freezes.

This isn’t her school backpack.

She’s not sure how it didn’t dawn on her before, but this isn’t the right backpack at all.

The only thing it has is a plastic bag with her swimsuit she’d used during the weekend— it’s not exactly dry, given that it’s been in the baggy for at least four days since she’d come back from the pool with her friends. That’s strange— she’s not one to just drop her bag off to the side and not put away her stuff— so, what gives? She chews on her nail while she thinks about what could’ve possibly distracted her from hanging up her swimsuit and letting it dry, and stopped her from putting away this particular backpack, and squeaks to herself when she remembers.

Oh. Right. That’s right.

Viperion had shown up in her room just as she was going to go take a shower— having completed patrol on his own because he wanted her to have fun with friends and go swimming— and since her boyfriend is somehow allergic to learning how to swim, he’d happily shoved her out of the house with the pretense of keeping Paris safe while she relaxes for once in her life— no wonder she’d been so distracted and completely forgot about the backpack.

He’s so insatiable, nowadays, wanting to spend so much time with her that it’s completely pointless to try to keep clothes on around him. He’d taken one good look at her while she was making her way to her bathroom tucked into her towel and had decided to wash her himself— joining her in the shower without even taking his suit off.

She knows that their hexleather is water-resistant— but she didn’t know that it’s enough to keep water from completely entering his suit.

He’d cleaned her inside and out— pressed her up against the bathroom tiles, hopeful that she would keep quiet, as Viperion slicked two fingers inside of her.

The hexagonal grooves on their suits had never been something she’d even considered until now— it was obsession at first touch, in all honesty.

Her back is filled with love bites and possessive teeth marks that make her toes curl in her shoes when she thinks about it more, or remembers it whenever she brushes up against her shoulders. Not to mention she feels a comfortable full-body ache when he finally slips away to go home— she’d spent the rest of that afternoon in bed, curled up, dreaming of the day the two of them can always wake up next to each other.

She shifts in her seat, feeling damp and uncomfortable. She misses him already.

But all of that means… her school backpack is still at home. And she’s carrying nothing except her wet swimsuit, instead of her agenda and planner and notebooks and sketchbooks and pens.

Oh, sugarcubes.

It’s fine, though. These things happen. Sometimes no matter how much she plans and prepares, the universe sometimes throws her for a loop, and that’s okay. A good planner knows how to plan for things going wrong— even if she doesn’t want it to happen in the first place.

In all honesty, this is probably not what Luka meant when he said to let things flow and don’t let things bother her, but it is kind of hard to stop her tendencies to want to plan for the worse.

Okay, so how does she fix this?

She has a lecture that starts in about twenty minutes that she can technically skip out on and go back home to grab her things, assuming she switches subways at the next stop. Since she’ll be late, she might as well change out of her clothes, too, into something much more suited for her. She doesn’t like wearing button-downs— especially since, oh, gooseberries, it looks like she’s missed out on about three buttons and gotten her neckline skewed. There’s no point in even fixing it, as long as she’s able to tuck her miraculous back underneath her shirt without someone seeing it.

What else does she need to do?

Well, she definitely needs to make sure she gets the right backpack the next time she slips through the door. Make sure to bring another container of blueberries, too— she never knows when there’ll be another Akuma, and of all things to not be worried about, this is something she’ll never stop.

Everything will be okay. No worries. The lecture wasn’t that important, she’s sure of it.

The moment she makes that same thought, the subway car slows to a crawl. The lights in the car flicker, and she looks around to the other passengers, hopeful to see anyone who has any idea of what’s going on.

Everyone looks nonchalant. They probably assume it’s an Akuma, at this point.

“We are having technical difficulties,” The subway car emits a tinny, metallic little noise from the speakers near the doors. “Please stay calm and wait while we fix it.”

Marinette groans. Okay, maybe she’ll be late for a lot more than just her first class. This is fine. Things happen. Things like this just happen— she just needs to relax about it. At least it’s not an Akuma— and it’s not like she can be blamed for the subway being stuck.

There’s just nothing to entertain her, though. No pencil, no pen, no paper to doodle and keep her occupied. No phone to listen to music or keep her busy. Just her, the plastic bag with her swimsuit in it, a sleeping kwami, her breakfast, and half a container of chocolate chips. She might as well start eating now, since there’s nothing else to do— eat and think about her boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes.

-*-

She has— well, had— a pop quiz in her missed lecture.

Worth twenty percent of her grade.

She stumbles into the classroom after everyone’s starting to clear out, looking for the professor and her continuously bored glare she gives to the class on the regular. “Uhm, excuse me— sorry, I didn’t attend class today because of the metro—”

“You can’t make it up.” Her professor says, collecting a thick stack of paper into her briefcase. The only professor she’s ever met to actually use a genuine briefcase— it makes her look more like a lawyer and less like an introduction to fashion history professor.

“Make it up?” Marinette blinks, confused. “Make up— make up what, exactly? I wasn’t in class.”

“The quiz. Twenty percent of the grade, of course, because no one in class was answering my questions today for some reason.” Because Marinette’s the one who usually answers for everyone, of course. No one stepped in, probably, because they were most likely too comfortable with her answers to actually come up with one of their own. “You missed out on the quiz. You can’t make it up.”

“Oh.” That’s fine. Things happen. Sometimes the universe just throws curveballs— her grade in this class won’t suffer. “Uhm. Is— is that all I missed?”

Her professor gives her a good look. There’s something in her dull, tired eyes, like she registers who Marinette is in the class— and what she brings to the lecture hall. “I’m going to give you the homework, even though I technically shouldn’t. You’re a good student— you’ve never been late to class— and definitely never missed an entire lecture. And today, without your questions, it was completely and totally quiet.”

“Oh.” She repeats. “Th— uhm. Thank you.”

She pulls out another stack of papers, handing her a stapled group of paper from the top. It looks ridiculously thick— as in— maliciously thick. Maybe at least thirty pages. “Here’s the homework. Make sure to finish it by next class.”

One week to finish the assignment. No problem. She can do that.

“Of course,” Marinette breathes, slightly overwhelmed, looking over the title of the assignment. She has no idea where to begin— the lecture today must’ve been all about it. Maybe she can find one of her classmates and ask about it? Although, she’s never really made a friend here before… “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t make it a habit to skip,” The professor calls out to her as she leaves through the door.

“Understood,” Marinette mutters under her breath. The strap of her kitten heels breaks when she runs her foot too close along the doorframe as she leaves behind her. She trips, falling into her second person with a coffee today, spilling all over her shirt again. This time, it’s cold— it’s an iced latte, of course, and ice cubes fall down her collar and into her shirt, and pain blistering up her ankle.

She tries to walk it off, she really does, but it ultimately just collapses back onto the floor the moment she tries to put pressure on it. Mullo comes out of hiding when she makes sure that there’s no one around, asking if Marinette’s okay— and all she can do is just smile at the little kwami, trying her best not to wince.

Today just isn’t her day, is it?

-*-

By the time an Akuma actually comes around, and tries to do damage in the city of Paris, Multimouse is running on fumes from how close she is to breaking down.

She’s weaved and dodged most of the attacks, relying on her rope to get out of the way. Her ankle doesn’t hurt as much when in the suit, of course, because the magical properties of the miraculous make it so that they focus on the fight first than anything else. She can put her weight on it, which is the good news— and that’s enough for her to walk and run and jump rope when she needs to.

Seeing Viperion is such a blessing. She hasn’t been able to text him much all day, aside from the vague ‘good morning’ text she sent when she finally managed to get her phone to turn on— she’s been too busy to respond to all of the texts he’s sent throughout the day.

Hopefully, she can talk to him after the fight is over. She needs a little bit of downtime.

But she can’t exactly focus on how thankful she is to see him when she’s in the middle of weaseling out of the Akumas grabby hands. She tucks and weaves, snaps her rope out like a whip when she needs to, and does her best to roll out of the way of the Akuma that falls into their trap using the Liberty that sends him spiraling across the city with it. Viperion is nearly on the other side of the city taking care of the sentimonster when she feels her ankle start to blister in pain again, indicating that she’s putting far too much stress on the ankle for even magic to make it stop hurting.

By the time they’ve got the Akuma purified, the sentimonster dealt with, and the victim is in safe care with the social worker from the workforce that’s been assigned to assist people who have just been Akumatized— Multimouse can barely stand up. She chooses, instead, to keep sitting down on the lip of the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, her legs spread out in front of her, trying her best to seem like she’s just out of breath. She keeps her right boot completely straight, hopeful to not put any more strain on her ankle, but lets her left boot sag against the asphalted road, and tries her hardest not to hide her face in her hands.

Viperion makes his way back to her after he’s done talking to the social worker.

“Mousey?”

“Hi, Vai,” She speaks into her gloves. Some battles are just too difficult for her to focus on, and trying to keep herself from doing something just isn’t worth the effort anymore. “That was a tough one, huh?”

He sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. There’s probably not enough space for him in between the cars, since his shoulders are wide, but he makes the effort anyway. Besides, if it’s truly that bothersome, all he has to do is give a gentle push to the car next to him— the miraculous suits give them extra strength, after all— but even without the suit, he’d probably be able to push it forward. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She leans into him. “I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t text me today like you usually do,” He murmurs into her hair. He’s a thick wall of heat right next to her, and she’s so thankful for him like usual. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is— it’s fine— I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night, and Mullo was watching videos while I slept, so my phone just went kaput.” She smiles in her hands when he makes a noise meaning that he understands exactly what she means. “I only got to text you when my phone was back on. I’m just tired, really. I’m not having a good day.”

The road is going to be populated soon with whatever foot traffic it usually has, now that the Akuma’s been taken care of. They need to probably get up to higher ground before the people of Paris come out to ask for autographs or selfies— and, okay.

She wants to give everyone the best treatment possible, of course, but she’s in absolutely no condition to do that like this. Definitely not like this.

It’ll be better for everyone’s comfort if she doesn’t stay around to listen to what people have to say about the fight— she’s Paris’s sweetheart, she knows, but if anyone says anything remotely negative in her direction, she’s pretty sure she’ll start crying.

Not to mention that if she hears anything bad about Viperion, she’ll start crying while beating civilians off with a ten-foot pole. She’s not in the mood at all to continue behaving like the sweet little Parisian Princess today— she can’t do it.

“Are you stressed out?”

“Yes. Very much. Ironically, the Akuma was my break from stress. Imagine that?”

He laughs. It’s a loving noise, usually, but there seems to be an edge to it this time. “Do you want me to help you with that? I think I saw an alley over there. Let me help you relax.”

She steams red behind her gloves. Oh, she knows exactly what he means— and, well, the answer is always yes. “Yes— but maybe not here. People are going to show up, soon, and I’m already in pain as it is—”

Viperion looks at her. She can tell because her face starts to prickle underneath her gloves. “Pain?”

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. His hair is starting to curl around his neck, it’s so lovingly him that she can’t help but comb her fingers into his hair and smooth it back. The confusion on his face morphs into contentment as she takes her time brushing his bangs back, getting a good look at what the top of his domino mask looks like. “Nothing’s wrong— things are fine. Everything is fine. Sometimes things happen, and we can’t control all of it.”

Liquid golden eyes look back at her when she’s done petting through his hair and, he— he smiles at her. Really smiles at her— he knows that she’s trying to repeat the quotes and virtues that he usually says to himself. His smile makes his domino mask crinkle, the scales on his hexleather shimmering turquoise and green, and it’s not exactly a front when she smiles back at him. “That’s true. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control, even if we really try, but sometimes we can fix whatever is hurting us. So what really happened, Mousey?”

“Just a bad day,” She uses her left foot to brush against his, taking her hands back from his hair to follow the scale pattern on his chest. The muscles underneath are no illusion— he’s truly that filled out. She likes physical contact with him, just as much as he loves physical contact with her— and she finds a certain kind of sweetness in the way he leans just slightly into her touch as she traces his collarbone. “I’m not kidding— I’ve been having a really bad day.”

“The Akuma didn’t help all that much, huh?”

She cups his cheeks with her palms. She can’t feel him, because her fingers are covered in protective hexleather, but it means all the same to her when she presses their foreheads together, smooshing their bangs against one another. “I don’t know about that. I’m getting to see you, after all— I love being able to see you, Vai.”

His eyes twinkle as he laughs, giving her a kiss. “Stand up for me? I want to check if you’re missing any body parts.”

“What? I’m not missing anything.” She finds herself laughing at the strange request. “See? Look: I have my two arms, my two legs. Tail is still here, and so is my miraculous.”

“I don’t know about that,” His face is oddly serious, even as she continues to giggle. “Wiggle your fingers for me so I know they’re still there.”

“Vai,” She makes a face as she laughs. When he implores her, she rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Told you.”

“All ten fingers?”

“I think so,” She breaks into a grin. What is this man on about?

“Let’s see.” He takes her hands in his, bringing every single finger up to his mouth so he can count them with a kiss. “One. Two.”

“Oh my gooseberries. Vai,” She giggles hard enough for her shoulders to shake.

“Don’t make me lose count, Mousey, this is important. Three, four—”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“I think it’s the other way around, honestly. Five, six— how did I get so lucky to have you?”

“By treating me like this,” She can’t help but bite her lip when he makes it past seven and eight. “By treating me so sweetly.”

“Sue me, little mouse. I like treating my girlfriend well. Nine, and ten.” At the tenth finger, he kisses where her fingernail would be, then her knuckle, then the back of her hand. He kisses up her arm, too, all the way up to her shoulder as she snorts and giggles, until he tilts his head and kisses her against the jaw, finally completing his quest and kisses her softly on the lips— she melts. He keeps the kiss soft, though— and if her ankle wasn’t rolled, she’d honestly climb into his lap for more than just something so chaste. She deserves it, after this horrible day— and he always makes her feel loved and comforted. “I think your hands are okay.”

“You think so?” She feels a little dopey from the kiss.

“Move your feet, too, so I can figure out if your legs are still attached.”

She moves her left foot only, letting her right boot rest. Instead, she pulls up her right leg, hoping to look like she’s just switching up her sitting position, but that’s enough for Viperion to break eye contact with her and look at her knee. “See?”

But he’s smarter than that. “Ah, there it is. So you did injure yourself during the fight?”

“No. I— uhm— no. Not during the fight.” She’s not lying, but her smile dies down as a quiet contemplation morphs on his face. “It’s— I’m fine, Vai, honestly, I’m okay. My ankle will be fine after some ice, I’m sure—”

“Oh, Mousey.” He looks hurt for her, immediately swiveling in his seat to look her over. He grabs gently for both of her legs, lifting them up to place in his lap, and gently starts to move her foot at the ankle back and forth.

The first leg is the good one, so she barely even reacts— let alone blinks— to him swiveling her ankle around and testing the elasticity. But her bad ankle— oh— it’s enough to make her start to squirm.

His eyebrows pinch when she continuously flinches, her half-sentient tail batting against the asphalt behind her as she tries her hardest not to cry out in pain. He supports the back of her ankle with his palm, and doesn’t let her foot rotate when he puts her leg back in his lap. “When did this happen, baby girl?”

“It happened at school,” She hides her face back into her gloves. “Just the cherry on top, honestly. I fell and twisted my foot. I thought I was okay, but— I can’t walk in my civilian form.”

“School? And you fought the Akuma while injured? Oh, Mousey— I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have let you stay alone with the Akuma if I had known. What else happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” She feels the gentle pressure of his thumb against her calf, even through the hexleather. “Maybe I can help you. I sure want to try, at least.”

Why is he so gentle with her? Why is Viperion always so sweet and soft to her— kind and loyal?

She knows why— there is the whole ‘they’re dating’ part of the answer— but honestly, how did it get this way? When did Viperion become the boy she fights crime with, day or night, live or die— to the man who snags her just before her showers, who makes it a habit to make her toes curl every time he sees her, who is happiest when she cuddles and routinely hides in his bed with? How in the world has she gotten this lucky?

How? How did she get so lucky to have a man so conditioned to care about her?

Why did he ever fall in love with someone like her— someone who needs everything to be in its place or else she has a nervous breakdown? Someone that loses her demeanor when there’s even a slightest mistake, because everything needs to be perfect or it’s not worth doing at all and— and— why would he even stay with someone like her like this? Why? She’s completely the opposite of him— so— why does he stay and deal with someone so completely different than him in every single aspect?

The thought is enough to make her cry— and— oh— that’s it, really. That’s what makes her push over the edge and start hiccuping into her hands, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh—”

“Mousey, it’s okay. Shh. Your ankle will get fixed up in no time, okay? We can fix this.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, more to herself than anything else, gesturing to her leg before hiding back in her hands. She sags against him so easily when he pulls her onto his lap. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Vai. It’s not just— just the ankle— I’m just—”

“I know.”

“And— such a bad day—”

“Breathe, Mousey,” He traces circles against her back.

She gasps for breaths between sobs. “And I just— I really did try to not let it get to me— I really tried—”

“You did very good. You are doing very good.”

“It really hurts, Vai, I’ve never rolled my foot before, it’s so painful— and I know I’m going to be in more pain when I’m out of the suit. I’m so exhausted, Vai— today has been so difficult.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Where does she begin? “So much coffee on my shirt, I smell like an espresso machine—”

He listens to her ramblings, even if they don’t make any sense without the full context. He’s gentle when he shifts her even closer, making sure that her foot doesn’t hit up against the car next to them, tucking her in next to his collarbone and letting her cry it all out. His chest is so warm against her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And then the subway— and I don’t have more blueberries for Lolo right now because she ate them all already, even after I went back home and refilled her cup—”

“We can get more in my house, it’s okay. All the blueberries Mullo could want.”

“And I was also stuck in the subway for two full hours with just a swimsuit—”

“You went on the subway with only a swimsuit on?” He makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“In my bag,” She explains, even if it doesn’t make much sense, sniffling around her gloves. “I mean— I picked up the wrong backpack— the wrong bag— before leaving the house and it was just my swimsuit in there— the subway got stuck and I thought it was because of an Akuma so I was just—”

“Take a breath, Mousey.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to fill her lungs in all the way, before the inevitable fresh wave of tears that she continues to border on. “And I— I couldn’t— even text you. I couldn’t, because my battery was out— and I was underground— and— oh, sugarcubes, I was so bored— I just kept coming up with more and more ways to sneak off the train without being seen because there was nothing else to do and I ended up overthinking everything.”

Everything. All of it. Every single thing. If she’s doing well in school— if what she’s trying to get a degree in is even worth it— if she’s wasting her time not focusing on defeating Hawkmoth— if Viperion even finds her necessary in fights. After all, most of what she does is just a distraction for him to get close and defeat the Akuma— but there’s not really a genuine need for her since all he has to do is move his ouroboros miraculous over to the side and turn back time and do whatever needs to be done, right?

“I thought about how you’re so much better without me during Akuma battles— I thought how much of a klutz I am— I thought about how I always have these nervous breaks whenever something goes wrong and you always just deal with them and I wish I could just stop worrying about every little thing without making it into a thing— and— and—”

Gentle hands make it to her wrist, and she looks up, sniffling and biting her lip. Viperion’s smile looks soft on his face as he wipes away her tears— golden eyes looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks— her nose, too— all in favor of getting a smile back onto her face. “None of that is true, okay? There’s no need to overthink about any of it anymore. You’re okay, you’re here— exactly where I need you to be. You are the entire reason why Paris is safe every day— I’m just here to keep you company, in all honesty. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, little mouse, and I absolutely cannot do any of this without you.”

Amazing woman? Has he met his own mother before? “But— what about your family—”

“I’m aware of what I’ve said,” He smiles. “I don’t deal with your problems, we deal with our problems. You getting worked up about something is something we both work on together— I’m not going to let you suffer alone when you’re nervous about something.”

She blinks slowly at him, her lashes damp and full of tears, only being able to offer him a watery and a heartful: “Oh.”

He nods, encouraging her to smile back. “Everything’s going to be fine, just like it always is, okay? You’re not a klutz. You’re doing great. Everything is going to be fine.”

“But—”

“Breathe, Mousey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looks at him in the eyes, her breath slowing down, looking around them to see just how empty the street is. It’s an unpopulated street to begin with, so there are only a couple of shops at the corners, nowhere near them where they sit in between the cars, catching their breath from the battle. “I’m— I’m going to be okay. I am okay.”

“You’re okay.” He nods, smiling gently, taking her hands in his.

“I’m— I’m fine.” She takes another breath. She still feels watery, still feels like a wet sponge, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Sometimes days just don’t go my way, no matter how much I plan for it.”

“Good, good— but you’re forgetting the second half of that.”

“The second half?”

“For every day that it happens, whenever your days don’t go right, I’ll be right here for you to cry on because you and I have always been a team.” He kisses her bangs, smoothing his gloves at the back of her head, behind the buns in her hair. “As much as I don’t like seeing you cry, baby girl, I know that I’d rather see that, than have you bottle it up inside.”

She sniffles, giving him a little smile when he pulls away to gauge her reaction. “Thank you, Vai.”

“I love you.” He kisses her on the lips again.

“I love you, too.” She ducks her head as a blush stains her cheeks underneath her domino mask. “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For crying on you and turning this into a mess.”

“My girlfriend seeking out comfort from me— what a scandal, little mouse,” He teases with a flash of his fangs. “How dare my Mousey want reassurance from me.”

She has the reflex to giggle, even though there’s a bit of tears still trying to make its way down her face. “It’s probably not what you had in mind for today, huh?”

“All I had was work today,” He wipes at her cheek again. “The Akuma is always unpredictable, but it’s not like your parents don’t know why I have to leave the register when our phones start to ding with the Akuma notification, right? And I’m always thinking of you, so, in a way this is sort of what I had in mind.”

She kisses him. It’s not as quick as it should be— it definitely isn’t as innocent as it has to be, given that they’re in public and they haven’t technically told the public yet that Viperion and Multimouse are more than just a duo, not to even mention that they’re a lot, lot more than a duo now, if her wandering hands are any indication— but she breaks away just before she has the urge to shift her position on him, laughing softly when he narrows his eyes at her. “We should— uhm— probably go back, right? Your mom is probably calling your phone right now, asking why in heaven’s name you picked the Liberty for the trap location— Alya will be here any moment now to ask things for the Ladyblog.”

“Hmm? What did you say? I was too busy living in the moment of hearing you laugh again. Such a sweet melody.” He looks back up to her from looking at her ankle. She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his— and it bothers her, because she so desperately wants to know, even as he gives her a wink and a smile.

She’s so thankful for this man. So ridiculously thankful.

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling harder. “We need to go. Out of here. And I need a favor.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Mousey. What is it?”

“I need you to marry me.”

His eyes widen, completely caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean— I mean carry—” She gasps, hiding her hands behind her mouth. “Oh gooseberries— I’m so sorry. Sorry! I meant carry, I promise! Slip of the tongue, oh sugarcubes— I’m so sorry— that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Breathe, Mousey, come on.” He snorts so hard that he has to hide his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking in mirth. “Obviously I’ll carry you. That’s without question— I’m not letting you walk like that. Come on, let’s get you back home.”

-*-

Marinette’s finally sleeping by the time he’s back into her room.

They’ve wrapped and bandaged her foot, kept it elevated and out of the way for her. She sleeps soundly, even as he struggles with her trap door to not make any noise. He’s not good at being quiet when he really tries— the universe is always out to get him whenever he tries to do something quietly. Or maybe he just gets too self-aware of himself.

“How’s she doing, Sass?”

“She’s been sleeping for the whole time since you brought her home,” The little kwami answers just as softly. There’s a couple of doll-sized lounge chairs on her nightstand, as well as a small little dining table with a couple of cushioned seats— it looks like a playset, in all honesty, but they’re the perfect size for the two kwamis to sit and eat away at their food.

Sass looks like he’s finished with his eggs, which is good to see. Mullo is still working on her blueberries, chewing through each one almost anxiously as the two kwamis watch Marinette rest. He’s never known just how many blueberries is enough for Mullo, so he’d grabbed a heavy container full of it and put it in a small basket to keep her entertained.

“Is her foot going to be okay?” Mullo squeaks out.

“She’ll be fine,” Luka sits on the floor to be at eye level with the kwamis. He takes a couple of berries in his hands to snack on in order to have something to do. “She’s never hurt her ankle before, so it’ll heal up fast. Master Fu wrapped it up for her, after all— her uncle wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Both kwamis nod in agreement.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” The little mouse makes a face. “I should’ve helped her today, I shouldn’t have been quiet the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe I could’ve told her she was taking the wrong bag— or maybe I could’ve remembered to plug in her phone. I fell asleep watching videos on mermaid history, I’m pretty sure— I don’t think the videos were worth her twisting her foot.”

Sometimes kwami and holder are really alike, huh? Even the face that Mullo makes is so reminiscent of Marinette, it’s incredible— he tries his best not to smile lovingly but can’t help himself. “It isn’t your fault at all, Mullo. There’s no point in thinking about what you should’ve done— all of it has already happened. It’s okay.”

“She’s never gotten injured like this before for as long as I’ve known her— and you said earlier that she hasn’t torn any muscles since I was given to Luka. Her ankle will heal before you know it.” Sass is quick to pet his friend’s arm. “But until then, she definitely won’t be able to act should an Akuma arrive.”

The room goes silent again as the three of them settle back into what they were doing. Sass is curled up, of course, enjoying the luxury of the little doll chair that is stuffed to the brim with cotton and sewn expertly shut. The dollhouse furniture looks well-loved, though— he’s under the assumption that Marinette most likely bought second-hand miniature sets for Mullo to play house in when she had first been given the mouse miraculous. There’s no dollhouse in sight around anymore, but the bookcase near Marinette’s bed still has two cubbies empty in favor of a little curtain pulled open to reveal two fake little rooms.

There’s a little closet rack full of little clothes. There are hats lined up against the bookshelf wall with two slits on the sides to make space for Mullo’s ears. There’s a doll bed with a blanket and a cushion— there’s a couch and potted plants all made out of felted material in order to decorate the space. A rug, too, underneath all the furniture.

All of these little trinkets and toys, so loved and cared for by a young girl and the love she has for her mouse— now something cherished by a young woman. “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask— how long have you two known her?”

“The Cheng family has always kept the miraculouses safe,” Mullo bites into another blueberry. “We’ve been passed down for generations.”

“Well, usually. Master Fu is the guardian right now, but he’s making sure that Marinette is the next guardian.”

“I know that, yes— but I meant Marinette specifically. How long have you two known Marinette?” He turns to her, wondering if she’s in any pain. The inflammatories must be working well in her system because there’s nothing on her face that indicates that her foot’s been wrapped and bandaged to stay still.

“We’ve known her ever since she was little. About eight years old, maybe? All of the kwamis loved playing house with her— the little princess was always so sweet and lovable. Growing up an only child was really lonely for her, so we played with her whenever we could.” The dollhouse furniture makes a lot more sense now. “You name it, we played it. Hide and seek, dollhouse, tea time, dress up— princess and the knight, too.”

Of course Marinette would’ve made them little clothes, how could she have resisted? The idea is adorable.

“Kaalki would frequently run away from Master Fu’s place in order to come play with her. Who could blame him? I for one loved it when it was tea time. Princess always made deviled eggs, just for me.” Sass slips his eyes shut to sleep. He always gets tired after eating his share of eggs following an Akuma attack— Luka’s thankful he works at a bakery, where eggs are plenty.

Sass is out like a light.

Mullo giggles to herself, holding a giant blueberry between her two paws, turning to him in her little chair, speaking as quietly as possible. Marinette may be asleep for longer, but Sass’s hearing is always so sensitive— they don’t want to wake either of them up. “I just ended up being the lucky one that got to stay with her. All of the other kwamis were really upset when they heard that I was her permanent friend— especially Kaalki. They all loved playing with her. We’re sure that Plagg and Tikki will love her, once we find them again.”

So much history between Marinette and the kwamis. No wonder Sass was so happy when they’d finally revealed their identities to one another. “Hey, Mullo— how come she didn’t tell me about her ankle?”

“She didn’t want to worry you.” Mullo replies in her soft, tiny voice. “You both needed to focus on the Akuma first.”

But in the end, she’d hurt herself. What he wouldn’t give to second-chance her ankle back to normal— but it’s been hours, not minutes, since it happened.

He takes his time eating the handful he’s picked from Mullo’s basket. The blueberry is sweet in his mouth, and tasteful, and something quiet to do while he looks at Marinette’s sleeping form. She’s working herself too hard, isn’t she? Trying to keep up with all the things at university— and trying to keep up with everything at home— and definitely trying to keep up with Akumas on top of it all. They haven’t technically even been on dates together, if that’s something she even wants, because her life is so full. It’s commendable, but watching the girl of his dreams get pulled in all different directions makes him understand entirely why a multitasking miraculous is the perfect one for her.

“You should rest, Luka. It’s getting really late.”

“I don’t know if I should— I don’t want to accidentally wake her up.”

“She’ll be more upset if she wakes up and you’re not in bed with her,” Mullo argues. He smiles, because he can’t help the humor at the sincerity of her words. “You should join her.”

He’d have to take off his jeans, and go pawing for one of his shirts she’s stolen from his room in order to not get flour all over her bed, but it’s doable. Her parents already know he’s up here, after all— he’s said he was going to check up on her once his shift ended. Her parents had let him go without barely any warning gaze— in fact, Mrs. Cheng had implored him to spend the night and make sure Marinette didn’t attempt to run off, in case another Akuma were to pop up.

They trust that he’s a good person and will actually stop her from leaving the house. And he doesn’t want to disappoint.

The last thing he wants to do is go back home and listen to the absolute earful he’ll be getting from his mom about using the Liberty as bait, so he’s going to camp out in Marinette’s room after sending about a billion and one heart emojis to Juleka, hoping she’ll try to keep their mom out of trouble.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to tell his family about his identity— just his family in general. It’s safer this way, now that his family knows, so there won’t be any nasty revelations down the line and his family won’t turn into Akumas (and if he has to fight Reflekta or Captain Hardrock any more times in his life, he’s going to quit) but now there’s the added bonus of his mom knows why he disappears all the time.

So.

Heart emojis sent to Juleka it is.

“And what about you? Won’t you be going to bed?”

“I’m still hungry, so I need to dip downstairs and get some more food, if that’s okay. Or, better yet— do you want me to take Sass downstairs with me when I go?”

He raises a brow. Surely she doesn’t mean to imply… “She’s— Marinette— come on, Mullo. She’s injured.”

“I’m not sure she needs her ankle for that!”

This doesn’t top the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, but this is definitely up there. “And she’s asleep— I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

“She’ll wake up soon. You should ask her then, obviously.”

“Mullo.”

“You’re two aren’t our first holders, you know, we’ve done this so many times before.” Mullo giggles behind a paw. “So, do you want privacy? If you don’t, I’ll stay right here. Mari likes to tell us that we’re as scary as actual dolls, sometimes, with our beady little eyes.”

No one has to tell him that. He learned the hard way when he’d woken up the first time with Sass looking straight at him. Beady little eyes indeed— it’d scared him shitless and almost caused him to scream at a bleary five in the morning. Sass is a terrifying little creature when he wants to be.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to give us a bit of time.” He tries not to blush when Mullo tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I don’t think she wants anything except sleep, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give you all the time you two need,” The little mouse nods. She grabs Sass’s sleeping form by a paw, taking one last bite out of the remaining blueberry, before the two of them phase through the floorboards down below. Sometimes kwamis are weird little creatures with all of their powers, honestly— he’s gotten used to Sass appearing out of thin air in his attempts to scare him, but it’s always so concerning to see it happen without that context.

He lifts himself up from the floor, peeling open some of her drawers in search of one of his shirts. She’d taken his pleading to heart, and now has a steady collection of his clothes starting to grow and multiply in her closet— he’s running out of his own clothes, honestly, but he can’t say no when she smiles at him like she always does before squirreling away a new shirt into her bag when she wants to keep a piece of him with her.

He should probably take some of these shirts home with him, though. If the point was for her to smell like him, well, he should probably make it happen.

He folds his shirt and jeans. Marinette doesn’t have piles of clothes everywhere unlike him, so he makes the executive decision to stack his clothes on her desk chair. By the time he’s going back up the ladder over to her bed, Marinette’s shifted onto her side, facing him— she wakes up the moment he tries to shimmy his way under the covers with her.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She has pieces of her hair catching in her eyelashes— he brushes it away, shifting closer to her. Her entire bed smells of faint traces of lavender, what a nice scent. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“A lot better,” She’s quick to smile, even as she’s groggy from sleep. Adorable. “Probably because of the amount of pain killers I’m on right now, though.”

He laughs. “Master Fu told me you don’t usually take painkillers. You must just completely relax under it, then, since your body isn’t used to it.”

“I don’t think I tore anything, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so. Your uncle said you’re fine, after all, but you should just stay out of commission for this week until you can put weight on that foot again.”

She looks so disappointed. “Where’s Lolo?”

“Downstairs. She’s probably eating through your entire pantry at the moment.”

“And Sass?”

“Went with her. Mullo took him to give us privacy. Are you okay?”

He should’ve known better than to relax his guard around her. The moment he’s completely at ease in bed, she grabs for him, pulling him so close to her that they’re perfect puzzle pieces. “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.”

“You’re not.” He kisses the top of her head as a punctuation of his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“One of the worsts in a while,” She nods into his— hers?— shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?”

He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.”

How can she blame him? She has such soft and delicate skin. Everywhere.

He loves touching and feeling her up whenever she lets him and asks him to. Not to even mention her ass— god— he could write so many songs just about it— he likes biting her everywhere he can, and he’s sure he’d done exactly that while sneaking his way into her shower box. Marinette always takes to bruising really well when it comes to him teething at her, she blossoms into hickies whenever he has his mouth on her. Not to even mention just how excited and turned on she was when he’d finally fingered her to completion.

“I don’t believe you were complaining, were you? Besides, I was just giving my girlfriend what she likes the most.”

She snorts and giggles. “And what is that?”

“Word is around here that she really likes Viperion. Has lots of fantasies about him— and, hey, I’m a pretty understanding guy. If my girlfriend wants to call out his name instead of mine, I get it.” He loves it when she laughs this hard— it’s always so much better to hear her laugh than it is to hear her stay quiet and in her thoughts. “It’s a good thing he likes helping out, too. The guy’s taken a real liking to my girlfriend, even though I’ve heard that him and Multimouse are a thing.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles against his mouth. She’s feeling a lot better now, he can tell, because her hands disappear under his— seriously, hers?— shirt, teasing all of the skin available to her. Her fingers are ticklish against his chest and abs— she’s just as handsy as he is, most of the time.

“Insatiable,” He kisses her before pulling down the covers.

Her sleepshirt is soft and stretchy in his hands, and it’s easy to pull it up enough so he can kiss her stomach and hip at the waistband of her panties. He’s careful with her leg, of course— he doesn’t want to move it, just to make sure the wraps on her ankle don’t come undone by accident. He helps her out of her underwear slowly and gently, pulling the cute panties off so he can get her completely bare.

Such cute underwear. But then again, he’s always a little biased to anything green or blue— and the mint green color is adorable on her pale skin. The cut is cute, too— he doesn’t know enough about women’s underwear styles, but these are a lot cuter on her than he’d imagined. They rest just at her hip, with a pretty little scalloped edge that is just a smidge too Marinette for him to reasonably handle.

But he likes her better naked, of course.

“You’re already this wet?”

“Don’t tease, Luka.” Her hands disappear under her shirt. He doesn’t get to exactly see what she does underneath with her fingers, but it doesn’t take much brainpower to recognize the arching of her back like she always gets whenever he’s pinching at her nipples.

He follows the line she’s made with her body with an appreciating gaze, kissing up and down her thigh so slowly that she makes a frustrated noise. “Awh, don’t be like that, Mousey. Tell me why you’ve soaked through your underwear, I’m curious.”

She groans. “I thought of you the entire time I was in that stupid subway.”

Oh, did she? “No wonder you’ve been so tense today.”

She makes eye contact with him after a little flinch and a little exhale— she must’ve pinched herself just enough to make it count. “I was thinking about what you did to me in the shower. You’re such a glutton, Vai.”

He grins at her. Oh, he loves it when she calls him that. “I’m not so sure about that.”

And gives her what she needs.

He takes his time licking between her legs, even though she’s wet enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all to slip his fingers into her. He likes this part, personally, even to the point where he shifts his hips down into the mattress to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of his spine, starting to get desperate himself. It’s always so satisfying to go down on her— the noises she makes are always so attractive, and he loves making her come without much regard to himself. Marinette isn’t loud when she vocalizes her likes and dislikes, but not because she doesn’t want to be— she always hides her mouth behind her hands— and it always feels like a contest.

Today is no exception.

Her ribs heave under her shirt as he licks and licks, swirling his tongue at the place she loves the most. Her sighs are soft and sweet, even as he pulls her good leg up and over his shoulder, burying his face into her cunt as she makes a noise halfway between an exhale and a laugh.

“Who’s the glutton now?”

He makes a humming noise, not exactly interested in answering her question— he’s more in favor of showing. He’s glad to help, after all— pulling noise after noise from her when he licks his way into her, digging his tongue in as far as he can possibly reach. Her hips lift, using his shoulder as an anchor, and she moans— but still, again, it’s so soft and nearly quiet like she doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to. Always so considerate of others.

Cute.

By the time he’s got two fingers dipping into her, she’s wound up tight already. He can tell by the way she twitches, how she bites the fleshy part of her thumb— and how she bites harder when he uses his free hand to cup her ass and give her a squeeze. Soft. Soft soft soft.

God, so deliciously soft.

“Luka,” She whispers, trying her absolute hardest to stay quiet as he curls his fingers into her. Her free hand makes it to his hair, brushing it back so sweetly— she’s more cuddly this way, than an actual sexual deviant, like she’s desperate for reassurance. “Please please please?”

He loves it when she starts to beg for more and asks for more physical touch whenever he makes a home between her legs.

“Easy, Mousinette. Take a breath,” He kisses her thighs, liking the way how her thighs get sticky and messy with it. She sucks in a breath at his suggestion, looking at him with her hazy, pretty eyes. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—” She cuts herself off with a particular sigh that makes him piston his fingers more into her. She reaches down with the hand that was in his hair, gesturing for his hand underneath her to join her. “Could you— oh— please—”

“There you go. That’s it. Come whenever you want, baby girl.” He intertwines his fingers and clasps hands with hers, giving her one last swirl and flattening of his tongue, before he feels her start to come on his fingers.

“Luka—” He doesn’t let up once he recognizes the exhale, or the squirming— especially not when he feels the attractive fluttering of her walls. She squeezes and squeezes, milking his fingers desperately.

He can deal with his erection later. For now, he slowly eases his fingers out of her, and kisses her thigh again when she complains about the loss of his hand between her legs. “How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Always am when I’m with you. Sex or no sex.” And— oh— if he wasn’t so desperately hard in his boxers, he’d fall in love with her on the spot all over again. She’s always so honest with him— it’s always such a shock, even when he knows that’s just how her personality is. He watches her eyelids struggle to keep open, even as she raises her hands up in an attempt to coerce him to bed— barely clothed, with a sleep shirt that covers nothing except her chest and her shoulders at this point. “Come cuddle? ‘M tired. I want my boyfriend.”

“Probably not a good idea. I’m going to end up dry humping you— I’m so fucking horny.”

“Vai…” It’s so heartbreakingly cute that she tries to be stern even while falling asleep. “Cursing.”

“Sorry,” He laughs, gesturing to himself even though she’s not really looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I should probably go take care of my di— uhm, I mean, this— in your bathroom, and wash my hands too.”

Her face unpinches. “But what about cuddling?”

“I will after I clean you up,” He kisses the lines of her abs— pulling her shirt down enough to get comfortable. “If you fall asleep can I still towel you off? You know I don’t like it when you’re left messy.”

“Always take good care of me.” She mumbles, completely oblivious to the way he hides his steaming face behind his hands. She nods a confirmation, patting the spot next to her. “And then after cleaning come cuddle. Please.”

By the time he’s made himself orgasm while thinking of her, and washed his hands clean of her, and made sure that she’s no longer sticky between the legs— Marinette is still bravely putting up a fight with sleep. He helps her put on some new underwear, making sure that she doesn’t move her ankle as much when he does it— but he’s completely caught by surprise when she pulls him in for a hug— and, honestly— he should know better by now.

He loves it, though.

So much.

AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

#fragileizyfic #fragileizylukanette #pro lukamari #pro lukanette #viperion #multimouse #fragileizywrites

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djarinslover · 3 years

Text

Always Be My Maybe

Pairing: Jack Daniels x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: Little over 2k

A/N: Yes, I stole the title from the movie Always Be My Maybe but I thought this title would really work with this fic idea I have. This is going to be a series and I’m excited to see where it goes. Enjoy!

You were minding your own business at recess, reading a book when three older boys came up to you. They began picking on you, making fun of you being by yourself and calling you names. No teacher was around and no one else seemed bother by what was happening. You tried to ignore them until one of them snatches the book out of your hands.

“Hey!” you cried out, reaching up. “Give it back!”

“What are you gonna do about it?” he taunted, holding the book high over your head.

“I know what I’m going to do!” someone called out behind them.

The boys turned around to find a boy around your age glaring at them with his fists raised. The older boys laughed, rolling their eyes until the boy threw a punch into one boy’s stomach. The boy doubled over in pain, falling to the ground as his friends just watched. They looked dumbfounded, staring at the younger boy who was still glaring at them.

“Anyone else?”

The older two shook their heads before grabbing their friend and hurried away. The boy picked up the book that was thrown to the ground, handing it back to you with a smile.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” You shyly take the book back, holding it to your chest as you looked at him. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m Jack. I just moved here with my mom.”

“Oh, nice!” You introduce yourself, biting at the skin on your lip anxiously. “What grade are you in?”

“I just started seventh.”

“Hey, me too!”

Jack sat down next to you, peering over at the book. “Whatcha reading?”

You tilt the book towards him, letting him read the title. His nose crinkles as he laughs, making you laugh in return. “Look, I read a lot and sometimes it can be the most random find in the library. Leave me alone.” You teasingly stick your tongue out at him.

The two of you laugh and talk the rest of recess, waving goodbye when the free time ended. All throughout the day, you couldn’t help but think about your new friend. At the end of the day as you were walking home, you noticed Jack was walking ahead of you. You jog to catch up to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned, smiling as he sees you.

“Hey, stranger!” he greeted.

“You walk home, too?”

“Yeah. My mom works late and we don’t live on a bus route.”

“Me, either. Which street?”

“Winchester Lane,” he said.

“No way! That’s my street, too!”

You laugh loudly at the coincidence, jostling each other as you walk. You learn Jack is the new neighbor you had seen moving in the other day. The two of you giggle some more as you realize you were neighbors. When you reach home, you notice how reluctantly he climbs his stairs. You call out to him, “Wanna come over? My parents can make us snacks and help with homework.”

Jack’s face lit up at the invite, rushing down his steps to bounce up yours. You burst through the front door, tugging Jack into the kitchen to meet your parents.

“Mom, Dad, this is my new friend. His name is Jack and he’s our next door neighbor!”

Your parents pause their dinner prep, turning around with wide grins on their faces. Your mom bends down to bring Jack into a hug, making him look at you with a plea for help at how tightly she was squeezing him.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Jack!” your mom cooed. “Are your parents home? We’d love to meet them.”

“I only have my mom, and she’s at work ‘til later. She’s a nurse.”

Your mom nods while your dad ruffles Jack’s hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Do you kids want a snack?’

“Duh, dad. No one can do homework on an empty stomach.”

You throw your bag onto the table, sliding into a chair. You gesture for Jack to sit, so he followed awkwardly. He pulls his homework out of his bag and begins to work. Your dad sets down a bowl of apple slices and caramel for the two of you to share. You both munch happily as you try to figure out a math problem.

A few weeks into your friendship, you had your first sleepover. Jack’s mom wasn’t comfortable leaving him home alone on the nights she had to work, and he didn’t want a babysitter. Your parents offered to have him sleepover those nights she worked, they only asked she provide a few extra bucks for groceries. It was a great arrangement if they asked you.

Though Jack was supposed to sleep in the guestroom, the two of you set up camp in the living room the first night of your sleepover adventures. Your parents let it slide since it was a Friday. You two had popcorn, soda and a bunch of movies. Jack even managed to sneak a movie you weren’t supposed to watch until you were older. The Conjuring.

“I don’t know, Jack. My parents could come out and check on us at any moment . . .”

“Live a little! Every kid our age has seen a scary movie already! We gotta be cool like them!”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought it through. When you met Jack’s puppy dog eyes, you shrugged. “Fine. But I’m leaving you for the demon when it comes to get us.”

“I’ll outrun you, no problem.”

He popped the movie in and you settled into your blankets, popping popcorn in your mouth. As the movie went on, the more on edge you became. You and Jack were scooting closer and closer to each other, until at one point you were holding each other. There was a part in the movie that got you both to scream, throwing your blankets over your heads and screwing your eyes shut. Your parents came running, turning the lights on as they entered the room.

“Are you two okay?! We heard you scream!” your mother said.

You peeked from under the safety of the blankets, seeing your dad brandishing a bat and your mom kneeling in front of the couch. Your eyes flickered to the tv, making your mom turn to see what you were looking at. Her eyebrows flew into her hairline, lips taunt and arms crossing as she looked back at you.

“I see you’ve been watching something you shouldn’t have been.”

You exchange a sheepish look with Jack, neither one of you confessing who’s idea it was the watch the movie. Your dad sighed as he trudged back to bed, bat dragging on the floor. Your mom rubbed her temples.

“Bed, both of you. Now.”

You both nod, standing and heading for your rooms. You stopped as you look into your dark room. You turn back to your mom. “Mom? Can Jack sleep with me?”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“I really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“I don’t want to, either.”

She sighed, turning the tv off. “Go. I’m telling your mother in the morning, Jack.”

You dash to your room, Jack hot on your heels. When you’re both curled up in bed and your mom said goodnight for a second time, you fall into a fit of giggles.

“No more scary movies until we’re older, got it?”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry,” Jack huffed out through giggles.

The two of you finally calmed down, laying face to face and drifting off.

Your friendship continued to blossom. The two of you were inseparable, always attached at the hip, always having sleepovers, study sessions, adventures. The two of you balanced each other well. Jack was a mischievous troublemaker and you were the peacekeeper. You helped him get out of trouble and he helped you out of your comfort zone. Your parents and his mom joked that the two of you were get married in the future, since you were hardly ever seen without each other.

As the two of you got older, you began to develop feelings for Jack. You didn’t like to think much about them, even though every time you were near him you felt like your stomach was going to explode from the rush of butterflies. You thought every kid developed a small crush on their closet friend; it was normal, right?

You never said anything to your parents, afraid they would tease you every time Jack was around. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact moment you started having a crush on him, only remembered the day you noticed how beautiful he was.

The two of you were laying on your bed after a long week of starting high school, looking for something to watch on Netflix. While Jack was flipping so fast through the movies, you stopped paying attention. Instead, you began studying your best friend. His lips were pursed, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. You noticed the little details to his face you never seemed to see before. Like the few freckles that dotted along his jawline, the way his nose hooked just slightly, the way his Adam's apple was growing every day with puberty. His hair was getting longer, curling at the ends and sideburns slowly filling in. His tongue flicked out to lick his dry, pink lips, drawing your attention to them. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

"Aha! This seems interesting, lets watch this!" he exclaimed, startling you out of your thoughts.

You advert your eyes from him to the tv, looking at the movie 'What Happened To Monday' on screen. You shrug, leaning back against your headboard. "Sure, sounds good."

Jack nestled into your side as the movie started, making your heart leap to your throat. He was so warm and smelled so good, like lavender shampoo and mint. It made you flush, grateful for the movie keeping his attention. You don't what you would've done if he noticed your face. It was too hard to pay attention to the movie with his weight against you. It’s not like you’ve never cuddled him before, but this time was different. You felt the heat of his body where he was pressed against you, the rise and fall of his chest, every breath he took. You felt like you were holding your breath during the whole movie, until you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

When you awoke, the home screen of Netflix was up and you were nestled into the side of Jack. Your head was in the crook of his neck, his arm wrapped snuggly against your waist to keep you close. You froze, heart picking up speed as you realized what position you were in. You didn’t want to move, waking him wasn’t what you wanted to do. So, you lay trapped by your best friend (and crush) in your own bed. He snored, making you jolt in surprise before snickering quietly. You wondered what time it was, then slowly fell back to sleep due to the warm sensation of Jack holding you.

When you woke up the next morning, Jack was on his phone. Still laying in your bed, mind you. You might have to get a bigger bed if he was going to keep sleeping next to you. You weren’t those gangly twelve year old’s anymore. You stretch, drawing his attention to you.

“Good morning, sunshine!” he exclaimed, beaming as brightly as the sun shining in your room.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten. Wanna go get breakfast? Your parents went to work.”

“How do you know?”

“They came in about an hour ago to check on you. They had no idea I was here, haha.”

You flush, not ready for “The Talk” you were surely going to get from them later tonight. You sit up, shaking your bedhead and stretching some more. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go to Betty’s, I’m craving waffles.”

You and Jack spent your Saturday wandering around town, doing the same shit you’ve done since you’d known him. On your way back home, his mom called. She sounded urgent, tone making Jack’s face tighten with anxiety. When he hung up, he started to walk quicker.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you later, I gotta go home right now.” The two of you were on the corner of your street, where he sprinted to his steps. “I’ll call you later!” he called over his shoulder.

You watch him rush into the house, door slamming behind him. You trail home slowly, confused as to what would make him so worried. When you opened the door, your parents were sitting on the couch. They were clearly waiting for you, if their faces were any indication. You sigh, closing the door and leaning against.

“I know you’re young, honey, but never to young to start exploring. So we want to talk to you about safe sex,” your mom said.

“I’m not having sex with Jack!”

Your parents exchange a look. “Even so,” your father started, “It’s better for you to be informed now instead of two years from now when you’re pregnant.”

“Evan!” Your mother slapped his shoulder, eyes narrowed.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “We have sex ed at school, I really don’t feel like talking to my parents about sex right now, okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

You run to your room before they can stop you and begin demonstrating how to put a condom on with a banana. You flop face first into your pillows, groaning. You were only fourteen, did they really thing you were having sex already? And sex with Jack, no less! Though the thought did make your cheeks heat and a funny tingle run down your spine, you shake your head. He was just a friend. Your best friend.

Right?

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey fluff #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Kingsman: the golden circle

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