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envysnest · 9 months

Text

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 9/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

No TW's apply for this chapter, but it is explicit (again!).

---

An alarm went off in the dark. Outside, it was still night, and the snow was coming down fast and hard. Even Midgar had settled under the gloom. Terror gripped you; you didn’t know where you were. You lifted your head and peered into the darkness.

Then the other half of the bed shifted, the alarm was silenced, and you remembered.

You instinctively nuzzled into the warm, empty spot on the bed. Someone’s hand covered your lower back and pressed you into the mattress: a firm, soothing touch. It sat there for a minute, the room quiet. You sighed.

The hand lifted, and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

You were alone when you woke up. The cream curtains from the night before were drawn back and neatly pinned to the wall. Morning sunlight filled the windows; the sun was just rising over the city, sending light dancing two feet of snow. You rolled over and glanced at the small alarm clock on Sephiroth’s side: 7:39 AM.

“Seph?” you called.

Silence greeted you.

You got out of bed and stretched. The carpet was soft under your toes. Your clothes from the night before, along with Sephiroth’s, were gone. You wandered over to the bedroom door and poked your head out.

Empty. You were alone.

The lights were still on. The kitchen was near-pristine, the dishwasher churning away. A small note had been left on the counter:

Be back soon. Had a training thing I couldn’t get out of. Anything in the fridge is yours. -Seph.

Signed, as if anyone else could’ve left you that note.

You clutched the note to your chest and scanned the kitchen. The dishwasher had a tiny analog timer on its edge: SANITIZE. 0:37. CYCLE 3. A Shinra-co. microwave sat between black wooden cabinets. The dryer tumbled quietly; you could see your blouse and tights spinning together with Sephiroth’s jeans.

The fridge was silver and double-doored. There was a black screen on the right-hand door; when you tapped it, it chimed and lit up, showing you the inside of the fridge.

Sephiroth had covered the other door in photos, and you seized the opportunity to scan them: Genesis and Angeal, laughing with their arms around each other. A clump of 2nd-Classes clustered around a fire in a vast field. The dusty red cliffs near Cosmo Canyon. Genesis wearing awful sunglasses in a gift shop. A cluster of new recruits, grinning and posing for the camera. Between photos were endless postcards and souvenirs: dangling keychains, beaches and forests and old ruins, WISH YOU WERE HERE, a fossil magnet, a seashell, a train ticket (already punched). A couple of ceramic seagulls held a yellowed fan letter; in clumsy pen, it read:

To Mister Sehpir Sephiroth, My name is Cloud I am your biggest fan. I’m from Nibelheiiem have you ever been it is a beutiful place with lots of mountains and fields also. One day I want to be a strong soldier like you helping the people and maybe earning enough money to buy my mom a big house because she deserves it. Ive been doing a lot of jumping jacks and I can do at least 20 push ups so I’m almost ready to fight you in a match. Please come to Nibelhiem someday so we can be friends. Yours truly Cloud strife

You opened both refrigerator doors and squinted into the blinding white shelves. Sephiroth had meticulously organized his food into categories, packing the fridge end-to-end with fruit, pre-made meals, drinks, and leafy vegetables. A plastic carton of chocobo eggs dominated the middle shelf. They were clearly farm-fresh: they varied in color from beige to gray to pale green. Your leftovers from last night sat on a lower shelf, right above a produce basket filled to the brim with unidentifiable green smoothies.

The left-hand door of the fridge was packed with glass bottles of mako: sickly green, stacked one atop the other. You winced. These were scheduled doses, mixed with a noxious protein solution: designed to be taken once daily with food. The amount in Sephiroth’s fridge made you faintly nauseous. You had probably signed off on an experiment request without any thought as to what that much mako actually looked like.

Were you poisoning him?

CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE, said the orange stickers on the bottle. CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE. CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE.

You shuddered and closed the fridge.

The cabinets below the counter were that same black wood. Past the dishwasher was a gleaming silver sink, empty save for a single glass. The faucet was capped with a tiny water filter. You stood on your tiptoes and pried open the cabinets above: more plain glasses, some novelty cups, a pint glass that said IT’S 5 O’ CLOCK SOMEWHERE! in cheery, chipped lettering next to a cartoon lobster wearing sunglasses.

Near the sink was the espresso machine, along with a stack of well-loved cookbooks and jars of coffee beans. A bottle opener sat discarded. Nearby, an empty mug boasted SHINRA RESEARCH DIVISION in faded red, a dried coffee ring visible inside of it.

You didn’t feel particularly hungry. The only thing you felt was cold. You were still naked. You walked around the bartop, into the living room. Sephiroth had moved your overnight bag when he left, placing it neatly atop the couch for you. Masamune was gone from her high shelf.

You tucked his note inside the bag's inner pocket, retrieved an old GU t-shirt and your sleep shorts. After some consideration, you pulled out a pair of socks, too. The bag seemed comically overpacked, even for a weekend; you had gone through the endless possibilities of things and fluids you could’ve spilled on yourself or stepped into. Ultimately, you ended up packing for several days in some endlessly-cycling, nonsense climate. Your pill organizer was buried at the bottom.

Now dressed, you carried the pill organizer to the kitchen. You had to stand on your tip-toes to get a water glass. The sink burbled happily as you poured yourself a glass. Midgar prided itself on having some of the cleanest water on the Western continent, provided you lived on the upper plate. You still remembered the water filters from your childhood in the slums: the sour, rotten-egg smell of the brackish water pouring from the tap. The water from Sephiroth’s sink tasted like nothing.

A drawer near the fridge sat packed with protein and granola bars. You shoved one in your mouth to stave off the inevitable nausea from the pills.

That’s a lot of medication, your GP had once said, eyeing you warily. You may want to consider weaning off of it.

How old are you? asked your relatives. So many pills for a twenty-eight-year-old.

But you couldn’t go back in time. It was a small trade-off for being able to live with yourself. The granola bar felt like cardboard in your mouth.

You set your pill organizer back on the counter, next to your glass of water, and wandered over to the bathroom. The mixture of items on the counter had vaguely shifted from the night before: the toothpaste now rolled up, the mouthwash turned to the right, a washcloth (still damp) hanging from a towel rack. There was a tub of white hair gel, uncapped, next to the left faucet knob; the indents of Sephiroth’s fingers were still visible in the product. You screwed the cap back on. A menagerie of cleaning materials sat next to a small, silver trash can under the sink.

Out of pure curiosity, you touched the mirror gently, trying its edges. It swung open, revealing a few more shelves: floss, extra toothbrushes, bars of soap, several spare bottles of shampoo and conditioner. It was good to know you’d be able to grab extras off of Sephiroth, should you forget something.

But there, on the highest shelf, was also a small tube of mascara.

Something in you twinged. Sephiroth wore makeup?

It doesn’t help that I don’t look right.

You weren’t sure how to feel. He didn’t need your pity, and from his defeated expression when he had said that, he didn’t want it, either. The pink tube still made you feel cold, a little vulnerable, on his behalf. There was so much separating him from the normal world; even the scale of the apartment was built to him, as if Shinra needed to think hard about where he fit in their war machine.

You had visited the Sector 3 Zoo as a child. Your parents forced you into a frilly dress that itched and rode up in the summer heat. Your mother had sported a matching dress; she held your hand as the two of you gazed into the glass tanks. Painted jungle scenes loomed in the background of each tank, highlighting a few forlorn animals clustered together on a plastic tree. The decorations gave the impression of a healthy life: a hint of nature, like a well-placed accessory or seasoning on a dish. Perhaps they had painted the animals, too.

You closed the mirror.

With the door to the bathroom closed, you could see a few shelves set into the wall behind you. All boasted fresh white towels and washcloths. You grabbed one and headed back out to fetch your makeup remover.

Clunk.

You froze. You strained your ears, but you could only hear the whir of the dishwasher, the idle hum of the refrigerator. Did you break something?

You peered into the kitchen. The clunk had come from the cabinets. There was an odd curve in the corner: the cabinet door stretched from end-to-end in a smooth arc, like a bad optical illusion. You pulled it open.

Beyond was a large metal dumbwaiter. The metal platter held a small assortment of groceries in a paper bag: dinosaur kale and a chunk of celery peeked out from the top.

That explains the clunk, you thought. Sephiroth must have had everything in this apartment delivered. There was something immeasurably sad about the dumbwaiter, the grocery delivery. Either Sephiroth was so abominably overworked that he couldn’t grocery shop, or— worse— he couldn’t step outside of his apartment at all for the crowds.

Or both.

You pulled the grocery bag out of the dumbwaiter. As if prompted, it plunged into the metal chute below. You tried to peer into the darkness, but you felt nausea overtake you. The dumbwaiter dropped down, down, down, until, after a leaden minute, it clunked somewhere far below.

And then there was a groan, and it shot up again.

You backed away, clutching the grocery bag to your chest. The dumbwaiter groaned to a halt inside Sephiroth’s kitchen, holding two cartons of chicken eggs in a plastic bag. Someone (or something) was on the other end, stacking items onto the dumbwaiter.

You set the paper bag down on the counter and carefully removed the eggs from the dumbwaiter. This time, it stayed put inside the cabinet.

Sephiroth hadn’t indicated when he was coming back. The kindest thing you could do was put his groceries away for him before they became too warm. You sorted the chicken groceries on the counter, refrigerating only what needed refrigerating. Sephiroth’s fridge had an intimidating-looking organizational system; as you shelved the eggs near the Chocobo eggs, you prayed you wouldn’t get it wrong. Sephiroth had been so wonderfully patient and gentle with you thus far, but everyone had their limits, especially with you. You shoved the worry down as you weighed a cucumber in your hand, considering your options. The vegetables joined the refrigerator baskets; the fruit was placed near the bowl of clementines.

You yawned as you closed the fridge door. Remove the makeup, you thought, and then back to bed until Sephiroth returned.

Sleep had removed most of your eyeshadow and mascara. You set to work cleaning your face. On the first swipe, the towel came away with an angry smear of concealer. Your mind raced: Could you offer to buy another towel? Should you throw it in the laundry, run it yourself? Or no, perhaps he paid the water bill. Between putting the groceries away and this mistake, you had some explaining to do.

You took a deep breath and neatly folded the towel on the bathroom counter. Better to beg forgiveness, maybe. You took care to leave the makeup stain visible; he could decide what to do with you when he returned.

Back in the bedroom, you caught sight of the books shoved under the bed. You wiped your damp hands against your sleep shorts. What could Sephiroth possibly want to hide from you? He could’ve put them into his crowded bookshelves, and you wouldn’t have been the wiser. These were books he must have been looking at recently: perhaps before bed, or just before your visit.

You knelt down on the carpet and peeked under the bed. The pile was maybe ten, fifteen books deep: just enough to be sizable without crowding the (otherwise empty) space. You dragged a few books into the light.

FEMALE SEXUAL ANATOMY - 1995 Revised Edition

Satisfied: Female Arousal and Orgasm

Becoming Better Lovers: How to Worship the Female Form

“He wasn’t kidding,” you muttered to yourself as you sifted through the books. The Science of Touch, said the next book, Why We Need It and How to Give It. You felt that stab of pity again, the feeling that you were back at the zoo, watching the sad animals on their plastic tree with their painted background. You would’ve been happy to help him touch you, or maybe not, your brain added, because you had pushed him away so thoroughly that even you didn’t know you wanted him until he was there. Fresh guilt ran through you: maybe he hadn’t thought himself able to ask. He had seemed embarrassed to admit his lack of experience, and for a moment, you scolded yourself for having pressed it out of him.

No, said a different voice in your head. He told you because he wanted to. This voice sounded suspiciously like Sephiroth.

There were quite a few gil-store romance novels here, many of them dog-eared and broken at their spines. You snorted at the buff men on the cover, the authors’s campy pen-named names: M.S. ROSE, EARL LUV, JENNY SWOON. It seemed almost unreal that the Sephiroth would be just as taken with these as a village housewife. No wonder he had taken so poorly to being called such in bed.

You hesitated over the last book:

Loving the Fearful Avoidant Partner

You had a terrible feeling this book was about you.

With trembling hands, you opened the covers. Every page was littered with highlights, sticky notes, and cramped annotations in Sephiroth’s looping handwriting. There were bountiful dog-ears across each chapter, noting where Sephiroth had stopped and started and stopped again.

You sat back on your heels and slowly carded through the book. Every page, every sentence, had been examined, pored over, dissected: how to deal with touch avoidance, how to recognize dissociation, how to reassure your partner that you would be there again and again. Pencil filled every empty space on the page, and when Sephiroth ran out of room, he continued on sticky notes.

Tears welled up in your eyes. He had tried. He had wanted you enough to make you feel safe, had wanted you enough to read this book front-to-back and take notes. He saw you as someone to love, to care for and guide; not something to use and then discard at the first sign of trouble.

This is so much, you thought, swallowing around the lump in your throat. So much for you, angry and broken and sad and detached-from-everything you: resigned to cruelty, married to the dark room, the couch at the party, the dorm room bed. This was a level of care that sent a pang through those vulnerable parts of you, like a gentle hand stroking your hair, excruciating in its thoughtfulness.

You sniffled and returned the book to the pile. You curled up on the carpet, hands curled like dead birds to your chest.

Once, you had had a traumatic attack in front of your parents, the stress of everything raining down all at once during a minor argument. You had curled up into a ball, hyperventilating and wailing. They had screamed at you to calm down, and, when that didn’t work, turned their backs to you in disgust, as if you were a disobedient child. Later, they asked if you were “done,” that same disgust glimmering deep in their eyes. You learned early that no one was coming when you felt that way; except now, someone was, and you didn’t know what to do with him.

You crawled up to the bed, burrowed under the covers. His pillow still smelled like him, warm and floral and inviting, like the flowers in the Sector 5 Slums. You cried into it, pretended like he was holding you again.

Plink. The telltale chime of the Shinra messaging system.

You lifted your head. Sephiroth's tablet lit up from the bedside table: Instant Message from xxx-xxx-2546.

Sephiroth’s tablet background was instantly recognizable: Zack at the holiday party, clutching a reluctant Angeal close and holding a phone out at arm’s length. Genesis had his chin on Angeal’s shoulder, staring up at the camera with a coy expression. For a moment, you felt a surge of envy: Genesis looked so pretty, and even Angeal’s disgruntled smile seemed handsome. Zack was all teeth, all bright eyes and a brighter smile.

But in the corner of the photo, back against the wall, was Sephiroth’s long, silver hair. He was staring at someone. You squinted at the photo. The tablet went to sleep again, and you tapped the screen twice to wake it.

You. He was staring at you.

You had your hand to your mouth, looking down at your champagne, looking small and shy. But it was clearly you, that was your blouse and your slacks, and that was the wall you leant against.

And Sephiroth stood beside you with his own glass of champagne, had even leant down to listen to you talk. There was an inquisitive, gentle look on his face as he watched you.

Somehow, you got the feeling that Sephiroth had chosen this photo on purpose. No one would notice you in the background; all anyone would see were Sephiroth’s colleagues. But every day, with every message he got, he let himself sneak a look at you. This was a small, secret thing, like a locket: like a photo that somehow held another, better one inside it.

---

The front door opened. You startled awake.

“Hello?” you called.

“Hello,” came the easy reply.

Sephiroth’s voice. You relaxed into the bed. The door thumped closed, and there was a sound like jingling keys, the turn of a lock. You snuggled back into the warmth of the covers as his footsteps moved through the living room. There was a gentle thump, presumably as he set Masamune back in her wooden stand, followed by the clang of a metal thermos on the marble countertop.

He gently pushed the bedroom door open.This seemed like the first doorway that you hadn’t seen him duck to get into. He was in his full battle regalia, down to the leather boots. His gloves were gone. “There you are.”

You made to sit up. Sephiroth held out a hand.

“Don’t move.” His voice was soft, still rough around the edges with morning fog. “Are you hungry?”

You hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He disappeared around the corner before you could protest. You sunk back into the pillows, fighting off humiliation. He had just come back from work, and, judging by how dark it had been when the alarm went off, he had been at it a long time. The clock now read 10:42 AM.

You heard the click of a stove burner. Sephiroth called out from the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

“I did,” you called back, and it was true. You normally struggled with sleeping with others, even those few long-term partners: your brain sensing danger where there wasn’t any, feeling the terror of waking up in an unfamiliar bed, startling with every adjustment and snore from the other half of the mattress. You hadn’t even realized he was in the bed with you until he wasn’t. “Did you?”

“Very well.” There was a note of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t want to strangle the recruits for once.” The fridge sang as it opened: ding-dong. “You put my groceries away?”

You winced. “I didn’t know how you liked them,” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice. “I didn’t want them to go, like, go bad, so—“

“No,” he replied. “This is perfect.” He sounded awed, even humbled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” You let out a relieved sigh.

You listened to him putter around the kitchen. Outside, the train circled lazily around the plate, sending puffs of white steam into the sky. This high up, it looked like a toy, like the ones in the High Street holiday displays. You took a deep breath, just to reassure yourself this was all real.

You scanned the room again. One of the closet doors was ever-so-slightly ajar, revealing a dark, cavernous closet. In the sunlight, the patchy spackling above the doors was even more obvious. The small tube of mascara, the books shoved under the bed: secrets, secrets, secrets. You readied yourself to call Sephiroth, but he returned, holding a wooden tray laden with food.

You sat up in bed, let him set the tray astride your lap. The amount of food on your plate seemed excessive, and yet, you had the feeling he had tried to hold back: Three Chocobo eggs, sunny-side-up, wobbled next to a side of sausage. He had stacked toast and roasted potatoes on top of each other, swallowing the rest of the plate. A small bowl of strawberries was tucked in the corner.

You peered into the mug he set down on your nightstand. The coffee was even black. You hadn’t had to tell him how you liked it.

“This is—“

“Too much?” Sephiroth knelt next to the bed. “I wasn’t sure.”

You could hear the nervousness in his voice, and your heart swelled. “No,” you replied, picking up a piece of toast. He had already buttered it for you: real butter, not the chemical stuff in Midgardian supermarkets. “It’s perfect.”

He touched gentle fingers to the soft flesh of your arm. Goosebumps prickled there. “I’m glad.”

You relaxed back into the pillows as Sephiroth stroked your bare arm. You had needed this: the care, the ample affection. It was like being a child again, like being held close to a parent’s bosom, knowing you were safe and loved there.

It was hard to accept that this didn’t have a catch.

You stopped chewing your toast.

“You’re thinking again.” Sephiroth’s voice was gentle, teasing. You hadn’t even noticed that his hand had stilled.

“This is nice,” you whispered to the plate. “How can I repay you?”

He brushed his knuckles against your cheek. You leaned into it, and he laughed and brushed your cheek again: just for you, just because you liked it.

He liked you. He liked that you liked him. There was no disgust or smugness at how needy you were for him: there was a wound in your belly, and he wanted to mend it.

You closed your eyes as Sephiroth cupped your cheek. His palm was warm, rough, against your skin.

He said, “You don’t owe me anything. I’m not interested in playing games.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“Thank me?” he laughed. “It’s my pleasure.”

He stood and stretched. You tucked into the eggs as he strode to the closet and began removing his armor. You watched him idly while you ate. He rolled each shoulder as the pauldrons came off: left, then right. The gloves, as it turned out, had already been stuffed in a pocket; Sephiroth removed them and folded them neatly before placing them in a drawer. He tilted his head to the side and audibly cracked his neck with a small grunt of satisfaction. You jumped, but he didn’t seem to notice your surprise.

Next came the belts across his chest. As he slid his coat off, you caught the gleam of the honeybee against an inner pocket.

You spoke up. “You kept it.”

Sephiroth looked over his shoulder with a raised brow. You gestured with your fork at the coat.

He turned the coat over in his hands until the honeybee was visible. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course I kept it,” he said before looking back up at you. “Someone in my bed has a free punch if I ever lose it.”

You shook your head. “I would never.”

“Hush. I promised.”

You ducked your head to hide your grin. The egg yolk on your plate was perfectly runny, and you dragged the toast through it. The slice was thick, sourdough bread that easily sopped up the yolk. The butter tasted fresh, fresher than whatever artificial spread you had at home. There was still food on the plate, and yet you were rapidly filling up.

“Does the switch still work?” you asked. “I can fix it for you if it doesn’t.”

“It does,” he said. He had already hung up the coat, yet he removed it from the closet again, turned the lapel out just to show you. With a tug of his fingers, the honeybee’s wings lifted.

You bit into a strawberry; it exploded on your tongue, sweet and tender. You spoke around it. “You can add a little cleaning solution to the gears if it stops doing that.”

Sephiroth hummed and placed the coat back on its hanger. There were more scars on his pale back: bullet wounds, old cuts, more burns. He shook out his hair as he unbuckled his pants. You averted your eyes out of habit; with his back turned to you, he didn’t notice. You doubted he would even care.

Each strawberry you picked up was as succulent as the last. You snuck another glance at Sephiroth, but he had already dressed himself in dark sweatpants and a faded white shirt. He had his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes with a weary, scrunched-up expression.

“Seph?”

“Mm.” He blinked hard and looked over to you. Even from this distance, you could tell some of the mascara had smudged, giving the underside of his eyes a softer, raccoon-like halo.

You pointed at the spackling. “What happened there?”

Sephiroth followed your gaze. “Oh.” He blinked hard again, like he was noticing the patches for the first time. “I used to hang medals up there. Plaques, dedications, all kinds of honorary bullshit.” He shook his head and turned towards the bathroom. “I was sick of looking at them,” he added, voice flat, “so I took them all down.”

A chill ran through you. As he disappeared into the bathroom, you called after him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he called. The sink turned on, briefly, before sputtering to a stop. “It’s a fair question.”

The strawberries now gone, you mixed the potatoes with the remaining egg. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have asked it,” you said.

A laugh. “I won’t answer you if I don’t want to.” He poked his head through the doorway, swiping the soiled towel you had left across his eyes. “I can be stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you looked down and shoveled potatoes into your mouth.

You pushed your plate away when he emerged from the bathroom, his eyes red as he dried his hands on the ruined towel. His eyelashes were gone, too; or no, you thought, they were only a stark white, and they were just as long as you remembered. He looked unreal, even a little terrifying, and you didn’t catch yourself staring until he looked up at you and gave you a shy smile.

You cleared your throat. “Pretty.”

His smile widened with something bitter. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“No, I…come here.” You reached out a hand. He walked over and, when he leant to take your tray, you cupped his cheeks. Yes, his lashes were white after all, and still thick enough to hide his eyes from you. His eyes traveled across the plate, across your chest, up to your mouth and, finally, your eyes, where he squinted in confusion.

You leaned forward as far as you could, and he closed his eyes and pushed his head forward, into the gap, where you could press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Pretty,” you said again, more forcefully.

His hands tightened around the tray. “Mm.”

He stayed where he was when you pulled away. When he opened his eyes, he stared at your shirt: the old, faded GU gym shirt your parents had bought you when you had been accepted.

You fidgeted, and this seemed to snap him out of whatever train of thought he had been stuck in. He stood, tray in his hands, and turned to leave, though not before you caught his mouth twisted in deep concentration.

“Seph?” you called.

“One minute,” he called back. You couldn’t read his voice. Your heart began to race.

By the time he returned, you had already scripted an entire apology in your head. You pushed the covers away, but before you could get out of bed to soothe him, he climbed on top of you.

“Seph—“

“Shh.” He kissed you, then, soft and wanting, like he was trying to solve something. You leaned up into him. He didn’t seem angry, from what you could tell.

You pulled away. “Mad at me?”

He tilted his head. This close, you could see the ring of mako around his pupils. The white lashes fluttered when he blinked. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know, it—“ You twirled one of his bangs around your finger. When you released it, it still held pin-straight. You twirled it again. “I just, you didn’t seem to like when I called you ‘pretty.’”

Sephiroth lowered himself completely onto you. You leaned back, propped up against the pillows, and he pressed his ear to your belly. He gazed out of the windows, scanned the Midgar cityscape. It felt good, feeling his arms wrap around you, holding you close to him. You brushed your nose against the top of his head. He smelled like boy there: powdery, human, all warmth and skin.

After a long silence, he said, “I’m not used to it.”

“No one’s ever called you that before?”

“Plenty of times,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut like this admission pained him. “But it’s…different, coming from you.” He opened his eyes again. His voice was a soft murmur against your skin, his breath tickling your stomach. “I know that you mean it.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do,” he said.

His head was so heavy against your chest; you felt your heart rate slow as he nuzzled into your breastbone. This neediness, coming from him, somehow made you feel safer. You kissed the part of his hair, just because you could, and he sighed deeply, melting more impossibly against you. That just made you hold him tighter.

His voice was deeper when he spoke up. “I have work.”

“Oh.” You released him, making to sit up, but he stayed where he was, pinning you to the bed. You weren’t strong enough to push him off.

His eyes were still closed. “Just reports and checking my inbox.” He let out a frustrated growl and rubbed his cheek against you. “I told everyone I was unavailable.”

You patted his head in what you hoped was a soothing gesture. “Hojo does that to me all the time,” you said. “You should set up one of those out-of-office messages.”

“I did,” said Sephiroth. “I had Rhapsados set it up. It didn’t work.”

Genesis, you thought. A small coil of jealousy formed in your gut. You scolded yourself for being irrational; the man was cuddling you, and yet you were stuck on how his best friend had cornered you in your lab. You wondered if Sephiroth knew, if saying so would ruin the moment.

“Well,” you said, “fuck them for, for bothering you.”

He snorted and opened his eyes. “I’d rather not,” he drawled at the opposite wall. “I want to ignore them.”

You giggled. He turned his head, lifted your shirt just high enough to kiss the tattooed roses on your belly.

You could feel his smile against your skin when he spoke up: “I’ll just be a few hours, and then you can do what you want with me. How’s that?”

---

You spent the rest of the morning on the couch in the living room while Sephiroth went through paperwork in the bedroom. Sitting in front of the TV made its level of disuse even more apparent: a thin layer of dust sat on the remote. Shinra provided him with every streaming service and channel known to man (and a few, you thought, only accessible to the very, very rich).

You replayed that odd expression he had had when you called him pretty: the way his mouth twisted, the way he kept his head down when he pressed it to your chest. It stuck between your teeth as you flipped through the channels.

Why would I be mad at you?

Did he mean it? The soft words, the breakfast in bed, the gentle touches— did those mean something?

What if he was just pretending? What if you had finally sparked a nerve with your comment, and he was trying to be polite?

You stared blankly at some documentary about mass-produced crayons. You felt ill at ease, turning over each syllable in time with the factory machinery. I’m— not— in-- ter— es— ted— in— play—ing—games. Clink, turn. You—don’t—owe—me—any—thing. Clink, turn. This was usually the end of the-- well, not a relationship, you chided yourself, but the something. After the sex came the awkward goodbyes, the dropped texts, the averted gazes in the hallway. Clink, turn. I—want—you—to—be—com—for—ta—ble. His voice was so clear in your head. You huddled closer to yourself. You had already served your purpose; what did he need you for now? Why pretend?

“Are you cold?”

You started violently, knocking over a couch cushion. A firm hand gripped your shoulder. You sighed audibly and pressed your hand to your racing heart.

“I’m sorry,” said Sephiroth, a laugh at the edge of his tone. “I should wear a bell, or so I’m told.”

You rubbed at your eyes. “No, it’s…fine. Can you— what did you say?”

The hand at your shoulder loosened, drifted over your shoulder to rub your upper back. “I asked if you were cold,” he replied. He sounded so even, so self-assured, that your earlier doubts seemed ridiculous. You hung your head, staring at your hands in your lap: curled, again, like dead birds. The man wasn’t kicking you out; he was making you comfortable, and damn convention, he was acting as if this was the thousandth weekend together, not the first. How many times would it take for you to realize that?

You’re thinking again, and now the Sephiroth in your brain had a mocking, snide tone.

Sephiroth stopped rubbing your back and said your name gently. You looked up The documentary had switched to a Potion commercial.

“I could use a blanket,” you mumbled, and a minute later, one laid on your shoulders. You turned to thank Sephiroth, but he was already retreating back to his room. This was a different blanket than the one from the first date: it was heavier and made of a black fleece, like a warm hug around your shoulders. Down feather filling, said the care label. Weighted.

You pressed your nose to the fleece and closed your eyes. This smelled like him, too. You picked up the fallen pillow and tucked it under your head.

Eventually, the documentary flipped over to a Chocobo-wrangling reality show, then a Cosmo Canyon documentary. The sun rose higher in the sky.

A white bowl was set on the coffee table in front of you, filled with your leftovers from last night. Sephiroth’s voice came from your left: “Move over.”

You pressed yourself against the L-joint of the couch as Sephiroth lowered himself down next to you with a groan, his tablet in hand. One of those unidentifiable green smoothies was in a pint glass on the table: Going Insane, Back In 5!! A faded cactaur danced across his shirt; it wore orange Mideelean festival garb. It was a strong contender for the ugliest thing you had ever seen.

“You’re so far away.” He beckoned you. “Don’t you want to come here?”

You slowly extended your legs again. Sephiroth caught them and placed your calves against his lap. When he slid closer to you, you were able to sit up with your back against the couch corner.

He leaned forward to take the bowl of leftovers, passed it to you. There was a spoon in the corner, floating near the beef. “Lunch.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. He handed you a pair of clean chopsticks before settling back with the smoothie. The leftovers were just as good as they had been the night before: the fridge had congealed the broth into something smoother, more comforting.

Sephiroth tilted his head back and chugged half of the smoothie. He set the glass down on the coffee table. “What’s this you’re watching?”

You looked back at the television: it was that Chocobo wrangler show again. A heavyset man with a drawling accent explained the color variations in a wild black Chocobo. Wiz, said the bright orange subtitle. “Just whatever.” You picked at the noodles. “I wasn’t really watching it.”

“Mm?” Sephiroth settled back against the couch with his tablet. His hand idly stroked one of your legs. You shivered. “Do you like chocobos?”

You had visited a Chocobo farm once in high school: part of a biology class trip. You sat out the dissection of a Chocobo heart; more accurately, you fainted and spent the rest of the day in the emergency room. You had always been too soft, too open, for such things. “I…I do, yeah.” Wiz had moved on to scouting for a black Chocobo nest. "They’re cute.”

“I had the pleasure of visiting a farm west of Midgar.”

“Did you ride one?”

“I did.” Sephiroth gave you a coy smile. “You’ll never guess the color.”

You clutched the bowl against your chest and smiled back. “White?”

He scoffed, patting your shin in frustration. “How did you know?”

“What did you think I’d guess?” You picked up the remote and browsed through the apps again.

“Most guess black. Wait,” said Sephiroth, his hand tightening briefly on your leg as an old black-and-white film appeared on the “Recommended” list. “Do you like movies?”

“Sure I do.” The film he stopped on was at least seventy years old; you recognized the movie star as she gazed dreamily up at her man. It matched the books under Sephiroth’s bed.

“I’ve been meaning to watch this.” He placed his hand higher now, on your thigh this time, and again you shivered, warmth already pooling in your belly. “Would you like that?”

“Of c—“ You coughed around the sudden lump in your throat. “Of course.”

The movie opened on the heroine waiting at a train station. It was some famous actress, the kind who ran philanthropy projects in her old age and had acting awards named after her. Despite leaving the television on at home, you didn’t ever switch it to the oldies channel. Sephiroth, meanwhile, had already abandoned all pretext of working and was watching the screen intently. You drew the fleece blanket up to your chin.

The heroine moved through the slums, back when the slums were nice: before the garbage and the industrial waste and the plate above. From what you could gather, the hero was a cop (or a detective, or a private eye, or a something-or-other), and the heroine was trying to pull him away from a high-profile case. You looked between the screen and Sephiroth, but he was transfixed. Occasionally, he woke his tablet and pecked out a few messages with his index finger, took a sip of smoothie. You finished your lunch and set the bowl down on the table.

Through the film, he absentmindedly stroked your leg. You wanted to speak up, tell him how much you loved that: how familiar it was, how friendly. It was impossible to focus on the movie when he was touching you like he had known you for ages. You closed your eyes—

“What is riding the subway like?”

You looked to Sephiroth, but he was staring at the movie, head tilted ever-so-slightly in fascination. The hero and the heroine were riding the old Midgar rail system. The city whipped behind them as they spoke in hushed tones.

“The…the subway?” You remembered the mascara in the bathroom, the dumbwaiter bringing his groceries, and your heart broke for him again. “You’ve never been?”

“No,” he said softly. “Trains, yes. Subway, no.”

“It’s kind of awful,” you blurted. “You’re not missing anything.”

“Yeah?” He still had that lost, faraway look on his face. You could see his eyes— those strange eyes— following the sights racing past the windows, beyond where the protagonists spoke in low, husky voices. Part of you wanted to lie to him: to tell him that the subway was fascinating and beautiful and clean, always empty enough for you to get a seat, always on time.

You pushed ahead with honesty. “I moved plate-side so I didn’t have to take it anymore. It’s…it’s a l-lot, like…like everyone’s pushing you and a-and you don’t have any personal space and it’s…it’s like, like gross. Dirty.”

A concerned expression overtook his face then, like he was on the edge of a question. Sephiroth looked to you, looked back to the screen, and in the next second, his worry dissolved into nothing: cool impassivity. “I see,” is what he said.

“Now you look, like, like you’re thinking.” That damned stutter. It always ruined your delivery.

“No,” said Sephiroth to the screen. There was a far-off quality to his voice that made you feel guilty for pressing, and you propped yourself up on your elbow to watch him. “No, it’s nothing.”

The mirth drained from you. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I, like, I made it seem a-a-awful.”

He squeezed your calf, a fond smile on his lips. “Shhh. I’m glad you don’t have to take it anymore.”

“You sure?”

He inclined his head. “I am.”

The movie was slow, artsy in a way that felt foreign to you. You yawned. Your medication had worn off. Already, the sky outside had taken on a lazy, golden color.

You blinked hard, just for a moment, and the scene in the movie changed entirely. You blinked again, and the protagonists kissed, and the room seemed dimmer: you were nodding off, you realized.

Just for a few seconds, you thought. I’ll close my eyes for a few seconds.

The sun sank lower in the sky. Your eyelids felt heavy, and Sephiroth’s lap was warm under your calves, and he was stroking your leg so gently.

---

You woke to something sizzling. The apartment was almost completely dark, save for the kitchen, where Sephiroth was fussing. The sun had long since set; Midgar twinkled below.

When you sat up, the weighted blanket fell off to the side. He had covered you in it while you slept, even tucked it into the couch cushions for you. The TV was muted, now playing a different film; this one was in blotchy color, showing grizzled cowboys peering across the Eastern desert. Their black chocobos shook themselves and tittered silently.

The couch pillow had a small drool puddle off to one side. You rubbed your cheek clean and looked over your shoulder. Sephiroth had his back to you. His hair was up in a ponytail again, but he hadn’t bothered to put on his apron.

He tilted his head. “Awake?”

That SOLDIER hearing is something else. You swallowed the urge to apologize, landed instead on: “I know we were supposed to have the weekend. Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

He bent down to remove something from the oven and place it on the stove. “You needed to rest,” he said. “I’m flattered you felt comfortable.”

Sephiroth didn’t sound upset. You placed your feet on the floor and neatly folded the fleece blanket. Still, it seemed like a waste when he had taken time off just for you.

You spoke up. “I’m not thinking, by the way.”

“I didn’t say you were.” He did turn to you this time, flashing a toothy smile. It pained you how handsome he was. You looked away and petted the blanket like it was a fussy animal.

Sephiroth continued to prepare your dinner. He had long since cleared the dishes from your lunch. Your clothes were neatly folded at the other end of the couch; he had even zipped your overnight bag up for you.

You watched him scoop a lump of green vegetables next to a steak. He eyed the way they sat on the plate before leaning in and poking them, rearranging them to his satisfaction.

So careful for you.

He spoke up. “Wine?”

“Yes, please?”

He served you on the bartop again, and the two of you ate shoulder-to-shoulder. A Chocobo egg wobbled atop his steak; on the stove, you saw another steak cooling, waiting for his second course. He leaned in to examine your steak from time-to-time, asking quietly if you liked it, if it was cooked properly. The seasoning crunched in your mouth; it tasted, somehow, like summertime, despite the snow outside. The green lump turned out to be a mixture of broccoli and spinach; the acrid tang of lemon sang on your tongue with each bite. Over halfway through your first glass of wine, he retrieved the second steak and ate that, too.

Dessert was another helping of the fresh strawberries from that morning; he even put a dollop of whipped cream on the corner of the plate. The cream tasted hand-made; when you asked, the corner of his mouth quirked.

“Good eye,” he said. “Do you like it?”

You eagerly reached for a second strawberry. “When did you make fucking whipped cream?”

“It’s really not difficult,” he said. Before you could lift the cream-covered strawberry to your mouth, he gently took your wrist. “Let me—“

You turned to him, about to ask, when he plucked the strawberry from your fingers. He held it to your lips and raised his eyebrows.

Oh.

You leaned in and bit into the strawberry, focused on not dripping juice and cream down your chin. When you looked up again, he had a soft look on his face that bordered on pleased, and the butterflies in your stomach kicked up again. These were romantic cliches, the type of stuff you saw in bad movies or in gil-store romance novels.

He was mimicking them.

You wiped your chin with your hand. Sephiroth didn’t know any better, didn’t let endless Valentine’s Days alone defeat him. You had given up the fantasy of being hand-fed the second a man pinned you in bed. Now, you felt that part of you lift its head with hope.

He proffered the rest of the strawberry with a questioning noise. You smiled as you finished it from between his fingers. Eating from him felt different: like he was truly caring for you. It didn’t quite kill the old panic that arose when you were vulnerable in front of him, but seeing, feeling, him dab at your mouth with a napkin certainly dulled its edge. Maybe the wine was making you brave.

When Sephiroth brought another cream-covered strawberry to your lips, you took it down in one bite. He smiled, close-lipped, and made a satisfied hmm when you made eye contact.

You cupped your hand under your mouth and chewed. “’S good.”

“I’m glad.” He waited for you to swallow before offering the next. “Hydroponically-grown.”

You bit just the strawberry’s tip, but didn’t move from the fruit as you chewed. “Where at?”

He craned his neck over the counter. “I’d have to look at the packaging. But I asked for local.”

“It’s not important.” You chomped down the rest of the strawberry, and, when you got to the stem, kissed the tips of his fingers. His breath caught, and you grinned.

He fed you the rest of the strawberries that way. When you had eaten the last one, he stood and took the plates, but not before you swiped a finger through the remaining cream and licked it clean. A flush crept up his neck; he cleared his throat and moved past you, into the kitchen.

“Let me fill the dishwasher,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

“Okay.” But you didn’t move from your seat, watching him at the sink. His face was in profile to you as he rinsed your plates.

A droplet of sweat crept down his aquiline nose; it lingered at the tip, quivering, and then it dropped into the sudsy mess.

I’m going to kiss him, you thought. He pressed his face to his shoulder, blotting off the sweat on his brow. It left a dark spot on his white shirt. I want to kiss him.

You slid off of your chair, leaving your wine glass on the counter.

You tiptoed across the kitchen tile. Sephiroth paused, lifted his head just so, as if he knew what you were doing. Even better, he seemed like he was waiting for it.

You pressed your palm to the small of his back, and there was no mistaking the way he shivered in response.

You slid your arms around his waist and pressed your body up to his.

Every muscle under your fingers was drawn taut and firm. He let out a shaky exhale and braced his hands against the counter as you drifted your hands across his body, feeling the soft give of his lower belly, the hard curve of his spine under your lips, his soft hair brushing your cheek. You reached for his nipples and reveled in the way he sighed yes, soft and secret for you, as you pinched and rubbed at them through his shirt. There was a soft humming sound, deep and resonant and pleased, and it took you a moment to realize that it had come from you, that you had let out that sound of deep satisfaction.

All too soon, his body shifted, and you barely had time to reorient yourself before his lips pressed to yours. The affectionate kiss stood stark against how greedily he pulled you up against his chest. Your toes just brushed the tile, and you braced your hands against his chest for balance. He was hard, the sweatpants doing nothing to hide how much he wanted you, and it felt good against your belly, the press of his hips heady and sweet and still so gentle, somehow. Still no tongue when he kissed you; you’d have to introduce that yourself. You had imagined that this is what being a teenager in love felt like: dizzy and innocent, full of possibility, the emotional baggage left at the curb.

“Can I lift you?” he whispered.

“You’re kind of already lifting me,” you whispered back.

He laughed, then sighed. “Here.”

You felt his broad arm hook under your thighs, and you yelped as he lifted you up onto the counter. He deposited you on the cold marble and stood between your legs. Your feet couldn't quite reach the ground.

“Not fair,” you squeaked. “Give me some warning next time!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but there was a teasing smirk on his face. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss you, and he met your mouth in earnest. With him standing between your legs, you could access all of him: his waist, the smooth planes of his chest, his cock, his ass. You wanted to worship him the way he deserved, kiss away that strange, hesitant look he had given you when you had called him pretty. His lips were sloppy, eager, against yours, and when you returned your fingers to his nipples, he finally, blessedly, licked your bottom lip, trying to get you to open for him. (You did.) This was going too quickly for you to retrieve your tights from the wash; that idea would have to wait, still. His excitement made your blood run hot.

You tugged on his nipples, and he surged forward towards you, like you were leading him by his tits. He snaked a hand between your legs and pressed two fingers to the seam of your shorts.

“No,” you said, batting his hand away. “You already did a lot.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he said. He braced the offending hand against the marble counter beside your hip. “I’ve only taken care of you, the way you deserve.”

“That’s a lot,” you replied. You reached for his sweatpants, pushed the waistband down to his upper thighs.

He tensed when you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him forward. The blush had returned, painting his cheeks, staining the tips of his ears bright red. The words tumbled out of his mouth, all in a rush: “You don’t have to repay me—“

“No,” you said, “But I do wanna touch you. Take care of you.”

“Alrig— mm.” Sephiroth jerked his hips when you pressed your hand to his underwear. He was almost on top of you, as if he were standing on his tiptoes, trying to push his body into yours. You stroked the length of him through his underwear, marveled at how solid he was in your grip. This close, you could hear how his breath caught and sighed and lilted. You found where the head pressed against his right thigh, rubbed your thumb against it, and the way he groaned was almost violent, the cabinets next to your head rattling when he rested his forehead against them.

“Good?”

He laughed, and there was a low, ruined quality to it that went straight through you. “Good.”

“It— doesn’t hurt?” You continued to stroke him, cupping him through the fabric. “Right?”

“No.” This he punctuated with a messy kiss to the shell of your ear. “Sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“You,” he murmured. He shifted on his feet, and no, he wasn’t standing on his tiptoes, he was just very big and you, by comparison, very small. He held onto your waist with his right hand. “You’re sweet.”

You couldn’t help but smile, hiding your face against his collarbone. “You’re sweet.”

“We’ve been over this.” He removed his shirt, let it fall to the tile floor. You grabbed at his hips and squeezed, watched his belly ripple as he tensed. Already, his body was feeling like home, and you couldn’t tell him how grateful you were for it. “I’m not sweet, and I’m not cute, and I am not your little wife.”

It was hard to believe him when he fell so easily into your arms, his warm body like a shield from the rest of the kitchen. “Liar,” you said.

“You tease, but I’ll prove it.”

“You are sweet and cute and, absolutely,” you added, speeding your hand on his cock, watching as he licked his lips and thrust into your hand, “My little wife.”

He braced his hands against the counter. “At some point,” he growled, “when you least expect it, I’ll show you.”

“You— you had better.” You were rewarded with Sephiroth’s breath ghosting against your ear as he leaned in, panting hot and loud. “You can bite there, you know.”

“Can I, now?” It took him a few tries to latch onto your ear, but when he did, you jumped. He tugged eagerly at the lobe, the pain of his bite sinking straight into the center of you. As you braced your forehead against his shoulder, he chuckled. “Sensitive. I’ll remember that.”

“You had better,” you repeated, feeling dizzy and warm as you shifted to press your cunt against him.

“I remember everything you tell me,” he whispered as he started to rut against you. You arched your back, matching his thrusts, fascinated by his clothed cock silhouetted in his underwear.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Of course,” he whispered back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His thrusts stuttered, and you took the opportunity to speak up: “Can I see how you, um, like….like to…?” Saying it aloud felt dirty, foreign: you wanted to watch how he touched himself, wanted to mimic that for him. You mimed jerking off, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Sephiroth seemed to catch your meaning. You saw his belly tense again, and when he spoke, there was a palpable hesitation: “You…can.”

He pulled away and tugged his underwear down just far enough to free his dick. You offered your hand, palm up, and he guided it to his cock. Silently, he encouraged your fingers into a loose fist, guided them up the shaft, then down again, letting you pull the foreskin down just long enough to let the damp, flushed head peek through. You repeated the motion, and he said, “Not so hard,” sounding choked, and you slowed down accordingly, loosened your fist until you heard him groan and felt him thrust into your palm. “Perfect.”

“This is right?” you whispered. You ghosted a thumb over his lower back, stroked him there in time with your fist. Goosebumps raised over his forearms as he returned his hands to the counter.

“You’re better than I am,” he choked out.

“No one’s better than you are.”

He laughed, and then he sighed. “I walked into that.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

His next breath came on a slow exhale: haah, somewhere just above your head. You tried gathering the precome from the head, using it to slick the way, and, when that didn’t work, paused long enough to lick your palm. He tasted like the ocean: clean and bright and salty. Sephiroth grunted at that, thrust eagerly when you returned your wet fist to his dick. Your pulse existed somewhere between your legs now: your heart had dropped down to the belly of this creature of pure need you had become.

It seemed too early to use your mouth, though you desperately wanted to. It was easy to forget that this was still new for him. Perhaps other boys had touched him like this; you didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to ruin such a happy moment for the both of you. Better to spend that energy making it good for him, making him feel good: appreciated, admired, perhaps even loved.

He nosed your forehead. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Very much.” He punctuated “very” with a long slide of his hips. His cock twitched in your palm. “I wanted— “ He cleared his throat. “Wanted to make sure.”

You rested your chin against his shoulder and gripped his ass with your free hand, pushing him tighter against you. He let out a strangled gasp at how you dug your nails in. You flattened your palm and fingers against the underside of his cock, let him rut slowly, languidly, against it. When you brushed your lips against his neck, right where his fluttering pulse beat under his pale skin, he let out that strangled gasp again, sounding vulnerable and boyish, like you had found the very heart of him. You kissed him there, over and over, hot for how he moaned and bucked his hips for you, how he turned to putty in your willing hands. Your tongue, pressed flat against his collarbone and dragged, granted you one noise; your teeth against his shoulder, another. It was the same tender, drunken feeling you had watching— making— him come the night before, the rush of power from having a man twice your size so willingly open for you. You made a fist around his cock again, and he sounded wrecked when you began pumping him again in earnest, watched as his ass tensed and flexed with every thrust he matched you with. This felt softer, more delicate, somehow, than taking him inside you, and for a moment you remembered every lonely night you had had on your own bed, fumbling through your own body like it was an unfamiliar and disobedient machine. You were observing this in him, you realized: the discovery of the dark and secret thing, the clumsy fist and the friction against a barracks bed. Alone, while his friends were busy growing up and falling in love and being wanted.

The thought made your fist tighten ever-so-slightly, but it was enough for him, enough to make his thrusts erratic and unfocused.

“Like this?” you murmured.

“Like—“ Somewhere above you, Sephiroth turned his head, his deep voice breathy and confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do…” You cleared your throat, relaxed your fist. You felt mortified even asking. “Want to come like this, or…um.”

You felt his sigh float over your hair. “Oh. Hmm.” His thrusts slowed briefly, as if he was holding back. “This,” he said finally. His hands curled into fists against the marble. “Like this.” He swallowed. “Please?”

“Okay.” You pressed your nose to his shoulder. Your voice felt heavy and sweet with want, as if you were dripping molasses from your lips. “Yeah.”

He arched his back and shivered: like a big cat stretching before a kill. You resumed kissing and nibbling at his shoulder, listening to him moan in your ear you as you worked him in your fist. There was something impatient driving his hips forward now, but you kept your pace deliberately slow, relishing how he grunted with frustration and pressed his nose to your cheek, breath coming in bursts over your fevered skin.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, please.”

“Good boy, Seph,” you murmured, just to feel yourself say it, just to see what he’d do, if he liked it. A thrill ran up your spine at voicing it aloud. “So good.”

His entire body curled in on itself all at once, and you felt him groan your name with relief when he finished. Hot come dripped generously through your fingers, spilling into your lap. You watched his release with fascination: how much he had wanted you; how bravely he handed himself over to you.

When his breathing steadied, you slowed your hand, swiping the pad of your thumb across the head just to hear him hiss. He straightened and moved your hand out of the way.

“I’ve…” He winced. “Made a mess on you.” There was genuine concern in his voice as he turned your hand over in both of his. “I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You felt a tiny, familiar pang of worry, seeing his release on your skin. There were negative memories there, too, an instinctive disgust towards the feeling of semen cooling on your skin, but you didn’t want him to feel guilty for feeling pleasure. If you shamed him, then you were no better than those who came before.

He seemed to notice your staring and leaned across the counter to grab a paper towel. He wet it under the faucet. “Here.” Cradling your wrist in one hand, he wiped off your hand. “I feel terrible. I didn’t know there’d be so much.”

“Hey.” You put your hand atop his. “It’s okay. I liked it. I promise.” And that, too, was true: that familiar disgust cowered in the face of your pride, in the face of the warm affection you felt for him and your arousal still very much settled between your legs. You took the damp towel from him and resumed cleaning your right leg. “You’re starting to, like, sound like me. You know?”

“Don’t say that.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him smile as he reached for more paper towels.

“I just did.” You blotted at your shorts as he set to cleaning himself and tucking himself back into his underwear.

“Mm. You need those washed.” Sephiroth hooked an index finger under your waistband. “Would you like them off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured. “Let me get off your counter.”

“No need,” he purred. The two of you wiggled you out of your shorts, and they joined his discarded shirt on the ground.

You hissed at the marble on your bare ass. “Seriously? I’m never eating your cooking again.”

Sephiroth tutted. “I do clean.”

When he dropped to his knees, you shrank back. “Wait. No.”

“No?” He sat back on his heels and looked up at you, his lips parted. “Are you—?“

“No, I just—“ You pressed your thighs together. Your voice came out as a half-hearted mumble: “I mean. You don’t…have to.”

He cupped your calves and leaned forward to kiss your thighs. “I want to.” He eyed you. “Unless you don’t?”

“I do,” you breathed. “But I just—“

“Then let me.” He inched forward. Letting him eat you out still felt indulgent: fistfuls of cake between your fingers, too full, too much. You looked away, feeling shy, as he leaned in to nose your cunt; it felt like you had become his meal. His voice was a low rumble: “Let me please you.”

“But your knees—“ you gasped as his tongue dipped into you, “—are gonna bruise.”

He barely moved his mouth from your cunt when he replied. “Badges of honor.”

Sephiroth teased you at first: soft flicks of his tongue against your clit, a gentle nuzzle between your folds, his hot breath against you like he was breathing you in. You didn’t have to tell him what you liked again: he seemed to move with muscle memory, clearly listening to your gasps and the cadence of your panting. You felt entirely too warm, too alive, like every cell in your body was attuned towards his next move.

Then, all at once, he latched onto your clit in earnest and sucked hard, those green eyes looking up to you to gauge your response. A bright shock of pleasure followed, and you hid your face behind a trembling hand. You felt, rather than heard, his laugh.

Your voice was high behind your hand as you turned away. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Mm.” His hand was warm against your inner thigh, his thumb stroking along the delicate skin as he encouraged your legs further apart for his affections. When he looked up at you again, there was a smugness in his eyes, and that only made you feel wetter. His tongue moved in lazy circles against your clit, and you bucked your hips into his mouth. When you closed your eyes, you were stuck on his face mid-orgasm: the gentle downturn of his brow, eyelids heavy with pleasure, lips parted in a delicate o, like he was surprised at how good you felt to him.

Sephiroth sunk a finger into you, then, and he crooked it like he was beckoning to you. It was just shy of where you wanted him, but the effort, the fact that he remembered, was pleasure enough. “Yes,” you hissed, except it came out as a strangled, “Mm,” and then you were coming. The satisfied moan he released when you came on his face made you shiver. The moment stretched, full and open: the kind of orgasm you turned away. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Want more?” he asked, still crooking the finger in the wrong place, looking so awestruck, so pleased with you, that you wanted to cry.

“Not now,” you whispered. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” He pressed his cheek to your inner thigh and drew out his finger. You reached down and laced your fingers with his.

The two of you stayed there in silence for a few moments: you sitting on the counter, him between your knees. He closed his eyes and drew lazy circles on your thigh with his free hand. It was still a strange feeling, being so satisfied with him: you brushed his hair out of his eyes so you could admire his peaceful expression.

“I wanted to shower,” you said.

He opened his eyes to look up at you. His pupils shrank against the fluorescent light. “What’s stopping you?”

“You look so happy,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “I didn’t want to move you.”

He closed his eyes again. “I can move. Did you want company?”

“Yes.” The answer came as one blurted exclamation. You wanted him against you, wanted to feel his wet skin pressed to yours from behind. Maybe you could coax him into a hot bath afterwards.

---

As it turned out, you could.

Go to next chapter >>>

#momofics #snakeskin

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lickingteeth · 4 years

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this is a clusterfuck but read me vent if you want to

#well... i flushed my drugs and it was like the hardest thing ive ever done. idk what is wrong with me but i just?#i never thought id get addictd yknow. i thought id take shit for fun and then thatd be the end of it. and that is SO rich considering #my family history and how everybody i know has been addicted to something. my mom is addicted to crystal and speed #every adult i know besides my grandmother smokes. and my grandparents are both recovering alcoholics #but ahh. yes. i will somehow be exempt from that and thought i could play around with opioids without consequence. i am truly DAFT.#but yes. i initially threw the bottle in like the garbage can outside? but then i DUG THOUGH THE TRASH . so i had to actully flush it.#which was painful as hell. but whatever. its in my past and im moving forward. im smoking like a freight train these days #and i feel like shit all the time and im depressed and i cant see my therapist. but im clean. so. that feels good at least.#and now im just having a crisis because i am in the twilight of my youth and its a fucked up time and im just on edge all the time #this is going to sound crazy but my dad very slightly raised his voice at me and i cried for like an hour. and then i ran around the house #yelling at the top of my lungs and kicking shit #and i walked down the train tracks by my house just??? YELLING??? for no reason. i just got so fucking upset #and its just tiny things that have been sending me spiraling and its such an uncomfortable feeling.#anyways sorry. this is what i WOULD have told my therapist about but everything is weird and i have to start seeing a new lady #in a couple of weeks and its gonna be over zoom which i just despise so much because online like calls or facetimes stress me out so bad #but you know. this is just the life of a young adult in 2020 so i guess ill get over myself and wallow like the rest of us <3 #SORRY IF IM PUSHING YOU OUT. IM VERY FRAGILE RIGHT NOW AND ITS SCARING ME QUITE BADLY AND I DONT KNOW HOW TO COPE

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floralseokjin · 3 years

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⤑ made-up love song iii.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, lots of lasagne talk, flirting, kissing, fluff 🥰 words; 9,340

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

After you had time to calm down, of course you ended up telling Soojung about what happened on the date. You kept some things to yourself, mainly about how giddy you had felt throughout the whole thing, but you were sure she could see that for herself – she kept looking at you knowingly, and for once she kept the teasing down to a minimum. You ended up staying awake quite late, Soojung opening a bottle of wine. You were still excited from the date and the thought of what was to come next, but somewhere along the line, you and your best friend started getting into your feelings. (Was it really a Saturday night until you and Soojung ended it with slightly drunk sappy heart to hearts and hugs? Obviously not…)

For the first time in a while you felt comfortable enough to open up about your love life (or lack of one) and felt it easy to talk about the past and to even bring up Donghae. He was a forbidden topic for the most part, no matter how much you were over him, but tonight had changed something. You didn’t know how to explain it, and no, it wasn’t because Seokjin was somehow the man of your dreams who had magically made things better with just one date. That was dumb and only happened in cliché Hallmark movies.

No, it was because tonight had shown you that life goes on. No matter what rock bottom you hit, or how long it took you to get over it, no hurt was forever. You’d been single for a long time, and happy at that – after you’d gotten over the heartbreak of Donghae cheating on you – but tonight you’d had fun. You’d enjoyed yourself, enjoyed Seokjin’s company. You didn’t know what would come of your second date, or if there would be a third, but you were okay with that. You were just living in the moment, and right now you really liked that infuriating-not-so-infuriating bastard.

You were taking a chance, just like he was, and it was actually pretty exciting…

You woke up late the next morning, something you didn’t reprimand yourself for because it was summer break after all, but also, you had a raging wine headache that had needed all the shut eye it could get. Your head was still throbbing slightly as you reached for your phone on the bedside table but seeing a text from Seokjin waiting for you made it miraculously disappear.

Seokjin (10:28am) Hi Y/N, Thank you for such a great time last night. I can’t wait until Saturday. Would it be alright with you if I kept in touch throughout the week? Seokjin

You giggled to yourself at his insane formalities. Why was that so adorable? But most importantly how could he be both cute and sexy at the same time? He was hellbent on making you lose your mind. You thought about teasing him, asking him when he’d grown comfortable enough to drop the Regards from yesterday, but despite how well last night had gone, and despite how much you loved joking around with him in person, over the phone seemed different. You were still a little nervous – giddy nervous, but nervous, nevertheless. Your conversation from last night with Soojung came back to you, reminding you that this was all too real. You were potentially catching feelings for this man, and it was new, and exciting, but equal parts terrifying now that you’d woken up with a hangover.

Everything you typed out in reply seemed way too stiff, so growing frustrated, you settled on an emoji to cut through the formalities.

You (10:49am) I had such a lovely time too, Seokjin. Of course it’s fine to keep in touch. I’m looking forward to Saturday night! 😊

What did he mean exactly about keeping in touch?, you wondered as you got out of bed, padding your way down the stairs and into the kitchen for a much needed glass of ice cold water. A good morning text? A how are you? You knew he was busy with work all week, so you weren’t expecting too much, but just knowing he wanted to stay in contact until next Saturday made you smile to yourself as you waited for his response.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Seokjin (10:55am) Great! I’m so excited to try your World famous Italian lasagne 😁

Cute. He’d followed your lead, ditching the last of the formalities and even signing off with an emoji instead. You instantly felt more at ease, but –

Oh no.

Why did he have to bring that up and remind you of your humiliating blunder? You knew what would be taking up all of your time for the few days – you needed to perfect this goddamn dish.

Soojung on the other hand was unbothered by your predicament. Mind in the gutter as always. “Do you think that’s a euphemism for something else?” She asked straight away once you’d shown her your messages a few hours later.

“Soojung!” You exclaimed, feeling yourself get a little hot in the face. You wish she’d stop bringing up sex, it was stressing you out. You told her as much.

“You’re the one who’s invited him to your house for a second date.”

You stared at her, greatly unimpressed. “You know why I invited him here.”

You’d told her last night. You’d been hit with a surge of confidence when you’d suggested it was your turn to decide on something. In truth though, you didn’t know the first thing about restaurants, you hardly ever ate out, and when you did it was either fast food or at the food court in the department store Soojung worked at. You knew he wouldn’t have minded any choice you’d made, but that didn’t stop the slight apprehension you felt.

It was normal, given your difference in lifestyles, and whilst that seemed to be no issue thankfully, that difference was still there. However really, that’s why you’d chosen to cook for him. Seokjin had shown you something close to him last night – the restaurant he owned with his brother, and now you were to show him something close to your heart. Something that was you. You loved cooking and baking in your spare time and you wanted to share that with him however small. Granted it was things you were confident with, but lasagne couldn’t be that hard, right? A true perfectionist, you’d master it quickly enough…

Soojung rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you could suggest McDonald’s and Dilf would be insanely happy.” She nudged you, squealing like a kid. “He’s just so into you!”

You wouldn’t bite. She was making you nervous again. “Stop calling him Dilf, he has a name.”

“Geez, sorry.” She held up her hands in apology. “Didn’t mean to offend your man.”

You pushed her shoulder, silently telling her to quit it.

For the next few days it became your life’s goal to master the art of lasagne. Sunday night was spent googling recipes, trying to find the most authentic one. There seemed to be a lot of fuss on the right type of pasta. Flat edged would be fine, but the wavy edge was best. You made note of that. Next was the sauce. Two types. The tomato based one and then the white one – which you learned was called Bechamel. That seemed pretty easy to cook up, but the former seemed a little daunting. Every time you’d had pasta sauce in the past it had been premade, starting from scratch was giving you anxiety. Seokjin thought this was your expertise so you had to make it believable. What if you made it too salty? Too bland?

…Possibly you were thinking way too hard about this. Soojung thought the same.

“Just buy it in a jar, Y/N, for Christ’s sake. You’re taking this way too seriously. You don’t need to learn fluent Italian to make your little white lie believable. It’s a goddamn lasagne.”

She had a point.

“He’d be happy with a sandwich. He’s coming over for you, not the shitty lasagne.”

“Don’t call my non-existent lasagne shitty, you’re setting me up for failure.” You grumbled, looking at the ten tabs you had up on your laptop screen, all claiming to be the best most authentic recipe around.

On Monday you went shopping for ingredients. You knew a small world foods store that was just outside of town, you’d been there a couple of times when you’d been baking with the children for class. With help from signposted aisles, you found what you were looking for in no time at all, so that night, you and Soojung both tucked into your first (sort of) homemade lasagne. Only the Bechamel sauces was harder to master than you’d first thought.

“I think you added too much flour.” Soojung’s nose wrinkled as she spoke. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but the white stuff… I don’t know, maybe it’s supposed to taste like that?”

Nope, she was definitely correct, too much flour, which was odd because you were pretty positive you’d followed the right measurements…

Tuesday you had a day off from the sight, and even the word lasagne. You met for coffee with your mom but kept the date with Seokjin a secret. Not that she pressed about your love life anymore, she’d long given up on that topic. It was nice to catch up and you made plans for a trip soon. It was hard to find time to visit her when you were in work so you were always thankful for the summer and Christmas breaks. You were her only child, so it made your time together even more precious. She’d only remarried ten years ago, and while Jonathon had kids from his first marriage, they lived abroad. They were older than you and had families of their own. You weren’t particularly close for no other reason than the distance. You’d only met them a few times but they were lovely people. Your father had remarried while you were still in high school, having two more children (a son and daughter) with his wife. You were very close to them despite the age gap and saw them as regularly as you could. Your extended family had long been the norm and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Wednesday you were back on the lasagne. You purchased more pasta sauce and decided on the pre-made Bechamel sauce too, just to be safe. This time around everything went smoothly, Soojung had no complaints and neither did you, but you still invited Taehyung around on Thursday for a third go. He was way more enthusiastic than your best friend, singing your praises all night.

“Y/N, that was amazing!” He exclaimed, leaning back in his chair to pat his belly. “Dilf dick – Uh, I mean, Seokjin, is going to love it.”

“Guys, is that what you really call him when you’re alone together?” You whined.

“Blame Soo,” Taehyung shrugged. “She’s rubbed off on me. But, I’m right,” he smirked. “He’s going to want to give you his DD once he tastes this, if you know what I mean.”

Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, you looked on unimpressed. Maybe if you gave them no reaction they’d stop?

“Oooo. I wonder what his dick even looks like. I bet it’s as handsome as his face.” Soojung squealed, sat beside her boyfriend.

“SOOJUNG!” He cried, mouth open in disbelief.

“Can we just stop talking about his… y’know…” You sighed, unable to say the word aloud. “Imagine if it was the other way around and he was wondering about what I looked like naked.” Soojung wouldn’t be impressed, that was for sure.

“Fine, you’re right,” your best friend sighed. “I’m just way too excited because you finally like someone!!” She was getting loud now, she always did when she was excited. “And I want it to work out because you deserve it!”

You chuckled. “Soo, calm down.” But you had to admit her words were sweet. You reached for her hand across the tiny table, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks.

“What about Barman dick?” Taehyung asked randomly, totally oblivious that you and she were having a moment. “Huh? Soo? You want my Barman dick tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows again, a playfulness to his voice as he nudged her.

She giggled but wasn’t having any of it. “It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, babe.”

Highly offended he pulled away, pursing his lips. “Whatever.”

“Okay guys, let’s not have a domestic at the dining table.” You laughed. Which was a mistake because now Taehyung’s attention was back on you.

“So, Y/N, when are you going to invite Mr. Dilf to my bar?”

You sniggered. “How about never?”

“Hey, you ladies are being very mean tonight. I complimented your lasagne.” Hm. That was true, you guessed. “What’s wrong with my bar? I think he’d love it. What does he drink? I see him as a dark rum type of guy.”

You shrugged. “He was drinking red wine on our date last week.” It still made you feel funny to say the word date. You’d gone on a date. You were dating. A flurry of excitement found its way to your stomach, your excitement for Saturday growing.

“Interesting,” Taehyung mused.

Soojung stood up, starting to collect your plates. “Okay, I’m washing, who’s drying?”

“Not me,” you sang. “I’ve cooked nearly every night this week.”

Soojung eyes were wide when you met them, as if she was silently begging you. For what? “Just please promise me there won’t be any lasagne waiting for me after work tomorrow night? I’m going to turn into one at this rate.”

Saturday arrived soon enough. You woke up the same time your phone went Bing and you knew exactly who it was. Seokjin had been texting you Good morning every day since Monday. He was no longer signing them off with his name, which was progress, and he was even adding more emojis, so you guessed you had rubbed off on him.

Sometimes he’d drop a meme with the greeting. They were mostly to do with early mornings and workloads to which you’d tease him about because it was your summer vacation after all, you didn’t need to worry about work. But you always sent a Hope today runs smoothly his way too. You didn’t want to rub it in too much.

Yesterday’s meme had been about dating, something about the guy trying to flirt but being garbage at it and asking if she liked cheese. You didn’t agree that was like Seokjin though – you were gradually learning that he was incredibly modest – but it had made you laugh. Only Seokjin could send you lame memes and you’d find it adorable… You were possibly whipped.

Seokjin (8:01am) Good morning. [Image sent]

Today the meme was about lasagne, which made you question whether he was googling these every morning because no way had a lasagne meme popped up on his social media – if he used any at all. The realisation that he was searching for memes every day was even more endearing and your heart got a little gooey. You read the text on top of the image of lasagne. Dude, is that your new white shirt? Lemme just hop off this fork for a closer look. You genuinely laughed at that one, still wrapped up in your bed sheets. So incredibly lame, but equal levels funny.

Seokjin (8:01am) I will not be wearing white… I can’t wait to see you later. Just a reminder that I hope you omitted the garlic for tonight’s meal. I don’t want to embarrass myself by itching all night 😅😂

Immediately the smile dropped from your face and you shot forward, horror washing over you. Oh no. He was allergic to garlic. With the stress of perfecting the world’s best lasagne you’d totally forgotten. What were you going to do? Find a plain tomato sauce? Where the hell were you going to find one? Was that even a thing? You needed to leave now. Jumping out of bed you almost forgot to message Seokjin back. Looking at your phone again the image of the lasagne mocked you…

Two hours later you were back at home, in need of a sit down after you’d rushed around town looking for a pasta sauce that didn’t contain garlic (very hard, by the way.) The stress had aged you about ten years. Soojung of course found it highly hilarious.

“You’d have been in ER before 9pm,” she chortled, still in her pyjamas on the couch. She’d been still asleep when you’d dashed off, a woman on a lasagne mission.

You ignored her. It wouldn’t have been that bad, right? He said himself he’d only be itching… Clawing off his own skin was probably better than his throat closing up… maybe…

“How did you manage to forget?” She was still laughing. “AND you said you’d make a lasagne. Italian food always uses garlic. He must think you’re trying to kill him.” At this point you could hardly understand her, words blurring into one as she lost her shit.

“We went over this. I wasn’t in my right mind when I said I’d cook lasagne.”

She stopped her laugher immediately. “No way, you’re not blaming me again.”

“Ugh.” You sighed, suddenly remembering something. “I was going to make my homemade garlic bread.” Now that was a speciality of yours. This night was going to be a disaster.

“Skip the garlic,” Soojung suggested.

“So, just bread then.”

She tried her best not to laugh again, not wanting to make it worse. “Yum.”

It didn’t help.

What did help though, was making her clean the entirety of the downstairs of the house. As the day went on you started to get more and more nervous, which was silly, but you couldn’t help it. You realised that your place was a shoe box in comparison to his, what the hell were you thinking when you’d invited him here?! It needed to be spotless, to distract him from the fact you would be eating dinner in the same place you would be cooking it…

You knew there was no need to worry, it was just like last week when you’d grown self-conscious only to be fine once you’d set eyes on Seokjin. No doubt tonight would be just the same, he didn’t give a crap about stuff like that, so why would you even think he would? He’d probably be hurt if he knew… You just couldn’t help those little bubbles of insecurities from floating around inside your brain. You were a law unto yourself, and the garlic-less lasagne wasn’t helping. You’d had no time to prep for it. What if it tasted like cardboard?

“Lasagne is lasagne,” Soojung reassured you, in the kitchen as you got all the ingredients together. “It’s not going to taste gross just because there’s no garlic in it. Put it this way, at least you can kiss without needing to pop a mint.”

You whined, shaking your head, you couldn’t even dare thinking about kissing him right now. You’d spontaneously combust from anxiety.

“Should we clean your room too?” She asked, picking up the jar of pasta sauce absentmindedly. You’d already read the label approximately fifteen times, double checking it was indeed garlic-less.

“What? No,” you told her, voice all high-pitched. There would be no going upstairs besides from bathroom usage. “But hey,” you exclaimed, rounding on her with the spoon you were holding in your hand. “My room is always clean, bitch.”

She was the messy one.

Soojung left for Taehyung’s place at half 6, ready for Seokjin’s arrival at 7pm, a hug for good luck before you waved her off. You’d calmed greatly now, nothing like some table laying to ease some nerves. The lasagne was prepped and ready to oven cook, you had a fresh key lime pie in the fridge and you were dressed and presentable with ten minutes to spare. Wonderful.

The doorbell rung not long after you’d made your way downstairs and you were quickly finding out that Seokjin was a very punctual man. Opening the door to reveal him stood at the porch your heart instantly warmed, skipping a beat when he gave you a dazzling smile and a soft Hey. You felt a little weak at the knees. Nope, you were not ready for tonight.

In your tiny entryway he offered you a silver gift bag. “I didn’t know what to bring, so.” He said with a shrug as you pulled out a bottle of red wine.

“Oh, thank you, Seokjin.” You hadn’t been expecting him to bring anything at all. It was a lovely surprise.

“You probably have some waiting already. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “We’ll use this one.” You were going to use a bottle of white wine you had laying around, nothing special at all. Red wine seemed better, fancier, maybe it would go better with the lasagne?

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I was gonna get you flowers but I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

You laughed. What was he going on about? “Why would that freak me out?”

His smile was crooked as he chuckled quietly. “I don’t know. I’m new to this, I thought they would’ve been too forward.”

You gave a small shrug, voice barely there when you replied. “I like flowers.”

He gazed at you, warm eyes softening as he stepped forward. “Next time.” He smiled. “Next time I’ll get you flowers.”

You swallowed fairly loudly, averting your gaze as you outstretched your arms. “Let me take you coat.” Was it hot in here? You felt a little stuffy.

He shrugged off the beige wool blend, revealing the tight fitting black shirt he had on underneath. It stretched over his shoulders, accentuating how broad they were, how hard his chest was and how much his waist curved inwards. The pants he was wearing didn’t help matters too. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, hair parted to the side, a piece curled above his left eye, softening the blow of his exposed forehead. You moved to hook his coat on the rack, realising you could’ve been gawping. Not that you could help it, the man was trying to kill you.

As you turned to face him again, he smiled. “You look really nice.” His voice was soft which just made it even more dangerous. “I think this may be the first time I’ve seen you in pants.”

“Really?” You wondered. You were partial to a dress in the summer, so he was probably right. You’d chosen a pair of black skinny jeans and a patterned chiffon blouse. Nothing too fancy, but he looked at you with awe-filled eyes. Unless you were imagining it. You cleared your throat. “You look good too.”

He stepped back, arms outstretched as he looked down at himself. “Thanks. No white.” He chuckled.

You forced yourself to laugh too, nerves creeping back just because of your stupid damn lasagne. “No white.”

Moving forward again he took your hand. It was warm and soft, just as you remembered from last week. Who cared about the lasagne when you were this close to him? When he was looking down at you with those brown, twinkly eyes? Not you anymore.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Y/N.”

Oh.

You invited him inside the living room first, pouring him a small (and his only because he the car) glass of wine as you chit chatted for a few minutes. Sat next to him was RJ, who you’d taken from your bedroom to join you both for the night. He wanted to say Hi, had been your opening line and Seokjin had found it hilarious, cracking up instantly. Although his “I missed you buddy, how have you been?” went rudely ignored. Maybe the alpaca was nervous…

Ever the gentleman, he complimented you on the house, noting the décor with a fond eye. That surprised you, maybe he had played a part with the interior of his home. Well, you’d only seen the cosy family room – but it suited him very well. You knew there had been no need to be nervous when it came to inviting him into your home. There wasn’t a judging bone in Seokjin’s body.

You talked about your weeks, yours had been fine, but of course you left out all the stress over the lasagne. Seokjin’s week on the other hand had been quite demanding, but that was nothing new he told you with an accepting shake of his hand. He was used to it by now, but he had to admit tonight’s date had made it easier this time around. He was full of the charm, not that you were complaining…

Misook was babysitting Arin tonight, he told you when you asked how she was. It was his weekend this week, he and Nana took it in turns – when she didn’t cancel, he added as an afterthought – but he seemed a lot more relaxed talking about his ex-wife this time around seeing as last weekend she hadn’t broken any promises. He was happy if his daughter was happy, and that made you smile. You remembered Arin’s sorrowful face that day her mom had cancelled on her, so you were glad they’d found time to spend time together. You also remembered how irritated Seokjin had sounded when he was opening up to you on the bench at the school fate… You wondered just how often Nana cancelled plans, and couldn’t imagine how frustrating that was for both Arin and Seokjin… You hoped this marked the start of things being easier for them now.

Soon after that, you served him your starter (“garlic – wait, no I mean, no-garlic bread.”), and you chatted some more over that and while the lasagne baked. It was surprising how little you’d touched the sides on your first date, so tonight you covered even more bases. Family mainly. You told him about your half and step siblings, your parents’ remarriages of course coming up too. He seemed interested in that, wondering about your views on it and if it had affected you as you grew up. As a divorcee you understood the relevance to him and because he was so easy to talk to you found yourself opening up freely.

His parents were still married and Seokjin was the youngest out of their two sons, so it was quite unheard of for the second born to take over a family company. In fact, it was the first of its kind for his, which made it even harder for him. His older brother had been the rightful heir to LG Electronics but his passion had always been in culinary arts. His parents had been kind enough to let him follow his dreams, and thankfully, for Seokjin, that meant he could follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d been eager to prove himself but it had been hard in the beginning. His status as the youngest son meant that a lot of people set him up for failure, but with his family’s love and belief he’d managed to succeed and confirm himself as the rightful CEO. You didn’t doubt it. It seemed he’d worked hard to get where he was now. That was admirable.

The influx of information was so interesting to you and it didn’t feel real. While you could imagine Seokjin taking charge, visualising him in that tailored houndstooth suit he’d worn when you’d first met him, it was strange to think the smiley and soft-spoken man sat in front of you was from a long line of power and wealth. He should be untouchable, yet here you were able to reach for his hand across the table. Able to feel his forefinger stroking delicate patterns into your palm as you opened up and got to know one another more and more…

“So, if your family’s a big deal, what about things like arranged marriages? Are they still a thing?” You asked, maybe confusing fiction for fact.

Seokjin laughed at your wording. “They used to be, not so much anymore. I met my ex-wife through a friend. They concentrate less on things like that these days.” He shrugged, adding as an afterthought, “As a divorced CEO I think I’m a great example of that.”

That was true, you thought to yourself, wondering how the breakdown of his marriage had also played a part in the stress of his early years as CEO.

“I know it all sounds pretty crazy, but I like to think my family is just like anyone else’s.” He continued, smiling bashfully when you met his gaze. “That I’m just like anyone else.”

You wondered how many people had immediately judged him because of his status… You’d been one of them, right? Even if you hadn’t known any of the details, you’d written him off as some obnoxious, rich guy who flaunted his wealth… You felt guilty thinking back. He was the complete opposite.

You nodded in agreement before grinning. “I’d have liked to see what college Seokjin was like.”

“A complete nerd, to tell you the truth.”

He answered so seriously, you didn’t know how to react, and then he was laughing loudly, cracking up at himself. You couldn’t help but join in. That’s when your stove alarm went off, shrill and incessant, signalling the arrival of the dreaded lasagne…

It turned out he loved it though.

“This is amazing,” Seokjin praised, mouth still half full as he chewed. You did have to admit it was good. It tasted just like the original, despite the lack of garlic. Seokjin quirked an eyebrow, smirking your way. “So, how lucky am I to be able to try this World famous Italian lasagne?”

“Very lucky.” You kept your answer short. Hoping he’d just drop it.

He didn’t.

“How lucky?” He tried to pry from you. “How many people have tried it?”

You gave him a small smile, hovering your fork over the plate. Technically he was the third, but you couldn’t tell him that, could you? “I can’t disclose that.”

He emitted a short laugh. “What about the recipe? Care to share?”

You brushed him off with a soft chuckle. “A chef never tells her secrets.”

“Not even me?” His bottom lip jutted out as he looked across at you.

Your heart did a little dance. He was being unfair. “Don’t pout like that, it’s making me feel guilty.”

Thankfully the lasagne topic fizzled out after a couple more minutes, your cold sweat having time to dissipate while you chatted and ate together comfortably. However a few minutes later you noticed Seokjin fidgeting slightly in his seat. You politely ignored it to begin with, unsure if you were just imagining it, but then he started itching the back of his neck. You put your fork down, a sick feeling washing over you. “Is anything wrong?” You asked, now watching him itch up his forearm. “Seokjin?”

He looked at you in mild confusion, eyebrows creasing together as he opened his mouth. “Are you sure there wasn’t any garlic in this?”

You swallowed away the panic racing up your throat. “I’m sure.” You’d read the back of that jar and then read it some more. “I’m positive.”

… Weren’t you? You watched him scoot his chair back, leaning down to start scratching the back of his calves. He made noises of discomfort as he did so.

“Oh, no…” You were up before you could stop yourself, racing around him to start hunting in the recycling for the glass jar.

“Wait, where are you going?”

You could hear Seokjin’s voice behind you, sounding alarmed, but you were too panicked to really take it in. You needed to be sure. This was just your second date, you couldn’t ruin things already. Turning him into one giant itchy red blob had not been your intention.

“I was only teasing you.” Still, his words didn’t sink in. That was until you felt a hand on your elbow, tugging gently for your attention.

You spun around, worried eyes wide – even wider when you found him so close. He was on his feet too, bent a little to level with you, pretty much within kissing distance. His voice was soft when he spoke, you found yourself distracted by his mouth. “Y/N, I was just messing around.”

You blinked, not truly understanding with all those annoying distractions zooming around your mind, but slowly you pieced his words together. Oh. Despite the relief you felt, now you just felt silly. Plus, he was still so close to you…

You took a step back, the small of your back pressing up against the counter. You needed a clear head. “Don’t freak me out like that.” You told him, but you still sighed in relief, hand against your chest. “I thought I’d poisoned you.”

He looked a little concerned, but you could tell by his eyes he found your reaction amusing. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I just wanted to make you laugh.”

“Make me laugh? You nearly gave me heart failure.” However, you gave him what he wanted, a laugh that sounded weak and shaky, but it was something – you did see the funny side.

He joined you, shoulders relaxing now that he knew you were okay. He looked behind you, eyes on the trashcan, a bemused smile on his face. “What were you looking for anyway?”

“The jar.” You answered, as if it wasn’t obvious. You turned, deciding to fish it out anyway. Holding it up to him, you were adamant. “See, no garlic. Check.”

He chuckled. “I already said I was joking.” He took one look at your desperate expression and gave in, taking the jar from your hand. “But if it makes you feel better…” You watched him as he read the label, silently soaking in his handsome features. He looked softer tonight, the curve of his jaw rounding as he smiled. It took you a moment to realise he was done. He handed the jar back to you, and you prayed to God he hadn’t caught you staring at him all gooey-eyed. “It’s fine.” He confirmed. “I’ll be itch free tonight.”

You smiled and plopped the glass back inside the can. “I looked around town for hour trying to find lasagne sauce sans garlic.”

He looked guilty. “I’m sorry for being awkward.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing, the hint of a smirk itching at the corners of his mouth. “But… Y/N, are you a fraud?” Huh? What did he mean? You didn’t need to wait long for an explanation. “I thought a certified chef would cook up a batch of her own tomato sauce.”

Oh. You’d gone and put your foot in it, hadn’t you? It was probably time to explain yourself… “I have a confession,” you began, sounding wary. Seokjin looked interested albeit it mildly confused. “I… may have told a little white lie.”

He shook his head, a puff of laughter leaving him. “You’ve lost me.”

You took a deep breath, knowing you were going to have to spell it out for him. “I’ve never made lasagne before. Ever. In my entire life.”

He looked confused as silence spread out between you. He sounded it too when he spoke again. “Then why did you say it was your speciality?”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands for one dramatic moment. “I panicked.” Peeking at him, you babbled on. “I know it sounds stupid but Soojung was curtain twitching and it was stressing me out and then you were asking me what I cooked and lasagne just popped into my head!”

Seokjin blinked, his mouth twitched and then he was laughing – loudly.

“You find it funny?” You asked, relaxing a tad.

“Very.” He laughed harder but seeing the look of bafflement on your face he tried is best to still it.

“I’ve been practicing it like crazy,” you whined, happy you could finally tell him all about your lasagne struggles. “This is my fourth time eating it this week. Soojung nearly killed me.” You snorted at the memory. This started up Seokjin again. “And then I forgot you were allergic to garlic. Your text reminded me this morning and I had to rush out to the grocery store.”

He was weak at the knees at that, and you were laughing just because he was. It was contagious. “Stop,” you wailed, attempting to get a hold of yourself. This week had actually been quite traumatic. “I’m glad you find it funny, I’ve been in constant stress ever since you drove off last week.”

“I can’t help it.” He chuckled, although he did sound apologetic. “You’re just so adorable.” The air that settled around his effortless admission made your skin prickle. When he carried on, his tone was gentle. “You know I wouldn’t have minded if you changed the menu to something else, right?”

You pouted ever so slightly. “But you were looking forward to it.”

He gave a small shrug. “True, but… that was more so code for ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you again.’ The food was just a bonus. I’d be happy with a Big Mac.”

You felt your cheeks burn and you tried to shake yourself out of it. “So embarrassing,” you murmured. You didn’t know what for… The lasagne mess or the fact he could have this much of an effect of you? You were inclined to go with the latter.

“What about the no-garlic bread?” Seokjin asked, changing the subject a little. Maybe he’d sensed your embarrassment and didn’t want to make it worse. He was sweet. “Did you make that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Well, I didn’t bake the bread. I just toasted it.” It was still a speciality of yours though. “It would’ve been much tastier with the garlic.”

He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. This body wants to turn me into a miserable old man.”

Pfft. Old? Miserable? He was anything but.

“Sit,” he prompted you, smiling as he motioned with his head to the table. “Finish your World famous Italian lasagne before it grows cold.”

As you moved he delicately cupped his hand around the curve your waist, giving it a soft squeeze before he got to his chair first. Your stomach flipped, head dizzy as you sat and tucked your chair in. Last Saturday popped into your head, the way you’d loosely held hands outside and how you were sure he’d been leaning in to kiss you – properly.

You knew one thing. You really wanted to kiss him tonight.

Trying to get a hold of yourself, you glanced at him, catching his eyes. He was already tucking in again, and he grinned bashfully, as if embarrassed. “This really is great. All that practice paid off.” A pause. “You should show me how you cooked it sometime.”

Your face lit up in surprise. “You cook?” In the back of your mind you were aware that he’d probably been hinting for a third date, but you were so shocked by the possibly of Seokjin cooking you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

He chuckled quietly. “I mean, when I have time and can be bothered. I like cooking but it’s just easier to go to a restaurant or get it delivered.” He looked sheepish before adding, “Or Misook does it for me.”

There was no shame when it came to that. Seokjin probably worked all hours of the day, no one could expect him to tie on an apron when he got home and start pulling out pots and pans.

“Do you cook a lot?” He asked.

You nodded. “Soojung and I take it in turns.”

“So what is your speciality?” He smiled.

This time around you were in your right mind and able to answer properly. “Veggie tacos.”

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. Then he tried again. “Can you make them for me sometime?”

He was persistent, you’d give him that. You shrugged, trying your best to sound impassive but the little smirk gave it away. “Maybe if you say please…”

He laughed, leaning forward, a hand clasping yours as he tilted his head. The piece of curled hair falling into his left eye. “Please?”

Your heart did another little dance inside your chest.

After dessert you both made your way back to the living room, settling on your couch with two pomegranate mocktails Taehyung had prepared for you yesterday. All you had to do was add the pomegranate juice and lemonade to the ice cubes and crushed lime segments and mint before serving, easy-peasy. Seokjin was highly impressed, but of course you couldn’t take the credit. It was all down to your best friend’s very helpful barman boyfriend.

You were glad Seokjin wanted to stay as you didn’t want the night to be over yet. It had flown by so fast and you’d had so much fun. You already felt like you knew him better, even after only two dates. It was strange to you, how you could feel so relaxed in a stranger’s company, but then again, you guessed he wasn’t a stranger anymore… Plus, he was so easy to talk to, so interesting to get to know…. Everything between you two came easy.

Like opening up to him, being a bit more vulnerable…

“I’ve been slightly nervous all week,” you admitted, clutching your drink to you before chuckling softly. “– and not just about the lasagne faux pas…”

“There was no need to be nervous. I thought we left all that behind on the first date,” Seokjin reassured, smiling warmly your way.

You were sat together, turned to face one another. It was intimate and cosy. He had one leg lifted, the ankle resting on the knee of the other leg, and where his pants had ridden up, you could see an inch or so of his calf before it met the black cotton of his sock. For some reason, you found that very, very sexy. Maybe you had been single for far too long.

“We did,” you agreed, hesitating slightly. “It’s just… I haven’t done anything like this in so long.”

You didn’t even think you’d ever invited someone around for dinner before. You were still quite young when you found yourself in a relationship with Donghae so your dates before him had been very basic. Your dates with him hadn’t really classed as such just because you became official fairly quickly, and your dates after him, well, it was already known that they had been few and far between.

“You already know we’re in the same boat,” he smiled before chuckling bashfully. “No, but really, when I asked you for dinner that day at the fate I was expecting you to turn me down.”

“How come?”

He looked down at his drink, lifting a shoulder. “I thought you’d think that I was crossing a line… or maybe the spark I was feeling was all in my head and in reality you just found me really annoying.”

That was cute. He’d been doubting himself. Human after all. Not that you’d ever thought he wasn’t. You still didn’t miss the opportunity to joke around though. “I mean, both can exist simultaneously.” He taking a sip of his mocktail when you replied so he ended up snorting into his glass, amused by your wit.

A moment or so passed and Seokjin gazed at you, smiling softly. If he kept this up, you’d be a puddle on your parquet flooring. “So, tell me,” he hummed. “How did I luck out so good?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant. “How come an amazing person like you isn’t married or in a relationship?”

He must’ve seen the slight shock on your face and panicked instantly. “Is that a weird thing to ask? I feel like it is. I apologise.”

“No,” you insisted, sitting up a little straighter. He followed. “No, it’s not.” You wanted to open up to him. You really did. You just didn’t know where to start. Although, it was pretty simple. “I’ve been single for a while.”

“How long?” Seokjin was instantly focused, attentive, noticing the change in your body language.

“Three years. My last relationship didn’t end very well.” You paused, wondering if you should continue. But then… It had been a massive part of your life. No matter how much time had passed and no matter how okay you were now, it had still happened. And Seokjin, he had trusted you enough to open up about his divorce – even before you’d gone on your first date. You wanted to talk about it. You really did.

“I found out my fiancé was cheating on me.”

Seokjin’s eyes widened, unable to cloak his surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely.

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “It was rough getting over it. Took me a while, but it is what it is. It’s in the past now.”

“Did it put you off dating?”

You were pleasantly surprised to find it was actually easy to talk to Seokjin about this. Your mouth was opening before you had to think about it. “I mean, at first. I was still very much in love with him, even after he broke my heart. But I got over him and I started dating again – briefly – It just didn’t feel right.” You stopped to smile. “It’s been over a year and I can’t say I missed it… but you…” Nerves growing, you pushed them away. “You’ve changed that. I’m having fun.”

Seokjin’s face lit up and he chuckled. “I did hit second date status after all.”

“You did…”

“So,” he leaned closer, a small smirk on his face. “You could say, hitting your car that day wasn’t actually my fault because it was supposed to happen.”

You snorted as you laughed, head falling against the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He made a sound. “But we wouldn’t have met otherwise.”

“We would!” You exclaimed. “The parent-teacher meeting.”

He blinked, feeling dumb. “Oh, yeah.”

It wouldn’t have had the same effect, granted, but you would have become acquainted with one another regardless. “Would you have still liked me?” You asked without thinking, surprising yourself.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “I was instantly attracted to you after all, it’s just…” Instantly attracted? Definitely a charmer... “There would’ve been no way for me to get to know you like I did.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re really adamant that you had to reverse into my car to make this work, huh.”

He shrugged casually. “It was the only way.”

You laughed quietly, finishing the last of your drink. Time was getting on, it was pretty late, Seokjin had already finished his, you watched him sit up to lean forward and place the glass on your coffee table. His shirt tightened across his shoulder blades and you could see his back muscles as he stretched. Oh.

Settling back into the same position, he looked over at you and grinned. His teeth were perfect. Did this man have zero flaws? Why were you so whipped? It was embarrassing.

“I had fun tonight,” you told him, trying to keep a lid on whatever was going on with you right now.

He seemed pleased with that, nodding his head. “I’m happy to hear that you think I’m a fun person.”

You scoffed, body falling closer to his. Your shoulders brushed together. Seokjin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Hm. I don’t think I said that.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean.” He murmured, one side of his mouth quirking up.

Like you couldn’t stop yourself, your hand reached for the collar of shirt. He had the top two buttons loose and your pinkie finger brushed against his collarbone. Sparks flew, but you tried to ignore them. “I thought you liked it when I was mean.” You teased, voice low.

Seokjin hummed, his eyes still twinkled like they always did but there was something else to them, a depth that made you feel funny. He sunk closer to you. So close you could study the thick curve of his eyelashes, notice that both his eyelids were different. He really did have beautiful eyes. You could stare at them forever.

Preoccupied, you slowly realised that he was watching you too, studying your features in the golden glow of the floor lamp that hovered over the couch. His lips parted, you heard them rather than saw it, but then your attention was on them again. Just like it had been earlier on in the night. He was staring at yours too as he spoke. “I wanted to kiss you last week.”

You heartbeat quickened but you tried to keep cool. “You did kiss me.” You laughed.

He sighed. “On the cheek.”

You lightly tugged his collar, fingertips now brushing the skin of his chest. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted to do?”

You could feel his own heartbeat against your forearm that was pressed into him. It was definitely running a little faster than it was supposed to – stronger. “Yes, but…” He glanced up to your eyes. “I was just being polite. I wanted to kiss your lips.”

It felt like you were holding your breath. Maybe you were, you just couldn’t think straight. Time seemed to stretch out, but you knew what you wanted. So you went after it. Giving him a small smile, you replied. “Maybe I wanted that too.”

He swallowed, voice so low now it was barely a murmur. “Is that an invitation?” His eyes bounced to your lips again, then back to your eyes as he asked permission. “Can I kiss you?”

You ever so slightly dragged your bottom lip beneath your teeth as you nodded, breath catching in your throat as Seokjin leaned forward and closed the distance between you. The hand in between your bodies moved to delicately hold the wrist of your arm against his chest, holding you there as his other hand reached for your jaw, angling your face to press a kiss to your mouth. His eyes were already closed so you followed.

He hummed at the contact, his lips soft and warm and you let yourself sink. His actions were light at first, faint as he kept constant pressure, as if he was familiarising himself with the sensation. You couldn’t even let yourself think about how this was the first kiss you’d shared with someone for a very long time. All that was going through your mind was how good it felt to be touched like this by him.

He readjusted the hand on your face, tucking some hair behind your ear to cup your cheek. You liked that. You liked it when he touched you, and he eased from your mouth completely before coming back with a firmer pressure. It was your turn to make a sound; a tiny gasp as your lips began to move together ever so slowly. He liked that, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against the soft skin of your lips. You clutched at his shirt, gathering the crisp cotton in your fist, that would surely turn it creased, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was too preoccupied with reaching for the glass you’d forgotten was hugged to your body by your free hand.

He unclasped it from your fingers and had no choice but to break away from your mouth to put it next to his on the coffee table. You whined, attempting to tug him back to you, and he chuckled, taking a hold of one of your hands. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, leaning forward to place the cocktail glass down.

And he was.

This time he used both of his hands to grasp your face and dive back in. He was more confident this time, moving in such a way his lips pried yours open. You reached for his shoulders, grasping them to hold him closer and this time you both made noises – sweet, quiet ones that worked beautiful together as your lips moulded with gradual urgency.

When your hands found the nape of his neck, fingers through his hair, he had to drag the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking entry. You met it with yours, tasting hints of pomegranate and lime with each wash of tongue. A hand of his slipped down to your side, stroking up and down the curve as if he couldn’t help but to touch you. He settled at your hip after a moment, the other splayed against the side of your neck, his thumb rolling small circles under your cheekbone.

This was getting addictive. You could tell by the way you moaned softly against each warm, wet curl of his tongue. This was everything you’d imagined and more – because you had imagined it. Late and secretly at night when you were trying to drift off to sleep and thoughts of lasagne were banished… You were glad your first kiss was here, inside, on your couch, because this wasn’t something for the open, your knees wouldn’t have been able to hold you up.

You could have kissed him forever, you mean, you definitely didn’t want it to stop but you pretty much had to. Breathing was a necessity, right? If you couldn’t breathe you wouldn’t be able to ever kiss Seokjin again and that would be absolutely awful…

You did it the right way though – gradually. Seokjin slowed it right down, only hints of his tongue left as he hummed indulgently, like he was savouring your taste before he had to inevitably pull away. It made your insides jump around like crazy, hearing him enjoying himself, and you tried your best to come to when he started easing the pressure of his lips, pressing small, chaste kisses to them instead as you ultimately (but slowly) broke apart.

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him, hands falling from his hair, aware you had become one with your cushions. You struggled to free yourself as he sat back and you watched him smile fondly at you. His breath was shaky – so was yours, and you were sure his hands trembled slightly as one reached up to scratch the back of his neck. His neck that was blotched with red, flushed, travelling to his cheeks. They were rosier than you’d ever seen them before. Your gut stirred.

“I’ve been dreaming of that,” he told you, before making a face at himself. “Too cringey?”

You giggled – it sounded foreign. “Just a bit.” But didn’t deter the fact you loved it.

You warmed when you felt him squeeze your hip, realising his hand was still there and you reached for it, tangling your fingers with his. He pulled them to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly. His expression was thoughtful when he lowered your hands. “In all seriousness, thank you for giving me a chance, after well, you know, everything.”

You smiled, touched by his earnestness, but it was hard to keep a sane mind when his lips were as kiss bitten as they were – deep pink and glistening. You wanted to kiss his face off.

“It’s no problem,” you quipped, as if you were doing him a favour.

He chuckled tenderly, and luckily for you he was unable to stop himself from kissing you again. He reached forward, hooking a finger under your chin to press his mouth to yours softly. “I’d really love if we could keep on doing… this.” He murmured.

“The dating or the kissing,” you grinned, stealing another kiss in the process.

“Hm,” he contemplated. “Both preferably.”

And then you were on one another again, eager once more.

Although, you did manage to pull away briefly to tell him something, his mouth moving to the side of your face to kiss there instead as your hands dragged down his back. You were somehow able to get the words out – ones that made him laugh against your wet jaw.

“I’m so glad you hit my car.”

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjn fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:mls

1K notes · View notes

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 years

Text

pt.1: the swapping begins

-> 4-fking-am masterlist <-

b:katsuki / f.reader

genre: neighbor au, pro-hero bakugou

warning(s)!!: bakugou's potty mouth (ofc)

status: on-going!

synopsis: you had just moved into your new apartment and like every other college student under the sun, you had the worst sleep scheudle known to man. due to this, you find yourself playing music through your speakers at 4 am. your neighbor slides you a note under your door about your ‘shitty’ taste in music, thus the note swaps begin.

a/n: the first part has arrived! hopefully, updates on this particular series won't be so drawn out since i'm planning to keep all written parts on the shorter side along with the smau parts being just easier since it's all just dialog LOL (ive done smau in the past for other things but they weren't so hot but hopefully i'm better now lol rip)

-x-x-x-

w.count: 1.3k

-x-x-x-

Why did you decide to go back to school to pursue further education again? If it wasn’t to stress yourself into early grey hairs or to rip out those grey hairs until you were bald, then why?

Collapsing over your desk- textbook open and notes out in messy piles with doodles across every edge and corner from wandering concentration- you groan. Exams were right around the corner, but you couldn’t for the life of you get your brain to focus on one thing- much less multiple things- for more than a couple hours, so studying quickly turned into a failed attempt to study.

Normally, studying wasn’t so difficult for you and you actually found it therapeutic in its own weird way. You enjoyed learning new things and the pride and wholeness you felt after succeeding to teach yourself something new was well worth whatever the process to get there was to you. But, this current college burnout was making all those end results hard to get to.

You glanced at the clock on one of the elevated shelves of your desk, the dimly glowing orange letters showing the time of 3:54 am. You groaned again, pushing your forehead into your written words and definitely smearing pencil lead on your forehead while you were at it. Maybe you’d soak up the words this way and have the knowledge transferred automatically into your brain if you pushed just hard enough.

Another dull and unrelenting amount of minutes pass you by before you officially call it quits for the night. Giving up, you walked to the other side of the room and plopped down on your bed’s edge next to one of your nightstands, your wrist rubbing your forehead to hopefully clear away the mess of leftover lead on it. On this nightstand was your radio and beneath it along the shelves and below the drawer was a collection of CDs.

In a world where albums were digital and everything was Bluetooth compatible and no one carried around a portable CD player anymore, you felt somewhat awkward sometimes at the seemingly large and ridiculous collection of yours. There were still plenty of people with CDs and even vinyls, but still- the awkwardness of your ‘retro’ thinking at your age did make you feel a bit self-conscious; no matter how idiotic it sounded.

You leaned over the bed and down to the bottom shelf cubby and grabbed a thin, plastic album case. Popping it open, the cheap plastic threatened to break and bend as you pushed open the top of your radio and placed the CD inside, shutting it again and turning it on.

A small little baby blue boombox that resembled a sort of bubble-like structure- a late birthday gift from your friends back in your hometown.

You figured if you didn’t absolutely blast your music, it would be fine to play aloud. Plus, you decided to put your bedroom in the backmost room, and the second room closer to the front room of your apartment was used for storage- since renting a storage unit was way too expensive. In your mind, the room closet to the door for a single living tenant would definitely be their bedroom- so you did the opposite when you moved in.

With your legs still handing off the side of the bed, you threw yourself back onto the mattress with your arms out to your sides. You stared at the ceiling of your room, thinking that at some point you’d need to purchase some cheap glow-in-the-dark stars to tack up there just for nostalgia’s sake.

As you heard the radio read the CD in small hums, you shut your eyes and smiled when the first track started. To be honest, you weren’t really pressed for what music you were going to be listening to, so you just kinda pulled from your cubby and popped the CD in without even looking at what you grabbed. You almost laughed when an older album your mom used to listen to started playing.

You weren’t exactly sure how it happened or when, but the next thing you knew, you were staring blankly and tiredly up to your ceiling again. The sun outside had risen and you heard birds, outside chatter, and basic roadside living outside. Even being up on the fourth floor, you could still hear the world below fairly well since you almost always had your window open with a fan inside of it.

Your body was sore from how you were laying on your back with your arms out, and you felt stiff. Legs partially numb from hanging off the bed all morning when you turned to look at your clock on the desk with squinted eyes.

Almost noon.

“God,” you moaned, forcing yourself up and wobbly making a path out of your room and into the kitchen to solve the problem of your severe cottonmouth. Stepping out of your narrow, short hall, you yawned and stopped before stepping into the kitchen when you saw a note at your doorstep. It had been slid under the front door and was face down, small blotches of black bled through to show that the other side had something written on it in marker.

More intrigued with the mysterious note than ready to deal with your dry mouth and throat that demanded water, you trotted to the paper and flicked it up. Your eyes quickly scanned the note and you gasped, slightly slapping a hand over your mouth.

‘Your taste in music really fuckin’ sucks’

Oh my god, someone heard that? Were you too loud? Was it annoying? Who in their right mind has the further room from the door other than you who did it on purpose so that this situation could be specifically avoided? Would you need to move rooms? No, then you’d have your other neighbors slipping you notes or even knocking on your door.

Maybe this neighbor has a roommate and had no choice but to take the room furthest from the door. Would you need to move out now before you died from overthinking the situation?

Racing back into your room, you tore out a sheet of lined paper and a mark erfrom your jar of pens, pencils, highlightser, what have you, and began to write in large letters a note back.

‘I’m so sorry about the noise! I’ll make sure not to play it that ungodly early again! (also, no it doesn’t, my taste in music is fine).’

You felt a little silly putting the added small text at the bottom of the paper in parentheses, but you felt the need to nip this particular neighbor’s opinion about your music in the butt- you boiled the choice down to comedies sake.

Making your way back to your door, you unlocked the bolt and unlatched the chain as you poked your head out. For it being almost the middle of the day, you made sure no one was in the halls before you jogged out your door and to the left. Your room was the furthest left room and they heard it, so clearly it had to be the left side neighbor... right?

Taking one last left-to-right look down the hall, you knelt at the door, pushed your paper under it, and dashed back into your own apartment before locking it back up. You let out a breath, as you pushed your back into the door, feeling awkward and almost embarrassed at the idea of passing notes with your neighbor. Trying to be secretive about it and acting like if someone saw you push a note under their door you’d be looked at strangely.

In a somewhat awkward way, you felt like some weird criminal.

“Whatever,” you shook your head, slapping your hands on your cheeks and heading to the kitchen. Finally ready to get that glass of water you had been craving to soothe your aching throat with. You had other things to get done today anyway. Now that you were awake, better get your day started.

Even if you may have just completely fucked your sleep schedule.

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crowfootwrites · 3 years

Text

Los Guardianes | Part V [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Ok, I promise there's a comedown from all the adrenaline after this! And very soon we will see characters other than Cristóbal lol.

Warnings: mentions of blood, drugs, and domestic violence; police interactions; language | Words: 1,900+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger

Part IV of Los Guardianes

As you thundered down the alley, you glanced over at a wailing Cristóbal, splashes of crimson quickly drying across his arms and t-shirt from where you had carried him.

“It’s gonna be ok, Cristóbal, alright? I promise. Just hang tight,” you shouted over the strained whining of the engine. He quieted, shaking violently in his seat, but you turned your attention back towards the road, quickly reaching the end of the alley. You made a sharp right, having no idea where to go, but hoping to find a main street quickly.

Luck appeared to be on your side. You kept your eye on the rearview, but you didn’t see anyone behind you yet. You came up on a main street, mostly empty of traffic, and made a sharp left, immediately flooring the accelerator again. Your eyes flickered to passing signs, looking for anything you recognized.

“Fuck!” you growled, squeezing the steering wheel as you passed a sign for the Sun Bowl, panic rising in your chest as you realized you were in El Paso, Texas. You had no idea how you were going to get all the way back to California without getting caught, either by your kidnappers or by police, although at this point, you would have preferred the police. But you also had plenty of experience with dirty cops, and if your kidnappers had brought you here, of all places, it seemed likely that the police would be in their pockets.

You whipped past a sign for I-10 northbound and made for the onramp, revving the engine to merge into traffic. You darted immediately into the fast lane. Traffic was relatively light, but you hadn’t yet decided if that was good or bad. Your eyes flicked keenly between the road in front of you, your odometer, and the traffic behind you, watching for signs of a tail. It seemed like you were clear for the time being, but you hesitated to get too comfortable. It wouldn’t be long before the shattered back window drew some kind of attention.

Taking stock of your surroundings, you realized you had an almost full tank of gas. You wouldn’t be able to make it all the way back to Santo Padre on one tank, and you had no idea how you were going to pay for another. But you relegated that to the back of your mind, a concern for later. There was a balled-up hoodie in the backseat, and you stared blankly at the rosary swinging from the rearview. The glove compartment was empty.

Your eyes tracked the nearest freeway sign, realizing I-10 would take you into New Mexico. From there, you could head towards Phoenix. You didn’t love the idea of staying on a major freeway for so long, but it was the quickest way to get where you were going. From just south of Phoenix, you could take smaller highways towards home, and that suited you better. But the feeling of being chased propelled you forward; you were constantly pushing the odometer and scanning of your surroundings.

You reached New Mexico without a problem, but without a solid plan in place, you sped through it. As you careened down the highway towards an empty desert horizon, you heard Cristóbal’s breathing begin to calm. There was no chance of your pulse slowing or your body settling; you sat on the edge of the driver's seat, your thighs and core constantly clenched, ready for hell when it came.

Around two hours after you left El Paso, you were rapidly approaching Deming, New Mexico, and by then your brain was shouting at you to stop. You wanted to try to find a gas station to get yourself and Cristóbal cleaned up, in case you did get pulled over. You also wanted to check the trunk. While you had certainly been making good time, a sneaking suspicion nagged at you, one that questioned why no one had come after you or appeared to have reported the car stolen.

On the far edge of Deming, once you had passed through the center of the city, you followed signs for a gas station that looked, from the highway, to be mostly empty, in the middle of an empty stretch of commercial buildings and vacant lots. You guided the car towards the back of the gas station lot, behind the building, where you breathed a sigh of relief that there were bathrooms on the exterior of the building. You pulled into a parking space and only once you had scanned your surroundings did you get out. You went around to the passenger side door and guided Cristóbal out, grabbing the hoodie from the backseat.

The lock on the bathroom door was broken, so you pushed your way in, gagging a little at the stench. The sink was filthy, but the water ran clear, and you quickly rinsed your skin, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain. Flashes of the man you killed flickered behind your eyes whenever you closed them, bile rising in your throat. The gnawing in your stomach reminded you that you hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. The adrenaline had kept the hunger at bay, but suddenly you were so hungry you felt nauseous. You helped Cristóbal wash his face and hands, then pulled the hoodie over your soiled shirt, zipping it all the way up.

Back at the car, you popped the trunk and your mouth fell open.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned. Six bricks of cocaine were packed into the back of the small trunk, along with a duffel bag. You supposed that was why no one had reported the car stolen. It made you feel a little better that the cops wouldn’t necessarily be looking for you, but if you did get pulled over, you’d be fucked. You dug through the duffel bag, finding it full of clothes, and your heart lifted when your fingers skimmed smooth leather. You pulled out a black leather wallet, flipping it over in your hands. There was no ID, but there was a singular twenty dollar bill in it, and that would have to do.

Cash in hand, you tugged Cristóbal into the gas station store with you, grabbing a couple of protein bars and a large bottle of water, wanting to hang on to enough money for gas down the road.

You planned to dispose of the cocaine out in the middle of the desert, so you hightailed it out of Deming. A little less than an hour later, you took a tiny offramp and followed a deserted road past a dilapidated gas station out into the barren desert. You pulled the car off into the dirt, sending a cloud of dust up around you.

“Wait in the car,” you told Cristóbal gently, who nodded at you with wide eyes.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands, you dumped the clothes out of the duffel bag and packed the drugs into it, zipping it up. Careful not to touch anything with your bare hands, you slung it over your shoulder and hauled it towards a thick patch of scrub brush several yards from the road. Dropping the bag behind a clump of brush and prickly pear cacti, you booked it back towards the car, heading immediately back towards the highway.

You were approaching Gila Bend in Arizona as dusk gathered over the skyline. You had already gotten off of I-10 and onto the smaller highway that would take you to Yuma. From there it would be an easy drive to Santo Padre, one you had even made before. You had every intention of driving through the night, desperation fluttering in your heart at the thought of home. You were hungry again, and you could hear Cristóbal’s stomach grumbling from the passenger seat, but you were dangerously low on gas.

Pulling into a small gas station in Gila Bend, you went inside the store to pay, bringing Cristóbal with you. When you came back out, your breath hitched in your throat and you froze. A police officer was standing beside the car, inspecting the shattered back window. Flashbacks flooded your brain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force them out. Through the rapid swirling in your mind, you felt Cristóbal squeezing your hand hard, the touch pulling you out of your trance. Immediately, your mind went into overdrive, laying out a plan.

You approached the car, schooling your features into a timid expression.

The burly, dark-haired officer looked up curiously at your approach, and you caught the slightest softening in his eyes as he studied you and the child clinging to you. He looked young and green, fresh on the job, and you wanted to use that to your favor.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, hands authoritative on his hips.

“Evening,” you murmured, dropping your gaze meekly.

“You know it’s illegal to drive with a busted window?” he asked sternly.

You let all of the stress of the last couple of days pour into your brain, breaking the dam behind your eyes. Tears tumbled freely over your cheeks as you looked back up at him and he startled slightly at the sight.

“I’m so sorry, officer,” you sniffled. “My son and I, w–we came from El Paso, trying to get away from my husband. He smashed it as we were leaving. I’m just trying to get us to California so we can stay with my brother.” Your voice caught on a sob, cracking on the last syllable.

The officer’s stance softened and your heart lifted just slightly. His inexperience was showing.

“Who is this car registered to?” he asked.

Your chest tightened as you prayed he wouldn’t run plates or ask to see documentation. “It’s mine, sir,” you whispered, meeting his eyes with your most sorrowful look. “He just didn’t like that we were leaving.” You hoped that you looked wretched enough to prevent him from asking too many questions.

The officer pursed his lips, his thumb lightly tapping his utility belt. “Where you headed to in California, ma’am?” he asked.

“Palm Desert,” you lied smoothly, letting your lower lip tremble for good measure. “I have family there, sir.”

The officer hesitated as he considered what to do next. “And you’ll be safe there?” he asked. “Does your husband know where you’re headed?”

“Probably, sir. Th–they’re the only family I have. But they’re going to help me file a protective order against him. And... start the divorce process,” you mumbled, shuffling your feet in the dirt. You felt a quick pang in your heart as you said the words, ones that weren’t too far from true in another time.

Perhaps sensing that it was a good time to lay it on thick, Cristóbal tugged on your hand. As you glanced down at him, he reached his arms up and you pulled his weary form into your arms, depositing him on your hip.

The officer studied the pair of you intently, then sighed. “Alright. I’m not going to write you a ticket, but once you get to Palm Desert, you need to get that window fixed, do you understand me?”

You nodded fervently. “Thank you – officer, thank you so much,” you stammered, hugging Cristóbal tight. The officer tipped his hat and turned on his heel, making his way towards his police cruiser. Your body felt limp as the rush wore off yet again. Your mind reeled, pushing the limits of what you could handle without sleep. You needed to get home, and soon.

You slid into the driver’s side seat and slid Cristóbal over, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

Praying for an uneventful last leg of your journey, you pulled away from the fluorescent lights of the gas station, headed yet again towards the moonlit horizon.

Part VI of Los Guardianes

#mayans fx #mayans mc #mayansmc #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva imagine #nestor oceteva x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans fanfic #mayans mc x reader

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missmonsters2 · 4 years

Text

Between the Lines || XII

PAIRING: Steve Rogers & Fem!Reader (Platonic) / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader / Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Vampire AU. Life has changed drastically since the 1600s. Things are always on the move, and you’ve been very careful to not get on SHIELDs radar. Living on the down-low owning a café, you’re content to live out a quiet existence. That is until the Avengers enter your life.

[Set after the New York Invasion, in CAWS, and goes up to AoU. Canon divergent after.]

Warnings: This series will contain smut(**), poly-relationship, and dark themes.

Note: Introducing....David’s king 😏🥰

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII || PART IX || PART X || PART XI

PART XII of XX

Translations:

не против - Don’t mind

ти си моето семејство, во овој и во следниот живот - You’re my family, in this life, and the next.

Count: 5,633

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Ah..."

The sound made you stop, pulling your mouth away as you stood straighter while licking your lips.

Wanda stood in front of you, breathless as she leaned against the wall, unable to move too much with the tight space. Her hands drifted from your neck to rest on your biceps. Turning, you look at the mirror before you.

Eyes red with stained lips, you internally sighed, feeling an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that told you everything felt both right and wrong.

"I think that's enough..." You say quietly so Wanda can hear, but you don't attract too much attention outside. You turn to grab some paper towels from the dispenser as you wet them under the sink to wipe your mouth.

Turning to Wanda, you notice you hadn't closed up the wound on her neck and purse your lips. The brunette seems to realize as well as she tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck to you once more before she grabs the edge of your bomber jacket and pulls you back against her roughly.

"Wanda," you call her name in warning. Though you are a seasoned vampire, you weren't looking to dance along the edge with the newly feeding you have to do.

"You should finish me off before you say you're done at least," Wanda says, and you feel yourself biting your tongue at how suggestive she sounds.

You wonder if she's doing it on purpose.

Nonetheless, you sigh, leaning your head down, careful to not brush yourself more against her than you must. You lick at the bite wounds, tentatively but quickly, watching the wounds close after.

You pull away, Wanda letting her grip go on you. You use the wet towel to wipe her neck clean of the bloodstains before you throw it down the toilet and flush.

Though feeding gives you energy and revitalizes you, you can't help but feel drained from the experience.

You're about to leave again when Wanda pulls you back.

"Wanda," you say in a more serious warning this time. She's been a little more daring the past couple of days, and you're both intrigued and frightened by it.

Luckily for you, Wanda seems to know where the line is.

"Relax," Wanda cocks her brow. "Your eyes are still glowing red. You should wait until it subsides before you go out."

You look back in the mirror, eyes glowing red brightly, and you sighed. Your body was overly excited about feeding again, and it would take time to adjust.

The two of you idly stand in the small space. You could hear people coming back and forth to check if the washroom is empty.

"So, how often is often?" Wanda asks.

You stand stiffly, cursing at how small airplane washrooms are.

"For now, once a week," you answer her. "But let me know if you feel unwell, and I will check to see if it's my venom."

Wanda nods, blinking languidly.

"I'm sorry," you say when you notice she looks tired. "I promise I will find a way to fix this."

Wanda gave you a tiny smirk.

"No rush."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

When you returned to your seat, you sat down with a sigh.

"You alright?" Natasha asked as she grabbed your hand. You turn to look at David. He was clutching his legs in tighter so that Wanda could squeeze past him to her seat.

"Yeah, sorry for taking so long. The red in my eyes are still adjusting to fresh blood," you apologize to Natasha, pulling her hand to kiss the back of it gently before you settle in your seat.

It was just you and Natasha in the aisle, a small moment of peace that you're thankful for. It's been rather quiet between you and Natasha the last few days. When David had located Leo's descendant, he wanted to book the flight for the next day, but you insisted on taking a couple days to get your things together and rest.

The days that followed were simply being in your home with Natasha, quiet as it seemed like Natasha was working through her own emotions and things she seemed not ready quite yet to speak to you about.

And you were okay with that.

"Have you been to Nashville before?" Natasha asks as she looks out the window, the city getting closer in view as it lowers.

You nod, rubbing your thumb idly on the back of her hand. "Yes," you say, "In fact, David and I lived there for a few years."

"Oh?" Natasha smiles. "Did you like it?"

You shrug. "It's a little too country for me and not the good parts of Country culture."

Natasha nods, and you take a moment to put your head on her shoulder, deeply inhaling the scent of vanilla and dry leaves. Natasha leans her head over, pressing her lips to the side of your head, causing your heart to flutter.

"I think I want to be in Bora Bora or maybe the Maldives," Natasha says softly after a moment.

You turn your head upwards slightly, peering up at Natasha's face.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go," you say as Natasha smiles, head lowering as she presses her lips against yours.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It seems like autumn is also coming to an end in Nashville, the air smelling a little crisper for winter arrival.

Pietro has called Wanda again once her plane landed. He was a little upset that he couldn't come along, but Steve said he could use the help with locating Bucky, and speed would definitely be helpful.

At first, Pietro declined, but then Wanda insisted that he go with Steve. If they were going to make up for the things they've done and be a part of the team, this was the time to show it.

And so, they parted ways for the first time since, well, ever.

"How are we getting there?" Wanda asked as she looked around the airport. Her face held a thinly veiled layer of discomfort that she was trying to hide, though poorly.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked as she looked at Wanda, seeing through the tough act.

Wanda stared at Natasha, and for a moment, you don't think she's going to answer.

"Yeah," Wanda says finally, licking her lips and swallowing. "I'm just a little tired...and there's a lot of people here. It's...loud."

Natasha looks around and notes that it seems to be prime time for flights. People are bustling around trying to get to their gate on time, and families have gathered to meet people coming off the plane or say goodbye.

"I can't do anything about the loudness," Natasha says, digging into her pocket. "But, here." Pulling out a hard candy wrapped in transparent paper, she gives it to Wanda.

Wanda holds the candy in her palm, tilting her head slightly before she looks back at Natasha. "Thanks."

"Might help with the tiredness," Natasha shrugs before she tells you she'll go grab the bags and walks off with David following her.

Wanda is opening the candy from the wrapper, popping the little thing in her mouth as she sighs, eyes fluttering close as she rubs her temple.

"Headache?" You ask her, garnering her attention.

Wanda nods with a frown. "Yes, more so lately, and it's worse in a crowd. I can hear everything in people's heads, and in a crowd, it's a jumble."

"Turn it off," you tell her with a shrug, and she gives you a look.

"It's not that easy."

"It is," you tell her back. "You're like a radio picking up every station is the available area. It gets easier with time and practice to distinguish the noise, but if you can't handle it in such a large crowd, turn it off."

Wanda merely stares at you as if she doesn't know whether or not to believe you, but she supposes because it's not like you're a stranger to her powers, she sighs.

"How?" She asks.

You come to stand closer to her, blocking her view of anything behind you.

"Focus," you tell her, "You only need to be hearing one voice, and that's your own. Focus on the space within your own mind. Live there."

Wanda gives you a look where it tells you she doesn't quite think it will work but closes her eyes with a sigh and takes a deep breath.

"I...I can't focus," Wanda says frustratingly.

"Relax," you tell her. "Try again, but this time, focus on my voice."

You go on to talk about miscellaneous things like the color of the walls, the scuff marks on the ground, the man with an obstinately ugly hat. And before you know it, the stress lines on Wanda's face begin to fade.

"Better?" You ask when she opens her eyes.

"Yeah," Wanda says breathlessly with relief, "Thank you."

You don't say anything else as Natasha comes back with David.

"So, how are we getting there?" Wanda repeats.

"We rented a car. I'll go grab it and pull it up front," you walk off before anyone say anything.

The ride is silent, with just a radio playing quietly in the background. It's you and David in the front as David helps you navigate and discuss details with you.

But that leaves Natasha and Wanda in the back. The two girls are on opposite ends, looking out the window.

You sigh internally as you focus on the road in front of you.

"What's his name again?"

David pulls up a file. "Robert," he says after a moment. "Devayan. He is Leonard's great-great-grandson. He's the priest for a church in his neighborhood. Well-known and respected in his community. He's got a wife, two kids, and a dog—very American dream with a picket fence and all."

You hum.

"Does Leonard's descendants know about...?" Natasha asks as you look in the rearview mirror.

"Us being vampires?" You supply for her helpfully with a smile as she nods. "Yes, they do, but the secret is only passed to the child who has the greatest alchemy affinity, which most kids won't show until they're at least 13."

"That being said," David jumps in, "we haven't really kept in touch because we only go to a descendant when we have another vampire entering a coven because they have to get the searings to be able to go into the sun, amongst other things. And as you can see, we haven't added anyone new since me."

You turn into a bright community. The sound of children's laughter and dogs barking make their way to your ear. It's a lively little suburban neighborhood, and you wonder if this was something you would have ever wanted.

"Leonard seemed to be really close to you, to be willing to do so much," Wanda comments as she continues to stare at the window at the children playing.

You pull up to the house, putting the car in park with a sigh.

"He was family."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Sorry, the wife and kid's are out shopping right now."

You look at the man before you. He was a young priest, and there were hints of Leo that you recognized in him, like the subtle ginger hair.

"Didn't want to tag along?" David asks, and Robert laughs.

"Goodness, no. Can't say that's how I like to pass my time." Robert sets down a tea tray for the four of you, and Wanda takes up the task of pouring it. Putting in a splash of milk and two and a half sugar cubes, she gives a cup to you.

"Thanks," you say, scrunching your eyebrows initially. But it was your favorite way of taking simple tea, and you took it with ease.

"не против," Wanda mutters as she continues on with pouring tea for Natasha and David, but leaves them to put in their own condiments.

"So, what's this about?" Robert asks as he settles into his seat.

You shift in your seat a little, licking your lip before you clear your throat and bring his attention to you. "Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is a mystery, and today, I have you..."

Robert just stares at you wide-eyed and mouth gaped open. He seems to regain himself and clears his own throat.

"Until the days run out..." he breathes.

"ти си моето семејство, во овој и во следниот живот," you both complete the passage. His Slavic being much rougher than yours, but still, he completes it.

"Huh," Robert grunts in the back of his throat. He slumps in the back of his chair, blinking as he clasps his hands together. "You really exist."

"Did you think I didn't?" You cocked your brow at him.

Robert gives a short, humorless laugh. "To be fair, no one in my family has seen you for a very, very long time. It's not like we have a family photo of you just lying around. I thought my grandfather was lying to me, and my father was not a believer either."

"Well," you shrug, "It gets hard to keep up with visitations when there's no reason to really."

"Even though the passage literally says we're family?" Robert cocks his brow.

"Leo was my family. By that extension, yes, you are somewhat family, a wonderful legacy Leo left behind that I promised him I'd take care of," you try to delicately tell the man before you that no one could ever be family the way Leo was.

"Kind of hard to take care of us when you're not around," Robert says, but not in an unkind way.

"Being around is not the only way I can fulfill my promise. You truly think your family's trust fund just comes out of nowhere?" You rest your jaw against your hand.

Robert seems surprised at that like he had no idea his entire family line was sponsored by you.

"So it seems," Robert smiled softly before clearing his throat. "So what can I do for you?"

You lick your lips.

"I'm looking for you to find a way to break my curse, or at least, find a counterspell to suppress it until I can find another way," you tell him.

Robert stares at you. It takes a long moment, but he gives another small smile, sighing deeply as he grasps his temples. "Hah..." he lets out. "Figures the one time you come to see us for help, and I can't even help you. I was hoping you just needed a place to stay."

"What do you mean?" David asks, frowning. "You haven't even tried."

Robert looks up again, staring at David before he turns to you.

"I don't have the affinity for alchemy."

Silence ensues after Robert reveals his lack of gift.

"You...don't have the affinity..." David says slowly.

"Guess it decided to skip a generation. My father wasn't much of a practitioner either," Robert pursed his lips together. He gets up, walking over to the kitchen, grabbing something off the refrigerator before coming back and passing the item to you. "This would be the person to go to if you're looking for help on that."

You look at the postcard in your hand with an address from Vermont.

There wasn't anything else but a name and a short message.

Liam Bai I have settled in.

"And who is this?" You frown. The idea of having some outsider know your secrets was not ideal.

Robert sighs.

"He's my adoptive brother."

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The annoyance of traveling all the way to Texas just to go to Vermont, an hour away from New York, irks you slightly.

David pulls up a file on Liam on the way, but not too much is found.

Chinese descendant. 26. Tattoo Artist. Adopted by Robert's grandfather when Liam was 17.

He seems to run a small tattoo shop in Vermont, a decent following on his Instagram. Other than that, it seemed Liam prized his privacy and peace. No tickets, no personal social media accounts, a minimal online presence.

"Jeeze, this guy gives me serial killer vibes. Only weirdoes have such a small digital footprint," David curls his lips.

"We all have virtually none too, David," you cock your brow at him.

"Case and point," David smirks back at you while Natasha and Wanda chuckle.

Liam's house is a little away from the city where his tattoo shop resides. There are houses but quite spread apart, and it only reaffirms how Liam likes his quiet.

The trees are bare with autumn colored leaves on the ground. The air crisp and cleaner being away from the city. When the four of you approach Liam's home, it a quaint house, wider than it is taller, and painted a deep burned orange.

Hopping up the steps, you cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently, turning to look at the open space while Natasha rang the doorbell and knocked on the door with her knuckles.

You hear footsteps within the house, stern steps as they lazily make their way to the door.

When it opens, you turn, and your eyes widen along with everybody else's.

This man, at least six feet tall, towers over everyone as he casually lifts his arms high to lean against each side of the door with his left leg crossed lazily over his right.

He wears a muscle shirt, most of the top part of his body exposed.

Tattoos.

Everywhere.

A large black ornate religious cross tattooed on his throat, while you could see most of the creations of hands branded across his front chest near his collarbones, fingers just about it meet at his jugular notch. Each arm had a full sleeve tattoo.

His left arm was designed with a twisted snake going downwards, a bitten apple in its mouth, shrouded with leaves and vines. His right arm were things you didn't quite recognize but could guess it was alchemy spells, fully tattooed elaborate circles and symbols. Even his hands and fingers had symbols and shapes.

He looks like belongs in a gang rather than the adopted grandson of a long line of priests.

"Well," his voice is somewhat low but soft. "You must be the visitors my dear brother sent my way." The way he says dear brother has the slightest tone of amusement, and you're not sure what to make of it.

You stare at him a bit longer because his face is much clearer than the photo David pulled up. His skin is fair with a cool complexion, thick brows, and tousled black hair that seems to be perfectly styled that way with his fringe cascading just above his eyebrows, parting to reveal his forehead. His almond-shaped eyes showed a deep dark brown, like the rich soils of the earth, but yet hold no warmth.

He looks somewhat familiar, but you're not sure if it's just because you recognize those eyes in yourself once upon a time.

You look over to David, who has his jaw hanging as he stares at the man before them. You nudge him, drawing him out of whatever trance he was in as he coughs to clear his throat.

"Er, yes," David stutters before he rambles off everyone's name quickly. "Can I--can we come in?" David blinks, and Liam turns his head slowly, locking eyes with David. A moment passes, and you're about to speak up again when Liam stands straighter and turns to walk back into his house.

The four of you follow the man inside, looking at the place around you. Antique furniture, just like yourself, but there are shelves upon shelves of books.

Liam walks into his kitchen, putting on a pot of hot coffee as he pours himself some, but doesn't offer any to anyone else. He then walks into his study room and leans against his desk, half-sitting on the edge.

"What are you looking for help with?" He asks, neither sounding reluctant or eager.

"Robert mentioned you were adopted into the family because you had an affinity for alchemy," you say. "I'm assuming you know--"

"That you're a vampire?" Liam cuts in. "Yes."

"You don't seem surprised by that," David interjects slowly. "Even Robert was taken aback."

Liam rolled his eyes lightly. "You can spare me the details. Robert and I both went through the spiel with his grandfather. Robert doesn't have the affinity. I do. Belief is different when you are different too."

"His grandfather...?" You raise your brow.

Liam puts his coffee down beside him. "You must realize that though I've been adopted by them, I'm not an actual descendant of Leonard Devayan. It was clear that I was brought in to help fulfill the promise between you and Leonard. I get financial support from them, but I'm not entitled to your trust fund to them, nor can I inherit the church."

"That's kind of fucked up, considering you'll be doing all the work here," you frown.

Liam shrugs. "No need to feel sorry for me, I have zero interests in their money or inheriting the church, and Robert is annoyingly persistent that I visit them during the holidays. Besides, you can probably tell, I don't quite look like the regular priest."

"Actually," you give Liam a small smile, "Leo was rather similar to you. He liked tattoos as well. Though, just on his hands. He wasn't as adventurous."

Liam gave a small smirk but moved on. "So," he takes a breath, "What exactly are you looking for help with. Robert wasn't clear on the phone. Are you looking to turn more people and need searings for the sun?"

"No," you breathe, "I need you to help figure out how to end my curse."

Liam stares at you for a moment. The curse wasn't discussed in great length to him as not too much information was passed down because Leonard believed you wouldn't try to ask to remove it again.

Still, he eyes you before he turns and studies Natasha a bit before Liam looks at Wanda.

"You bit her, spreading your curse to her," Liam deduces.

"How do you know it's Wanda?" Natasha asks with a slight narrow of her eyes.

Liam licks his lip as he stands up, using his fingers to gesture everyone to follow up. He walks up to his bookshelf and pulls a book down like a lever, and the entire bookshelf splits and makes way into a secret room.

Inside the room, there are rows of tables filled with papers and things you would find in a science lab: beakers, stirring rods, mortars and pestles, and chemicals.

"In some ways, alchemy is a derivative from a witch's spells or magic. What do you think alchemy is?" Liam asks.

"Leonard always said it was a power given to them by God to be able to protect themselves against the supernatural," you recall.

"Kind of, not really," Liam says as he walks over to grab a black chalk and begins to draw circles and symbols on the ground around Wanda, motioning her to stay in place. "There are different types and levels of alchemy. Alchemy, one on hand, can also be a science. It's changing one thing to something else. Anyone could practice it. Even Robert could to a degree."

Liam finishes drawing and drops the chalk to the side as he dusts off his hands.

"But to have the gift for alchemy," Liam lifts his thumb to his lips, "Means your DNA has an affinity to the sun, the moon, the wind, or the earth."

Liam bites down on his thumb hard enough to break the skin, blood rushing out, the smell assaulting both you and David instantly before Liam presses his thumb against the line of the circle.

The air changes.

A white, hot electric buzz fills the air as the alchemy circle flashes a bright blue for a second before returning to normal. The chalk drawing underneath Wanda disappears.

"What...happened?" Wanda asks slowly as she looks at her hands and the rest of her body, but she doesn't find anything amiss.

Liam gestures at Wanda to check where her sternum is. Pulling the front of her shirt at the neck, she peers down.

"What..." Wanda mumbles.

Both you and Natasha looked at each other before moving forward to check, Wanda holding her shirt open for the two of you. Wanda's bra was blocking part of the view, but her sternum now visibly bore the curse's inscription. The black words on her skin and then dark-colored veins prominently spreading outwards from her sternum.

"What did you do to her?!" You whip your head towards Liam, snarling at him.

He holds his hand up to calm you down.

"Nothing dangerous, relax," he cocks his brow at you. "As I said, Alchemy is about changing one thing to something else. I used the chalk as a medium to bring the curse to the front of Wanda's body so it can be visibly seen."

When you realize Wanda's not in any imminent danger, you pull your snarl back, and the red from your eyes fade away.

"This will help you tell when the curse is spreading. Wanda's veins will darken and spread as her cells deteriorate. Don't EVER let the dark veins spread past her chest. If you do, the curse is meant to collapse her sternum and pierce her heart. She will die." Liam warns sternly, eyebrows furrowed together, and lips in a straight line.

"How do you know?" David asks with a slight frown.

"As I said," Liam looked at David, "Alchemy is a derivative from witch's spell or magic. The inscriptions are alchemy transmutation spells. If an alchemist has an affinity for alchemy, they can tell when it's been used on someone." Liam turns to you. "That's how I know it was Wanda that you bit."

You nod curtly. You think about how the veins were just barely protruding from her sternum, so Wanda would be relatively safe for a while since you just fed on her during the plane ride to Texas.

"What did you mean that your DNA has an affinity to the sun, moon, wind, or the earth?" Natasha asks.

You turn your attention back to Wanda, trying to inspect if she was indeed okay. It wasn't that you didn't trust Liam, but you couldn't help but worry.

All of this was your fault.

The fact that Wanda was cursed with potentially no way of getting out of this.

And the complicated mess you know would only hurt everyone in the end, so you needed to get this shit sorted out.

"It means," Liam interrupted your thoughts. "I have an extra DNA strand."

You blink.

"Honestly, I don't blame people in the past, believing alchemy was a gift or power given by God," Liam shrugs. "In a way, I guess they're not wrong. Alchemy's affinity comes from people who have an extra DNA strand from one of the natural elements. The sun, the moon, the wind, the earth." He uses his fingers to count as he speaks. "Having an extra DNA strand is a...mutation. The deformity being able to perform alchemy as a power. As you can guess, depending on what extra DNA strand you have, that's the alchemy you have an affinity to."

Natasha nods thoughtfully as she holds her chin. "I see. So the sun would be fire, the moon would be water, the wind would be air, and the earth is well...earth."

"Exactly," Liam nods.

"Leonard must've been fire," you say pensively to yourself, reminiscing.

"What are you?" David asks Liam, licking his lips.

Liam tilts his head to the side.

"I have four extra DNA strands."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Something has been putting you on edge since you've arrived in Vermont.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks softly, catching you look out the window for maybe the millionth time now.

"Yeah, sorry," you breathe, uncrossing your arms. "It's just...something feels off," you tell her quietly, as to not attract the attention from others.

Liam and Wanda were currently looking over his books and scrolls to see if he could find anything that would help Wanda while David helped them.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asks as she takes a seat on the couch's armrest, pulling you closer, so you were between her legs. She rubs your arms up and down, hoping to comfort you.

"It's just..." you start to say before you turn sharply at the window again. Natasha's brows furrow, but she has no time to ask as you barrel into her while David tackles both Liam and Wanda to the ground.

The glass of the window shatters as a body breaks through. It happens so fast, you hardly even have time to move, but you do.

You smell burning flesh because there's still sun out, though it's setting. A snarl rips through the air as the intruder turns and leaps toward Wanda. David gets up, forcing his feet to push off the ground as he launches towards the vampire. The two of them collide into a blurring mess.

Natasha starts to get up, but you hold her in place.

"What--"

"Don't," you warn her. "If that thing collides into you, your body will tear apart, enhanced, or not."

You get up, running over to David as he's pinned to the ground as you rip off the vampire.

Even with his fleshed burned, he was strong.

Liam scrambles to get up as he grabs another chalk nearby and starts drawing another transmutation circle on the ground as fast as he can.

You're trying with David to get the upper hand on this vampire, one locking him into place while the other tries to rip his head off.

"Wanda," Liam calls, and she turns to him with worry in her eyes as she stands in the corner, unsure of what to do. "I'm creating a prison for him. You need to use your powers to place him in here and keep him down."

"Okay," Wanda says determinedly.

You look at David, who nods in sync with you. You both let go of the vampire at once, and Wanda lifts her hands, casting her powers over the vampire to lock it in place.

He tries to thrash in place, but it's impossible to move with Wanda's vice-like grip on him. She wobbly moves him until he's in the middle of Liam's transmutation circle.

Liam bites in the same place of his thumb earlier, breaking the wound once more, letting a single drop of blood fall in.

The ground starts to shake slightly as the floor where the vampire lies crumbles, giving way. The outline of the circle lights up, and suddenly, vine-like branches with spikes shoot out of the ground. It wraps around the intruding vampire, the spikes piercing his body. He screams out in pain, trying to move, but is unable to due to Liam.

The light fades, leaving the vampire bleeding out as he's trapped in his spot.

"What...was that?" Wanda asked, everyone clearly knowing that he was after her.

You help Natasha off from the ground, checking her for injuries. You find nothing other than a tiny cut on her cheek from a stray glass shard.

"I'm okay," Natasha assures you, more frustrated with herself for being unable to do anything.

You frown, wiping off some of the blood with your glove before you turn to the offender on the ground.

"That was so cool," David breathes as he looks at Liam, who is giving him a tiny smile.

With the vampire immobile, you could finally take a good look.

He was somewhat sickly pale. His eyes were red, a dark red, meaning he wasn't hungry when he lunged for Wanda.

But the thing that stood out the most to you what the prominent veins underneath his eyes.

And you've seen that before.

"No," you frown in denial.

"Where did you come from?" You demand, but the vampire just smirks.

You want to leap in to strangle the thing, but Liam holds your arm to hold you back.

"Anything that steps into that circle will be roped in just like him," Liam warns.

The vampire continues to bleed out as it laughs.

"Wait--" David says, "he's actually dying. Look!"

Everyone looks to where David is pointing at, and you clench your jaw. As a vampire, the only thing that could kill you was wood from the Methuselah tree. Yet, this vampire was disintegrating, turning to dust at his toes.

The vampire looks at you, and you feel a chill down your spine.

"How cute," he tells you, voice raspy as he's disappearing. "Looks like you have everything you've wanted."

You furrow your brows at him.

"Do I know you?" You say, but the vampire doesn't even seem conscious of the fact that he's speaking.

"My love," he says, looking at you, and while you revolt, there's something familiar in the way he says it.

Like you've heard it before.

"It seems you've learned how to want more," he smiles cruelly. "But if it's not more for the right things...then I'll show you what it's like to lose everything you have."

Your heart drops.

"Wait!" You shout, trying to somehow get him to stay, but before you could say anything else, the vampire completely crumbles to dust, leaving nothing behind.

All of you stare at the empty space. The shackles that were holding the vampire in place disappears along with the transmutation circle.

"No," you start to say quietly. "No, no, no, no--"

"Hey!" David grabs you, trying to keep you calm.

"This can't be," you say slowly.

"What? What's wrong?" David shakes you by the shoulder a little.

You look at him.

"That was her."

Silence.

"What?" David says, not understanding.

You look at the ground where the vampire used to be.

"I don't know how...but that was her," you say.

"That was Tatyana."

PART XIII

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel reader insert #natasha x wanda x you #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x you #black widow x reader #mm: my fics #series: between the lines

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Wrong

I've had this half-written in my docs for a long while, under the heading "doorstep collapse" so I think it was for a prompt or whump event but I don't remember which one...

Normal story this time, not the AU!

Content: sick fic, fainting, delirious whumpee, hospital setting, use of sedatives, reference to noncon drug use, mentioned death threat and manner of death, overwhelmed caretaker

[Masterlist]

One or two of the team had taken to sleeping at the office at a time so that Zach was never there alone. Archer wanted to stay every night, always eager to be nearby in case something happened, but he’d been convinced to go home at least one out of every three nights.

He’d spent last night at home, sleeping guiltily in his own soft bed, miles and miles from where his best friend was holed up in a sparse, grey room that was as far from homely as Archer could imagine. Though he knew for Zach it was probably the most comfort he’d had in years, which made Archer feel even worse.

He’d slept well at home, exhausted from late nights and stress, but he would much rather have been here. The pull out couch in the break room was lumpy and not long enough for his tall frame but he still preferred it these days. Zach was just down the hall and it soothed a tightness in Archer’s chest to be close by. To know he could walk down the corridor and lay eyes on the person he thought he’d lost.

He was still untangling his own mix of grief and disbelief, but he knew it was easier to bear the guilt of having left Zach with his kidnappers if he was at least around to make sure it didn’t happen again; if he could be there to help Zach feel safe now.

It was easier not to have to examine his emotions and thoughts at all, if he was so exhausted that he couldn’t think straight.

Zach had gone to bed a couple of hours ago and he had sat up flicking through paperwork, trying to keep busy even as his eyes itched with tiredness. His ‘bed’ was made up ready for the night but he was sprawled on top of it, putting off the moment of sleep until he could close his eyes and be instantly drawn under.

He was surprised to hear a soft knock at the door, tentative, the sound of someone off balance slumping on the other side. Maybe Zach couldn’t sleep either? Maybe he’d finally had a nightmare and come for company—something none of them had seen him do yet.

“It’s open,” he said, half sitting up.

The door swung inward and Zach teetered on the threshold. His eyes roved across the room, landing on Archer but darting away again.

“Zach?” Archer was up and off the bed in an instant, but paused a meter or so away, as Zach looked flighty and liable to flinch at any contact.

“Ar-cher.”

“Yeah?”

“I think,” Zach spoke and it was slurred and he clung to the doorframe. “I think something is wrong.”

Archer barely had time to react before Zach’s eyes rolled backward and his body crumpled underneath him. Archer caught him just before his head hit the floor.

Time was standing still and moving too fast all at once. The ambulance had taken what felt like hours to arrive, while Archer sat there cradling Zach—delirious, feverish, burning up and shaking like a leaf.

The private hospital they were in now was clean, clinical, and calm. Quiet. Discrete. It was a good place to keep Zach hidden and secure, but being there still set his teeth on edge. He paced the corridor-like waiting room back and forth, glad that no one told him to stop. The team had all been called; Sasha had been the one who turned up and stayed. She was a quiet, steady presence. And though he could tell from the line of her tense muscles that she was as worried as he was, she let him be the one to fall apart while she held it together.

Zach had a fever, something was infected. The doctors just couldn’t find where or what. They hadn’t been allowed to see him. Yet. Archer hoped that would change soon.

He rubbed his face tiredly. “I should get more coffee.”

“I think coffee is the last thing you need,” Sasha replied, calmly. “Come sit down.”

He glanced at her and shook his head. He needed to be moving, doing. “If he—” Archer couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “After everything, if this is too much for his body to handle…”

“Nothing is going to happen, the doctors are gonna fix it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” She levelled him with a look that could surely make a mountain bow down and grovel.

“How didn’t we notice something was wrong?”

“He doesn’t let us near him, not really.”

Finally, he slumped into a seat beside her. “I should’ve watched out for him more carefully, checked he was okay. I should’ve… I owe him. We just… we can’t let him down again, we have to do better.”

“Archer, we’re doing everything we can,” she said gently.

“It’s not enough!” He snapped. “We abandoned him! We just left him there and now we can’t even take care of him? Can’t even tell what he needs?”

“Montgomery Archer, sit. Back. Down,” she hissed.

He hadn’t even realised he was standing. He looked down at her, the unfairness still burning through him, how could she not care? Until he saw her face, eyes glistening, and realised the strength of will it was taking for her to hold it together.

“This is a goddamn hospital and this is not the time,” she said, squeezing her hands between her knees. “We thought he was dead, and there’s shit all we can do about it now. You can have a breakdown about it later, but not now, not like this.”

He took a seat, sheepishly. “Sorry. I… seeing him collapse like that has me all churned up.”

“Don’t apologise, you big oaf. Just breathe, and know they’re doing everything they can, and give yourself some damn slack while you’re at it.” She sniffed and turned away.

He scooted down in his chair and leaned against her shoulder, glad she didn't shrug him off, and relieved not to be alone.

They were finally allowed in the room once Zach was stabilised. Allowed in because, in the doctor’s words… Zach was resistant. Archer hadn’t really understood the implications of that, his mind taken up with thoughts of he’s fine, he’s alive, they’ve got it under control.

But now… he could see what they meant. Zach was fighting the sedative, semi-conscious and struggling, suffering. He couldn’t really move, but his eyes were open and he was frightened, terrified, but so obviously not-really-here, either. Whatever had happened these past two years Zach had built up some tolerance to the drugs they’d given him and it was heart-breaking; seeing him foggy but alert, unsure of where he was and unable—but so desperate—for something he couldn't name or do.

“See if you can get him to remain calm, he needs to rest,” the doctor said, arms crossed in concern as his eyes roved over Zach’s prone form. “We can’t try him on anything else until this one is out of his system but even then… He’s been asking for someone, we assumed, well, it might be you?”

Archer nodded, cleared his throat. ‘Right, yeah. He knows me, I can—I’ll do what I can. Anything I should be careful of?”

“Just mind the IV line, and call us in if he gets more agitated or anything changes.”

“Okay, I’ve got this. Thank you, Doctor.”

He did not have this. Not even a little bit. He felt completely out of his depth. He loved Zach like a brother, had loved him and mourned him, and now… felt like he barely knew him. What qualified him to take care of Zach like this? He wrung his hands and stepped closer as Sasha sidled around to the other side of the bed. Zach’s eyes tried to track her, and lost her somewhere along the way. His breathing sped up again, bloodshot eyes wide and aimlessly roving as his fingers twitched on the bed sheets.

“Please, please,” Zach murmured. Whispered, almost. It was slurred but unmistakable.

Sasha gave Archer a look, and nodded to the bed. He shook his head. She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms and they stared each other down.

I can’t do this. He hoped she understood what his look implied.

Her answering look seemed to say you’re not even trying.

He threw his hands up in defeat and stepped closer. Zach’s eyes landed on Archer’s face and he twitched feebly, shivering in his sparse hospital bed.

“‘M good, I’ll be good, please.”

Archer leaned against the bed, trying to look reassuring, confident. “Yeah, you’re doing really well, okay? We’ve got you, nothing to worry about.”

Zach’s hand jerked and his mouth opened and closed before he whined. “Hurts.”

“I know, buddy, I know.” He looked at Sasha who nodded, so he took Zach’s hand and lightly squeezed. “It’s alright.”

“Please, you promised. Promised.”

That took Archer by surprise and he sucked in a breath, biting his tongue.” I know, I-I said nothing else bad would happen to you, I didn’t know this would happen…”

There was a frustrated look on Zach’s face and his eyes filled with tears, his head flopped a little, side to side. “You promised.”

Archer did the only thing he could think of, he squeezed Zach’s hand tighter and dragged the chair by the bed closer so he could sit and be a calming presence. He wouldn’t abandon Zach, not again, no matter how much Zach yelled and cried at him, broken-hearted though it made him to know he’d let Zach down another time.

“I’ll do whatever--ever you want. Sir, please,” Zach’s voice cracked and he mumbled into incoherence, all in a pleading, painfully placating tone.

Archer’s eyes shot up and he met Sasha’s across the bed, looking as concerned as he did as realisation dawned on them both. Zach wasn’t here.

“Where do you think you are, Zach?” she asked quietly.

Zach--who had flinched at sound of his own name--whimpered. “Can’t--don’t know.”

“You’re safe, we’re here, me and Sasha, and the team has our back. You’re in hospital,” Archer said.

Zach looked at him, clearly, finally. “Promise? Keep your word, like you promised?”

“What did I promise you?” It was a calculated risk to play into whatever Zach thought he was seeing, but he needed to know, didn’t he?

“You said… said you wouldn’t lemme die like this. Not like this. A bullet, you promised, not--not sick, not slowly.”

Archer couldn’t breathe, he blinked furiously to try to keep the tears at bay. “I promise, no-one is dying, not here. Not like this.”

Zach breathed out and tears ran down his cheeks as he closed his eyes and rested his head heavily on the pillows. “Promise. And I’ll be good.”

It seemed to be enough to make Zach settle, and he fell into a fitful doze. Sasha brushed hair back from his forehead and checked the lines in the IV on his right hand. Archer brought Zach’s left hand to his face and kissed the back of his wrist, rubbed his thumb in a circle and then laid it down on the sheets and sat back to bury his face in his own hands.

He jumped when Sasha touched his shoulder and scrubbed hastily at his eyes. “We don’t leave him, one of us stays with him until he’s himself again,” he said, voice thick. “We can’t let him get lost in his own head.”

“I’ll get us something to eat,” she said. “We’ll see him through this.” She left quietly, slipping out the door with graceful ease so they kept their privacy.

He nodded. They would. But really… what could they do in the face of all this?

“What the hell did they do to you?” he whispered to the quiet room.

Zach was too far gone to answer.

@haro-whumps @whumpthisway @hurting-fictional-people @lonesome--hunter @crowned-avery @extrabitterbrain @firewheeesky @outofangband

#sick fic #fever #delirious whumpee #hospital #drug use #referenced noncon drugging #death mention #death threat #whumpee and caretaker #fainting #sedated whumpee #sick whumpee #fevered whumpee #team whump #Zach and Archer #spy whump #referenced death threat

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whats-rambled-rambled · 3 years

Text

Smoke & Mirrors - part 3

Neil x Reader

Chapter 3: You know me too well

(see chapter 2, 1)

summary: The mission. And some blowing off steam after that.

warnings: alcohol mention, some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT EVEN MORE THAN BEFORE

author’s note: I need to thank @vaneilla for planting the karaoke scene into my head. I found her choice of song absolutely glorious, and it evolved into... oh, see for yourselves.

As for everything else - I don’t even know.

4k words, bloody hell.

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“Thanks for nothing, Wheeler.”

She looked up from her tablet only to see a completely resigned Ives faceplanting on the couch in front of her. As she raised a brow, her glance drifted to The Protagonist pacing back and forth next to the window.

When TP noticed the question in Wheeler’s eyes, he sighed. She realized that Ives must have filled him in already.

As if he could read her thoughts, the boss said, “Apparently, they’ve been at each other’s throats all day”

“You’re both damn lucky you don’t have to deal with their bullshit out there,” groaned Ives into the pillows.

Wheeler shook her head and a corner of her mouth curled into a knowing smile.

“A little patience, guys. It's all going according to plan."

Ives muffled huff was enough of a comment, but TP stopped his pacing and shot her a confused look.

"How so?"

Wheeler bit her lip. It took her one minute around them in the canteen to guess what had happened. But if that somehow wasn’t obvious to her colleagues, she was in no place to share the information.

Of course, for a second she was tempted to say “oh, they fucked”, just to watch Ives’ and TP’s reaction, but she knew better than to do so. Moreover, she had a weird feeling that those two morons would start being weird around them, and that wouldn’t help in the slightest.

“Trust me, they are close to figuring it out. And then-...”

----------------

You rushed to the next cover, sending a round into a merc running in your direction. As you slid behind a crate and started reloading your rifle, the rest of the squad slowly made their way through the abandoned apartment complex. How all those mercenary groups kept getting their hands on inverted materials was beyond you, but as the boss was trying to figure it out, it was up to the ground teams to secure the cargo.

"What's with the silent treatment today?" Neil’s voice rang in your earpiece.

Your eyes quickly located him at the other side of the corridor. Even from a distance, you could see his raised brow as he glanced at you right before heading into the next room.

"I'm focused on the mission,” you scoffed, checking out on the team before moving further ahead. “You should try that one day."

As soon as you entered a new location, a bullet whizzed past you and your reflexes kicked in. A quick shot and you spun on your heel, hiding behind a pillar.

Meanwhile, Neil glued his back to the wall. As another merc walked past him, he disarmed them in one swift move, tossing the gun away.

"Nah, I’m good,” he said casually. You watched him as he ducked under a fist flying at his face and threw a kidney punch himself. “Multitasking."

You snorted, quite amused, jumping out of your cover to down two more men coming in. You caught Ives’ murderous glare as he moved past you, motioning you to keep up the pace. Nodding, you followed him into a staircase.

"I must admit, not hearing your voice almost made me forget how annoying you are,” you huffed through comms to Neil. Ives shot the merc waiting for you around the corner and you moved up. “And as I don't believe you can actually stop being annoying,” you continued, taking a position at the door, “but how about you don't talk to me ever again instead?"

You heard footsteps behind you and as you looked over your shoulder, you saw Neil standing right there with his pistol cocked in his gloved hands. He leaned in, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"And lose that spiteful edge to sex we have going there?" he teased quietly and chuckled as your eyes widened at the audacity.

Wishing you could just shoot him in return, you turned away and entered the corridor. Ives waited for you at the door to another unfinished apartment and as soon as you reached him, he blasted through it, while Neil and his team took the door at the other side of the hall.

"We, and I cannot stress this enough, do not have anything going there, blondie," you uttered through gritted teeth, sweeping through the rooms.

Sharp laughter resonated in your earpiece.

"Sure sounds like someone needs round two, though."

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the events of that late evening in the locker room. Neither of you has mentioned it for the last couple of days, and you kinda hoped it would stay that way. Not that you could ever erase it from your memory. And the worst part was, there were moments you were no longer sure you would ever want to.

A movement in the corner of your eye.

That confusion might keep you up at night, but with daylight, you came back to your senses, and a little remark was not enough to cloud your lightning reflexes while you held a gun. A shot echoed through the room and another merc dropped to the ground.

"In your dreams," you scoffed on your way back to the corridor.

"Funny you should say that…"

You noticed Neil walking into the line of fire in the last second.

“Watch out!” you shouted, grabbing him by the vest and pulling him back inside the apartment. You shoved him against the wall and pressed your forearm to his chest to keep him in place as the round meant for him cut through the now empty hallway. While the rest of the team returned fire and pushed forward, you caught a glimpse of fear in the blue eyes just before Neil managed to compose himself. The corner of his lips twitched into a nervous version of his usual half-smile.

For fuck’s sake...

“Well, this brings back fond memories,” he panted, raising an eyebrow.

You flashed your teeth and pressed him to the wall even harder.

“Shut up and focus, goddamnit, or I swear I will let you walk straight into the next rain of bullets,” you fumed.

Your serious glare made Neil gulp and nod slowly. You took a step back as you exhaled shakily.

Readjusting the rifle’s strap, you shook off any remains of panic from your system. Neil watched you with an indecipherable expression on his face as he reloaded his pistol. You met his eyes, just to make sure he was good to go. Finding there what you were looking for, you smacked his arm lightly and ran towards the sounds of combat.

You joined your squad, focusing on providing support as you closed in on the final location. Neil rushed to the front of the action, and even from afar you could see his moves got more vicious, every blow and shot landing now with deadly precision. For a second you wondered what exactly got triggered inside of him back there.

Whatever that was though, it wasn’t enough to hold his tongue for too long.

"Hey, at least now you had a chance to slam me against a wall."

You rolled your eyes and sighed dramatically, already regretting saving his infuriating ass.

“You know, I daydream about strangling you more and more often every day.”

A few shots later, the all-clear sounded through the earpiece. You moved to secure the exit as Ives checked the contents of the crates in the back of the room.

Neil took a position right next to you, eyeing you curiously.

“Is it a threat or a promise?”

Seeing the familiar roguish sparks sent your blood boiling.

You narrowed your eyes, letting a sly grin on your face.

“Do you really wanna find out?”

“You two either kill or fuck each other already,” huffed Ives, walking by you with the most done expression you’d seen on him in years. “Whatever you decide, please keep it off comms, eh?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to blush furiously. Neil’s failed attempt at stifling an amused giggle wasn’t helping in the slightest.

As you finally looked back at the bane of your existence, he tilted his head, biting his lip before speaking up again, and somehow you knew exactly what he was about to say.

“I’m up for whatever.”

You groaned.

...yep, that was it.

----------------

One of the teams’ unwinding rituals included going to the nearby pub for drinks and karaoke. You weren’t the biggest fan of singing in public yourself and no amount of alcohol could change that, but you never skipped the opportunity of watching your squadmates getting shitfaced and pouring their hearts out through the mic. That night was no different, and even though you were taking it easy with drinking, the rest of the crew was already deep in the party mood.

You watched Wheeler singing Black Velvet from your spot at the counter. You used to spend much more time together, but she’d got designated to leading inverted teams and you got stuck at Ives’ squad. Not that you were complaining.

You always had good banter with him, and even the unfortunate beginning of your relationship wasn’t enough to change that. You ended up being good friends and you knew he always had your back no matter what. Even when he was absolutely tired of your bullshit.

You cringed at the memory of his comment earlier that day.

And because the universe wasn’t done with tormenting you just yet, you felt Neil’s presence next to you. You turned your head and glanced at him, ready to meet his aggravating stare. To your surprise, you found him standing there with his eyes fixed on his drink instead, evidently having an internal battle with himself.

Neil noticed your puzzled expression and took a big sip from the glass before looking at you. A sheepish smile on his lips was something new, and it only made you even more confused.

“Hey,” he said, raking the fingers through his hair. “Thank you. For earlier.”

“Don’t mention it,” you huffed, frowning slightly.

“It’s nice to know you have my back, just in case.”

You were annoyed that he was making such a big deal out of it. But there was something in the blue eyes that softened your gaze and you gave Neil a reassuring smile.

“Of course,” you said and cleared your throat. “Besides,“ - a corner of your lips twitched - “I couldn’t let you get killed in such a stupid way right under my nose, I wouldn’t want it to taint my next eval’.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “No other reason?”

“Like what?”

You regretted asking the question as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course, Neil’s eyes lit up in response and he smirked.

“You would miss me.”

"Ah, there it is," you snorted, fighting the urge to punch him. "For a moment I was scared I was starting to like you, thanks."

He chuckled. “Oh no, we wouldn't want that now, would we," he teased, leaning your way with a roguish smile.

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the heart fluttering in your chest.

Neil hummed and downed his drink. A mischievous spark in his eyes suddenly made you nervous.

“What now?” you asked, dreading the answer already.

Neil’s expression was nothing but innocent.

“I believe it’s my turn.”

You watched him make his way to the mic. Letting out a deep sigh, you shook your head.

That man was going to be the death of you one day.

You finished your drink and joined the rest of the team in the booth right in front of the makeshift scene. As soon as you sat down, a familiar song started and your widened eyes darted at Neil, who was just casually adjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his striped shirt.

...it must have been a mistake.

His wicked grin as he met your horrified gaze was enough to tell you he knew exactly what he was doing.

He started singing with no hesitation, smiling to himself.

Under the lovers sky

Gonna be with you

And no one's gonna be around

Neil’s eyes fixed on you and he raised a brow. A small incoherent noise escaped your mouth, luckily drowning in your squad’s encouraging whooping.

If you think that you won't fall

Well just wait until

'Til the sun goes down

You met Wheeler’s amused look over the table.

“Why is he that way?” you whined, hiding your face in your palms.

Underneath the starlight, starlight

There's a magical feeling so right

You could hear the smile in his voice and you forced yourself to glance back at Neil.

it will steal your heart tonight

Catching your eyes again, he winked, making you exhale sharply in response.

You can try to resist

Try to hide from my kiss

You thought about the way you evaded his kiss at that locker room and your chest tightened at that memory.

Don't you know, don't you know

That you, can't fight the moonlight

He knew the song by heart, and you couldn’t wrap your head around that fact.

Deep in the dark, you'll surrender your heart

But you know, but you know that you

And by the way he commanded everyone’s attention, you saw it wasn’t his first performance.

Can't fight the moonlight. No

His voice was clear and he was definitely having fun up there.

You can't fight it

...too much fun, if anybody asked you.

It's gonna get to your heart

He walked up to the booth and a spike of panic flashed in your brain.

There's no escaping love

He made his way to Ives, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

Once the gentle breeze

Neil ran a finger along your friend’s bearded jaw, leaving Ives frozen in shock.

Weaves a spell upon your heart

Neil turned to you and your breath hitched as you realized what was about to happen.

No matter what you think

A few steps more.

It won't be too long

He stopped right in front of you.

'Til you're in my arms

He leaned your way, putting a finger under your chin and tilting it up gently.

Underneath the starlight, starlight

He moved even closer, his eyes wandering along your features.

We'll be lost in the rhythm so right

The emphasis on the last words combined with the look on his face made your mind go blank.

Feel it steal your heart tonight

...that was clearly his plan for the night, huh?

You forced yourself to start breathing again as Neil chuckled through the next line.

Bloody hell, you hated the effect he had on you.

You caught a glimpse of a smug smile before he turned away. Leveling your breath, you watched as he stepped back on the stage, hoping he wouldn’t have any other stupid ideas.

But Neil seemed to be satisfied with what he’d put you through and just continued the song.

He even aimed for one of the high notes, scrunching his nose and giggling as his voice wavered for a second, and you couldn’t stop your lips from curling at the sight. There was something endearing in his joyful demeanor out there, and you wondered how many sides to him you had yet to discover.

Before you had a chance to get too soft, he finished singing and looked at you again. The dark shade in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

You needed another drink. Stat.

At least he had enough decency to let you collect yourself before he joined you at the bar. Neil ordered a vodka tonic and leaned his back against the counter, eyeing you curiously.

“So?”

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head. “For a second I thought you might start dancing on the counter."

He laughed at the reference.

"And for a second, I thought about doing that,” he said, reaching for his drink. He smiled slyly at your amused snort and continued, lowering his voice slightly, “but I didn't want you to lose your mind. Or faint, for that matter… I want you conscious for later."

Neil took a sip from the glass, savoring the effect of his words on you as you stared at him with a slack jaw.

"You want me--"

"Yes."

You blinked rapidly, composing yourself. The last thing you needed was to give him the satisfaction of making you flustered so easily.

But you couldn’t resist playing his game even for a moment.

Just to see if he would back down.

"And what is it exactly that you think it's gonna happen later?" you said, taking a step in his direction.

Neil raised a brow, turning your way. His gaze flared up as he searched your eyes for your intentions, moving even closer to you.

"Spoilers.”

"Riiight,” you smirked. The rising temperature between the two of you was slowly hazing over your mind, making your breath shallow as you taunted, “Or maybe you're all talk."

The throaty chuckle sent the heart racing in your chest.

"Want to try me?" he teased, grazing his knuckles against your bare arm, and it took all your resolve not to tremble at the sensation.

The pulse pounded in your ears as you took his drink from his hand, finishing it in one swing. You looked into his eyes, dark and yearning, and a corner of your lips curled.

"Well, no need to wait 'til the sun goes down', anymore."

“Blimey.”

A few moments later, you found yourself in an empty restroom, tugging at Neil’s shirt until your back hit the cold wall. His wicked grin widened at your eagerness as he grabbed your waist with one hand, running the other one through your hair. You splayed your palms on his heaving chest, moving them up to his neck to pull him closer.

Neil tilted his head and leaned in to kiss you, but just as your lips were about to meet, your whole body tensed and it was enough to make him stop instantly. He pulled back to look at you, concerned.

"What's wrong?” he asked in a husky voice.

You huffed, frustrated. At your own reaction. At him suddenly being all gentleman about it. And at yourself again, for not appreciating his concern.

But it wasn’t the right moment to talk about it, and you were pretty sure he would be all weird about it if you didn’t say anything.

"It's just--... “ you hesitated, your mind rushing to find any plausible excuse. As you finally found one, your face lit up and you nibbled at your bottom lip, staring at him challengingly. “Don't you get all soft on me now, blondie."

You almost squirmed under his predatory gaze. Neil brought his hand to your throat, and as his fingers wrapped around it, he leaned to whisper to your ear.

"Suit yourself."

When his teeth grazed your earlobe, you gasped, feeling the feverish heat rushing through your veins. His mouth trailed down your neck as he moved his hand higher, tilting your chin with his thumb just before he brushed it against your lips. You shut your eyes and bit back a moan, feeling Neil smiling and then he ran the tip of his tongue along the crook of your neck.

All of the sudden, you heard voices on the other side of the door. Before you could react, Neil grabbed your hand and pulled you into the stall at the farthest corner of the restroom, turning the lock and pinning you to the wall again with your wrists above your head.

You exhaled sharply as you spotted the roguish sparks in his eyes.

As some people entered the restroom, Neil stroked your temple with his nose and breathed, “Looks like we need to keep quiet.“

You swallowed hard and shuddered, the pulse thumping in your ears.

Still keeping his fingers wrapped around your wrists, his other hand wandered down your body slowly. He studied the way you melted into his touch, taking pleasure at the sight of the animalistic need that clouded your eyes. The last coherent thought left your mind when you felt his hand sliding under your dress, grazing against your thighs, higher and higher, and you bucked your hips, silently urging him to keep moving.

Neil’s lips parted slightly and he leaned in, kissing your neck just as his fingers trailed under the hem of your panties right to your pulsing core. You threw the head back against the wall and your thighs tightened involuntarily as if to prevent him from backing away now.

“Christ, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet,” Neil chuckled breathlessly to your ear and yanked your underwear down your legs in one swift motion. Securing the grip on your wrists, he palmed over you again, moving his hand back and forth, his digits pressing against your folds firmer with every stroke and you let out an inaudible gasp, feeling the fire at the pit of your stomach growing by the minute.

But when his thumb started rubbing circles over your clit, you buried your face in the crook of his neck to stifle a cry ready to escape your mouth any second now. Without skipping a beat, Neil gently tapped his foot on the side of your shoe and you instantly followed his suggestion, spreading your legs for him. He hummed in approval, slipping one, then two, fingers into you, and you sank your teeth in your bottom lip as the sudden bolt of pleasure seared your every nerve.

Neil picked up the pace, curling his fingers inside you just right, and a quiet moan built in your throat and you nuzzled your face into his neck even further; the spicy scent of his cologne ingraining in your hazed mind with every shaky breath you took.

Feeling you getting closer to the edge, Neil let go of your wrists and pushed you back on the wall. Cupping your face with his free hand, he pressed a thumb against your mouth firmly. You panted heavily as he kept tracing your parted lips in almost the same rhythm as his fingers slid in and out of your throbbing core. You closed your eyes as the fire from the pit of your stomach almost consumed you.

And just when you thought that you couldn’t take much more, you felt the pad of his thumb grazing against the tip of your tongue at the same time the other one flicked your clit. Your mind went blank and you sucked on his finger, trying to muffle a whimper.

“Good girl,” Neil breathed into your ear. “Now come for me.”

And so you did, your every particle dissolving into a blissful pleasure roaming through your body wave after wave.

When you regained your senses, you were greeted by the self-satisfied grin you knew all too well. You scoffed and shook your head, too much of a mess to form a coherent comment. You listened for a second, trying to figure out if there was anyone outside, but it seemed that you two were alone, at least for now. Then your eyes wandered down and your mouth watered at the sight.

Without thinking twice over it, you palmed the bulk in Neil’s trousers, looking up to meet his gaze.

The hint of surprise mixed with the sheer hunger in the dark blue eyes made your racing heart skip a bit.

"Are you sure?" he rasped, placing hands on your waist.

You nodded, your fingers already fighting with his belt.

"Stop talking."

Neil raised a brow, amused.

"Maybe you should ask nicely."

You looked at him in disbelief and turned towards the stall’s door, huffing, "Maybe I should leave you like this."

Neil wrapped his arms around you.

"Mhm," he murmured into your neck as he squeezed your breast, his other hand sliding down your body.

"Fuck--" you gasped as his fingers pressed to your clit again.

His throaty chuckle vibrated on your back.

"What was that?"

You moaned, rolling your hips to brush against him.

"...please."

----------------

You dampened a paper towel to clean your smudged makeup.

"Wanna grab something to eat?"

You glanced at Neil’s reflection in the mirror, watching as he tucked the shirt in his pants.

"You're reading too much into this,” you tried to make your voice as casual as possible.

"I wouldn't dare," he laughed, joining you by the mirror. "What if I promise not to talk to you unless you ask me to?"

You mused over it for a moment, staring at Neil’s attempts to fix his messy hair.

"And if you break the promise?"

The blue eyes met yours and lit up.

"I'll let you punish me however you see fit."

You scoffed.

...but then a corner of your lips twitched into a half-smile.

(next chapter ->)

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