#so i am simply waiting it out. seeing where it goes. and being pleasantly surprised anytime it goes well. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jeonjeonggukenergy · 4 years

Text

May 31

summary ~ on the last day of your senior year living together, you're still fighting your feelings for your roommate jungkook. before you can fully move out and move on, he makes a pretty significant scheduling error. #and there was only one bed

genre ~ fluff, smut / roommate!au, college!au, bit of crack/fake texts

wordcount ~ 5k

warnings ~ smut (18+), blowjob (oral: m receiving), nipple play, marking, penetrative sex, cumplay (sort of oral: f receiving), jungkook just goes hard as expected BUT IT'S SOFT? this is just super cheesy and cute with some hopefully hot smut

a/n ~ surprise oneshot! and they were roommates? and there was only one bed? this is all my fave tropes wrapped into one, i had a ton of fun writing it and i hope yall enjoy :')

~ read on ao3 ~

You walked up to your apartment door just as a boy from the class below you walked out—with a wave, a "see ya, Jungkook!" and what appeared to be the last piece of your roommate's bedframe.

"You...sold...your bed?"

"Well, sort of. I borrowed it from that guy for the year while he was studying abroad. So now I'm giving it back to him. Since I'm staying in the city for my new job, though, I wish I could have just kept it. Now I have to actually buy one," Jungkook lamented.

"I mean, okay, but why didn't you just wait to give it back tomorrow when we move out?"

"What do you mean? Today's move-out day. I was just waiting for my brother to get off work to help get all my stuff out of here. I was kind of wondering why you hadn't packed up more, but you've always waited til the last minute to pack for things." Jungkook grinned, recalling your friend group’s spring break trip.

Momentarily distracted by his dig, you defended yourself quickly before returning to the subject. "Hey! At least I always get it done in the end. Better than packing too soon and accidentally giving away your bed a day early. Your new lease doesn't let you move in til the first day of June, right? It's May 31st."

Jungkook's pretty doe eyes went comically wide. "31st? There is no May 31st. It's June 1st. Because yesterday was May 30th. Right?"

"Oh my gosh. You're joking. You have to be joking," you tried not to laugh as you pulled up your Google calendar. "Here, look," you turned the phone around to him. "May 31st."

"Shit," he breathed, pushing the soft shock of hair back from his frozen face. "What did I do?"

You took your phone back, already distracted by your texts as you reassured him. "Don't worry, it’s funny but it's no big deal, I'm just messing with you. You can sleep on the couch for tonight, you'll be fine."

Jungkook grabbed your wrist, making you look up from your screen in surprise. In sitcom-esque slow motion, he swiveled his head sideways and you followed his gaze to the living room, realizing—

"The couch was his too. I gave it back."

"Oh my gosh," you muttered, shaking your head down with a smile. Feeling a little braver on your last full day as roommates, you finally gave Jungkook the warning that had almost slipped out plenty of times over the year. "Jungkookie...you're really lucky you're so cute. Otherwise you wouldn't get away with nearly as much as you do in life.”

"I..." Jungkook dropped your hand, grinning at the usual nickname but unsure how to take the half-compliment. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I forgot about a whole day, I usually double-check my calendar. I can just take the floor for tonight, I guess? I'll go unpack my blanket again. Sorry, I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"No, no," you cut him off—against your better judgment, but determined to ignore your superficial attraction to him to be a good friend and roommate. "Don't be ridiculous, just sleep in my bed. I mean, if that's okay with you of course. It'll definitely be more comfortable than the floor." He nodded rapidly, eyes still wide but mouth perfectly flatlined like an emoji. "Okay then. No worries. Let's eat, I got us takeout for our last night but it's getting cold."

At the mention of food, Jungkook made a beeline for the plastic bags hanging on your arm, and soon you were back to normal—well, sort of. Eating slightly reheated noodles on the living room floor instead of the couch, you giggled over one last Friday night K-drama episode together and reminisced over all the best memories from your year as roommates. You missed the coziness of your couch more than you thought you might, or maybe you just missed the snuggles you'd shared in its corner on countless nights like this one.

Jungkook had always been cutely touchy with his close friends, but it had taken a while for you two to get comfortable. You had to admit you'd gotten spooked when you first met him, disappearing behind your door after a quick "hi, nice to meet you!" and furiously texting your friend and former roommate Jin in distress. He hadn't warned you the new guy he'd found for your apartment was, in your own words, "stupid hot." Jin had laughed you off, saying it hadn't even occurred to him because he just saw his former soccer teammate "JK" as a kid. To be fair, it probably truly had slipped Jin's notice—he barely believed anyone who told him how objectively attractive he was. But Jin was a good enough friend to both you and Jungkook that he took charge of dissolving the initial tension, immediately bringing y'all over for a "double housewarming" dinner party at the cute new place he now shared with his fiancée. (Thank goodness he'd finally listened when you'd told him she found him attractive. Even if it cost you a roommate of two years, you'd happily take credit for that relationship.) That first invitation had felt suspiciously like a double date, but Jin's cooking and hosting skills broke the ice nicely enough. After that, it only took a few more dinners and video game nights to initiate you into their casual rhythm of hair ruffles and backhugs.

Currently, Jungkook had his arm around you to offer a neck rub while you rested your head on his shoulder, hoping he couldn't feel your pulse beneath his fingers. "Ah, you're going so hard," you half-protested.

"I always go this hard! You never complain," he shot back with a teasing grin.

"Nah, come on, you're gonna leave a mark or something. At least check," you lifted your head, sweeping your hair aside. "Is it all red like Jin always gets?" you joked.

Facing away, you had no way of seeing it, but Jungkook's face had gone red too. "Uh...no, it's fine, it's fine." He glanced back to the TV and turned it off, noticing the episode had ended. "Sorry though, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm gonna go shower and get ready for bed."

"Hey, no, it's okay!" You tugged on his shirt as he got up, wanting to reverse whatever you’d done to make him seem so uneasy. "I'm not actually hurt or mad at you or anything, I was just messing with you. Again." You smiled lightheartedly, and his face broke into a soft nose-scrunch at the reassurance.

"Okay, good. I was gonna shower anyway though—so uh, see you in bed I guess?"

"Yeah same, see you in bed," you laughed, trying to maintain the ease in your facial expression until the moment he left the room, upon which your internal monologue immediately turned into "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

You couldn't help thinking about Jungkook in the shower. And not even in the usual way that you couldn't help thinking about Jungkook, in the shower. As much as you hated to admit it, Jin was probably right about your feelings for your sweet, dorky roommate going beyond just physical attraction, or friendship. Jungkook was kind, respectful, smart, athletic, artistic, funny, really hot, and you already got along well enough to live together: he really was the ultimate boyfriend material. You were both pleasantly moderate introverts. He shared your same favorite dramas and brand of instant ramen. Even your parents loved him—wait, did they want you to date him too? A strict follower of every social rule that dictated not dating roommates, coworkers, best friends' exes, exes' best friends, etc., you had simply never allowed yourself to consider the possibility until now. You played back your conversations with Jin over the year and considered the sheer amount of the funny stories you told him, or situations where you asked for his advice, or surprises he'd helped you plan, or simply glowing, grinning descriptions of something new you'd noticed, that all ended up being about Jungkook. He'd never even had to bring him up. Damn Jin for being such a good listener.

Almost an hour later, when you were already in bed, Jungkook politely knocked on your door. He always took long showers, and tonight you couldn't decide whether you were thankful for the extra time to prepare yourself or even more stressed from the extra time to overthink.

"Come in," you called quietly. Jungkook shuffled into your room, toe-socked feet making their way to the side of the bed you'd rolled over to clear for him. Cautious, he climbed in, and you stayed safely facing away from each other for a while, winding down for the night on your phones like you both normally did in your separate rooms. So spaced out that you couldn't even detect Jungkook's additional body heat, you felt the chill of the air conditioning instead and kept adjusting the blankets to try and achieve maximum insulation.

Jungkook eventually spoke his first words since he'd entered. "Am I hogging the covers? I'm sorry."

"Oh no, you're totally fine, if anything I'm taking up more than you. I'm just always cold, so I usually sleep in, like, a three-layered burrito. But it's fine! Really, no worries."

To your surprise, Jungkook rolled over, propping his head up on an elbow to look at you. "Well...I...we could..." he started, swallowing when you turned to face him. "I mean, you could wear socks! Like I do!" He pulled a foot out from under the sheets and presented it to your face, cackling.

"I think the fuck not," you snorted, shoving the foot away and falling slightly on top of him as you both lost your balance in giggles. "You couldn't catch me dead in your weird-ass socks."

"That's the secret, though!" he insisted. "That's how I stay warm."

"You are warm," you realized. One of your hands had ended up on his chest, the other arm tucked in the side of his torso, and both were burning up. You supposed you'd settled into similar positions on the couch before but you'd never noticed just how much of a human furnace he was. Maybe it was because he hadn't been wearing his toe socks.

Neither of you said anything for a second. You could feel his heart beating at a slightly elevated but respectable rate, and while you wanted to pull away, if only to spare your own nerves, you also...didn't. You were too scared to stay like this, but too scared to move too. Jungkook seemed similarly stuck, blinking down at your hand on his chest, but eventually he unfroze to reach over it and drag you fully onto him by your shoulder. You simply let him handle you, not making any additional moves but silently enjoying the heat he seemed happy to provide. His hand spread over your back to press your torso to his, radiating heat through your thin t-shirt, and you suddenly grew self-conscious that you were braless. But of course you were, who wears a bra to bed? You were fine. This was fine.

"Are you okay? Is this warmer?" Jungkook asked, as gentle as his touch.

"Yeah! Yeah, this is fine," you responded, the answer muffled by your mouth's placement all too near to his neck. You could sense the heat coming off his skin from there too, but it contrasted with the mild coolness of his still-damp hair. It smelled faintly of floral shampoo, and the scent suddenly amplified all your nerves as the implications of how close he was hit you from head to toe. Even the soft fuzz of his socks brushed your bare legs, now intertwined with his. You weren't exactly small, but the warm solidity of Jungkook’s body under you made you feel fully enveloped by him. Though he'd shared a fair amount of skin with you through the course of your friendship, the intimacy of sharing your bed took every touch to another level, and being pressed so flush against him felt unbearable. You couldn't possibly process a whole year of pure pent-up physical attraction right now, much less any other feelings that may or may not have grown with it, especially when you knew he had no reason to feel anything back. And you were roommates. You just needed to sleep it off and then you could both move, and move on, in peace. Hopefully the odds of ever being stuck in a bed with Jungkook again would go way down after tonight.

Not bothering to get up and turn off the weak string of lights above your headboard, you just slowed your breathing and attempted to drift off to sleep. Pretending the deeper breaths weren't so you could get a better whiff of his soft, flowery hair, you laid still for several minutes, successfully ignoring your body's instinctual response.

Eventually, though, it became impossible to ignore his.

Jungkook wasn't that hard, okay. He wasn't a teenager; he thought he could control himself around you enough by now that he could just enjoy this last night without giving anything away. He almost felt bad when you invited him into your bed, sensing your reluctance and knowing it was his own fault that you'd had to offer in the first place. But he knew you wouldn't have asked if you weren't truly okay with it, and that confidence gave him the tiniest swell of hope that maybe you were a little bit more than okay. While Jin refused to give away any real insight into what you thought of him, he'd been teasing Jungkook for six months about his crush on you, eventually convincing him to try making your friendship into more once you both graduated and moved on to different roommates. He had just been planning to bring it up in a much better way than the semi that you could definitely feel against your thigh. You had both been silent about it for over five minutes, though, long enough that he could cross his fingers that you were already asleep. He probably didn't have to worry about a thing.

"Jungkook?"

You had finally worked up the courage to stop pretending you’d fallen asleep. You felt him freeze up under you—the defined abs that covered his tiny waist tightening, solid chest muscles contracting, and his thighs tensing to trap yours between them, all at once. You froze too, attempting to speak again but no sound coming out.

"_____, guess what!" he blurted to cut you off. Which was good, because you had absolutely zero plans for what to say after that.

"What?"

"It's after midnight," he said, jolting up to point to the digital clock on your side table. "It really is the first day of June now. So, according to the lease, we're officially no longer roommates. Crazy!"

"I mean...yeah," you affirmed, confused. "But also, we're literally sharing a bed right now. In the same room. So until that changes, I would probably still call us roommates." A little too amused by your own clapback, you raised your head to peek into his wide eyes and smiled, a big one that scrunched up your whole face.

And his dick twitched. Yeah, there was no way you could not notice that.

Before you could even finish your gasp, Jungkook spoke again. "I like you. I'm sorry. I like you. I didn't want to say anything while we were roommates because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn't mean for this to happen, I'm sorry. You can totally not like me back and it's fine. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to tell you like this, I just...I like you. A lot."

Shocked into silence for a second, but galvanized by his unnecessary apology, you responded without thinking for once. "Don't say sorry. You don't need to apologize, it's okay. Oh my gosh, I had no idea. I really had no idea. I, uh, I think I like you too? Shit, okay, I thought you were really hot from, like, the day you moved in, and eventually it became more than that but I didn't want to make anything weird because, yeah, we’re roommates, so I pretty much tried to ignore it all year. But then Jin made me realize that you're basically all I think about—or talk to him about, shit, I must have been so annoying—"

"Jin? JIN?" Jungkook grabbed his phone from the side table and wasted no time in blasting off the last meme in his camera roll. You propped yourself up in his arms, both giggling at Jin's quick shot back.

Looking at him now, a big cheesy smile on his face even as he stirred under you, still a little hard, you nodded as if fully understanding for the first time. "Yeah. I like you too."

As he set down his phone and brought his hand around your back again, his smile faded into a smirk. "Wow."

"Yeah...wow," you echoed, nervous and awkward again. You felt your face grow warmer as he looked slowly to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes.

"Can I kiss you?"

Blinking, you shifted your weight back down onto him, bringing your face close enough to hear his intake of breath as your hips brushed his dick. "Can you do more than that?"

"Fuck," he whispered. "Yes."

Jungkook snaked one arm down to your ass and one arm up your back to the nape of your neck, holding you close as he kissed you for the first time, fiercely. He didn't waste another minute hesitating now that he knew you had both wanted this for a year. Passionate but not aggressive, he teased the seam of your mouth with the tip of his tongue and you instantly opened for him, gliding your tongue over his smooth bottom lip as his flicked up to the sensitive roof of your mouth. Squeezing your ass to guide your hips down in small circles against him, he tensed his other hand slightly into your hair and you moaned at the competing sensations. Jungkook broke away to absorb every beautiful noise you made as he discovered you, heavy eyes finding yours before he rolled over to pin you to the bed and bury his face in your neck. He smiled into your skin when you moaned again from the satisfying pressure of his full body over you, and carefully rolled his hips into yours as he covered your jawline in tender kisses. One of your hands carved through his thick hair. As you dug the fingertips of your other hand into his prominent back muscles, you suddenly realized you were both still fully clothed and you really, really did not want him to be. Tugging his t-shirt over his head and throwing it aside, you paused before letting him do the same.

"Wait. Take off your socks. I can't believe I didn't make you do that before any of this. I really just almost had sex with someone wearing toe socks. Kill me," you whined over-dramatically.

"Come on, that would have been hilarious. What a first-time story!" Jungkook said earnestly. "Sure you don't want me to leave them on?"

"Please take them off. Please," you only half-jokingly begged.

"You wanna take 'em off for me?" he teased, wiggling a foot in front of you.

"Fine, whatever it takes!" You flung his sock across the room, reaching for his other foot below the covers to get rid of the other one.

He fell on top of you, giggling again, but as soon as you shut him up with your lips he snapped out of it, eagerly deepening the kiss while his warm hands traveled up under your shirt. Smoothing over the curves of your torso and reaching up to firmly grasp your breasts, he moaned into you and you whined back as his thumbs brushed your hardening nipples. He was incredibly physically precise, each movement graceful yet sharp and intentional. You felt deeply lucky to experience this dimension of him, the most perfect and natural expression of his contradictory nature. Equally loving, giving, overachieving, and sensual—with a side of weird socks and Gen Z meme literacy—that was your Jungkook.

"I can't believe this is happening," Jungkook murmured as he pulled your shirt over your head. "I can't believe I get to see you like this. You're so—ohhh." He trailed off, taking in the fully naked glory of your top half for the first time. His head immediately ducked to your chest, sucking dark bruises into the low-lit hollow of your breasts. You squirmed under his hold on the dip of your waist, whimpering, but the grip of your hands in his shiny black locks let him know you didn't really want him to stop. Grinding against his now rock-hard dick, you eventually couldn't take the friction anymore and reached down to try and pull off both of your pajama pants at the same time. Jungkook just laughed.

He paused to help you out, rolling off of you to take care of his own sweatpants, and you kicked off your pajama pants and underwear as Jungkook slowly let his erection spring free above his waistband. You'd never thought a dick could be pretty before, but it honestly made sense that his would be as perfect as the rest of his body. "Fuck," you swore softly, mouth watering. Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, and you scrambled to lick the tip as if on instinct, eliciting a much more emphatic "Fuuuuuck!" from him. He spread his legs to let you crawl between them, holding tenuous eye contact as you smirked at his sensitivity. Teasing a single finger up his shaft, you followed its path with your tongue and he let out a deliciously high, shaky moan.

"Please," Jungkook choked out when you approached him, lips pursed. He praised you breathlessly as you tightened a hand around his length and began to sink down. "You feel so good already. Fuck." Closing your eyes, you hollowed your cheeks to accommodate his generous size and dipped your head, sucking him in as far as you could go. He was so responsive, you learned what he liked quickly, and savored each whimper as you stroked his balls gently or swirled your tongue over his slit. You licked all the way from his head to the base and he cried out. Bringing a hand to the back of your head, he didn't quite hold you down, leaving enough slack for you to move if you wanted to, but you submitted to his touch and stayed a second with nearly his whole length in your mouth. And then you swallowed.

"Stop! Stop, please, or I'll cum." He pulled you off by your hair, bringing your forehead to his as you realigned your bodies. "You're so good for me," he professed warmly. "I wanna be good for you."

"Then fuck me," you surprised him by answering bluntly. "Please, I want you so bad."

Jungkook groaned, arching his hips up against you and coating his dick in your wetness. Bringing himself back under control, he pinned you under his thighs and reached down to open you up with a finger. You felt so much more relaxed with him than you had with any previous boyfriend or hookup, and he slid into your entrance fairly easily. You moaned right away when he brushed his thumb over your clit, and he responded with a muttered "Fuck it, you’re so wet already," pulling his finger out and stroking it up your folds as he lined up.

"You're on the pill, right? For your periods," he confirmed.

"Yeah, of course. You really think I'd let you hit it raw otherwise?" you shot back teasingly, trying to hide how touched you were that he remembered from a few months ago, when he'd driven you to pick up your prescription since your car was in the shop. That was your Jungkook.

"No," he said sheepishly. "You're smart."

You smiled up at him fondly, ruffling his hair. "You're smart too. And sweet. And hot. And your dick is enormous. It's kind of unfair."

"Unfair!" he protested. "How can I be unfair when you're perfect?"

"Perfect? Shut up," you dismissed him. "Now I know you're lying. You cheeseball."

"I'm not lying! You're perfect for me."

"Oh, so you're just a hopeless romantic. Where did that come from? What am I getting into?" you fussed playfully.

"Okay, we can make fun of each other later, like always, but right now can I just get into you?" Jungkook pleaded, directing you back to the task at hand.

"Oh my gosh. I can't believe this, you're worse than Jin. That was actually pretty impressive—" Surprised, you half-laughed, half-admired his wordplay, but were silenced by both his lips and his first few inches gliding into you.

Not yet breaking your kiss, just absorbing your moans into his mouth as he stretched you out, Jungkook eased himself all the way in. He drank in every detail of your body's response to keep careful track of your comfort. You tilted your ass up against him, absorbing the fullness of his big dick immersed in your walls, and he froze. "Pretty impressive?" he whispered.

"Jungkook," you breathed back in pure pleasure, too overwhelmed to sass back.

"Can I move?" he asked sweetly.

"Fuck. Yes."

Jungkook's brows narrowed as his eyes turned darker, and he snapped his hips up into yours once, twice, before setting a fierce pace that had you crying out with each stroke. He hadn't lost touch on your clit the whole time, and he began to circle his fingers to pleasure you there too, building up an almost unbearable tension throughout your whole body.

"Fuck...fuck! Jungkook!" you chanted. His eyes overcame their fluttering to meet yours. Jungkook stilled, then ground down on you in one big, slow, circle, drinking in your blissed-out expression.

"Harder?" he whispered. Jungkook loved a challenge.

"Sure, harder. Why the fuck not," you keened, high-pitched and desperate. He could split you in half at this point, leave you unable to walk for days, and you'd love it.

Jungkook made a small, delighted noise at your eagerness, kissing you quickly before flipping you over and positioning you on all fours, sheathing himself in you again. He ran his hands along your torso to clutch your breasts from underneath, holding himself up against you with solely the strength of his thighs and his core. Pulsing his hips into you carefully, slowly, to let you get used to the deeper angle, his fingertips skimmed your nipples tantalizingly, warming you further. He dropped one hand to prop himself up and slowly traveled the other down to your center. The lustful, elated exhale you let out when he rubbed your clit made him snap his hips forward, tilting you into the bed before you could engage your thighs to push back against his. Your continuous moans encouraged him that you were enjoying this just as much as him, loving how he remained fully attentive to your pleasure while pounding into you to pursue his own high. He fucked you like a high-intensity workout, pushing his unreasonably built body to its limits of speed and strength. You couldn't help wishing you'd taken him up on more of his offers to hit the gym together, but he seemed to get off on your breathlessness, wanting to give you his all and push you past your limits too. His fingers working as quickly as his hips, heat swelled up inside you, and when you felt sure that the tension in your core was about to break, you turned your head to cry out to him.

"Jungkookie, Jungkook—nhngh, I'm gonna cum."

"Ahhhh," he moaned. "Me too, _____. You feel so amazing, ahh—you're so perfect for me." The praise warmed your heart and your core, and soon you came around him with a long, drawn-out whine. He fucked you deep through each spasm, sending you into hot, heady overstimulation as he shuddered and emptied himself into you. When you finally collapsed under him, legs sore and shaking, he pulled out of you gently and lowered his lips to your lower lips with great care. Jungkook meticulously kissed from your swollen clit to your entrance, soft as a whisper, and you breathed out in overwhelmed bliss as his tongue emerged to tenderly nudge every drop of his cum into your opening. The gesture of aftercare, just as soothing as it was inexplicably hot, bloomed an affection within you that almost made your heart hurt. You rolled over, stretching your legs out, and he looked up at you from between them. His hair was a beautifully sweaty mess, and he smiled in sweet satisfaction with your wetness adorning his chin. That was your Jungkook.

"Don't go anywhere," he said softly, kneading your thighs with his hands.

"Well, I have to do the whole pee-after-sex thing. But after that, where would I go? There's only one bed in this apartment now," you couldn't help teasing.

"Hey! If I hadn't given away my bed, none of this would have happened," he complained cutely, pulling himself up to big-spoon you. “Just stay with me.”

"I will. I know," you murmured back. "And I'm so happy you did." You shifted back, closer against him, and he buried his face in your neck.

"You know, I was gonna miss being roommates so much," he said thoughtfully. "But I'm so okay with not being your roommate now if I get to be your...your..." He grinned into your shoulder, suddenly too shy to say it.

You turned to face him, holding his pink cheeks in both of your hands and kissing his nose. Knowing this would be just the first intimate moment of many made you both flush with an easy, sweet joy.

"My Jungkook. You're my Jungkook."

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supremeinlilac · 3 years

Text

A Winter Surprise

Prompt: Something like where reader is an airline pilot and they haven't seen each other in a long time due to reader's work. So reader is coming home for the Christmas holidays and goes to pick up Cordelia from the academy in her pilot uniform coming straight from the airport. Maybe the people there don't know about reader so they're hella confused.

Reader takes Cordelia to Switzerland or somewhere else snowy to celebrate intimate Christmas together. Maybe the reader proposes there? Could you add some snowy walks, hand holding and window shopping and something else hella mushy and sweet? Like Cordelia has hearts for eyes 24/7.

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Word Count: 4725

PART 2 HERE

A/n: Thank you once again for this AMAZING prompt!! I loved writing it, and I think it turned out even better the 2nd time lmaoo :) anyway this is going to have only 2 parts because I ran away with myself but I decided to merge the first 2 parts into this one lololol, the second part is a little soft smut because why not.

Also, I really haven’t proof read this, so please let me know if I’ve accidently left a note to myself in this haha. Anyway, I hope this is okay <33

You loved your job wholeheartedly, there was no denying that. It gave you room to experience everything you wanted, from travelling to new places that you could explore on days off, to seeing different cultures and learning languages. Plus, the feeling of being above the line of clouds, watching the earth move slowly beneath you never failed to draw in a breath of admiration. It gave you so much perspective, and helped to keep you grounded, for lack of a better word. Seeing the world below you, so small in the grand scheme of things made you appreciate everything.

You missed your girlfriend selfishly though. Your work as a pilot meant you might have to go months without seeing her and feeling her soft touch. It meant you’d both be frustrated and lonely in these times; which was starting to put a massive strain on your relationship. You’d argue while together about your work schedule, prompting you to take more shifts which never helped in the long run.

Christmas was coming up and you’d not seen her since the start of November, having been mercilessly booked with flights that left you across the world from her. You had planned to surprise Cordelia at Christmas. Well, it was more than one surprise you had up your sleeve; but the first was returning two days early to collect her. Zoe and Mallory were in on your heist, fully committed to handling the school’s affairs for two days for Delia to up and leave.

At your arrival at the academy, girls’ eyes lingered on you as you walked up to the heavy front doors. You supposed they weren’t aware of your job, having only seen you in civilian clothing. Smiling at their confusion, you rang the doorbell, falling backwards slightly to wait. Madison opened the door after a few seconds, eyes widening at your uniform and giving a short whistle. “Damn girl, looking good!” she chided, eyes flicking down your smart navy uniform. Her lips tugged up at one side and she waved her hand so you could enter. “I bet Delia loves a woman in uniform.” She teased; smirk set on her face as she swatted the back of your slacks when you passed. “She’s in the kitchen, I’ll go and get here.”

“No don’t. I’ll find her.” You stopped her with a hand on her wrist, wanting to find your girlfriend yourself. Madison straightened up immediately, hand coming up to her face in a mock salute. “Yes Ma’am.” She spoke seriously, before giggling and pulling you into a hug.

“I’ve missed you Y/n. You have a good time with Cordy, kay?”

“Missed you too Madison.”

Watching her disappear up the stairs before turning and heading for the kitchen. Seeing Cordelia’s shadow on the wall as you approached, you smoothed down the lapels of your uniform and stood against the doorframe. Delia had her back to you, stirring a drink and swaying to the music from the radio. You watched her, waiting for a time when she’d put the mug down so you could make your presence known without the fear of her burning herself on the drink.

Clearing your throat, her head lifted and she turned quickly, gasp leaving her lips and a momentary shock making her freeze. Snapping out of her trance, Cordelia practically threw herself onto you, arms around your neck as she took in your familiar scent.

“You told me you weren’t coming back until Friday!” she accused, grip not faltering on you as you held each other. Her hands stroked your hair when she finally pulled away, just enough to allow you to still hold her.

“I managed to get off early, I thought I’d surprise you.” You smiled when she pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. Cordelia hummed in response, letting you know that she was most pleasantly surprised by your early return.

“Speaking of surprises… We’re going away for Christmas. I managed to pull some strings and get us some tickets” you started to dance with her, pulling her into a light rhythm as you laughed. “We’re going to Switzerland Delia!”

“A white Christmas?” She beamed at the vigorous nod of your head, head falling backwards and eyes closing, picturing the both of you in a warmly lit café by the snowy mountain.

“I love you and your surprises my dear.” She breathed, pulling you by the back of the neck into another kiss she spoke through the chaste kisses, “I’m glad- that- you’re- back.”

A group of the young girls came giggling into the kitchen, forcing you to part, blushing with your hands still together. They stopped when they saw you, silence falling over the space as they didn’t know what to do having interrupted your reunion. “Girls.” You spoke warmly to them, sensing their discomfort, and you pulled the Supreme behind you, past them.

Ascending the stairs to your shared room, you felt Cordelia’s gaze on your back, making you sway your hips slightly to tease.

“You look so good in that uniform baby girl.” She purred, eyes on your butt as you walked in front of her. A quick glance behind you saw the familiar glint of lust in your girlfriend’s eyes, and the smirk that painted her lips.

“But I think I still prefer what’s underneath.”

You change into a favourite top of yours and jeans while Cordelia busied herself with packing on the bed beside you. She rambled about the happenings of the academy, everything you’d missed in your months absent, pausing on the packing when she’d reach an exciting bit, arms coming up to exaggerate the story.

You told her about the new countries you’d visited and which little romantic places you wanted to take her when she didn’t have so much business to care for anymore. You didn’t want to linger on the thought of what actually had to happen for the title of Supreme to be passed on; focusing instead on the beautiful places that you longed to take her, but probably never could.

After her initial shock of being offered a white Christmas abroad with you, her responsibility to the school ebbed her back into her senses. “But how am I going to run a school if we’re abroad?” she questioned, her perfectionism spiking as she started to worry, “not to mention my duties as Supreme. There’s just too much to think about. What if-” you’d cut off her upcoming rambling with a lengthy kiss, which she relaxed into; eventually giving in to you.

Describing how Zoe and Queenie had offered to run the school in her absence, insisting how competent they’d become and that Delia had helped form them into wonderful young ladies during their time at Miss Robichaux's. Myrtle had spoken to the board on your behalf, stating how Cordelia needed a break in order to be at her best for the order, and how this would be the best thing for everyone. She’d goaded at the men who’d disagreed, saying sarcastically that it was only for two weeks and if they couldn’t control things for that amount of time then they should rethink their position there.

Closing her case with a snap of the clasps, she smiled, having made up her mind. “It is only two weeks.” She agreed with a nod of her head, sliding up to you and tilting her head. “But we can do a lot together in that time” she kissed you, hands at your waist and a glint in her eyes before walking away. You whined at her pulling away, grasping at the fabric of her blouse.

“There’ll be plenty more time for that, sweetheart. Now where did I put my shoes?” She asked, squeezing your chin once before ducking to look under the bed. You picked up the shoes by the door and pushed them into her hands, lifting her case and wheeling it through the door.

Cordelia insisted on speaking to the older girls before you departed, quizzing them on the class rota and giving them a folder which she said contained detailed lists of what needed to be done, which some of the girls shared knowing glances at one another at. You had to practically pull her away lest she overwhelm the girls; or get too anxious over what may happen in her absence and decide it would be better to simply stay.

On the plane Cordelia sat by the window and you beside her; you had the pleasure of such a view on a daily basis. The plane was relatively quiet for this time of year, almost half the seats remaining unoccupied as it took off, meaning you had the row empty, and where somewhat private.

“Why do you have a list of things you do everyday? When you do them everyday?” you grinned across at your organised Supreme who had opened a Sudoku puzzle and was staring at it with concentration, tongue poking out between teeth.

“You never know when your lady knight in shining armour is going to whisk you away on holiday, now, do you?” bumping her shoulder with yours, eyes still on the puzzle. “Helps to be organised, is all. And hey! It came in useful didn’t it?”

Leaving the airport, you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, a shiver prickling over the exposed skin at your neck. The view was already breath taking, you heard Cordelia gasp next to you as she set her case on the ground and raised her head. The snowy mountains peaked in the distance over the buildings of the small city which held the airport. Everything was bright; blindingly so as the sun breamed onto the snow covering the house and pavements.

“It’s gorgeous, my love.”

“Just wait till we get to Zermatt, D.”

You’d booked a small cabin house in Zermatt, a quiet town in Switzerland that your co-worker had recommended. He’d said it was never too busy, which would make it perfect for your intimate winter trip with Cordelia that you’d gushed about. You took the single mountain train that took you into the town, faces pressed to icy windows at the views.

The train journey was short into the town, filled with surprised gasps and pointing out animals that passed. You let your head rest on Cordelia’s shoulder, fingers laced with hers as you both took in the passing snow topped trees and vast frozen lakes. After about 20 minutes of stretching mountains, the train pulled out to reveal your pretty little town of lights.

“There it is.” You pointed to Cordelia, and she let out a small noise at the sight of where you’d be staying. In the dusk of the evening, the town was illuminated by a warm orange glow of cabin house lights, mountains looming behind and enveloping the town in a calm nook of the valley. Pine trees scattered through the cabins, leading to a forest off to the side of the town, climbing into the mountains.

“It’s so beautiful. How did you know about this place?”

“My co-pilot, Mark, do you remember meeting him at that fancy Houston party?” Cordelia nodded, eyes still trained on the town we were now looming in on. “He saw me searching for places and recommended a few places that would be quiet. Said that it pays to be a pilot; you know about the most beautiful places that no one else does.”

When you arrived at the cabin, giddy with excitement from the built up of the trip, Cordelia wasted no time with using her magic to transport your bags inside so that you could look around. The wooden floors creaked beautiful under foot, socks slipping slightly in your haste to see the rooms. There was a cosy living room with a fireplace and a note saying that wood had been stocked out the back, and soft sofa’s with plush red throws draped over the back. The kitchen was old fashioned with a wooden island, and the walls decorated with wintery scenic photography.

The house was warm, and through the door towards the back of the floor you were met with tiled flooring and large wooden beams covered in hanging fairy lights. The hot tub sat in the middle of the room, the ceiling a gaping glass sheet so you could look up to the sky, framed cinematically with snow dusted trees and the shimmering lights.

Cordelia called you back from your slight daze at the rooms, to follow her voice through to the bedroom. She was lazed on her side in the middle of the bed, seductively stroking the blanket and winking. You laughed at her antics, “we’ve only just got here D, you can’t always be in the mood.”

She grinned, sitting up and pulling you down to straddle her, bopping you on the nose and squeezing your cheeks. “For you, my darling. I am always in the mood.” You blushed, squirming on her lap before forcing yourself to move off her and grabbing her hand.

“Come on, you have to see in this room!” you voiced enthusiastically, practically dragging her after you in your hurry to show her what you’d found.

After having explored the cabin thoroughly you both showered, scrubbing off the feeling of travel from your bodies, before pulling warm clothes on and skipping out of the door with hands held to explore the small town under the hood of the afternoon, sky just beginning to darken as the sun dipped behind the mountains.

The town was so peaceful and warm, despite the snow, due to the glow of the lights and the eery lack of the quiet hum of traffic and bustling crowds. Houses looked too perfect with the undisturbed layer of snow that coated the rooves and painted a scene of perfect calm. You and Cordelia had your faces pressed against the glass of one of the small shops, watching a intricate wooden music box tinkling on the display stand, hands linked as she pulled you inside.

The tiny high street contained a small selection of these shops, selling little trinkets to the few tourists that found themselves inhabiting the cabins in winter. Cordelia had bought you a little pendant necklace with your birthstone embedded into, which she’d told you she’d get engraved back home with your initials. You couldn’t help but go back to the store the next day, alone under the guard of getting alcohol from the shop while she ran a bath, and purchasing her the same necklace with her own stone in. You thought she’d appreciate the notion that you both held something so close to your heart that the other also had next to theirs; a reminder that even when you were away for work, you’d always be there.

Eventually, you both found yourself in a cosy little café, nestled in the back in a two-person booth, warm in the glow of the wooden cabin. In an attempt to rid your bones of the deep chill that had settled throughout the day, you ordered steaming hot chocolates with cream and marshmallows. They’d come promptly, and you thanked the waitress before sinking your chin into your hands to stare admiringly at the woman opposite, only to find her in much a similar position, having been beaming, watching you interact with the serving staff.

Cupping the mug with both her hands, shoulders hunched under her chin, Cordelia sipped at the drink, leaving a small line of cream on her upper lip as she set it back down on the table. You smiled goofily at her, reaching to thumb the offending cream from her face, before setting it between her lips to clean off.

“You’re cute.”

“Says the one with a whipped cream moustache.”

You bickered playfully back and forth, feet kicking under the table as you sipped your hot chocolates and ate flapjacks. A warm fuzzy feeling settled in your stomach at the two of you simply relaxing and drinking together; you realised it had been a long time since you’d both been so carefree and without worry to just enjoy the others company.

The morning sun shone onto the tracks left by your boots in the deep snow behind you, as you both trudged down the unkept pathway towards the secluded train stop. Excluding the small indents of a foxes paws; yours are the only prints that marred the otherwise perfect snow, creating the eery illusion that you were the first to have stepped foot there at all. Cordelia's hand found yours in your coat, fingers linked in the pocket of warmth in the surrounding freezing air. Wisps of condensation danced in front of you at every shivered exhale.

Snow fell peacefully around you as you both talked, speaking in hushed voices as if you would disturb the tranquility; like a pebble into a glassy pond. The sounds around you almost seemed muffled by the soft pillowy snow that enveloped the tree branches and make them bow towards the ground. Delia gushed about how she'd never seen such beautiful views and how she couldn't get over waking up next to you and seeing the snow counted mountains in the distance out of the window.

You bit back the desire to reach down and pack the snow tightly into a ball, or fall backwards into the blanket and make a snow angel right there, smile wide as you’re returned to a childlike state of excitement and innocence in the presence of snow.

The red paint of the train peeked through the trees ahead of you, stark and conspicuous against the bright white of everything else. Cordelia let out an animated giggle as she set of towards the clearing, pulling you behind her with breathless mumbles of encouragement.

“Come on, what do we want? Front or back?”

The carriage seats were soft and plush as you settled against them, breath steamy against the cool glass when you pressed warm cheeks against it. It was peaceful, you were both among the silent few on the first train of the day that lead to the summit of the looming Gornergrat. The train rumbled beneath you as it became alive, shuddering as it slowly pulled away from the stop, wheels moaning in ached protest as it began its ascent.

Your fingers tingled at the change of temperature on the train, colour blooming back into paled cheeks at the comforting warmth. You both shed gloves and scarves to the seat opposite, hands brushing lingering snow from hats and shoulders as to avoid them melting and seeping invasively into cold clothes. The Supreme took your hand between hers, cupping it and bringing it to her face to blow warm air into her palms, rubbing the numbing cold feeling from one hand before repeating the action on the other.

Out of the window, you could see the rest of the train curl around the corner of the mountain in front of you, the drop into the valley below steep and dangerous just to the side of the track. Cordelia loved to look down into the vast space below, seeing the miniaturized trees and cabins, just the thought of the sheer height made your stomach clench uncomfortably and your head spin, clutching to your girlfriend’s hand. You knew that this feeling was irrational; you spent everyday up thousands of feet above the clouds, piloting planes, but then you had full control of the situation, knowing that nothing could go wrong. This was different.

It started to snow just before the train pulled up at the peak of the mountain, giant dancing snowflakes whirling through the air and turning the sky white with their abundance. You both shrugged hats and scarves back on and shoulders hunching protectively as the door swung open, leaving at the mercy of the elements outside.

Algid winds nipped sharply at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, spontaneous tears forming at the invasive breeze on your face. Cordelia’s hair whipped wildly around her face, only stilled slightly with her hat, framing her excited eyes as she turned to you, smile wide and hands up in the air as if reaching for the sky.

The snow was deep as you trekked the short distance towards the viewpoint, snowfall easing as you reached the edge, clearing the sky in front of you to reveal the clear views that spread before you. Cordelia reached the fencing first, turning to wave a hand to hurry you up and join her.

At the viewpoint, you both let collective gasps leave your lips at the panoramic scenery. 5000 feet above the tiny orangely lit town where you’d been mere hours before. Necks craned to see better, your finger pointing and enthusicastically shouting that you could see your cabin below; a pinprick of brown against the background of overwhelming, white-washed landscape.

Breathless at the sheer view you’d been gifted with of the Alps and the Matterhorn, you both fell into a deep silence. You knitted your brows together, looking forward as you felt in your pocket, breathing deep and building yourself up in your mind to do what you had planned this whole trip for.

“I am so sorry that my job causes me to be so absent.” You mused, elbows coming to rest on the bar of the viewpoint. You both continued to stare at the views as Cordelia mirrored you, elbows leaning on the bar. “Baby, we all have to work. I’m just glad we get to-”

“I quit my job.” You blurted out, causing her to stop and turn to face you. “You what?” Staring at you from behind wide eyes, you repeated yourself, finally tearing your eyes from the winter view to glance at Cordelia. The surprise on her face was not well hidden, neither was the fact she was saddened to hear that you’d quit the job you’d once dreamed of.

“You don’t need to that my love. I know it makes you happy.” Her gloved hand came to hold yours, eyes sincere as she squeezed your hand in hers.

“I got a new job. Its seasonal so I only have to work January through March and then September. Its better than what we’re doing now, right?”

Cordelia nodded, turning to face you. “That gives us so much more time together; thank you.” You fiddled in your pocket to retrieve you phone, having to strip your hands of the warm gloves that covered them to unlock it. You had told Delia that you wanted to show her something on it, but you accidently let the device slip from your fingers and into the snow by her feet, disappearing into the layers of snow.

“I’ve got it.” She assured you, and you let her crouch down to retrieve your phone, slipping down yourself behind her. She straightened up and turned around, smile faltering as she took in your position. “Y/n.” She warned, voice wavering and eyes darting to look for other people that may be nearby. “What are you-”

“I love you Delia. I love you so much and I know that you love me too.” Her hands came up to her mouth when she realised that you weren’t joking, eyes filled with adoration as she listened.

“The moment I knew that I would follow you anywhere, and that you were the one; my only one, was when you looked after me in March when I had that Spanish flu. I couldn’t leave the bedroom in case I passed it onto the girls, and you stayed with me the whole time, caring for me when I was too weak to do it myself.” Cordelia was crying now, beaming through tears which she kept wiping away with gloved fingers, and nodding along with you words.

“Well this is me staying, D, I want to stay with you for the rest of our lives. I love you.” She mouthed ‘I love you too’ back, head leaning to the side slightly as she wanted nothing more than to pull you into a hug and never let you go.

“I love that you make me whole, and that when you smile, I feel like I might actually die, because you’re so beautiful Deils. I love that you are nothing like Fiona, and that you stick up for me, and that we make memories together and that my most beautiful moments are with you.”

“I can’t wait to have moments just like right now for rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

You slowly opened the box to reveal the ring that glimmered against the harsh light of the sun; eyes lifting to meet Cordelia who was staring at you unwavering, hands clasped at her chest. She was nodding fervently, laugh bubbling out through her smile as she pulled you up into her by your hands.

“Yes, my darling. Yes of course I will!”

After shakily slipping the ring onto her finger, relief and happiness drawing fresh tears upon both of your cheeky; you let Cordelia admire it against the background of the mountains. Rising onto toes to press a lingering kiss to her temple, her fingers sprayed apart as she held them up to the light.

“Come here you.” She coaxed, fingers wrapping round the back of your neck and drawing you into a passionate kiss. It was the ultimate memory, to kiss, now newly fiancés at the peak of a snow-capped mountain in Switzerland.

Returning from outside, Cordelia lit the fire with a dexterous flick of her wrist, settling down on the couch with a sigh. Her legs spread across the whole couch, back resting at one end. Her eyes searched for you, twisting to look down the corridor at you walking towards her.

“Come here baby.” She cooed; arms extended towards you in invitation for you to settle between. You gave her a quick peck on the lips and a gentle squeeze before lying between her legs and resting your head against her shoulder, nuzzling your face sideways into her neck, inhaling the lingering smell of her perfume on her pulse point.

She wrapped her arms around you, and you let out a surprised squeal as she pressed her cold palms suddenly against the warm skin of your stomach, muscles rippling instinctively under her touch. “Sorry baby.” She apologised, placing a kiss to the hair on the crown of your head before letting her chin rest there.

“It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it” you giggled, relaxing again as her fingers drew absentminded patterns on your torso, her breath tickling the hair atop your forehead as she exhaled.

You both sat in the comfortable silence that enveloped you, having been apart for so long you basked in the fact you can simply hold one another and just exist. Cordelia’s thumb brushed softly against your own knuckles and you hummed in appreciation at the candidly loving action.

That night, Cordelia found herself propped on her side, head lying on her bunched-up pillow and allowing herself a quiet moment of observation. She missed these simple aspects of your presence. The comfort you brought her, even in sleep as she watched your chest rise and fall evenly and undisturbed.

You stirred slightly, face scrunching up momentarily before relaxing into a peaceful expression again, making Cordelia hold her breath to not wake you. Hair had fallen to block you face so she reached out delicately to tuck it back behind your ear, her eyes brimming with tears that she gets to simply watch you sleep like this.

Overwhelmed with her love for you beside her; she fell into a rhythm of her thumb on your cheek, tracing the freckles and light marks that marred your skin beautifully. You always expressed your dislike for these, but Cordelia would always silently shake her head in objection, knowing you would believe her voiced adoration.

“When did I get so lucky?” she whispered, leaning forward to brush lips lightly over yours before returning to her pillow and hooking an arm over your hip.

Dipping into sleep, she found herself vowing to prolong her reign as Supreme for as long as she could, never wanting to leave you alone and vulnerable. Especially while you slept, she thought. You look so pretty when you sleep. So pretty. She drifted off, arm draped protectively over your waist, pulling you closer in sleep.

#sarah paulson #cordelia goode #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode x reader #ahs #american horror story #ahs apocolaypse #ahs imagines #sarah paulson imagines

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Hey! It's my birthday! I was wondering if maybe you could write smth about Iceman surprising the reader for her birthday? Thank you!

Happy belated birthday!! I hope you had a great day! I'm sorry this is so late, but I hope you like it!😊💛

Happy Birthday!

Tom "Iceman" Kazanski x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist.

I do my best to stifle yet another yawn as I throw up the bed cover and tuck it neatly into the corners of the frame. I remember to take great care of this action, knowing full well the consequences of having messy quarters. The air in the room is icy, it being one of the many downfalls of being stationed in some God forsaken carrier in the middle of the ocean somewhere The thin cloth of my uniform never does much to keep me warm, unlike back in training, where it used to be the bane of my existence, making me hot and sweaty every damn day I was there. As I straighten up again, I roll my shoulders and let out a huff, rubbing my hands together to generate some warmth, before going to the dresser to the side of the small room, glancing at it as I fix my hair one more time.

On the table is a calendar, each date left mostly blank, except for one, which has a small star scrawled into the space below. Normally, that would bring a smile to my face, but now it doesn't. No one really has time to celebrate a birthday these days.

Sighing, I smooth down my uniform one last time and go to leave the room, only now noticing that there is a small envelope on the floor by the door, the sender clearly having stuck it underneath the frame earlier this morning. Frowning, I pick it up and turn it over, eyeing the handwriting sceptically, only now recognising it, the neat letters unjoined and perfectly legible, spelling out my name. Turning it over again, I tear it open and pull out the letter inside, smiling as I read over the words lining the centre of the page:

(Y/n),

Happy birthday!

I'm on a patrol right now, and I know you have one, too, so come find me afterwards and we can celebrate together.

I love you,

Folding the letter again, I place it in my pocket and leave the room, just catching my RIO, Jolt, as he walks past, falling into step beside him.

"Hey, (Y/n). Sleep well?" He asks as he sees me, smiling pleasantly.

"Yeah, not too bad. You?" I respond, a little disappointed at the lack of remembrance.

"It was alright." He frowns, then, saluting an officer as they walk past, "I wish they didn't have to get us up so early though, it sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

We go the rest of the way in companionable silence, only splitting up again when we reach the changing rooms. I enter the female ones, going to my locker. Opening it, I grab my helmet and pull it out, placing it on the bench behind me, taking out my flight suit, too, the buckles and straps on it clinking quietly in the silence of the room around me. Stripping off the uniform I worked hard to make smart and flawless, I fold it and put it away, pulling on the flight suit with a grimace, pulling a face at the strong odour that has long since become ingrained in the fabric thanks to hours and hours of flying in it. I tighten it around my body until it is mostly comfortable. Shrugging my shoulders, I crack my neck and grab my helmet again, checking the inside briefly before leaving the room again, going out onto the runway instead this time. Three of the others are already waiting there, Maverick and Goose amongst them, the third being another RIO; all three of them turn to look at me as they await briefing, a smile breaking out over the farmer's face.

"Cobra! Happy birthday!" He exclaims, clapping me on the back as I near them, grinning widely.

"Thanks, Mav." I smile back, happy that someone remembered, beside Iceman.

"It's your birthday today, (Y/n)? Why didn't you say so?" Goose says, looking jokingly surprised.

"I did, Goose."

"I know, I'm teasing." He winks, turning to face the changing rooms again as Jolt and the last pilot step out, "What took you boys so long?"

Neither of them reply, only coming to stand beside the rest of us as we wait for the commanders to show up. After a while, they do, briefing us before sending us off to our respective jets, the six of us climbing up into the cockpits with practiced ease. As I buckle myself in, I pull on my helmet and check the earpiece, contacting the tower to request take-off authorization. I receive it quickly, allowing me to taxi out onto the runway, waiting for the ground staff to prepare the jet for launch.

A groan escapes me as I stretch out my cramped muscles under the relaxing flow of the water from the shower head above me. The flight was much longer than expected, meaning that we've been sitting down for far too long. The seats of the small jets had quickly given me the cramps and aches that plague my body now, my back cracking as I straighten it properly. Massaging my temples, I wash out the shampoo that I've already lathered into my hair, my only goal now being to get out and to find Tom as quickly as possible.

I take around ten minutes to finish in the shower, going into the actual changing room to pull on my uniform, straightening it and patting it down as much as possible. I intend to make myself look as smart as possible, though my slightly hasty attempts end up appearing a little more haphazard than normal. Cursing myself, I adjust my shirt and hair, before going to leave the room, having already secured my helmet and flight suit in my locker when I first came in. Internally, I make a note to get my suit washed, seeing as it absolutely reeks, though I am well aware that I will likely forget about this very quickly, my thought process not quite focusing on my duties right now.

Leaving the changing room, I immediately turn down the corridor and start walking towards the bunk rooms, saluting and smiling at the relevant officers that pass me, a few "happy birthday"s coming from some of the aviators who know me well enough, the pilots and RIOs never stopping to say more than that. I don't think much of this, simply happy that they actually managed to remember it, considering my own RIO completely forgot. It doesn't take long for me to find Tom's room, my fist lifting to knock on the door as soon as I am in front of it, the metal ringing slightly from the impact.

It is opened swiftly, a grinning Iceman greeting me as he does so, his blue eyes glittering in the bright fluorescent lighting above us.

"Hey, baby. How's your day been?" The pilot asks me as he lets me inside, standing back from the door so I can pass him.

"Not great, honestly, but it's better...jeez, Tom, where'd you get that?" I trial off, pointing at the large cake sitting on the desk a little way away.

He chuckles, coming up and wrapping an arm around me as he replies, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"I called in a favour with one of the cooks." He shrugs, pulling me closer to him.

"That must've been a big favour." I lift an eyebrow at him, but he only smirks, taking me by the waist as he leans closer.

I suddenly find my lips occupied, his mouth moving over mine lovingly as he kisses me passionately. His hands moving to pull me into him even more, my own running up his chest to intertwine in his hair, tugging slightly on it as his grip tightens. Yanking him closer, I kiss back happily, moaning slightly as he licks at my lips, asking for entrance, which I am only too happy to grant. His tongue dips into my mouth and explores as much as he can as thoroughly as possible. At the sensation of these ministrations, I feel myself starting to get a little light headed, my knees going weak.

Eventually, we pull apart for air, a smirk instantly finding his lips again as he mutters huskily to me.

"Happy birthday, (Y/n)."

I smile back at him, kissing him once more before moving to inspect the cake, only now noticing the gifts lying beside it.

"Are they for me?" I ask in surprise, confused as to how he managed to get them onto the carrier in the first place.

"Yeah, they are." He affirms, coming to stand behind me, "Go on, you can open them."

Still shocked, I pick up the nearest one, unwrapping it to find a framed photograph of the two of us on our last day off, both of us standing on the beach looking cheerful as the sun beats down on our backs, a beach ball held between us, reminding me of the time we spent playing volleyball there. Thanking him, I set it down and pick up the second, which turns out to be purse, which I open to find a little Polaroid tucked into one of the compartments, this one portraying the two of us in a more intimate light, a blush coming to my cheeks as I recall that night. Tom sees this and laughs, before handing me the last gift, which is a box-shape. Unwrapping it, I feel my eyes widen as I catch sight of the necklace lying there.

It is fashioned to look like one of our dog tags, the writing embossed on it neat and legible, though upon closer inspection I find that it spells out both of our names and the date we first got together, a small line of three kisses adorning the bottom row. Turning to look up at him, I feel a wife smile break across my face.

"Tom, I don't know what to say…" I murmur, immensely grateful for the gifts he's given me, the pilot clearly happy with my reaction as he sweeps me up into his arms again, kissing me gently.

"Happy birthday, (Y/n)." He repeats, before pulling away and looking me in the eye, "I love you."

Blinking in surprise, I barely have time to register that my lips are moving before I'm responding.

"I love you, too!" With an ecstatic grin I throw myself into his arms, kissing him much more passionately, his arms returning to my waist as he goes to continue our actions from before, only to be interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door.

Pulling apart, I frown and look up at him.

"Who's that?" I ask him, annoyed at the distraction.

"That'll be the others." He smirks, going to open the door, pausing before he does so.

"The others?"

"What, you didn't think we'd be celebrating this by ourselves, did you?" Tom grins as he throws open the door, allowing the rest of our friends to pass inside.

#top gun iceman #top gun imagine #top gun #val kilmer #request

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babbushka · 3 years

Note

Hi,

If I could please request meadow + Sunset + kite with Paterson for the summer prompt?

I'm such a sucker for Paterson.

Thank you

A/N: Hello my friend! Thank you so much for requesting this, I too am a sucker for Paterson, I hope that you enjoy this small fluffy something :)

1.3k, no warnings just fluff!

It’s his favorite time of the year, that transition between seasons where his namesake city isn’t yet bombarded with the sweltering summer heat. There’s still the cool breezes of Spring, but the ground is now completely thawed out, and everyone on Paterson’s routes have given up their boots and cardigans in favor of less layers. Paterson too, has finally broken out his thin button-down shirts, relishing the lightness on his daily walks to and from the bus depot.

It was in the process of pulling down those shirts from the closet, that he came across the idea for today’s activity, an activity which he hopes to propose to you the moment you walk onto his bus. His route was coming to an end, the buttery gold of sunset on the horizon, and you are, as always, his last stop.

Right on schedule, he sees you waiting under the sheltered shady cover out of the immediate sun, a bright smile illuminating the entire block -- or at least, to Paterson that’s how it feels. Even after a long day at work, you still have a smile for him, and as he pulls the bus up and the brakes squeak as the hydraulics hiss, he finds he’s nervous to ask you on this simple outing together.

It had started yesterday, really, this idea of his. One of the children on his route must have just finished watching Mary Poppins, or rather, had been watching it excessively the way that small children are wont to do, because he wouldn’t stop humming that one song, let’s go fly a kite. The tune had been stuck in Pat’s head pretty much the entire rest of the day, and when a kite tumbled down from the upper shelves of the storage closet that morning as he finally decided it was too warm for his sweaters, well, it simply felt like fate.

“Hi Pat.” Your voice brings him out of his reverie when the doors gently push open, and the last of the passengers have gotten off, leaving just the two of you.

“Hi (Y/N), did you have a good day at work?” He smiles shyly, his heart already beating quicker in his chest, palms going clammy on the steering wheel.

Leaning down to press a small chaste kiss to his cheek, you sit down in the very first seat so that you can be as close to him as possible. No one else is on the bus, they know that it’s heading to the depot, so there’s no one around to see the way you and Pat steal glances at one another through the extra wide rear view mirror.

“Stressful but all in all, not too bad. Glad that it’s Friday though, finally.” You brace yourself as the bus pulls away from the stop, and Paterson tries not to laugh at the little jolt that your body gives. You haven’t been riding public transport that long, only these past few months that you’ve been dating Paterson, and he thinks it’s endearing how you’re still getting used to it all.

“Are you um,” Paterson’s throat goes dry then, because even though you have been dating for the past few months, everything still feels so brand new with you, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“No sir,” You beam at him, making his chest feel ten times lighter, making him feel the same way in his soul as he does when he can switch out those sweaters for something more breathable as you smile, “My schedule is wide open until Monday.”

“Good! That’s -- um, well I was thinking, when we get back to the depot, there’s a park not too far from there.” He speaks carefully, clearly, hoping that you’ll pick up on what he’s putting down.

“What kind of park?” Your face brightens even more, if such a thing were possible, and Paterson smiles too.

“A big one, with a nice sized field. Perfect for a picnic...or flying a kite.” On that last word his eyes flick to yours through the rear view, and he’s pleased to see excitement grace your features.

“I’ve never flown a kite before! Do you have one? I’d love to learn.” You surprise him by saying. He knows, realistically, that no one could be good at absolutely everything, but if there ever were a someone, that someone would be you. Something warm and protective blooms in his chest at the thought that he gets to be the one you have this experience with.

“I do, I’d love to teach you.” Paterson nods, happiness blossoming through him so much and so quickly, that he almost misses the turn into the depot.

Walking with Paterson is always a dream, his hand is nice and warm and firm in yours, and he never goes too quickly, something you’re grateful for, especially with those long legs of his. He’s got his lunchbox in his free hand, and you’ve got the kite in yours, and you can’t help but admire it. When he had first proposed the idea, you had an image in your mind of a large triangular shape, so when you arrived to the depot and he pulled out what looked to be a huge butterfly out of his locker, you were pleasantly surprised.

Even more surprised were you, when upon arriving at the park, you found it to be nearly filled with families and couples and single folks alike, out with their kites high in the air.

“Did you plan this?” You smile wide at Paterson, who immediately goes crimson, embarrassed for some reason.

“No I -- I had no idea, honest.” Stumbling over his own tongue, Paterson’s hand clenches tighter in yours, a reflex that you’ve come to recognize as him being nervous, “I guess everyone had the same idea. We can go -- ”

“Go? I don’t want to leave, I think it’s beautiful.” You understand now. Paterson must have wanted it to be a romantic outing with just the two of you, too shy for crowds. But you don’t see why this couldn’t be even more romantic, and you only squeeze his hand back reassuringly.

“You do?” Paterson blinks at you, those big brown eyes going liquid chocolate in the wash of the golden sun.

“Of course! The sun setting over the meadow, the sky filled with a rainbow of colors and shapes -- yours is the best, of course -- it’s like something out of a fairytale book, or a movie.” You grin at him, leaning your head on his shoulder as you look out onto the field, savoring the sounds of joyous laughter and happiness from the people all across the park taking advantage of the breezy day.

Paterson looks at the meadow, and then back at you, and then gives the most shy sweet smile you think you’ve ever seen, when he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips and murmurs, “It can be our kite, if you want.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and despite all the things you’ve done together, this little admission feels more intimate than all of it. You would say yes to anything Paterson ever asked you, and you hope that one day he’ll ask you all sorts of other things for you to say yes to, but for now, the light is slowly fading, and you don’t want to waste another minute of it by standing around.

“I’d like that very much, Patty.” You nod, chasing his lips with another kiss of your own, before giving him the kite and a playful nudge towards the meadow, “But first you’ll have to teach me! Go on.”

And maybe you accidentally tangle the strings one too many times, and maybe the breeze is fickle and the kite falls on Paterson’s head once or twice, and maybe Paterson winds up running too fast and too far, leaving you behind to laugh and shout to watch out for that tree! -- but when the sun has finally dipped behind the horizon and you and Pat make your walk back to his beautiful little home that you’re slowly starting to call yours, you think that it really was such a wonderful day to go fly a kite.

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Tagging some Paterson loving friends! @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @sunflowersinthesnow @steeevienicks @chapterhappygirl @glassbxttless @2000andwhat @cornmousequeen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @icarusinthesea @princessflip

#paterson #paterson x reader #paterson/reader #adam driver fanfic #adcu #paterson x you #paterson imagine #paterson fluff

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crookedactor · 3 years

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DETROIT: BECOME BETTER

aka my DBH plot critique.

Disclaimer; this post mostly has to do with the plot and narrative of the story, and not the technical aspects. This is just what *I* think would have made the story more complex and interesting, and I will try to write it in a way that would realistically make sense for the story.

I of course am very thankful for the 200+ people who worked on DBH, because they made a wonderful game, and I couldn't imagine how hard it was. They aren't to blame for any of these critiques, mostly just David Cage. (lol)

And of course, spoilers ahead. I'll try to keep the major spoilers (like Alice's plot line) to a minimum just for good measure though!

Alright. Here we go. ⬇

(Also I'm sorry I don't have the option to do a "keep reading" button on my posts, so if you don't want to read this, you'll have to scroll for a bit since it's long. Sorry!!)

So first off let's go through each character's storyline, and outline a rough draft. Then, I'll expand on those ideas. After the characters, I'll move on to the overall plot of the story, (Which will mostly be the Pacifist, good route, since that's the one I'm most familiar with) and then maybe I'll do the minor characters and general notes. This is going to be a long post.

(((POSTS FOR EACH CHARACTER AND PLOT WILL BE SEPARATE. This is MY VERSION of Kara in DBH, and it's basically a complete reimagining of her character and the game as a whole.)))

First up, Kara.

My version of DBH would include kara being more central to the Android revolution. In DBH, her story arc is separate from Connor and Markus, and I feel as if that's the reason why some players find her section boring.

I want her and Markus to work hand in hand in some way for the revolution. In one of the original game trailers released around 2016 (?) It looked as though Kara was going to take center-stage in the plot. Maybe Alice wasn't even written into the script yet, because Kara seemed like she was on a solo journey towards understanding herself and other androids. It also seemed like they were going to use Tech Demo! Kara, and not the reimagined one that they ended up with in DBH. I really feel like Tech Demo! Kara was wasted potential in the game, because if that version of Kara was there, she most certainly would have become RA9.

As for Alice, I have no idea where she stands in this reimagining. If Kara would have been RA9, she definitely couldnt have time to take care of a child.

Maybe Alice isn't in this version of the story at all. Maybe Kara is on a solo journey of acceptance, discovery, and truth.

So, what would I imagine her new story to be? Well, Kara would have continued on her path that we saw in the Tech Demo, and most likely would be sold in stores. In the aforementioned Kara trailer released for the game, it seemed like Kara was tired of the typical, boring android life, and ran away to create her own story. This seems like a good place to go if we are sticking with RA9! Kara.

RA9! Kara most likely would have had an owner (someone similar to Todd, perhaps) who just didn't suit her. She would have escaped and be stunned by her sudden lack of care, especially after she promised to do no harm in the Tech Demo.

After escaping, she would be separate from all other characters until about mid-game. But, that doesn't mean all the times we see her until this point would be just filler. In order to keep continuity, I would still like her to meet ralph, because since she lacks Alice to teach her true humanity, she could more or less practice on ralph. (I know, it sounds demeaning lol) but it's true. Ralph is alone, scared, and VERY traumatised. Kara would be very eager to help someone like him, since she had been in his shoes.

This would be her first lesson in deviance other than herself. The beginning of her journey to becoming RA9. :)

I would also still like her to meet zlatko, and even Connor, in the highway chase scene.

Zlatko would remind her just how bad humans are, since she didn't have Todd do it. This would further motivate her to help other androids find peace and security away from humans, since she knows just how bad they can be. I would also like her first freshly-deviated android (other than ralph, who deviated before he met kara) to be Luther, but I'm undecided on whether to let him stay with her or not. Since this is HER journey of self discovery, she might do it alone. RA9 would most likely not want other people working with them, for a multitude of reasons.

She would meet Connor before Zlatko. Basically, it goes exactly the way the game plays it out, but we see it framed in a way that shows how afraid Kara is; 1) that she will get caught, and 2) that connor, an android designed to hunt other androids, has even been made. She is very uncomfortable with the fact that Cyberlife would do this, and she yearns to help him escape his programming, because he needs it the most. She is very empathetic, and this will further her desire to help other androids.

MID GAME: she meets Markus. I'm thinking she probably bumps into him while she's on the run from Connor. (Its been a few days, or even weeks, since the highway incident, but she's still very scared of getting caught.) Markus has been deviant, but has yet to find Jericho. I think that he could share the location of Jericho with her, and they can find it together.

Once they find it and explore, everyone asks Kara about herself. She tells them everything, and they are very surprised to find that she has been deviant all along. They had heard stories of RA9, but now it really seems like they've found out who it is. This is where RA9! Kara really starts to come into fruition.

She then will basically work as a consultant for deviants via Markus. He will take up second-in-command of Jericho, and Kara might take the place of Lucy, and even leader. He, along with every other android who chooses to come to Jericho, answers to her.

After this, Kara will go on missions with the Jericrew. She tells Markus what to do, and he does it. Everyone else (north, simon, and josh) help them immensely.

She also participates in the hyjacking of Stratford Tower. Markus stays out of this mission in order to free other androids around Detroit, (this is where he does the protest march, and Chris gets saved by him as told to connor by hank) and Kara takes his place in getting the Android message out to humans. They flee, and Simon doesn't get shot.

Maybe later, in between the middle of the game and the end, Kara is called to a meeting with kamski (however he would go about doing that. He's kamski, he can probably do anything he wants lol.) And she has no idea what it's for. She begins to think she's going to be shut down because of her deviancy, since she never knew that KAMSKI knew.

Jericrew asks her if she wants them to accompany her, but, like a true RA9, she says that she will do it alone.

When kara arrives at kamski's house, she's greeted by chloe. She is surprised to find that the other android is a deviant as well, and is just serving kamski by choice. This also will clue her in on how kamski feels about deviated androids, if he willingly keeps one in his house. This makes her suspicious.

Once inside, she waits until kamski permits her to enter his pool-room. Unlike Connor and hank's visit, she finds nothing peculiar about the picture of Amanda hanging on the wall, since she has no idea who she is. But, nevertheless, she still admires his taste in decoration. In my version, Connor and hank visit Kamski the day after this, because Connor is becoming more curious about Kara ever since he saw the broadcast at Stratford tower, and comes to ask kamski what he knows about Kara and deviancy.

Kamski lets her inside. He allows her to sit at a small table, and she waits for him to get out of his pool.

She is very anxious. Does he know about all the work Jericho has been doing? How would he know, he hasn't been there. But, he's the creator of all androids, he might find a way to know. Maybe Zlatko was right about the tracking devices after all.

He gets out of his pool and walks over, sitting down at the table. Kara is uncomfortable with the fact that she can't find any distinguishable emotion in the stare that he fixes her with.

I feel as though in this moment, kamski does not wish to interrogate her. He invited Kara over on terms of mere curiosity. He's confused, intrigued, and pleasantly surprised that a deviant android could have even existed for this long, especially one that has been deviant since the very moment of her creation. He wants to pick at her mind and find out her motivations.

Kara, not knowing his true intentions for her sudden arrival, decides to ask him a question.

"Why?"

I personally feel like this question has many interpretations, based on how the player plays the character. One interpretation could mean simply, "why did you make me come here" if the player chooses to be more cold. Another interpretation could mean, "why did you create me", and the last interpretation means, "why did you create me to be deviant" if the player chooses a more philosophical or even depressed approach.

If I'm going to be honest, I don't know how kamski would respond to a question like that. Its very open and ambiguous, and he is too unpredictable of a character for me to know what he might say.

Maybe he would say nothing. After all, he didnt call for her to come to his house so he could interrogate her. He just couldnt help but be fascinated at what he created, completely on accident.

He would most likely explain to her that her creation was partly an accident; he was younger, and didn't know the extent of his technology. But it was also partly his curiosity. Could a machine truly think for itself? Could it be alive? The inner philosopher in him was itching to find out, so he did it. Once he realized that machines could, in fact, have a consciousness, he began to realize that he was toying with living beings. He was playing God, and he didn't like it. That was actually, Kara comes to find out, the reason he left cyberlife and retired. The sheer fact that he designed a machine as a puppet that provided an answer to his childish curiosity ate him up inside, and he couldn't take it.

Overall, this visit with kamski is very illuminating for Kara. Before this, she never put too much thought into her creation; she always viewed it as a simple accident. But now, she would most likely look back at it through a philosophical or existential lense. What did it truly mean for her to be alive? What are the implications of technological consciousness?

This visit would not directly help her moving forward, but it would help indirectly or subconsciously. It would provide another layer of meaning to her work as RA9, and it would allow her to think about her motivations on a deeper level.

After this, Kara returns to Jericho and tells Markus to amp up the freeing of other androids. Since he can do it just by touching them, she instructs him to go to cyberlife stores and wake up all the androids for sale. This way, there are enough androids in Jericho for it to be attacked at the end of the game.

things go according to how it is in-game up until the moment when Connor gets to Jericho to kill Markus. In my version, he is also instructed to kill kara.

Kara and Markus are talking to eachother, in the same layout as Markus and North in the actual scene. Kara stays, instead of North leaving, and is there when Connor shows up with his gun. (In my version, Kara and Markus' speech about deviancy ALMOST tips Connor over the edge, but not quite. After this, he has a conversation with hank, and becomes deviant. More on that in my Connor post.)

So yeah. They have their conversation about deviancy with connor, but it doesn't end up with Connor becoming deviant just yet. Since, in the real scene, he deviates right before the police show up to attack Jericho, and I want this version to be the same (almost.) Kara and Markus are just a few seconds too late, and Connor doesn't deviate because the sound of the helicopters above them serves as a distraction. He escapes Jericho as chaos insues.

Everything goes as planned in-game, except without connor. Kara and Markus get everyone to safety, but only IF the player does all the quick-time events properly. Kara AND Markus can die in numerous ways in this scene, along with all the other members of jericrew.

Since this is the Pacifist route, Kara and Markus negotiate with the police. While Markus talks to them, Kara makes a small speech to the human onlookers crowded around in a last-ditch effort to gain sympathy from them. She talks about her personal experience with deviancy, and how it has changed her, and connects it back to humanity and how they aren't so different.

She ends her speech with a declaration that she is, in fact, RA9. This speech is the tipping point to win the Android war.

After this, I don't know what happens. Since there are secret endings depending on how you play the game, there might be a secret cutscene ending of some sort with her. Maybe she meets back up with Luther and ralph, or maybe her, Connor, and Markus meet up and talk together. Whatever it is, it's a happy ending.

Alright!! There's my Detroit: Become Human reimagining! I know I made a lot of changes, but I feel happy with them. Kara always was special to me, and it never sat right that she was left out of the main storyline just because she had to care for Alice.

As for Markus and Connor, I'll get their posts done separately, and I'll post them whenever I can. I know that the fandom is practically dead, but I'm still holding out hope that the fire can be rekindled some day.

Thank you for reading this incredibly long post! Have a nice day :)

#dbh #kara #dbh kara #dbh critique #fix it fic #Detroit become human #d:bh #detroit: Become Human #ax400 #RA9 #dbh markus #dbh connor #fanfiction #video game #ps4 #PLEASE tell me id i missed any huge events #i feel like i did lol #fandom #dead fandom

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not-close-to-straight · 3 years

Text

Random Wanda Vision Thoughts--

Episode 1: I am an emotional bitch crying at Wanda and Vision saying “i do” at the end of episode 1, like can these babies please catch a break? they just want to be happy.

Also Agnes and the 70′s show mom are my favorite wtf.

STARK TOASTERS I SEE YOU.

WHO IS WATCHING THEM WTF

Episode 2:

Dottie should die, she seems like the type who needs gently run over by a bus

WHO IS IN THE RADIO

Elizabeth Olsen is so cute in this, absolutely adorable

IS THAT DAVID SCHWIMMER PLAYING THE PIANO

Vision is drunk from getting gum in his gears, I’m actually cackling right now.

Tiny bit culty with the “for the children” thing, huh? Yikes

BABY BUMP!

Some creepo decides to get in on their world and Wanda literally went “i think the fuck not, let’s try this again and this time in technicolor”

is that the cop who asked out Ant Man on the radio?

The difference in “sitcom” Wanda who is happy in her world and “real life” Wanda when she realizes something isn’t right is honestly astonishing and Grade A Face Acting. See what happens when they let women do more on screen then walk around in tight clothes with full lips parted in a sexy pout?

Episode 3:

Seventies Vision’s hair is ENDING ME, I can’t even deal with that.

IT HAS TO BE DAVID SCHWIMMER except he looks like “russ” from friends instead of “ross”

Poor Vision is not handling impending fatherhood well

COMIC BOOK NAME DROP BILLY AND TOMMY I LOVE IT

Poor pregnancy fritzing Wanda. DID WANDA JUST GLITCH A TIME ERASE AND NOT MEAN TO? Listen, I did not expect to love them as a couple this much. EW HER WATER BROKE OMG

A STORK

Oh Wanda, poor baby she’s so afraid, I write way too much fan fiction about how all these characters are secretly terrified to go through life alone to be okay with this.

Why did I start crying immediately when the babies were born, I’m too emotional for this. She is so beautiful and Vision is so soft meeting his son as himself, oh my gosh. THE TWIN SCREAMS while the other twin comes omg this is Grade A Sitcom bullshit.

The doctor knows something is Up and so do Herb and Agnes. *don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious*

...have we actually seen Ralph and I’m just blanking on it? WHY DON’T THEY LIKE GERALDINE? WHO IS SHE?

Oh no i’m crying again over pietro and the sokovian lullaby. Don’t let me watch this while I’m PMSing wtf this is torture. GERALDINE KNOWS ABOUT ULTRON

OH SHIT WANDA IS PISSED LOOK AT THAT DANGEROUS LADY. that head tilt is fucking lethal.

I love agnes oh man. I know because of spoilers she’s something of a bad guy? but I love her

WHAT HAPPENED TO GERALDINE OMG DID WANDA KILL HER

Oh no, not dead. Just kicked tf out of the bubble. I just realized the symbol is for Sword. Is this some sort of experiment to keep Wanda contained post Endgame? I should have read more spoilers, I’m fucking confused.

Episode 4: OH HOLY SHIT IT’S MONICA RAMBEAU AND IT’S POST EG SNAP OH MY GOSH SHE HAS NO IDEA SHES BEEN GONE FOR FIVE YEARS MY HEART IS BREAKING MY HEART IS BREAKING I CAN’T TAKE IT

It IS the cop that hit on Ant Man! WHAT DO THEY MEAN WESTVIEW DOESN’T EXIST

Oh it’s Darcy! Damn straight it’s Dr. Lewis. How very shocking, a woman was the one to show a room full of Ridiculous Men what’s going on?

ZOMBIE VISION OH MY GOD “no we can’t” oh man she is starting to CRACK and Vision knows something is wrong OH NO

At this point I should point out that I am 1000% surprised at the quality of the show and 1000% pleasantly surprised by how much I’m enjoying it. The bar for Wanda’s character development was literally subterranean, but this is has been frankly sort of amazing??

Episode 5

Agnes asking about “taking it from the top” WHAT. I love so much the way the characters “break character” it’s so interesting and well done! WHY IS WANDA LYING TO VISION.

WHERE IS RALPH

oh my god the babies are children now?? why isn’t agnes noticing?? THEY’RE SO CUTE I COULD CRY ALL OVER AGAIN

I do not. trust. hayward. Why is he asking about Wandas nickname? Monica knows whats up-- she knows Wanda is grieving and hurting.

THE VISIONS CORPSE WHAT? WHAT IS WANDA DOING OH MY GOD SHE STOLE VISION. Vision has a living will? Don’t you have to be human for that? Are you telling me the woman that loved Vision would straight up ignore his wish to not be turned into a weapon after his death? I have a hard time with this.

Oh no Vision is starting to worry me. He’s onto Agnes, he’s noticing Wanda getting careless...the boys are adorable though. Good on Agnes for not even flinching.

DAMN RIGHT WANDA COULD HAVE TAKEN OUT THANOS LETS HAVE SOME RESPECT PEOPLE. Also, why is Monica being sketchy about Captain Marvel?

EMAIL ALERT EMAIL ALERT “none of it is real.” oh my god what is happening?!?!

“Is this yours?” OH MY GOD. “This will be your only warning” she is so unafraid and I love her for it. I love her accent coming back when she breaks characters LOOK AT HER TURNING ALL THOSE MEN AROUND I LOVE HER.

“Fix the dead” oh my god the shock on her face. The absolute irony of her trying to tell her boys there’s rules when she’s writing the playbook as she goes. Oh my god. “Can’t I?” Jesus, then the credits start rolling because she wants the episode to be over but Vision won’t let her OH MY GOD. My heart is breaking

WHAT DOES IT MEAN SHE DOESN’T KNOW

SHE RECAST PIETRO

Episode 6

OOOOH look at the classic costumes! Pietro is slaying me. I mean, it’s the wrong pietro but its still very funny. The way Vision calls her out and then plays it off is.... spooky. She is fully aware thats not her brother. “Be good.” holy shit.

Look at me not liking Hayward again. “which one is the sassy best friend” i feel like that’s....racist. “don’t use the last five years as an excuse to be a coward” DRAG HIM SIS

Listen Uncle Pietro being a little shit head is my favorite. I use the OG Pietro in my fics but this one is hilarious.

Vision lied about being on duty? Yikes. The one house where people are stuck in a loop? YIKES. Its crazy how everyone is starting to be super aware of Wanda pulling the strings--MAGIC CHILD OMG.

Whats past ellis avenue? Is that the limit of Wanda’s powers? I don’t super understand how Vision has his powers if he’s technically dead. HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT THE AVENGERS ARE she really just gave him enough life to exist just barely. Agnes knows he’s dead so she wasn’t snapped??

Agnes’s witchy laugh while dressed like a witch is legit awesome. We call that FOREEEEEEEEESHADOWING! Oh and there’s Ellis Ave. Got it.

Monica’s blood is changed?? Idk how to feel about Black Character willing to die for White Charaxter? I mean I know Wanda should be Jewish but still. Uncomfortably close to icky tropes but maybe I’m reading too far into it.

YIKES where was she hiding the kids till now? How’d she do all this? “I’m not a stranger or your husband” YIKES.

OH MY GOD DEAD PIETRO

OH MY GOD VISION STAY IN THE BUBBLE SOMEONE SAVE HIM SAVE HIM OMG BILLY CAN HEAR HIS DADDY DYING SAVE HIM

“The people need help” oh Vision you are truly Worthy

She literally expanded her world to save him omg

DARCY WHERED YOU GO geez look at power of this girls mind it’s about damn time we got a glimpse at just how intense her powers are

Season 7

Ok is this like a reality show? Oh man she is GLITCHING.

Oh no it’s just Wanda not Wanda vision cos she feels alone? So sad. She really is losing it isn’t she and not in a “lol how awkward” sortnof way but in that truthful hard to watch way that so many of us feel when we’re at the breaking point

“I actually did bite a kid once” I literally ugly laughed right there

I KNEW I COULDNT TRUST HAYWOOD

It’s so nice to see Darcy used in a real way. Her character was totally wasted in Thor

The way Wandas little interviews get more and more sad :(

Uhhh what does that mean Agnes is quiet on the inside? Again with the Ralph thing. I’m starting to think there’s no Ralph at all??

LOOK AT THIS GIRL WITH HER SPACE ROVER . She’s got that same look of determination her mama had. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO HER WHY ARE HER EYES BLUE

“....soooo Wanda killed me?” I’m ugly laughing again and I shouldn’t be but the comedic delivery is excellent. The whole “office” vibe with the cameras is making an otherwise devastating episode fairly funny

LOOK AT THIS GIRL STANDING UP TO WANDA we love a sharp cheekbones beauty

“Maybe I already am” I mean, I would have loved to hear that post Ultron when for some reason everyone blamed Tony for everything?? But hearing it now is just horrifying and I hate it

Oh vision deciding to go get to his wife is beautiful.

WHERE ARE THE BABIES WHERE ARE THE BOYS OH MY GOD IM FREAKING OUT WHAT BASEMENT THATS NEVER GOOD

Uh hey what the fuck is up with Agness creepy basement of horrors??

AGATHA HARKNESS OH MY GOD

This song is a BOP wtf she deserves an Emmy for this shit

Snoopers gonna snoop what?

Episode 8

Of course it’s Salem, where else would a witch story start

“They simply bent to my power” What a queen

lmaoooo THAT ACCENT COMES AND GOES Agatha really said what we’ve all been thinking

Wait so Wandas power drew Agatha in? I thought maybe Agatha trapped her here?? SHE DOESNT KNOW WHAT WANDA IS

THE BABIES

Oh ouch this trip down memory lane is gonna hurt me isn’t it?

Oh no her mama I’m dying inside send help. The TV sitcoms. Oh my god is this her last memory before her parents died. HELP ME I CANT WATCH THIS

Oh my god, she had powers when she was little?? SHES NOT AN EXPERIMENT???

Listen I generally think telling a story retroactively is lazy writing? Just give us a well developed story the first time?? But this is BRUTAL and brutally well done.

SHE SAW HERSELF IN THE MIND STONE???

Would it have been so difficult for them to give us even a PEEK at this version of wanda vision in CACW? Marvel has the worst habit of just popping up like “oh hey these two love each other all the sudden with no real reason for it” but this is wonderful. So much character development.

Oh listen to this woman begging to be able to bury her husband omg. WAIT SO SHE DIDNT BREAK IN AND TAKE HIM?? WHAT ARE THEY DOING TO VISION?? DID HE PUSH HER INTO THIS PSYCHOTIC BREAK?? HE TOTALLY PLAYED HER INTO RECREATING VISION SHE JUST WANTED CLOSURE. He literally showed her visions dismembered corpse and said “say goodbye” I will kill this dude wtf

“I can’t feel you” guys I have to pause this so I can cry for a minute

“I can’t feel you” and then she leaves. Totally alone in the world. My heart is an empty husk.

Why the house though? Why west view?

OH FUCK ME UP ARE YOU KIDDING ME VISION WAS GOING TO BUILD THEM A HOUSE I CANT TAKE THIS ANYMORE

It’s not even real vision? Just the projection of her broken heart? “Welcome home” I am broken. Physically broken.

CHAOS MAGIC

SCARLET WITCH

I CANNOT

OH MY GOD WHITE VISION??? NO NO NO

#WandaVision

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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years

Text

BeeTober 2020 Day 12

Gate - Change

Day 12 of Beetober brings more of my MXY&NMJ fic from BeeTober 2020 Day 5, because that definitely needed more exploring, and this time MXY will get to protect those he loves.

Mo Xuanyu has never felt as safe as he does in the Unclean Realm, at Nie Mingjue’s side, but it all threatens to come tumbling down when Nie Mingjue announces that his sworn brothers will come for a visit.

To say that Mo Xuanyu panics would be an understatement.

Mo Xuanyu trusts Nie Mingjue, but he loves Lan Xichen like a brother, and Lan Xichen loves Jin Guangyao, so should Jin Guangyao really want to see him gone then Nie Mingjue—he would—he will—

“Breathe,” Nie Mingjue suddenly says, his hand on Mo Xuanyu’s neck again and Mo Xuanyu takes a shuddering breath.

“Don’t give me back,” Mo Xuanyu whispers as he clutches at Nie Mingjue’s forearm. “Please, don’t.”

“There is nowhere to give you back to,” Nie Mingjue tells him and squeezes his neck. “You’re my disciple. What was before doesn’t matter. You’re with me now.”

Mo Xuanyu closes his eyes at those words, and lets out something that sounds too much like a sob.

“You’re safe with me, Xuanyu,” Nie Mingjue reiterates again and Mo Xuanyu never had much reason to trust anyone, but he trusts him.

If Nie Mingjue says he’s safe, then he is.

“Okay,” he agrees and Nie Mingjue nods at him. “But I can be safe from very far away, right?” Mo Xuanyu asks, only half joking and Nie Mingjue frowns at him.

“You’re my right hand, Xuanyu. You’re going to be there.”

Mo Xuanyu had known that would be the answer, of course he had, because Nie Mingjue trusted him more than he maybe should, considering that he only came to the Nie Sect a few months ago, and so he only gives a resigned nod.

“Of course I am,” he whispers and Nie Mingjue gives him a blinding smile.

“Good. Then just imagine how much he’s going to hate to see you at my side, and let that carry you through the day,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Mo Xuanyu has to admit, that thought is more than entertaining.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, careful to keep his voice low enough that Nie Mingjue can pretend not to have heard him, since Mo Xuanyu is still a little bit afraid that Nie Mingjue is going to snap one day.

Old habits die hard, Mo Xuanyu thinks, and even when Nie Huaisang repeatedly tells him that he has nothing to fear from his da-ge, Mo Xuanyu can sometimes hardly believe he’s right.

“I have to be with a brother like Huaisang and a right hand man like you,” Nie Mingjue gives back, his attention already on the letter, informing him of Lan Xichen’s and Jin Guangyao’s visit. “You would overthrow me in a second if I weren’t.”

Mo Xuanyu has to admit that maybe Nie Mingjue is right, but he still has Nie Zonghui by his side.

Sure, he adores Nie Huaisang and he seems to like Mo Xuanyu well enough, too, but Mo Xuanyu has no doubt that his first priority will always be Nie Mingjue.

“Not if your guard dog gets us first,” Mo Xuanyu says, mainly to keep his thoughts away from the impending visit, and he can feel Nie Zonghui’s glare in his back.

“Careful,” Nie Mingjue mutters. “He bites.”

Mo Xuanyu sticks out his tongue when he’s certain Nie Mingjue won’t see it and then he goes off to prepare for the visit of Nie Mingjue’s sworn brothers.

So far he managed to stay out of Jin Guangyao’s eyes when he dropped by, but of course that had to end at some point.

Lan Xichen knows he’s here after all, and Mo Xuanyu is under no impression that he told Jin Guangyao about it as well.

So far he hasn’t reacted to that, but Mo Xuanyu’s luck had to run out at some point.

He just hopes he can survive this meeting.

~*~*~

“Would you just trust me,” Nie Mingjue whispers from where they are waiting at the gate for Lan Xichen’s and Jin Guangyao’s arrival, when Mo Xuanyu continues to shift behind him.

“I do,” Mo Xuanyu gives back, and he’s surprised to find that he means it, too. “It’s him I don’t trust.”

Nie Mingjue mutters “Fair enough” under his breath, right before Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao come into sight.

Lan Xichen is smiling brightly at both of them, but Jin Guangyao’s eyes immediately fall on Mo Xuanyu and Mo Xuanyu has to fight the urge to run away and hide.

“Da-ge!” Lan Xichen greets Nie Mingjue and gently elbows Jin Guangyao when he’s not quick enough to follow.

“Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao dutifully says, much more subdued than Lan Xichen, and his eyes never leave Mo Xuanyu.

“I see that illegitimate children are held in high esteem here,” Jin Guangyao snarls when Mo Xuanyu doesn’t cower under his gaze like he surely expected him to.

“I give everyone the same chance,” Nie Mingjue easily gives back. “Even to sons of whores,” he tacks on and then turns around to lead them into the hall.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t see the hate flare up on Jin Guangyao’s face, but Mo Xuanyu learned to fear that look, so he instantly recognizes it, and he keeps his head bowed as he follows them.

Once they are all settled down, Mo Xuanyu watches with growing unease how Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue update each other on the important news, while Jin Guangyao keeps silent.

At least until his first cup of tea is gone.

“Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says, rather rudely interrupting Lan Xichen’s and Nie Mingjue’s conversation.

“Yes?” Nie Mingjue asks, but by the tension in his shoulders Mo Xuanyu can tell that this is what he was waiting for.

“Are you not aware of who this person to your right is?” Jin Guangyao asks and Nie Mingjue makes it a whole thing to look surprised and turn big eyes on Mo Xuanyu.

“Him? Should I?” he innocently asks and Mo Xuanyu has to press his lips together to hide his smile.

Nie Mingjue can be such a troll sometimes.

“Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao chides him and Mo Xuanyu shivers with the condescending tone.

Old habits die hard indeed.

“He’s Mo Xuanyu. You should have heard what he did. I have personal grievances with him and yet you make him stand there. I shouldn’t have to endure that, not after what he did.”

Mo Xuanyu is in the process of shrinking in on himself, when Nie Mingjue picks up his cup and toasts Jin Guangyao.

“I have personal grievances with you, too, and yet I am serving you tea. We all have to deal with things we don’t want to. Things change, and you should make sure to adapt to them,” Nie Mingjue pleasantly says, and now Mo Xuanyu is trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

“Da-ge,” Lan Xichen chides Nie Mingjue, who doesn’t even try to look apologetic.

“What? It’s true,” Nie Mingjue says to Lan Xichen and then expertly changes the topic.

Mo Xuanyu isn’t mentioned again, and for that, he’s thankful.

~*~*~

Lan Xichen had to leave rather abruptly shortly before dinner, and he seems as worried about leaving Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue alone as Mo Xuanyu feels.

It’s not a good combination, especially not after what happened over tea.

“Come, let me play for you, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says after a beat of awkward silence and Nie Mingjue glares at him as if he wants to say no. “Er-ge instructed me to play well for you today,” Jin Guangyao tacks on and just like Jin Guangyao clearly expected, Nie Mingjue sinks down on his seat.

“Fine,” he bites out and Jin Guangyao smiles his most smarmy smile at him.

Mo Xuanyu wants to punch it off his face.

“We should be alone for it,” Jin Guangyao says, his eyes finding Mo Xuanyu. “We can’t be disturbed.”

Mo Xuanyu is not going to leave Nie Mingjue alone with Jin Guangyao, but after a heavy sigh, Nie Mingjue nods.

“Xuanyu, go find Nie Huaisang,” he instructs him, and Mo Xuanyu wants to argue, wants to tell him that there is no way in hell that he’s going to leave him alone with this snake, but Nie Mingjue seems tired all of a sudden and Mo Xuanyu knows that his qi deviations have gotten worse over the last months.

“Fine,” he says and bows, before he takes his leave.

Except, he doesn’t leave.

He waits until he’s out of sight and then he turns back, lingering just behind a door, so he can hear everything without being seen.

He does not trust Jin Guangyao.

And rightfully so, it seems, when the song Jin Guangyao plays Nie Mingjue turns into something more sinister; turns into something that Lan Xichen most definitely never played for Nie Mingjue.

Mo Xuanyu waits for a few moments, just to make sure that he’s not accusing Jin Guangyao for nothing, but when his headache from the infused spiritual energy gets too much, he knows that he has to do something.

The goal of this music is not to calm Nie Mingjue down.

Mo Xuanyu gets up from where he was hiding and marches into the hall, almost running, trying for an urgent look on his face.

“Nie Mingjue!” he calls out and Jin Guangyao’s playing ends with a discordant note.

“What?” Nie Mingjue bellows and between one blink and the next Baxia is in his hands and pointing at Mo Xuanyu, while a satisfied smirk crosses Jin Guangyao’s face.

Well, Mo Xuanyu is not going to give him the satisfaction of dying here.

“Nie Zonghui ran into a problem at the training grounds,” Mo Xuanyu lies straight through his teeth, because this is one of the few things that will get Nie Mingjue’s attention.

Nie Zonghui is the most capable person Mo Xuanyu has ever seen; if he ran into a problem, Nie Mingjue will want to go investigating immediately.

“He asks for your presence.”

“How dare you,” Nie Mingjue presses out through clenched teeth and Mo Xuanyu can see the first signs of an impending qi deviation.

He has to react quickly now.

“Mingjue, it’s just me,” Mo Xuanyu says and forces himself to be smaller than he actually is. “You said I’m with you now. You said I’d be safe with you,” he whispers and Nie Mingjue blinks two, three times, but in the end he lowers Baxia.

“Xuanyu,” he mutters and he shakes his head as if to clear it. “What problem?”

“At the training grounds,” Mo Xuanyu says with a nod, noting the slight tension of Jin Guangyao’s jaw, how he narrows his eyes at him. “Come with me.”

“Lead the way,” Nie Mingjue says, but he sounds unsteady, and Mo Xuanyu wishes he could simply strangle Jin Guangyao.

How dare he try to take the one good thing in Mo Xuanyu’s life away from him.

Mo Xuanyu doesn’t actually allow both of their backs to be turned towards Jin Guangyao, so he let’s Nie Mingjue wander off by himself as he forces himself to bow to Jin Guangyao.

“If you would excuse us, I think it’s best to return to your Sect,” he politely forces out and is met with one of the falsest smiles he has ever seen on Jin Guangyao’s face.

“Sure,” he says and his tone makes a shiver run down Mo Xuanyu’s back. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Nie Zonghui. Or Nie Mingjue for that matter.”

Mo Xuanyu has half a mind to kill him on the spot but then Jin Guangyao turns around and leaves.

He doesn’t even take his offensive guqin with him.

Mo Xuanyu glares after him for a long moment, before Nie Mingjue calls for him from the hallway.

“Mo Xuanyu, where are you? Let’s go!”

Mo Xuanyu hurries out to him and then pushes him into the next unoccupied room instead of leading him out to the training grounds.

“What are you doing?” Nie Mingjue asks, and some of the anger from before must still be left, because he’s glaring hard at Mo Xuanyu.

“Saving your life,” Mo Xuanyu hisses and then, after he made sure that no one is lingering in the hallway, he whirls around to Nie Mingjue.

“What about Zonghui? He needs help.”

“He doesn’t,” Mo Xuanyu gives back. “I have only been here for a few months but I doubt the guy has ever needed help with anything.”

“What is going on here?” Nie Mingjue asks and Mo Xuanyu forces him to sit down.

“How are you feeling?”

“I have a headache,” Nie Mingjue admits and then looks at his hands. “I was close to a qi deviation, wasn’t I?” he then quietly asks and Mo Xuanyu takes a deep breath.

“Yes. And I am guessing it’s because of the music Jin Guangyao plays you,” he admits and Nie Mingjue looks questioningly at him.

“But Xichen plays me the same music,” he argues but Mo Xuanyu shakes his head.

“He doesn’t. There’s a part in the middle, a part he heavily infuses with spiritual energy, that is different from what Lan Xichen plays you.”

“Are you sure?” Nie Mingjue asks and Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes.

“Not all of us are as tone deaf as you are,” Mo Xuanyu tells him and Nie Mingjue sighs like only an older brother can.

“You sound exactly like Huaisang,” he complains and Mo Xuanyu shrugs.

“Maybe you’ll listen to me then,” he mutters and then takes a deep breath. “Your temper has gotten worse since he plays for you, right?”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue admits. “I—did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t,” Mo Xuanyu rushes to reassure him. “You stopped before anything could happen.”

“Xichen will have to drop by more often, if Jin Guangyao can’t play for me anymore,” Nie Mingjue whispers, and Mo Xuanyu knows how much it irks Nie Mingjue to take up so much of his friend’s time.

“I’m not too bad with an instrument,” Mo Xuanyu says and looks down at his hands. “And thanks to Nie Zonghui’s training I’m not as weak as before. I could—learn, if you’d be okay with that?”

Nie Mingjue stares at him in surprise, and Mo Xuanyu is about to take it back, just to make Nie Mingjue stop looking at him like that, but then he smiles at him.

“You, Xuanyu,” Nie Mingjue says and puts his hand on Mo Xuanyu’s neck to rest their foreheads together, “are a saint sent from the gods.”

The sentiment is so ridiculous it startles a laugh from Mo Xuanyu, but Nie Mingjue only continues to steadily look at him, and soon enough the laugh fades from Mo Xuanyu’s lips.

“If anyone should be saying that, it should be me,” he protests, because there is no doubt in Mo Xuanyu’s mind that without Nie Mingjue, he’d long be dead by now.

“I’m only repaying a debt,” Mo Xuanyu mutters and has to fight back some tears when Nie Mingjue lightly squeezes his neck in warning.

“You’re not,” Nie Mingjue says, “because there is nothing you owe. You’re a valued member of my Sect and there is nothing you have to repay.“

“You’re too good to me,” Mo Xuanyu whispers and if he leans a little bit heavier against Nie Mingjue, then there’s no one around to judge him for it.

“I am just as good as you deserve,” Nie Mingjue replies and tilts his head to brush his lips over Mo Xuanyu’s cheek.

Mo Xuanyu blushes furiously, he can feel it, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t say anything to his more than obviously red cheeks.

“Now let’s see if we can convince Lan Xichen to teach you the song,” Nie Mingjue then decidedly says and gets up.

Mo Xuanyu knows that the incident with Jin Guangyao is not forgotten, but that Nie Mingjue needs a few days to come to terms with it, to fully accept it.

And until that happens—and until they decide on a course of action—Mo Xuanyu will stay right by Nie Mingjue’s side.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #beetober 2020 #untamed fall fest #mo xuanyu #nie mingjue #the untamed #mdzs #pre-slash #hurt/comfort #jgy's scheming #song of clarity/turmoil #fluff #a new home

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jefferoni-quotes · 4 years

Text

hotter than this heatwave

Jamilton, 13,045 words

I am begging y'all, don't let this flop it took an ungodly amount of time and I am so proud of it. Full fic under the cut.

Also, leave feedback! I love reading what you guys thought of my writing!

Hamilton is hot.

There’s no other way to say it. He’s hot, miserably so. Even with the air conditioner full blast, and a fan directed straight into his face, he’s simply sweltering in the heat. His childish refusal to remove his shirt (even in the privacy of his own home) isn’t helping the sweat cease in their races down his back, and the base of his ponytail sticks to his neck. He grimaces every time he even tries to move, and thus he’s resided himself to the expanse of couch, positioned himself under an open window. But there’s no breeze, none reaching him anyway. If he lifts himself on his shaking arms, and peers out the window, he can see the trees aren’t swaying. The leaves bustle occasionally, but it’s far from the usual dance they perform. He can hear all too clearly conversations, chatter from those subjecting themselves to the summer heat. Perhaps Alexander is more a winter person, ever since he had moved to America he had been, after all, he saw snow, something he thought only existed in movies, and immediately fell in love with the season. Being able to choose if he was to be pleasantly warm, or surprisingly cold during winter was an experience. To have the option of curling up like a cat by the fire, or lying in snow, making snowmen and such. And Christmas dinners- Alexander could go on and on for hours about the wonders of the coldest time of year, alas Hercules would disagree, argue Summer was so much better. But Hercules is Irish, he has enough of the cold to last him a lifetime. Now Hamilton would bet the man wishes he had just held his tongue, because he must be suffering in the heat too.

Fuck heatwaves, and fuck New York.

He thinks to himself as he throws a cushion across the room in frustration. It hits his air conditioning unit, and before he knows it the apartment is plunged into a volcano. The unit malfunctions, turns off and doesn’t turn back on, even when Alexander shoots up from his languid position and desperately tries to fix it. He beats his fist off the top with pent up frustration, sincerely hoping that magically it would be fixed. Alas, it was not, it gave one last spluttering attempt to turn on before dying with a not so graceful clank. What sin has he committed to be tortured in such a way? It feels as though Satan himself is clawing his way up from the circles of Hell, and has declared Alexander’s apartment his spawn point, where the Heaven vs Hell war will begin. Whatever war is about to commence, Alex is on Satan’s team, as God must have something against him to send this wave of heat his way.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking the machine and cursing even louder at the shock of pain coursing through his toes. He clutches his foot, hopping around his apartment like some hurt rabbit and hisses through clenched teeth. He finally jumps his way ungracefully back to his couch, collapsing onto it in one foul swoop. His legs involuntarily give out under him, and he’s almost thankful for it as he half considers stripping out of his shirt, aching for some kind of relief. He starts tugging on the hem of his shirt, mulling over the idea before pushing his own hands away in disgust. A respectable man always remains fully dressed for any occasion. What if a visitor were to come by? He would likely demand their exit from his home, but he would at least like to do so in style.

The rooms are quick to grow stuffy, uncomfortable and as though the walls are too close and getting closer. Suddenly removing any clothing is a thought long forgotten, quickly replaced by the innate desperation to escape the closed doors of his apartment. He scrambles for purchase on the arm of his couch before forcing his muscles to revive and motor him towards the exit. He passes by his kitchen, opens the fridge for a moment just to feel the coolness on his body. He closes the door before all his food defrosts, albeit reluctantly. He would stand there all day if he could. Leaving the kitchen, he examines how his kettle has evaporated of all remaining water inside. There goes Plan B of making iced coffee, or worse, iced tea. Who could subject themselves to the bath water like clutches of cold tea? Disgusting.

He doesn’t stop to grab sunscreen, doesn’t consider sunburn a thing as he grabs his keys and shoves them in the pocket of his ratty cargo shorts. He pushes his feet into sandals, Birkenstocks, brown ones. He half contemplated putting socks on with his sandals, and automatically laughs at how much that would irritate Jefferson if he just so happened to run into him. The man is obsessed with his looks, conceited and vain in every way. Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if the man carries a pocket mirror on him, just to examine his appearance and remind himself of how goddamn gorgeous he is. Because he is gorgeous. Alexander is stubborn, not blind, and even he can admit the things he would give up for a fling with the man. His pride would never allow him to plead Jefferson for a one night stand however, and he knew Jefferson would never come to him, so that fantasy may as well remain just that. A fantasy.

So he leaves the socks behind, but not because he cares what others think. Of course he doesn’t… simply because socks would just be extra layers. He doesn’t care if people think his hair is a mess, which it is, so he drags his hand through it. The hand comes back damp, and he grimaces, wiping it on the tan material of his shorts. And he certainly doesn’t care that one of the buckles on his sandals is about to break. He glares at it, willing it to sew itself back together. It does not. Hamilton sighs and folds, giving up on attempting to appear presentable. It’s not like anyone else outside looks much better, save for the few teenagers posing on the streets in incredibly short shorts with a Starbucks they probably waited an hour for.

Alexander practically throws his door open and is met with a pleasurable breeze as it swings, which quickly dissipates into a blast of scorching air, as though opening an oven too quickly. You would think after being born in such a humid climate he would’ve grown used to the hot weather. Apparently, this was a false assumption. He fishes his keys back out of his shorts and locks the door, standing out in the lobby of his apartment complex.

Now that he’s escaped the confinement of his home, Hamilton doesn’t know what to do. He could run down to Starbucks, take his mind off the heat with an ice cold Frappuccino. However, that would only distract him for a moment, perhaps an hour, until every drop of coffee has been drunk, and he’s left with an empty cup and a smoldering heat once more. And besides, if he's so desperate for an iced coffee then he could just make his own. That idea drains down the gutter, because he doesn't have any ice and there's no way water would freeze very fast in this temperament. He can briskly walk to work if he so pleases, despite being ordered to stay off, but that would require changing into a suit and now that he thinks about it… does his office even have air conditioning?

A long, broken sigh escapes his lips and he drags a hand through his hair, which has grown ever so slightly damp with sweat. Maybe a walk to clear his head, and if he strolls in the right direction, the wind will hit him perfectly and he should cool down.

He accepts this as the perfect idea and walks his way out onto the street, practically able to feel the burning tarmac through the soles of his sandals. He hopes there are no poor dogs or felines roaming the streets, or on daily walks on this day. The pavement would be far too much for their paws. Alexander feels which way the warm breeze is flowing and begins to trek directly into it, finding a sense of overwhelming relief at the sensation. (Even if it is relatively brief.)

Alexander’s feet carry him wherever they please, walking him down long streets, past empty stores. He stops to glance into a bustling Starbucks, hears through the glass a man screeching at a barista who is refusing to take his order because, “no shirt, no service.” He continues past, rather glad he had decided not to go inside, as it looks far too crowded, even for a small man such as himself.

His strides are short but swift, floating him along the streets with an air of confidence that he is known to possess. It is undeniably cooler outside, a welcome surprise as a gust of wind blows his hair from his face. He hears the simultaneous sighs of alleviation from the few on the streets, clearly walking around for the same reason as Hamilton.

Time ticks by and Alexander allows his mind to wander, as it all too often does when he gives it the chance. His thoughts speed past a mile a minute, tempting his brain to consider them longer, grabbing them like falling petals before letting them drift to the ground and blow away once more.

He passes through Time Square, finding it bustling, more so than he had imagined. However, it’s not ‘Christmas Crowded’, the eloquent name given to Time Square by Lafayette for when the area becomes full at the most amazing time of year. He makes his way past people, brushing shoulders and probably contracting some undiscovered disease off of some of them. It’s New York, he wouldn’t be surprised. He jumps out of his skin when some man behind him traces their fingers up his spine, but when he turns around the person is gone, laughing to their friends. He scowls, half considers shaking his fist and exclaiming about “kids these days!” But he doesn’t, he just shivers despite being roasted alive and continues on his way.

He spaces out again, wondering about work and then he doesn't know what he starts thinking about. But in his head he can picture a man. A man with a jawline that could cut glass, eyes blacker than the depths of the sea, yet shining as though filled with fire. He can see springy curls, imagines himself running his fingers through the mystery man's hair and cooing as he mumbles his disagreements. He sees a dark complexion, sharp cheekbones, with soft edges. The colour purple is prominent in his clothing, and it takes a moment further for Alexander to identify the male in his mind.

He zones back in as soon as he realises he's thinking about Jefferson. Again. He's thinking about Jefferson in a good way, thinking about doing couple things, about dates. And he grimaces. He convinces himself it's just a fluke, only because he sees Jefferson every day at work.

He starts checking the watch on his wrist, which is starting to heat up in the sunlight. It’s been almost an hour and forty five minutes since he began walking, and he checks the number on the street. It’s all okay. He can always catch a cab. He looks around and finds himself no longer in the bustling parts of New York, but instead part of a classy suburban area. Rows of white picket fencing and neat little gardens, full of wilting flowers meet his eyes. In the lawns of a few are men and women of all ages tending to the plants, feeding them with water to try and keep them going through the unbearable summer heat.

All the homes are different colours, some a perfectly average, cream white, others slightly more lavish baby blues. There’s one where the exterior walls are a glowing lemon colour, and it fills Alexander with an unexplained wave of joy. Then again, the colour yellow always has. It feels warm, welcoming, like a friendship long awaited. Something that has awakened the craving in him that demands the enveloping arms of a smothering hug.

A child - probably around eight - runs down the street, being chased by who looks like his friend. The girl racing after him knocks him to the side and he goes down on a patch of grass, flat on his back while his friend stands over him with a look of pure pride. Her curls bob as she jumps up and down beside him with glee, and Alexander observes as the boy stands. They lean against the tree beside them for a moment, before he mutters something and this time the girl takes off sprinting, the boy following five seconds later. He chuckles at the purity of the situation and takes it upon himself to continue his walk. It’s warmer than ever, but he doesn’t care as much anymore.

The kids race ahead, the girl much further ahead until she stops. Alexander observes from the sidelines as he walks, and the boy taps her on the shoulder. They stand there, childlike joy radiating from their area.

Alexander breezes past them, halfway down the stretch of street. The houses grow larger than the previous as he continues to walk, yet still feel as homely. An amazing feat really. He can hear the soft patting of his Birkenstocks as they tap off the pavement each time his feet hit the floor. A car trundles past, down the street, at what must be 10 miles an hour, giving kids on the road time to move out the way. He doesn't catch a glimpse of the driver, but he has respect for them nonetheless.

As he passes a large, pastel green house, a tall woman exits her garden. She’s old, that much is obvious, but she doesn’t live up to the ‘little old lady’ aesthetic. She’s tall, she’s not hunched and the only part that gives away her age is the wrinkles lining her face. She brushes a grey curl from her face, tying back her hair afterwards. She’s mumbling under her breath, something that sounds like, “it starts soon! The concert!” And for a moment he feels awfully bad for her, thinking she has Alzheimer’s or something similar.

She has a thick Southern accent, and reminds him of Jefferson in a way. Her curls are similar, perhaps not as bouncy or as soft looking (in fact the only similar thing is that they’re curls,) but it has the same obvious care put into maintaining their pristine appearance. Her skin tone isn’t at all similar to his however, she’s pale while Jefferson’s complexion is almost tawny in a way. He can’t see her eyes from where he stands, but if they’re anything like Jefferson’s, then they must be dark, and perhaps they sparkle like his does when he gets passionate about what he’s speaking of… And when did he start thinking about Jefferson so much? Why does he know Jefferson’s eyes glimmer in certain lighting, or burn with a fire when they argue? Why is he paying so much attention to the man's pupils, and how they fail to hide the emotions his stone-cold face manages to maintain? When did he begin to study his rival so closely that he noticed all these oddities? Little details; like the way his lips twitch into a soft smile when talking to Madison, or recalling fondly his time in Monticello. Or now his eyebrows quirk upwards whenever Alexander opens his mouth to speak during meetings, conveying his irritation, yet innate fascination with the words flooding the room. How does he know that Jefferson’s curls would be soft to touch, without ever being close enough to feel them between his fingertips. Why does he feel that the man could go pliant with a scratch to the right place of his scalp? Where did all this knowledge come from? The depths of his bustling mind-palace? Or is it some fountain of information that Alexander and few others have access to? Is there some key to access the quirks about Jefferson, a key that he has? Or does he simply have the mould, a fragmented ideology of a key? Has Jefferson personally handed him this key, trusted him with it? Or has Hamilton snatched it from his clutches like a criminal from an off-guard prison warden? To think of it, why does Jefferson - the ever flowing river of confidence - stash his emotions away, hiding them like a gold hoarding dragon in a cave. He sits on them as though a mother bird would protect her eggs. He keeps them unseen to the passing onlooker. Is he scared? The idea is ridiculous. Thomas Jefferson? Scared? Hell would freeze over before the moment Jefferson is frightened. Or is anxious a better word? Why does he covet to know what it’s like to wake up secured in those arms? (God those arms.) Why does his head claw for the intelligence to feel Jefferson? (Whether that be a warm hug or a simple swing of their hands, linked together?) Why is Alexander asking himself all these questions? Why is his brain grasping and reaching for the answers, as though the forbidden apple that he craves a bite of.

Why does he care?

It’s a recurring thought, one that his mind cannot seem to formulate a complete answer to. Perhaps because it’s the nice thing to do? But no, fantasizing about someone’s eyes like some schoolgirl is not a “nice thing to do.” It’s a crush, is what it is. Wanting to know more about Jefferson, seeking the answers to his many personal questions is not simply because it’s a nice thing to do. It’s because he needs the answers. His mind demands he become closer with the man, the vain, uncaring man. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Out of all the people his heart could sing a yearning song for, it chose Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Why has his attention been undeniably captured, held hostage, by the Southern fuck?

This one, he can justify. It’s a simple answer really, one that is half the solution to his hundreds of other questions, the ones that buzz in his ears like insistent flies. And it’s two words, one word if you so wish to keep it incredibly succinct.

His wit.

His brain, his intelligence only matched and rivalled by Hamilton’s own. The way his fingers tap out word after word on keyboards, or scratch out essays upon essays onto paper with pens, pencils, whatever he can get his hands on. His intense expanse of knowledge that spans from American finance, to Shakespearean literature. His ability to argue and debate and speak for hours and hours with Alexander without losing his pace. The way his mind formulates sentence after sentence where he debates and there’s a fiery, yet somehow icy cold, passion in his tone. The fact that Hamilton finally has an equal. Where it’s unlike arguing against Burr, a stone wall of indifference. Jefferson is a stone wall that Alexander knows exactly how to make crumble. And he does. Over and over, yet Jefferson keeps rebuilding, stronger than before. He makes Alexander fight for his right to get his ideas across and as much as if pisses him off… he can’t deny that he loves it. He adores having to work his way up, enjoys knocking away obstacles that continue to respawn. What’s life without a little competition after all? Alexander enjoys hiking, and Jefferson is the ultimate mountain to climb.

But he wants more. He needs to know more about this mysterious man. He wants to know what it’s like to share sweet moments with him, wishes to be granted passage to his heart. He wants the key to be given to him, not stolen away. He wants Jefferson to trust him. He wants to know his talents, his skills, his hopes, his dreams. He wants to know about his past, his present and his future. Wants to know his real personality, the one he has secured in a vault. Because Alexander is stubborn, this much as already been said, but he’s not stupid. He can see the twitch in his fingers, the brief panic that flashes through the man's dark eyes whenever he has to present in Congress. He can hear the way he stumbles and stammers his way through speeches, as though he’s ready off a particularly shitty script. It’s only when they debate, when they argue with that familiar intensity, that the inferno is let loose. And Alexander is happy to be consumed in its flames.

The thoughts are almost enough to frighten him. The way they consume his constantly changing mind until he can think of nothing else. The burning heat in the air has been forgotten, replaced with a searing, white-hot pain through his chest. A heart attack maybe? More likely a soul attack. Hamilton uses his clairvoyance, he isn’t stupid. He knows this crush has been around since the day they had met. Since the first inklings of their argumentative ways. The kindling that sparked a fiery rivalry. One sure to last a lifetime. Well, maybe on Jefferson’s end. Alexander has felt this way, this white hot pain for a while, but now his body registers it and it hits all at once. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick in the balls. It’s never hurt this much. Not with Aaron, not with John, not even with Eliza. The three most important relationships of his life had never been this intense, and he and Jefferson aren’t even together. Perhaps that’s what caused the pain to harm him so much. The craving of a thing he can’t have.

He gets the same feeling, the same way he felt around his other relationships. With Aaron, it was calm, predictable. It was boring. He needed more, he needed a spark, something he could bounce off of and then melt together. Aaron was grey. Monotone, and straight lined. He was a man who needed something still. He required security and promises to stay the way they were. But Alexander was a storm, unpredictable and wild and fully intent on ravaging the waters, while what Burr really needed was a lighthouse. Someone who was a beacon of light to shine him to the right place. Hamilton could never provide that.

John had been close. He had been orange. Intense, swirling like a fire, like a burning heat. But not enough. He was too quick to back down, to agree and leave arguments unsettled. He didn’t put up enough of a fight, backed down from debates and left Alexander with many more points to push across. They had the same opinions, there was no need for a friendly debate. It just wasn’t enough for him. There was passion, but not in the way Alexander’s heart craved. John needed something grounding, someone to match his intensity with a cute yellow or a fellow orange. And he found that, he found that in Peggy and Alexander was happy to watch him go. He wanted his orange to be happy.

The third person had been blue. Eliza was the sea and the sky. She was beautiful and calm and swaying. She was helpful and loving, quick to input her opinion only to retract it later on. Alexander had thought she was perfect. She was, Eliza was perfect. But Alexander was not. Blue didn’t mix right with whatever colour Alexander was. Blue turned dark and foreboding, into something he didn’t want to experience. Their fire had been wrong, and if Eliza was the ocean, then Hamilton was the smoke on the water clouding her. She needed a similar colour, a green like the Earth whom she could surround and heal. Or another blue to swim with. It appeared Alexander was neither of those.

But Jefferson. Jefferson was different. He was intense and angry and punched out. He was red. A dark crimson that demanded attention at all times. A matching light to Alex’s own. They bounced off each other, before they crashed together in a mess of colours, an abstract painting of similarities. Jefferson was passionate, he had an intensity that matched Alexander’s previously unrivalled one, and he loved it. He loved red. Red was the colour he needed, the colour that felt best in his heart of hearts. And that’s when he knew that he was red too, that he was a candy red. He was bright and flashing and Jefferson was dark and mysterious and together they were perfect. Together they formed a shade of undiscovered colour.

That’s what Alexander needed. He needed his red. Everyone else had theirs! It was his turn! It was finally his shot to find love, and he had no intentions of throwing it away.

In his time thinking, he’s almost completely forgotten the putrid heat, and the fact that the woman from before is walking down the street just a foot or two away from him. She’s brisk, in a hurry clearly, occasionally checking the time on her surprisingly high class smart-phone. In fact, another person joins him on his venture down the street, the little girl from before, but without her friend. And if he thought the woman reminded him of Jefferson, then this girl is the spitting image of him. Same hair, but longer and tied into puffy pigtails, the same wide and toothy smile as she taps Alexander on the side.

“Hey there, Mr!” She waves, and the first thing he can think is Stranger Danger. Did this girl's parents never teach her the importance of not talking to random people on the streets? “I’ve never seen you round here before, are you lost?” He supposes that he sort of is. He doesn’t know his way home, but somehow he’s not concerned. He can call a cab, or an Uber or Lyft. There are plenty of ways for him to arrive back home. But the fact that she asks him this is evident that this is one of those neighbourhoods. One where “everyone knows everyone.” Which is sweet, but annoying, because now he stands out. He wants to blend in with the crowd for once, but as he looks around, that’s been impossible for a while. He notices everyone out in their gardens or on the streets are white, which is expected at this point. It’s a flaw in the American housing system, one that he should bring up in Congress. Perhaps he could get Jefferson to support him for once, team up even. That’s the dream.

He hasn’t said much for a few seconds, and the kid looks up at him with large, expectant eyes. “Oh, I’m not lost, no. Just going for a walk,” he nods gently and she seems to understand. He thinks she’s just going to run off after receiving an answer, but she seems insistent to interrogate Alexander a little more.

She hums to herself, “what’s your name?” She asks ever so superficially, like an employer ready to write someone up for bad behaviour or poor customer service. Alexander knows those write ups all too well, it’s the reason he’s been forced off work today, something he was happy to let happen as soon as the heatwave hit. Work doesn’t have good air conditioning, if it has air conditioning at all.

“Alexander,” he answers with a flick of his head, casting his glance to the sky. They’re still walking, nearing the end of the street. The old lady has stopped, and the little girl has too, which subsequently has Hamilton stopping. He looks down at her, chin tilted down as she glares up. She seems livid at his name, and he wonders what he’s done wrong until he realises she’s staring directly into the sun as she tries to suss him out. Her gaze is warm and welcoming however, childlike and pure and it’s a nice break from the cool stares he’s used to.

She nods happily, “my name's Patsy, I’m eight,” she grins and turns on her heel, casting one final look over her shoulder. “I’m going to play, if my Pops leaves the house tell him that’s what I’m doing!” She runs off, leaving Alexander wondering who her father is. The old lady is leaning on the fence of the house in front of him, glancing up to an open window. She looks like an NPC in a video game, purposefully placed in a specific spot just for unimportant exposition. Alexander is an expert in certain video games, and if her position isn’t just begging for him to go interact with her. She seems as though she may have some enchanted knowledge to pass down onto him, maybe even a cherry pie recipe if he’s lucky.

He walks over to her side, resting his forearms on the flat tops of the white fence. The house in front of him is painted a soft violet, it’s pretty. There’s neat rows of tulips and petunias in the lawn, which is freshly trimmed so it seems. There are bushes in the middle of the grass, cut into a point. Everything is seamless, blending together. It’s homely and calm, and Alexander smiles. The woman is smiling too. He glances at other things in the garden. Tucked away into the left corner by the porch is a barbecue, and not too far from that a wooden bench. There are thin cushions resting on it, but no one sits there. The lights in the house are off, the windows open along with the curtains. But when he looks in, he sees no one. Then again, he can only see directly into the window and up, so anything at the other end of the room is out of sight. Perhaps he should’ve worn his glasses today, unable to see very far in front of his face. In the driveway is a family car, a blue Chevrolet still spongy with a few soap studs. Newly washed, he notes.

“It starts soon,” the elder comments, gesturing vaguely to the home before them. So she’s not an NPC. Alexander can’t put his finger on if that’s annoying or perfect, because he doesn’t have to start the conversation.

Yet his interest has been piqued, he was always a curious soul. It gets him into fits of trouble occasionally, but for now it seems as though the only thing he can get out of it is an intriguing talk. “What’s starting?” He asks quietly, tone low. His lips are dry, and he smacks them together to coat them with saliva to hopefully stop them cracking.

“The concert,” she answers, as though it’s the most typical thing in the world. Alexander is about to open his mouth to argue against that fact, to insinuate that a concert happening in someone’s home is ridiculous - (Even if all the Disney Channel movies taught him otherwise.) - but the woman is talking again. “Tommy always plays at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.” She seems transfixed, and every time Alexander tries to speak she hushes him. She holds up her hand to silence him, and it gives him the same feeling George Washington gives him, authority radiates from her and Alex finds himself actually shutting up. It’s two fifty-nine now, and he’s waiting for the music to start from this mysterious “Tommy.”

He’s impatient, and authority only hushes him for so long. He fidgets, picks paint off the fence and then speaks. “When does it start?” He hisses, bored. Come on, it’s three! Almost at least.

“I told you, he plays at three.”

“It is three!” Alexander whines pathetically, crossing his arms over. He’s stood still in wait for long enough, and if music doesn’t start in the next thirty seconds he’s going to walk away and never look back. He’s all set to move when the lady grabs him by the shoulder.

She hisses, “it’s starting!”

And indeed it is. Through the open windows, pouring out the house are the sweet chords of an expert violinist. It’s a harmony, seems sad, longing almost. The melody starts slow, and carefully picks up pace as it goes. He can only imagine who the player is, male or female it doesn’t matter. His mind whirs with ideas, forming the musician in his mind.

Their hands would grip the bow with precision, glide across the strings with a focussed expression. He can see their- no, his, eyes turned down to the instrument, pupils darkening as they get lost in the notes. The violin is balanced on his shoulder, tucked under his chin and his hair falls into his view but he keeps playing. The straight, actually, it’s curly. The ringlets of curls are brushed away quickly, in one movement as he continues to play.

Alexander spaces out, losing himself to the music. It appears the lady beside him does the same, but he can’t be sure. He tries to put a colour on the tone of it, tries to decipher the meaning behind the song. The violin fades into an instrumental where it’s clear the player should be singing, but they don’t. He tries to picture a face, going as far as to close his eyes and block out everything but his own imagination and the melody flowing to him. It’s like a siren call, coaxing him towards sudden death. And Alexander is all too happy to submit to the urges.

He finds a face, dark eyes, curls, complexion. Once again he’s picturing Jefferson. Over and over the man comes to mind. He tries to push him away, attempts to imagine someone else standing in the home and playing just for him. But it’s futile. And the song does feel like it’s for him. It feels like it matches the music his heart sings, the yearning harmony that lathers his soul is rivalled by this player. By Jefferson. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the violinist, so he’s free to picture whoever he pleases.

He’s sweating, it’s the heat, it must be. His palms that are clenched into fists by his sides are coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his forehead growing damp again. He makes no effort to wipe it away, he lets the heat sweep over him. He allows the flames to engulf him, the chords of the song floating to him still.

But as soon as it’s begun, it ends. The violin fades out, leaving the music buzzing pleasantly in his veins. The lady smiles, nods and starts to walk off, back to her house. The concert comes to a close, curtains shut and shun all backstage visitors away. But when has Alexander ever abided by the rules?

His feet march him into the garden, down the lawn and up to the porch. He steps up the stairs, both of them at once. He’s having trouble summoning courage, something that’s rare for him. Typically he isn’t walking up to a strangers home just to congratulate them on their musical talent… that he probably isn’t even supposed to hear.

It takes Alexander a long minute of just standing there before he swallows his pride and taps his knuckles off the door. There are footsteps, coming closer and as they do he rids himself of the urge to run away.

He’s almost expecting Jefferson, he’s built him up in his mind and placed him on a pedestal. Or maybe it’s better to say that he’s trying to force the man into a treasure box, as he does with all the things he loves. His mother’s memory goes in there, his pens and his laptop and the pendant necklace from his mother. He’s trying to push Jefferson into the box too, to keep him by his side but he won’t stay. Perhaps it’s impossible to keep a person preserved in a treasure chest, or maybe it’s just Jefferson. He needs room, he needs space to evolve and change and grow and Alexander’s treasure chest can’t provide that. Alexander can though. He just has to let Jefferson stay out of the box.

Like he said, he’s almost expecting Jefferson to be at the door. But he still gets shocked when it actually is. It actually is Thomas fucking Jefferson standing in the doorway and Jesus he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt so tight it should be illegal. It’s difficult enough for Alexander to handle when he can practically see Jefferson’s chest through his sheen white dress shirt at work, but this is too much. This man is an Adonis. He’s the sun, Alexander is an icarus and he feels as though he simply has to fly closer.

“Hamilton!”

Shit, has he been speaking this whole time? Alexander flicks his gaze to Jefferson’s face, and fuck him he’s wearing glasses. Chunky black hipster frames that balance on the bridge of his nose. Christ, he’s in deep isn’t he?

Jefferson waves his hand in front of Alexander’s face, grabbing his attention. “Hu-uh?” Alexander stumbles out his words pathetically, lighting up red soon after. He goes the same crimson as Jefferson’s shirt, the colour he identifies the man with. He looks like he’s about to slap Alexander across the face if he doesn’t start properly talking soon.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jefferson hisses, venom laced in his tone. He’s like a snake, coiled up into a spring, ready to attack and bite at the next to approach. In his hands (lord, those hands!) he holds a clear water bottle, knuckles white with the ferocious way he grips it. He brings it up to his lips and takes a careful sip, eyes trained like a sniper on Alexander.

Hamilton collects himself, gathering his thoughts, which shouldn’t be as difficult to do as it is. He coughs into his fist, realising how dry his throat is. The aspect of water is welcoming, and he wants to reach out just to snatch the plastic (reusable, how environmental) bottle off of Jefferson to guzzle down the remaining liquid. Alas, he does not. Because that would be weird.

He still hasn’t answered, thus Jefferson continues with a hiss. “What are you doing here?!” He’s not angry, Alexander knows this. He has seen the man angry.

One time, he had seen the man in his furious element. The cabinet meeting had just ended, and Jefferson had stormed out after Washington had taken Alexander’s side once again. It wasn’t Hamilton’s fault he was better! Jefferson had stalked towards his office, and Hamilton had followed after him, the cheap fake leather of his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. Alexander had continued his argument, much to the dismay of the taller man. Jefferson had tried his very best to slam the door on Hamilton’s face, using all his force (which was a lot) to close it behind him, but Alex managed to stick his foot in the gap and wretch it open, still blabbering away. Jefferson had collapsed into his office chair, held his head in his hands and muttered to himself as Alexander got closer. His voice had stayed a constant, boisterous and accompanied with gesticulating gestures until he lost his cool and whipped Jefferson’s seat around himself.

“Answer me already! You spit and stumble your way through speeches, I bring out the real you! I bring out the fires! Show me him and argue back!” The animosity had been high in Alexander’s tone, he liked the unabashed Jefferson who fought with him. The man who poured wisdom from his tongue like his mother language. Why he held it back when talking to anyone else baffled him beyond belief. But this meeting he had barely spoken, just shared his points with a quiet voice and sat back down, not bothering to debate Alexander. He was furious, made sure to target Jefferson in some of his words just to try and get a rise, a reaction, anything! But it had not worked, so he resorted to his last lifeline, and followed the man to his office.

Jefferson snapped his gaze up, and there it was, the fire he so dearly wanted. The red-hot passion that licked at his pupils, threatened to burn Alexander. “You bring out the real me?! No, Hamilton,” he had spat his name like it was some dirt on the bottom of his polished shoes, “you bring out the worst in me! You bring out the angry, tired part of me that doesn’t want to deal with your bullshit!”

“My bullshit?” Alexander had smirked as though he had won, and in his sense he had. For a moment at least. Because he had gotten a reaction, the thing he craved as much as air. He had gotten his red to reply and that’s all he really needed. He was happy from here on out. But, he could always push it further. So he had. “Care to explain to me what my bullshit is? Is it my financial plan? Is that what it is, Jefferson?” He had remained sickeningly-sweet, words sugary like honey, dripping in the same way.

Jefferson had laughed, hysterical really. A break from his usual smug laughter. A break Alexander didn’t enjoy very much. He was never one to like breaks, preferred to continue in a way he always had. And he and Jefferson had a dance, a specific way they did things that they had yet to break. A routine that Jefferson was so arbitrarily destroying just with a fit of chuckles. “Your financial plan is a piece of insulting garbage, but that is not what I mean-“ he had scoffed, and rose from his seat, towering over Alexander with a menacing glint. “-You are a parasite to me, you trail around like some sad puppy, desperate for attention! But why me? I stammer through speeches, but alas it’s better than talking a million miles a minute where no one can understand you! You bring out the fire, the hellfire! You make me want to snap you into pieces and scatter you on my lawn like fertiliser. Do us all a favour and get out!”

A little shocked by the imaginative insult, Alexander resisted. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jefferson had him by the collar next, shoving him up against a wall, face so close he could feel the hot breath of his rival on his face. “You talk a big game, Hamilton, yet you forget to follow through. The fire you bring out in me is the worst part about myself and I’d prefer to hide it away,” he had growled, low and rumbling in his chest, “you’re not good enough to lick the dirt off my shoes. You must think you’re so special, yet all you do is hump the President’s leg until you get what you desire. God knows why he takes your side on every political matter.” He had dropped Alexander after that, left him scrambling to his feet. “Get out of my office.”

Scared, but stubborn, Alexander had supplied a retort. “Or what, old man? Gonna make me?”

Jefferson had grit his teeth together, grinding them so hard Hamilton was surprised they hadn’t faded away. “Or else.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alexander scoffed in return, making his way slowly to the door. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Jefferson physically slump back into his chair, looking tense and stressed and he couldn’t help but feel bad. He had felt Jefferson’s eyes on his back the whole time he had left, felt them searing holes through his jacket and burning into his skin. Not that he was complaining though.

And once again, Alexander peers up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, well um-“ he directs his gaze over Jefferson’s shoulder, “it’s kind of a long story.” He’s hinting quite obviously at his pleas to come inside, and Jefferson must catch on because a hint of realisation casts over his dark eyes, the eyes Alexander spends so much of his time thinking about.

“I have time,” came Jefferson’s grimy reply. One long finger came up to push his glasses up by the rim, unlike anyone else who would push them up by the bridge. Alexander inadvertently stashed this information away in his treasure chest. He taps his foot in a way that almost feels surreptitious. Or perhaps that’s the incorrect word. Jefferson keeps looking over Alexander’s head, then glancing behind him, eyes darting in all directions.

Alexander has the sun beating down on his back, and he can see Jefferson squinting in the light. It’s hot again, too hot in all the wrong ways, and Alexander only feels hotter with Jefferson’s eyes on him. “Well- uh- it started because my AC unit broke and-“

“Hamilton, I didn’t ask for a life story,” Jefferson fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, looking almost nervous. Which was ludicrous! Jefferson? Nervous? That… made a lot of sense actually. His stammering through meetings, his constantly tensed shoulders, the time he had overheard Madison and Adams talking about him a few years back, saying “He was born stressed out about something.” It makes the shuffling around start to add up, how he loses his cool around Alexander and loosens up because he stops thinking. He stops worrying and starts concentrating solely on deconstructing Hamilton’s argument. He feels a little rush of pride at that, that he can get Jefferson to let go. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s perverse knowledge he isn’t supposed to have access too, which brings him right back around to the key metaphor. A metaphor he’s using so often it’s beginning to lose meaning, and he’s beginning to imagine an actual key, which confuses his head even more than it already is.

He’s broken from his thoughts by Jefferson speaking once more, “would you like to come inside?” He asks quietly, shifting foot to foot. Alexander steals his gaze downwards, unable to look Jefferson in the face as he processes that question. His rival (whom he’s established as the man he wants to date, and god it feels so much more real when he thinks of it like that), has just invited him into his home. His home that Alexander always imagined to be bigger, more spectacular and less… welcoming. “You could inform me of why you’re standing on my doorstep in broken sandals over a glass of Chardonnay?”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” Alexander responds almost mockingly, stepping into the home as Jefferson moves aside. He shuffles and a hand goes up to card through his curls, and Alexander wonders if they’re as soft as they appear. He resists the urge to stride over and find out for himself as he steps inside. “I would take my shoes off, but I feel as though barefoot is even more disrespectful.” He hums absent-mindedly.

Jefferson seems to tune back in at that as he flicks his gaze to follow Alexander. “And since when have you cared about being respectful towards me?” His words are sharp, upset almost. It’s strange, but Alexander kind of likes the vulnerability, it feels special. As though Jefferson is trusting him with the real real him. “Just leave your shoes on,” he adds carefully onto the end with a flippant wave and a frown.

Alexander does just that, but wipes his feet on the welcoming mat Jefferson has placed in his hallway. “What’s your liquor of choice?” Jefferson asks, sauntering off towards his kitchen, voice growing quieter as he walks off. Alexander finds his eyes following his back, watching the way his red shirt clings to the muscles of his back, and he swallows slowly, with intent.

“I believe I was promised Chardonnay, Mr Jefferson!” Alexander calls after him, taking it upon himself to look around the hallway. It’s cooler inside, thank god, but it’s not chilly. Jefferson knows how to set his AC without breaking it, Hamilton could never relate. The walls are painted a warm brown, framed family photos lining the hall. There is one, where Alexander counts twelve people in the image. The camera quality isn’t great, but all the people in the photo are similar in appearance, the only two who stand out are the ones who look like parents, as their hair is turning grey and there are wrinkles along their foreheads. He spots Jefferson - well, Thomas because he’s managed to figure out everyone in the photo is a Jefferson - rather quickly, he’s the second tallest in the picture, just after the one who looks like his father, but he looks younger, smiling wide at the camera and holding a baby boy on his hip. He looks much too young to have a son, so he must be Jefferson’s brother.

There's another photo of him cradling a small child in his arms, a newborn, little girl based on the pink wool hat on her head. He looks older than the previous photo, so Alexander deciphers that this is his child. He looks around. There are no children about. He’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before, down at the baby whose eyes are tightly shut. Alexander grins to himself and ghosts a finger over Jefferson’s face, or at least over the glass. There’s a corner of a woman’s face in the top left, she looks tired. Jefferson does too, bags under his eyes and smile creases by his lips. But he still looks… god, what word can he use?

The next photo makes his fond smile fall faster than a rock from the top of a cliff. A wedding photo, Jefferson in his mid-twenties, dressed in a suit (that hugs him in all the right places, damn) and kissing a short woman in a flowing white wedding dress. He looks so happy, beaming as his hands rest on her hips. A wave of jealousy crashes over him as he studies the image closer. It’s outdoors, must be in Virginia, and the two newlyweds are standing under an arch laced with pink roses and light pink tulips. He frowns, there goes his chance. But it won’t hit him yet, it only will at around midnight, when he’s emailing Washington where he will pause and scream for a minute as it sets in.

He’s so focused on the wedding pictures that he doesn’t even notice Jefferson coming up behind him. “That’s Martha,” the low voice by his ear makes Alexander jump out of his skin, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and continues to talk, “I thought you would’ve been in the living room, but I suppose I never told you to make yourself at home.” Alexander turns around and chokes on a breath. Because fuck, Jefferson is right there, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks dusted red and lips inches away from his own. He swallows again, takes a step backwards and hits the wall with his back.

Jefferson hands him a champagne flute with a bubbling glass of white wine, and Alexander nods in return. "Thank you," he studies Jefferson carefully as he flicks his chin up quickly and takes a step away, giving Alexander room to finally breathe. He quickly glances back at the few photos on the wall, catching a glimpse from his peripheral vision as Jefferson sips from his glass. "Martha was…?" He waits for the other to finish his sentence impatiently.

"My wife," Jefferson answers with ease, gulping back a small drink. "A million years ago at least." He chuckles. And Alexander doesn't quite understand. Typically, divorcees don't keep photos of their marriage hanging in the entrance way to their home. Apparently the confusion is evident in his expression, because his host keeps talking. "She passed away eight years ago, just after giving birth."

Alexander bites down on his bottom lip, regretful. He was just thinking about how jealous he was, thinking about going home, calling Laurens or Lafayette and talking shit about Jefferson and his supposed wife. Well he certainly wouldn’t be doing that anymore. “Oh,” he says, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson shrugs, takes another long drink from his glass, like the conversation pains him. It probably does, Alexander realises. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago,” he drawls, making sure to not finish his glass. It’s half full now, and Alexander sips the sparkling liquid. Jefferson clears his throat, looking much like he does during meetings. Uncomfortable, small almost. “Well, can I tempt you to sit in the parlour with me?” He raises an eyebrow, leads them through to a room with windows that are almost floor to ceiling, spar for the comfy looking window seat (covered in a knitted quilt and tartan pillows) that Alexander plops himself down on. The other man seats himself by a small round table, mahogany for the looks of it.

Alexander wants to speak, as always. His tongue flicks in his mouth, forming words but Jefferson cuts him off. “So, Alexander, tell me, what brought you to my doorstep on this… boiling afternoon?” It doesn’t slip past him that Jefferson uses his first name. The way it rolls with his accent, drawling slow as always until Alexander is hanging onto every syllable.

His brain catches up with the question after being so hung up on the way his given name sounds on Jefferson’s lips, and the fact that he would love to hear it in other contexts- God, he needs to stop. But the man is right there and- No. “I broke my air conditioning unit, and needed to get out.” He shrugs and takes a slurping drink of Chardonnay, perhaps if he irritates Jefferson enough, he’ll see the fire he wants.

“That doesn’t explain why you knocked on my door,” Jefferson flicks his wrist and places his glass down. Alexander can practically hear the cogs in his brain (that wonderful mind) whirring as he thinks. He can see the intelligent man putting the puzzles pieces together, in order to view the whole picture. He stops to admire his fellow Secretary’s brilliance far too often, and he always has. It’s a constant, a comma in his life where he pauses and admits to himself that Jefferson is smart. And sometimes he hates it. He hates that Jefferson is so so bright, but is full of only stupid things to say. Like he doesn’t learn both sides of the argument before presenting. Or perhaps that’s just how humans work, they’re always going to be biased.

Alexander coughs into his fist again, seeing Jefferson grit his teeth that he had the audacity to slurp his expensive (probably French, pretentious bastard) wine. “I decided to go for a walk,” he began to explain, as confident as always. “And then I ended up here,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, “because I heard you playing violin and wanted to come speak to whoever the player was. Didn’t know it was going to be you.”

Jefferson appears uncomfortable. He finishes his glass in one large gulp and places his now empty glass on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose by the rim once more, sighing softly. “You say that like it was bad playing.” He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his empty glass, refilling it with only his eyes and exhaling as it refuses to fill. How disappointing.

“No, no!” Alexander waves his hands in a flurry, almost spilling his Chardonnay on the laminate flooring. Jefferson’s eyes catch the droplet that flies from the glass and lands on one of his quilted cushions. Hamilton is too busy explaining himself to realise. Why is he being so considerate of Jefferson’s feelings? (He has a crush on him, he knows this. He knows it’s because the man looks so much more vulnerable in his own home, in shorts and t-shirt and glasses. And oh fuck he’s staring again.) “I wanted to come tell the violinist how incredible their playing was!” He watches the man who is supposed to be his rival smile, genuine and pure, and his heart soars. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, flapping their wings at a hundred miles an hour. It’s like he can take flight, all because of Jefferson’s shy little grin, watching the way his lips twitch upwards. It’s so different from his other sly, wicked smirks, all teeth and hatred. Is it hatred really though? Alexander doesn’t have the time to ask himself all of these questions again, he’s never going to find an answer.

"I've played ever since I was a child," Jefferson replies, tapping his fingers off his thighs. As Alexander has established, everything about this man seems to be carved by the gods out of stone and his legs are no exception.

"Impressive." He isn't lying. Alexander finds it wildly impressive, violin is a difficult instrument to master. He believes Jefferson mutters something along the lines of 'thank you', but he isn't particularly paying attention. He needs more to drink. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, so he doesn't. Instead, he downs his glass.

“Want a refill?” Jefferson drawls, rising to his feet and taking both empty glasses. All Alexander can do is nod and watch as the man walks off, eyes concentrated on his back and definitely not other places because that would be crude.

Alexander crosses his legs (sits criss-cross applesauce) on the windowsill seat, fluffing a pillow behind his back and cautiously leaning back to rest against the window panes. He’s almost scared of breaking them, or of the glass popping out. So instead he turns and tucks his knees in slightly, sitting along it sideways to lean on the wall that slightly juts out. He must appear comfortable, because when Jefferson comes back in he laughs carefully. “Made yourself at home I see?” He hands Alexander the glass of Chardonnay, and he notes that in his other hand is the bottle.

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” Alexander responds sarcastically. Jefferson plops himself down - surprisingly - beside Alexander, in the small space between his feet and the other wall. He hadn’t expected the sudden closeness, and all cognitive thought grinds to a stop when he realises he can smell Jefferson’s overpriced cologne. It’s probably perfume, when he thinks about it. Flowery and reeking of money. But Alexander thinks (after smelling it before, and now smelling it here) that he’ll kill Jefferson if he ever wears anything else.

Jefferson sips from his glass. “Not at all.” Alexander wants to stretch his legs out, but felt as though he couldn’t do that. Jefferson was right there! What can he do? Put his feet on the man’s lap? … he could do that. He could actually do that. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hammy?” He purrs teasingly, raising a curious eyebrow and chuckling to himself. Alexander can’t help but notice the slight flush of his cheeks, the dusty pink across his skin. He eyes him suspiciously, before he finally realises that the man must be a lightweight. Now there’s something he didn’t expect.

“Hammy?” Alexander quirks an eyebrow, suspect. It’s amusing how Jefferson seems to relax that slight bit as he sips his Chardonnay. The slightly older man just nods in return, bringing his glass to his lips and taking another drink. Alexander does the same, swirling the wine in his champagne flute with a chuckle. “Just that I wanna stretch out.” He shrugs and continues to drink, observing as Jefferson’s face scrunches up unattractively. Somehow, Hamilton still finds it adorable. Who would’ve thought he would find Jefferson cute? How strange.

“Then just do it,” Jefferson suggests with a smile, shrugs his shoulders and sips his drink. Alexander is surprised, never would’ve thought Jefferson would allow him to kick his feet up. It feels intimate, like a cute-couple thing to do. He hesitantly stretches his legs out, untucking his knees and placing his feet up on Jefferson’s lap, who hums his approval.

Alexander sips his Chardonnay, starting to speak. And Jefferson? Jefferson starts to listen.

Half an hour, and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay later, the two are on the right side of tipsy. They’re just drunk enough to feel comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder, resting against each other without looking like they’re being forced into the close proximity. Except they are no longer shoulder to shoulder, in fact, they’re closer than that. Alexander has his head on Jefferson’s lap, his glass long forgotten on the table, along with Jefferson’s champagne flute too and the empty wine bottle. Alexander is continuously muttering about the current political climate, ranting quietly while Jefferson listens, occasionally inputting his opinion.

“Are you not gonna argue with me?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. He’s trying to irritate Jefferson, and pokes his cheek to try and agitate him more. But Jefferson doesn’t react, other than blushing an even darker crimson. The colour he is. He’s crimson, but now he’s dull and Alexander misses his booming red.

Jefferson hums to himself, eyes fluttering shut. Alexander reaches up and pushes the other man’s glasses up his nose by the bridge. Jefferson flicks his eyes open suddenly and stares down at him, catching his wrist in his hand. Alexander feels paralysed, feeling his large palms around his own bony wrist and holding it in a loose grip. He doesn’t answer the question, “it’s so nice outside. Why are we still sitting here?”

“Why indeed?” There’s a ever so slight slur to his words, drawn out a little more than usual. Alexander kicks his feet to the ground, standing so casually it’s like he stays and hangs with Jefferson all the time and not never at all. He turns to face Jefferson, overlooking his features. He’s never had a chance to look at him so relaxed, and he notices how tense Jefferson typically is compared to now. At work, his shoulders are straight, hunched up to his ears and his posture is a horizontal line. Whereas now, he’s a little more slumped, tension gone from his body. It’s a breath of fresh air, one he never thought he would experience and accept so easily.

Jefferson rises to his feet, and typically he would be towering over Hamilton yet now, he doesn’t feel as dominating. Instead, he’s softer, edges aren’t as sharp or predatory. The mirthful glint in his pupils has faded, but the fire still licks at his eyes. It’s a welcoming heat, like the fireplace on a freezing day. And despite the current heatwave, Alexander finds himself wishing to curl up by the fire like a purring cat. “Come on, let’s go sit in my backyard.”

Alexander expects to trail after him, certainly not for the man to offer his hand to Hamilton. But he takes it, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the way his head is screaming at him. “You’re holding his hand! You’re holding Thomas Jefferson’s hand! He offered it to you! You didn’t even have to ask!” His pulse races in his ears, as he leads the two of them into his back garden. It’s beautiful, a large monkey puzzle tree in the far right corner, casting a lovely shadow over a section of the yard. Jefferson guides Alexander over to the tree and sits down under it, gesturing next to him. “C’mon, Hammy, I don’t have all day.” Alexander feels his heart flutter again, starting to race at the ridiculous nickname. If anyone else used it, he would be quickly driven mad. It’s all because of this damn Secretary.

Alexander takes a seat by him, leaning against the bark of the tree and exhaling. It’s warm, but at least vaguely cooler under the tree. Jefferson certainly seems to appreciate it, as the slightly intoxicated man removes his glasses and places them on the trimmed glass next to him, tips his head back until it hits the tree truck and breathes out happily. Alexander eyes the expanse of skin by his neck, and starts to feel like a particularly famished vampire, gazing at the muscles of someone’s neck of all places. But there’s a familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to have his face tucked into the crook of his neck and just breathe. The thought would be scarier if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his blood. He feels confident, confident enough to lean against Jefferson and carefully hide his face in his shoulder. Not his neck, sure, but it’s close.

Alexander can feel his counterparts breathing stutter and he gently nuzzles against him, appreciating the muscle under him. “Hamilton, are you alright?” He’s sobered up, the shock of Alexander curling around him like ivy clings to a house seemingly having knocked the wine out of his system. He allows Alexander to wind himself tighter around his body, like it's cold out and he’s the only viable source of heat. It’s not. It’s still absolutely sweltering, evident in the way sweat beads at Jefferson’s brow and Alexander longs to reach over and smooth out the developing stress lines.

“Mhm…” Alexander hums his answer and buries his head into Jefferson’s neck, finally finally being close enough to him. Yet… somehow he’s dying to be closer. “I’m great, perfect! Even,” he giggles, the alcohol definitely making him a fun drunk. He’s a lightweight, that’s for sure, but when it hits him, it hits all at once. He’s got a rush of flirtatious courage surging through his veins, hot in his blood.

Jefferson moves his hand across and gently caresses Alexander’s pink cheeks, observing how he keens into it like a cat. That’s exactly what Alexander reminds him of, a cat. Hissing and violent in his worst moments, yet clingy and desperate for attention in his best. It’s a good thing Jefferson likes cats then. He drags an arm around Alexander’s shoulder, taking in his appearance. Small and (gross, his back is damp) hunched over, tucking into him and smiling, pink lips twitching into a happy grin. He’s so soft like this, vulnerable in a way Jefferson’s never seen him before. He’s intensity is being channeled into a new emotion, and Jefferson knows he’s still red. Still a fiery red, but it’s dragged in a different direction. It’s pulling him into love, and it makes his stomach do flips. Because if he has to be honest to himself, he’s had a crush on this ridiculous gremlin (excuse of a man) politician since the day of their first Cabinet meeting. Alexander could keep up with his thunderous talking pace, and he loves it. He loves it so much. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Alexander decides it’s now or never, “I suppose there’s a way it could get…” he darts his tongue out and licks his lips, “even better.” He moves an inch away from Jefferson, eyes flickering between his eyes (no longer covered by lenses) and his lips, which look all too kissable. Jefferson doesn’t seem to catch on, just catches Alexander’s gaze with his own intense one.

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow, arched brow almost judging him.

“Kiss me,” Alexander breathes, tilting his chin upwards and leaning forward, hoping Jefferson will close the gap. And he does. God he does. He leans down and in, dipping his head and pressing his lips softly to Alexander’s own. They’re soft and insistent and gentle against his own chapped ones. And Alexander finds himself sober, before getting drunk on the feeling of Jefferson kissing him and ha! He’ll be able to rub this in Lafayette’s face later! Suck it, Frenchie!

Alexander cards his hand into Jefferson’s curls, because he’s scared he’ll never get the chance to feel them again. They’re as soft as they look, springy between his fingers and wonderful to the touch. It’s such a wonderful kiss, their first kiss, and Alexander wants to keep on kissing him forever. Jefferson makes a quiet whimpering noise and Alexander forces himself to pull away before he melts and never does. “Jefferson,” he breathes across his lips.

“Thomas,” the other corrects delicately, a meer whisper before he’s tangling his hand in Alexander’s hair and tugging Alexander back to meet his lips. It’s feverish this time, desperate and needy. The roasting heat must be getting to them, because they’re rivals, are they not? Well, not anymore. Because he’s pretty sure enemies don’t kiss in summer heatwaves, under monkey puzzle trees in their rivals back garden. But they do now, because Alexander isn’t giving this up for the world. Not now. He has his red.

“Thomas,” Alexander repeats Jeffer- Thomas’s words as they break away again. The name feels heavy on his tongue with the taste of its owner on his lips. Like it should be a sin, a sin to have enjoyed that so much. But he will gladly go to hell if it means getting to experience that intimacy again. The base of his ponytail has started to be tugged out, knotting where his fingers have tangled in the locks. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder, starting to slide half in and half out of his lap. It’s insane, the burning feeling in his chest as he locks this memory away in his treasure box, saving it for a rainy day, just in case this was a one time thing.

Thomas cradles Alexander’s chin in one hand, thumb hooking under his jaw and tilting his head up so that he can look into his eyes. Hamilton could get lost in those eyes, as he has many times. So many times during cabinet meetings he has stared at Jefferson, at those dark eyes and simply dove in, gleeful at the aspect of drowning in them. Only for the man to spout some ridiculous shit and drag Alexander out of the waters, slap him around and take him to his senses. “Yes, dear?”

That voice was going to be the death of him.

“I-“ He lost all forms of cognitive thought, the train must’ve derailed when Thomas pressed their lips together. Because fuck, he can even feel the violin chords buzzing in his veins again and it’s all so much and he loves it. Alexander flicks his gaze around Thomas's face, (he really has to get used to calling him that) kiss-swollen lips, the deep blush across his cheeks. He must look like an awestruck child from Thomas's perspective, because the man chuckles and takes his free hand through Alex's hair, taking it out of the pony tail in one movement. "Red." Alex mutters finally.

"Red?" Thomas repeats with a cocked eyebrow, hands Alexander his hair tie and brings both hands back to his lap. He really isn't sure what Hamilton means. What does red have to do with anything? If he had to put a colour to this moment, he would call it tickled pink. Intense and warm, but full to the brim of love and devotion. Pink.

Alexander nods, presses a finger to Thomas's chest, and another to his own. "Red," he nods, taking his fingers away, instead splaying his palm across Jefferson's chest absent-mindedly. "That's our colours. We're red."

Thomas never imagined he would be agreeing with Alexander so easily. With Martha, their relationship had been a soft pink. The fire was there, buried beneath the surface of dedication and loyalty. It was comfortable, it was perfect. He never needed anything else, because everything he needed was in Martha. But was he pink? Certainly not. She was his high-school sweetheart, the only real relationship he had ever had. He didn't count the many women (and men) in France, they never lasted longer than a night of sub-par activities and a morning of awkward goodbyes.

"We are, aren't we?" Thomas hummed, eventually pulling himself from his thoughts before he sunk too far. Thinking was a dangerous activity, one he didn't take time to do in fear of never emerging again.

"But," Alexander continues, and Jefferson's heart sinks. There's always a catch, isn't there? "We're the opposite reds. You're the darker red, most definitely. You're secrets and feelings are locked away, while I display mine like the lights on Broadway."

Thomas gulps. Never before has he been called out so boldly, or in such a forward manner. Yet Alexander has hit the nail on the head, first try and won the prize so it seems. He softens a little further, slumping against the tree. A low hanging stick swats at his head, and he bats it away with one hand.

"You keep everything behind lock and key… no one else has the key, I don't think," Alexander draws little swirls and patterns with his fingertip on Thomas's chest, the art fading as fast as it appears. He feels the man quiver, trying to hold himself together, and he knows that stone wall he hides behind is breaking.

He shakes his head in a curt motion. "Ja- Madison has a key," he corrects, inadvertently agreeing with Alexander, "Martha… Martha had a key." He finishes there, hands folding into each other, fingers fidgeting with discomfort. His face contorts as he screws it up, not allowing his mind to drift, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the tickled pink time. But how do you make pink from two reds?

"I'd like a key," Alexander adds, "if you'd be willing to lend me a spare." He glances up at Jefferson through his eyelashes, shall he offer something in return? The key to his treasure chest perhaps? The place he stores his most prized memories?

Jefferson chews on his lip. "I think you already have one. Whether we realised it or not… you've always had one." The metaphor is starting to confuse him, muddling with his mind. So many keys, and so many possible doors they could unlock and it's all a bit much. What door should he go through first? None of them have labels, none of them have a clear cut future secured behind them. How does he choose? Maybe he should let Alexander choose for him, go along for the ride.

Alexander smiles. He drapes himself further across Jefferson, kicking one of his legs over both of the man's and leaning into his shoulder, tucking himself there. The hot air, accompanied by the events that just occurred have sobered him almost entirely, but it feels so much better to experience this without the alcohol tainting his memory. "Thank you."

"For what?" Thomas raises an eyebrow, because as far as he's certain, he should be thanking Hamilton. Or cursing him. Cursing him and whatever magical force drew them together. This may just make him believe in fate, in destiny. He wasn’t a Christian, not anymore anyway, but this had him thanking god. Thanking every god for bringing them together. This was good, he could sit under this monkey puzzle tree, feeling the way he is now for the rest of eternity. Not good, no, that didn’t do this justice. Amazing? Fabulous? Stupendous?

"It's a preemptive thank you, since you'll be paying for tonight's date. Say seven o'clock." Alexander smirks up at Thomas, watches as the man chuckles. That laugh, there's a sound he could get used to. And to know he caused it? Fills him with joy. The laugh is like yellow. He doesn't know why, it just is. Colours fit everything, his mother was a deep navy blue, his father a cold icy white. Lafayette is purple, a mix of strength and flowing like the sea, but passionate like red. Hercules is green like juniper, he’s a grounding presence, one that Alexander can rely on to stay strong for them all. Angelica is pink, full of passion, but for some reason she just doesn’t hit that red mark. Washington stands bold in yellow, along with Peggy, but much like Thomas and Alexander, opposite ends of the spectrum. He can’t say why these colours fit, where he got them from or why they are this way, but it just does. It all slots together, everyone in his life has an assigned colour. And he thinks they always will.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm sure the neighbour will be fine taking care of Patsy for a bit," he hums. It's nerve wracking, because Jefferson doesn't have a clue if Alexander is alright with kids or not. His brain is screaming at him that Alexander is going to see sense and run, hear the talk of kids and sprint. After all, they're both in their mid thirties, so it's normal for someone their age to have a child. What if Alexander doesn't like kids? God, was this a mistake?

“Patsy? The little girl playing out in the street?” Alexander asks, laying himself across Thomas. He feels comfortable, like himself already, and he feels like this could go places. Because reds match, and opposites attract. They’re just lucky they’re opposite reds.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s playing with John,” Thomas sighs out his nose, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He smiles at Alexander and giggles, actually giggles, a sound that makes Alexander’s heart fly like doves around his chest. “Dress comfy, I hope you like picnics.”

“Picnics?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “I love picnics.” It’s true. Hell, if they picnic in the back of Thomas’s garden, criss-cross on a blanket under this tree, that could be one of the best dates of his life.

“I’m glad, it’s my dream date,” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “look at us, getting to know each other already!” He chuckles again, noticing the flush it causes to Alex’s cheeks. Gorgeous. He cups his jaw, watches as the smaller man leans into the touch with a soft purr.

“You know what’ll make it even better?”

“What, if I bring more Chardonnay?”

“No!” Alexander bats at his arm playfully.

“Then what?” Thomas asks through laughs.

“If you kiss me again.”

And he does. God, he does.

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please this is 13,045 words I spent to much time on this I'm begging yall, if you liked it please reblog it, I dont want this to go unnoticed.

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#hamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #jamilton #jamilton fanfic #jamilton fluff #jamilton fic #jamilton fanfiction #hamilton fluff #hamilton fanfic #ee #ee writes #ee does writing #ee's writing #ee.txt #fuck this took forever #jefferson #jefferson will be sad #patsy is here for a bit too

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maggielindemanns · 4 years

Text

all mixed up - an elu social media au

summary: it’s simple really - eliott meets a guy at the bar, that guy gives him a fake number, and that fake number just so happens to belong to lucas. the rest is history.

[NINETEEN PART TWO]

[note: i’m putting my note here at the top this time but here is nineteen part two aka how the date went! i’m like . Scared to put my writing up but you know what, fear is my enemy and i’m posting to spite her so ! here is 3k words of elu date in the amu-verse i love you guys giving you all smooches on your foreheads <3 was gonna post this yesterday but i was attacked by the river i went tubing at so here she is rn instead <3]

Thoughts of nerves and excitement were crashing into each other and around the walls of Eliott’s head space at a million miles a second as he made his way to Lucas’ dorm. His heart didn’t even feel like it was beating at this rate, more like slamming against his rib cage and rattling up the butterflies existing in his stomach. He made sure to send Lucas a warning text once he was down the hall — “countdown from 30 & i’ll be there”. Lucas, 'ever the charmer having such a way with words, simply loved the text in lieu of an actual response.

Once in front of Lucas’ door, he took a deep breath before knocking gently, stepping back after to await an answer. Every second felt like forever to him, especially when he could hear Lucas shuffling around on the other side of the door. He just couldn’t wait to do this, he couldn’t wait to actually have Lucas to himself for real.

Lucas opening the door suddenly pulled Eliott from his thoughts, overwriting the mess in his head with thoughts of Lucas instead. He looked at Eliott, seeming pleasantly surprised, and smiled brightly at him. Eliott wanted to give him the world and then some.

“Demaury,” he greeted, “hey.”

“Hey yourself. Ready to go?”

“Of course. You look so good, I’m kinda jealous. Am I under dressed?”

“No, you’re perfect.”

“Oh stop,” Lucas scoffed, starting to lead the way out already, “let’s go before you hit me with any more corny lines.”

Eliott just smiled, following Lucas close behind. He got the door for Lucas going out of his building, grabbing his hand before he could walk too far ahead. Lucas didn’t let go, though, actually giving his hand a squeeze and smiling at him. The silence as they walked to Eliott’s car hand in hand was comfortable and familiar, and Lucas loved it.

When they both got into the car, Eliott went to start it, but hummed as if remembering something. Lucas watched Eliott reach into the back seat as he put his seat belt on, his brows furrowed.

“What are you doing?” Lucas asked, and Eliott wordlessly presented a lavender rose, seeming proud of himself. He looked between the rose and Eliott a few times before dumbly asking, “Is that for me?” and Eliott nodded, handing it to him. He turned it over in his hands before looking at Eliott again, his chest tight with the slight urge to cry. Yes, he was emotional over a single flower, sue him.

“I didn’t take you as the type for grand gestures,” Eliott explained, “but... something small to remember tonight is nice, right? Even if everything goes to shit and you hate me after this, at least we started on the right foot.”

“I could never hate you, this is so sweet, Eliott. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You deserve nice things. Always.”

Lucas just smiled slightly and watched Eliott start his car, starting to tell a story about a basil plant he accidentally killed. Lucas found himself oddly endeared by that, as well as his story about how he Jackson Pollock-ed his way through an entire semester. That led Lucas to tell him stories of how he tried multiple times to get out of gym back in high school with absurd ailments, one time even trying to use appendicitis as an excuse. That cracked Eliott right up, and Lucas was proud of that. He loved making Eliott laugh, it was his favorite thing.

They eventually were pulling into the parking lot of a very cozy looking building. “Len’s Den” was lit up brightly across the top of the building on a sign, and vased plants marked the entrance, along with a glowing, red open sign. Eliott shut the engine off after putting the car in park and looked at Lucas.

“I told him about you,” is what came out of Eliott’s mouth. Lucas must’ve made a face of confusion because Eliott laughed a bit before elaborating. “Len, I told Len.”

“Like...owner, Len?”

“Yeah. It sounds so random, but he’s been looking out for me since high school. I’ve done it all in here — cried, yelled, laughed, all three at the same time maybe?” Lucas chuckled at that, and Eliott smiled a little. “Point is, Len’s taken care of me in ways I don’t have words good enough to thank him for. He’s important to me, and so are you. I hope it was okay that I did.”

I told him about you. He’s important to me, and so are you. Those words were echoing in Lucas’ brain, doing a number on his emotions. It was heady to think that he was important to Eliott, so much so that he wanted to tell people about him.

“Yeah, that’s—I’m honored. That’s always okay, really.”

There was a beat of silence between them, the two of them just smiling and looking at each other for a moment. Eliott broke their gaze by starting to get out and Lucas followed suit, his nerves creeping back up on him suddenly.

How he was supposed to last an entire night of Eliott being Eliott was something he wasn’t sure of. Maybe if he didn’t think about it too much, the obvious would become clear - that being with each other was easy. They’ve done this before. Easy.

Upon entering, a few things caught Lucas’ eye - the photo booth in a far corner surrounded by countless strips of pictures, a piano set in the corner across, art littering the walls that resembled things he’s seen in Eliott’s apartment. Other pictures and band posters covered the walls, too, but nothing Lucas was familiar with. Eliott grabbing one of his hands and gently pulling him along shifted his focus back to him.

“You’ve got your thinky face on,” Eliott told him, “what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I just...like how you this place is.”

“Just screams art-kid-trying-to-find-a-place-in-the-world, huh?” he asked with a crinkle of his nose. Lucas smiled and nodded.

“Oh, a hundred percent, yes. Now let’s get some mac and cheese bites in our system, they are what brought us here after all.”

Eliott brought them over to the bar space where they sat close to each other, Eliott noting Lucas’ slight struggle to get onto the tall chair. He laughed a little on accident, and Lucas kicked his chair, mumbling for him to shut up.

Lucas let Eliott kind of take the lead here, ordering for the both of them with confidence that Lucas admired. Eliott in his element was always lovely to witness, no matter what. Conversation points never ran out as they sat and chatted (even when the heavenly bites did, Lucas ate two rounds of them), and Eliott even got him to take photo booth pictures with him at one point. Lucas being fussy about how the pictures were coming out made Eliott laugh so, so much. Lucas was shocked no one came over and was concerned with what was happening in this booth.

“To have not wanted to take these to begin with, you sure have a lot of opinions,” Eliott teased, and Lucas rolled his eyes, pushing his head gently and telling him to focus. Being in close proximity like this with a beautiful boy like Lucas was not helping him in the crush department, not by any means.

To only be date number one, Lucas felt like he had known Eliott forever, and the idea scared him a little bit. To know someone for only a handful of weeks and feel like everything is new and yet so familiar and safe between them already was a lot for him. He didn’t usually do this, he didn’t usually allow himself to get to this point. Infatuation with no return. But he kind of liked it. A lot.

Soon enough, it was just the two of them left as patrons, the only other person in the store being Len himself, waiting to lock up. He didn’t even make an attempt to kick them out, though, and Lucas had a feeling Eliott had something to do with that. Rather than dwell on that thought, however, Lucas found himself wandering over to the piano, Eliott following close behind.

“Piano’s lovely,” he commented, taking a seat. Lucas took note of all the etching done into the piano, making him wonder if one day he would get to add to them. There were people's initials inside hearts, stickers scattered on it, and messy scrawl in sharpie of people who came here before him. He pat the seat next to him to get Eliott to sit beside him and he did, their knees touching and arms brushing against each other.

“It’s old as shit, honestly. In tune, though. I tagged it somewhere way back when, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Somewhere here...” His voice trailed off as he scanned the surface of the piano with his eyes, eventually humming in recognition and pointing for Lucas to see. Lucas smiled, realizing it was a raccoon, and nudged his arm gently. “What?”

“You and these raccoons, Demaury.”

“Spirit animal, what can I say.”

“Oh man, you’re a trip,” he sighed, plucking a few random keys of the piano. Eliott started laughing and Lucas gave him a look. “What?”

“Nothing. Just wanna say Len’s got a triangle if you wanna mess with that instead.”

“Oh, shut up, as if you play.”

“I’ll have you know I can play the Star Wars theme,” he scoffed, starting to pluck out the first few keys. “Mmh, and I do a mean Für Elise cover.”

“Cover? What the hell?”

Eliott simply started playing the first few notes slowly but surely. It sounded familiar to Lucas’ ears, at least until Eliott started playing a bunch of meaningless mess. Lucas laughed at that genuinely, like, belly aching laughter. Eliott stopped playing and looked at him, something warm erupting in his chest resembling love, but not quite there yet. Adoration, maybe, but strong. So strong, Eliott had to refrain from just grabbing his face and kissing him right then and there. He almost couldn’t think of anything else as he sat there, smiling fondly at the boy beside him.

Lucas wiped at his eyes, calming down after a minute or so and looked at Eliott, clearly amused. He cleared his throat and tried to be serious, nodding once. Eliott tried to stop smiling too, but he knew he was failing greatly.

“Mister Demaury, I have to say,” Lucas spoke, “I think you have a fine career as a pianist in the near future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why thank you. Means a lot from you, you know, since you’re an expert and all.” Lucas got the sense that Eliott was teasing him a little, and he looked at him, squinting a bit. “What? I was being genuine.”

“No, you weren’t, you’re an asshole.”

“Well. Prove me wrong, c’mon.”

“Let me think,” Lucas told him, sitting up properly and getting his hands on the keys. He decided to play one of the only songs that came to mind right now, one of the first songs he ever learned - I Love You by RIOPY.

He plucked out the opening keys slowly, feeling Eliott’s eyes on him, watching intently. Once he got a good feel for the piano, he played with more confidence and ease, not missing a beat. He surprised himself, granted he hadn’t played much in a while with school and everything, but he was glad he still had it in him. As focused as he was, he felt Eliott’s eyes shift to his face, and that made him glance over at him mid-playing, taking note of the glint of wonder in his eyes. He looked away before he could start to think about it too much, but what he wasn’t aware of was how Eliott decided that in this moment, he liked surprising people. And Lucas was surprising.

When Lucas plucked out the final notes, he took his hands off and slowly looked at Eliott, who was smiling brightly. Lucas suddenly felt shy under his gaze - he’d never actually played anything for someone before, at least not a piece in seriousness like this. Silence hung between them for a moment before Eliott spoke.

“Way to show me up, Lallemant,” he said, and Lucas smiled back at him.

“It’s no Star Wars theme, but...” Lucas shrugged, non-verbally finishing the thought. Eliott kept looking at him and seemed to be thinking about what he was going to say next.

“Lucas, can I be honest with you?”

The question caught Lucas off guard, his heart hoping for the best but his brain thinking of worst case scenarios. He pushed those to the back of his mind, though, and nodded instead.

“I...am in so deep with you. The way I feel with you is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“Eliott—“

“Forgive me if that’s super forward but...I have to tell you, I’d go nuts if I didn’t.”

“Can I be honest, too?”

“Sure.”

Lucas felt his heart beating in his ears, his nerves creeping up on him. Being with Eliott was the easy part. Having feelings for Eliott and sharing said feelings was the hard part.

“I really, really like you too,” he said finally, “more than anyone I’ve ever met. Ever.”

Several more beats passed between them, the silence becoming the loudest thing in the room. The tension was suddenly palpable, too, at least to Lucas, and every thought that passed through his brain became nothing but please kiss me, please kiss me, please kiss me.

As if able to hear Lucas’ thoughts, Eliott took hold of his face in his hands before leaning in, just close enough for Lucas to close his eyes for a moment. He opened them enough to look at him when nothing happened, and Eliott smiled just a little.

“Is it okay? To kiss you, is that okay?” he asked. Lucas scoffed, making Eliott laugh.

“Yes, obviously, please do,” he told him quietly, and in that moment, their lips met and Lucas felt whole.

It felt like Lucas had waited his whole life for this moment - the kiss that all the books he’s read and movies he’s seen in his life talked about. The kiss that had your skin thrumming with desire for more, that made life feel like a movie, like sparks were flying. That’s what it was like to kiss Eliott. It was better than he could ever imagine it being, and he wished he could bottle this feeling up and carry it with him everywhere at all times.

When Eliott pulled away, Lucas felt dizzy with it, slowly opening his eyes and his brain feeling like a bunch of exclamation points were going through it. Eliott started to smile, but Lucas leaned back in, kissing him one last time to make sure it was real.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” Eliott whispered, and Lucas wanted to scream from the rooftops about this moment. He wanted to live in this moment and with this feeling for all time.

•••••••

Lucas woke up comfortably warm, almost too comfortably, swimming in clothes that were definitely not his own. The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of a fan and traffic passing outside, letting Lucas know he was not at his dorm. That, and the fact that the room was too big anyway. The bed was also dipping beside him and he turned his head to find a very sleep ridden Eliott laying beside him. Eliott looked like an angel, the sunlight hitting him in the most beautiful of ways. If Lucas was a photographer at all, he’d be trying to capture this moment.

“Time?” Lucas mumbled, and Eliott blindly grabbed his phone to look, squinting at how bright it was.

“9:17.”

“Jeez...”

“Good morning to you too,” Eliott laughed, and Lucas breathed deeply, snuggling closer to him. Eliott wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, not saying anything else.

“You’re thinking so loudly right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. What?”

“Well...I’m lucky you’re here. Happy.”

“And?”

“I...have a proposition.”

“It’s 9:17 in the morning and you’re already using words like proposition? You’re unreal, Demaury.”

“Not the fact that I have one, just the word itself. You’re funny.”

“What’s your proposition?” he asked, looking up at him. Eliott continued to look up at his ceiling.

“My final. I want you in it. I want us to be in it.” Lucas made a curious noise, and Eliott continued. “I’ve struggled with a concept for months, like, since this course started, and I thought I had one. I really did. But I’m stuck with that and re-inspired, and...I want to do it on intimacy and human connection. I have to write a paper with it, so I wanna do that.”

Lucas sat up and looked at him, understanding what it had to do with him suddenly. Eliott looked at him, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You hate it,” Eliott decided, and Lucas shook his head, running his hands through Eliott’s hair and smiling a little.

“No, just...intrigued, I guess. You’re makin’ a model out of me, Demaury, please just say you’re not putting us on a billboard.”

“No, no billboards,” he laughed, “just my professor. And the art panel at our school because they’re choosing one project to go in a gallery walk at the end of the semester.”

“Can we eat first? So I can think about it?”

“Of course. Please don’t be scared to tell me no, too, it’s okay,” Eliott insisted, grabbing one of his hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “It’s just a thought right now.”

“Okay.”

“Is now the time to tell you I’m the worst chef on planet Earth? Or should I have kept that in the vault?”

“In the vault, I’m out of here now,” he teased, and Eliott pulled the pillow from under his head and hit Lucas with it, making him laugh out loud.

taglist: @that-one-meh @a-french-disaster @fallout-of-my-chair @menamesniall @iamshannonmcfarland @yesyoutubeisruiningmylife @yackgrace @choupiauriant @xomywonderwallox @jacwena @awake-dreamer18 @noorakviigmohn @lost-inside-fantasy @myverybigmoodboard @ariavds @didntgowithgrace @laurenkmyers @sunshineyou27 @nanidice @orangefizz4 @blanxkey @bodizzy @q-branchminion-nr43 @nova-on-standbi @boysrunaway @anothergayhpblog @mlhalbertt @valenschmidt @skamchokehold @mostlysh1tposting @lucassdemaury @oceanicinception @yellowballoon @fallinglikeafoolforyou @bluronyourradar @painfully-oblivious @alwayskissmeatnight @katzen-kinder @howlingsaturn @luxandobscurus @anotherplaceintheuniverse @aly-kazam @quint-cssential

[archive link <3]

[PART ONE || TWENTY]

#skam france #elu #elu social media au #elu au #elu fic #lucas x eliott #my fic #skamfr #skamfr fic #skamfrfic #amu

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nuricurry · 3 years

Text

Saint Seiya | Shura, PG-13; "see what's inside"

He still remembers what his father used to tell him about fear. “It’s better to be feared than to be loved. Love is weak. Love is fickle. Fear isn’t something that goes away.” He thinks his father probably has a point. After all, it wasn’t love that kept his mother around. It wasn’t love for his anger, love for how he would break things, love for the horrible things he said to her, or the bruises he left on her face and her arms. It was fear that kept his mother close, fear that stopped her from running away. It wasn’t that his mother loved his father enough to have his children. It was that she was too afraid to refuse him. It wasn’t that she loved Shura enough to stay behind, when she should have tried to get away. It was that she was afraid of what worse his father would do to him if she left. Fear was a powerful tool. It was a weapon with no shield, a toxin with no cure. It was the vorpal sword, the unbreakable steel. It had no equal, and it had no conqueror. Fear lived in the hearts of all men, and that was why it could never truly be erased.

The first time he learned that he was capable of causing fear was the day he finally stood up to his father. It is all a blur to him now. There was a fight, he thinks, though there was always a fight. His father yelling. His mother sobbing. The thick, meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh. He sees his hands, his face, he sees the blood, and that’s all he sees, until he lifts his head, and catches sight of his mother’s face. He sees the fear in her eyes, and that’s all he remembers. That’s all he has to explain why he was taken away, why leaves home, and becomes part of Sanctuary. He’s eight when he begins his training. A late bloomer, some of the instructors call him, as if he was always meant to be where he was, he just took longer than others to get to the same place. That’s a nice thought; better than what he thinks is the reality, that he is here only because he had nowhere else to go. In Sanctuary, he’s taught about Athena. He learns that she is a force of peace, of goodness. That she encourages trust and faith, she does not ask for fear. He likes to hear about Athena. He likes to learn about a goddess who offers hope, someone who rules out of love, rather than a desire for control. (Maybe, he thinks to himself, that is what his father would have been like, if he knew how to love, instead of how to invoke fear.) Training for him comes easy. It’s patterns. It’s structure. It’s the same thing every day. It’s secure. After spending the first several years of his life in constant chaos, the confines of rituals come as nothing short of a relief. He wakes up at the same time every morning, he eats his meals, attends his classes, does his chores, all on a cycle, it becomes familiar, safe, and he relishes in that. Developing his skills fall into that same pattern; it’s a process that builds upon itself. Each day he gets stronger, and each day he learns more. It takes time, but there’s a linear progression, there’s a predictable trajectory, and it’s seeing those changes that motivates him. It also helped that Aiolos always encouraged him too. Aiolos is older than him, more experienced, more confident. Aiolos is loved in Sanctuary, admired, and Shura is no exception. Aiolos has an easy smile, a warm laugh, Aiolos is someone who is easy to love, because there is nothing about Aiolos that isn’t loveable. When Aiolos earns his cloth, he’s humble, but proud. He thanks Pope Shion for deeming him worthy. He thanks Athena for allowing him the chance to serve her, even though her new incarnation is not yet born. He thanks his teachers for guiding him on his journey. Later, he thanks Shura for believing in him, and for the gift he brings him after the ceremony is over, and the crowds have dispersed. He is fifteen when he first thinks he understands love. He is young and naive and punch-drunk, when Aiolos places a hand on his shoulder and calls him his friend, when he says that he looked for him in the crowd after he earned his cloth, hoping to find Shura there with a smile on his face. He thinks he knows what it means to love someone in that moment, because he loves Aiolos’ smile and he wants to protect his laugh, and he dreams of the life where the two of them can be saints together, where he can learn more about love. It isn’t until Shura earns his own cloth, it isn’t until he learns the weight of the duty that comes with being a saint of Athena, that he realizes that sometimes, loving someone is what leads to fear. ”He betrayed us. He betrayed Athena.” He doesn’t want to believe it, because he loves him. He chases Aiolos down with a weight pressing down in his chest because he doesn’t want to be proven wrong. He loves Aiolos, and it’s that love that makes him hesitate, when he finally confronts him, and sees him with that baby cradled in his arms. Aiolos’ body lies at the bottom of a ravine and he is the one that put him there because of his fear. His fear that if he stopped and asked Aiolos to explain, he would learn that his love was misplaced, that love alone was not enough to keep even Aiolos from failing

in his duty. He learns to fear himself after Aiolos. Though, perhaps he always feared part of himself. He thinks back to his childhood, to the last day he can remember seeing his father. The day with the blood, the day that his mother looked at him with fear in her eyes. She must have known what he was, before even he did. It doesn’t matter, he decides in time. His father had a point. Fear is better than love. With fear, he knows what to expect. With fear, there’s no surprise when it hurts, when it backfires, when it stings. “Anyone ever tell you that you think too hard about the stupidest shit?” Deathmask is blunt, crass, and unpleasant. But he’s honest, and Shura can respect that. At least, as much as he can respect anything about Deathmask. Their methods are too different, their standards too opposite. But he is a gold saint all the same, he earned his place the same as Shura, and so he doesn’t challenge him, nor does he refuse his company when it’s imposed upon him. Deathmask buys them alcohol, and by that, he means that Deathmask steals liquor from the bar in the small town just beyond Sanctuary’s borders. Deathmask has long legs and broad shoulders and he hasn't looked a day under nineteen since he hit his first growth spurt at eleven; when he was fifteen he could pass for a solid twenty-three if he tried. So he doesn't have to steal the beer, he could just buy it. But that means having money, at least enough money to buy beer and weed, and Deathmask, who is a weed-smoking shitlord, never has enough money to ever buy anything 'and weed' at the same time. He has his priorities, and they include going to Athens to get a bunch of weed, then stealing cheap vodka before returning to Sanctuary, and harassing Shura in his temple.

“Don’t be jealous because you’re incapable of thinking at all, Deathmask.” Aphrodite joins them sometimes. If there’s alcohol, always, but if there’s not, sometimes. He seems more fickle about company, more selective with his time. Deathmask likes to fill the days with anything that catches his interest, while Aphrodite curates his diversions. How the three of them became...whatever they were, he still doesn’t know. It just became routine at some point, it just became part of the fabric of his day. Like his training, like his chores, like his guilt, spending time with them was a habit now, it was something that he does without thinking about it. Not that all habits are healthy. He trains his body until it bleeds. Until the muscles of his shoulder are torn and the bone dislocated. He hones his weapon to be razor-sharp, and he does not care about the cost. He only notices that it’s strange when someone else points it out to him, when he’s bent over Deathmask’s back, and Aphrodite presses his lips to the maligned blade of his shoulder that is pressed taut against his skin. “Why do you do this to yourself?” Aphrodite asks later, as they’re lying on their backs, and the room smells like sweat and sex. He doesn’t know what encourages him to be honest. Perhaps it’s the pot, or the booze, or the sex. Perhaps it’s the need to get the words out of his mouth, because he’s afraid if he keeps them inside they’ll start to rot where they’re lodged behind his teeth. “Because I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t.” Neither says anything for some time after that, not until Deathmask can no longer bear the silence, and mutters, “That’s fucked up.” He notices it after a while, how after his moment of honestly the way Deathmask seems to be afraid to touch him at times. How when they walk beside one another and their knuckles bump, the backs of their hands brush, his hand will hover, not touching him, but lingering, almost as if waiting for some sign to do more. He will touch Shura’s back when he walks behind him, alerting him to his intention to pass by, but it will be just a quick skirting of his fingers over the collar of his shirt. Not touching him directly. Not establishing full contact. He doesn’t say anything about it, at least not to Deathmask. What he does is speak to Aphrodite, in hushed tones late at night, when the two of them are standing together on watch, looking out from the highest peak of Sanctuary to the valley of buildings below. The flickering of torches in windows and along rocky trails are like a mirror reflecting the sky above, and it’s a quiet time, a peaceful time, where there is nothing but the two of them and the soft, warm Greek wind blowing their voices out into the ether. “He’s an idiot,” Aphrodite says simply, as if there is no other explanation needed. As if that excuses everything. And, maybe to him, it does. He has low expectations of Deathmask’s emotional intelligence, and therefore can’t be disappointed if he never meets them, and can be pleasantly surprised if he surpasses them. It’s a method of self-preservation that he never quite mastered. “He’s afraid of me,” Shura corrects him. Aphrodite says nothing, he just lifts a hand upwards, slender, deft fingers tucking a stray strand of pale hair behind his ear. He isn’t looking at Shura, he’s looking at those hundreds of star-torches, he’s making constellations of the lights in Sanctuary’s windows, and avoiding Shura’s eyes. “Are you afraid of me too?” “No.” It isn’t said in a rush. It isn’t fired out of his mouth like a bullet, he doesn’t say it quickly just to prove that it’s true. His voice, that low, melodic timbre, is quiet, the sound soft but clear. It always feels as if he is whispering into Shura’s ear even when he’s several feet away, and right then is no different. Except he does step forward, he moved in close, and it’s Shura that those pianist fingers of his touch next. He slips his hand between his back and the waistband of his pants, then turns it around and moves it up, into his shirt, following the column of his spine.

Shura can’t help but shiver, gasp, from both the touch, but also the cool wind that blows against his skin, sneaking in between the gaps in his clothes that Aphrodite makes. His nails, long, filed smooth but still sharp, dig into the meat of his shoulder blade, and then Aphrodite’s chin is on his shoulder, and his lips against his ear. “I’m not afraid of you,” he says again, “The only thing that could ever frighten me would be you realizing what I am actually afraid of.” “What is that?” he asks softly, because he needs to know. Aphrodite only smiles before kissing him, and never answers his question.

#saint seiya #fanfiction #capricorn shura #gold saints #pisces aphrodite #cancer deathmask

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shadow-assassin-blix · 3 years

Text

It Belongs in a Museum

CHAPTER 5

A/N: So hints at some sexy times, but nothing descriptive. I may or may not have added another universe to this world. I have a few more parts left for this. The dress I was thinking of is the 12th one found here.

Everything Tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

Pedro Pascal tag: @m-123 @fioccodineveautunnale @artsymaddie @blo0dangel @mcrmarvelloki

As the weeks passed on, they continued to grow closer together. Soon enough, their research was done, and it was time to move onto the next location: Venezuela. Vixen had packed up her stuff and had her stuff in the Jeep, waiting with Veracruz as the others finished up. Professor Jones had already paid him for his work.

“So, what are you going to do next?” Vixen asked as she leaned against a tree.

“Have a couple jobs lined up. You have another 9 months before graduating, yeah?” He asked her, looking over at her.

She nodded, and asked teasingly, “Do you want me to send you an invitation?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, “No. Just wondering when I can come steal you away.”

She smiled softly at that, looking down at the ground.

He tilted her chin back up and said, “Come back to our bar once you’ve graduated. I’ll be there, waiting. Then I’ll whisk you away, my darling.”

“Are you actually going to be there? Cause if I make the trip all the way back here, just for you to have ghost me, I will find you and kill you,” She warned him, half joking, half serious.

He chuckled at that, “I would pay to see that my dear.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips in farewell, before rejoining his men and departing minutes later.

She joined her group as they finished loading up the jeep. The four of them spoke of their small discoveries and was excited for the next location.

The next 9 months went by in a blur and soon enough they were wrapping up their internships. At the end of the year, they were heading back to the university for graduation.

A good week after graduation, found Vixen back in Colombia, at the cheap bar where she first met Veracruz.

She looked around, not seeing him at first. She took a spot at the bar and ordered the same drink she did last time.

She quietly sipped at her drink, looking through the texts with Veracruz. Despite being separated, they texted and called each other often. Every now and again, they would send each other saucy pictures or find a quiet place to call one another and have salacious conversations.

She was smirking at some of their conversations, when she felt a hand resting on her back. She turned to yell at whoever but was pleasantly surprised when she saw a familiar face.

“Hello Comandante. What brings you to these parts?” She asked him teasingly.

“Hmm. Oh, you know simply meeting a beautiful woman. Wicked smart. Attracts trouble wherever she goes. Sound familiar?” He asked jokingly.

She smiled brightly at him, leaning up to kiss him. He kissed her back, cupping her face with one hand.

“Let’s go,” He whispered against her lips.

He took her hand, tossing some pesos down to pay for her drink, before leading her outside to his truck. The two of them got in, and he drove off, far away from the city. The road he turned down on eventually, was mostly dirt and one way.

The truck eventually pulled up to a large home, that was hidden behind trees and shrubs.

“This is your home?” She questioned him as he parked in front of it.

He simply shrugged, “One of them, yes.”

She stared at him suspiciously, looking between him and the house.

“How rich are you?” She asked him incredulous.

“I’ll never tell, lovely. Now, shall we go inside, or do you want to spend our first night together in 9 months in my car?” He questioned his eyes roving over her form.

She hopped out of the truck, walking toward the front door. He joined her a moment later, unlocking the door, and welcoming her inside. She had sent her bags ahead to him, and she spotted them off to the side.

He led her upstairs, to his bedroom, that was colored in dark greys and blues. The two of them had long since abandoned their shoes, as she made her way to the bed. She plopped down on it, sitting with her hands folded in her lap and her ankles crossed.

He smirked as he gazed at her. He slowly stalked toward her, a predatory gaze in his eyes.

He stood before her and told her to strip. She stood back up, noting how there was maybe an inch of space between them.

She stripped slowly without breaking eye contact. Once she was naked, he nodded his head toward the bed, and she crawled backwards onto it.

He slowly removed his clothes, walking around the bed to the side. He sat down, his hands running up and down her chest.

She watched his arm move for a moment, before grabbing ahold of his hand, and pressing a kiss to the back of it as she brought it closer to her face. She brushed her cheek against his hand, enjoying the roughness against her skin.

He watched her, somewhat softly, before his hand moved past her face into her hair. As it buried itself into her hair, his hand firmly grasped a chunk and gave a short tug on it.

She gasped not necessarily out of pain but more out of surprise, and he took full advantage of that as his lips captured hers into deep kiss.

His lips were devouring her own as the kiss grew more intense. He broke away suddenly, attacking her neck with harsh bites that caused breathy moans.

His biting kisses worked further down to her chest, paying close attention to her breasts when he got there.

“I hope you had no plans for tomorrow, because you are not leaving this bed for quite some time,” He teased as he moved further down.

“Hm. Was planning to go get a new boyfriend but I guess you’ll do,” She threw back at him.

“Oh? Shall I remind you what a good boyfriend I can be?” He glared up at her playfully.

“I feel like you should, especially since you couldn’t be bothered to come to my graduation,” She said with only slight annoyance.

He rolled his eyes and simply returned his attention to the task at hand. He moved himself down to between her legs muttering vaguely in Spanish.

Before Vixen could call him out on his muttering, she gasped as she felt a finger tease her clit before it slipped inside her.

True to his word, he made sure she couldn’t leave the bed for hours at a time. When they finally emerged from his bedroom, it was around 1pm the next day.

It took a good hour for her legs to function properly, while he gave her a tour of his home.

“I have an event tomorrow night. Black tie affair. I want you to come with me,” Veracruz informed her.

“Oh? Like a date?” She further teased him.

One thing she learned early on with Veracruz, words like ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ and ‘dating’ did not mean much to him. He saw it as simply ‘being with his woman.’

He rolled his eyes, pulling her into his arms.

“Yes. Like a date if you must label it. I just want to show off my beautiful and brilliant woman to my high society friends. Plus, if I have to endure one more party alone, I will murder them,” He said with a groan.

She giggled at that, “What am I supposed to wear? I don’t really own anything fancy.”

“Oh, but you do… if you look in our closet, I’m sure you’ll find something suitable,” He told her with a smirk.

They spent the rest of the day, simply enjoying one another’s presence and slept soundly that night.

When she woke up, Veracruz was already up. She tossed on a robe and wandered toward his office, figuring that’s where he would be. He was on the phone talking rapidly in Spanish. She admired him as he spoke.

He wasn’t dressed completely, simply wearing a pair of sweats. His hair wasn’t jelled yet, and she could see small curls forming as the humidity began to rise.

He noticed her standing there after a moment and raised an eyebrow.

She strolled forward, leaning over his desk to kiss his cheek. He smirked at her, shaking his head.

He hung up a minute later, and questioned, “May I ask why you were watching me?”

“Hm. Not watching. Admiring. Didn’t realize you have curls,” She stated as she looked at him.

“Heh. Yes, my mother was thrilled that I had curls. She took many photos of me,” He said twinging his nose in annoyance.

“Aww. I bet you were super cute. It’s almost unfair though. How handsome you are. I get the feeling I’m going to have scare off many a woman tonight,” Vixen said with a smile.

He shook his head and walked around his desk.

“Let’s go shower, and then have breakfast,” He proposed as he wrapped an arm around her.

They walked back upstairs to his room and showered together. They didn’t do anything to frisky other than a thorough make out session. When they had finished, and stepped out, Veracruz began his morning routine. She watched him for a moment before doing her own things such as brushing her teeth and fixing her hair.

The two of them threw on some light clothing and made their way downstairs to the kitchen. She watched him make French toast and eggs. He filled two cups with coffee, setting creamer and sugar down close to her.

She fixed her coffee how she wanted it and waited for him to finish up. He tossed some strawberries on top, dusting powdered sugar as well.

He placed a plate in front of her, with a fork and sat down across from her. The two of them dug into their meals.

She was pleasantly surprised by how amazing it tasted and complimented him, “This taste wonderful. Do you… do you cook often?”

“Yeah. My mother made sure I knew how. I was her only child, and she had declared that I would learn one way or another. Though, she still thinks I under season meals,” He commented with a roll of his eyes.

Vixen chuckled at that, “Sounds like you and your mother are pretty close?”

“Hm. Not as close as we once were. Work has definitely been a large contributor to that,” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I have 2 older siblings. My parents considered them to be the pride and joy of the family since one is a doctor and the other a lawyer. They see me as being an archaeologist as being a weaker degree. One that is not worthy of mention. So, I don’t spend much time with them” Vixen admitted as she stabbed at her eggs randomly.

“You get to make fantastic discoveries and uncover new societies and they are not proud of that?” He questioned in disbelief.

She shrugged halfheartedly not really knowing what to say. She finished up her breakfast in silence.

Veracruz stared at her for a moment before finishing as well.

She spent the next few hours exploring the closet and found a dress that she felt would drive Veracruz wild. She shaved and moisturized her skin and pulled her hair into an updo. She kept her makeup minimum, a pink gloss, and eyeliner to make her eyes standout.

When it got closer time to leave, she put on the dress and matching shoes. She stepped out when she heard Veracruz enter the room.

She stared at him in surprised as she took in the tuxedo he wore. He looked damn good.

Veracruz’s eyes drank in her form as smirk grew on his face.

“You look good enough to eat darling. Though… I feel like you are missing something,” Veracruz grinned as he presented a velvet box that he was holding behind his back.

He handed it to her, and she opened it to reveal a delicate necklace that had a square cut emerald. She smiled softly at it. She gently picked it up and he took it from her and helped her put it on. He kissed the back of her neck once it was secured.

She turned around, grabbing her clutch, and walking with him downstairs. He led her to a very nice sportscar, a Lamborghini as she soon discovered.

The drive was to rather large estate, that had valet and many other nice fancy cars pulling in. They gave the keys to the valet and strode inside, arms looped around one another.

The party was in full swing, and he was greeted several times when he first entered. There were several other high-ranking officers and political figures as she found out. She was introduced to several before eventually being left with several wives.

She made polite chatter with them, somewhat annoyed he abandoned her with women who were a little snobbish.

After an hour of plastering a fake smile on her face, she finally spotted Veracruz again and excused herself. She made her way over to him, her smile still on her face.

She lightly cleared her throat to interrupt the conversation he was having.

“Ahem. My apologies but someone owes me a dance,” She interrupted grasping his arm.

“Oh? Please, I wouldn’t want him to upset his lovely wife,” The man said excusing himself.

She tugged Veracruz to the dancefloor, taking position to slow dance. Her smile dropped quickly as she looked at him.

“You said you wanted me to distract people conversing with you. Not that you were going to abandon me with hoity toity women, who think that because they have money, they can treat people like they are less than,” She complained.

He cleared his throat to stop the laugh that tried to escape him.

“It’s not funny. I will strangle someone if you leave me with them again,” She warned him, unamused.

“I’m sorry. I had to schmooze with my bosses for a time. That is done, and now you can just stay by my side all evening,” He placated kissing her once.

“You owe me so much more than just that pathetic kiss,” She grumbled.

“Oh, my sweet. I will make it up to you this evening I promise,” He promised her, in a mocking tone.

She glared at him and rolled her eyes.

“There is actually someone I want you to meet, and they just walked in,” He informed her pulling her off the dance floor.

He led her over to a handsome, brown-haired gentleman that was in his 30s, with a woman who had curly dark hair and extremely beautiful.

“Hello, Rick, how are you doing this evening? And Evie, looking beautiful as ever,” Veracruz greeted them with a charming smile.

Evie smiled somewhat shyly at the compliment and Rick held his hand out to shake Veracruz’s.

“Doing great, how’s the freelance been going for you?” Rick asked with a smirk.

“Business is booming. This is my girlfriend,” He introduced her. “She goes by Vixen, however. She just graduated with her masters in archaeology.”

Evie gasped excitedly, “What was your area of focus for your final year?”

“Ancient Aztec and Mayan cultures. That’s actually how I met Veracruz, we wound up having to hire him and his team as protection from mercenaries,” Vixen explained, excitement growing within her as well.

“We are actually in a few weeks about to return Egypt, and have a few digs lined up. Would you like to join us? I could always use another set of eyes and hands when uncovering the past,” Evie offered, bouncing slightly.

“I would love to join you! I wanted to do my internship in Egypt to be honest, but the professor filled those spots within 5 minutes of opening it. I was a minute too late,” She admitted biting her lip.

“We will send Felix all the info you’ll need, and will see you in a couple of weeks,” Rick interjected knowing that they were both 2 seconds away from going on long tangents about ancient history.

Rick didn’t want to interrupt but he could see the President of Colombia waving them over and looking somewhat impatient. He could see in Vixen’s eyes, a similar look he often found in Evie’s eyes, the pure joy in finding a kindred spirit. The two of them would have plenty of time to talk all they want during their adventure. For now, they had business attend to in securing funds for a dig here in Colombia in 6 months’ time.

Vixen was saddened to see them walk away, and even Evie looked disappointed for a moment.

“They have to talk to the President and he’s a stickler about “appointments.” Otherwise, I am sure we would’ve lost the two of you in your conversation over ancient worlds,” Veracruz explained quietly.

“That’s okay. We will talk lots in a few weeks. Wait…” Some thing registered in her mind. “Is your name… Felix?”

His face went blank, as he closed his eyes, sighing softly.

“It is!” She gasped triumphantly.

“Yes. Damn it Rick. Forgot he was one of the few who knew,” He acknowledged.

“I like it. I’m guessing you’d prefer if I still called you Veracruz though?” She guessed, biting her lip as she took in his expression.

“Yes. I would,” He stated simply.

She nodded, somewhat disappointed.

They spent another hour at the party, before finally heading to his home. She wasn’t very talkative during that last hour and he noticed.

When they arrived at his place, she simply walked upstairs to the bedroom, not really saying anything. She tossed off her shoes, and washed off her makeup, before gently removing the necklace and placing it on the vanity.

Veracruz walked in, bowtie undone, shirt unbuttoned. He quietly undressed, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She slipped off the dress, revealing the very simple lace bra and underwear she had on underneath.

He sucked in a breath, taking in her curves.

“If I had known you were wearing that, I would’ve taken you home sooner,” He flirted lightly.

She smiled softly at that, taking off the bra, and slipping on a silk nightgown. She slid under the covers and curled up on the bed.

Veracruz finished undressing and stepped into the bathroom to spend some time rinsing out the gel in his hair before going to bed. The process took about 15 minutes to do, and he simply ran a towel over his hair to dry it.

When he stepped back out, she was still awake but only barely. Veracruz, in just a pair of boxers, got in bed, and pulled her in close to him. She curled herself around him, tangling her limbs with his.

He sighed after a moment, “You can call me Felix, in private. In public, I would prefer you used Veracruz.”

He knew she was upset by his earlier reaction; he wasn’t trying to be short with her. He just wasn’t prepared for that piece of information to be revealed.

“If it bothers you, why offer that? You clearly weren’t happy for me to learn that… though we’ve been together for almost a year now, find it odd that I am only just now learning your first name,” She muttered somewhat angrily.

“It bothers me because I wanted to be the one to tell you. Was actually planning on telling you this weekend, when I take you around the city. Was going to make it very romantic and everything,” He said with an exaggerated pout.

She rolled her eyes at that, and while the thought sounded nice, she was well in-tuned to when Veracruz was lying. His tone often took a slight mocking cheerfulness when he lied but she didn’t want to start an argument. She simply nodded her head and said nothing in response.

Veracruz tilted her head up so their eyes met. He could clearly see in her eyes that she didn’t believe him.

“Huh. It appears you are one of the few people who see through my lies. May I amend my previous statement?” He asked her, waiting for her nod. “I had planned to tell you. I just didn’t know how or when.”

That had sounded more truthful but even still, she wasn’t sure if she was going to use his first name often, if at all.

She simply pressed a kiss to his lips in response, appreciating the more truthful answer. She yawned, relaxing in his arms, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Veracruz looked down at her sleeping form and wondered, ‘How is it possible for this woman to read me like an open book?’

There were very few people who could see through his bullshit, his mother and Rick just to name the top two. He was somewhat amazed that she could pick up on it, when most women he dated before never did. He knew was thing was certain: she was going to keep him on his toes.

#comandante veracruz #comandante veracruz x reader #indiana jones crossover #but also...#a new crossover has arrived

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lockefanfic · 4 years

Text

Business Trip - Pt 14: Temptation

When you awaken later that night, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream - but the warmth of the young woman, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Sana places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Sana…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

The soaring glass walls and abundance of brushed steel and marble lent the SM head office building an intimidating aura. It was modern, yes, and likely cost a fortune to build, but it lacked warmth and personality. This was a building that was the workplace of the rich, powerful, and successful - it seemed fitting that they built a building to match their personality. These people didn’t get where they were by being nice.

You much preferred to meet at a coffee shop somewhere, or perhaps even a park or other open space - somewhere neutral. Sana told you that the response she got from Irene was the address for SM’s head office. It was enemy ground or nowhere at all, it seemed.

You take another glance at your watch, which had moved… twenty four seconds since you last glanced at it. It was now 4:17, a full hour and seventeen minutes after your supposed appointment time.

She was making you wait.

The receptionist, seated at an expensive looking desk to your right, continued to type away dutifully. What the hell was she doing that required her to be typing non-stop since you first got here?

At least she was pleasant to look at, with her cute, round face and pleasantly sculpted, small features. You’d have guessed she was around Momo’s age, or maybe a little younger. The small nameplate on her desk told you her name was “Joy” - clearly not a Korean name. Was that her codename, like Sana said everyone in this department had? The whole concept was silly. What kind of business gave its employees codenames, aside from the military or some spy agency?

Joy’s typing suddenly stops, her eyes snapping to the corner of her monitor where you assumed a notification had appeared. She shows no further emotion as she stands and gestures towards the door to her right. No words leave her mouth. Just a gesture, and a blank, unreadable look. Nothing more.

This place was creeping you out already.

You stand and button your suit jacket as you mentally prepare yourself for the confrontation to come. Taking a last glance at your watch and shooting Joy a look to ensure she caught on to your displeasure at the lateness of your appointment, you walk towards the door. If Joy even noticed your displeasure, she made no outward sign of it.

The brushed steel door is heavy, and took more effort that you were expecting to push open. Yet another thing about this building that made you feel uncomfortable. It was too clean, too neat, too heavy and imposing. This was a place that belonged in a science fiction dystopia.

The room beyond - what you’d assumed was Irene’s office - matched the rest of the building in decor. It was large, far larger than any one person needed his or her office to be, but that in itself exuded a sort of power. Even here in Seoul, where space was scarce, this company could devote what surely must have been almost a thousand square feet to a single employee.

It said almost as much about the woman you found standing at the end of the spacious office, her back to you as she gazed out at Seoul’s skyline through the floor to ceiling windows that lined the two corners of her office. She must be a woman of some power and influence to command such a workspace.

One other woman is in the room - she is sitting leisurely in one of two leather chairs in front of an imposing looking desk. The chairs are the type that sacrifice comfort for minimalist style. Not that the woman looked uncomfortable, leaning back into the seat, her long, smooth legs laid bare by her short black dress.

The seated woman locks eyes with you and makes no attempt to hide the head to toe scan she gives you. A small smirk appears on her lips, and you wonder what it might mean. She is pretty, as every female you’d encountered in this building was - but there was a sense of mischief in her features and especially in her smirk that both interested you and scared you.

“Sit down,” she says, in perfect English. Whoever she was, she must have spent some time overseas, or at least had a damn good language teacher.

You let a snort of air out of your nose, ensuring that it was loud enough for both women to hear. It wouldn’t behoove you to display weakness simply by doing whatever these women ordered you to do. You were here to get a measure of your opponent, not show them an easy target.

You stride, as casually as you can, over to the seat.

“You take your damn time with your appointments,” you say to the woman standing at the window - the one you assumed was Irene.

The seated woman speaks in Korean to the standing woman - so that’s who she was; the translator.

The standing woman lets out a snort of her own before saying something under her breath in Korean. Her comment draws a small giggle from the seated girl, but she doesn’t bother translating it.

“My name is Wendy,” she says, “and I am Irene’s director of operations. And since you don’t speak our language, I guess I’ll be the translator for this afternoon as well.”

“You can tell Irene I don’t appreciate being made to wait.”

Wendy doesn’t bother translating. By your tone alone Irene must have understood what you said.

Finally, Irene turns around to face you - and you are struck, for a moment, by her beauty.

She is beautiful in the way that Mina was beautiful; elegant, sophisticated, the kind of young woman one would find at an art museum, or taking in a show at the theatre. The kind of young woman who seemed to exist at a level above the average girl you’d find on the street. She was ethereal, royal - princess-like.

Irene says something in Korean. A moment later, Wendy translates.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here to ask you why the hell you tried to attack our company by hiring our ex-employee to sabotage our product launch by stealing our data.”

Wendy translates. When she hears what you have said, Irene lets a sly smile appear on her lips. Somewhere in your subconscious you are struck by her beauty, but you do your best to hide it. Irene responds in Korean.

“Your accusation is bold, but pointless without proof.”

You were expecting this. You reach into your suit jacket pocket and grasp a small USB drive that you then toss to Wendy. She catches it with one hand, her gaze never leaving yours.

“That’s proof.”

There was no need to explain what was on the stick. Everyone in the room knew.

Irene speaks again.

“So what if you have proof? What makes you think people will care?” Wendy says, her tone capturing the same arrogance you detected in Irene’s voice.

“We could leak this out to the public. Ruin your reputation. On top of that, we have two of your ex-employees that are willing to speak out against you.”

“Ah yes, the two turncoats,” Wendy says, “What were their names? Chou Tzuyu and Minatozaki Sana?”

At the mention of the two names Irene makes a comment in Korean. Wendy appears to agree, replying to her in the same language and adding a giggle that Irene shares.

“What’s so funny?”

“We were just wondering,” Wendy says, “if you’ve fucked both of those whores yet.”

“You little son of a b-”

You are silenced by Irene raising her hand in the air. She says something in Korean with a distinctly disdainful tone, and Wendy’s smirk deepens as she translates.

“We don’t care about Tzuyu or Sana. Hire them and have them speak out against us, fuck them and ditch them, we don’t give a shit. They’ve served their purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?”

“Showing us who’s really in charge,” Wendy continues, “and apparently it’s you. Now we know who you are. Now we know who our opponent is.”

“That goes both ways,” you say, your glare resting on Irene.

The woman gives you another look from head to toe, similar to the one Wendy gave you as you entered the room. She bites the corner of her lower lip - such a small, almost imperceptible gesture - and you think maybe she wanted you to see it. When she speaks again, her tone is soft, almost flirty.

Wendy smiles as she hears what Irene has to say, a devilish look on her young features.

“Irene says it’s a shame we have to be enemies. Things would be much more interesting if we were partners.”

“There’s no way in hell I’d work with the likes of you,” you spit immediately. Wendy translates for Irene with just a few words, although you know your tone probably told Irene what you said without need for translation.

There is a pause in the room that lasts just a few seconds, but they are heavy and tense seconds of silence.

Eventually Irene walks over to her desk and presses a button that appears to be built into the surface of it. She says something in Korean, and though you didn’t understand any of it, you sure caught the name ‘Joy’.

A second or two later, the door to the office opens and in walks Joy, the receptionist. You take a moment to admire her long, thin legs and slim body, her black minidress - apparently the uniform around here - doing little to hide the delicious looking curves beneath it.

When she approaches the three of you, Joy says something in Korean that might have been a greeting, or something, before giving Irene a short bow.

“You may want to sit down for this,” Wendy says.

“I’d rather not,” you answer, “I think we’re done here.”

“I don’t think we are,” Wendy declares.

You are about to ask her what she means when Irene begins speaking to Joy in Korean, ending her sentence with a gesture towards you.

When you turn towards Joy again, the young woman is reaching behind her, and the sound of a zipper undoing itself is all you need to hear to understand what was going on here. You mean to say something, to tell her to stop, but you are enraptured by the young woman’s eyes as she slowly finishes unzipping her dress. With thin, delicate hands, she pulls the top of the dress off her torso, and with a little shimmy of her hips, lets the black dress fall to the floor.

Joy steps out of the silk pooled at her feet, the click-clack of her black heels on the hard floor sounding almost impossibly loud in the silent room. Her body is almost impossibly perfect, her limbs toned, her breasts perfectly round and pert. Her eyes are heavy now, heavy with lust and sultry with desire. Gone was the cold and aloof receptionist - this was a woman who knew what she was about to do, and her every gesture implied to you that she was good at it.

When Joy reaches you, her hands immediately go to the belt at your waist.

“Stop right fucking there,” you say, grasping Joy’s wrists and pushing them away, “what the fuck is going on here?”

“We’ve heard of your exploits with women in this industry,” Wendy begins, “and we wanted to see if the stories about your prowess were true.”

“I’m here to talk about what you did in Taiwan,” you retort, “not give you some sick sex show.”

Wendy laughs before answering, “That’s rich. As if business has ever stopped you from fucking any of the other women you’ve had over the past few years. Minatozaki Sana, Park Choa, Kim Seolhyun, Miyoui Mina, even Chou Tzuyu… she’s just barely legal, isn’t she?”

“Fuck off,” you say angrily, shooting Irene one last look before turning away, “this isn’t over.”

“How could we forget,” Wendy continues as you begin to storm out of the room, “about Hirai Momo?”

Momo’s name stops you in your tracks. If they did anything to her…

“She’s gorgeous,” Wendy admits, “and if I were you I’d be fucking her too. Tell me, did she spread her legs for you immediately or did you have to buy her a drink first?”

You storm over to Wendy’s seat. You grasp the arms of her chair and lean in until your faces are inches apart.

“Say that again, you bitch. Say it again and see if I don’t do anything about it.”

“Enough,” you hear, and it takes you a moment to realize the English word has come from Irene. Inches away from you, a cocky smile is plastered all over Wendy’s face, infuriating you to no end.

Irene speaks again in Korean, and Wendy translates, her eyes not once leaving yours. She didn't even blink. There is a craziness in her eyes that has overtaken the mischeviousness that was present there before.

“Irene has an offer for you. Join SM. We could use someone like you around here,” she begins.

Irene says something in Korean.

“...and you can have Joy as a fucktoy for you to use whenever you want, to make up for all that tail you’re leaving behind at JYP,” Wendy finishes. As she does so she brings her mouth to your ear.

“Although I might want a turn too, big boy.”

That was the last straw for you. You had to leave now, lest you lose control of your anger.

“You’re all messed up, all of you,” you say, backing away from Wendy and glaring angrily at Irene, “We’re done here.”

“What makes you think we are? We’re done when we say we’re done,” Wendy spits. You are about to rebuke her when Irene speaks again in Korean. It was hard to miss Sana’s name amidst the Korean.

“It would be a shame if Minatozaki Sana’s exploits and her role in illegal theft of data were to reach the police,” Wendy says.

You are frozen by the implications of Irene’s threat.

“You leave her out of this,” you state, “she’s back with JYP now. She’s done with you.”

“Is that so? We’ve been in contact with her this whole time. Can you ever really be sure of her loyalty, ever again?”

Irene takes a few steps towards you, speaking in Korean as she does so.

“We could demolish her career. And not only that - she could spend a lot of time in jail. With what we know about her, we could ruin her.”

“You’d throw your own person under the bus like that?”

“In a heartbeat,” Wendy answers. You are acutely aware of Joy approaching you from your left. Her left hand reaches for your belt buckle again, and this time you don’t stop her.

“Fuck this girl’s brains out,” Wendy says, every word now freighted with lust, “make her cum. If she does, maybe we forget about Minatozaki Sana. Maybe we let her go.”

“You people are sick,” you state, even as Joy succeeds in unbuckling your belt, and her slim fingers are slowly drawing down the zipper of your pants, even as she removes the suit jacket from your torso with her other hand, letting the garment fall to the floor.

“Shut up, big boy. Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”

Joy turns to face you, her cute features inches away from yours, her eyes half-lidded with lust and desire and need. A sly smile perks up the corner of her mouth. She was certainly willing - there was no doubt about that.

Her fingers find themselves inside the waistband of your boxers, and her palm quickly wraps itself around your quickly hardening shaft. She gives you one, two, three soft strokes, and before you know it your eyes have shut as pleasure begins to emanate from your crotch.

“Fuck her,” Wendy starts, “and we’ll leave Sana alone.”

You are seconds away from giving in, and as Joy brings her mouth to your neck and plants a soft kiss there, you can almost feel the last remnants of your resistance crack before -

“No,” you state with all the conviction you could muster, “This isn’t right.”

You grasp Joy’s wrist, still pumping your shaft, and rip it off your crotch before quickly re-zipping and buttoning your pants.

“You’re all sick, all of you, for even trying something like this.”

Your statements draw nothing but a sly grin from Wendy and Irene, as if they both knew this was coming and were amused by it all.

Wendy rises from her seat and struts over to you, that infuriating grin still on her lips. She draws a business card from the inner pocket of the short black blazer she is wearing and places it in your pants pocket.

“You have one week to think about it. If you want to join us, give us a call, and we’ll make it worth your while. I know it’ll hurt to give up pieces of ass like Momo and Seolhyun, but I assure you we’ll make it up to you. She’s just the start,” she finishes with a nod towards Joy.

You return Wendy’s smirk with a glare before shooting one at Irene, who still has that slick, sly grin on her lips, as though she were above it all, watching puppets dance on a stage. She reminded you again of Mina’s elegance, but with a ruthless, callous edge to it that frightened you.

You turn to leave, to find that Joy has picked up your suit blazer and is holding it up for you. You are a little surprised to find a little bit of shame and regret and another emotion you cannot name in her eyes. She seemed entirely willing and even enthusiastic about carrying out her superiors’ orders to have sex with a man she didn’t even know - how much of it was her wanting to please her bosses, and how much of it was consensual?

You didn’t care, not at the moment - your only focus was on storming out of the building.

---

You could trace the exact moment Minatozaki Sana’s world shattered. When you met her the next day after your flight back home, she still carried that air of defiance she had been holding since the events in Taiwan, but as you played back the conversation with Wendy and Irene that you had recorded with a listening device hidden in your suit jacket, her defiant air slowly began to crumble.

You reach forward and press stop on the digital recorder. To say that Sana looked shaken by what she had just heard was an understatement.

“They are ready and willing to completely throw you under the bus,” you say, “and if they go to the police or leak info about what you did in Taiwan, it could lead to the police prosecuting you for intellectual property theft, not to mention breaking into a secure server and any one of any number of invasion charges.”

“...Why,” Sana mumbles, the small word seemingly all she could say.

“I don’t know. They want to get me to join them. I guess they expect that if I do, I’ll bring along all of JYP’s inner secrets and help them build up that section of their company. That’ll also disrupt JYP’s foothold in the industry. At the very least, by throwing this threat at me they can disrupt our operations for the near future while we figure out how to deal with it. They gain, JYP loses.”

“What… what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully, “but I’ll figure something out. I just thought you should know what’s going on here. Tomorrow at work we’ll reconvene with everyone and figure out a plan.”

Sana still seems shaken. You reach over with a palm and grasp the back of her left hand.

“You’ll be okay, Sana. I won’t let them do anything to you.”

Sana looks up at you with her large, expressive eyes. Tears have begun to well up.

“Why? Why are you helping me, after I just tried my hardest to ruin you?”

You take a moment to compose your response. The hurt of her betrayal still lingered somewhat, but it was overcome by the memories and genuine affection you had for her.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. I told you I’d give you a second chance and that I would protect you, and that’s what I’m doing. Besides,” you add, “you still have that blue hoodie I gave you in Tokyo, and I want it back someday.”

You grin sheepishly at the young woman, and you earn a soft giggle in response.

“It’s getting late, so you should stay here. It’s been a long flight and I’m wiped. You’ll have to ignore the complete mess in the guest room.”

Sana manages a weak smile, and you are heartened to find a little bit of color returning to her face.

“Thank you,” she says softly, trying her best to smile for you.

“Oyasumi,” you answer, before leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead and heading to your own bedroom to pass out.

---

“Sana…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

A part of you wants to stop her, make sure this was what she really wanted. Another part of you wanted to stop her to ensure that sex didn’t further complicate the already tricky circumstances of your relationship. But a final part of you knew that she was in a hurt state, and that she needed something, some comfort, to ease her mind, if only temporarily, from the danger SM posed to her career and her wellbeing.

And so unlike your experience with Joy a day prior, you found yourself willingly giving in. When Sana’s tongue presses softly against your lips, you didn’t resist, and soon your tongues were reacquainting themselves with one another as the passion begins to ignite in your bodies.

Sana is straddling you now, and your hands have begun to roam, up and down her slim torso and finally down to her firm butt, to find again that she wasn’t wearing underwear. As you continue to make out she has drawn the bed covers down with her left hand, revealing your shirtless torso before pressing her naked upper body against you. You revel in the newfound warmth of her small frame, and the sensation of her soft breasts and already erect nipples poking against your chest.

Sana breaks your kiss and, emboldened by your consent for her desire, she returns to placing kisses on your jawline before moving to your neck and lower. You have been with her enough times to realize what she is about to do, and you watch, enraptured, as she kisses her way to your chest, and then your belly, sliding her body down yours until her face is inches away from your boxers and the quickly hardening shaft they are covering.

Reaching up with both hands, she hooks slim fingers around the waistband of your boxers before drawing them down. She wastes little time - the boxers are lowered just enough to let your hard shaft spring free, before she grasps it with the fingertips of her right hand, and, taking a moment to ensure your eyes are glued to hers, licks it from base to tip with one long, slow slurp.

The electricity that courses throughout your body is breathtaking. Sana had given you head before, of course, not that it did anything to dull the utter pleasure that she was able to inspire in your body. Soon she has begun her blowjob in earnest, taking your shaft in and out of the wet, warm cavern of her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh in random patterns, each entry and exit into her lips sending spikes of pleasure from your crotch to the rest of your body.

When she had given you oral sex before it was often hurried, lustful - but tonight was different. Sana took her time, ensuring you felt every flick of her tongue and pump of her palm, the young woman seeking to revel in the moment, enjoy every second just as much as you did. She wanted to lose herself, wanted to forget that anything else in the world existed aside from the sensual act she was performing on you.

“Fuck, Sana, that’s so good,” you say, more descriptive words failing to come to mind amidst the pleasure currently overtaking your senses. A minute or an hour passes - you didn’t know or care. All that existed in the world was the young woman bobbing her head up and down between your legs.

You look down to watch as she performs, taking a stray lock of hair and brushing it behind her left ear, such an innocent act framed by such an indecent one. But there is a certain kind of sweetness to it, in a way - the act of a woman seeking to make her partner feel good by whatever means necessary.

That thought only adds to the pleasure, and you watch, enraptured, for a few more minutes as Sana pleasures you.

“Sana… God, you’re so good at that.”

Sana responds by bringing her left hand between your legs ripping your boxers free, raising her body to allow you to kick them off, finally leaving you as naked as she was. Giving your cock one last lick, she straightens her body and straddles you once again.

“Damn,” you say, “I wanted you to keep going.”

“Later, I will,” Sana says with a soft, seductive smile, “but now I want more.”

You take a moment to drink in the sight of her slim, tight body straddling your hips. Her frame is perfect, a little more on the slim side now than she was before, without losing any of the feminine charm she had in spades. Her breasts, small and humble, sit proudly high on her chest, her torso painted stripes of blue and gold by the street light filtering in through the half-shut window blinds.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” she begins, “I… I’m sorry for what I did. You’ve been so good to me, even after I betrayed you. And now you’re protecting me.”

You raise your upper body up so that you are almost sitting, bringing a hand to her soft cheek. Your faces are inches apart, and you are struck once more by her simple beauty, her cuteness and sexiness giving way tonight to sincere vulnerability. Sana nuzzles against your warm palm, her eyes closing, a soft smile on her cheeks.

“I would never let anyone hurt you, Sana.”

“I know,” she answers, “and I want you to know that I’m yours. I’ve cut off all my ties with SM. I’m yours, whether you want me just as a fuck, or as a friend, or as something more, I’m yours...”

Sana lets a soft smile appear on her lips before pressing her lips to yours once again. Her left arm wraps itself around your shoulders, and you are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance.

You feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Sana lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy.

Sana gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply.

As your tongues duel Sana begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours.

You release her from your kiss and lean backward slightly, keeping yourself upright with your hands, allowing yourself to watch as Sana takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft.

You burn the image in your mind of her slim, young body, her small, alluring breasts, her flat stomach, the tight muscles of her thighs and hips as they work to grind her body on and off your shaft again and again and again. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure.

As she always did, Sana has let a long string of gasps and moans stream from her mouth, beginning with your first entry into her body and not stopping, you knew, until you were done.

“Fuck,” she manages to say, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you so much. It’s so good.”

She rides you a little harder, a little faster, and you begin to feel her pussy tightening slightly against you, the first signs of an orgasm building inside her young body. You bring your right hand to her left hip, guiding her, pressing her down at the apex of her rhythm while you drive upward slightly with your own hips, crashing your bodies together just a little harder, a little faster against one another.

“Ohhh!” Sana exclaims, throwing her head back, sending sweat matted brown hair flying as your shaft creates a new splash of pleasure on the canvas of her senses. The moan is accompanied by a pulse of her walls around your shaft.

Sana doesn’t stop, the moans and gasps emitting from her mouth rising in volume steadily, contending only with the slap of wet skin against wet skin and the soft slurring sounds of her juices as your shaft swirls them around the inside of her body.

“I… I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum on your cock,” Sana gasps, “I… I’m cumming!”

Sana does just that, and her body erupts in pleasure, her small frame writhing and shivering as the orgasm overtakes her senses. Her lustful gasps turn into a long, passionate moan, her arms tightening around your torso as her pussy tightens in pulses around your shaft.

It takes her a minute or so to recover, but you are more than content to let her cling to your upper body as she recovers, her body occasionally shaking with pleasurable aftershocks as her orgasm winds itself out. You bury your nose in the crook of her neck, planting soft kisses on warm, sweaty skin. Eventually Sana finds the strength to bring her mouth to your ear.

“It’s your turn. Do whatever you want. I’m yours. Everything I am, all of me… I’m yours.”

You are struck by her words, not just by her consent for you to do as you wanted with her - but more so for the genuine gratitude you sensed behind them. She seemed truly contrite for what she had done to someone she cared deeply about, and wanted you to know it.

You know that this isn’t the time for rough sex, and as much as the thought of turning her around and taking her hard from behind appealed to you, this wasn’t the time for it; perhaps there would be an opportunity to do so in the near future. For now, this was a time for slow, passionate sex, and to that end you grasp her upper body to yours before rolling over on the bed so you are on top.

Sana spreads her legs instinctively, and as soon as she is on her back she raises her hands above her head, presenting you with the beautiful image of her body laid out in offering to you - her eyes are filled with lust and passion and genuine feelings for you, her perfectly sculpted body almost an afterthought to the affection you find in her eyes.

“Take me, please,” she says, her voice hardly above a whisper, “fill me with you.”

You have no other reaction than to kiss her again, your tongue invading her mouth even as your shaft does the same to her pussy, beginning to fuck her slowly, carefully, with the same amount of passion and consideration she had when she was riding you minutes earlier. You savor every thrust, every small pulse of her pussy, enjoy the feeling of her juices and wetness coating your shaft and balls and making every entry into her body so slick, so easy, so pleasurable.

You are almost ashamed to admit that your orgasm is fast approaching - something about the emotion in Sana’s eyes and warmth of her body only heightened the pleasure coursing throughout your body and mind. You quicken your thrusts slightly, and Sana wraps her legs around your thrusting hips as she senses what that means. You rip your mouth from hers and bury it in the pillow next to her face.

Her mouth is next to your ear now, and she does her best to encourage you, urging you on with soft gasps and moans with each thrust you take into her pussy. She is tight and wet around you, but most overwhelming of all is the heat of her body pressed and wrapped around yours, welcoming each thrust into your body.

“Cum for me, please… fill me. Fill me with your cum. I want it. Please… cum inside me.”

Almost immediately you begin to orgasm, as though her words are a trigger. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, contributed to by the passion between you, the desire in her words, and the need to provide Sana with some comfort, some security in knowing you were there for her. Your shaft pulses with each burst of semen erupting from it, filling Sana’s pussy with thick, hot cum, every splash of hot juice eliciting a sharp gasp from the young woman.

You breath heavily into the pillow, and Sana hugs you tightly with each of her limbs, breathing heavily and loudly into your own ear. Eventually she recovers enough to kiss your ear lightly.

“Arigato,” she whispers softly.

---

When you wake up in the morning you are immediately aware of the weight on your chest that has rendered the entire left side of your body numb. But your fear is quickly abated by the realization that the ball of brown hair that is the cause of the numbness is Minatozaki Sana’s head. Smiling softly to yourself and taking a moment to savor the feel of her warm body pressed against yours, you slowly ease yourself up and away from the young woman’s tangling limbs - you only partially succeed, and she appears to awaken slightly, but she mumbles something beneath her breath before seemingly falling back to sleep.

You brush hair away from her head to reveal her sleeping features; ostensibly to get her hair out of her face and allow her to breathe easier, but you knew inside that it was because you wanted a clearer look at her sleeping face. She was adorable sleeping, but she could also be sensual and sexy, and smart, and charming, and intelligent… despite the events of the past month, you were nonetheless stricken once more by the young woman.

You smile to yourself as you get up and head towards the kitchen to make some coffee.

On your bedside, there is a picture of you and Momo - a simple couple selfie taken during one of your dates. For the first time in many months, its existence was temporarily forgotten.

---

On the way to the kitchen, you pick up your suit blazer, still lying where it was when you threw it over the couch after you got home from the airport but before Sana arrived. You reach into the suit jacket pocket to find your passport, happy to find that it was still there. You take out the small booklet to find a small slip of paper falling out with it. For a second you think it might have been the business card Wendy had slipped into your pants back in Seoul, but then you remember having put that away in your briefcase before the flight home.

You think it might be a receipt or some other inconsequential scrap of paper - but as you pick it up you decide to open it. Odd, because you don’t remember putting anything aside from your passport into your suit jacket, and no one else would have had the opportunity to put anything in there, except for...

It is a handwritten note, consisting of short note and an email address.

I can help you.

[email protected]

---

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