#Are you riveted by my pop-talk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 3 months

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maybe, i'm afraid.

azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: slight angst, nsfw, azul bottles his feelings and is insecure note - happy birthday to my favorite tako in the whole world. <3 may you have wonderful days forever!! // loosely inspired by lovelytheband's "maybe, i'm afraid."

i. spring - dancing in your party dress, you were singing me some frank sinatra as you wept. pull me close enough. it seems like we lost touch, so hold me as the record skips.

“Can you believe we’re gonna be fourth years?!” Kalim exclaims with wide, sparkling eyes. They look like twin garnets set into his face—polished jewels having caught the aquatic illumination from Mostro Lounge’s aquarium. “Time really does fly, huh!”

“Feels like yesterday,” Ruggie agrees around a mouthful of food. His plate is stacked as high as it can possibly get, piled with contrasting flavors. “Pretty crazy to think we’re all gonna be heading off in different directions soon.”

Jade nods. “Our school lives are as fun as they are fleeting.”

An odd quiet falls over the three of them, which is soon broken when Floyd drapes himself over the booth. He leans down to swipe a sliver from Jade’s plate. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“Just reminiscing.”

“Ah. S’bout that time, ain’t it? Gettin’ sentimental in the spring.”

“Makes sense. The semester’s ending and people are starting up their internships or going home. Really makes you think…”

Ruggie gazes at the group huddled near the bar. Riddle, Jamil, and a half-awake Silver chat alongside you and Azul. You seem to be in the middle of a riveting story, for your arms gesticulate wildly. Azul looks on with what Ruggie thinks is the most mushy-gushy, ooey-gooey smile he’s ever seen.

“We’re gonna come back in the winter, aren’t we?” Kalim asks, tilting his head.

“Indeed. For the cultural festival.”

“Yeah, that’s right! It’ll be fun to see you guys after so much time apart. Oh, we should all keep in touch! That way it’ll feel like no time has passed at all.”

“Perhaps not for us.” Jade follows Ruggie’s line of sight, landing on one person in particular. “For others, the gap is cavernous.”

“What do you mean, Jade?”

Floyd catches on then. “S’not our fault he’s not sayin’ anything.”

Ruggie shrugs. “It doesn’t concern me.” He pops up from his spot in the booth, grinning. “It’s been great and all, but I’ve gotta get my fill. Wouldn’t be right for a guy to skimp out when it’s Azul hosting.”

Giggling, Floyd waves him off. “You do that, Sharksucker.”

Kalim turns to the twins, brows raised. “You’re talking about Azul?”

“He’s been swept up in Shrimpy ever since. It’s been—how long now?—about two years or something.”

“Oh.” Kalim blinks back at him, slow on the uptake. And then, seconds later, it hits him. “Ohhh! He likes (Name)!”

“There ya go.”

“I’m afraid he’s yet to confess,” Jade adds around a bite of cake. “You should see the plans he’s drafted. Dozens of them, in fact. Each one is… Oh, perhaps I’ve said too much already.”

“I don’t get it. If he likes (Name) so much, why wouldn’t he just confess? Why make plans?”

“Wow, Sea Otter, you don’t play when it comes to feelings, do ya?”

“If it was me, I’d want everyone to know how much I care about someone.” To demonstrate this point, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “You’re the best, (Name)!”

You glance past a now wide-awake Silver at the twins and Kalim. Mirroring his actions, you reply in a giggly voice, “Thanks! You’re great, too, Kalim!”

Beaming, he says, “See? It’s not so difficult. If Azul needs any help, I’d be happy to—”

Floyd throws his head back and cackles like a madman. “Not so difficult for you!”

Jade masks his amusement behind a gloved fist. “My, my. I think I’ve just witnessed the very soul drain from Azul’s eyes. You have quite the talent, Kalim.”

Kalim doesn’t hear the underlying meaning or the backhanded barb in his statement. “He’s got time, doesn’t he?”

“That’s what he keeps saying. But deep down he knows.” Floyd watches Azul hurry to recover his composure before anyone can notice. “He’s leaving for his internship after school’s over and then graduation’s next spring. He’s running out of time.”

“Does (Name) like him? Maybe she’ll confess before he does!”

“That’s just it. He doesn’t know what Shrimpy feels for him. Been driving himself crazy all school year tryin’ to figure that one out.”

“I suspect he’s grown excessively cautious as a result of his fear of rejection,” Jade explains, dragging his fork through the buttercream smeared on his plate.

“But if he confesses now and she doesn’t feel the same, he’ll have all summer to recover.” Kalim turns his stare on you next. “(Name)’s always been nice. I’m sure she wouldn’t shatter his heart.”

“When you’re Azul, even the tiniest push is enough.”

“Really? But he’s always so strong!”

Jade hums. “Three hearts are quite the boon-burden.”

“Only makes lovin’ someone that much worse. Cuz then you’re lovin’ ’em three times as much.”

“Isn’t that good? I think it’s sweet Azul cares about (Name) so much.”

“Sweet…” Jade shares a look with Floyd. Something unspoken passes between them. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Azul thinks it’s a pain in the ass. Throws him off his course and he loooves bein’ on his course.”

Kalim stares a moment longer. “Maybe he needs a push in the right direction.”

“Liquid courage works wonders—”

“—or gives way to woe.”

“Nothing like that.” He doesn’t elaborate further, instead getting up and padding over to the bar with a cheerful bounce in his steps. “Hey, everyone, let’s take a picture!”

Riddle welcomes him with a warm smile. “Ah, hello there, Kalim.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Jamil comments, arms folding across his chest. Which, arguably, is worse because it can only spell trouble should Kalim find himself inspired.

“Way ahead of you!” You hold your Ghost Camera up, turning the lens on Kalim. Lighting up like the very sun in the sky, he poses just as you snap a photo. It takes a few moments for it to develop, but once it does you hand it over to him for his perusal. “Looking good as always.”

“Aww, thanks! Okay, your turn next! Let’s get a big group photo and then individual photos.” With the camera now in his possession, Kalim’s free to fidget with it as he pleases. “Ooh, this is neat!”

“Careful with that!” Jamil bounds forward just in case. “The Headmage gave that to (Name). Don’t break it.”

“I won’t,” Kalim promises, holding it up to capture you and Jamil in its sight. “I think I’ve got it! Everyone, group up! Picture time!”

There’s lots of fumbling. An argument about height breaks out. Floyd pokes fun at Riddle for having to stand in front to account for his height. Riddle fumes, red with anger, and stomps his foot indignantly—all while insisting he’s still growing. You offer to stand beside him, but he hisses at you like a cat: “Don’t patronize me! I’m of perfect, healthy stature for someone my age!”

Kalim looks on from behind the camera. “Actually, can we get (Name) and Azul together first?”

Azul, who had been in the process of adding to the joke with a comment of his own, hesitates. He peers at Kalim, his walls rising. “Me?”

“Yeah! Only fair to put you front and center. You’re the host, after all!”

“Ah, right. Of course. But then—”

“Why me?” you ask, confused. “If anything, I should stay out of the picture. I’m not a third year like the rest of you.”

Kalim gasps, scandalized. “We can’t do that! It doesn’t matter what year you are. You’re still our friend, and parties are for everyone to enjoy.”

“Doesn’t that throw off the original plan?” Ruggie wonders, munching on a frosted donut.

“Kalim, we need to account for height. Riddle can’t stand in the back.” Jamil glances apologetically at Riddle. “That’s just the reality of it.”

Riddle huffs, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“I’ll stand in the front,” Silver offers.

“What? No, that’s not the issue here, Silver.”

“It’s not? I thought we were picking who stands beside (Name).”

“Ooh, I wanna stand with Shrimpy!” Floyd wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your head. “C’mon, Sea Otter, take our pic!”

Jamil sighs. “All of you…”

“Shall we take individual photos with (Name) first?” Jade suggests, smiling placidly at Kalim.

This time the message is received loud and clear. “Oh, great idea, Jade! Azul and (Name), could you stand next to each other?”

The group disperses to allow you and Azul to do just that. Rigidly, Azul steps closer. He keeps a healthy distance between your bodies, one Jade picks up on right away.

“Please smile and pretend like you love each other,” he instructs, to which Azul flusters.

“W-What? Jade, that’s—”

“C’mere, Ashengrotto! I don’t bite!”

With a joyous laugh, you wrap your arm around Azul’s waist and drag him in close. He stumbles, flushed in the face, just as the camera flashes. The corresponding photo slides out next, blank for a while. Eventually, the image begins to show up with striking clarity.

“How’s it look? Great, right?” As soon as it happened, it’s gone—your warmth. The comfort of being held. Azul almost pursues you when you release him from your grasp and move towards Kalim to inspect the photo. Thankfully, he catches himself. “Hey, this is nice! Good job.”

You and Kalim share a high-five.

“Me next, Sea Otter!” Floyd crowds in, baring his pointed teeth in an unruly grin.

With everyone’s attention on you, Kalim, and the camera, Azul’s left to stand behind in silence. Anticipating the rainless deluge, Jade lingers within earshot.

“I know,” he mutters in a brittle tone. “Don’t say a word.”

“Not a peep. Although if I may share just a tiny tidbit… Kalim offered some very helpful advice. You may want to hear it.”

Azul stares at him, stunned. “You told Kalim?”

“Not directly, no. It was implied.” Jade averts his mismatched eyes on purpose. “More or less.”

“I should’ve made you and Floyd sign NDAs…”

“Is it really so sensitive?”

“Yes! Yes, of course it is!” Azul deflates with a sigh, looking on mournfully. You’re trying to snatch the camera from Floyd’s hands. He holds it up and out of reach, laughing raucously. “What did he say?”

“If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart.”

Azul barks out a short, hollow laugh. “In an ideal world, that’s easy.”

“You’re making it more difficult than it needs to be.” Jade issues an encouraging smile. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Are you seriously asking that?”

“It’s just something to consider.”

A minute ticks between them. Jade watches the scene alongside Azul, delighting in distant chaos.

“I’m afraid, Jade,” he admits quietly, the confession as soft and fragile as a single breath. “She’s everything and I’m…nothing.”

Jade frowns in disagreement.

“I’ve looked at it from every conceivable angle. There isn’t any calculated risk to be made—no potential profit or success to be had.”

“Are you certain?”

“Very.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to get it off your chest. We have a few weeks left before the break. If not your heart, perhaps you could establish a means to communicate?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt… For the sake of networking—”

Jade chuckles. “Networking? Is that it?”

Azul scowls. “You’re awfully irritating tonight.”

“I’m not the one with his tentacles tied, hopelessly infatuated.”

“You—”

“(Name), there’s something Azul would like to tell you,” Jade announces, and you turn to look at him.

Azul thinks he should just go ahead and die right there. Is it possible to spontaneously combust if he thinks about it long enough? Is such a phenomenon magic? All he needs to do is visualize it and then the spark will catch and—

“Yeah? What’s up, Azul?”

Azul flounders, his concentration broken. Like he’s done so many times in the past, he plasters his trademark smirk-grin on and falls into the shoes of the sleazy conman. “If you ever find yourself in need of study materials even after I’ve graduated, do not hesitate to contact me and I—”

You laugh. “I think I’ll be good. Thanks, though.”

With withering confidence, he chuckles. “I could give you quite the deal. You’d be missing out…”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced.

Jade—annoying, asshole Jade—brushes past, smooth as sea glass. “I shall take my leave, but please continue your chat. I believe there’s a camera waiting to capture the memory of me.”

Now it’s just you and Azul. He clears his throat, suddenly awkward.

“(Name), I—”

“Azul—”

“Oh.” He stares at you, a smile twitching on his lips. “You first.”

“No, no, you spoke before me.”

“Ah. Well…”

If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart. As if a love that’s been flowering for two years could possibly be resolved within the span of a few months.

He tries again even though it’s not what he really wants to say. “I do hope you’ll have a pleasant summer.”

“You as well.” You nudge him. “Kick ass at your internship.”

“I intend to.” Right. Internship. Work. Business. He can hold a normal conversation if that’s the topic. “And you? Do you plan to stay here?”

“Yeah. Crowley’s letting Grim and me live on campus since we don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll work part-time in Craneport. Summer is a great season for tourism, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Azul laughs. “If it’s a family, they may spend more on kid’s menus for the novelty of it all. Be sure to talk it up to truly sell it. All children deserve to know the magic of a seasonal menu, do they not? Food in fun shapes. Fairy tales and sparkles. All of that razzmatazz. It’s the experience they’re paying for, after all.”

“Is that advice free?”

“Is it?”

“Fine, fine.” You dig through your pocket and hand him the photo from earlier. “Your payment, good sir. A memento of me.”

Azul takes it from you, admires your effortlessly pretty smile, and then freezes. “Oh, I look positively dreadful!”

“Not at all. It adds character.”

“A horrid sort of character.”

You sidle up beside him, peering at the picture. “I like it. It’s a photo of an imperfect Azul.”

“What an ambiguous compliment.”

“I’m serious! It’s Azul when he’s not acting. I like imperfect Azul. He’s authentic. A real person.” You pat him on the shoulder. He stiffens, betraying his initial nonchalance. “Or maybe not. One day I’ll catch you off guard.”

“We’ll see.”

“One day…” Your attention is stolen when you catch sight of the group attempting to bunch together for a selfie. Offering Azul that same smile he’s admired ever since he saw it, you add, “Have a fun summer. Don’t be a stranger next year, okay?” And then you’re bounding across the lounge. “Wait for me! I want in, too!”

For the rest of the semester, Azul keeps the photo tucked away in his phone case.

I have time to mull over the pros and cons, he tells himself when he departs through the mirror, summer break at his fingertips.

ii. summer - maybe i’m just too good. maybe i’ll run away. maybe i’m over you. maybe i shouldn’t stay. maybe i just don’t care. maybe i talk too much.

It occurs to you, while sorting through the photos you’ve taken throughout this past school year, that there’s an absurd amount of Azul. Whether on his own or with others, he appears in more photos than anyone else. You wonder how that happened—how you managed to be there for so many of his moments, each one documented in photographic permanence.

Some of them are humorous. Azul looking unimpressed when you lifted your camera to capture him. Grim jumping into his arms to demand snacks. His glasses sitting crooked on his face. Some of them are endearing. Azul reading in a comfortable nook in the library. Azul smiling fondly at the lens during an alchemy lesson. Azul laughing after you cracked a joke during PE. Some of them are animated. Azul waving at you from across the courtyard. Azul rolling his eyes at a dull pun. Azul playfully blowing a kiss to the camera after you told him to do something memorable. Some are special. Azul in his birthday robes. Azul during that time Mostro Lounge became a butler café for one week. Azul on his last day of the semester, leveling the camera with a roguish smirk.

This one—the most recent and last photo taken of him—is especially important. It’s the conversation that prompted an unforgettable expression that fills you with butterflies whenever you recall it.

“I think you’ll miss me,” you told him, elbowing him for good measure.

“I think I will,” he replied, his lips curling.

Unequipped to deliver a witty retort, you could only gawk.

“Don’t tell me that’s all it takes to shock you into silence.” He chuckled, and there was that infamous smirk-grin—sitting so perfectly on his face, as if it was meant to be there for this very exchange. “You’re too easy, (Name). Where’s the challenge?”

Wordlessly, you raised your Ghost Camera and snapped his picture.

There are so many facets to his person that you’ve managed to catch on your camera—complex layers you wouldn’t have otherwise witnessed if you hadn’t spent so much time around him.

Now you realize why you have an abundance of Azul photos.

We sure hung out a lot this year, and every time I had my camera…

Is he your muse? Is he just naturally photogenic? He fits into plenty of backgrounds, but it’s never the scenery that fascinates and bewitches. It’s always his expression, his body language, his emotions. And the reason all of these photos are so important is because this is an Azul who is comfortable enough to show these sides to you. An Azul who wants you to document his best and his worst, his beautiful and his ugly, his silly and his serious.

Sitting at your desk, thumbing through stacks of photos, you know he’s more than a muse. As you watch Azul move in various pictures, you wonder what he’s doing. It’s only a month into summer, but everything feels so slow. Campus has cleared out, and with it the lounge has closed for the season. You’re certain he still has his ways of making profit and spreading word of its wonders. Azul isn’t foolish. He’s always working an angle. Endlessly clever and stubbornly ambitious.

Does he miss me, too? you think, running your finger over his smiling face. Or was that just something he said to get a reaction?

Just then, a gut-wrenching thought lodges itself deep: Are we even friends? What if he thinks I’m a nuisance? Maybe he’s just tolerating me and all this time I’ve been delusional.

You glimpse the photos again, watching Azul laugh soundlessly in an animated loop. What am I to you, Azul?

As if on cue, having sensed your sadness, arms wrap around you from behind. For a second you think it’s Grim, but then you see distinctly human hands clasping together. You whirl, startled out of your skin, to find Azul Ashengrotto standing there.

“Wha… What?”

He’s…here. Azul is standing in your bedroom.

You blink once and he remains. You blink twice and he’s still there, gazing down at you with soft, smiling features.

“Hello to you as well.”

“Hey…?” You pat his cheek and flinch away. “Oh, you’re real!”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Chuckling, he withdraws and moves to stand at your deskside. “I’m wounded. To think you would forget me just like that. And I thought I was plenty memorable.” He blows you a mock kiss then, and that’s when it finally strikes you.

This isn’t your Azul. This is an Azul from your photos.

How is this even possible? you think, scrambling to find which picture—which memory—he’s from. In doing so, you remember a particularly unique fact about the Ghost Camera. It’s a magical device that allows a photographer to capture slivers of their subject’s soul, which gives way to a special sort of connection known as a soulbond. The deeper the bond, the more likely the person in the photographs is to take on animation and, in some cases, slip out of the image that contains them.

So this is Azul from the time at which he was last photographed, you determine, holding up pictures to match his corporeal likeness to that of the scenery. The Ghost Camera is so cool…

“I missed you, you know.”

“Did you now?” He leans in close, curious. “How much?”

You push him away with a weak scoff. This isn’t good for your heart. Any closer and you might say something you’ll come to regret.

“Not as much as you think.”

“Is that so?” His gaze pans over to the pile of photos on your desk. “And these photos are simply here for convenience?”

“D-Don’t worry about it! Summer project. You wouldn’t get it.”

He flashes his teeth at you in a bright, competitive grin. “Try me.”

“You’re so nosy. Don’t you get tired of prying?”

“Not in the slightest.” He leans against the desk, his arms folding casually over his chest. “That’s besides the point. You’re avoiding the subject at hand.”

You turn in your chair and open your mouth to reply—why are you so invested in this?—but a better idea crops up. Meeting his cerulean stare with fierce, fiery eyes, you challenge him: “If it matters so much to you, I could be convinced to share my plans for the small price of one kiss. A real kiss. Not that fake one from before.”

Azul blinks back at you, a smirk crawling onto his face. “Is that all you desire?”

“What do you mean by—”

Your question is cut off when another set of arms embraces you from behind. Warm, soft lips press against your cheek; his breath tickles your ear.

“Are two not better than one?”

With a yelp, you jerk back so fast that you almost fall out of your chair. Standing there, looking very proud of himself, is another Azul. But this one, unlike Dorm Azul, is dressed in his school uniform. A very helpful distinction.

“D-Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

It’s the only coherent sentence you can manage. Your mind is a panicked muddle: I can’t believe it. Two Azuls. Am I dreaming? This is definitely a dream, right? There’s no way he’d kiss me on the…

You slap your hand over your cheek, gasping. “Y-You kissed me?!”

“Is that not the price you wanted me to pay?” School Azul asks, one brow raised as if daring you to deny that fact.

Dorm Azul’s fingers curl under your chin, guiding your gaze towards him. “Unless you’d like to raise the price…”

You swallow thickly. This can’t be happening.

“Of course, in raising the price, it’s expected you raise the value of the information you’re willing to divulge,” School Azul adds with a chuckle. “Is that not fair?”

You shrink under both of their insistent stares. “W-Why do you even wanna know?”

“Why not? Any information is good information so long as it’s useful.”

You scoff, but it comes out choked and shy. “I… I’m going to use these photos to put together a present for you. I know your birthday’s so far away, but I’m getting a head start.”

“And this present would entail…?”

You click your tongue at him. “I already paid my half for that kiss. No more.”

“Aah, is that right?” Dorm Azul leans in, kissing dangerously close to your lips. You reach up to touch the corner of your mouth after he’s pulled away. “How much for the full story?”

“How much are you willing to pay?”

School Azul rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you up from your seat. This proximity allows you to feel his hair as it brushes against your face. Dorm Azul closes the distance as if it’s second nature, and now you’re sandwiched between the both of them.

Your heart stumbles in your chest. He’s quite literally surrounding you, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“A very valid question.” Dorm Azul glances coyly at School Azul. “What do you think, Me?”

“Will we be enough for you, (Name)?” he purrs, rubbing slow circles into your hips.

You’re dizzy in their arms, your entire body warming with anticipation and embarrassment alike. Is it okay to be selfish? Even though this isn’t technically Azul—just mere memories of him—it seems so real. He’s holding you, touching you, reaching for you…

“Hmm. Two does seem to be a bit much.”

“Let’s call it a holiday and say it’s seasonal spoiling.”

“A gift for the summer.”

“Do open the window to let in the breeze. The heat is prone to making one feel rather…stuffy.”

They’re doing this on purpose. Maybe another Azul is more troublesome than I once thought. I can only handle so much charm!

Shrugging off self-doubt, you grab Dorm Azul by his lapels and yank him towards you, sealing the space that once separated your mouths in a hungry kiss. He melts against you, eyes fluttering shut. It’s quick and starved, the way you chase each other’s lips. You cling to him before you can fall, arms looped around his neck to keep him near.

Fully clothed and achingly desperate, you loathe the unbearable heat, but nothing is more molten than the space between your thighs.

Meanwhile, School Azul takes his sweet time running his hands along your sides, up the length of your body until he reaches your chest. With his form pinned to yours, you can feel his erection pressing against your ass. Rather shamelessly, he rolls his hips. You’re pushed up against Dorm Azul next, who takes hold of your hand and guides it to the strain in his slacks. He pulls away briefly to allow School Azul to slide your shirt up and over your head.

“Were you anticipating this?” he whispers, taking hold of your breasts.

“No way,” you protest between kisses. “Not… No. K-Keep dreaming. It’s too much trouble to wear one in the summer. Gets hot and—”

Dorm Azul captures your lips in another ravenous smooch, and the objection dies in your throat.

“There’s no need for these pesky articles where I’m from,” School Azul murmurs. He presses kisses into your bare shoulder, humming his very obvious delight. “You’d have already been laid out beneath me if that were the case… Soft and sweet, all mine to love at the bottom of the sea…”

“Humans have so many steps,” Dorm Azul laments, tutting.

“And merfolk don’t?” You try to sound smart with your question, but it comes out breathless when your nipple’s twisted between two fingers. “Oh…”

“Not when it comes to clothing. The very concept doesn’t exist beneath the waves.”

“You could visit sometime and see for yourself. I’ll welcome you with open arms.” Dorm Azul rests his forehead against yours. “And maybe then you’ll find yourself so taken with my home that you’ll want to stay.”

“A tempting offer.”

“But?” he prompts, his gaze falling to your hand as you palm him through his pants. He inhales a shaky breath.

“What’s stopping you?” the other Azul asks, his voice muffled in your skin.

“Firstly, I’m not a mer.”

“My dear, that’s nothing. Have you forgotten my proficiency in potionology?”

“And how much will one of your potions cost? I’d love to visit, but if it’s going to bankrupt me—”

“For you, a single kiss is all I require.”

“Isn’t that awfully cheap?”

Dorm Azul chuckles at this back-and-forth. “You say that as if you want me to charge an exorbitant amount.”

Glaring, you squeeze him out of revenge. His laughter comes out choked next, replaced with a needy whimper. Unbelievable.

“Maybe I do.”

“I would be careful with those words, dearest. I might take them to heart.”

He ruts against your hand, panting into your mouth. The kiss is sloppy and wet, all tongue and saliva. You move on instinct, grabbing at his shoulders when you’re taken to bed next. Both Azuls peer down at you from where they kneel on either side of you. They issue you hazy, lust-drunk smiles. Hands wander, feeling every inch you have to offer. You shut your eyes and submit to titillating touches.

“You really did miss me,” School Azul remarks when his fingers slip into your shorts to rub you through your sodden panties. Your breath hitches, a strangled whine squeezed from your throat, and he laughs. “I missed you, too.”

“I really like you,” you blurt, chest heaving with your every breath. He squeezes your clit to draw another sinful groan from you. “I think—Azul, you’re so—I think you’re so amazing… I wish we talked more. The year—aah… It went by so fast.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

“I wanna know you—the real you. I wanna know what Azul’s like when he’s comfortable and when he’s sad and when he’s happy. I wanna—ooh! Please… Please, Azul…” You grab fistfuls of the sheets, arching up towards the hands that caress your stomach lovingly. “I just want you.”

“And you’ll have me,” he—you’re not sure which—promises, leaning over to kiss you. It’s soulful passion, lust bleeding into love. Your cries are lost on his lips when you come undone beneath him, buoyant on a mellow wave.

You sense the loss before you see it.

Half-nude and gasping for breath, you stare up at the ceiling. Your bedroom is empty. All that remains of the Azuls are the animated memories imprinted on the photographs.

“I’m losing my mind…” you mutter, draping your arm over your eyes.

Please let summer pass quickly.

iii. winter - maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard. and maybe that’s just fine as long as you’re here in my arms.

Azul paces restlessly in his VIP room. It’s been months since he’s seen you, but his heart hasn’t swayed in the slightest. If anything, he’s only grown fonder in the time spent apart. Absence… What a bothersome thing.

“You’re gonna walk yourself into the floor, y’know. Your shoes’ll be all worn out by the time you’re done.”

“I’m aware,” Azul quips, uncharacteristically jittery. He turns towards Floyd. “Do I look presentable? Is anything crooked or misplaced? How about my hair?”

“You’re fine.” At Azul’s disbelieving glower, Floyd pouts. “I mean it. Shrimpy’s gonna like it either way.”

He bristles, defensive. “Who said anything about (Name)?”

“No one, but you’re thinkin’ it.”

“I… T-That’s besides the point! It doesn’t matter. She’s only here because I invited her. Common courtesy and all that.”

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

Azul frowns at the vault set into the wall behind his desk. If only he could pack all of his fears in there and lock them away for good. Then he could continue masquerading as someone fearless and confident. With winter having descended upon campus, bringing with it layers of fluffy, glittering snow, and the cultural festival having concluded successfully, Azul finds himself lost.

This is the last birthday he’ll celebrate at Night Raven College and, subsequently, the last February he’ll spend with you. He’s running out of time.

“Invitation or not, Shrimpy’ll always wish you a happy birthday. S’not like her to forget. Plus, she cares about ya.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Azul’s tone is so sharp that Floyd raises his hands in defense. “Guess not.”

“What would you do?” He inhales a wobbly breath. “If you were in my shoes…”

Floyd scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “Dunno. Guess I’d wait for the right moment and say somethin’ to get it outta my system.”

Azul sighs. “Jade said something similar.”

“He ain’t wrong.”

“I’m not prepared.”

“No one is.” Floyd smiles at Azul’s baffled expression. “C’mon, Azul, you can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to. S’just how it is.”

“Even so, it’s better to know all viable routes and options before diving into uncharted waters.”

“That’s just it. You can’t know. S’kinda the whole point, ain’t it?”

“I can’t do it,” he decides, the words heavy on his tongue. “I’d rather accept my future failure now than continue working towards it.”

“Like a coward.”

“Far from it! In business, that’s known as rescission. It is a completely valid method of—”

“You ever realize your feelings and business are two separate things? Not everything’s gotta be about business.”

Azul stands there, nonplussed.

Floyd makes for the door, stopping only to add, “Your fly’s unzipped, by the way.”

“You—” He scrambles to check. Much to his relief, it’s not. “Honestly… That’s not even funny.”

He smooths nonexistent wrinkles, schools his expression into something brave, and exhales slowly. I’m not going to ruin an occasion as grand as this with a half-baked confession.

Having made up his mind, he steps through the door out into the bustling lounge. Like clockwork, all eyes turn to him. He searches the crowd for you, hopeful. But before he can locate you, party poppers resound with a loud bang. Confetti trickles down like colorful rainfall, landing on his suit and getting stuck in his hair.

“Happy birthday, Azul!”

He wants to run and hide. He wants to dive into the sea and seek solace in his favorite octopus pot. He wants to bury himself in the sand and disappear.

Instead, he smiles and spreads his arms like he’s just pulled off an astounding magic trick. “Why, thank you, everyone! I’m pleased you could make it. Do enjoy yourselves to the fullest tonight.”

Cheers erupt amongst the partygoers, but they might as well be on a completely different island. Azul turns, hoping to make his rounds and escape, but Kalim intercepts him. Jamil isn’t far behind.

“Azul, happy birthday!” Kalim smiles just as Jamil catches up.

He passes two expertly wrapped gifts into Azul’s empty hands. “On behalf of Kalim and myself, thank you for the invitation.”

“Yeah, super thanks! It’s been so much fun. I hope you’ll like your gift, but if you don’t just let me know and I’ll get you something else. Whatever you want! You deserve it on your special day.”

Azul looks past him, not in the mood to entertain. “Yes, of course. It’s not a problem.”

Jamil raises a brow, but then it clicks. “(Name) wanted me to pass on her regards.”

As expected, that draws his attention. “Why’s that?”

“She wasn’t sure if she’d get to see you on your big, busy day.” Jamil eyes Azul knowingly.

Kalim nods. “We ran into her on the way here, but she said to go on without her.”

Azul doesn’t like the way they’re both looking at him—as if they’re in on some joke he’s not currently aware of.

“Well,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “her regards are well-received.”

“You’re not going to meet her?”

“It’s my big, busy day, isn’t it? I’m afraid she’ll have to catch me at her earliest convenience.” Azul, gifts in hand, smiles. “Please do enjoy the party, you two. Thank you again for your thoughtful gifts and birthday wishes.”

On his way to the table designed for gifts, Azul spots Riddle, Silver, and Ruggie. They stand off to the side, chatting amongst themselves. He supposes, if anything, he might as well say hello. Setting the gifts down, Azul struts over.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“You know it. Parties at Octavinelle are always somethin’ else,” Ruggie says. Unsurprisingly, he’s done well to fix himself a plate and more. With him around Azul doesn’t have to fret over food waste.

“Your presentation at the cultural festival was very informative, if I may say so,” Riddle commends, sipping his fizzy beverage.

“As was yours.” Azul’s smile tightens. For some reason, he’s always felt the need to walk on eggshells around Riddle. And for good reason, too! Whatever Azul seems to accomplish, no matter how lofty a feat, Riddle seems to do better. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the rewarding experience yourself.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s good timing,” Silver notes, and all eyes drift towards him. Azul perks up. Timing. He needs more of that. “Your birthday came right after the festival. It’s almost like celebrating your hard work and another healthy year all in one.”

“Never thought about it that way. Guess it makes sense when you put it like that.” Ruggie grins cheekily. “Lucky you, Azul.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck. The dates just happened to align… Either way, thank you, Silver. I’m pleased you can look at it with such inspiring positivity.”

“You catch up with (Name) yet?”

“No? Am I meant to?”

“Just asking.” Ruggie shrugs. “She had me run a few errands for her yesterday. Said it was all for your sake, but when I tried to get more info outta her she told me I’d have to wait for ‘the big reveal’—whatever that is.”

Now everyone’s looking at him. Azul feels small.

“With how often I’ve heard her name tonight, I’d think she’s the one with the birthday.”

“Is she really so popular today? Odd. I haven’t had the chance to greet her,” Riddle muses.

“I thought I saw her this afternoon.” Silver furrows his brow, uncertain. “She seems busy.”

“Which is precisely why I can’t fathom the insistence that I ought to have met with her already.”

Ruggie tilts his head. “That the only reason?”

Just how many people are in on this asinine joke? More importantly, which eel is he going to have to wring out for spilling a not-so-secret secret?

Azul realizes his mask is slipping and so he repairs it expertly. If Ruggie takes notice of this, he doesn’t say anything. “It’s bad manners to show up late to a party. I’m sure one of us will agree.”

Riddle nods, but his words are surprisingly lenient. “Life happens. I suppose we can’t fault (Name) entirely.”

“She’ll make it. I’m sure she will. Don’t worry, Azul,” Silver reassures.

He’s not. He won’t. He isn’t.

“If the world was ending tomorrow,” Ruggie says, sliding into a new subject with practiced finesse, “what would you all do?”

“The end of the world…” Riddle frowns. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s a hypothetical. Anything’s possible.”

Silver hums thoughtfully. “I’d spend what time I have left with my loved ones.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna go running back to Briar Valley to protect Malleus?”

“As a guard it’s my duty, but fighting against the inevitable would be pointless.” Silver looks to the rest of them for their input. “If the world is ending and there’s nothing a guard like myself can do to prevent it, then I can only offer what’s left of my time.”

“So companionship. Okay, good to know. What about you, Riddle?”

He huffs. “I refuse to let the world end before I’ve accomplished my goals.”

“Yikes. You academic types don’t rest, do you?”

“No, no, it’s true,” Azul pipes up. “I agree. Why am I going to let the world get in the way of my plans?”

“So both of you are going to resist it until the very end?”

“You said anything can happen in a hypothetical, yes?” Riddle smirks. “In my hypothetical the world says it’ll end tomorrow, but it never does. It keeps saying so like it’s a faulty forecast. The end of the world is scheduled for next week, the week after, three weeks from now. By then, a year’s passed and the world still hasn’t ended.”

Ruggie groans. “That defeats the whole purpose of my question. You can’t give yourself more time when it’s already so limited.”

“Anything is possible if you know what you’re working with,” Azul adds, nodding alongside Riddle. “I quite like this hypothetical.”

“Leave it to the honors students to logic it out and make it more complicated than it needs to be…”

“You wouldn’t spend it with your loved ones?” Silver asks, but it appears as if the question is directed entirely at Azul. “I think I’d want to tell them the things I never got to say. Things I put off saying… Would you do that, too, Azul?”

“I…” He shuts his mouth and then opens it. “I’m not sure what I could possibly say within such a limited timeframe.”

“It doesn’t have to be complex.”

“I guess a good, old ‘love you lots’ is better than nothing,” Ruggie says.

Azul stops short. The end of the world. Time. Loss. Loved ones.

Time! He’s running out of time!

“Well, this was quite the lively discussion, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself now. There are a few more people I must meet.” Azul smiles gratefully at the three of them. They wish him another happy birthday before he finally departs, his heart in his throat.

He’s running out of time.

Logically, Azul knows the feeling doesn’t reflect his reality. It’s not as if he has to confess by the end of the school year. Logically, he has his entire life to confess. But who’s to say you’ll stay in his life after he graduates? You might be gone by the time he finally finds the right words, the right time, the right circumstance.

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Floyd’s right. There’s no way of knowing for sure until he does it. There’s no way to know what lies in those uncharted waters until he dives in. There’s no way to know where your heart lies until he confesses.

The world isn’t going to end tomorrow, but if he doesn’t say what he needs to before graduation he’ll never have another chance. And then that world—the world contained within NRC’s boundaries—will implode and that will be that.

At that very moment, a camera flashes. He spins around to search the photographer out and—

There you are, striding through throngs of people to reach him. There you are, dressed for the occasion. There you are, wearing that pretty smile he sees in his dreams.

“Happy birthday!” You turn the photo towards him for his viewing pleasure. It’s of him, staring off into space. He looks so stone-faced with his knitted brows and pursed lips. “Sorry about showing up late. I had to add the finishing touches to your present.”

You hand it to him. The amateur wrapping job makes the gift appear more lumpy than it actually is. It’s heavy like a textbook. Shaped as such, too. Azul wonders what its contents could be. Perhaps something relating to economics? A novel in a particular genre?

“Thank you very much. I’ll take good care of both.” He tucks the picture into his breastpocket, battling the urge to tear into your gift now. He needs to know. What did you get him? What could it possibly be? “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Even if the world was ending?”

“Uh… What?”

“Ah, never mind that. It was simply a lingering thought from a previous conversation.”

“That’s so grim! And on your birthday, no less.”

Azul waves his hand through the air. A playful smile draws his lips apart. “Can you believe Riddle said he’d make the apocalypse wait on his behalf?”

“Seriously?” You snort, eyes brightening with amusement. “Even the apocalypse gets a schedule…”

He barks out a laugh. “Insanity, isn’t it?”

“Maybe for us, but definitely not for Riddle.” You glance at him. “What about you? What does Azul Ashengrotto’s last day look like?”

He intends to answer with something prepackaged: Awash in success until the very end!

“Alone.”

“Really? No friends or family by your side?”

“Would that make it better? Perhaps being surrounded by others only intensifies the dread.”

There’s some sort of symbolism in coming into the world alone and going out the same. Azul just can’t quite phrase it eloquently.

“Maybe there’s no right answer. Maybe there’s not any comfort in it either.” You run your fingers over the edges of your Ghost Camera. “We can’t know what lies ahead until we’re there. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time theorizing.”

“Quite the insightful judgment.”

“For the record, I wouldn’t mind being your plus-one for the end of the world.”

“I’m flattered.” He grins. “I shall be yours in return.”

“No strings attached?”

“All the strings attached. So many,” he exaggerates.

“No fair!”

Silence fills in the cracks. You stand side by side, drinking in Mostro Lounge’s upbeat atmosphere. After some time, you nudge him.

“Look at us, speaking about all of these sad things. It’s your birthday, not a funeral!”

He wonders if now’s a good time. Should he lighten the mood and confess? But wouldn’t that just make it even more serious and somber? Is there ever going to be an opportune moment?

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Surprises. Spontaneity. Luck. All things left to chance. All things Azul attempts to anticipate. He thinks back on the many plans and what-ifs he calculated and wonders if it was worth it.

“(Name), I just wanted to say—” He stops himself, his fingers curling around the gift cradled in his arms. I love you and I want you in my life. I don’t want the world to end here with you and me. I want to know what lies beyond and experience it with you—the good and the bad. Everything. “I just wanted to thank you.”

For being my friend. For being yourself. For existing in the same world as me, even if it feels like we’re doomed to be islands apart.

“What’s this? Genuine thanks? Am I going to find an anemone on my head next?”

“That can be arranged. Isn’t it tradition to grant the person of the hour one birthday favor?”

“Hah! You wish!”

I do. I really do.

The party wears on into the night. Azul repeats the same mantra as before: I have time.

When he’s in his room, gifts piled high on his desk, he sits back in his seat and carefully unwraps yours. It’s a book, leather-bound and regal. It looks expensive. While attempting to approximate its value, he reads the title spelled out with alphabet stickers: My Azul. His brow furrows. Just what are you playing at here?

Cautiously, he opens the book to the first page. Your writing winks back at him: Happy birthday, Azul! This is my gift to you. It’s a chronological journal of your school life! :D People often say it’s difficult to picture themselves through the eyes of others, so I wanted to show you what I see every time I look at you. I hope you’ll never forget just how important you are. If you ever do, open this book to remind yourself.

With love always,

(Name).

“Curious,” he mumbles, flipping the page. The layout reminds him of a scrapbook. You’ve decorated it with stickers and patterned tape, scrawled words in different colored inks. There are two photographs—each from Azul’s second year. He’d forgotten about these. That time it snowed so much the students had a snowball fight in the courtyard. That time an alchemy accident (courtesy of Grim) led to Azul speaking in cat for the rest of the day.

In the center, a small blurb reads: My Azul is terrifyingly good at making snowballs within record time, just as he’s terrifyingly good at marketing them at all the right moments. My team was totally losing. Leave it to Azul to swoop in when he knows it’s advantageous… He’s intelligent and passionate. Even when mistakes occur, he works through them effortlessly. (Although it was nice having Catzul for a day!)

He rolls his eyes at that last bit.

The next page displays photos in much the same fashion. You’ve clearly put lots of effort and thought into each arrangement. Azul feels like he’s walking through a museum with every page. Like the first, the rest of the pages that follow include photographs of himself (some with others and some with you) and a short paragraph describing your observations.

His eyes are on the verge of a typhoon as he soaks in every sugared sentence.

My Azul is strong. My Azul is silly. My Azul has the best laugh. My Azul is great at bargaining. My Azul is awkward. My Azul is clumsy (in the best ways). My Azul is resourceful. My Azul makes the best study guides (thank you!!!!). My Azul is a hero. My Azul never gives up. My Azul is a talented mage. My Azul is…

All of these things he’s never heard anyone acknowledge before—have you always seen him in this way? Is this truly what he’s like through your eyes? He finds that hard to believe, and yet there he is on the page, winking at the camera or posing in an outfit from one of the many school trips he’s attended. You’ve added little comments and doodles in the margins and corners. Azul smiles as he reads them.

Noble Bell College sure was something! I’d like to visit again one day…

Vargas Camp was exhausting! I still can’t believe we survived.

Halloween! I want to experience it in the Coral Sea one day. But maybe just for one night. An endless Halloween is too much…

The ceremonial robes are very pretty. They’re so different from the uniforms in my world.

Happy Beans Day! Azul prepares all year for this. That level of commitment is impressive!

Azul reaches the end with watery eyes. He sniffles, so enveloped in a love he’s never felt from any friend before. You care. You truly, honestly care. It’s clear in each and every page—in the words you’ve written. You care about him.

The final page has a blank space the rough shape and size of a photograph. For some reason he understands what he’s meant to do. He slides the photograph you gave him all that time ago from his phone case and pastes it to the space. And then he reads what’s written below.

My Azul keeps all of these walls up in order to protect himself. He’s sensitive and self-conscious. He likes to uphold a perfect image at all times. He likes to keep his weaknesses hidden, his cards close. But then he’s also funny. He’s sincere and gentle. He’s sweet. He’s someone I admire from all sides, good and bad. Even when he’s scheming, even when he’s acting, he’s still Azul. My camera’s captured so many of his moments, which is very apparent now that you’ve made it to the end. But I’m happy to have documented these moments because they showcase everything that makes my Azul himself.

My Azul has never looked “positively dreadful” to my camera. Even on the days where he feels like nothing, my Azul is everything to me. I will always think so.

He’s crying. He can’t help it.

Azul sits there and he sobs.

He sobs until his throat is dry, until his eyes are blotchy and red. He sobs until he can’t anymore.

Holding the book close to his chest, he wonders how he ever managed to befriend someone like you.

An angel. That’s what you are.

An angelfish.

And he’s Azul. Your Azul.

iv. spring - but, baby, i’ll be there. yeah, baby, i’ll be there. it’s been a little hard. i’ve been a little tough. but maybe all along i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid. i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid.

The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers, thick with pollen. Azul’s chest is light, swelling with excitement. A new chapter is about to begin. In just a few hours he’ll graduate along with the rest of his peers and then it’s off to start another story. For Azul, this is just a continuation of something already so prolific.

He strolls past The Great Seven, pausing briefly to admire the Sea Witch in all of her tentacular glory.

“With this weather, it’s almost difficult to imagine they called for rain.” Jade peers up at the sun, shielding its obtrusive rays with one hand.

“They’re always gettin’ it wrong,” Floyd says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So annoying. I was hopin’ it’d rain and then they’d cancel.”

“Unlikely. There are always contingency plans put in place when it comes to an event as momentous as graduation.”

“Bleh. Lame. I wanna skip. I hate bein’ in those stuffy clothes, packed in close like a sardine.”

“If you’re absent, you won’t receive your diploma.”

“What a scam.”

Jade simply smiles. Ironic.

Azul turns around to look at them. “Four years… Gone in a blink. Will either of you miss it?”

“It was certainly enjoyable. I admit there are some aspects I’ll miss quite fiercely.”

“Guess it’ll be a bummer not seein’ everyone all the time. I’m gonna miss playing with Baby Seal and Shrimpy.”

“I’ll miss them, too.” Azul sighs. “(Name) especially…”

“You still haven’t told her?” Floyd raises a brow. “You’re gonna leave without sayin’ a word?”

“That does seem to be the plan,” Jade answers.

“I… I’ve thought it over.” He clears his throat. No time for waterworks. He needs to be in top shape if he’s to deliver the opening speech as Salutatorian. Riddle took first place, which wasn’t a shock to anyone. He always did say he’d make Valedictorian no matter what. Azul had been keen to fight him for it, even if it became clear he’d never surpass him. Second place is irksome, but it has its merits. Although he isn’t going to settle with just that! He’ll get first place one of these days. “We’re better off friends.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that enough?”

“Is what enough?”

“Her friendship.”

“It’ll have to be.” Azul’s gaze glazes over.

He’s run out of time, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe that was meant to be.

“Well, let’s not dwell on it any further!” He claps his hands and turns swiftly on his heel. “There’s still work to be done.”

Jade and Floyd exchange furtive glances. They know as well as he does that he’s lying.

But maybe that was also meant to be.

— — —

Crowley tasked you with snapping photos for NRC’s yearbook. “Because I am a paragon of magnanimity,” he said, “I am entrusting this very important task to you once more. Take lots of pictures! Don’t miss a single moment!”

You do just that, photographing the graduates as they wait in a room behind the stage, chattering eagerly amongst themselves. You raise your camera to document Azul when he stands at the podium to give his salutation speech. You do the same for Riddle when it’s his turn. The ceremony is grand, ballooning with emotion. You look on with a cheek-splitting smile, proud of every student who crosses the stage. It’s bittersweet. The friends you made when you were enrolled as a first year are now moving on in life.

Time flies. What a whirlwind year it’s been.

When it’s Azul’s turn and he goes down the line to shake the hands of his professors and Crowley, you wave at him from your place in the audience. He meets your eyes from where he stands, and he smiles.

Your camera catches that moment in perfect permanence.

By the end of it all, your face hurts from smiling, your throat sore from cheering, your hands raw from clapping. Grim grumbles at you to knock it off with the sun shower, your tears dampening his fur. You wipe your eyes and sniffle. “I’m happy for them. It’s a good day.”

He forces his head under your palm, allowing you to pet him and cry through it in peace. He doesn’t say anything. You don’t need him to.

While the graduates meet up with their family and friends, you make your rounds. Kalim introduces you to his parents and siblings—all thirty-something of them. You’re in a daze by the time introductions are finished, and Jamil leans over to whisper, “No need to commit everyone to memory.”

“Have you talked to Azul yet?” Kalim asks after everything has settled down.

You shake your head. “Why? What’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask. I know the Headmage wants you to take lots of pictures.”

“We shouldn’t keep you any longer than we already have,” Jamil adds with a curt nod.

You smile. “Congrats, both of you. Good luck.”

“We gotta keep in touch. Promise me you’ll call whenever you can. You’re always welcome to visit, too! Oh, I’ll go check with my parents now! I’m sure they’ll say yes!” Kalim bounds off in their direction.

“Just let me know well in advance. That way I can plan for proper accommodations,” Jamil says, following Kalim with sharp eyes.

“I’ll do that.” You turn to leave and then stop. “I hope you get your vacation one day, Jamil.”

He stares at you, mystified, before a gentle smile softens on his face. “One day,” he echoes. “I hope you’ll find your way home.”

“One day.”

The two of you share a final look before going your separate ways.

Surrounded in such an energetic environment, talking to and meeting families, you find yourself longing for your loved ones. So much time has passed. You wonder how they’re doing. Are they well? Are they worried?

“Aah, it’s Shrimpy!” Floyd crashes into you with so much force you nearly topple. He steadies you with a giggle. “Where’s Baby Seal?”

“Left to gorge on refreshments. Hey, since you’re here, can I get your picture?”

“Course you can.”

Detaching himself, he poses for you. You take a few photos, mirroring his good mood.

“Are your parents around?”

“Mhm!”

“Seriously? They came?”

“Course they did.”

“Did they take transformation potions?”

Floyd nods. “Pops does land business sometimes, so he’s used to it. Mama doesn’t leave home much. She’s real bad at walking on her feet.”

“Ah, got it.”

Floyd grins down at you. “You wanna meet ’em?”

“Maybe later… I’ve gotta keep taking photos.”

“I gotcha. Make sure to snap a few of Azul.”

“Right! Speaking of him, where is he? I’ve spoken to everyone but him.”

Floyd peers out across a sea of faces, scanning each one like a predator sizing up his next meal. “He’s avoidin’ ya.”

“What? Why?”

“Why don’tcha ask him when you see him? Bet he’ll have a fun answer for ya.”

You would, if only you could find him. As the afternoon wears on, you begin to lose hope. If he’s truly hiding from you, he’s doing a great job of it. After what feels like hours of walking in aimless circles, you take pause to consider the situation. If you were Azul and you wanted to hide away for a little while, where would you go?

To someplace familiar. To someplace comfortable. To someplace quiet.

He’s pacing in front of Ramshackle when you arrive. You open the gate and step through, taking each step one at a time. Once you’re within a close enough proximity, you make your presence known.

“Azul?”

He startles and whips around. As soon as he sees you, he lurches forward, intending to leave.

You block his path. “Hey, wait! What gives? I’ve been looking all over for you. Floyd told me you’re avoiding me.”

“Floyd doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“But I’m sure you do. So what’s up?”

“It’s…nothing. I merely wanted to tour campus one last time.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve come with you!” You attempt to elbow him, but he side-steps you. “Uh, right…”

“Ah, sorry. I… Admittedly, there’s quite a lot on my mind.”

“I get it. Congrats, by the way. Your speech was really good.”

“I’m pleased you think so.”

This…isn’t Azul, you realize, a frown flickering on your face. At least not the Azul I usually see.

“I got to meet all of Kalim’s siblings.”

“Did you? All of them?”

“Every. Single. One. His family’s huge!”

An uncomfortable silence festers between the two of you. You glance at your camera and then at Azul.

“Can you believe that Crowley? He wanted me to take all of these pictures, but there were dozens of professionals who did it much better than me! What was even the point?”

“Terrible, isn’t it? A job as good as the one you do deserves proper payment.”

“Exactly! My services aren’t free.”

Azul smiles, a wistful gloss to his gaze. You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes—can see the calculation as it comes to fruition.

“You can cry. I won’t judge.”

“I’m not going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s normal, Azul.”

He inhales a deep breath, holds it for three seconds, and then releases. When he looks at you next, his expression is hard and riddled with subdued anxiety. A zephyr blows between you, rustling the leaves in the trees, raking through the grass, dragging wispy fingers through your clothes and hair. The quiet expands and stretches wide.

Azul opens his mouth, shuts it, and sighs. A forlorn resignation flits over his countenance.

“I—” he swallows hard and then it just bursts free, the admission he’s kept secret for so long— “I love you.”

Another breeze combs through the premises. Your gasp is swept away with it.

“I’ve loved you for two years. And I… I wanted to tell you so many times in the past, but I never could. I was scared and I ran away. I still am! The truth is that I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of messing up in front of you and looking like a fool. I’m afraid of showing you the parts of myself I hate most. I’m even afraid of that phrase—of saying it because it terrifies me to think, in some distant world, it might be reciprocated. But I have to say it, and I want you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I have to tell you.”

You gape at him, utterly speechless. The longer you do so, the more flustered he becomes.

“Y-You’re free to think it’s gross or weird. I understand I’m not the most ideal candidate, but I…” He wrings his hands, exhaling shakily. “I think you’re everything. My whole world.”

There are so many things you want to say. So, so many. But they’re all jumbled, carried along like flowers floating down a stream in spring. You close the gap, taking his hands in yours, and you kiss him.

Azul startles, squeaking against your lips. It takes a minute for him to find his rhythm, but soon he’s wilting against you, his body relaxed. You taste saliva and salt—tears. When you pull back, he’s crying.

“I think you’re the most ideal candidate. I’ve always thought so.” You cradle his cheek in a warm hand.

A sob trembles through him. “I never thought—you’re just so… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“That I’d like you?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” “Because…”

“I’ve always liked you, Azul. I’d never lie about that. Your birthday gift—those are my honest opinions.”

“Every one of them?”

“Each and every one.”

He sniffles weakly, drying his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Instinctively, you reach for your camera. And then you hesitate. You’ve always stood behind the protective lens of your trusty Ghost Camera, assuming the role of photographer in order to remain in his orbit. But now you’d like to try putting the camera aside and documenting Azul’s moments with your own two eyes.

He loves me.

You just manage to shut the front door before you’re pulling him flush against you. He presses you up against the wall in the foyer, a knee slotting between your legs. You melt in mutual merriment, grabbing at every part of him. Your uniform blouse is ripped open in a hurry. You try to handle his graduation robes with caution, appreciating expensive embroidery, but vehemence gets the better of you. It’s a wild rush. Hot and panting, you’re shuddering in carnal delight, every nerve alight. When he presses up against you next, half-dressed and hazy with an addictive adoration, you can feel the result of your exploratory touches straining for release.

“Upstairs,” you mumble against his mouth, sweating out of your skin.

You fall into bed as one, tangled around each other. Azul trails kisses up the expanse of your stomach, working you open on skillful fingers. You shiver beneath him, your heart pounding in your ribs.

“I love you.” A kiss to your belly.

“I love you.” A kiss to the valley of your breasts.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips.

You love him just as intensely.

He drags his fingers out next, admiring the slick coating them like it’s a valuable substance. You giggle, dizzy with delirium.

“Can I call you mine?”

You run your hands up and down his arms. “I’d like that.”

“Your boyfriend,” he murmurs, astonished. “I’m your boyfriend…”

“Mhm…” You sit up in bed and climb into his lap. Slowly, inch by inch, you lower yourself. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth. “And I’m—mmh—I’m your girlfriend.”

Azul whines into your mouth. His arms wrap around you to keep you firmly pinned to his body, and he bucks his hips up to meet you the rest of the way. Filled in such a way, connected so intimately, you breathe a satisfied sigh. You dig your nails into his shoulders. Every muscle slackens. It’s bliss, pure and perfect. The both of you mold to one another like sea meeting shore.

You grind down, chasing a mounting climax. “You’re the best—perfect. So perfect. Oh, I love you, Azul. I love you so much. I’ve always wanted to say it.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “You have no idea how fervently I’ve yearned for this—for you.”

You can’t possibly begin to imagine, but you can definitely relate. Weeks of silent pining, of hoping something might happen and you’d be able to confess without fear. Those days are behind you. Now you can know love in his arms and it isn’t so uncertain.

You lose yourselves in the sensations of sweet, soulful sex. He’s gentle like a spring breeze, dedicated like a devotee at your altar. You’re much the same, your moans just as plentiful. Just as loud. You’re wrapped in wonder when you look into his eyes and find the same amount of love reflected back.

I’m so happy I met you.

When he cums, he digs his fingers into your hips to drag you down and bury himself deeper inside. You unravel shortly after, your orgasm coaxed out by a few attentive massages to your clit. Your bodies, sticky and sweaty, stay connected even after you’ve come down from the clouds.

“Had I known, I would’ve said something sooner.” After catching his breath, Azul rests his head in the crook of your neck. “I regret it.”

“I don’t. Things happen when they happen.” You run your fingers through the tangled, silvery strands of his hair. It’s soft just like him. He leans into your touch and hums appreciatively. “I’m glad it happened when it did.”

“I’m glad I could say it. It would’ve eaten me alive if I’d left without telling you.”

“And are you still afraid?”

Azul places his hand over yours. “No, not anymore. The world ahead looks much clearer now.”

“Am I in it?”

He laughs. “More than that.”

“Oh?”

“You are my world.”

#twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #azul x reader #n/sfw

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slutforsilverfoxes · 10 months

Text

Imagine…

BAU!reader being married to Hotch but keeping her maiden name in the field to avoid assumptions and judgment. The team knows, obviously, but then a former colleague of Aaron’s from the Seattle office happens to be in town for a conference and wants to catch up over a drink. You can’t help but tease him, of course:

“Knock, knock,” you murmur, leaning against the doorway to your husband’s office. With a glance at your watch, you ask, “Y’gonna be late for your date?”

Aaron looks up at you with a frown before returning his attention to his case file and mumbling, “Not a date.”

“Mm, my apologies,” you respond with a twitch of your lips as you approach his desk. You lean your elbows on the dark wood and rest your chin in your open hands. Batting your eyelashes, you amend, “It’s a meeting betwixt old coworkers.”

Aaron rises from his chair, pressing his fists against the desk opposite you and positively towering over your smaller stature. He meets your fiery gaze with equal defiance, then leans forward to press a kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Are you our resident Reid while he’s with his mom? Who says ‘betwixt’?”

“Oh, shut up, nerd,” you taunt back between kisses of your own. “You collected coins; I played Scrabble. Now get going! Can’t leave a lady waiting for the Aaron Hotchner.”

—————

But WAIT! There’s more! Said agent gets a call while they’re out for a drink and asks Aaron and the BAU for help on a new case. Naturally, you all have to fly to Seattle together…

“Mama, you know this cabin is pressurized, right?” Derek teases with a nudge of your shoulder.

You mumble back around a sip of coffee, “Yeah, so?”

“So if you glare any harder, you’re gonna burn a hole through the jet and we’re all gonna die up here.”

Emily snorts out a laugh and you steal a Cheeto from JJ’s snack (for which you’re met with a stern, “Hey!”) to throw at her. Emily collects the offensive projectile from her lap and pops it into her mouth with a ferocious chomp in your direction, receiving an, “Oh, bite me, Prentiss,” in response.

“Just find a way to slip in that you’re married,” JJ counsels, moving the bag out of your reach to avoid further retaliation.

“Or accidentally fall into his lap. Turbulence can be nasty, you know,” Emily offers as a follow up.

“Like that?” you deadpan, jutting your chin toward the scene at the back of the jet. Aaron and Agent Brandt are over by the coffee, and she’s just steadied herself using your husband’s broad shoulder.

“Or,” Derek counteroffers, tugging at the chain around your neck that holds your wedding and engagement rings while you’re out in the field, “put this rock on and go claim your man!”

“This is dumb. I’m being dumb,” you grumble, flipping open the case file and burying your head in it. “Can we get back to talking about this sociopath and not my high school-esque jealousy?”

“What’s happening? Did I miss anything?” Garcia’s blonde curls bounce up on the monitor before your group, ready for the next installment of this evidently riveting saga.

“Nothing is happening, Pen,” you respond with a sharp look her way, “and y’all need to get out more. Watch a romcom or something if you need some angst.”

“You all completely suck,” Penelope sighs dramatically. “My cup runneth empty in my lair!”

“Then go get yourself another cappuccino, baby girl,” Derek answers smoothly with that dazzling smile of his, perched on the armrest of your seat.

You feel his presence before you hear his voice, every atom in your body suddenly on high alert and keenly aware of everything that is Aaron. “Hey.”

You look up at him with an easy smile, determined to not let your unwarranted bitterness reflect on your work. “What’s up, Hotch?”

He squats down in the aisle beside you so he’s not looming over you and brushes his knuckles across your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender touch, given your current audience. “Do you have that travel bottle of Advil? Brandt may have been overzealous with the margaritas last night.”

“Yeah, it’s… in the side pocket of my bag,” you answer, brow furrowed because he tossed it in there this morning to ward off your inevitable headaches during the coming late nights.

“You’re the best, honey,” he murmurs, standing halfway to press a kiss to your forehead before returning to his full height and going off in search of the pain killer.

“‘Overzealous with the margaritas’, huh?” Emily teases, then starts singing the viral song about just how many margaritas are needed to perform certain acts that shan’t be discussed in polite company.

From across the plane, Dave glances at Aaron who’s rummaging through the overhead luggage bin, then turns his attention to you with a knowing gaze. You avert your eyes, feeling a blush creeping across your cheeks, and settle back in your seat before flipping through the case file in front of you. “So crime scene photos would suggest we’re dealing with a disorganized killer…”

—————

But WAIT! There’s even more!

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

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spitdrunken · 4 months

Text

THIS IS INCREDIBLY SELF-INDULGENT BUT. MY BLOG!

notes: power imbalance, sexual harrassment, murder mentions.

rotating a thought in my head where 'you' are an increasingly popular erotica writer from the pride ring. with writing, you've hit a bit of a niche, as a lot of the big porn producers (VoxTech's subsidiaries) are not exactly known for their riveting dialogue or personalities. no one's there for anything more than that, but there are demons who do want a bit more 'meat', so to say, with nowhere else turn. that is where you come in!

it's not enough to make a steady living off of, not even when you start taking incredibly specific commissions, but it's never been more of a hobby anyway. you are completely anonymous online, keeping care to use throwaway emails and accounts for everything. still, voxtech's products are utterly inescapable: it's either using them, or using nothing at all. (and those rumours about their boss vox having complete control over his technology, even after selling, has to be a rumour... you hope.)

meanwhile, as your penname continues to grow more and more recognizable, it falls in the vees' meeting room. valentino's immediate suggestion is just to kill you. people in the comments keep comparing his dialogue to yours. what the fuck is that about? who the hell watches porn for the DIALOGUE in the first place?

velvette, while shrugging her shoulders, only adds that their new releases tend to go trending, prior to release. fucking far from the top of that list, but still. trending is trending.

vox, sighing internally, plasters a smile on his face. there's really no need to kill new up and coming talent, val. we should suggest them to work for us instead. and if they don't... we can simply prevent them from working. they'll make up their mind, then.

you return to your laptop to an utterly inescapable pop-up describing the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to work at voxtech! it's a whole wall of text, describing your pay (higher than you would have expected), where you will be living (in one of the appartment buildings owned by voxtech), and when to head to their main office. there is no word on denying the contract, an utter impossibility, it seems. not that you'd dare. vox's and the radio demon's showdown was the talk of the ring for days, and apparantly, all that rancour was the source of alastor denying a contract of his own. that really is more shit than you can handle in your undead life now. so, you take the job.

as your stories are starting to get heavily promoted, velvette absolutely insists that you add in at least a couple of looong clothing descriptions, based on her tastes. she's such an overwhelming, pushy presence, that it's hard for you to say no. she goes on about how, if it gets popular enough, people might be interested in somewhat similar outfits. probably not, though, let's be honest with ourselves. she makes you model them, all the while telling you that you really wouldn't be allowed to breathe in the direction of her studio otherwise. when you ask her why you absolutely have the one modelling, she just rolls her eyes. you based large parts of their appearances after you, didn't you? might as well make you look the part.

valentino is one of the worst parts of the job. compared to everyone else, he hardly pesters you, but he's still a terrifying presence. he'll give you 'suggestions' and make you steer your work in certain directions, getting too close and blowing smoke into your face. he gives a graphic description of how he jacked off to one of your stories, just to see your response. (this is a lie: why would he jack off if he can just call some stupid whore over to do it for him? also, he doesn't read.)

if a part of one of your stories ever gets a 'porno adaptation', he's having you play the part of the director, and has you sit in during the entirety of the viewing. you can tell he takes great pleasure out of any of your discomfort, or any of your fumbling- until it's too sloppy, and then he gets mad, of course, and you end up leaving the room with shaky legs.

vox seems to be the nicest one out of the three of them. really, he's only ever been courteous to you. but you've seen him flip his lid during the aforementioned 'radio demon fiasco', which you have been wise enough to never mention, so you still walk on eggshells around him. he can also get pretty pushy about deadlines, so you're not taking any chances.

he insists on having semi-regular meetings with you about the sales figures of your most recent works, wherein you also have to describe your process on other projects and pitch new ideas. frankly, you wish these meetings could be an email! but even when you tried to broach the subject, telling him that, surely, the company leader's time is much more important than this?

he simply brushed you off, telling you that he can decide for himself who and what to spend his time on, thank you very much. now, please continue. he'll inform you of the latest kinks and dynamics that have been most popular, though with some peculiar additions as well. you swear that, sometimes, the main character really does seem to resemble yourself in those suggestions, and the love interest a member of the vees...? you're certain you're just imagining it.

#hazbin hotel x reader #valentino x reader #vox x reader #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel #i just like the thought they're all a little TOO into you. sighs longingly #cha.vox #cha.velvette #cha.valentino

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rafestar · 1 year

Note

I have this idea and I gotta tell someone, so yk those push pop candy’s. Well y/n eats one and takes the whole length out and sucks it and Rafe looks or drew and they think of their divk. And get horny so uh idk after like bang bang they do that and uh idk

TRY ME | Rafe Cameron

WARNINGS: +18 smut, oral sex (female receiving), sex without protection, hair pulling, dirty talk, etc

SUMMARY: reader teases rafe with a candy during dinner with their families.

A/N: thank you for the request love, i hope you like it. english isn’t my first language, if there’s any mistakes i will gladly welcome any advice or help, enjoy♡

"Choose one"

After finishing dinner at the Camerons' house, we all stayed at the table talking. While our parents were arguing about their things, Wheezie was handing out candy to me and Sarah.

“This one looks tasty.” I pointed to the strawberry push pop.

"It is! I'll take one too” exclaimed little Cameron. "You can also take some Rafe"

Rafe.

He on the other hand was in his own world, probably high, drunk, whatever.

“I'm not 13 years old to keep eating that shit” Even though he was looking down, clearly using his phone, I could see him rolling his eyes.

“Rude” I spoke.

Rafe, who was in front of me, for the first time tonight glanced up at something other than his phone or his food.

His intimidating look made me shift in my chair.

I never had any kind of contact with him, despite the fact that i was always at his house since Sarah is my best friend and our parents are also very good friends.

I could see from his look that he was throwing daggers at me. "No one was talking to you”.

And before looking down again I could see how he articulated "whore" before continuing on his phone.

Ignoring him, I continued my conversation with the two sisters while we sucked on our candies.

"I really don't know what to do, Topper is a good boy…”

“We already know you like Jo-“ Sarah covered Wheezie's mouth as I laughed.

"Wheezie!" Sarah whispered-screamed.

The three of us laughed until I noticed someone burning me alive with his eyes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Rafe's eyes were riveted on my lips. A smile gross on my face and I decided to try something.

I foolishly licked the top of the treat, carefully running my lips over the tip so only he would notice. I pushed the long candy until it was all in my mouth.

Meanwhile, I was still deep in conversation with Sarah, but I could clearly hear Rafe complaining and sometimes I'd side eye to see him squirming in his seat.

Until suddenly he pushed his seat back and got up hitting the table and knocking over a couple of glasses. "Shit…"

One of the drinks that fell was Sarah's. "What's wrong with you!"

"Fuck off Sarah." Rafe left the room without giving another backward glance.

"Words!" Rose yelled after continuing to drink her wine. "This kids…"

Everyone looked at each other strangely, less clearly me.

"Maybe he has an emergency," Ward justified.

Yes, an emergency.

Hiding my smile, I turned to continue my conversation, as everyone else did.

It took a while until everyone decided to go to the tables outside, since the weather was very good to be in the garden.

While my mom and Rose went on about their business, Ward and Dad talked about their jobs. Wheezie, Sarah and I were just laying on the floor looking at the stars.

The breeze got cooler and my skin got goosebumps since I was only wearing a sundress.

“Do you mind if I go upstairs to get a sweatshirt in your room,” I asked Sarah.

"It’s okay”.

I gave them a smile before getting up and brushing some of the grass off the skirt of my dress and headed inside the house.

I closed the door behind me and everything was pretty quiet. I made my way to the stairs until I felt a tug on my arm that took me to the kitchen.

Before I was going to scream, Rafe turned me around and covered my mouth with his big hand.

My eyes looked at him terrified, since from his look, he looked quite furious.

Looking sideways at the curtain-covered window, I saw our parents share a few laughs.

Rafe grabbed my jaw hard to direct my gaze to him.

"W-What do you want?" I whispered.

Rafe ran his tongue up the inside of his cheek before letting out a mocking laugh. "What do I want?"

Rafe grabbed my waist to lean me against the counter, and that's when I felt it. Against my stomach, I could feel how hard he was. My eyes flicked down and I saw how big he looked behind his jeans.

"I have something for you" my eyes widened in surprise.

Rafe rummaged through his pockets until he pulled out the same candy I was eating an hour ago.

“Thank you but I already ate one…”

My body was still trapped between his and the counter. His hip pressed hard against my stomach to keep feeling him. I watched as his long fingers removed the plastic from the long candy before taking it to his mouth. I saw how a trace of saliva was left on the candy when it came out of his mouth.

I felt like I had a pool inside my underwear. I couldn't help but get turned on by it. My cheeks turned hot pink as my gaze moved from his lips to his eyes. I guess he sensed my arousal, since with his free hand, he grabbed my waist for stability. My knees were shaking and if it wasn't for his touch, I'd probably be on the ground by now.

A lopsided smile appeared on his face, and his eyes sparkled a light blue.

He directed the sweet towards my closed lips, and outlined them inside. “Stick out your tongue”.

With his hand holding the candy, my tongue ran over the stick. His head tilted to the side and his eyes darkened as he followed my movements.

For a moment my movements stopped when Rafe introduced all the candy into my mouth.

"Push your lips against it and don’t let it fall" I did as he told me and his hands fell to my thighs.

He pushed me up onto the counter, squeezing the bare skin peeking out from under the skirt of my dress.

His hot breath felt against my face as he moved closer to me, looking closer into my eyes.

"I'm going to fuck you with that damn candy in your mouth."

My pupils dilated with desire, and I didn't take my gaze from him.

His hands trailed up the hem of my dress to my underwear and ripped it open. My eyes widened in shock and my hands clenched against the counter.

Rafe brushed my hair back and began to kiss the exposed skin of my neck. My head fell against the wall and my back arched. His cold hands ran over my neck and arms, caressing me gently. He slowly lower the straps of my dress until my breasts were exposed.

His hot kisses went down to one of my breasts, licking and biting through the center of my areola. Not leaving the other unattended, he massaged my nipple into a squeeze that made me jump to the edge of the counter.

He did the same steps with my other breast. His kisses trailed down my thighs, taking small bites and leaving marks on my sensitive skin. His big hands gripped my thighs, and I began to feel him kiss my core. His kisses were soft and his licks were soft.

He sucked all the folds in my core, before inserting his tongue. My legs trembled at that, and I could feel him smile against my intimacy. His tongue came out and went back to licking softly over the rest, before taking my clit between his teeth.

Saliva dripped down the side of my mouth as I clenched the candy hard.

I was near my peak of arousal until Rafe came back up. "Even sweeter than that fucking sweet."

My frown showed my frustration and he smiled at that.

His hands unbuttoned his pants and lowered his boxers a little, and the great bulge of him finally came out. My eyes widened at the size of him, and saliva kept dribbling from my mouth. His thumb wiped me clean before taking his hand to himself and massaging it a few times.

Without warning he entered me and my eyes squeezed shut. My whimpering over the candy and his growling were silent, since the only thing that separated us from our families was a simple window.

I opened my eyes and couldn't flinch at the image in front of me. Rafe's head was thrown back as his bare arms held the kitchen counter to the sides of my body.

"Jesus christ… how can you be so fucking tight Y/N” he sighed, before pulling out of me a bit and resting his forehead against mine.

My eyes looked at him and with my hands I grabbed his waist and pushed him back into me. His moan rumbled inches from my face.

His hand moved up to my hair and he squeezed hard before beginning to thrust hard and fast. We had both grown used to each other's size.

His onslaught made our skins crash against each other. Rafe brought his head to my neck as he gasped. Tickles turned my stomach.

"Your walls were made for me," he murmured against my neck.

His other hand gripped my thigh tightly as his thrusts followed the same quick, hard motion.

My walls began to contract against him, and my lips were sore from pressing against the sweet. Rafe came out of my neck and with the hand he had wrapped in my hair, he grabbed the candy and tossed it to the side.

Our lips immediately collided kissing hard.

His kisses were wet and passionate. Continuing with his thrusts, his fingers quickly massaged my clit.

Rafe contracted inside me without stopping to move. “Shit, Y/N…”

Hearing my name come out of it in such a pornographic way, was what made me break.

We both got to touch our highs and euphoria ran through our blood as he came inside me.

His thrusts ceased but his kisses never stopped. Our tongues were still tangled and our breaths felt rough.

Rafe leaned his forehead against mine as the kiss broke, both of us trying to catch our breaths.

I opened my eyes and Rafe was already looking into mine. Before we broke apart and helped me down from the counter, he kissed me again, but this time was in a sweet way.

He helped me clean up and walked me back to the garden where our families were.

I expected him to stay, but he didn't even say goodbye and he just walked out of the garden before getting on his bike and driving off.

Does he regret it?

It was just sex, but still. A bit of guilt coursed through me as I sat down next to Sarah.

I just fucked her brother.

My best friend's brother.

Sarah snapped me out of my thoughts. "And the sweatshirt?"

"Oh um..."

♡

taglist: @cecespeach @poguesworld @fullkookrafe

tell me if u want to be added ♡

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roseharpermaxwell · 5 months

Text

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs - Part One

I'm such a fan of an AU, and I love how many there are in FirstPrince. Any situation you can put Alex and Henry in, I'm here for it.

Here are many of my favorites so far, up to 10k words. Give the authors some love and let me know if you find something you adore!

like a goddamn angel by @coffeecatsme. G, 1k. If it wasn’t for the hot blonde standing just inside the Red Cross vehicle, Alex doubts he would’ve even signed up to donate blood in the first place.

Alex decides to donate blood despite being squeamish, and Henry takes care of him.

take a picture (it’ll last longer) by @whimsymanaged. M, 1.4k. Alex’s physiotherapist tells him to start doing yoga, and it’s driving Henry up the wall.

Drummers Do It Better by @everwitch-magiks. M, 1.4k. "Drummers," Alex starts, hitting his drumsticks against the table for optimal effect, "are little sluts."

Nora snorts. "Are you sure you wanna make that claim about yourself, Alejandro?"

"Respect my authority on this subject," Alex says, with the conviction of someone who did in fact enjoy blowjobs in the bathroom less than half an hour earlier. Case in point. "For every idiot who wants to start a band, there's one tenth of a drummer. Which is why you have your guitarists and bass players talking about 'their band' — singular — while drummers talk about their gigs. Drummers don't play in one band, we play with whoever sounds hottest at the moment. So you don’t marry the drummer — they'll be out of your bed and on their way to bang someone else's hi-hat before you've caught your breath."

Or: Alex has some strong opinions during a riveting round of 'Fuck, Marry, Kill.' Unbeknownst to him, Henry is also in a band.

took you long enough by coffeecatsme. G, 1.5k. Alex is, as much as Henry wishes differently, very much straight, and wouldn’t think twice about curling in his best friend’s bed if he needed to shut his eyes for a bit. It doesn’t mean anything. And yet Henry can’t take his eyes off of Alex, hopelessly wishing he slip next to Alex and take him in his arms.

Henry finds Alex asleep in his bed. Cuddling ensues.

sparks fly by rizcriz. T, 1.6k. Alex smiles, glancing down at the maroon suit Nora had helped him pick out, feeling a little proud of himself. And, as he does most every time he’s in Henry’s vicinity, he almost immediately completely forgets the camera and crowd watching him in order to give Henry all his attention as he looks back up. “I’m touched,” He says, bringing his free hand to his heart, and reminding himself to speak into the microphone in his other hand. “You remembered me,” he says, as if this is his first interview with this particular musician.

It’s not. Though, when he thinks back on it, even the first interview hadn’t felt like the first.

And if the internet's response to that interview were anything to go by, they didn’t think it did, either.

or, Pop star Henry and red carpet correspondent Alex.

like it’s patrón by @hypnostheory. E, 1.8k. Henry points his gun back at the target, his left hand closing around his right on the handle. Behind him, Alexander clicks his tongue.

“Nah sweet thing, that’s gonna make the recoil hit harder,” Alexander says, reaching around Henry to adjust his grip. He leaves Henry’s right arm straight, but bends the left one in slightly, so it’s supporting but not holding the full weight of the gun. It puts the sight right in line with Henry’s dominant eye. “Put your left leg forward, right leg back against mine.”

Henry shifts his legs as instructed, which presses the two of them together from Henry’s back to his ankle. Alexander hooks his chin over Henry’s shoulder with a wicked little grin Henry can only catch out of the corner of his eye. “Take the shot.”

Henry meets Alexander at a gun range, but it’s not the first time they’ve met. Alex calls in a raincheck.

the odds are never in your favor by coffeecatsme. T, 1.9k. “Love,” Henry whispers—that pet name, it’s that stupid pet name that made Alex forget the reality of the Games—and Alex knows the words before he even utters them. “I don’t think they’ll allow both of us to live.”

The ending of the first Hunger Games book, but with Alex and Henry.

Aftercare by whimsymanaged. M, 2k. When Alex has an intense hookup without aftercare, he finds himself on his best friend Henry’s doorstep in desperate need of looking after.

Getting Clinical by @cha-melodius. T, 2k. “So, come here often?” Alex tries to joke, only to realize too late the implications behind asking such a question in a sexual health clinic. He grimaces, hard. “Fuck, I didn’t mean— you don’t have to answer that. I was just— trying to make it not awkward.”

To his relief, Blue Eyes just looks amused. “And made it exceedingly awkward instead?”

(Or: Alex, Henry & a meet-cute at the STI clinic)

you're calling me? by coffeecatsme. T, 2k. “As I was saying.” Nora claps her hands together. “I have an idea. Spin the bottle, but instead of truth or dare or seven minutes in heaven or whatever, whoever it lands on has to call their crush right now and confess.”

Alex’s heart drops somewhere in below his stomach. “Wait a fucking minute.”

Or, Nora proposes a drinking game, and Alex suddenly has to come to terms with his feelings for his best friends.

for you i'd ruin myself (a million little times) by coffeecatsme. E, 2.2k. Bright eyes meet Henry's, and impossibly there’s a grin playing on the man’s lips, amusement where there should be disgust behind the brown irises. “Will I be arrested if I sneak their prince off to my room?” he asks, head tilted to the side.

Or, Henry meets Alex one fateful night in Texas during his tour in the U.S.

voir dire. by @chaa-kiao. T, 2.2k. Henry Fox had the Heimlich maneuver perfected long before he got his job as a teacher. Along with cardiopulmonary resuscitation. He also never leaves the house without his phone, lest he need to call an emergency number. Generally, he isn’t so overstrung about things. Of course, generally, he doesn’t have other people’s lives in his hands.

When his soulmate knocks on death’s door, it’s more than likely Henry will be the one answering.

doctor doctor, i'm at death's door! by dearestalez. T, 2.3k. “How did this even happen?”

“Dropped a knife.”

Henry sighed deeply, “you’re the smartest and stupidest man I know.”

“Hey,” Alex grinned, “you married me.”

Henry finally pulled back, their faces inches apart. His smile was tired but loving all the same.

Or;

Alex accidentally injures himself and decides to hide it from his doctor husband Henry because surely, that’s the smartest thing to do in that situation.

Sunkissed by everwitch. T, 2.5k. It's been a long summer of being completely ignored by one Henry Fox, the blue-eyed boy who's been deliberately avoiding Alex ever since the first day of camp. When Alex finally confronts Henry, the last thing he expects is to find that Henry isn't nearly as stoic and unfeeling as he's always seemed. As the two form an unexpected connection, it remains to be seen if this sudden spark between them will last beyond the summer sun. After all, they've spent no more than a few hours together. It's not like they'll still be on each other's mind, after they've gone back home. Right?

the best intentions by @smc-27. G, 2.5k. He sees the flyer when he’s in town picking up the fabric and books June wanted from the market.

Once a year. On the prince’s birthday. The chance for his one true love to rescue him from the tower. A cash prize to go along with the prince’s hand in marriage. The title of Prince Consort and a palace of their own.

Alex knows himself. He knows how people are with him. He’s made people fall in love with him without even trying for it. He’s had to break hearts since he was 15 and Charlotte Marks told her father she was going to marry Alex. He can get some cloistered prince on board.

how do you want me? by rizcriz. T, 2.5k. “Christ,” Henry curses quietly, lowering the camera. “You’re beautiful.”

Kneeling on the bed, his ankles crossed behind him, a hand tucked into his briefs, the other carefully weaved through his hair, is Bea’s friend Alex. The light sits on his skin, a delicate shadow of eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and when Henry speaks, he opens his eyes and looks at him from beneath those eyelashes, a careful smirk slipping over his lips. He doesn’t move from the pose, though, as he says, “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

Or Henry’s in over his head.

The Perils of Desk Building by ronans. NR, 2.6.k

2B,

Are you planning on getting any work done in your specifically rented office space? Fabulous, as am I.

The thing about an absurd amount of noise is that it can be incredibly distracting.

Regards,

Henry (2A)

When I want sincerity by @clottedcreamfudge. M, 2.6k. Alex always aces his interviews – he's never not been offered a job after an interview, and he's had a fair fucking few of them. He's not a bullshitter, either – he really tries. He learns about the company, asks engaging questions, gives thoughtful answers. He's a fucking delight.

This one shouldn't be any different. (It is.)

Total Collapse by clottedcreamfudge. T, 2.6k. Henry hates him. This is an immutable fact. So, when they'd been arguing in the third floor break room and the world had started to shake, the last thing Alex had expected was to be saved from a hefty chunk of falling ceiling as it cracked and fractured above them.

break up with your girlfriend (cause i’m bored) by fxckingeyelashes. E, 3k. the one where Alex and Nora are Henry’s new coworkers, but Henry is mistaken and jealous.

Gym Buddies by @omgcmere. E, 3k. "I'm Henry," the guy offers. Alex pushes up one rep, then another. The blood is rushing to his face as he powers through more, and seems to be rushing elsewhere as well, because there's undeniable arousal pooling in his groin from the exertion. He struggles slightly for a moment, then, and instead of taking over like Alex expects, his new best friend Henry starts—talking. "That's good, so good. Perfect, can you give me another?"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sweat pours down Alex's forehead as he pushes the bar back up off his chest.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. So good for me. There you are, love." Henry helps Alex settle the bar back on the rack, and Alex exhales in a rush, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest. Fuck.

PUMP Gym is notorious for gay guys cruising, and Alex wants to hook up.

Tracing constellations by clottedcreamfudge. E, 3.1k. When Henry had mentioned he was going to be in a charity calendar, Alex hadn't really thought much of it. He'd said it casually enough that there hadn't really been any necessary follow-up questions; calendars don't exactly whip Alex into a frenzy, as a rule.

Two months later, Bea sends him an innocuous link, complete with a winky face, and Alex clicks on it without question.

And promptly loses his fucking mind.

diamonds are forever by rizcriz.T, 3.1k. Henry shakes his head. “James Bond is fictional.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “But . . . ?”

Gaze slipping to the ceiling, Henry nods once. “It is not . . .” He says, making a face as his eyes meet Alex’s again. “Dissimilar to James Bond.”

Alex nods. “So . . .” He trails off, the information still processing. It’s a bit like his mind is buffering as he makes sense of it. It’s so little information, yet so much all at once. Like someone’s thrown an encyclopedia at his head and given him a cliff notes explanation expecting him to know it word for word. “That would mean—I’m dating James Bond?” He blinks, sitting up straight. “Oh my god,” he exclaims with sudden realization. “I’m a Bond Girl.”

Love At First Bark by everwitch. G, 3.2k. “I still don’t know your name, do I?”

Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate.

“It’s David,” Henry supplies.

“Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?”

Henry blinks at him. “... David?”

“What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.”

Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

i wouldn't stop for red lights by matherine. E, 3.3k. There are flowers on Henry’s desk when he comes into work. They’re pretty, really – chosen by someone who knows him, because there are hydrangeas and white roses and daffodils, and certainly not enough baby’s breath for the bouquet to have been cheap. Not that Henry would make assumptions, nor that he’s the sort of person that would look up the cost of a gift, but he knows who put it here. Even before he looks at the little card attached to a rose’s stem, he knows, because he gets flowers every April 15th.

dinner and a show by rizcriz. T, 3.4k. For the first time since he walked out onto the soundstage, he eases into his chair, and nods, genuine comfort seeping into his bones. “Now it’s getting interesting,” he says, motioning towards the monitor with a grin.

He doesn't even think about his answer, either. Eyes flicking over Prince Henry’s features. He smiles slow and interested, and very carefully says, “Smash. Definitely smash.” And to send the point home and reiterate just how fucking bisexual he is, no matter how hard people try to bury it, he turns to the camera, and says, “Name a time and place and I’m there.”

Or, a game of smash or pass changes two lives irrevocably.

The Beginner’s Guide to Floriography by @harrysglasses. G, 3.4k. Henry owns a flower shop. Alex is a frequent customer with a very busy love life.

home by rizcriz. T, 3.4k. For a moment he fears Henry’s been outed against his will somehow, but he scrolls down to find a video clip. Unable to trust himself to watch the video, he scrolls a little further to read the transcript.

He learns that Henry had come out during a ribbon cutting, of all things. He’d stood in front of a crowd of a couple hundred people gathered for the opening of a new youth shelter, and he’d told his truth. Alex is tempted to watch the video, to examine his body language to see if it was planned or not, but he reads further and one sentence stands out to tell him it wasn’t.

There is no comment yet from Buckingham Palace.

or, six months after Henry rejected Alex at Kensington Palace.

sweet like candy by @indomitable-love. T, 3.5k. Alex is going to kill Nora.

A 68.9% chance he wasn’t going to fall and break his leg, his ass.

And now he has recovery from one minor surgery, a mountain of medical debt, and a story that Alex will be hearing about every holiday, birthday and other family occasion for the rest of his goddamn life to look forward to.

Alex shouldn’t have let Nora goad him on. But he was restless, and he did. He can’t be too mad though, not when his own stupidity led to him meeting Henry.

call it what you want to by rizcriz. T, 3.8k. It’s.

Not a secret, exactly.

It’s just, time fucking flies when you’re having fun and before anyone knows it you’re six months deep in a relationship that feels like its going to stand the test of time and neither you nor your boyfriend know how to sit down your friends and family and tell them the truth. And, okay, this is kind of their faults, in a way, because they had agreed to test the limits of their relationship in the privacy of their apartment and never really in front of anyone else—

Okay, fuck, maybe it is a secret.

A different kind of Crown Court by clottedcreamfudge. E, 4k. Henry doesn't even really want to be courted, is the thing; the freedom to be himself is absolutely lovely, and he wouldn't give it up for anything, but the idea of marrying a single one of the obsequious, boring, or downright strange men he's come across so far fills him with dread. Why can't he just be himself for a while? Why can't he just… Well, not play the field exactly, but—

Actually, yes. That's exactly what he wants to do.

I Miss You Exceptionally by ronans. NR, 4.2k. Alex’s jaw clenches more and more tightly as he catches Henry’s name floating around in various strangers’ conversations. It’s not a surprise, obviously, but it doesn’t really sit well.

‘I can hear your teeth cracking,’ Nora says, shoving his arm.

‘I’m sorry if I’m not exactly thrilled that my ears are getting railed by the name of the guy who flew across an ocean to avoid me.’

‘I thought you were into that.’

Or, Alex Claremont-Diaz has been blanked for five years after kissing his college roommate, when said college roommate writes perhaps the most devastating novel Alex has never read.

kitchen confidential by @dumbpeachjuice. T, 4.3k. The NDA is approximately a mile long.

“Jesus fuck,” Alex splutters. “What, is their favourite film The Menu or something? Am I gonna come out of this one alive?”

Or, the one where Alex is hired to cater a private dinner party for Prince Henry and his friends, and it does not go as he expects.

Sleep With Me by HMS_Chill. G, 4.3k. Ever since high school, Alex has been falling asleep to the same podcast: Sleep With Me, where a British man named Tilney tells rambling bedtime stories and gives positive affirmations. But after they're outed, the podcast goes quiet, and Tilney may be closer than Alex thinks.

dad of honour by stutteringpeach. G, 4.6k. Henry and Alex are getting married. Arthur knows just what to do.

in need of assistance by stutteringpeach. G, 4.6k. Henry has a crush on Alex. Arthur can tell.

9 to 5 by smc-27. T, 4.7k. Henry is Alex’s favourite colleague. By a fucking country mile, to be honest. He’s intensely competent, has an insane memory for process and policy, and is kind to everyone.

Also? He’s fucking pretty, and Alex might be new to bisexuality, but he’s not that new. He knows what he likes, and what he likes are men with pretty eyes and kind smiles and nice cheekbones and English accents.

Other men, too, but like. Be serious. Henry’s top of the list.

Unfortunately, Henry lives in London. Alex lives in New York City. They work closely together and meet once a week, if not more, and Slack one another almost every day. Alex is on the legal team, and Henry is in business operations, and the second Alex met Henry for the first time, he knew he was truly fucked.

the love of my life, forever by coffeecatsme. T, 4.8k. “So,” the host of the talk show starts, eyes glimmering with excitement as he gazes at Alex over the desk, “your new single. I think anyone here would agree that it felt like a death by a thousand cuts, listening to those lyrics. If you don’t mind me asking… There’s been a lot of speculation online about who the song is about.”

Alex flips his curls to the other side, trying not to smile. “Uh huh.”

Or, 5 times the media speculates Alex is dating someone else and 1 time they realize he's been with Henry all this time.

when you know, you know by vibrantsaturn. T, 4.9k. With shaky hands, Henry pulls out the ring from the box, looking at Alex with tearful eyes that he adores so much. Asks, "Alex, darling, will you marry me?"

Alex lets out a watery laugh, swiping an arm across his face to get rid of the rapidly falling tears. He kneels down to cup Henry's face and brushes his thumbs across his cheekbones softly.

"Baby. Don't you remember?" Alex whispers, leaning their foreheads together. "We're already married."

or,

Alex "marries" his best friend when he's six-years-old. It just takes some time for them to fall in love, but they get there.

for you, i'd set the world on fire by softcinnamonroll. T, 5k. Alex was four years old when he first witnessed love in person. He was out for lunch with his abuela and June, munching on a cheese sandwich when a couple sitting a few tables over from them caught his eye. It was a young couple, around his mommy and daddy’s age, and they were holding hands and feeding each other spoonfuls of their dessert.

[or Alex just really wants to fall in love]

Burnin' Through The Sky by @cricketnationrise. E, 5k. This whole thing is Nora’s fault, actually, and he will hold this against her for the rest of their natural lives. Possibly into the next. His personal life is fine. It’s possible he was whining about not having dated anyone since his last boyfriend, but this event is so clearly not going to fix that problem.

Or: Alex wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at speed dating, let alone anyone like Henry.

Library Requests by M0ssPiglet. T, 5.5k. “You read anything good recently?”

“I’m currently re-reading Pride and Prejudice?” Henry offers, and phrases it as a question because he’s a dimwit.

“Ya, that checks out,” Alex says, cocking an eyebrow. “But I’m looking for something that’s, I dunno, actually fun. You got any recommendations?”

Alex gives him a smile, like this is just the kind of thing you ask a librarian. Henry supposes that actually, it probably is.

“Right, well, I can probably help with that too.” Henry grabs another scrap of paper, scribbles down The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue and pushes it over to Alex. “Since you seem like the kind of person who thrives on debauchery and general lawlessness.”

A 5 +1 where Henry’s a librarian who flirts via book recommendation, and one time Alex flirts back.

Little Talks by harrysglasses. G, 5.7k. “Tío, Mr Fox likes you.”

“What?” Alex’s heart skips a beat, a forkful of spaghetti halfway up to his mouth.

“Oh my god, Alex,” June hisses, “Have you been F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G with my daughter’s teacher.”

Alex is roped into doing the school run for his niece while crashing at June and Nora’s house for the summer. He stops bitching about it once he meets the teacher, Mr Fox.

before the first light by @dumbpeachjuice. T, 5.7k. “I don’t feel anyone. And I’m not going to feel anyone. Because I don’t have a soulmate.”

Alex looks confused. “What? Everyone has a—“

“I don’t have a soulmate,” Henry tells him with a sigh, “because I don’t have a soul.”

just give me a minute by smc_27. T, 5.8k. Alex isn’t obsessed.

He just thinks Henry is fucking beautiful and perfect and smart and so, so talented. He just thinks Henry’s fingers look gorgeous on his piano. He just thinks they like the same things and have similar opinions. And he just thinks if they could be in the same place at the same time, they might like, have something.

Okay, he’s a little obsessed.

Or: Alex is trying to be a GROUPIE here, but his kindness keeps getting in the way.

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel. E, 5.9k. “So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually.

“No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.”

Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?”

(Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

In the Dog Days by chamel. T, 6.1k. Henry had been so excited when he’d announced it to their little group, gathered one evening at the pub, that David was going to be coming over to the States. He’d gone on and on—an impossibly soft look in his eyes—about how much he missed him, and how great it would be to finally have him here, and how everyone would love him.

Alex has his doubts. He’s not jealous, because that would be absurd. Henry’s one of his best friends. It’s not— It’s not like that between them. He’s happy for Henry, truly.

He just doesn’t understand why Henry wouldn’t previously have mentioned that his boyfriend is a fucking shapeshifter.

(Alex isn’t exactly thrilled to meet Henry’s boyfriend David—obviously a shapeshifter—but what really bothers him is the fact that David refuses to show his human face.)

heartbeats under coats by HypnosTheory. E, 6.1k. Alex, a DC lawyer on his way back from a work trip, is stranded in New York after a freak blizzard grounds all flights. He gets the last available hotel room on the island, but a freak error means the room is double booked. Unwilling to leave the other stranded, both men agree to share the room and wait out the blizzard together.

Want you BRIMNESxt to me by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.2k. "On the bright side," Henry continues, still smiling slightly, "the staff and any stranded customers have been given permission to do the one thing every IKEA employee dreams of being able to do."

Alex thinks that the one thing this IKEA employee dreams of being able to do would probably get him fired, so he just raises his eyebrows in question until Henry elaborates.

"We can stay over in the showroom beds, Alex. That's what we've been given permission to do."

So begins The Great IKEA Blackout Sleepover of 2021.

(i would stay forever if you say) don't go by coffeecatsme. T, 6.3k. The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away.

A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was.

To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

Turnabout's Fair Play by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.5k. He manages to get a couple of hours' sleep – after working himself into a rage that works wonderfully at burning through all the caffeine and adrenaline – and pretends to still be asleep the entire time Liam's up and getting ready for work.

And cheating. Work and cheating. Because those texts were from yesterday and Liam said tomorrow, which is... Today. Cool. Liam's putting on his shoes by the front door and fucking off to cheat on Alex after five years of being together, and that's totally fine. Alex has gone past upset and straight through to vengeful.

shake it loose together by stutteringpeach. E, 6.5k. Alex is in the corner of his sister’s bachelorette party sporting the most confused boner of his life.

“Buckle up, cowpeople!” one of the strippers is yelling. He’s wearing nothing but a neon pink thong and suspenders. “It’s time to see how well you can ride the bucking bronco!”

‘Pony’ comes on, because of course it fucking does, there are strippers at this party. It’s basically written into the constitution at this point—where there are strippers, thou shalt play Ginuwine. Fucking Channing Tatum and his ridiculously chiseled abs.

Love is Thai food and crepe paper by clottedcreamfudge. T, 6.5k. "Jennifer says, 'love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs'," Henry says, just as the microwave goes 'ding' in an annoyingly accusatory way. Alex glares at it. He's not in love with Henry; they're just goddamn arepas.

Have You Tried Turning it Off and On Again? by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.6k. It’s been a month and Henry’s absolutely not making up IT issues to call a stranger who lives on the other side of a vast ocean, except that he’s doing precisely that. He’s managed to figure out that Gabriel is five hours behind him, but that doesn’t narrow things down particularly well, even in a country with multiple time zones.

Not that he’s trying to narrow it down. It’s dangerous enough feeling this connected to someone whose voice is an octave or two lower than the crown would allow, let alone when-

Well, when his heart belongs completely and irrevocably to someone else already. He’s already gone and handed it to someone he can’t have and who doesn’t even bloody want him back, so maybe that’s why this whole thing is so compelling to him. He can’t give his heart away twice, can he? Not when Alex Claremont-Diaz is already holding it in his hands, whether he knows it or not.

Foreign Bodies by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.7k. “We both know it's not a doctor you need,” Henry says, sharp and beautiful, hands hovering just in front of him like he wants to touch Alex, but knows exactly how it would be received; like he knows Alex would burst into fucking flames at the first brush of his fingertips.

Three hours ago, Alex had been quite happy to live without being burned. Now, he thinks he'd pay for the privilege.

You Know the Rules by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.7k. "Understood," Bea says seriously, eyes on the screen. "Loud and clear. You're terrified of commitment."

"No—"

"And you think that it's your erotic fiction driving men away, when in fact it's your lack of desire to connect with anyone," Bea continues, drowning out Henry's loud protestations. "It's clear to me now. Victor could have ditched the candles and bought you that antique writing set you wanted and it would never have been enough for you because you didn't want to be seen."

Rendered silent by his own confusion and Bea's profound wrongness, Henry stares at her for a good few minutes before he manages to find his voice. "What utter bollocks."

Kind of a weird question by @gallifrey1sburning. T, 6.9k. “You’re so sure?” Nora asked, and the glint in her eyes told Alex, very clearly, that nothing good was going to come from this. So, of course, he doubled down.

“100%. Photoshoot, performance art, whatever, I don’t care. That is not just some guy hanging out on the High Line looking like he just… I don’t know, wandered off of some beach in England where he was staring moodily out to sea waiting for his lost love or some shit. There’s no way.”

“Fifty bucks says you’re wrong.”

“And how the fuck do you intend to settle that bet?”

“Easy. You go ask him.”

I fall to pieces when I'm with you by viciouslyqueer. E, 6.9k. If once is an accident, and twice is a coincidence, when it happens a third time Henry really starts to think about it.

Three times Alex doesn't want Henry to touch him and one time he understands why.

Red, White & Royal Goose by fairestfaerie. T, 7k. Happy Gooseday Alex Claremont-Diaz!

Or, the First Prince soulmate goose AU that literally no one asked for.

Original prompt: soulmate au where one person finds a goose who leads them to the other person. the difficulty comes in not being mauled by a goose

i open my eyes and i see that it's you by weather_stained. T, 7.2k. Henry plans to spend the week relaxing at Lake LBJ with Bea and David, but he doesn't anticipate the near-drowning, the concussion, or the beautiful stranger who quickly endears himself to Henry—after nearly killing him, that is. Who needs relaxation when you have Alex Claremont-Diaz in your life?

who ya gonna call? by @anincompletelist. M, 7.2k. Henry is a ghostwriter. Alex is a little confused on what exactly that means.

Chasing Butterflies by quill_and_ink. E, 7.3k. "'Hey, how's it going? Nice weather today, yeah? Cute dog, what's his name? Quick question for you - d'you wanna choke me with your dick?'"

Piss-up in a brewery by clottedcreamfudge. E, 7.3k. "I hate this," Alex says, not for the first time, and Henry covers his face with his hands.

"Yes," he says, a little muffled, "that's coming across."

"It's not, like, personal," Alex clarifies, even though it fucking is. "I just don't really like sleeping with other people. I mean, sleeping in beds with other people. I like having sex-"

"Yes, alright," Henry says peevishly, not moving his hands at all. "You needn't extol further on your love of intercourse."

"Who the fuck talks like that?"

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by @historicallysam. T, 7.5k. Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

Can't Buy Me Love by @everwitch-magiks. M, 7.6k. Alex is a high end escort. Henry is his wealthiest client. He's also a total asshole, which Alex has zero patience for. He'd never let a client walk all over him like that, not even one with striking features and an air of firm authority that Alex has to keep reminding himself he’s not attracted to. But over time, Alex learns there's more to Henry than fiery insults and cruel dismissal. So much more. Alex is in so much fucking trouble.

He should end things with Henry before he gets burned.

(He couldn't end things with Henry if he got paid for it.)

Class(room) Warfare by chamel. M, 7.7k. “So what you’re telling me is that you’ve begun some kind of weird aggressive mating ritual with an English professor,” Nora says around obscenely large bites of her burrito.

“How the fuck—” Alex splutters, because he honestly has no clue how she came to that conclusion. “We’re not flirting. We’re at war.”

(It starts with a polite request to erase the whiteboards at the end of class. It gets a lot more ridiculous before it ends.)

it’s (not) the end of the world as we know it by viciouslyqueer. T, 7.8k.

BREAKING NEWS: SHOOTING AT NYC’S GAY CLUB ‘Ritz Bar and Lounge’.

June is saying something. He can’t hear her – or anything else for that matter. It’s like his brain decided to shut down and not comprehend anything in front of him.

The only thing he’s aware of is a thought at the back of his mind, hitting him with such force it’s all he can focus on – no matter how much it makes his knees give out under him, how his heart feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest and stabbed repeatedly with a sharp knife, cut into a thousand pieces with no possible repair.

Henry is in New York.

Actors Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox meet on the set of ‘Roses, Wisteria, and Royal Bluebells’, and stay friends after filming is over. When a catastrophe happens that tips Alex's world off its axis, he realizes just how deep his feelings for Henry run.

Dr. Dickhead series by cmere. E, 8k. Alex doesn't really understand why boring and pretentious Professor Henry Fox volunteers to help out at his students' events every semester, but he needs all the help he can get, so he's just gonna have to put up with him.

Blooming Lovely by Celaestis. T, 8.1k. "Yes, but we all know she hates chocolate. I feel like it's harder to say a big passive-aggressive 'fuck you' with flowers, that's all."

"Orange lilies," Alex blurts from behind the counter.

The man stops, turning his full attention on Alex. Alex realises pretty is an inadequate adjective; he's hotter than the surface of the fucking sun. Y'know, objectively. "I beg your pardon?"

lying in the low light by smc_27. E, 8.5k. The thing about having a one night stand with the guy your sister is close friends with and gatekept from you is that it becomes really fucking important that she never knows.

Or, Alex and Henry have a one year stand.

Or, Alex and Henry are in a relationship, only they’re the only ones who don’t know it.

blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine by @jackwolfes. M, 8.8k. "Do try to make a good impression tonight,” Henry mutters under his breath.

Alex’s jaw clenches just for a moment before he wills himself to relax. “Only if you try to get that stick out of your ass.”

After two months - two dreadfully long, boring months - of being married to a man that seemingly does not want anything to do with him, Alex gets a tip that his husband is going to be the target of an assassination attempt. He deals with it about as well as you'd expect him to.

ft: light whump, rash decisions, and sex in a bath tub.

all the words we don’t know by @smc-27. M, 9.2k. Henry, who Alex has never met or seen, and if he had, he’d certainly have a better reaction now. Something other than standing there and staring and not saying anything.

The only thing that makes him feel marginally okay with it is Henry is doing the same thing.

Then he seems to snap out of it, literally give his head a shake, and say, “You must be Alex.”

“Yeah.” He sticks his hand out too abruptly, and Henry looks down at it like hand shaking is a foreign concept. “Hi. Henry?”

booty shorts (a saga) series by coffeecatsme. E, 9.3k. Men should not be allowed to wear skin tight spandex shorts, Alex decides, as he watches the stupidly tall blonde dip into his millionth squat in a row.

Or, 5 times Alex stares at Henry's ass, and 1 time he does something about it.

Or, 5 + 1 times Henry wears tight booty shorts and Alex has feelings about it.

You're The Best Thing That's Never Been Mine by @cityofdownwardspirals. T, 9.4k. He can admit to himself that Henry is indeed the most attractive man he has laid eyes upon. Any person with common sense would agree with him there so he doesn’t read that much into it. He argues that that is why he started sweating when Henry smiled at him, just like he sometimes sweats when he watches Star Wars and he sees Han Solo on screen. Just two objectively attractive men, nothing more.

What he can’t understand is the fact that Henry was very bluntly flirting with him.

And while the flirting itself did not make Alex uncomfortable, he had to remind himself that Henry was one of his clients and that his fiancée was just outside the door while Henry flirted with him.

Henry is getting married and his soon-to-be wife surely won’t appreciate him hitting on a guy or that guy being their wedding planner.

He needs to get a grip.

The Woes of a Professional Matchmaker by ronans. T, 9.9k. ‘Mr Clare-‘ Henry almost chokes when he lays eyes on the man in the waiting room. ‘…mont-Diaz.’

‘You’re about to do a deep dive into my personal life, pretty sure you can call me Alex.’

Henry clears his throat. ‘Uh, quite. Alex. I’m Henry Fox.’

Alex beams at him and stands up, adjusting his burgundy blazer as he goes. Christ. The air between them clouds with the smell of Alex’s unbearably tasteful cologne as he moves past Henry into the office.

He’s fucked. Absolutely fucked.

Or, Henry runs a matchmaking business. Alex is his newest client.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Two

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Three

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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angel-of-the-moons · 29 days

Text

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None literally just filler lmao

A/N: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO PUT STUFF OUT LIFE IS JUST... IT'S BEEN INSANE THE PAST FEW MONTHS

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

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Chapter 11:

Good Food And Cat Fuzz

Jake grinned at you as you shuffled about your kitchen, chittering about some interesting things you’d read about the other day on some ancient ruin that was found in Greece because of a construction site. It was difficult to summon the interest in the subject, the overwhelming love of history and ancient cultures that Steven had, but he let you talk nonetheless.

His eyes softened as you carefully sliced the pork tenderloin and drizzled the sauce over it. Even uncooked, the thing smelt heavenly. Maybe letting you volunteer him for this little dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Steven was an amazing cook, yes, but not being able to really indulge in animal products left Jake’s cooking skills a little stagnant; because Jake refrained from buying groceries that might upset him.

Steven assured him that, yes, he understands that they all have different dietary preferences, that it was no reason to “neglect himself”. But, his concerns were never really on himself. The focus was on Marc, Steven, other people… you.

His thought bubble was popped when Puck mewed and just casually hopped up into his lap with a purr.

He grinned down at the black feline and began stroking her fur, “Hey, chiquita. Cozy, I see?”

Puck purred louder in response, leaning into his touch; her little body relaxed and oh-so-casual. She was possibly one of the friendliest little cats he’d ever encountered.

He didn’t notice when you had ceased your adorable rambling, leaning with your arms on the countertop, the pork forgotten for the moment as you slowly smiled at Jake; his arms curving gently to let Puck crawl into his embrace, rubbing her cheek on his shirt, her purr so loud you could hear it from where you were standing.

He murmured a conversation with Puck for a good minute or two, Puck giving little “mrrp’s” or “muh’s” in reply, as if she was genuinely speaking with him back.

“Mhmm,” You could hear him softly mutter. “Yes, oh, yes. I know. Life is so very tough for someone who doesn’t have to pay taxes.” Puck mewed a bit louder.

“Si, si, carino.” He grinned, his bushy mustache quirking up. You had to admit, he was… handsome. Sweet. The beard he was growing suited him nicely, as well. Puck put her front paws on his chest and sniffed his chin.

“What? No, I know you don’t pay taxes, you little felon…”

Puck smashed her head into his mouth with an affectionate purr, making him laugh and tip his head to avoid getting a mouth full of cat fur. And, doing so, he realized that you were watching him.

Watching him with that beautiful, sweet smile of yours.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled as his tanned skin flushed with embarrassment and you make a shoo’ing gesture. “You two sound like you were having a riveting conversation!”

Jake looked off to the side and coughed into his hand. “Well, animals benefit from, uh, conversation. I read online that, uh… it’s good for… stimu… lation..." He struggled.

You laugh once again and turn to place the tenderloin into your oven to cook. “Oh, yes, Puck over there is quite the conversationalist.”

As if to agree with you, Puck meowed loudly, making you both chuckle.

The abashed glow on Jake’s cheeks dulls a bit as he shakes his head. “She… is.”

“She seems taken with you.” You smile, walking over to the duo and stroking behind one of Puck’s ears.

Standing so close, Jake could smell your perfume–a sweet, sugary smell that blended with the spices of your cooking. God, it was intoxicating. He wished he could pull you against him and kiss you–

“Wanna sit on the couch while dinner cooks? I’d sit with you at the table but the chairs are sooooo uncomfy.” You say, knocking his thoughts back to reality.

Jake coughs, almost concerned for a moment that maybe you might pick his train of thought out of thin air and call him out on it. He reaches up and scratches his hairy upper lip with one finger, “Oh. Sure.”

Puck mewed and squeaked when Jake cradled her in one arm and let you lead the way to your couch (as if he couldn’t see it from where he had been sitting previously).

You chuckled at how attached to Jake Puck seemed to be, and literally hopped onto your couch cushions, Puck expertly clambering out of Jake’s arms to walk along the back of the couch, staring up at him expectantly, as if to say, “Come on! Sit!”

He shook his head with a chuckle and walked around the opposite side as you popped on some random documentary about Pompeii. “Someone’s a history nerd like Steven, I see.” He teased.

You grinned at him as Puck wasted no time in claiming his lap as her special spot to snuggle, purring loudly as he began to stroke her silky fur, “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always been fascinated by ancient cultures.”

“So has Steven.” Jake murmured, feeling a pit of guilt gnaw at the lining of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, a dark brow rising on his forehead inquisitively. “How long have you been obsessed with this stuff, Rosa?”

“Oh, geez…” You prop your head back, your throat exposed as you stare at the ceiling deep in thought. Jake swore he could see your pulse thump in your neck, and the thought made a nervous bead of cold sweat dribble down his spine, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“I think it has something to do with my old man,” You finally say. “He was always reading those kinds of books to me, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, China… stuff like that. He was a professor who spoke at seminars and local libraries.”

Jake blinked at you, “A professor?”

“Yeah! An archaeologist.” You grin nostalgically. “It’s where he met my mom, actually. Some people couldn’t tell by meeting her, but I am pretty sure she was from somewhere in Egypt. Not Cairo or Luxor, but… somewhere. My dad liked to brag that he “brought his work home with him.””

Jake gives a short, dry laugh as he turns to look at the screen. Wow. You really were perfect for them. Right down to having ties to the very place Steven often obsessed over; the place where Khonshu first found them…

“How’d they meet, exactly?”

“Well, Dad said something along the lines of meeting at some local bar after they found some small, obscure little tomb in Saqqara. He and his buddies apparently got drunk, almost got into a fight with some locals, and my mom “swooped in” to save them by punching one of them and cursing some absolutely foul things at them.”

You giggle, "But, that might just be my dad’s way of embellishing the tale. Mom once said she met my dad doing something dumb and hurling in a trash can.”

“Ah, love at first sight.” Jake joked with a laugh, imagining the scene himself.

“Not entirely.” You point out, smiling at him, mirth in your eyes.

His eyebrows shoot up once again, “Qué?”

“My mom hated my dad at first. She was one of those “I don’t wanna be shackled to some rando my entire life” kinda people… She had just earned a degree in… well, everything a doctor normally does. She practically ran the local hospital in the town where I grew up.”

“Oh, damn… no kidding?” Jake huffed. “So, what changed?”

“She agreed to meet with my dad, one last time before he came back to the states.” You sigh, smiling bittersweetly. It was good to talk about them, but it still made your heart cinch in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have them around to talk to anymore…

“He began rambling, about the tomb, mostly. The mummified cats, a mummified baby crocodile, and of course, some tablets and scrolls, as well as y'know, the well-preserved murals.” You giggle. “It was some kinda temple, or holy place or…”

“Or something." Jake finishes with a charming grin, making you nod with another sweet chuckle.

“Yeah. She told me, halfway through his mile-a-second rambling, that something just clicked in her brain. Something in her head told her, “No, I can’t live without this nerd.” And she went with him.”

“Heh… that’s…”

“About as storybook as how I inherited my shop?” You snark.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t wanna offend you or anything…” He mused, his furry lip quirking up in a smirk.

“Nah, I’m used to it.” You reply, waving your hand dismissively. “She traveled with him, her knowledge of the local areas and languages as well as a medical background made her a no-brainer in terms of needing an interpreter and medic at a digsite. But, after my mom found out I was coming along, they settled in my dad’s hometown and stayed there.”

“Wow, when did they find out you were making your grand entrance?” He asked curiously.

“Well…” You smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “...Let’s just say there’s a reason I had a onesie with the words “made in Egypt” on it…”

Jake gasped, trying to reign in his laughter. “No.”

“Yep. Apparently they didn’t care that the only thing separating them and the entire team was a slip of canvas, and… oh this is so gross.” You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and give a short bark of laughter. “I’m not gonna go on.”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Jake began snickering. “No child wants to imagine their parents during–ahem-- “the making of” portion of your life, so to speak.”

You curl in on yourself in laughter at his rather blunt and astute summarization of your thoughts. Puck meowed at you, standing on Jake’s thigh with the tip of her tail curved as her big green eyes blinked at you slowly.

You finally remember your feline companion’s presence, realizing now that she was probably getting jealous that you two were paying more attention to each other than her... So, you leaned over (rather close to Jake; not even realizing how he stiffened up at the gesture) and gave your little black cat a kiss on her cute little forehead, loving the little “prrbt” she made as she mashed her head into your lips.

You look up at Jake, “So… how’d you and your “separated at birth” brothers meet?”

Jake immediately coughed, tugging the collar of his shirt a bit nervously, “Well…”

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Layla sat on the edge of the building, looking down into your flat through your open window from above, kicking her feet and grinning as she held her cheeks in her palms, her elbows on her knees.

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy to be spying on them, Layla?” Taweret asked, a chubby little brow curving in soft reprimand.

“Oh, c’mon, Taweret.” Layla said, looking up at her. “Jake is getting close to her… maybe he’ll open up, about himself or the other two, or…”

“...Or you were just being nosey.” She said, putting her hand on her hips and wagging a finger at the woman.

“Can't it be both?”

“Oh, you're just terrible!” The goddess sighed.

“Hey… she's perfect for them, Taweret… I jus’ wanna see how this starts out. And… I hope Jake will tell the boys about her. I worry about them, y'know.”

The hippo-woman sighed once again, a small frown on her muzzle, “As do I, m’love. We can only pray for the best.”

She looked around warily.

“...And hope Khonshu doesn't have something up his sleeve.”

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Chapter 12: Link

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #a rose under the moon

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

Text

Last Line Tag Game

rules: in a new post, show the last line(s) you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like).

Tagged by @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse @chronically-ghosted @pedroshotwifey

So I think I’ll give three last lines, because it’s what I’ve been working on, first up is Din Djarin smut. I was supposed to be writing fluff, between @alltheglitterandtheroar and @megamindsecretlair it changed for the better and teasing is always fun. ☺️

Both arms pull Din’s head to your chest, the sharp inhale of air before he’s buried in your body has you whining. The intensity of just two of this thick fingers have you close to your second orgasm but he removes them, a pop then a second as he mouth part from your nipple. “Taste yourself, then you’ll come twice for me.”

Second is from “This is the Neighboorhood Din” my modern Din AU:

“Dear Lord in heaven I am not dressed or prepared to talk to that sort of man any day.” She muttered as Ms. Harris made her way down the stairs toward her, she hugged her, and her arms wrapped around her as well, eye still lingering on the man sitting on the porch. His sweatpants did not leave much to the imagination. They weren’t tight by any means; one could just trace the lines. Thick thighs and well… heavy in the middle is the most polite way to say it. The only way she can think to describe it while hugging her aunt.

Third, last line from chapter 5 of “The Lake Between Us” (yes I do have future chapters written I planned! Unheard of in Nerdie-land)

“That I did Moonbeam. You should be cautious of my motives, but I can start at the beginning of my troubles for you if you like.” He placed his hand on hers, running up her arm to her shoulder and drew a small circle around her mole. “Be forewarned, the past is neither rosy nor glamorous. It is fraught with hardship, double-crosses and some death.”

Moonbeam grinned, nodding as he spoke, “Sounds like a thriller Ezra. I’m all ears. Add a dash of romance and some mistaken identity and you have yourself a movie marathon.”

“I’m sure you’d be riveted to hear it.”

“That I would.” Moonbeam crosses her legs and leans forward, touching his chin with a finger, “Speak.”

Lastly, I might be trying finish my Dave York series finally. 👀 Or one of them, though I’m not sure all of them are on Tumblr. I think I write too much stuff and it get’s jumbled. This is a softer Dave:

At her core, Kiara felt safe with him. It hurt to admit though she wasn’t exactly sure why, pride maybe? Maybe she wanted to continue to be independent but she hadn’t been for a few months now.

No. Not when she really thought about it.

Her head was leaning against the steering wheel, the nurse had seen his SUV parked in the driveway. Dave pretty much lived with her now, though she didn’t remember giving him a key. He hadn’t needed a key their first night together either.

I’m also working on “Roc & Doc” and crafting the murder mystery since I killed off Rockford’s partner and introduced his brother. What role will his brother play? We’ll see. Also, if you’re going to be a furry for the night, make sure you can in and out of your suit. 😎

Chapter 5 of “Weddings 101 with Dieter” is under way as well. I want a lot to be in it, might be too much. We’ll see how it turns out, also smut because Dieter’s gotta get Maya’s dress off - he did promise her that. 😘 Half-ass and Bridezilla are in full swing!

It’s a lot like always because it’s Nerdie, what else am I supposed to do? Too many ideas, not enough follow-through. I did four instead of three. 😵

NPT: @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @rhoorl (for the sweatpants) @linzels-blog for Din @inept-the-magnificent @soft-girl-musings @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @lady-bess @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @gemmahale @laurfilijames @avastrasposts @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tightjeansjavi @frenchiereading @boliv-jenta @thefrogdalorian @trulybetty @kewwrites @beefrobeefcal @fhatbhabie

And whoever else saw all this and was like, let me do it too! ☺️

#last line tag #last line challenge #last line game #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #dieter bravo #tim rockford #ezra prospect #wips #wip

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stillcarmine · 1 year

Text

The ‘that guy was creepy’ thing gets talked about, but at the end of Mark of Athena, Leo can tell Nico’s not telling the whole truth and still isn’t someone he completely trusts. If there had to be a reason Leo disliked him- and if it was actually explored- that should have been the crux of the issue. And considering they have such polar opposite methods of coping with their trauma, and how they present themselves, that seems like something that could set the other off.

They get into a fight and start mocking each other’s demeanors, like Leo setting his hands on fire and straightening the front of his hair so it falls over one of his eyes, hunches his shoulders and says in a raspy voice, “It’s me. The Shadow King.”

Nico seethes and contorts his face into a big grin, popping up on his toes and saying in an overly cheery voice, “Don’t you mean The Ghost King? You know, ‘cause you're so pale. Ba dum tss!”

The whole thing is so uncanny Leo almost stops right then. But he's more furious than freaked out (just barely) because he has never- at least in years- done the fake drum thing.

He tosses his head to swing his hair out of his eye, then lets it fall back in place. “Yes, it’s so strange, considering how close to the sun I am all the time, hiding in the crow's nest.”

“We should rename it The Raven's Nest then, ba dum tss!” Nico exclaims.

This continues on and off when they don't have demigod business to deal with, and it’s weird, because Leo finds that it’s nice not to have to keep a smile hitched on his face all the time, and to not have to fill every silence with chatter, and since the rest of the crew think he’s just being an asshole to Nico, they don’t ask him if there’s anything wrong.

Spending so much time thinking of jokes distracts Nico from dwelling on his experiences in the jar and in Tartarus. He face aches after smiling and his sides from laughing so much and that distracts him from the shakiness in the rest of his body. It helps put the others at ease a bit, because they hadn’t been sure how to approach him or help him with the trauma he’d just been through.

Leo steals the crow's nest and sits up there in the wind, and he’ll admit, it’s nice, the breeze in his hair, the sky open before him, makes him feel like he’s in a movie. He hates being alone with his thoughts, but it's easier not to think up there. At least until he has to get back to work on repairs to the ship, because he’s a dick, but not that much of a dick. Nico grinds his teeth seeing that his hiding place is occupied, and figures he may as well stand at the helm, and the extremely complicated control panel is a feat to make sense of, but he is Committed to the Bit.

Sometimes the deck is occupied, and the rigging still seems too close considering he's engaged in conversation with the other crew members already, and might have to do it again when he doesn’t have the energy. When that happens, Nico goes down to the engine room where Leo's working and just stands there, banging a hammer against a rivet that doesn't need to be hammered, just to make unnecessary noise. Considering that the engine room is the loudest place on the ship already, it doesn't have much impact, which Leo manages to convey with a stare through his fringe at Nico.

Nico keeps doing it anyway.

They manage to get the other to break character a few times, like when Leo’s talking about “-my stupid baby bat wing hair-“ and Nico does a double take and asks, “My what?”

But Leo’s still talking, “-maybe a whole bat motif-“ and he makes a mental note to suggest Nico make himself some Stygian Iron Batarangs. Would he get copyrighted for that?

At lunch one day, Nico manages to startle a laugh out of Piper and Leo slams down his cup and shouts, “I told that joke last week!”

Nico just stares at him and says, “Nico tell a joke? That sounds really weird.”

“Oh, not as weird as Leo remembering something so far back as a week ago!” Leo shoots back.

“I’m pretty sure Nico vowed in the Styx to never crack a smile!”

“Leo has a terrible sense of humor, no way he’d ever get anyone to laugh!”

“This is getting really meta,” Frank whispers to Hazel.

“Do you think they realize they’re just insulting themselves now?” She mutters back.

They’re some self-loathers, of course they end up insulting themselves.

Anyway, eventually they stop the Freaky Friday thing and their takeaway is that they’re really fucked up.

But it also shows them why the other behaves the way he does, and cools suspicions and irritations and makes it easier to work together.

#leo valdez #nico di angelo #piper mclean #hazel levesque #frank zhang #it could be read as #valdangelo #but really they just need friends and therapy #hoo #mark of athena #moa #heroes of olympus #house of hades

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aquagustd · 2 years

Text

doin’ time - PJM

after that…riveting evening spent with Jimin, you think he’d be the perfect candidate to help you with the few things that you don’t know after discovering that the real thing is far better than the books. he only has one rule: you’d have to keep your little arrangement a secret.

⤷ lust for life masterlist

pairing — step bro’s best friend!jimin x nerdy!reader

genre/rating — R | smut, fluff, slight angst, fwb2l

word count — 6.5K

play — doin’ time by lana del rey

warnings/tags — summer holiday, rich kids au, college au, strong language, small age gap, inexperienced!reader, flirty jimin, blond jimin, sexual discovery, corruption kink, insecurities, virgin!reader, vaping, manhandling, mouth fetish?, oc lowkey loves money, she’s v h0rny in the part lmao, mentions of masturbation, jimin’s unspoken rizz lmfao, explicit smut — dirty talk, a single spank, oral (m), he teaches oc some stuff 😵‍💫, cum eating, teasing, brief handjob, thigh riding, lots of kisses + one hickey, jimtiddies & biting

note: can be read as a stand-alone !! this jimin 🥴

Puberty. All over again.

Except this time you actually possess the courage to experiment with your own body. You’ve only ever flicked the bean, never really…dared to try and use your fingers. But after that night with Jimin – you’d like to believe he’s the cause – it’s just not enough. Both your hands were occupied, you felt like a cavewoman, hair all messed up as you squirmed and thrashed under the assault of your own fingers.

Imagining Jimin’s lips on your own. His cherry breath mingling with yours as he took you to the heights of pleasure.

One finger wasn’t enough.

Not even two, it seemed.

Three fingers knuckle deep in your own pussy as you lay on your stomach, fingers twisting at the sheets, all that happened between you the other night replaying in your mind like a broken record. Revisiting that moment – when he called your name so sweetly, cumming all over your tummy.

Late that night, it took you nearly two hours to comprehend what had transpired. Bordering insanity that Park Jimin kissed you, nearly fucked you, and more…all in one night. Your first night of intimacy with another person. You’re not sure if you’re happy or sad that he collected your firsts like infinity stones in only half an hour – but you’re one hundred percent sure that teenage you is living her best life right now.

You bring your fingers up to your lips, reminiscing, remembering how soft and plush his lips felt against yours. Tongue moving so expertly while you felt like you were levitating.

You’re glad that he asked for your number and didn’t give you his, since you would’ve lost your mind wondering when or if you should text him. Since it was probably just a one-time thing.

Collapsing on your bed, you bury your face in your pillow, letting out a tiny shriek.

If you don’t empty all this soon, you might explode.

You can’t even bring yourself to concentrate on your books anymore, mind so muddled with Jimin and his unholy tongue.

Hurriedly, you grab your phone from your nightstand, doing mental math just in case it’s a bad time to call Farah right now. But, to your surprise, your best friend answers on the first ring.

“Hey!”

“Oh my God, hiii,” you squeal, narrowing your eyes at her, “where are you?”

She holds up the phone, giving you a good view of what’s behind her. She seems to be in a marketplace, strolling past the stalls with an iced coffee in hand. Crowd chattering behind her.

“Mum and I went shopping.”

“That’s cool. What are you bringing home for me?”

She giggles, bringing the phone up to her face as she whispers, “it’s a surprise…anyway, why did you call?”

“Oh, oh,” you blush, suddenly shy as Jimin’s stupid face pops into your head. And then you’re second-guessing. Wondering if you should really tell her what happened. You know she won’t judge you, since she shared her firsts and everything else after that with you.

“What? Tell me!” She shouts from the other end of the line, apologizing to the bald man who happened to be standing a little too close when she yelled.

“Uhm,” you cough, covering half your face with one hand, “you remember Jimin. Well, of course you remember him.”

Her grey eyes go wide, “Jimin? Park Jimin?”

You chuckle nervously, “yeah… the only Jimin we know, Farah.”

“Wait, he’s back?”

Your eyebrows furrow, ��yeah…he came for my parents housewarming and—”

“When did he get back?”

“I don’t know, probably last weekend…I think.”

“How long is he staying?”

You snort, fist propped under your cheek, “since when do you care that much about him?”

She tuts, “we studied together, remember? Those two years in Germany.”

“Oh, right. That…totally slipped my mind.” Because it did. Farah, your step brother (who tagged along for a vacation), and his friends all left for two years to complete a business course in Germany over a year ago. But your mother didn’t let you go, of course. You’re still bitter over that.

Jimin had done the same course with them and while they were living it up there, you stayed home and finished your courses here. Missing out all on the fun.

“H-How is he?”

“Uh…he’s good, I guess.”

“Still charming all the girls? God, I used to have the biggest crush on him,” she sighs, eyes a little distant.

That has you raising an eyebrow. Since she never, ever brought up her crush on him, and when you were younger she used to tease you and force you into talking to him and ultimately, embarrass yourself.

“You had a crush on him?”

“Come on, ___. Who didn’t have a crush on Park Jimin? Anyway,” she clears her throat, hair swaying behind her as she weaves through the crowd, “what did you want to tell me?”

The dreamy look in her eyes makes you wonder if her sentiments toward him haven’t changed, and for that reason, you use it as an excuse to not tell her what happened. Not yet, that is.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” you smile, shuffling to the balcony when you hear the crunch of tires rolling into the driveway, “what time is your flight?”

“We’ll reach around 6 in the evening. I got to go, can’t wait to see you tomorrow!”

“Me too!”

“Bye, love you!”

“Love you too.” She ends the call at the right time, otherwise she would’ve witnessed your heart-eyed expression as you watched Jimin step out of his father’s car, wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt and black cap.

Looking…sexy.

You snap away from the balcony door when he looks up, missing the smirk playing on his lips as he greets your father.

Flinging your phone across the room, you scour your wardrobe for a cuter outfit, settling on a cute, white mini skirt and a pink jumper to go over. You know they’re probably here to discuss business with your parents, Jimin maybe came along to hang out with your brother, but you’d love to make your presence known.

As if Jimin would think you’re anywhere else but your parents’ place on a hot summers’ day.

Rushing downstairs, you survey your appearance in the hallway mirror, reapplying your lip gloss, before perching yourself on one of the couches in the lounge. The door to the conference room shuts just as you sit down. You curse – now you’d have to wait ‘til they leave so you can see him.

From your place in the lounge, you can hear the room fill with masculine laughter, your mother’s voice tinkering over theirs. It’s been like this since you were little, but after Jimin left, you didn’t care to make an appearance each time Jimin’s dad would come over to meet his business associates. Younger you was disheartened that he had chosen to complete his schooling abroad, and a major part of you resented your mother. She always prevented you from going out and living your life.

Sure she was just trying to protect you, but now you’re a fully grown adult and her behavior hasn’t changed. Like always, you’d have to search for the hidden motive behind her actions. But your conscience wouldn’t let you do that when it came to her over-protectiveness, since you’d label yourself as ungrateful.

Another quality she ingrained in your mind whenever you would complain about the smallest things.

However, you’re a hypocrite for saying that she hasn’t changed, when you’re none the better.

“What are you doing here?”

Your step brother, Doc, stands with his hands in his pockets at the top of the staircase, inquisitive stare burning into your face.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?” He chuckles, the sound echoing in your home, “I highly doubt that you left your room to come out here and do nothing.”

You level him with an exasperated stare, tucking your feet under your thighs.

“Can say the same for you.”

Busying yourself on your phone, you attempt to avoid his questions by looking away, but he’s merciless, sitting down next to you on the couch with that sickening perfume of his invading your senses.

“I think I know why you’re here.”

Startled, you look up from your phone screen, keeping your face as expressionless as possible.

“Do I need to have a profound reason every single time I step out of my room?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, corner of his mouth quirking up, “yeah, you kinda do.”

Rolling your eyes, you go back to scrolling through your messages when you hear the door to the conference room crack open, your step-father calling your name with his head tilted toward the staircase. You leap to your feet, shuffling around the pillars over to him.

“Oh, you’re here,” he chuckles, hand resting on your shoulder, “your mother and I have something to ask you. Come on.”

When you enter the room, sunlight beaming across the walls, your gaze falls on Jimin immediately, heart twisting in your chest…and another heartbeat thrumming between your legs.

He’s sat next to his father at the other end of the rectangular table, while your mother sits near the projector, wearing a sour expression. As usual.

Your father pulls out one of the grey chairs for you, “take a seat.”

Tentatively, you sit down, wondering why they’re being so formal.

“As you know,” your father begins, fingers slotting together, “Mr. Park’s company is currently undergoing a restructuring process. Planning a relaunch by the end of the year.”

Your eyes shift to Jimin, unable to see his expression since he’s covering the bottom half of his face with his hand, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“…Yeah.”

“Your mother and I have decided to manage the finance department until Mr. Park is back on track, so we were wondering if—”

“Listen,” your mother interrupts, reaching across the table for your hand, “you don’t have to say yes. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’ll only work four hours a day, Monday to Thursday,” your father informs, shooting a subtle glare, one you don’t miss, in your mother’s direction, “there won’t be much for you to do, since Jimin will be there to split the load.”

You gasp.

Then play off your gasp by laughing.

“Jimin…will be working with me?”

“Yes, dear, you have nothing to worry about. We just thought it would be nice for you to get some experience before you graduate and maybe,” your dad winks, “make some extra cash?”

You were sold when they said you’d be working four hours a day alongside Jimin. But you’d also be getting paid?! Now, this is an offer you can’t refuse.

“We’ll give you some time to—”

“Yes.”

Your mother’s brows shoot up to her hairline, clearly unhappy, “are you sure? You don’t have to do this.”

“Leave her,” your father beams, smacking his palms together, “at least she’d spend this holiday getting to know the ins and outs, eh? Since you’re joining us next year.”

You snort, “not sure about next year, but I’m perfectly fine working temporarily.”

“Good, your mother will be around to supervise, and we’ll negotiate the rest later,” he grins, nodding in Mr. Park’s direction.

Your palms are clammy, neck a little stiff as you all rise from your seats, Jimin’s dad and your parents’ exchanging formalities while Jimin watches you from behind them, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you swear you see his head jerk in the direction of the door, eyebrows lifting as he winks.

“We’ll see you on Monday, Ms. ___.”

You throw Mr. Park a quick smile, standing to the side as he and Jimin exit the room. Heartbeat accelerating, you’re trying to come up with an excuse to get Jimin alone. To talk to him. To get a good look at him. Anything.

Jimin falters in his step, hand held over his chest as he turns to your father, “before we go, can I use the bathroom?”

“Sure,” your father smiles, “___ will take you upstairs to the guest bathroom. ___?”

“O-Oh yeah,” you startle, hands clasped in front of you as you march toward the staircase, “come on.”

Hair at the back of your neck raising, you can’t shake his stare as he follows you around the house. And once the guest bathroom comes into sight, you stop, pointing to its general direction.

“There it i—”

You yelp as you feel your arm being yanked to the left, tossed into your own room with the door slamming behind you. Back pressed into the wall as he towers over you with his hands set on either side of your head.

“Hi.”

You swallow thickly, “hi.”

His gaze rakes down your figure, bottom lip tucked between his teeth – as if stripping you of your clothes with his siren eyes alone. Your blinds are open halfway, illuminating sections of his face which you think makes him look nearly angelic.

“How have you been?”

Fighting the urge to clench your thighs together, you can’t help but notice the sudden rasp to his voice, different compared to how he sounded earlier.

“I’ve been…good.”

He hums, index finger pushing back a chunk of your hair, “have you been thinking of me?”

You lick your lips, so parched.

“Mhm.”

All you can feel is the blood rushing through your veins, pressure pooling in your lower abdomen.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “of course.”

You scoff, “liar.”

His eyebrows furrow, a single strand of hair falling over his forehead.

“You haven’t texted me yet.”

“Oh,” he tuts, ringed fingers caressing the side of your face, “sorry princess. I’ve been busy all week.”

Something in your belly stirs after hearing that pet name – something he used to call you back when you were a child. The position you’re in right now gives it a whole different meaning.

“It’s okay.”

“They’re probably wondering why we’re gone so long,” he husks, cherry breath wafting over your face.

You stand upright, attempting to wiggle out of his hold – because you can’t have any of them banging on your door like the last time. The fear you felt that night when you heard your brother on the other side of the door. His hand flies to your waist, pulling you flush to his chest.

So close you can feel his heart thrum against your own chest, just as unsteady as yours.

“You’re not gonna give me a kiss before I go?”

There’s a slight whine in his voice, pouting as he keeps his gaze on your lips. It’s driving you crazy.

You’re doing the same, unable to tear your eyes away from his glossy mouth – trying to remember what they taste like despite having him right here for you to devour all over again.

“Should I…give you a kiss?”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, tongue darting out, “only if you want to.”

You’re breathless, fists pressed to his chest awkwardly but so comfortable at the same time, melting in his embrace.

“Why should I give you a kiss?”

His eyebrows lift, shiny teeth cracking through his smile, “because I know you want to.”

Your clit pulses, core clenching incessantly as he continues to undress you with his sinful gaze. But again, you’re doing the same – wishing you could feel his heated, bare body on yours. That’s all you’ve been thinking about after that night. Since all you saw was his dick. The main part – but there’s so much more you want to see. Want to taste.

“You said you’ve been thinking of me,” he purrs, cupid’s bow grazing your own, having your eyelashes flutter, “what have you been thinking about?”

“What we did…the other night.”

“Yeah? What else?”

Your gaze drops to his lips, thighs tensing when you remember the filthy things he did to you.

“Oh,” he grins, the hand that was on your waist lowering to grab a handful of your ass, “I bet you couldn’t stop thinking of that, huh? I bet you got so needy you couldn’t help but play with that pretty pussy.”

You nod weakly, gasping when he pinches your ass, “mhm.”

“Really?” He laughs wickedly, head cocking to the side, “tell me, how many times did you cum since that night?”

Shaking your head, you mumble out ‘I lost count,’ watching as awe sparks in his eyes, both hands grabbing at your ass now.

“How did you make yourself c—” he groans, eyes falling shut as he inhales a deep breath, pupils blown out once his eyes reopen “—I’m gonna be home all day. Alone. You can come over and maybe…we can talk about that kiss? Hm?”

“Okay,” you smile, palms lying flat against his padded chest, “your parents’ house?”

“No, my apartment. I’ll text you the address, okay?”

Hearing footsteps just outside your door, you send him a panicked look.

“Okay, I think you should go now,” you say begrudgingly, feeling up his chest.

He nods, making a move toward your door, then slowly spinning around to face you again, bending over to leave a peck on your cheek, one that has your whole face heating.

“See you later—” he gestures to your legs with his eyes, tongue wetting his lips “—wear that skirt when you come over.”

“O—kay.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves you in a state of confusion - panties drenched in your own slick.

After five minutes, you stand at the balcony door again to watch as they leave, hearing your phone vibrate on your dresser. Grinning to yourself, you save his number, excitement building as you think of what could happen after you two talk.

Despite how your fingers itch with nerves, your shoulders feel a bit lighter. After finding out that it wasn’t just a one-time thing with Jimin. You don’t know what you expected, but you know it would’ve been incredibly awkward if you just went on with your days, seeing each other now and again whenever he would come over, without addressing what happened that night.

But you know Jimin isn’t that type of guy. He wouldn’t act as if nothing happened, knowing that it was an experience for you since it was your first.

That’s why you’re driving over to his apartment, after mentally and physically preparing yourself for what might happen tonight. Things went so far with you, and it’s not like you’ve been ‘saving yourself’ for marriage or anything like that. You just haven’t found the right guy. Since you’ve been focusing on yourself and your career these past few years.

Maybe Jimin could be the guy you were looking for – the one who would be able to satisfy your needs without wanting anything more.

You’d just have to be careful of that silly crush you had on him in the past.

‘You have reached your destination.’

The parking lot next to his apartment building is packed, so you had to park across the road, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you jog over to the front doors. There’s a small booth to the side of the glass double doors, a burly man wearing uniform sat inside.

You’re wondering why Jimin isn’t staying over at his parents’ house if he’s just down for the holidays. Or maybe he’s not…just down for the holidays. Maybe he has an apartment in this swanky building because he’s choosing to work here. Back home. Forever.

“How can I help you?”

The sulky man sitting inside the booth calls with a slightly annoyed tone, gesturing for you to step closer.

There’s a bunch of buttons behind him, each with a different number tagged next to it.

“I’m…here for Park Jimin.”

He doesn’t blink, pitch black eyes boring into your soul.

“What number?”

“Err—” you pull out your phone from your purse, seeing that Jimin didn’t provide you with a number but just the location of the building. Chuckling sheepishly, you shake your head, “he didn’t give me a number. I’m Park Jimin’s guest.”

Just then, a couple, giggling and skipping, make their way over to the booth, completely disregarding your presence as they lean on the mini counter outside the booth to speak to the guard.

“Buzz us in.”

Surprisingly, a smile splits his face as he spins around and presses one of the buttons with his thumb. A loud beeping sound following the soft whoosh as the glass doors swing open.

You huff, “can you buzz me in?”

His smile has disappeared, lips in a frown

Cursing internally, you shoot Jimin a quick, irritated text.

His reply is instant, and the doors swing open just as he responds. Sending the guard a smug look, you saunter into the building, finding an elevator just behind the reception area. Jimin sends you another text, informing you that his room is on the highest floor. Room 13.

The ritzy interior goes from the chandeliers to the wallpaper down to the carpets. The scent of sandalwood follows you as you pad across the plush floors, coming to an abrupt stop when you find his apartment at the end of the hall, a large window to the corner of his door giving you the perfect view of the city, the sky a pale blue, bleeding into black.

Your attention is brought to the door when you hear shuffling on the other side, gold lettering glinting in the low lighting as the door creaks open. Revealing Jimin, boyish smile tilting one side of his mouth.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you mumble, annoyance replaced with thrill.

He steps to the side of the door, gesturing for you to enter, “come on in. Nice car.”

“Thanks,” you reply, holding up your car keys, “was a birthday gift.”

Hovering about the entrance, you kick off your shoes and wait for him to guide you further into his home. The quaint space so…Jimin. Cosy and warm. You plop down on the white couch he has situated opposite a TV set, curtains drawn, and magazines scattered across the coffee table.

“That’s just for decoration,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head as he adjusts the corners of the magazines to be in line with each other, “do you want anything to eat? Drink?”

“No thanks,” you smile, waiting for him to sit down next to you. But he doesn’t, instead holding your gaze, arms folded.

He’s wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt now, hugging his body in all the right places. His attire complementing the rest of his home.

“I’ll be right back,” he announces, turning on his heel as he disappears around the feature wall painted in a dark, mysterious blue. But what catches your eye is the markings on his neck. The tattoo – breath stalling in your lungs.

A crescent moon. Right at the center of his neck. You need a better look at it. How did you not see it before?

He returns holding a pair of white sandals, dropping it at your feet before sitting down on the couch with his knee brushing yours.

“It’s cold, wear those.”

You’re wearing stockings, the pale pink fabric coming right above your knee, but you slip on the shoes without protest, thanking him.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?”

You snort, turning to look at him with your hands slotted between your knees, “you invited me over.”

He rubs his bottom lip with his index finger, elbow propped up on the backrest as he laughs.

“Right…we were supposed to talk about what happened,” he sighs, folding one leg under his thigh.

You refocus on the white bow sitting at the hem of your stockings, nodding slowly.

“Listen,” he begins, scooting closer to you so his hand rests on yours, “I’m cool with it if you’re cool with it…but I’m really not in the right mindset for a relationship right now.”

Spluttering, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your lips, the serious expression he’s sporting so hilarious.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” You giggle, holding a hand over your mouth as you watch him join in your laughter.

“Oh,” he snorts, moving away slowly, “I’m an idiot. I just thought…”

“You thought what?”

He gives a one shoulder shrug, poking at the button on his pants, “I just thought that what happened between us that night would…mean something else for you. Since it was your first and all.”

“Jimin,” you snigger, reaching for his hand, “it’s really not that deep. I wasn’t gonna wait for the one to do any of that.”

His lips part in an ‘o,’ eyes going wide.

“I thought you were.”

“No,” you scoff, “what made you think that?”

He rakes a hand through his blond hair, shrugging again, “I guess…I got that idea since you waited so long.”

“I only waited that long because I didn’t want to mess around with any of the idiots on campus," you deadpan, “or worse…Doc’s friends.”

He smirks, “I was Doc’s friend.”

“Well, you’re an exception,” you blurt, seeing his smirk go even wider.

“I’m an exception, how?”

“I-I don’t know,” you mumble, eyes on your stockings again. But you do know, you felt comfortable around him. And you allowed yourself to go that far because you once had a crush on him. At least that’s what you think it is.

He hums, reaching over the armrest to grab his vape and place it between his pink lips, a cloud of airy smoke puffing out of his lips along with that same cherry fragrance, all while holding eye contact. Finally, he releases you from his stare, looking over to the window which has you noticing another tattoo behind his ear – and another on his wrist when he lifts the vape pen up to his mouth again.

“So what you wanna do?”

You know exactly what you wanna do. You want to stick your tongue down his throat and let him fuck you.

“I don’t know.”

He narrows his eyes at you, setting down his vape before patting his thigh twice as he manspreads, crotch jerking upward.

“Come here.”

Your heart sinks to your pussy, beating like a drum.

“T-There?”

He grins, cheeks puffing out as he smiles, “yes, here. On my lap.”

Hesitantly, you leave your bag on the coffee table and move an inch closer to him, heart racing.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” you mutter, resting your hands on his shoulders, “I want to.”

Once you’re sat on his lap, legs resting on either side of his thighs, you move your palms further down his chest sneakily, getting a feel of his toned abs under the thin material of his shirt. You chance a glance at his face, finding his eyes on you – watching intently.

His chest undulates beneath your touch, lips snagged between his teeth before he finally cups the back of your neck and brings your face lower to meet his lips. Your eyes slip shut, moaning into his mouth as he locks your lips with his, tongue swiping out as a silent request. Parting your lips, you feel yourself gush as the wet muscle swirls around your own, shifting on his lap when he cups your ass in one hand, moving his head this way and that to deepen the kiss.

Your lungs burn for air, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away from the intoxicating taste of his lips, drunk of each graze, each suckle, each nip he gives your lips.

He moves away slightly, and you think you can catch your breath – but his kisses trail downward, you tremble as his tongue darts out to caress that sweet spot under your ear, teeth joining the mix to have you sigh out his name.

All you hear is the loud smacks of his lips against your skin, captured by the delicious sensation. Then you feel his hands come to the front of your blouse, eyes flying open when he begins to undo the buttons from the top.

“Jimin,” you call breathlessly, thoughts dwindling to halt at one. What if he doesn’t like the way your body looks? What if he gets turned off after seeing you naked?

Pushing him back slowly, you expect to find him mad, or annoyed. But there’s none of that, he looks just as crazy as before, bulge pressing into your knee when you sit back. He eyes the sliver of skin poking out from the buttons he had opened, white bra peeking out.

“I’m sorry did I—”

“No, no,” you object, voice small and uncertain, “you’re good. I’m good. I just…don’t—” You struggle with your words, but he nods it off, grabbing your hands to place them back on his chest.

“It’s okay. We’ll just go with what you’re comfortable with, hm? Do you want to stop?”

You nibble on your bottom lip, shaking your head timidly.

His grin is back, eyes sparkling with mischief, “okay, I have an idea.”

Taking hold of your waist, he lifts you swiftly and readjusts your position on his lap. You go willingly, realizing what idea he was talking about when your skirt fans out behind you and his thigh presses into your clit, the sudden pressure having you fall forward onto him.

“That okay?” His voice is gruff, just above a whisper, lips kissing the shell of your ear as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

“Mhm.”

“I want to hear you, princess.”

A gasp tumbles from your lips when he rocks your hips forward with the hold he has on your waist, thigh flexing under your swollen clit.

“Yes.”

“Tell me if I should stop.”

“No,” you whine, leaning back to speak against his lips, “don’t stop. Feels so good.”

“I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to princess,” he husks, teeth snagging on your bottom lip, “you sound so fucking sweet.”

You’re spurred on by the rasp in his voice, capturing his lips in a fervent kiss as you follow his rhythm, grinding your clit against his thigh shamelessly. He tastes every inch of your mouth, guiding your hips with one hand while the other travels up to your neck, tilting your head whichever way he likes as he ravages your mouth.

“So fucking pretty grinding on me like this, have you thought of this, hm? Grinding on my thigh to make yourself cum?”

You shake your head, the idea so fresh and…nasty to you.

“You haven’t? Fuck,” he speaks through gritted teeth, lifting the hem of your skirt up slowly to take a peek under while you’re fucking on his thigh, pussy soaking through your panties and his pants, “does it feel good? I bet it does, you’re fucking dripping. Ruining my pants.”

“Jimin,” you moan, moving upward which has your knee pressing into the side of his clothed cock, hearing him groan as you rut into his thigh.

“Shit,” he growls, eyes half-lidded as he bounces his thigh, the sensation hurling you closer to the edge. You roll your hips faster, clit pressing into his skin deliciously as he buries his face in your neck and cradles you to him, his cock twitching in its confines.

The coil tightens in your lower belly, tumescent clit rubbing up against him as you throw your head back when he sinks his teeth into your flesh, suckling and nipping at the skin just below your collarbone.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you shudder, thighs quaking around him as you slide your hips back and forth, body erupting in a wave of goosebumps.

He bounces his leg faster, fingers buried in your hair as your nipples poke through the thin fabric of your bra, rubbing up against his chest.

“Fuck, you’re gonna cum all over my thigh? Hm? Get me nice and messy? Cum for me, princess.”

The euphoric sensations, coupled with his dirty mouth covering yours all tips you over the edge, eyes rolling back as your head lolls forward then back, lips parted in a silent moan – cumming with a trembling sigh. He kisses up the column of your throat, helping you ride out your high before you begin to twitch and quake, wrapping your arms around him to plant another feverish kiss on his doll lips.

He helps you off his lap, fingers pressing into your thigh as he sits up and pulls down the zipper on his pants, taking out his thick, veiny cock. You watch in awe as he spits into his palm, eyebrows furrowed when he begins to stroke his cock at a fast pace, rolling his hand around the tip before sliding back to the base.

“___,” he moans weakly, thumb digging into your calf through your stocking, “let me see that wet pussy.”

You can’t look away from his girthy, weeping cock, licking your lips as you see a translucent pearl bead at the top.

Another thing you’ve been thinking about is how you can return the favor, give him the suck of his life. Of course, you’ve never done if before – but you’ve read enough erotica to know exactly how it goes, right? What could be more detailed than that?

Maybe you can add your own twist to it.

Inhaling a deep breath, you comb your hair over your shoulder and sink down to the floor, gaze latched onto his as you sit between his legs.

“Fuck, you sure?”

You nod, that thick, opiating scent of his a lot stronger from this angle.

“I’m sure.”

He nods, hiding his excitement poorly, “okay—” he jerks forward, resting his sticky hands on his thighs. His cock springs up, hitting his shirt before you wrap your fingers around the base slowly. You watch as he slides the beige rug toward you with his socked foot, gesturing for you stand up so he can place it under your knees.

You wet your lips again, guiding his hot and heavy cock to your mouth as he caresses the back of your head, moving closer to you.

“Don’t take more than you can hand—oh FUCK!”

Jaw unhinging, you wrap your lips around the tip and push forward, gagging when the dark mushroom head hits the back of your throat.

“Princess,” he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “go easy, okay? You don’t have to take it all. Just…put your mouth on the tip for now, hold it here.”

You grab the base again, lips hovering over the sticky tip, “like this?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Mimicking his movements from earlier, you slide your palm up and down his shaft, lips suctioning around his tip, tongue darting out to flick his frenulum, all while keeping your eyes on him. Heavenly sounds slipping from his lips with each stroke.

“Fucking hell,” his voice strains, gasping as you begin to twist your palm from root to tip, stopping at the area your mouth doesn’t cover, “so fucking good.”

His head hangs from his shoulders, eyes opening a crack.

“Faster.”

Eager to please, you follow his instructions and move your hand faster, bobbing your head over the tip to feel your own spit leak down the sides of your mouth, veins twitching in your hold. You split the tip with your tongue, doing it again and again because you love his reaction, how he can’t help but push his cock further into your mouth by snapping his hips.

Despite the way your jaw begins to burn, you tilt your head to the side and suckle harder, eyes falling shut before you hear a loud whine of your name, tip of his cock pressed into your cheek as he sits at the edge of the couch, expression contorted by pure bliss.

“Gonna cum,” he grits out, fucking your mouth lightly, “where?”

You hold the base with both hands, creating a tight tunnel for him to fuck into as you roll out your tongue and rest the leaking tip there. He grunts, throwing his head back as he flexes his hips rapidly, moaning as thick, hot ropes of cum hit your tongue and throat.

The taste comes after you close your mouth and swallow it all – a little bitter and earthy. But his reaction is worth it, enraptured by the way you drink up his cum.

He pulls you back onto his lap by your elbow, pressing his lips to yours tiredly as you both catch your breath.

“Sure that was your first time?”

You smack his shoulder, rolling your eyes despite the way you blush at his words. Scrunching your face up when he goes in to give you an open-mouthed kiss, you move away, hardly enjoying the aftertaste.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

He points down the hallway, “first door on your right.”

On shaky legs, you make your way to the bathroom. Cleaning yourself up quickly then gargling your mouth and washing your face – your own reflection scaring you. You only realize that you teared a bit when you see a single streak of mascara on your left cheek.

“In here,” Jimin calls from the kitchen once you leave the bathroom, finding him scooping ice cream into two bowls. “Here.”

He slides one of the dark blue bowls in your direction, pink chunks dotting the lighter pink ice cream.

“Thank you,” you beam, sitting down on one of the stools as he does the same, right next to you.

Silence settles between you, the clank of your spoons hitting your bowls as you finish your dessert being the only sound in the kitchen, along with the refrigerator whirring in the background.

“So what do you think?” He says finally, licking the last bit of ice cream off his spoon.

You turn to him, “what do I think about what?”

“You know,” he winks, fingers dancing across your neck, “having some fun this summer. We are gonna be working together anyway.”

“Oh,” you chuckle, “right.”

You pretend to think…despite having your answer ready and he seems to know you’re only pretending too, grinning devilishly.

“Okay.”

His grin spreads wider, earrings shaking with his head as he nods, “cool…But uhh, you can’t tell anyone. It should be our secret.”

You scoff, “of course I won’t.”

Rising from the stool, you stack his bowl into yours and walk toward the sink – when a loud smack resounds in the kitchen, a stinging sensation rippling in your left ass cheek.

“Hey!” You scold, turning around to throw Jimin a peeved look, even though you liked it. Very much.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he exclaims, eyes wide with fake innocence, “did you not like that?”

You clear your throat, rinsing your hands with your back facing him, “I did.”

He’s suddenly behind you, breath hitting your ear.

“I know.”

so so? did you like it ?! please do let me know what you think! i’d love to hear from you ✉️♡

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constantcrisis19 · 2 years

Text

A Day At The Pool

Billy Hargrove x GN S/O

AN: Now with a sequel, Table For Two.

Word Count: 1,637

You could admit that you were a little nervous, you hadn’t exactly had time to do mundane things like this much because of your usually busy work schedule, but the Party had insisted that they wanted you specifically to accompany them to the public pool.

“Oh no. Our spot is taken.” Will lamented once you and all the children passed through the gates after paying for entry, drawing the Party's attention to what you assumed was their unofficial spot. And, true to his word, the almost blindingly white lounging chairs were occupied by a family of six.

“Shit. That was the perfect place for easy access to the pool and the food booth.” Dustin grumbled, eyes narrowed into a fierce glare at the family who had claimed the spot. Unlike the Party, you didn’t particularly think it was a big deal seeing as there were plenty of other chairs available that were equally accessible to said pool and food booth.

“What about over there? There’s shade because of the tall bushes and it has less traffic.” You suggested, gesturing to the area in question. The kids' collective blank stares followed the smooth wave of your hand, their eyes widening as their faces lit up when they realized that your analisis was a sound one.

“That’ll work nicely.” Lucas concurred and the Party looked to be in agreement, the kids starting off toward the huddle of lounging chairs to unload their stuff. You were surprised at how little they brought compared to yourself, your shoulder bag containing far more beach-related items because you hadn’t been sure what was necessary for an outing such as this.

“Sunscreen first guys.” You dutifully reminded, adjusting your round sun hat as you elegantly settled into one of the lounge chairs and raising a brow at the whining protests that immediately started up at your command. “No complaining, I’m returning you lot back to your parents in the same condition that you left in.”

“Stop talking about us like we’re toys that you borrowed.” Mike hissed, crossing his pale arms over his equally pale chest.

“You’re just mad because putting on sunscreen makes you look like a ghost.” Max snorted, prompting a bark of laughter from Dustin and Lucas while Will fought a smile, Mike turning the full brunt of his sour face onto his trio of friends.

“The beacons of Gondor could only ever hope to be as bright as you.” You crooned, your lips stretching into a toothy grin when your comment caused an uproar of laughter. Although, Mike’s frown only deepened at the harmless teasing.

“I regret introducing you to the wonders of J. R. R. Tolkien. Worst mistake of my life.” Mike groused even as he went about rummaging through his backpack, retrieving a tube of sunscreen before popping the cap open to squeeze a liberal amount onto his palm.

“Thanks for letting me borrow the series by the way, it was riveting. Although I’m not sure why the eagles weren’t utilized more.” You sighed, your legs spreading in order to make room for Max to sit between them, the ginger handing you her own bottle of sunscreen before settling with her back to you. You cracked it open and smeared some of the thick white substance onto your hand before diligently setting to work.

“The eagles couldn’t be around the ring or they would risk falling into its thrall. Like Boromir.” Will explained, being his usual helpful self in the face of your relentless curiosity about anything and everything.

“Boromir snapped out of it though. I respect him for that, I can imagine that it's hard to resist such compelling darkness.” You hummed thoughtfully, completing the finishing touches by directing Max to turn around so you could get the ginger’s face.

When Max was done and ready to splash around, Will took her place, settling in for his own slathering of sunscreen. Dustin was the last to seek you out, closing his eyes and leaning forward so that you could rub sunscreen onto his face. You found that you weren't surprised by the kids' behavior in the least because who didn’t like being pampered from time to time?

“Alright, have fun. I’ll pay for any snacks or drinks that you guys want, so don’t be afraid to ask for anything.” You assured, unable to help but smile when they all enthusiastically thanked you before scampering off, leaving you to your own devices.

You watched their progression to the pool before leaning to the side to grab your shoulder bag, digging out the thick book that Lucas had borrowed to you and flipping to the page where you had left off. Splitting your attention between the kids and the book proved to be easier than you had anticipated considering how packed and noisy the public swimming area was.

“She’s coming down.” A voice declared and you lowered your book, your curious gaze finding the source of the statement to be a woman who was the fourth one down in a lineup of other women, which were clad in brightly colored one piece swimsuits that flattered their matured figures.

They all appeared to be looking at something and you followed their intense stares to the large white tower that was on the other side of the pool, where a female lifeguard was making her way down the ladder before heading off toward the main building. Movement drew your eyes back to the women, who had posed in their respective chairs in a manner that seemed sensual and flirtatious, and you blinked at their lounging forms uncomprehendingly for a moment.

But a flash of brilliant red in the crowd had your focus redirecting to a teenage boy, the blond bombshell wading through the mass of people with a confident strut that indicated that he damn well knew he was hot shit. He drew all manner of eyes to his person, his mere presence demanding attention.

When he reached the lineup of women, they all greeted him as Billy, which was a familiar name seeing as it was the very same one belonging to the person who had beaten the ever-loving snot out of Steve at the Byers house during the mess with the Mind Flayer. And the odds that this Billy was the very same violent bully that the kids frequently bitched about were certainly plausible. After all, how many Billy’s could there possibly be in a small town like Hawkins?

“I haven’t seen you around before.” Someone drawled in a low baritone that was pleasing to the ear and you snapped out of your thoughts, quite suddenly realizing that you were the recipient of the comment when you blinked up at Billy, who had paused in front of your chair.

“You wouldn’t have. I’m new.” You said dumbly, because apparently stating the obvious was your first response when caught off-guard. Your only saving grace was Billy's decision not to comment on the utter stupidity of your blurted declaration, which was relieving because you weren't exactly used to speaking to anyone other than a select few in a manner that wasn’t strictly professional.

“And what would compel a beauty such as yourself to come to a place like Hawkins?” The tinted sunglasses that Billy wore didn’t do much to conceal the slow up and down movement of his eyes as he took in your figure. And, while his tone was light, there was clearly an insult toward the town hidden in his words of flattery.

“I’m visiting a friend.” You hummed, politely shutting your book and setting it aside because Billy seemed to be looking for a conversation.

“Oh really?” He mused, his boyish smile widening into something more predatory.

“You might know him? His name is Steve Harrington.” You sat up and folded your arms on your raised knees before propping your chin onto your arms, noting how Billy’s face flashed through several emotions before ultimately settling on a grin that was equal parts malicious and mischievous. “He invited me to stay with him over the summer.” You shrugged, peering up at Billy’s mildly alarming expression under the brim of your sun hat.

“We played basketball together before he graduated, so you could say that we’re acquainted.” Billy said disinterestedly, his focus shifting over to the empty lifeguard stand in a way that implied that their talk was about to be brought to an end. “I gotta get situated, but it was real nice to meet you…” He trailed off pointedly and it suddenly occurred to you that you never introduced yourself.

“Y/n. It was nice to meet you too, Billy.” You chirped, snorting when his brows rose, likely caught off-guard by the fact that you already knew who he was. “Your reputation precedes you.” you clarified, arm sliding out from under your chin in order to stick out your hand.

He looked down at the offered appendage for a beat, but ultimately accepted it. His hand easily engulfed yours, his tan skin calloused and warm as he raised your hand to his mouth, his smiling lips pressing against your knuckles in a kiss before he relinquished his grip.

“See you later, angel.” Billy purred, the farewell sounding an awful lot like a promise. The smirk that dominated his face was the embodiment of trouble, the teen smoothly turning on his heel to saunter his way around the pool’s edge before climbing onto the unattended tower with an ease that hinted at his familiarity with his surroundings.

You sat there for a long moment, staring after him as the skin where his lips had touched tingled pleasantly. Then the spell was broken by Dustin's high-pitched shriek and you managed to pry your gaze from the blond lifeguard in favor of searching the water for a familiar head of curly hair.

Prompt: Pool

#stranger things #st3 #season 3 #lifeguard billy hargrove #flirty billy hargrove #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #meet cute

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absolutebl · 2 years

Note

I loved your beautiful ode to A Beautiful Man. (Even as someone pretty new to BL and unfamiliar with Yaoi I felt the power of that show.)

In it you wrote in passing, "Semantic Error is about perfection and ignoring all ugliness." If you have further thoughts on that I'm curious to hear them.

Thanks!

Semantic Error vs Utsukushii Kare how two BL’s tell us A LOT about Korean vs Japanese approaches to cinema

"Semantic Error is about perfection and ignoring all ugliness." (from this post)

Ah I was referring to the KBL inclination to create a perfect bubble in which being queer is not just irrelevant and unspoken, but ironically untouchable.

As characters, JaeYoung and SangWoo can only exist within this bubble.

It renders their perfection unmoored and somewhat etherial feeling to viewers. As if they are the gods on pedestals that Hira is trying to turn Kiyoi into. There is no attempt to address the impossible nature of their existence. JaeYoung and SangWoo aren’t meant to be REAL in any way, they are meant to be fantastical - almost like mythical caricatures.

I say this not as criticism, Semantic Error is one of my favorite BLs of all time. But it is almost too perfect, as if we are watching the fae perform for us - ageless and immortal. It has no real grounding, no tether at all to reality. It is the ultimate escapism.

This is fine, I watch BL for the escapism. It’s why it got a 10/10 from me. But it’s also why it’s never whipped me into a verbal frenzy. It’s exactly as perfect as I always expected Korean BL to get to. It is the pinnacle of the mountain they have been climbing - but they never faltered on that path to perfection. They were always gonna make it. It’s what Hallyu does. They did it with music (Kpop). They did it with horror (Parasite, Squid Games). They’re doing it with romance.

But Semantic Error’s innately KBL nature renders it, in a strange way, almost the polar opposite to something like My Beautiful Man, for all they share some really stunning visual similarities in filming techniques, manga framing and staging, uses of color and light, etc...

The very perfect beauty of Semantic Error (both in visuals, execution, production, script, story arc, tropes and archetypes) is like the BL on the pedestal that A Beautiful Man is challenging within itself.

Ironically of course, My Beautiful Man, is about the harsh honest ugliness of really loving someone, Semantic Error not only has no thought to address this, by it’s very nature it could never do so, since it sits on that pedestal with nothing to tip it off (yet) and nothing to pull it down to ground (yet) because KBL is still (mostly) at the pedestal state of it’s BL journey.

Korea is focused on producing perfect BL. Which I might argue they did with Semantic Error. But as nothing more than a perfect BL. Classic. Typical. The opposite of challenging. Easy. Easily enthralling and riveting.

Utsukushii Kare is work. Work to watch. Work to tolerate. Work to understand. But it’s work I enjoy.

Japan has always farted around with that kind of thing. Japan doesn't have anything to prove. But Japan has also always been one to use film to examine itself, it’s that uncompromising point of view thing I talk about and the reason people get frustrated with Japanese cinema. It’s not about anyone but Japan.

Korea is a the opposite, it’s producing its pop culture these days explicitly with an expansion agenda. It’s all about how perfectly can they hit it so they can GET us. Like, capture us. Make us watch. Make us happy. Dazzle us with their brilliance and beauty. Lure us into the fae realm, under the green hill where time passes differently.

Often I think Japan wants us to be uncomfortable. Ironically, that’s why I have such faith and confidence in them.

But that’s also how they can surprise so beautifully. (Old Fashion Cupcake. Minato’s Laundromat. Gah.) They stay BL without shying away from difficult content, sometimes I think they stay BL so they can directly tackle it.

Korea is doing everything they can to keep themselves safe and idealized, or to keep up the appearance of that. It comes off as disingenuous at worse, unfixed and fantastical at best. Semantic Error was all this, but correct, almost mathematical. I admire the precision art of it and the targeted intent.

They are both master manipulators and I like watching manipulators at work.

But with Korea there’s always a part of me that’s like, “I see you doing it. I see what you did there. Very good.” I’m noticing how good they are.

And with Japan, occasionally, I forget to notice. I’m still surprised. Even knowing what they are capable of. Even living in the shadow of 15 years of BLs. They can still surprise.

(source)

#korean film industry #hallyu #hallyu wave #japanese fil industry #Kdrama #Jdrama #Japanese BL #Korean BL #live action yaoi #adapted from a manga #adapted from a manwha #film critique #Semantic Error #Old Fashion Cupcake #Minato’s Laundromat #Utsukushii Kare #My Beautiful Man #rakutan viki #gagaoolala

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moral-terpitude · 8 months

Text

Misadventures - Part 12

I want devil horns • I wanna breathe in your rush • I wanna leap when you want me to fly • But darling I don't mean to beg • But these thorns on the stem are nearly tearin' up my skin

[Masterlist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Quinn meets an unexpected guest.

Word Count: 12,647

Warnings: smut. The same amount of swearing as fucking usual. COVID.

A/N: my scene break dividers have been limited once again! Thank you @brummiereader for your mention of Ashton Villa in the tags of one of the very early parts, because as an American with no footie knowledge I googled it and have kept a theme with Quinn’s clothes stealing 😂

Nine weeks later, Tommy realized, he found himself back in the same spot.

They had made the rest of their journey back with few issues. Tommy had dropped her off sometime in the afternoon that day, and they had spoken back and forth in sparse conversation since.

Over the last week time hadn’t been much on their side. With Quinn trying to get back on top of her work while still recovering they hadn’t seen much of each other at all, and even their messaging had been almost nonexistent over the last day.

Part of Tommy wondered if he had said too much too soon, but everything had been so normal afterwards that he tried to not pay much mind to the nagging thoughts that plagued his mind.

Now she knew. She knew that he had killed people. That he had done terrible things. She knew of the blood on his hands and looked past the way it stained him and dirtied him regardless.

The bell dinged over the door as he entered the shop.

“Quinn isn’t here,” Hannah spoke, brow furrowed, as the door clicked close behind him, confusion clouding his features as he digested what she said.

Maybe his optimism had been too much.

“She isn’t here? Where is she then, eh?”

“She had me reschedule all of her appointments, her fever was at 101 degrees last night, so she’s home in bed.”

Last time I had it, it started with a fever. That’s what she had said, as they talked about any and everything for hours on end in the rest of their journey, somehow the horror stories of having COVID and the strange things she hadn’t been able to taste or smell during and afterward for days or months had been a riveting topic of conversation.

Particularly, the information Quinn provided that Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream had tasted just like the smell of gasoline.

“Have you heard from her?”

“No. She was so out of it when I left this morning. Borderline delirious. I’ve messaged her but she hasn’t answered.” There was a tinge of annoyance to Hannah’s voice that Tommy couldn’t quite pin the source of from her words.

“I’ll go check on her.”

“She won’t answer the door. She won’t even get out of bed. Here,” Hannah dug around in her bag before she took her key off the lanyard, handing it to Tommy, “she’s positive she has COVID again so, I’m not going back until her symptoms are gone, I’m going to stay with Dante and his wife.”

Tommy nodded, “Thank you, Hannah.”

She nodded, the short ponytail on top of her head springing back and forth as she did so.

When he arrived at their door, chipped paint with a bit of rust in the stark white hallway, Tommy knocked.

“Quinn?”

He tried to listen in hopes of hearing footsteps or some kind of muffled response, but there was none.

He knocked again, slightly louder, “Quinn!”

When there was silence yet again, he crammed the key into the lock, popping the door open with a quick push.

Their apartment was bigger than he thought it would be.

He hung the key on the rack beside the door, toeing off his shoes, and set off down the small hallway for the door that was slightly cracked.

Quinn was curled on her side, flat against the mattress in bed with the blankets pulled up over her shoulder, sweatshirt hood peaking above the covers, clearly having fallen off of her head at some point.

Curled against her chest was a black ball of fluff, with its head tucked under her chin.

As Tommy stepped closer, in the midst of taking in his surroundings, never having been in her apartment, let alone her room, the cat stretched, hissing loudly, trying to protect its owner.

He knew well enough from Ada’s cats over the years, ones that would coincidentally follow her home when no one was there to stop her, that a hiss was a good enough warning of how sharp the teeth that were bared actually were.

The dark walls and various accouterments on the wall reminded him much of her portion of the studio. The bed frame was a dark metal and the blankets were adorned with black and white florals. All the decorative pillows had been tossed aside in favor of a more comfortable sleeping position.

“I’m here to check on her, eh? Go on.”

Quinn sighed in her sleep, a bare hand protruding from the blanket, with all her usual adornments gone, as she patted the cat low on its back. “Mr. Bee,” she mumbled lazily. Tommy was sure she wasn’t awake, just existing somewhere between a fever dream and sleep as she spoke, “you need to be nice, I don’t work hard all day to buy treats for an angry little kitty.”

Tommy did his best to not laugh, not wanting to startle her, but the cat was far from little.

“Quinn?” He sat slowly on the vacant part of the bed. He had never seen her without all the jewelry in and around her face, but now the yellow citrine stones from her ears, the gold bar that was usually in her right ear, all the little jewels and gems from the cartilage, and the hoops from her nose lay in a pile on the side table.

The only thing left was the bar in her lip. From the look of it, tissues tossed about on the floor and the way she was laying, she had gotten tired of the issues she was having blowing her nose and getting comfortable and took it all out.

“Quinn, you need to sit up.”

She groaned, shaking her head, eyes still closed, “No, it all hurts.”

Her bruising had subsided surprisingly well. The yellow and green stages finally set in. The stitches were gone from the gash through her lip, dissolvable sutures she had said, but the skin was still purple and irritated despite the good progress she had made in healing.

It absolutely would leave a noticeable scar and he would beat the hell out of anyone that let her think that she was less than beautiful for it.

She buried her face in the pillow as her coughing started, her small frame wracked with the force of the movement with each heave until it stopped.

“Can you just hold me?” She whined. Even in jest he had never heard her use that tone.

One that deep down underneath was resigned and full of pain.

He smoothed the covers down before pressing a hand to her forehead. She was on the cusp of burning up, far warmer than she should be, and he wondered how she had managed to keep herself buried under all the blankets and covers with being as warm as she was.

Pushing some of the damp hair out of her face, fingers trailing along her cheek, she sighed again, rolling onto her stomach with a stretch.

“No, Quinn, come on. You can’t be lying prone like that,” he was trying to be gentle but the worry of all the fluid settling in her chest was a concern, the last thing she needed was pneumonia at that point, “let me carry you out to the couch.”

She protested slightly, at least that’s what Tommy assumed the grumble was, but threw off the covers, and exposed her bare legs in an attempt to push herself upright, before a round of coughing again.

Her fingers curled into the collar of his tee shirt, and he wasn’t surprised that all she had on was the sweatshirt, the lack of pants barely noticeable underneath anyway.

Her phone clattered on the coffee table and she looked at Tommy with a hazy look that made him wonder if she was seeing him at all. She lay back on the pillows, already propped from a previous stint on the couch, with a huff, eyes closing as she sniffed.

If Hannah wasn't coming back, he knew he couldn’t leave her like this for any extended period of time.

Her phone screen lit up again, indicating several missed calls and text messages from various family members, the most recent from Roy.

Tommy swiped, surprised by the lack of passcode, and the screen went straight into her messages, one from her mother open, a half typed and illegible response waiting but not sent.

Above the messages were some photos, obscured as they were pushed off the top of the screen by the space the keyboard took up.

Quinn, we have not heard from you since you left. Are you okay?

Tommy huffed, not sure how to tackle it, and as his curiosity got the better of him, he scrolled up to look through the photos.

At some point in the night they had grabbed her for a couple of quick photos, and without knowing any better, they looked like a happy family.

At the top, was a photo of the two of them, Quinn wrapped in his jacket when they had been outside after dinner. Her head was thrown back laughing, the two of them wrapped up in eachother.

Macie sent this to me when she was editing photos.

Out of any staged family portrait or company headshot Tommy had ever sat for, this one was far better.

His eyes flicked to her form, sleeping on the couch, chest rising and falling finally without a struggle, before he looked back to the screen.

It seemed that one was sent a few hours prior, the other accompanying message read:

Sweetie, I know things haven’t been easy, but I’m happy to see you’ve found someone that makes you happy.

He felt his mouth go dry as the phone rang again. Dad 👨🏻 popping up on the screen as it vibrated in his hand.

Fuck.

He swiped to answer it, putting the phone to his ear, as he spoke.

“Hi, Roy, sorry, it’s Tommy,” he cleared his throat, feeling odd as he introduced himself, and retreated to the kitchen, trying not to wake Quinn since she finally looked like she was resting instead of struggling to get comfortable, “I, uh, Quinn is sick. She wasn't at the studio when I got there, and Hannah said that she thinks has COVID, but she hasn’t quite woken up enough for me to ask her what’s going on.”

“Oh shit. We thought Anna was getting sick but then she started to seem fine. That must be where she got it from. I wondered how long it would take for her to get sick again.”

“Why? Is there something I should know?”

“Well, she couldn’t get the vaccine. The,” he sighed, “she’s not allergic to eggs, themselves, but she’s allergic to eggs as a carrier in vaccines. It’s strange. We found out when she was little and got one of the flu vaccines.”

“How many times has she had it?”

“This will make three, I think.”

“Fuck, okay. Do you want me to wake her up or do you want me to have her call you back once she’s feeling better?”

“Whenever she comes around is good. It’ll probably take her a few days.”

They bid their rather awkward goodbye and Tommy sat her phone aside, feeling like he was insulting her privacy from the bit of snooping he had done.

By the time night fell, Tommy wasn’t exactly sure where to sleep.

He had taken a shower, using the most neutral body wash he could find amongst their collection, and pilfered through the dresser and closet to locate clothes that would fit him out of all the far too big ones she owned.

The bed needed the sheets changed and he didn’t want to move Quinn from where she had finally settled on the bigger of the two couches.

He raided the bedroom closet and the hall closet looking for extra blankets but came up empty.

Surveying Quinn’s room she didn’t have much for storage, except for the hope chest at the end of the bed.

Pushing in the button, he popped the lid, opening it open to discover—

“Fucking hell—“

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. The little shelf on top was filled with varying styles and shapes of vibrators, butt plugs, and, well, Tommy realized he didn’t even know what some of the things were used for.

The rest was a neatly organized assortment of almost every phallic shaped sex toy one could imagine.

Clear and colorful dildos seemed to be 98% of the assortment, standing straight up in the bottom of the chest as if they were stalagmites in a cave.

He tried not to survey the rest of the collection too closely after realizing there was truly nothing else in the box, and shut it as quickly and quietly as possible. He truly believed there weren’t too many things that he could see that would fluster him, but that, was fucking obscene.

The blankets themselves ended up being under the bed in a clear plastic tote. At that moment protected by a pair of green eyes staring back at him from the darkness.

“Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on her, eh?” He whispered and attempted to pet the black fuzz ball in passing as he opened the tote, but received a scathing hiss instead before the monster stalked off with a sharp swish and flick of his tail.

Returning to the living room, Tommy realized he could take the chair or the floor. The chair at least reclined.

He knew if he folded himself up to fit on the smaller couch his limbs and joints would never forgive him for it.

Neither option looked particularly comfortable, but at least the floor afforded him the option of being able to move in the night. Not that he hadn’t fallen asleep in an office chair a time or two and made due just fine.

He ended up making camp on the floor next to the couch. The rug served as good padding, sans coffee table, and at some point in his absence, Quinn had turned on the TV.

He had never pictured her as one for cartoons, but as he watched, he also surmised that the one she had chosen wasn’t meant for children either.

The suspicion was confirmed by a rather gleeful declaration of, “So, this must be where you fuck the bats,” as the characters appeared on the roof at the signaling of Batman’s signal over the city.

Tommy shook his head. Of all things, comic books and cartoons were two that he was very unfamiliar with.

He lay there, awake for the longest time, eyes trained on the ceiling as he listened for her breathing out of habit. It reminded Tommy of the nights, sleepless ones, with just him and Charlie where he feared his son would stop breathing in the night and be added to the list of people taken from him too soon.

Quinn woke up in the night, face pressed into the couch cushion, and not entirely convinced she was dead, but not quite sure she was alive either.

Someone was calling her name from somewhere. She was sure that was what had woken her, but as she tried to get her wits about her, she realized there was no longer a voice reaching out to her.

It seemed like the waves of fever chills and flares of heat wracked through her for ages. Keeping her eyes pressed closed, she tried to take deep breaths and convince herself to relax despite the muscle tremors pulling through her body.

She could feel every part of her was slick with sweat, aching and burning.

Her chest ached and felt like it was being crushed, like the man in The Crucible who’s name she couldn’t remember in her fevered state, asking for more weight.

“No.” She whimpered, the words not sounding quite like her own, as pictured the rocks being put on her chest.

She didn’t want more weight. She wanted to breathe.

It was doubtful, but she tried to take a whole breath. It felt like all her bones needed to pop in or out of place. Like they were going to crack if she took in too much air all at once.

The way her muscles ached was as if she had just run a marathon. The blanket felt like she was trapped, turning and thrashing with nowhere to move and nowhere to go.

“Hey.” Tommy’s voice cut through the darkness that clouded her thoughts in an attempt to give her some snippet of reality to latch on to.

Yeah, okay. Now you’re really fucking losing it, Quinn.

She felt Tommy’s hand steady her before he spoke again, “Hey. Stop. You’ll fall.”

“No. You’re not…” she swallowed, mouth and throat dry as the threat of her bladder exploding pressed on.

“You’re not even here. I’m just going to die alone.” She chuckled, the sensation causing her to groan at the pain in her chest once again.

“No one’s dying, eh?” She felt a hand press onto each shoulder, a firm squeeze before she felt a gentle touch to her forehead, “What do you need?”

Now she didn’t know. It was as if her whole mind was blank, the thoughts cooked off by the heat.

“Too warm. Cold. Bathroom,” she swallowed hard, “Don’t know.”

“You want to walk?”

She shook her head, “I don’t think I can.”

Tommy helped her free her limbs from the tangle of blankets, supporting most of her weight as she struggled beside him.

“Okay, I got it,” she pushed her hair out of her face, closing the bathroom door behind herself as he waited, back pressed against the wall, for her to come back out.

Before she did, Tommy heard the sound of her knocking things over in the medicine cabinet before cracking the door.

One arm was out of her sweatshirt, leaving half of it bunched around her neck.

“What do you need?”

She jumped, eyes finally focusing without her glasses, as she peered into the dark hall from the brightly lit bathroom.

Tommy was trying his best to be gentle. She was acting like a wild animal that was wounded.

“Thermometer. Tylenol to break my fever.”

She groaned, hanging her head over the sink, leaning back before working her way out of the sweater.

“I’ll find it. Go lay down.”

Digging through the bathroom cupboards there were old prescriptions and half used blister packs, but no thermometer.

Crouching to rummage under the cupboard it was hidden in a makeup bag. The only thing in it.

Not the first place anyone would look for a thermometer.

Quinn kept her eyes closed, situating the stick under her tongue until it beeped.

She didn’t make an effort to remove it, leaving Tommy to withdraw it and check the little green neon screen for the results.

101.3 F. Not enough to go to the hospital, but not enough to ignore either.

“Quinn?”

She rolled her head to the side as he spoke but didn’t open her eyes, tucked back underneath the blanket.

“Should we call a doctor or go to the hospital—“

“No! I’ll be fine,” the look in her eyes as they flew open was close to horrified, and given the last time she had been there Tommy didn’t blame her, “just, the tylenol is by my bed. If you can just bring it to me.”

She took the medicine without water, snuggling back down into the blankets without much more conversation.

Tommy stood with the sliding door open, half out on the small balcony and half still in the apartment, watching her carefully, as he ashed the cigarette in silence.

If that was just a few hours of her being sick, he couldn’t imagine how riding out the rest of the illness would treat her.

***

It had turned out to be an easier week than Tommy had figured it would be.

Once Quinn’s fever broke, something that took three days where she bordered on hallucinating and whining the whole time, while refusing to go to the hospital, she finally seemed more lucid.

She had blathered on about the strange dreams she was having, while making sure while she was always close, and if she could know she was doing it in her sleep too, that there was always some way she had some kind of touch on Tommy when he was nearby.

One night she bugged until he finally found a comfortable way for them both to fit on the couch, only to put her cold feet on him the entire night.

Tommy didn’t dare tell her she snored the whole time. He figured it was in his best interest to test the waters carefully before pushing her buttons too much.

“How do you feel?”

“Less like a dumpster fire than I did a few days ago. Kinda tired.” She stretched, back arching from the cushions as Beelzebub hopped up next to her, face nuzzling into her side before he flopped onto the free cushion.

It was the most amount of time she had been vertical so far in the days since her fever broke.

“You sound better.”

“Well, that tends to happen when I’m not trying to cough up one of my own lungs, right?”

He nodded, watching the cat that had somehow managed to give him hell for the past week be as sweet as he could in his owner's lap.

“How come he’s so nice to you, eh?” Tommy gestured to the cat before crossing to the kitchen, filling the mug with coffee before leaning against the wall on the first stair.

“Probably because he's my cat. I feed him so he loves me.”

“I fed him all week. Doesn’t love me.”

“Well, he came from a shelter and he doesn't like men, so.”

Tommy hummed.

“Are those my pants?” She asked, brows drawn together at finally taking in the cut of them and the fact that they seemed slightly too short for his legs, hitting just above the ankle. They were men’s but Hannah had done her the kindness of hemming them when she was attempting to make her own clothes.

“Yeah. You own a lot of clothes that are too big and I wasn’t leaving you by yourself.”

“Why did you stay? I’ve been a…boring mess for a week. Like, I dunno, Tommy, the facade is over, you don’t have to—“

“You’re right. I didn’t have to do anything.” She felt like his eyes were going to bore a hole straight through her with the look he gave her.

“So, why’d you stay? I could’ve gotten you sick.” She took a long sip from the mug, thankful for Hannah’s stash of hot tea in the cabinet.

“You’d have been alone and I’ve had the shot and the boosters. Had to get the first bit in order to travel, just kept up on it.”

She eyed him speculatively, once again kicked back in the suede chair as if he was the one who’s ass had made the imprint in the cushions.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

Quinn sighed, “I better start disinfecting things, Hannah is probably just itching to come back—“

“I went through and did all of it, there’s not much else to do when, well,” he shrugged, leaving the statement to hang in the air.

“Fuck, I need to wash my clothes and my sheets,” Quinn groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch cushions, “and my me.”

Beelzebub rolled to his back, snuggling against her hip, as Quinn sat back upright and took another sip of the tea.

“You can come back with me. If you want.”

“Let me gather everything up and get in the shower quick. I feel disgusting.”

She patted the cat’s stomach, his purring filling the silence in the room.

Stripping down in front of the bathroom mirror, Quinn realized the bruises were finally gone. No more were the marks of all that had happened to her.

The questionable muscle soreness, stiff neck, and possibility of a rib out of place was still concerning, while not actually surprising. She stretched, bending at the waist in an effort of hopefully getting some relief, but there was none to be found.

The heat of the water felt like some sort of sacred ritual as she let it envelop her body. Scrubbing the grime and the sensation of sickness from her skin made Quinn feel like a whole new person. She sighed, watching the swirl of the hair dye make its way down the drain.

Wrapped in two towels, she stood at the sink, teeth now brushed, and rubbed the moisturizer into her skin, reveling in the way all of it together made her feel human again. That and having all her jewelry back in the correct places. She felt so lost without it.

***

“You have a tub,” Quinn whispered, in awe as she stared out the window at the lights that she hadn’t seen for the last week, rain lingering on the windows, as she remembered the overly deep tub inside Tommy’s master bathroom.

“Yes.”

“Fuck, I know I just took a shower before we left, but can I take a bath?”

The look of pleading on her face, unmade except for a bit of moisturizer, a look that Tommy felt like he would always enjoy, framed by still damp hair, gave him no reason to say no.

“I don’t see why not.”

Quinn was surprised how easily they fell back into, well, a routine. There was some chatter as she loaded the washer, piles of laundry sorted through the kitchen, starting with the lightest colors.

“Do you have any whites?” She held the bundle of clothes awkwardly as she crossed to toss them in, looking disappointedly into the basin that wasn’t even half full.

“I’ll check.”

She felt bad for leaving Beelzebub home to wait for Hannah to return, but there was something about making sure that everything was clean and sorted that she knew would bring her some peace of mind.

“Not much.”

He tossed in a few things, barely adding to it.

“I have a bunch of towels. Should I throw them in with the whites?”

“No, all your towels are dark, you’ll make the whites dingy.”

“Well if I bought any other color towels they would just turn purple anyway.” She shrugged, turning the dial and starting the load, “Okay. I’m getting in the bath.”

She snooped around in the cupboards in the bathroom, finding some very soft towels, and to her luck, some bubble bath that she assumed by the bright pink color and unicorns on the label, that it must have been something Ruby had gotten the last time they were there.

Sorry, kid, I'm borrowing some.

She watched the bubbles foam up, steam rising from the tap, as she stripped down once again, thankful for the solace that the hot water brought.

She lay back, wetting her hair, before finding that she could lay fully stretched out in the tub without having to have her knees bent like she had to in the one back home.

It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there before the door popped open before Tommy almost turned around and walked right back out.

“Shit, sorry—“

“I have bubbles. It’s all good.”

“Was grabbing the towels,” Tommy cleared his throat, opening the half full hamper, “for the wash.”

“That’s fine.”

She had her eyes closed, neck tucked up against the rim of the tub with her body submerged fully in the water and the bubbles.

One hand played idly with the necklaces she wore, gold chains pulled tight around her finger.

It wasn’t that he had forgotten how she looked, but the circumstances were different. She was now bare skin and damp hair in his tub, and something about the way she seemed so relaxed compared to the previous time he had witnessed her this way was a relief.

“Did you file your 941’s?” She asked, heavily lidded eyes opened, searching around until she met his.

“The what?”

“Your quarterly federal tax returns? I only have one employee that I have to file for so it’s easy, but, you have so many I can’t imagine—“ she shifted in the water, resting on her side so her hip was exposed out of the water.

“I’m sure the bookkeeper has, yes.”

Quinn looked at him, taking in the way he was leaned against the door, a certain air of nonchalance.

“Are you getting in?”

“What?”

“What did you come in here for?”

“To wash the towels,” he reiterated.

She hummed, turning back on her back, fingers once again fiddling with the necklaces, bare skin and damp hair glistening in the low light.

“That’s kind of a lame excuse.” she smiled, “So, you don’t want to get in with me?”

Quinn watched him blink slowly, taking in her words, before he gave a sort of half smile, pushing himself from the door frame, “You’d have to make room.”

She laughed, sitting up and wringing out her hair as she moved forward, watching him intently as he pulled the shirt over his head, resting her head on her knees as he discarded the remaining clothes.

Quinn realized it was strange, but not bad, as he settled in behind her. There was a comfort in being that close to him again.

She had never been able to coax anyone else she had ever been with to join her in a bath, no matter how short or long the relationship, regardless of it being one of her favorite things.

Too feminine. Too girly. Boys don’t take baths.

A good chunk of her resentment about the apartment she and Hannah had now was that there was only a stand up shower.

She shivered despite the heat of the water as thick fingers roamed the lines in her back and the nape of her neck, her head still resting on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs.

“You can sit back.”

She glanced over her shoulder, to see that he actually looked relaxed. Eyes half closed, head leaned against the grey matte tile of the wall. Some thin gold chain on she had never noticed him wearing before.

Quinn let her hands settle on his knees, her head resting on his chest as she played with some of the bubbles that floated in the water until they dissipated.

She let her head fall to the side as his hand found a new spot to trace on her thigh.

Her heart beat so hard that she wondered if he could hear it. The wanton anticipation thundering in her chest at just the prospect of him letting his hands wander any closer to her aching center had her feeling like putty.

The waiting, the teasing of bare skin pressed together seemed to be the greatest part. Quinn tried to not put too much thought into the fact that in this particular position he was pressed against her lower back. The occasional twitch or throb of his cock tempted her to take matters into her own hands.

Above all that, the torment and the wonder, the silence was peaceful.

He didn’t say anything as her fingertips trailed the soft skin inside his arm, painted nails brushing the flesh, matching toes peeking through the bubbles at the end of the tub.

She let out a sigh as he wrapped an arm across her chest, hand resting on her shoulder.

Quinn wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or not, but if they were, he didn’t move away when she reached a hand, damp and gentle to card her fingers through his hair, pushing the pieces back off of his face, fingers tangling in the partly damp pieces.

In a way, which was what Quinn had hoped it would be read as, it was an invitation.

She felt Tommy shift behind her, moving her as he did so, close enough to place a gentle peck to her forehead before working down and across the shell of her ear, nose brushing the same spot as he placed open mouthed kisses along her neck.

“Fuck,” was the only word that came to mind, an apt one, airy enough that she thought he might not hear her.

“Not yet.”

She laughed, a sweet sound cut off by the noise that escaped from her lips once his hand finally slipped between her thighs, some strangled moan that caught in her throat.

“How long did it take?”

She let out a contented noise as the arm that held her close drew back, fingers gently teasing across her chest and goosebumps appearing in the wake.

“What?”

Quinn sighed as he drew his thumb slowly across the end of the bar, the curved metal pressing into the sensitive nerves of the nub underneath, “To heal.”

“Uh, fuck,” she hissed as he gently teased at the nipple now exposed from the water from her change in position, “a few weeks.”

Her train of thought, or lack thereof, was interrupted at the intense sensation from being overstimulated. The lack of the right kind of wetness pulled her out of it for a moment.

“Water is not lube,” Quinn cleared her throat, leaving his hand on her thigh as she reached forward to flip the little lever that released the plug to the tub, “just saying.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sitting upright, “ruined it?”

“No,” she shook her head, turning so she faced Tommy, moving slowly in the water in order to not send it spilling onto the floor, legs working onto either side of his as she held onto his shoulders.

“No?”

She shook her head, biting her lip as she tried to keep the grin from being too prominent as one hand found her waist, the other reaching for the back of her neck, bringing her close enough for their lips to meet.

Tommy felt the smile playing on her lips as she rolled her hips down into him, the warm metal dragging slowly from the head down his entire length, an interesting sensation in its own right.

“Should get out before there’s water everywhere,” his words were a quiet murmur against her lips, and she laughed, not pulling very far away as her fingertips gently wandered the planes of his chest.

“What, you don’t want me to make a mess?”

“No.” He hummed, “Yes. Want to make a mess of you.”

The words were like a strike of lightning straight to the gut.

Quinn sighed as his mouth worked along her chest, nose nudging the golden necklaces out of the way.

She bit into her lip, for what reason she was trying to be quiet she wasn’t quite sure, as his mouth enveloped one pert nipple, thumb gently teasing across the other as her grip on his shoulders tightened.

“C’mon then,” he gave two soft pats to the plush flesh of her ass before continuing, “up and out.”

She smiled softly as he handed the towel to her, the water now completely drained from the tub.

Quinn was positive she wasn’t fully dry before he picked her up, depositing her on the bed with a shriek.

The action was followed by him covering her body with his own, her legs wrapping around him instead of hanging off the bed like a fabric doll like they had been.

The damp bits of his hair tickled her face as his nose brushed along hers, lips paired to each other once again.

“Do you want me to—“ Tommy began as she pulled at his lip with her teeth.

“No,” she broke away for a moment to continue, “it’s okay.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

He shuddered at the way her nails drug along his back lightly.

She shrugged, as much as she could with his arms caged around her, although she appreciated the proximity.

“There’s only a few possibilities,” the words were quiet as she slipped a hand between the two of them, fingers lightly toying with the swollen head of his cock before lining him up with her waiting entrance, “any of them would just delay what I want.”

He took in the way her face changed as her plush heat surrounded him, the silent words passing between her lips as her expression changed from playful to one full of pleasure as he slowly filled her, holding himself still as he bottomed out inside of her.

“Is this what you want?” His voice was raspy, speaking directly into her ear as her hands continued to wander across his skin.

“I mean,” she smiled, teasing as she moved her hips against him, “I wouldn’t have objected to you eating me out first, but yeah, this was what I wanted.”

He groaned, knowing that if she kept speaking so candidly, something that he truly appreciated instead of playing some guessing game the whole time, that things would be over before they even started.

She laughed as he rolled his eyes, standing fully, pulling her to the edge of the bed before sinking down between her thighs.

“I was joking, you don’t—“

“You said it.”

Something about the way he looked kneeling in front of her, blue eyes glimmering and hands splayed against her skin, about knocked the wind out of her.

“I know,” she brushed the partly damp hair from his face, fingertips lingering on his cheek as the heat rose in her neck, “but I, I,” she snorted in frustration, sighing, “I haven’t went and gotten anything waxed since before we left, okay?”

His brow furrowed, dragging his thumb painfully slowly from her opening to her aching clit, enjoying playing with the wetness, circling the bundle, her hips rolling for more pressure, barely noticing any difference from the last time, the short amount of hair and bare skin surrounding it wasn’t something that terrified him, “I fail to see the problem here.”

“Okay.”

The confusion evaporated from her voice as his tongue parted her, toes curling against his skin as his hands squeezed her hips, a moan finally escaping her parted lips as she laced her fingers in his hair.

“Tommy, shit, you’re gonna—“ she could barely choke out the words as he sucked gently, the combination of his tongue circling around and the constant pressure from the suction being almost too much, tears welling at her water line.

“Fuck,” she glanced down to see him watching her intently as he pushed two fingers into her waiting heat, “shit, if you’re not careful—“

She groaned as he pulled his mouth away, kissing the inside of her leg as he spoke, fingers playing gently with the white hot button in the deepest part of her, “Told you I was going to make a mess of you, love.”

Her eyes rolled back, grateful that he knew exactly what he was doing to her, the heat building in her stomach and the tensing of her muscles was something she was trying desperately not to fight, enjoying the white hot sensation that had her fingers and toes tingling with anticipation.

In the midst of feeling everything, every wonderful sensation that sent fire through her skin from her deepest part of her insides, it wasn’t until she could feel the the warmth of the climax running through her that Quinn tuned in to exactly how much noise she was making.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t love the way he made sure she was fully finished, tongue continuing to assault her overly sensitive clit, lapping and sucking greedily, as his fingers fucked her the rest of the way through the orgasm rippling through her body, finding herself not entirely responsible for the amount of wet squelching noises as she finished.

She smiled, taking a shuddering breath, as she reached for his hand, sucking and licking at the fingers that she could taste herself on.

From the look in his eyes, she knew in that moment he’d fuck her mercilessly if she asked.

“Hmm,” she let her eyes wander his body, flicking to take in the sight of the glistening precum leaking from his swollen cock resting against his stomach, “you lay down.”

“Alright.”

Quinn kneeled to the side, the bed sinking under his weight as he leaned against the headboard.

Tommy was surprised when she straddled him facing away, nimble fingers holding the head of his cock, using the tip to part herself before sinking down, sheathing him inside her fully.

The sensation was blissful, the noises she made were angelic, but the view as she worked herself on and off of his throbbing length, was beautiful.

Half damp hair clung to her decorated skin, her grip tightening on his legs as she clenched around him when he would bury himself deeper in time with her movements.

She sat still, hips rolling, as she reached a hand back toward him, “You’re quiet.”

He hummed, lacing their fingers, leaning forward to pull her flush against his chest, “Just enjoying the view.”

She laughed, the action causing her to tighten around him, finally pulling a satisfied groan from between his parted lips.

Her head fell back against his shoulder as his free hand found itself between her thighs once again, toying with the swollen bundle of nerves. Her nails raked across his scalp, made him shiver, all the feelings together becoming a bit too much, the familiar sensation of his balls preparing to empty teetering in the midst.

“Hey,” she patted his arm a couple times, pulling him back into the moment, away from the precipice of bliss, “sorry, my feet are just falling asleep like this.”

“It’s okay,” his mouth felt dry as she worked herself off of him, tight around him every inch of the way, before she sat awkwardly in the middle of the bed, pale skin flush in the lamp light, fingers pinching at the contrast of her pink nipples.

He hooked a hand behind her knee, pulling her flat against the mattress with a small squeal, feet in the pillows, before taking the opportunity to lay between her thighs, tasting her once again.

As he felt her fingers trail along his jaw, he realized that the tactile sensation of her touch was part of the fun. She wanted to feel what he was doing to her just as much as he wanted to do it.

The noises she made were the kind that came from true pleasure, appreciating the contrast of her enthusiasm against the random women from bars who only lay there with their legs open, and Lizzie, toward the end, barely making a sound at all.

“Tommy, please, want you. Want you in me when I come.”

He caught the look in her eyes when he glanced up at her, doe-eyed and lust filled, something about the way her lips were parted with her brows drawn together that made him listen.

Her forehead was buried in his neck once he filled her again, the overwhelming heat fluttering around him spurred him on even more, the sound of breathless pants and groans and skin meeting skin filling the room.

“Fuck,” her grip on his shoulders only tightened, hips rocking to meet the long quick thrusts he filled her with as she continued, warm breath fanning his neck with her words, “yes, fuck, Tommy right there, shit that feels so fucking good. Fuck, gonna—“

She cut herself off, a sweet moan coming from somewhere in her throat, a welcome assault on his senses. It only pushed him to keep snapping his hips against her plush ass, her feet locked behind him.

He wasn’t sure which of them came first, but the words leaving her mouth had him ready to pour himself out inside her from the moment they passed through her lips.

She had drawn back, allowing him the space to capture her lips, a firm grip cradling the back of her head, enjoying the moment of eating up the soft moans and whimpers that she let fall into his mouth as they finished before drawing back to take in the sight she was below him.

She looked, for a moment, startled, before her eyes snapped to his, smiling, taking a deep breath before he let his forehead rest against hers.

All she could do was try to catch her breath, and Tommy realized he could have said so many things in that moment.

Thankfully, she interrupted anything he would have butchered, her hands gently skimming along his sides before she spoke.

“Can I have my towel? Kinda need it.” She pulled a face, eyes flicking down to where he was still buried inside her.

Quinn smiled as he tried to grab it with his foot but it was useless. She sighed as he pulled out of her, terribly satisfied but already wondering when it would happen again.

She took a steadying breath as she placed the towel between her legs, realizing she wouldn’t be standing any time soon.

She situated herself under the blankets, tucking the pillow under her head as he returned from the bathroom, joining her under the covers.

“Are you okay?” Tommy whispered, letting her nuzzle into his neck before placing a kiss to her forehead.

“Hmm, yeah. More than okay.”

She reveled in the way, as she felt herself drift off to sleep, that even half awake and both of them satisfied he still held her, the warmth of his hand pressed flat against her radiating through her skin as he kept her close.

***

“Fuck,” Quinn cleared her throat, mouth dry, as she tried to capture some semblance of how much time had passed, “what time is it?”

Tommy shifted, tapping the phone screen on the night stand, light filling the room.

“2:30 in the morning.”

“Shit.”

“Hmm?”

“Never had dinner,” she yawned, snuggling into his chest further, nails tracing absentminded patterns across his skin, “and you fucking wore me out, so I’m starving.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, toying with her half damp hair, voice rough with sleep, words rumbling in his chest, “I can make something.”

She stretched, rolling around between the navy sheets before forcing herself to actually sit, vision bleary without her glasses.

“Nah, not that I don’t trust your cooking skills, but put on clothes. I’ll buy dinner.”

“Where are we going to get dinner at 2:30 in the morning?”

“I know a place.”

***

“Can I get,” she scrunched her nose, “a black coffee, an order of Huevos Rancheros, and can I add jalapeños?”

The waitress nodded, scribbling on the notepad. Her blank stare at the both of them wasn’t lost on Tommy. He assumed the girl just wanted to go home despite the place being open 24 hours.

“And does the French toast come as a side or is it only a whole order?”

Tommy watched as she flipped the menu back and forth, looking for the answer but not finding it.

“Just a whole order, ma’am.”

“Okay, I’ll do that too. Ooh,” she tapped the photo that had strawberries piled on top of the French toast, “the one with the fruit please.”

“Okay,”

“And can I get Alex’s shake; the cinnamon shake?”

The girl nodded, finishing scribbling. “Anything else?”

Tommy watched as she shook her head, sitting back in the wood chair, placing her menu on top of his and folding her hands, looking rather pleased with herself.

“For you?”

“The corned beef hash, both eggs over easy, with rye toast.”

“Coffee?”

He paused, handing her the menus, “Sure.”

He took in her sleepy smile once the waitress departed, something about the combination of her still disheveled hair, dried into waves from sleeping with it partly wet, heavy eyes, and the way she had tucked herself into that same fucking sweater she had stolen how long ago had him wondering if it was really that simple.

If that strange twinge he had in his chest when he had worried about her being sick was him actually letting himself love someone again.

He had assumed from the whole situation with Lizzie panning out the way it did that he would spend the rest of his life all alone, being a bitter asshole.

Maybe that wasn’t the case.

“What are you thinking about?” She whispered as the waitress brought back the two black coffees.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, picking up the mug as she sat forward, elbows on the table as she cradled the cup as if it was full of liquid gold, looking at him intently, “little bit of everything.”

Maybe the fact that he couldn’t admit it made him realize that it was already too late.

It was there. No turning back.

She hummed, nodded, and shifted in the chair.

“Trying to figure out why you ordered enough food to feed three people.”

“Hey!” She sat the mug down, brows drawing together as she crossed her legs, “Because I couldn’t decide what I actually wanted and figured I might as well get both.” She admitted sheepishly.

The restaurant was fairly quiet and fairly empty.

He watched as her eyes slipped close, previously looking out the window at a passersby on the sidewalk, but the cadence at which she tapped her nails, square tipped acrylics painted black to match her toes, continued.

The sound didn't bother him, but the rhythm reminded him of the horses he didn’t ride anymore, that only were used for making money now, and something about the thought saddened him just the same.

She stopped when he covered her hand with his own.

“So, I’ve been thinking—“

“Here you go.” The waitress interrupted, not of her own fault, bringing Quinn the shake as requested.

“Oh, thank you.”

She pulled back, not in a harsh way but the retraction of her hand caught him off guard all the same, took a drink of the shake, setting it aside before reverting back to the coffee.

“You’ve been thinking; About?”

“It might be kind of stupid,” she shook her head, giving a shrug, “but do you know anything about how to set up a scholarship?”

There was silence for a moment, and Quinn wasn’t sure if it was something she had said or done, but Tommy’s expression was confused.

“Generally, yes. I know the gist of the process.”

“Is it difficult?”

“It depends on if you try to do it all yourself or go through someone else.”

Quinn hummed, setting the coffee down.

“So you’ve had someone else do it.”

“Yes. A couple. One is a memorial scholarship in Grace’s name. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I just guessed.”

“A lot of it depends on if it’s tied to a charity or a nonprofit organization. Some of it hedges on if it’s recurring or awarded once. There’s obviously other technicalities along the way,” he took a drink of the coffee and Quinn felt like she was being sized up for a moment, “Who are you doing it for?”

She sighed, looking down at her empty hands before feeling far more emotional than she thought she should.

“Um, I’m not sure if I can put the stipulation on it, but I wanted to do it for, uh, fuck,” she took a sip of the shake, a welcome distraction, while she tried to put into words something that shouldn’t have been that hard to say, “for women who have have survived domestic violence. Got out. Gotten out alive. I can’t imagine what having a fresh start after something like that would do for someone.”

“Yes, you can.” Tommy’s tone was reassuring as he spoke, “You have.”

She nodded, staring down into the mug. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a fucking relief.”

“You also can put stipulations on what it can cover. If it’s just tuition or room and board also. Books and fees.”

“Right.”

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much were you going to make the award?”

She shrugged, “I don’t even know what tuition is anymore. I was thinking $10,000. It seems like a lot but that really didn’t get me that far when I was in school.”

“I’ll match it. Whatever you decide.”

The comment was so offhand, she almost didn’t know what to say.

“What? Tommy you don’t have to—“

“I know.” He nodded, thankful for the reprieve of the waitress once again, to not let his thoughts wander down the path of wishing he would have met her sooner to protect her from all of the horrors she had endured, the train of thought that had been on his mind heavily since they had returned.

***

Quinn woke up as she heard the door to the apartment close, hoping silently that it was no one arriving unexpectedly.

She rolled into Tommy’s pillow, settling back under the covers and dozing off until the door opened and closed once again.

It was 8 AM.

After their outing in the middle of the night she thought she would sleep longer than that, but, she forced herself out of the bed anyway, bare feet padding across the wooden floors, making a stop in the bathroom to steal her spare toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet in order to not feel like a total fucking heathen.

She could smell coffee, but after the last week, she realized that was the only smell that came through. No bubbles. No soap. Not Tommy’s cologne or the maple syrup she used on the French toast.

She sighed, digging in the cupboard for a mug before realizing she could feel someone watching her.

Tommy was sitting at the table, clearly having just looked back to the stack of mail and paper that was sitting in front of him as she poured a cup of coffee.

She was wearing one of his shirts and her underwear and nothing else. After they returned in the night, she had bugged to turn some movie on in bed, something that just switched to streaming, and they had stayed up talking until it felt like the sun would be up any moment.

She hummed contentedly as she stared down into the black liquid, her reflection peeking back out at her, thinking about, no matter how much she hated the phrase it was all she could quantify it with, the way he made love to her between the sheets, holding her close as they fell asleep once again afterward.

The phrase usually made her cringe and now it gave her goosebumps just thinking about it.

It didn’t feel like just sex, and it certainly hadn’t been a quick fuck.

She wandered to the table, thinking nothing of leaning over Tommy’s shoulder to see what he was reading, free hand resting on his chest as she tucked her chin into his neck.

“Ooh, you get The Times on Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I have the book review? And the sports section?” She sunk down into the free chair, setting the mug down rather unceremoniously as she tucked the shirt into her lap, taking in Tommy’s disheveled hair and the tortoise shell glasses, something she had never seen him wear before.

He looked so comfortable when he was relaxed.

Quinn realized, rather selfishly, that she would be content if every Sunday were like this.

Easy like Sunday morning.

Tommy rifled through the paper, handing off the weather and sports and the book review section.

“And the crossword, too. I love the crossword but I’m terrible at it.”

“Do you want the mini, too?” He asked, tapping the lower part of the page as he relinquished most of the paper to her.

“When you’re done.”

“Can I have the business section back? Tail end of the opinion.”

“Yep.”

The both skimmed in silence, Quinn sipped the coffee occasionally as she hunted for the crossword, glancing up every now and then to look at Tommy. He read some part of the business section with intense focus.

“Is there no crossword on Sunday?”

Tommy rifled through the remaining broadsheets, plucking the Sunday Magazine from the stack, “It’s printed in the Arts during the week but on Sundays it’s in the magazine.”

“Thanks,” she hummed, flipping through the pages, before settling in the chair rather awkwardly, nabbing a spare pen from the table, tapping as she spoke, “I never usually got it on Sundays. Just during the week.”

She worked in silence, tapping out letters to see if they fit the boxes as Tommy leafed through the paper for another article.

“Embargo.”

“Hmm?”

“Three letters, embargo.”

She sipped the coffee, looking at him expectedly for an answer.

“Ban?”

“Oh, yep. That works.”

Much of the morning continued on in the same way, silence with the rare exception.

And, it was good. It wasn’t silence out of awkwardness or resentment or some lull before someone started a fight.

Quinn could read the silence, and it was rather peaceful.

After awhile, as neither of them knew how to leave work alone, Quinn dug through her bag, procuring her iPad and sat next to Tommy on the couch, where he had taken the chaise part of the sectional, typing quickly on the keyboard of the laptop, stopping to read the words on the screen every so often.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” she shrugged, nestled into his side under a blanket.

“For what?”

“For not letting you know I wasn’t going to be there, I’ll have to look at my books and figure out when we can actually finish the color.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure you feel fine?”

She had confessed, rather out of the blue, the last few times she had gotten it, and even in that moment, yesterday, her fear. A rational one, Tommy realized, as she teared up on the couch, that she was afraid she was going to die from some unknown after effects.

He had consoled her, trying to point out that the people that died from those things had been ones with previously documented preexisting conditions, and it had been enough to console her and ease her overthinking mind.

“Please, don’t worry about me. Just let me clean here while you’re gone today, I, Tommy I just have to do something you took care of me for a fucking week, I owe you a favor, and I don’t have to work today so I need something to do.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He countered, pouring coffee between the two mugs as she padded barefoot around in the maroon and baby blue faded shirt she had revived from the deep depths of the drawer.

They hadn’t gone anywhere the rest of the day Sunday. She had changed from one of his shirts into a different one, presumably because the first one was lost in the sheets somewhere early Monday morning.

Quinn looked down, trying for the third time to figure out from the upside down angle what was wrong with the text.

“It’s spelled wrong,” she said, pulling a face as she pointed to the maroon letters. Tommy handed her the mug, steam from the scalding coffee catching her in the face. “It’s a-i-n-s.”

“Not for what it’s meant for it isn’t.”

She shook her head, trying to think of what its intended representation was.

Villans. Not villains.

“Fuck,” Tommy hissed, pulling his phone from the breast pocket of the jacket.

“What?”

He shook his head, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead before silencing the call, “My day has already begun.”

“Hmm,” she agreed, the action catching her off guard as she retreated, “good luck, I’m taking a nap.”

“It’s not even 6 yet, love.”

She nodded, sitting on the couch and pulling the blanket over her legs, “I know. I’m usually still sleeping. Goodnight. Bye.”

By the time she woke up, Quinn determined it was time for another cup of coffee.

She checked the clock on the stove, relieved that it was a little after 10AM, which suited her regular schedule much better that 5 whatever the fuck in the morning.

She realized, as she putzed around, putting clothes in to wash and peeking in the fridge, that it was strange being in Tommy’s apartment without him there.

She thought she was hungry, but the fridge just contained random ingredients to things that didn’t really make anything as a whole.

She couldn’t go get anything, because she didn’t have a key to get back in, and ordering delivery didn’t really sound too appealing, so, she settled on eating some crackers that she found in the pantry and determined that was enough for a while.

The silence of being alone was driving her crazy.

Traipsing to the bedroom she dug through her bag in search of her headphones, hoping that some music would give her the motivation to at least tidy up.

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have committed to cleaning anything, but it was too late for that.

Nothing sounded appealing to listen to. A rare occurrence but she realized she hadn’t really listened to anything for while.

Scrolling, staring into the void of her phone, she eventually picked the playlist that she had aptly named [NSFW].

The amount of swear words in the songs would have her Oma rolling in her grave.

Awhile later, after another cup of coffee and psyching herself up enough to commit to actually doing something, Quinn was too caught up in a the music blasting through her headphones to hear the door click closed, heels clicking across the floor as she danced around on her knees, digging the rest of the pots and pans out of the drawer that had crumbs in the bottom of it that she couldn’t fucking look at any fucking longer.

“Excuse me?”

Quinn hadn’t heard the words the first time, but the gap in her music fell at just the right time, that the woman’s words cut through as if she was standing right beside her.

“Jesus fuck—“ Quinn stood bolt upright, knee catching the bottom of the drawer, heart hammering as she tripped over the door to the dishwasher.

Oww.

She found herself stumbling back against the counter, ripping one of the AirPods out of her ear, the music coming to a halt, as she met eyes with the well dressed woman standing across the kitchen island from her.

Shit.

Fuck.

Damn.

Oh no…

She could feel her eyes grow wide as she took in the smirk playing on the corner of the woman’s lips.

Apparently watching someone’s life flash before their eyes was amusing.

“I take it you’re the girl Arthur’s been giving Tommy a hard time about?”

“That…” Quinn swallowed, scratching at her scalp under the mess of hair piled on top of her head, as she took in the smattering of freckles on the woman’s cheeks, the brownish reddish hair, and the fact that the girl honestly didn’t look as old as Quinn had first thought, close to her own age if she had to guess, “entirely depends.”

“On?” She quirked a brow, arms crossed, a glimmer of mischief in her blue eyes, and that was when the pieces fell into place.

“Oh my fucking god,” Quinn leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter and head in her hands, as she took a shuddering breath, “yeah I see it now. Okay. You’re Ada?”

She nodded, laughing a bit as the smile finally cracked through her faux stern exterior.

“Oh,” Quinn puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled, hands on her hips as she remembered she was in Tommy’s shirt with no bra on, “I thought I was a dead woman, because, well, you know.”

“Because my brother is a dolt and has never shown you pictures of his family?”

Quinn snorted, thankful for what seemed to be an innate Shelby ability to read between the lines, “Yeah, I guess when you put it that way. Sorry; he didn’t mention you were coming.”

“He didn’t know I’d be here today, I’ve been from Brooklyn to Camden, New Jersey looking at a bunch of fucking property this last week but, I’m exhausted and was coming here to take a nap,” she took off the jacket, and it clicked for Quinn what she meant, the bump under her dress now rather apparent, “but, truthfully, I’m starving.”

“Well, uh, let me throw myself together then I’ll be out of your hair—“

Quinn heard the suction of the fridge door closing.

“Do you want to get lunch?”

Ada’s words halted her retreat, the concept of eating with someone she only just met not terribly off putting, but Quinn tried to feel out what the reason behind it could be.

“Uh, sure. Just,” she gestured to the shirt, “let me get ready.”

Quinn retreated to the bedroom, digging through the piles of freshly washed clothes, as she tossed the shirt and underwear she had been wearing in the pile of yet dirty clothes.

Met your sister. She seems nice. Getting lunch.

She hammered out the message, tossing the phone on the bed and continued to dig through the clothes.

Quinn had determined jeans and her old Detroit Red Wing’s hoodie would have to do.

She wasn’t even sure where it came from, maybe her dad had bought it and it had hung around until she took it, because Yzerman’s number 9 that decorated the back was retired in 2006.

She fought with the button on the jeans long enough to almost give up, before the metal button finally had popped through the hole. Fucking nails.

She was sure, as they walked close together on the sidewalk, that they looked like quite the pair. Ada looked rather put together in her little heels and wool jacket and dress.

“What sounds good?” Quinn questioned, phone going off in her pocket, as they rounded another city corner.

“Anything spicy. I swear I never usually eat spicy but it’s like—“

“Now you can’t get enough?”

Ada cocked her head as they continued, giving Quinn a knowing look, before she nodded. “Been fucking living on antacids.”

Quinn snorted, rolling up her sweatshirt sleeves, before she finally relented, seeing that someone wasn’t going to give up calling her incessantly.

She could only guess who. It just felt rather rude to answer while they were trying to hash out their plans.

“I actually know a really good Indian place,” she looked at the phone, silencing Tommy’s call, before continuing, “it’s a hike but—“

“Let’s go.”

After walking half way, Ada’s tired feet and poor choice of shoes for the excursion had them hailing a cab.

“I’ll have to run for the toilet as soon as we get there, I swear. Thought I’d only be doing this once—“ Ada grumbled, pulling her phone from her purse, to answer her brother's phone call.

“What, Thomas?” She answered, rather exasperated.

“Well, we’ve been chatting!”

She turned the phone away to ask Quinn a question, “He wants to know if he should meet us for lunch. Where are we going?”

“Panna. On first avenue.” Quinn hadn’t been there in ages, she was already trying to decide what to get.

“Yes. It’s far away. We’re taking a cab.” Ada tried to adjust to sit more comfortably, but the backseat of the cab only had so much room.

“Okay. About the acquisition? Well, good luck.”

She laughed, continuing, “Oh, trust me, I’ll only tell all the good stories. Bye, Tom.”

“He said he would have joined us if he didn’t have a meeting in a half hour.”

“Understandable.” Quinn smiled, “That’s okay, then you can tell me all the terrible stories, too.”

Ada sighed, settling herself into the chair, before looking over the menu.

Quinn watched her for a moment, seeing the resemblance between her and Tommy, and from what she could remember of the little bit she’d seen of Arthur and Finn, although without any introduction, she could see the thread that tied them together.

“So, how many siblings do you have all together?”

Ada quirked a brow, looking up from the menu.

“Tommy doesn’t say much, family wise.”

“Well he’s told me you have five sisters and four that are absolutely atrocious toward you, so I’m not sure why he hasn’t shared the ins and outs of the chaos that is our family, yet.”

Quinn opened her mouth, wanting to protest that she had six, but didn’t feel like divulging the fact that Lydia had been out of their lives for years, and kept looking for the words that didn’t come to her.

She gave up, closing her mouth before she turned into a fish out of water gasping for breath.

Do they all fucking know he went home with me? Jesus Christ.

“Well, he’s told me some, but usually he just uses everyone’s name and I wasn’t sure if there—“

“There’s five of us. I’m sorry, I’m just cranky and famished and it’s a terrible combination.”

Quinn nodded, deciding on the samosas and chicken tandoori, and that a side of naan bread wouldn’t hurt either.

By the time their food came, Ada seemed more even tempered. She spoke fondly of her son and of her husband, Ben, out of the country for some kind of work with the government.

“Sometimes it’s a few months of just seeing each other through the phone,” she shook her head, “I could tell you the exact day I got pregnant, I swear, because I think he was only home for two days.”

Quinn chuckled as she bit into one of the samosas, thankful for the chance to say nothing.

Halfway through the meal they ended up ordering more naan bread, as neither of them seemed to be able to take a bite of their food without it.

“I really am not sure what is holding the whole,” Ada waved the fork around as she stared down at her plate, trying to chew through the bite before she continued speaking, “divorce process up. Honestly.”

Quinn swallowed thickly, their conversation taking a hard left rather quickly, not sure how much of her brother’s marital issues she was aware of in contrast to the knowledge she herself had.

“I’m not really sure,” She could feel the anxiety prickle along the back of her neck, the light headed feeling catching her off guard, feelings starting to swim in her head amongst the reflection off the window from the Christmas lights.

“Please,” Ada started, not sure if it was quite her place but not willing to waste the opportunity of them being alone to not say something in her brothers defense, “I don’t know what you know, and I don’t know what the, situation, between you and my brother is, but for everyone’s sanity, don’t let him come home and find you in bed with someone else. I don’t think he could go through it a second time.”

Quinn froze except for a nod as Ada fixed her with a serious steely stare, causing her to swallow hard before the other woman continued without prompting.

“Sorry, I’m sure it’s the last thing you want to think about. How is your work going?” Ada forced a smile, realizing that she probably didnt need to torture the girl with the continual reminder that her brother was still married, although she realized the technicalities of the situation were the only thing still holding it together as a marriage.

As did most of their family.

“Good. Busy. I'm going to Germany soon for a convention. A friend lives there so she invited me to come, and I’m looking forward to it.” Quinn sighed, “I am not looking forward to packing and TSA but that’s a whole other thing.”

“Christ, just be thankful you’re small,” Ada said, “they look at me like I have a bomb strapped to my stomach I swear.”

“How far are you?”

She sighed, “A little over six months. Ready to be done. She’s always laying on my bladder I swear. I always said after Karl I’d be done but, here I am.”

Quinn laughed, relieved at the shift in conversation to something less tense, “Have you picked out a name?”

“Yes. Elizabeth. After our Aunt.”

“A different aunt? I thought your aunt was named Polly?”

“No, same woman. Not sure how that came about as a nickname but, we’ve called her Polly as long as anyone can remember.”

Quinn hummed, shuffling the food around on the plate.

“Tommy said you deal in antiques?”

Ada’s eyes lit up at the mention, “Yes. The challenge of it is so rewarding. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack sometimes but the payoff is amazing.”

“Well, we’ll have to go to Burlington sometime. It’s like a gold mine there I swear.”

By the time Quinn got back to the apartment that night, she was exhausted. The thought of working the next day piled on top didn’t help too much either.

She put the clothes away as Beelzebub pattered back and forth across the dresser, brushing on clothes in an effort to grab her attention.

“Bud, just give me a minute, okay? Then you can have all the pets I swear.”

“Quinn?” Hannah called as she slid the dresser drawer closed, the black mass of fluff jumping to the bed to claim a spot before Quinn sat down.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I can’t smell anything, but I’m good.”

“Oh, I thought you went to the hospital or something but I didn’t want to call and bug. I just came back to grab some stuff and everything was clean and you were gone.”

“No, I was with Tommy. Sorry. I should’ve let you know.”

“Nah, you’re good, Chuck.” Hannah shifted, leaning against the door, “So, y’all figure out what you’re doing yet?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what are y’all? Are you just some married dudes side chick or what?”

“What are you talking about?” She knew she never should have told Hannah everything that came from the trip back home, but showing up looking like she’d been in a car wreck required some explanation and it was so much easier to lay it all on her at the time.

“Quinn, how long are you going to drag this shit out? Yeah, he took care of you while you were sick and it’s cute and all that, but, is he even getting divorced? This bitch living on a whole other continent and you’re just over here—“, she made a cock sucking motion, gagging as she did so before rolling her eyes, the ponytail on top of her head springing back and forth with the motion.

“Get out of my room.” Quinn spoke, heat creeping to the tips of her ears as she pulled the sweatshirt off and tossed it over the chair.

“Quinn—“ Hannah’s expression softened some, but it was already too late.

“No, go away. Leave me alone.”

Quinn shut off the light after ushering Hannah out the door.

She rubbed at her eyes under her glasses, thankful that she hadn’t put makeup on.

Was it really so strange? The situation they had found themselves in?

Surely, they weren’t the only people that had gotten caught up in something so messy, meeting in the right place at the wrong time.

She sighed, kicking off the jeans and climbing under the covers as Mr. Bee hopped up on the bed next to her, nudging her hand and chin for attention before she petted him rather unenthusiastically.

But, was Hannah right? Quinn really had no clue about what was happening on the other side of the pond.

Was it really just some game? Was she some kind of homewrecker without even knowing it?

Surely with the situation she couldn’t be seen as the one at fault?

But, what were they even doing?

Fuck.