No Moving

Kanene’s note: One year ago I threw a surprise party (very small and cozy) in my house and, after some hours, one of mah friends suggested we played some old games from our childhood and I remember my first thought was “Hey, no. We’re not children anymore.” but I said nothing because that sounded a lot like what society would want me to say. We played. And that was one of the best days I’ve ever had. Good enough to give me inspiration for this fanfic. With a lot of chaos and dorky sides and chaos and tickles!!! So I'm giving this to myself as a gift, because, ya know... S e r o t o n i n! Soooo, the lesson? Idk. Be feral, do chaos, play and f**k the society, I guess. Happy day for us all!!! :DD

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* This is Ler!Roman and Ler!Virgil with Lee!Logan and Lee!Patton. Around 3.700 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Eu vou traduzir ainda ;w;. Thank you so so so much for being with me through all this crazy and difficult year. It’s been a bless to have all of you in my notes, my askys, and my notifications! Take care of yourself, lollipop, you deserve. <33

[~*~]

It was a sunny day. The heat from the biggest star of our solar system being placated by a relaxing wind incessantly throwing the napkins from the so careful, yet messy – as if this wasn’t a tradition the quartet repeated affectionately every single year – decorated table. The friends positioned themselves around it. The surprise party’s rush being already over after all their screaming, singing, eating and bickering, leaving the four to lazily chat or stare the breeze carrying lonely flowers around Virgil’s – the one who offered his house as a sacrifice to the chaos - yard, making them float in the air for some seconds before forgetting them on the dirt again.

Virgil snored softly from the spot he conquered on the tabletop, taking a peaceful nap. Patton was saying, in the fastest pattern he could muster, all the dad jokes his brain managed to think only to see how much time Logan would continue to give him the silent treatment before finally – and figuratively, the owner of the only brain cell of their group would say if he heard this narrative, - exploded and Roman? 

Well, Roman was bored.

“I HAVE AN IDEA!!”

Then he slammed his hands on the top of the wooden object, successfully scaring Virgil out of it and of his sleeping – leading the poor adult to fall. Not before kicking a cup in Roman’s direction, his moves being weakened enough by his fogged brain so he missed it and hit Roman’s carefully manicured hands, instead, – at the same Patton, by reflex, slapped the two poor persons who had the bad luck of sitting next to him. He gathered the perfect timing to interrupt Logan’s scared jump by his confused ‘Why did- why- Why did you hit ME?’ sputtering.

“Ow.” The one in red shirt held protectively his arm and hand next to his chest, protesting with his usual offended noises as analyzed the light red spots on them and purposely ignored the ‘What the FUCK, Princey??’ shouted by the host. “Ow. O-w. Are you guys seriously going to hit me every time I try to make your poor lifes better, your barbarians? You know what? I am offended. Your peasants. I am going to get my dear Amanda the katana and then I am- I am out.” 

Logan deadpanned in his direction, lifting one of his eyebrows in his disbelief expression as the other didn’t give a single step to the exit. He did his best to maintain the façade as Patton fuzzed over him, hugging and apologizing and hugging and softly petting his head and offering cake before gasping and turning around to fuzz now over Roman. “… Okay. I am taking Patton with me.”

“Over my dead, haunted body.” Virgil quickly proclaimed before his tune got slurred, very much likely still sleepy. “I saw…” He balanced his hands in front of him, eyes wide and hair spiked, very much reminding of a scared cat. “I saw the angel of death, in all his tall dark, cold aura. In front of me. He was right before me, full of-” He moved his hands more, as if that compensated for his lack of words. “Emo.”

“…Thanatos?” Logan pointed.

“Yeah, yeah. That guy.” Virgil came back to his initial position laying down on the cold surface, yawing. “Totally emo.”

“Actually, when he was created-”

“Excuse me. Focus, focus!” The one who initiated the commotion snapped his fingers until all the eyes were fixated on him, glares traveling from interested to unimpressed. “My brilliant idea? That will light up this party and hearts? Drum the drums!” Silence. He turned to Patton, who was staring at a cute butterfly mindless flying around. “Patton! The drums!” The one wearing black rims seemed to come back to reality, drumming his fingers on the table. “Very well!” Roman spun, extending the suspense. Logan came back to scrolling on his phone, Virgil getting closer to take a look, both hiding a smirk when heard the pout in Roman’s tune. “You’re all jerks and boring. Let’s play S.T.O.P!”

That caught their attention.

“Roman, you are…” Logan talked slowly, as if trying to make his words as clear as possible, “aware that we’re adults now, right?”

“Aw, come on, guys!” Patton jolted upright. “Sounds fun! And I think Virgil’s yard is bigger enough to make it even better than when we played in middle school!”

“Exactly! And it was one of your favorites games when you were younger, remember, Specs? I think it’s a good way to celebrate that special date which is your birthday!” Logan scoffed at that, albeit his mind was somewhere else. 

Roman wasn’t wrong, he really used to love this game, especially because he was good at it. His love for sports was often ignored by most of his classmates because of his good grades – Logan never understood why one thing would exclude other – therefore he was constantly forgotten in the team or even underestimated. Two things extremely crucial in a game like this. Roman noticed his contemplating face. “I mean, except you are afraid of losing. Again.” 

“I did not lose! Kyle fell on me and he was the only one supposed to be out and not both of us and you. Know. It!”

“No, no, no! Claire said you were the one who tripped on your way and then YOU fell on Kyle-”

“That is nonsense! If Claire had stopped just one second her Dance of Victory, she would be able to see that, by the angle we both were on the ground there was no way I would be able to-”

“Oh, plu-e-ase. You are just a sore los-”

“What is this game?” Virgil questioned Patton, both letting the bickering fall on the background, who smiled widely, his gaze unfocusing a bit, probably watching some old memories of his childhood.

“It is a very simple but fun game!! One person stays next to a wall and, oh! We call him the Looker by the way! Or even some large thing and the others players stay the most away from him as possible. The person next to the wall has to count until a certain number of his choice and while he is counting everyone is free to wander around the place until he turns around, then every player has to freeze on the same spot and position they were. If you move and the Looker catches you, you’re out. You win if you touch the wall where he was. You can do everything you want as long the Looker is not staring at you.

“There was that one kid who managed to win the game by climbing a tree until he was close enough to jump from it and run to the wall before the Looker shouted he was out.” The one wearing two party hats as ‘cat hears’ stopped to breath. “Ah! Ah! Also! If you’re out you can choose to just watch the game or become the Looker’s partner and try to help him. Roman and Logan used to be the worst ever when together.” He giggled, sounding a bit hysteric.

“Hm. I think they used to call this ‘10 Seconds’ in my school, since you could count only further than 10 seconds.” Virgil then frowned. “Wait, why were they the worst?”

“Uhh, so, you see, the Lookers can use some… attics to try to make you move. Logan and Roman usually choose to-”

“I do NOT wish to participate.” Logan stated, crossing his arms stubbornly. Roman sighed. 

“Well, you do you.” Roman then traveled his glare to the others two. “Are you guys coming? I’m the Looker.”

“I’m in!!” Patton excitedly got up, joggling his way to the yard, casting a slightly worried look at Logan, who was adjusting his chair in order to have a better view of the game. Virgil shrugged, taking off his hoodie and following them, quickly throwing a ‘You ok?’ as he passed next to the most professional of the group.

“Yes.” He deeply breathed, sounding calmer. “Yes, I am.” And then give him a bite of a smile. 

Roman positioned himself before the colorful three foot tall concrete tunnel forgotten there by the last owner, barely catching with the corner of his field view his two friends whispering something to each other, the one wearing two party hats snickering behind his hand, bouncing as also choose a good position far away from him, who tried to not think much about what he just presented. A suspicious feeling crawled the back of his neck.

“Go.” Logan pronounced. 

“Oneeeee, twooo, three, fourfivesixseveneight,” Roman turned away from them, counting in a tune just above a whisper. Patton and Virgil exchanged glances.

When he got at twenty, he turned. 

Only to find Virgil laid on the grass, his arm extended to point something in the sky, Patton crouched by his side, his face firm in a puzzled expression staring in the same direction, hand above his eyes to block the Sun. Roman frowned in confusion, the curiosity tickling the back of his brain until he succumbed to it, also looking at the sky to - surprise, surprise! – find absolutely nothing!

By the time he stared at them again Patton now was in front of Virgil, both making what seemed like a very horrible parody of The Creation of Adam painting. Roman got closer, managing to clearly see the smug smile on Virgil’s face and Patton wobbly lips, very much likely holding laughter. He crossed his arms, staying stubbornly for some seconds before giving up, seeing that none of them moved a single millimeter. 

“You two are so funny.” Roman rolled his eyes, sarcasm dropping from each word. Logan snorted.

This time the Looker counted at only fifteen seconds.

This time Patton was in Virgil’s arms when he turned, one leg suspended dramatically in the air. The third time Roman growled loudly as Virgil was on one knee, pretending to propose to Patton who was frozen in the middle of his faint. In the fourth he didn’t even have the chance to turn before two hands tased his sides, making his knees buckle but being held in the same place when a pair of arms that hugged him from behind, capturing the poor adult in a flow of high-pitched squeaks and surprised laughter at each squeeze and spidering deposited just above his hips. 

Some minutes later soft snorts followed him to the ground when he was finally freed, flames running on his face and his arms firmly pressed at his sides, the ghost tickles leading to a sea of giggles dancing in the air.

“Enough.” Logan cut the moment, all the eyes on him when he got up, stretching and loosening his party tie. The Looker recomposed himself in order to sneak pokes and squeezes on the other two, who quickly dashed their way back to the yard. “You both clearly aren’t taking this seriously enough.” A dangerous gleam took over his eyes, staring intently to Roman, who instantly got the same kind of shine in his own glare, nodding in his direction. Both too much preoccupied to notice Virgil and Patton silently high fiving in the distance.

The game started again, now a very different electricity dancing in the air. Logan sensed an old feeling of nostalgia resting on his back as he analyzed the place and his opponents as things went by. Roman turned for at least three times – the perfect number for things to get really interesting, - before he decided to finally move from his place.

Silent steps, he went right to Patton. Logan breathed in relief, taking the opportunity to adjust his strategic position half behind the tree. Patton kept a pattern of switching from moving too fast in a round and then barely taking a step in the other, however, as Roman stopped before him, and for the way he soundless snickered as The Looker changed his target to Virgil, his weakness was still holding his laughter when stared for long periods of time.

Virgil was sitting on the grass. Again. A very good tactic when you tend to fidget or tremble a lot. He would stay in the same position for some rounds until in an explosion of energy dash forward when Roman wasn’t paying attention. The Looker crouched in front of him, his index finger pointing and almost touching his nose.

“You. I don’t trust you.”

And then there was Logan.

“You,” Roman stared in distance – not because of fear pffff of course not - Logan’s form half hidden by the foliage and trunk of the medium tree, his glass making his eyes gleam in a light even more enhanced due the shadow provided by the plant, the rest of his face being partially hidden because of his bangs falling on his features. “are fucking creepy. Stop.”

In the next round Patton gave everyone a heart attack when he screamed since he didn’t heard/saw Logan approaching his spot. Two more rounds. Virgil sneezed and lost his balance in a not very ideal mid-run position. Out.

“Oh, thank gracious, great goodness!! Come here, Knight Mare!! I have an idea!!” Virgil barely had time to stop swearing for losing before being recruited by Roman, who immediately began to whisper in his ear.

 “What do you think they’re talking about?” Patton asked, both being close enough for the question doesn’t need to be spoken above a murmur.

“Not a good thing for us both, I am sure.” In that moment The Lookers turned and a cold shiver ran Logan who, for the way Patton trembled, wasn’t the only one. Adrenaline started pulsing on his veins when they approached, although the birthday person had no idea of why. His old memories too much buried under newer ones for him to catch them.

“Nooohoho.” The cat lover whined and the fact Roman clearly saw that but did nothing to point it, his only reaction being to expand his grin, worsened Logan fears, a ray of recognition finally shining on his mind. That should be how karma feels.

“Look at you both, just standing right there, not being allowed to move an only single inch. What a sad fate, don’t you think, Princey?”

“Oh, absolutely, emo. A horrible, wondrous thing, indeed. But you know what that would be perfect for?” Roman now was just a few centimeters away, the infinitesimal distance being cut when he inclined forward, his breath tickling Patton’s – Poor Patton – ear. “Revenge. You know, Pattycake, Hot Topic here told me the previous attack on my amazing person was your idea. And now that I stop to think, what a wonderful idea, don’t you think, Pat-pat?”

Virgil pulled lightly Roman’s shoulder, sensing the other about to crack but yet having too much fun to end this all so early. “But not now. No touching, right?”

“Oh, right, right. Of course, no touching!” He wiggled his fingers, barely away from the poor target’s ribs, his cheeks already beginning to get pink from blush. “No touching, no touching, no touching, but, most important than anything else: no. moving.”

“Oh, yeah.” Virgil took the opportunity to walk around, stopping right behind Patton, who firmly closed his eyes, the smile he carried getting bigger. “Because the exact, very moment when you can’t take the teases anymore so you break and move?” He tsked. “Then all your protection will be over and you will be all helpless and vulnerable for us to tickle,” He almost purred the words, in the slowest way possible. “tickle, tickle, tickle for hours and hours. Can you imagine that, Popstar? Our fingers prodding and squeezing and tickling every single ticklish spot they find?”

“Ohoho.” Roman evil laughed. “Tickle spots? My Dear Imbalanced Romance, our pipsqueak here doesn’t have any tickle spots. He IS a tickle spot. Ah! I can almost hear his hysteric high-pitched squeaks and giggles! Such an adorable, beautiful, cute melody to my ears. Actually, I don’t know if I will ever be able to stop, Virgil. It’s just all too beautiful and intoxicating, you know?”

“Mm hm,” The other seemed to stop to think. Patton felt like he was going to melt at any moment. “Well, we could always just keep going forever.”

“Of course!” Roman again ignored the slight trembling of the cat lover’s chest, probably due all the giggles trapped there. “Don’t you think it will be wonderful and oh, so, so fun, cutiepants? Receiving all the tickles and nuzzles and raspberries and tickle hugs and tickly butterfly kisses forever and ever and ever? ~” He sing-song the last part.

“But,” Logan almost jumped in the same place, not even realizing how much keyed up he was before Virgil’s breath attacked the back of his defenseless neck. Suddenly all his nerves were hype-aware that he couldn’t turn around or run or even rub away the tingles. Goosebumps ran freely across his spine. “Let’s not forget about our so sensitive nerd here too, right?”

“Sure. Sensitive.” If he didn’t know Roman for all these years, Logan would almost swear he was the Cheshire cat, his smirk almost blocking Patton who hugged himself behind him, giggling quietly. “Because the serious, smart, professional Logan would never be ticklish, right? That is such a childish thing and he definitely, definitely outgrow it for now.”

“Yup. I am sure that, if we slowly and thoroughly spider our fingers all the way up from his sides to his armpits, being sure to give each and every rib a special attention since we don’t want to let anyone feeling left out, there will be no reaction.”

“Absolutely! No reaction at all! Not even if we squeeze the hollows of his hips, or scribble on his already quivering tummy, or massage his shoulder blades or lightly, almost not touching, scratch his armpits… It will be all in vain since our birthday boy is not ticklish.”

“Which means: No wheezy, frantic laughter.”

“Or sputtering among his squeals.” 

“Or cute snorts. Don’t forget the snorts.”

“And what about when the snorts get mixed with his belly laughter?”

“Ohh, that is some good shit you have there.”

Logan was dying. He was fucking dying and the only thin line keeping him alive was his stubborn nature. He could already feel his barrier cracking and crumbling right before him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, only to find both Lookers walking away back to the tunnels, not taking long before starting to count, this time out loud. The one with the, now freaking out, braincell began to snap his fingers non stop, trying to get away some of the built excited energy, some titters escaping from his lips during his happy stimming.

Roman and Virgil looked at each other and then the adorable scene right in front of them, deciding to have mercy and wait patiently for Logan and Patton – who yet didn’t stop giggling and hugging himself – to calm down.

(…)

One. Move.

And in the next second, they both were tackled on the ground.

“No, no, no!!! No!!” Patton was already giggling, trying to run from Roman’s firm hug, attacking with squeezes and scribbles in every spot he succeeded to research on the Looker as he also tried to escape from his friends’ hands attempting to hold him in the same place. “Wait, wait!” He cried, barely catching a glimpse of Logan’s trashing before an idea popped in his mind. “If we all gang up on Logan, I will tell about his secret tickle spot!!”

“Patton!!” Logan’s protest came out difficulty between his tight grin due his constant effort in trying to buckle Virgil from him, both struggling to immobilize the other and playfully rolling in the grass. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Pffft.” Roman said, a happy cry following his sentence when he finally managed to hold one of Patton’s hands, intertwining their fingers so the cat lover wouldn’t try to pry it away. “Nonsense, I know his tickle spots.”  

“Not all of them. ~”

“Patton, I am to going not figuratively end you. Get OFF, Virgil-”

“In your dreams.” He crackled. “Also, Patton, I’m listening.”

“Virgil! Don’t align with the enemy! And, of course I know all of them!”

“Even the one…”

“Patton, no! Stop!” Roman even if concentrated in tickling Patton’s knee so he could sit on his legs, got the slight tremble in Logan's voice, his curiosity one more time starting to take over his brain.

“Sorrey, sorrey, Lo! You know I love you but-”

“Patton, please.” Logan almost smiled as he fought his way to hug and trap Virgil from behind, but losing his balance as the other quickly turned and delivered a raspberry on his neck and quick squeezes on his left thigh. “dON’T!! I-I am going to bakeEEK - Fuck! - you a whole batch of cookies if you don’t tell them!”

Roman caught in the offer, his curiosity immediately perking up, answering in a bat:

“I’m going to tickle you both to pieces if you don’t tell us now.”

“Sorrey, Logan,” Patton tried to sound apologetic, but his excited smile made this task more difficult. “it’s you or me.”

“I’m going to tell them about your calves!” Logan threatened at the same time Patton said “It’s his lower back!”

“TRAITOR!” Both also shouted in synchrony. In a blink of eye Roman let Patton go and helped Virgil to make the most serious one of the group lay down on his stomach.

“I despise you all.” The aforementioned pronounced.

“Aww. Come on.” Virgil lowered, searching the other’s eyes, grinning. “Aren’t you enjoying the view?”

“400.000 years of evolution for humanity to become this. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“You know, talking like this makes me think you don’t want us to give you your so dearly craved birthday tickles, Pocket Protector!”

The three of them stared at the other, looking carefully for any slight indication that Logan was truly uncomfortable with the situation, receiving as response only a scoff, the blush painting his face as a whispered mumble flew from his mouth.

“You’re so cute!” Patton squealed, giving a light tickly kiss on the back of his neck, leading the attacked to suppress a small giggle which progressively got louder as the cat lover tickled his armpits, Roman and Virgil seeing unfazed by Logan’s squirming. “Okay, okay. You have to tickle his lower back but starting with reeeeeally slow scratches at his sides before speeding it to the fastest scribbling you can muster as you move to his spine!”

Logan hid his hot face behind his hands, the yelps and snorts already escaping between his fingers. He was, objectively, going to love every single second of this.

Intimidating

Hey hi hello, I wrote another Gundham t word fic. I had a lot of fun with this one, And It's not as long this time! It's a miracle!

Word count: 2,003 Characters: Gundham Tanaka, Sonia Nevermind

The first few days after the beach party was odd, Everyone was wary to approach Gundham, Afraid of upsetting him by bringing up what happened at the party.

Which was thoughtful of them to be concerned about his feelings, However, Every time Gundham tried to strike up a conversation with any of the others it would quickly trail off and oozed an awkward aura.

His conversations with Hajime weren’t as awkward though, Probably because they both got wrecked with tickles that night. No one seemed to be avoiding Hajime though, Rather they just kept teasing and harassing him every chance they got.

So once again he was pretty much isolated, But maybe after seeing what was happening to Hajime that wasn’t such a bad thing.

He wasn’t completely alone though, Sonia had been spending more time with him, She probably sensed that the others were avoiding him.

“Good morning Gundham!” The Princess beamed at her friend.

Gundham pulled himself away from staring out the window to look up at her. “Good morning, Sonia.”

“Is this seat taken?”

His mismatched eyes glanced around at all the empty seats at his table. “Unless you possess the ability to see the supernatural, No they aren’t taken.”

Come to think of It, No one else was In the dining hall at all.

She giggled. “I think I would be much happier If I could see the supernatural.” She joked as she sat down at the table, Specifically the seat right next to Gundham. “Why are you sitting alone? I would have thought Kazuichi would be sitting with you as well.”

He probably will now that you’re here… He mused In thought.

“Hmph. That fool has been avoiding me since the beach incident.” He answered bitterly.

“Huh? That seems odd. You two were getting along so well.” She frowned, Why would he avoid his friend like this?

Neither of them wanted to tell her why that fight had come about to begin with, Especially not Gundham who had finally made friends.

“Who knows what’s going on In that Mortal’s head.” Gundham mumbled, Leaning forward and resting his arms against the table.

At that moment, Maga-Z, Jum-P, Cham-P and San-D popped out of his scarf and went scurrying down onto the table almost as if waiting for that exact moment, They all looked up at him for a moment.

Gundham tried to look annoyed, But broke out Into a smirk. “Yes yes, I know. You wish to visit the Dark Queen.” He mumbled amusedly as they scurried over to Sonia.

Sonia giggled as she began to pet them. “Good morning to you as well, Devas of Destruction!” She cooed.

“You know, It Is strange. You are the only one they will interact with.” He mused, Watching them.

“It must be because they sense I am not a typical Mortal, As you say.” She smiled.

“I almost think If I were to give you my scarf, They would willingly go with you instead.”

She giggled In amusement, Taking her eyes off the furballs for a moment. “Would you care to test that theory? I might give them back If they do go with me.” She teased.

“Kehehe…” Gundham chuckled, Meeting her eyes. “They would wreak so much havoc that you would be begging for me to take them back.”

Normally, He would have been very over the top saying things like that, But for some reason he wasn’t. His voice was quiet and hadn’t spiked in volume at all. Leaving Sonia to theorize that he may be feeling down due to being isolated.

He almost sounded tired, Too.

“Well, Let us see then.” She smirked. Without taking his eyes off of her, He removed his scarf and handed It to her.

Sonia wasted no time wrapping the purple accessory around her neck.

And of course.

The four hamsters scurried up her arm once she set her hand on the table to see If they would go to her. She laughed brightly as they settled onto her shoulders and In the scarf. She stood up, Readying herself for her monologue.

“Traitors.” He muttered.

“It looks like the Supreme overlord of Ice has met his match, In The GREAT SONIA NEVERMIND! Ruler of the Dark kingdom! The Dark Queen of Destruction!” She imitated Gundham as much as she could, Even striking a pose as she said this. “Fuahaha!”

Gundham cracked up laughing at the sight before him.

Sonia beamed at him, It was nice to see him smile and laugh freely. He didn’t do this nearly enough In her opinion.

“My dear, You are not intimidating.” He chuckled, Regaining his composure. “Though, It was endearing.”

“Not Intimidating?! Fool!” Oh, Looks like she’s continuing this bit. “Do not speak on my fearsomeness until you see my ultimate attack!”

“Oh? And what might that be?” He humored her, Sitting upright.

“I have one more title...” She declared, Sinking down Into the seat next to Gundham, Eliminating any easy chance for escape. “The Ultimate Tickler!”

She immediately shot her hands out and began squeezing his sides, Drawing surprised gasps and giggles from the Ultimate breeder. “S-Sonia?! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“I am punishing you for your earlier discretion! No one says that I am not intimidating and gets away with It!” She smirked as she watched him squirm around.

“But you ahaharen't intimidating! I am speheheaking the truth!” He shot back.

“Oh, You will regret those words If my name Isn’t SONIA NEVERMIND!” She cried out with determination. She managed to sneak her hands under his shirt and began skating her nails across his stomach.

He yelped and lurched backwards, His back hitting the wall behind him. Bubbly laughter began pouring from his lips.

She scooted her chair as close to him as she could, Practically hovering over him now. Escape was certainly not going to be easy. “Fuahaha!” She imitated his usual evil laugh. “You are trapped, And there Is no hope for an escape! You must admit that I am to be feared and MAYBE I shall go easy on you!”

How long was she going to keep up this bit? Who knows. Not me. Certainly not Gundham either. It was really amusing to him though.

“I dohohohon’t lihihihihie!” He laughed, Trying to catch her nimble hands.

“Ohh, Now you’re just ASKING for It!”

Her fingers sped up, Nails gliding up his sides and tracing around each rib bone individually. This prompted him to laugh harder, Trying to wrap his arms around his ribs to protect them.

“Foohohohohoholish Mortal! Did you thihink that Ihihihi would break sohohoho easily!? It taahahahakes more thahahan mere tickling to breheheheak me!”

Maybe he was asking for It, Just a little bit. He kind of liked the attention.

“Mortal?! Fine. Perhaps It Is time I begin my Ultimate attack!” She continued her attack, Lightening up her touch a bit to see his reaction. His laughter remained the same, But he began squirming more, Confirming to her that he was more sensitive to softer tickles. “Are you ready? DEVAS, ATTACK!” She commanded.

As If it were Gundham ordering them, The Hamsters obeyed. Much to his horror, They jumped onto him and began nuzzling against his unfortunately very ticklish neck.

“N-NOHOHOHO! AHAHAHAHAHA! YOU TRAHAHAHAITORS!” He blushed at the volume of his laughter, Especially after just saying he wouldn’t break so easily.

“Fuahaha! They aren’t betraying anyone, They are simply following their Queen’s command!” She was trying to keep In character, Though ended up giggling along with him after this statement. “It seems as though your neck Is quite sensitive, Does that tickle~?” She cooed.

He tried to muffle his laughter by bringing his arms up to shield his face, But Sonia was having none of it. “Gundham!” She broke character finally. “Do not hide, Your laughter sounds wonderful!”

Gundham's face got even redder, Even his neck got a little red. “NOHOHOH IT DOESN’T!” He whined through his laughter.

“Yes, It does! You should laugh like this more often.” She smiled kindly.

The Dark Prince shook his head in protest.

“Enough of that!” Sonia went back Into her character. “I think It Is about time for the Supreme Overlord of Ice to admit defeat to The Dark Queen of Destruction!”

She went in for the metaphorical kill, Though Gundham thought It might actually kill him. She moved her hands up and began tickling under his arms, Being as gentle as she could to invoke more of a reaction.

He let out a scream and his tough persona completely fell apart under the merciless tickles. “NAAHAHAHAHA! NOHOT THERE!” He finally broke. “PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAP!”

Sonia couldn’t help but laugh along with him. “I will end the attack, But you have to admit that I am to be feared! Admit your defeat!” She grinned.

Gundham managed to snatch up two of his Four Dark Devas with his trembling hands In an attempt to turn the tables, But this seemed to only drive the other two to speed up as If to tell him to release their allies. So his actions did very little to alleviate the intense ticklish sensations.

He had no choice to admit defeat.

“OKAHAHAHAHAY! YOU WIHIHIN! AHAHAHAHAHA!”

As much as she wanted to continue, Sonia relented and withdrew her hands. “San-D, Cham-P, Both of you can stop now.” She gently reached out and grabbed them off of his shoulders, Petting them affectionately as the other two joined them. “Good Devas…” She praised them.

Gundham slumped over the table, Gasping for air and breathing heavily. “You are… Truly evil…” He panted.

She smiled at him. “Nonsense. I could have been a lot more cruel than I was.”

That made chills run down his spine. He shuddered visibly at the thought. He turned his head- Which was still resting against the table- To look at her. “Even so, I suppose I was no match for your power THIS time. But next time, You’re In for a tough fight.”

Sonia giggled, Setting the Hamsters back down on the table. “My power knows no bounds, Foolish Prince! Now, Admit that I am intimidating. Or else I shall sic the Four Dark Devas of Destruction and Tickles on you again!”

“Did… Did you just rename them?”

“Better hurry up~”

“Gh-- F-Fine. You are the most Fearsome creature I’ve ever come across. Even I, The Great Gundham Tanaka, Am intimidated by you... Does that satisfy you?”

Even though his speech was low energy, She could tell he was In higher spirits than earlier. The Princess giggled as she took off his scarf. “Yes, The Dark Queen thanks you.” She set It on the table and the Devas immediately curled up In it.

“Looks like they’re tired.” He observed.

“Almost as tired as you are.” She added, Running her fingers through his black and gray hair affectionately. “You seemed tired this morning, Did you not sleep well?”

The Supreme Overlord of Ice completely melted under her touch, His eyes fluttering closed. “Not particularly.” He admitted. “As foolish as It is, I suppose I was a bit upset about being avoided by the others.”

Sonia frowned. “I do not understand why they are acting so weird. Especially Kazuichi.”

Because he’s Kazuichi. He shrugged his shoulders a bit.

“Perhaps I will have a conversation with him.” She thought aloud.

“N-No. That’s not necessary. I’m sure he has a reason.”

“I am too, That Is why I wish to talk to him to find out why. It Is clearly something that Is troubling you, So It Is troubling me as well.” The Princess had already made up her mind.

Gundham knew It was pointless to argue any further, So he remained silent. Soon dozing off.

Sonia giggled as she heard a soft snore, Still running her fingers through his hair. She wondered why nobody could see this side of Gundham when they talked to him, She Instantly saw through his cold facade.

Maybe It was the same reason people couldn’t see how Intimidating she can be at first glance.

Tape to tape - Chap. 2

Coops - High School AU

All credits for the world & the characters for @lumosinlove. I’m kind of sad that SW is ending but luckily there’s still Coast to coast left and 12 days of ficmas isn’t far away.

I wrote this fic(of a fic) before the last chapter was out. In case someone hasn’t read it yet, I won’t tell any details but I have to admit that the ending was far better than I could have hoped for. I was literally jumping up and down after reading that❤️

Happy reading!

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Tw: child abuse (not direct but definitely implied)

In the three months that Sirius had known Remus they had gotten pretty close. Sirius had to admit that he enjoyed being with Remus but he was rather surprised that Remus seemed to also like his company. You see, Remus was one of those people who was rather popular with his peers. Remus had adjusted to the team quickly and found his place easily. Of course there were some people who didn’t like him but he didn’t care about them. Luckily Remus had found his place within the better people in Sirius’s opinion.

Sirius on the other hand couldn’t usually come along with people like him. Or rather people like him didn’t like Sirius’s closed off nature. Remus seemed to be an exception. They had spent a lot of time with each other in practice and school as they shared the same French class and usually paired together in training and he hadn’t (yet) gotten sick of him.

Autumn was finally starting to blend into winter with temperatures dropping and sun rising later each day. This also meant Sirius’s birthday was getting closer. He didn’t really enjoy his birthday as it didn’t come with any special occasion in his family. Somehow his parents seemed to be even more annoyed by him around his birthday which resulted in Sirius getting a few punches more than usually. Especially his father seemed to consume rather impressive amounts of alcohol around this time as well.

Previous years he hadn’t had anyone who genuinly wanted to wish him happy birthday and pay attention towards him. Of course his teammates wished him happy birthday but they didn’t really notice his sullen mood and certainly didn’t bug him about it.

”Sirius, are you sure you are okay? It’s just that you seem a little quieter today than you usually are.” Sirius was stretching in the gym with Remus. They had already figured this routine that worked well for them. They both liked to stay and stretch well before showering so why not do it together?

”Yes. I’m fine.” Sirius answer came out maybe a little harsh but on his defence he was tired and just wanted to get to his bed and sleep. This wasn’t the first time Remus had asked the question and somehow it was getting harder and harder not to lose his temper.

”Okay, I believe you. I was thinking, we could maybe do the run together that we are supposed to do over the weekend. Since your birthday is on Sunday maybe tomorrow?” Remus asked.

”I think you should go alone this weekend. I’m going to be pretty busy.” Sirius said while l lying on his back and stretching his thigh.

”Oh. That’s alright.” Remus sounded a little upset and they sat in silence for a few moments.

”Are you really fine Sirius? I mean you just seem-”

”YES! I am fine, Remus! Just stop asking. Please.” Sirius let out a shout. He closed his eyes and sighed little. What are you doing? He is just worried. Sirius rose from the ground and walked to the locker room for the showers. He hoped Remus would say something but the silence wasn’t broken.

One shower later Sirius packed up his gear and headed outside. After a quiet drive Sirius opened stepped inside his home. He tried to be as quiet as possible getting to his room but apparently he wasn’t quiet enough. He heard his father calling for him from his office. Sirius knew he had no choice as he slowly turned and headed for the office.

When Sirius gained his consciousness the first thing he registered was how much his head was pounding. The second thing was how his back ached. The third thing he registered was the bunch of little sniffs he was hearing. He felt how something tickled his nose.

Sirius opened his eyes to see a tiny black puppy with wet eyes on his bed with him. It was sniffing at him before it curled up next to his head. They looked at each other for a while before Sirius properly processed what he was seeing. He slowly raised his hand to pet the little ones head. The puppy let out a tiny whine and pushed against his hand.

After a few pets Sirius started to wonder how the puppy had gotten there. That startled him awake. He was sure that he had locked his door before he had passed out here.

He rushed to turn around to see the whole room and search for any danger. When he looked at the door it was still closed and locked. Wait. Can this puppy teleport or something?

In the soft glow of the desk lamp Sirius’s eyes landed on the boy sitting on his desk looking at him. He frowned. How did Remus get in here?

”If you are wondering how I got here, I climbed through your window. And no, no one saw me. It is already dark outside.” Remus said quietly.

Sirius coughed before answering. ”I see.”

Remus looked at Sirius face. Sirius knew that he propably looked bad. He could tell that he had at least a black eye and his lip was split. There might be other bruises but he wasn’t sure.

Remus got up from his place on the table and walked into Sirius’s bathroom. Sirius could hear the sink being turned on and a while later Remus emerged with a wet cloth in his hand. He sat next to Sirius, scooped up the puppy from his side and dumped it onto Sirius’s lap.

”It wants attention. Can you pet her?” Remus asked as he raised the cloth to wipe at Sirius’s lip. Sirius’s breath hitched at the contact but he still started to pet the little puppy on his lap.

They stayed quiet while Remus cleaned his face from blood. After he was done he got up to take the cloth back to the bathroom. Sirius concentrated on the puppy and holding it close.

”You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to lie to me, but remember that I am here.” Remus said quietly when he came back. Sirius lifted his gaze from the floor to see Remus looking at him.

”I- umm…” Sirius hadn’t talked about this before with anyone. He trusted Remus with his whole heart but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to bear Remus with the knowledge of it.

”I’m not sure if I can.” Sirius’s voice was shaky when he spoke.

Remus nodded understanding. ”You don’t have to. But if you change your mind I’ll be here. Always.”

”Thank you Remus.” Sirius scooted to lay against the wall with the puppy on his lap. It had gotten comfortable to Sirius’s presence by now so it was play-attacking his hand and whipping its tale around uncontrollably. He felt the bed dip with Remus weight as he got up to retrieve something from his jacket’s pocket.

While Remus wasn’t looking at him, Sirius let himself tear up a bit. He finally felt like the universe was paying back for all the shit it had given him over the years. He had finally found someone who cared about him, and who Sirius cared for as well. He hadn’t known this was something he needed but now that he had it he didn’t know how he had survived without it. Now he couldn’t help but dream about more.

Sirius quickly wiped his eyes as Remus sat next to him. He took the puppy from him but exchanged it with a little present.

Sirius’s eyes shot up. ”Happy birthday Sirius.” Remus said with a small smile.

”Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Sirius answered little unsure of how to handle this situation. He hadn’t received gifts in years.

”I know but I wanted to. Now, go on. Open it.” Remus assured Sirius while holding eye contact.

Sirius whispered an okay and proceeded to carefully unwrap the present. He let out a wet laugh when he saw that the wrapping paper was hockey themed.

Inside the wrapping paper Sirius discovered three chocolate bars. One was regular, other one was dark chocolate and the third one was filled with mint chips. Sirius was tearing up again.

”I wasn’t sure what you liked but I thought, how wrong can I go with chocolate?” Remus laughed a little worried as Sirius didn’t say anything. ”These are from my favourite brand. If you like these, we’ll have to try their special winter edition. They change the formula every year, you know. I heard rumours that this year they’d do one with gingerbread.” Remus started rambling as Sirius still just stared at the chocolates.

”I- Thank you, Remus. This is the best present I have ever gotten.” Sirius glanced at Remus.

Remus flushed a little. ”Oh. Well good. Though I doubt this is the best one you’ve got-”

”Trust me. It is.” Sirius said and opened the regular chocolate bar. He broke off two pieces and handed one to Remus.

After they had eaten a couple pieces in silence Sirius opened his mouth looking at the puppy now asleep on Remus’s chest. ”So. I didn’t know you had gotten a puppy.”

Remus petted the puppy and smiled. ”This one actually isn’t our own. You know my parents are vets, right?” Sirius nodded. ”Well, now that we have fully adjusted to life here they have gotten back to their usual antics. When we lived in the States they used to bring sick animals and ones that needed to be fostered back home all the time. They had to take a brake from that hobby for a while but yesterday they brought this little guy home. He was found on the side of a highway abandoned.” At that Sirius frowned worriedly and Remus grabbed the puppy gently and laid it on Sirius chest. The puppy nuzzled contedly and fell back asleep.

”After I couldn’t reach you all day I decided to come check on you. When I got up to leave she woke up as well and wanted to come outside with me. I didn’t want her to wake the whole house up with her small barks so I just scooped her up and put her in my pocket for the walk.” Remus told him.

”My phone must have died. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you. I didn’t know you even wanted to reach me.” Sirius muttered.

Remus shook his head. ”If you think I the little argument we had after practice is enough to scare me away, you are very wrong. And stop apologizing. It’s not your fault.”

”I’m sorry, I’ll stop-” Sirius was quick to apologize.

”Sirius!”

”I’m sorry- NO, I mean okay. I’ll stop.” Sirius stammered.

Remus laughed a little. ”Okay. Good.”  

They continued talking for about half an hour after that. They talked mostly about puppies to avoid any uncomfortable subjects. The clock was nearing 3 a.m.

Sirius yawned loudly.

”I think I should go. We should both propably get some sleep.” Remus yawned as well.

Sirius stretched under the covers. ”We propably should.” And threw his hand over his eyes.

Remus rose from his place where he was sitting on top of the covers. Sirius watched him walk over to his desk and put his jacket on. After that he reached inside his pocket where he pulled a dark brown beanie that he put on his head.

Remus turned around eyeing Sirius suspiciously. ”Where is the puppy?”

Sirius cracked a smile at that. ”I don’t know what you are talking about. I haven’t seen any puppies lately.”

Remus walked over to him and suspected his form beneath the covers. Sirius knew what he was looking for but he still blushed a little. Remus grabbed one corner of the blanket covering Sirius and yanked it off of him. Sirius quickly turned to cover the puppy sleeping near his side. Sirius started to laugh as Remus tried to reach the puppy but ended up tickling him. Remus smiled brightly at the sound but despite that he dove on top of Sirius to reach the puppy. He managed to grab her and turned with a wolfy grin towards Sirius. They both froze at that since their noses were almost touching each other.

”You found the puppy.” Sirius breathed out.

”That I did.” Remus said as he rose from the bed. He composed himself quickly before turning back towards Sirius who was pulling the covers back on. Remus held the puppy in front of Sirius’s face and smiled a little. ”Say bye. Now you’ll at least have a reason to start visiting.”

The corners of Sirius’s mouth lifted as he looked at the puppy. ”True. I’ll have to come see this little one.”

Remus slid the puppy into one of his coat’s inside pockets and walked up to the window. On the way he shut off the lamp leaving the room to be lighted up by the moon. He opened the window and raised one of his legs onto the other side.

Sirius took a breath in. ”Remus, thank you. For the chocolate. And for bringing the puppy.”

”It’s alright. I hoped you’d like them.” Remus said quietly. ”Good night. Text me when you wake up.” ”Good night.” Sirius whispered as Remus climbed out the window and slid it shut. Sirius burrowed deeper underneath the covers and let his eyes close. In the quiet darkness Sirius noticed how he could still smell the puppy and a slight tint of chocolate.

That night Sirius didn’t dream of pain and flying punches but of brown curls peaking out beneath a beanie and small puppies. When he woke up he wasn’t sure if last night was real but at the sight of chocolate on his desk he let out a relieved sigh.

Chocolate really is good no matter what time you are eating it. He thought as he munched on a piece while texting Remus.

A Sunday Kind Of Love

Here comes a new request for my 4.7k followers!! Thank you for your request, anon! The following prompts were requested for Harry Styles!

19. "Huh... is that my shirt you're wearing?"

81. "Well… that… was a good kiss…"

I wrote them in italics in the fic. This is absolute fluff. Nothing but pure cuteness, so much cuteness that even I feel like it's almost too much. But can there really be too much cuteness? I think not.

I hope you like it!

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word count: 2322

It's Sunday morning.

There is rain pouring outside, but it's Fall already in England, so there is nothing surprising with the pouty weather, really. The rain makes clapping sounds as it hits the roof of your house and the windowpane of your bedroom. Through a corner of the curtain that isn't placed quite right to cover the glass, you can see the droplets rolling down the cold surface, tracing unrealistic patterns against the window. There's a little bit of condensation around the frame, blurring the dark clouds outside and the top of the orange leaves from the tree in your garden. There isn't much light in the room, because of the dark clouds, but also because it's still early, and beyond all the water darkening the sky, the sun is only shy for now.

Along with the sound of rain, you can hear the wind blowing from time to time, getting caught in the branches of your tree.

It's warm under your duvet, but you are well aware that it must be cold outside. Your nose feels a little cool, unprotected by the blanket you have tugged under your chin. Your whole world, it would seem, smells of rain, your sheets perfumed with the orange blossom of your detergent, and Harry's scent.

His Tom Ford cologne tickles your senses, familiar and warm and reassuring. It envelops you in a tight embrace, almost like a cocoon. It's your favourite scent in the world, really, because it means that he's here, by your side, instead of halfway across the globe.

And he's here alright, lying next to you in bed. For once, you're the first one awake despite Harry being an early-riser. Having a difficult time sleeping has at least one good side, you reckon. You can watch him sleep then.

His eyes are barely moving under his eyelids, but they slightly tremble still. His features are completely relaxed, and the calm he wears then makes him angelic. His eyelashes trace two dark lines above his cheekbones. He hasn't shaved in a few days and a stubble colours his cheeks, chin and space between his soft lips and cute nose. His parted lips move a little in his sleep, as if he was about to mutter something, making the tip of his nose bend to follow the movement. He's lying on his tummy, his face turned towards you and a hand hidden under his pillow. His hair is a wild and yet glorious mess of brown curls that both his night of sleep and your hands have tangled. You can barely hear his soft, regular breath escape through his nose above the sound of the rain, but it's a reassuring sound nonetheless.

You reach to rest your fingers upon his bare arm, his skin velvety under your fingertips. His body is warm and inviting, and you barely think as you snuggle closer to him, looking for his nearness like a planet is pulled towards its star.

You absentmindedly trace patterns over his arm, but stop when he shifts under your touch, the muscle of his shoulder flexing and then extending as he pushes his hand further under his pillow.

You don't want to wake him up just yet. You want to keep staring at him, enjoy the fragile moment and use it to carve the sight of him in your mind: a luminous memory to remember by.

So, you stop moving altogether, barely breathing, hoping not to disturb his sleep for a little longer, and merely stare at him, watching him lost in peaceful slumber.

Tomorrow, there will be a thousand tasks awaiting you at work. Tomorrow, there will be an early rise to get ready and hurry through crowded buses and trains to get to work. Tomorrow, there will be the stress of failure and the rush of too many things to do. Tomorrow, there will be a sandwich swallowed in a hurry to avoid losing time for work. Tomorrow there will be aching shoulders and headaches by the middle of the afternoon. Tomorrow, there will be a journey home, spent trying to fight back your exhaustion to keep your eyes open in public transports. And tomorrow night, there will be an early fall on the bed because you are too tired to do anything and gentle hands guiding you towards your pillow, and finally the scent of the Tom Ford cologne drowning you in a feeling of peace.

But this morning, there is nothing but this bed. Your stressful job is far away for now, and it almost feels as if you could forget that it exists altogether.

If only you could stay like this forever…

But eventually, after a long while – is it a few minutes or an hour, you truly can't say – Harry starts moving around a little more, and you recognize the first signs that he's about to wake up in his quiet shuffling.

And what better way to be accompanied out of slumber than with kisses?

You move your hand across his arm to rest on his naked back instead, your hand resting flat between his shoulder blades while you lean closer to kiss the cheek that is exposed to you. You drop gentle kisses there, his stubble tickling you a little, moving your lips across his cheekbone, his jaw, and finally the tip of his nose, which makes him smile.

You pull away, waiting for him to wake up, but he doesn't open his beautiful eyes like you expect him to. Instead, he frowns, and groans at you, his lips turning into a small pout.

"Don't stop," he complains, his voice rough and raspy with sleep, the sound sending electricity through your spine, despite the pillow shushing his words.

You laugh at him a little, but can't help but comply nonetheless, leaning to brush feathery kisses across his eyelid. He heaves a content sigh this time, his smile returning to his plush lips as your touch moves to his temple and forehead. You kiss the remnants of his frown away, and by the time your lips rest upon the tip of his ear, he has a grin on his face.

"Enough?" you ask in a teasing voice, having kissed every inch of his face you could reach.

"Hmm… there's one spot you've missed," he answers, opening one eye to look at you.

"Really? Which one?"

He shoots you a ridiculously bright smirk, turning his head a little more to face you, before he points to his lips.

You laugh again, but have to admit that he is right, his lips being previously out of reach for the most part, pressed against the pillow instead of facing you.

His eyes are finally open, mostly, at least, for sleep is still heavy on him. He hasn't chased the last fragments of it away yet, but it doesn't stop him from looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to yield, which you easily do. There's no way you can resist from kissing him, especially now, when it's a cold Sunday morning with rain pouring outside and you're cuddled in bed against his warm frame.

So, you kiss him, slow and deep and loving – adoring, one might even say. It's a little sleepy, but it's intimate in the most perfect of ways and it makes both of you feel warmth spread through your hearts until it feels like the organs are radiating love. It's peaceful, and complete, and it feels and tastes like home. It's all you'll ever need, really, and Harry feels just the same.

The kiss lingers, lasting until both of you are desperate for air. You're not sure when has Harry shifted enough to pull his hand away from under his pillow to wrap around you instead, but it feels good to be held by him. Safe. Sheltered. A place where you're sure you'll never get hurt, whatever may happen in the rest of your life.

When you eventually pull away, both of you out of breath, it takes him a few seconds to lazily open his eyes again. He has a dreamy look on his face.

"Well… that… was a good kiss…" he tells you, a stupid grin breaking his lips.

"Hmm… yes, it was," you nodded, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

"It was a very nice way to wake up," he praises, and it's his turn to scatter tender pecks across your cheeks, making you grin too.

"I bet it was…"

"You know what would make it even better?"

"More cuddles?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but considers your proposition first.

"Yes, actually that too," he admits. "But I was thinking about breakfast instead."

"You want me to make you breakfast?"

"I'll help too!" he defends himself.

"Will you? Cause that's what you said last weekend already, mister! And you ended up falling back asleep and not helping me at all."

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"I know… I'm just teasing. I'll get the coffee going."

He grinned, kissing your lips again.

"Thank you. I love you, you're the best. The best!"

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer and buries his face in your neck, kissing all along your skin there, nipping a couple of times to make you smile even brighter.

"Well, if you want breakfast, then you have to let me get out of bed and make it!"

He falls back further in his pillow, letting you move more freely again.

"Alright, I'll be down in a minute."

"Don't abandon me this time!" you warn him, poking at his side for good measure, making him squirm away from you and let out an adorable giggle.

"I won't! I won't! I promise!"

You kiss him one last time, before sitting up, looking for something to wear. After the activities of the previous night, you didn't bother putting on some clothes. But now, you need to go to kitchen, and you reach for the closest shirt you can find. It's the shirt Harry was wearing the night before, his Enjoy health, eat your honey t-shirt that was left disregarded on the floor as you found kissing much more important than tidying your clothes.

You put it on, turning to take a look at Harry's reaction. But your boyfriend has closed his eyes again, and you guess you'll have to wait till he gets to the kitchen.

You walked down the stairs to the kitchen, the rain still going strong outside. It's warm in your house though, and as you prepare some coffee, you admire the rain falling on the pavement. It has made puddles in the driveway already, and it seems to you that the sky is darkening.

You decide to put on some music while you gather the ingredients needed to make some waffles. You turn on the radio, and some random tune you don't recognize fill the room, covering the tapping noise of the rain.

" Huh... is that my shirt you're wearing?" Harry asks, a smug smile on his lips while he appears wearing nothing except a pair of black underwear.

He loves it. You know he does. He loves when you wear his clothes, and the way he wraps his arms around your middle from behind as he joins you in the kitchen is the final proof.

"I might have borrowed it," you answer with a grin.

"Hmm… borrowing is fine, but don't steal this one. I like it too much."

"Don't lie, you love seeing it on me."

He drops a sweet kiss on your hair.

"I do. Looks good on you."

"Better than on you?"

"Now, don't push it…"

You both laugh, while he moves to the side to grab a couple of apples and a knife, and he starts cutting some fruits for you both.

It's quiet between the two of you while you cook and listen to the music and to the steady rain. It's comfortable, the way you and Harry can stand next to each other in silence, intimate.

The tune changes to Etta James's voice. Warm and deep, her voice echoes through the kitchen and you start humming along the melody.

Without warning, Harry's hand comes to rest upon yours as you were mixing your ingredients for your waffles. You look up at him questioningly, but he merely smiles at you, pulling you close to him without letting go of your hand. His fingers are a little sticky with the juice from the apples he's been cutting, and yours are covered with sugar and flours, but none of you seem to care, and it still feel just as nice to be holding hands. His arm wraps around your waist, and before you can truly understand what's going on, the two of you are swaying across the kitchen. When you finally realize that you're dancing with Harry, you beam up at him.

"Perfect song for today," he whispers in your ear. "Don't you think so, darling?"

You hum in response. Your heart skips a beat every time he calls you with such pet names, no matter that he has done it thousands of times before.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

He hums along to the song, and you can feel the vibration of his chest against yours. His voice is a real lullaby that could lull you back to sleep. You're safe in his arms, and he's safe in yours. Your hand is lost in his messy curls, leaving white powder in its wake, and he can swear that he's never felt more like he has finally come home.

When the voice on the radio changes, and the beat picks up to another melody, you both silently agree to ignore it. Instead, you keep on slowly swaying to the same rhythm, unwilling to let go for now.

And if the world is cold outside, there was never a place safer and warmer than your shared embrace on this lazy Sunday morning.

 **********************************************

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@cronias13 @stylesfics-xx​ @mellamolayla​

merry christmas to all who celebrate! this is a lil fluffy-as-all-get-out christmas one-shot I wrote for the @destielsecretsanta2020 -- my giftee was the lovely @justonecitizenoftheearth!!! I hope this fic brings you joy, and a merry merry christmas and happy holidays in general to you :) 

a love that’s meant for me (yes this title is from the kelly clarkson song “under the tree,” leave me alone about it)

It all started because of a dog.

To be more accurate, it started because of a dog and a former angel of the lord and a three-year-old who was also God, but when Dean had tried to blame Cas and Jack, he’d gotten a couple of dirty looks. Miracle, however, was a dog, unable to give effective dirty looks--and she couldn’t kick Dean out of his own bed like Cas could.

Dean and Cas had gone on the weekly grocery run, and had decided to go to Walmart just to get some last-minute Christmas presents. Dean hadn’t expected Walmart to be a religious experience for Cas, but he supposed that when your ass had just been yanked out of the Empty, everything was awesome.

Cas had gotten it into his head that they all needed matching sweaters, and then he had seen that dog sweaters were a thing, and Dean was sorta-kinda powerless to tell Cas no (no, Sam, he wasn’t whipped), so they’d left the store with red snowflake patterned sweaters for everyone, even Miracle.

(Then Cas got into the idea of properly celebrating Christmas--the only thing they weren’t doing was going to church.)

So now Dean was in the war room, looking up at a massive Christmas tree that they had just dragged inside, off the back of Cas’s truck.

“Remind me why I’m doing this again,” Dean said, turning from the tree to the tangled pile of tinsel on the table.

“Because you love me,” Cas replied, with complete ease and confidence. He was sitting on the floor next to the tree, detangling lights. Jack was on the other side of the war room with some boxes of ornaments.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Cas beamed at Dean. “I never will.”

It hit Dean sort of like a truck, because he got it. He was never going to be used to Cas loving him, either. It felt like the best night out, a smooth ride in a classic car, the nicest aged whiskey, a bacon cheeseburger...but also, it felt small and simple and happy. Cas was in snowman-patterned pajamas, and his hair was salt-n-pepper because he was human now and aging, and his blue eyes were warm with mirth and--

“Dean?” Jack asked.

“What, kiddo?”

“Angel or star for the top of the tree?”

“Oh, definitely the angel,” Dean said, and Cas grinned again.

------------------

“We have to have pie,” Dean said, “It’s Christmas.”

“Dean,” Sam said, “You always think we should have pie.”

“And?” Dean turned back to the cookbook he was looking at. They were all in the kitchen now, with Cas and Jack making hot chocolate while Sam humored Dean. “Apple and pumpkin are a must.”

“Cherry?” Cas offered, smiling at Dean.

“Key lime!” Jack said, adding at least half a bag of marshmallows to his hot chocolate.

“Wrong time of year, kiddo,” Dean said, “Maybe for the Fourth of July.”

“Pecan?” Sam said.

“Sounds good to me.”

“You just want an excuse to make four pies.”

“No, Sam, I want an excuse to eat four pies.”

------------------

Despite the Christmas cheer that permeated the bunker, Dean still felt a little bit off-center. It had been a hard year--hell, it had been a hard forty or so years before now, when they were finally getting peace. He had Cas, and Sam had Eileen, and all together they had family--Jack and Miracle, and then Jody and Donna with the rest of the girls, too, people who were coming over for New Year’s.

But Dean was uneven. He secretly wondered when all of this would be taken from him, when he would wake up and find that the warm body next to him wasn’t Cas but just his imagination.

So far, it hadn’t happened. So far, Cas was still a solid weight, arms wrapped around him. Cas was both terrible and wonderful to share a bed with--he was gloriously warm, almost like a heater, and loved to cuddle, but he also hogged blankets and moved around a lot. Dean woke up every morning with their floor covered in pillows.

Christmas Eve was no exception. Dean awoke to Cas shifting, pillowing his head on Dean’s chest. Cas’s arms wrapped around Dean, and he sighed contentedly in his sleep, fully relaxing his weight onto Dean.

“Cas, wake up.” Dean used his free hand, the one not currently smothered by the weight of a former angel, to shake Cas’s shoulder.

“Mmmph.”

“Cas.”

Cas shifted, looked up at Dean blearily. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Okay, grumpy. I just wanted you to stop cutting off my circulation.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. You have to be nice to me.” Cas did roll off of him, though.

“How do you figure that?”

“I used to be an angel. Christmas is Jesus’ birthday.” Cas grinned lazily at Dean, a shit-eating grin if Dean had ever seen one.

“Oh, fuck off.” But Dean took Cas’s hand, intertwining their fingers and drawing them up to kiss Cas’s knuckles. “What do you want to do today?”

“Pancakes.”

“Fine, but you have to help.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Cas snuggled close to him again. “You didn’t sleep well last night.”

“No shit. There was another person stealing all the blankets.”

Cas ignored the jibe. “You had a nightmare.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me, Cas.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?” Cas was propped up on an elbow now, staring at Dean, his gaze bright and warm.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean pulled him down to kiss him and tangle his fingers in Cas’s slowly greying hair, “Let’s go make those pancakes.”

------------------

“These don’t look like angels at all,” Jack said, glancing at Dean.

“I know, kiddo. Not the point. They’re just supposed to be fun.”

Cas stopped moving his arms--he was still lying on the ground, making his snow angel--to say, “This is cold.” “Then get up.” Dean offered a hand to pull Cas up.

“Can we have hot chocolate when we get inside?” Jack asked hopefully.

“Actually, I was thinking warm apple cider today. Don’t ruin your sweet tooth before cookies later.” Dean beckoned Cas and Jack to follow him inside, where Eileen and Sam were hanging up tinsel in the library. They made a bee-line for the kitchen, though, in search of warm drinks.

“Didn’t realize you’d be the practical dad,” Cas whispered, his chin nearly on Dean’s shoulder as he heated up the cider on the stove.

“Really, I just wanted apple cider. And I don’t think Jack’s ever had any.” Dean turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Cas’s cheek.

“What a Samaritan.”

“I try.”

------------------

The rest of Christmas Eve passed in the same lazy manner--making gingerbread, making a mess decorating gingerbread, drinking more cider, watching Christmas Vacation in the Dean Cave (starting with a quick debate about whether Jack was allowed to watch the infamous pool scene or not), and then, finally, going to sleep.

“You know the best thing about our kid being God?” Dean asked as he lay in bed, watching Cas put on his pajamas.

“What’s that?”

“We don’t have to do Santa.”

“Fair.” Cas let out a laugh, “Did you ever do Santa as a kid?”

“When Mom was alive.” Dean rolled to stare at the ceiling. “Besides that one time with that wood nymph--this is the first real Christmas I’ve had in...a long time.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Cas climbed into bed next to Dean as he spoke, “This is my very first Christmas.” His lips tickled Dean’s ear.

“You always make me feel better. Turn off the lamp, will you?”

Cas rolled over sideways and switched the lamp off before letting himself be pulled back into Dean’s arms. “Is it after midnight?” Cas asked.

“I think so, yeah. Why?”

“I wanted to make sure it was Christmas.” Cas’s hand found Dean’s cheek in the dark. “Can I give you your present now?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed thickly. “Do you want the lights back on?”

“No, this is fine.” Cas took a pause and then started speaking again, faster this time, like he was nervous. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, I get it if you’d rather not do something like this, but--”

“Are you trying to ask me on a date, angel?”

“No, I’m asking you to marry me.”

Dean didn’t answer--not out loud, anyways. There weren’t any words adequate enough for the swelling feeling inside his chest, so instead he found Cas’s mouth in the dark, kissing him clumsily and off-center.

“Is that a yes?” Cas murmured against his lips.

“What else would I say?”

Cas huffed out a laugh. “For the record, I did get a ring. It’s just in the dresser and I didn’t feel like getting up again. I was...actually going to ask tomorrow morning.”

“Why the change of plan?” Dean’s thumbs were now tracing along Cas’s collarbones.

“I just...saw you lying there, talking about Jack, and I didn’t want to wait.”

“We did twelve years of waiting, I think it’s okay to speed things up now.”

------------------

(Christmas set the standard for the ones to follow. Eileen had hung mistletoe over half the doorways in the bunker, which meant Sam was blushing crimson for most of the day. Jack loved being introduced to cinnamon rolls--especially the icing. 

And Dean?

Dean loved being with his family.

And being engaged. Now that one really took Sam out.)

Fifteen (pt 3)

A/N: Thank you so much for the support so far! This is the first fic I’ve posted anywhere in a long time. I’m totally down to do any requests! There are some season 6 spoilers in this part so SPOILER Alert!! xoxo R

tw: none! just more fluffiness

word count: 2444

(part 1) (part 2) 

masterlist

The third envelope, which was labeled #2, was much thicker than the first two. Spencer held it in his hands for a while, just tracing over where you wrote #2. He always made fun of you for writing it like a kindergarten teacher. 

“Adults make a two with the loop at the bottom,” He would joke any time you had to write it. 

“Good thing I’m not an adult,” You’d reply. 

He smiled at the memory. That’s one of the reasons he fell in love with you. You were so incredibly intelligent but also so clueless at the same time. You were definitely book smart. But common knowledge and sense? Not much of that in your pretty head. He liked that though; it meant you didn’t take yourself too seriously. You were down to Earth and kept him there with you, a trait he had to learn as he grew older. He didn’t even realize you taught him so much; he was always too busy trying to teach you. 

Ripping open #2 he started to read, a warm fuzzy feeling filling his chest: 

“Item 2 is a ticket to the Korean Film festival we went to together. So take it out and admire how bent and worn it is. I was so nervous that day I folded it into tiny pieces in my pocket just so my hands had something to do.”

He took it out of the plastic bag you put it in. It really was bent and worn, so much so you could barely read the name and date, July 7. 

“That was our first official date, though we had a lot of time to bond between November 17 and that day. Emily died. Well, not really, but we thought she did. We’d take turns crying on the other’s shoulder. Some days I’d show up at yours and you’d immediately know that I just needed you to be strong for me. I’d often return the favor. We were still just friends then, but our pain bonded us in ways no one else really understood. We get each other, Spence, or at one point in our lives we did. I’m not so sure I understand you anymore, at least not like I used to.  Sometimes I’d come over and we wouldn’t cry. You’d teach me chess and card games. But usually we would cry, and that was okay. 

That was the start of our platonic sleepovers. Do you remember our first one? The night I cried myself to sleep on your couch and instead of kicking me out you put a blanket over me. You thought I was out cold, but I felt you tuck it around me, your hands lingering for a second too long. For the next few weeks we did that when we didn’t have cases. We’d talk about Em and life and everything and cry, and one of us would crash on the other’s couch. Then, if Hotch didn’t send the bat signal for us, we’d get coffee and pancakes the following morning at IHOP. It became a sweet tradition, born out of one of the darkest times in my life. You always took me at my most vulnerable, loved me, and kept me safe. I don’t think I ever really thanked you for that. So, thank you. 

Everyone else didn’t think they were platonic. I mean if I were them I wouldn’t have thought we were ‘just friends’ either. The fact that we started carpooling together after our sleepovers probably didn’t help our case. I remember one time I brought you to work with me after an IHOP blueberry pancake breakfast. Rossi ran into us in the elevator and commented that you had on the same exact suit as the day before and that we had been coming to work together a lot lately. We both blushed profusely; we knew what his side eye meant.  It’s funny how everyone else knew we loved each other except us. Some profilers we are. 

Okay so back to the ticket. Emily’s loss made me look at life differently. Before she died, I confided in her how I felt. She’s the closest thing to a best friend I ever had. Being her usual supportive self, she told me to go for it. That you felt the same about me. That we’d be perfect for each other. That you adored me. I desperately wanted her to be right, so I selfishly believed her. 

When she left, I realized how quickly we can lose each other. And her support of us told me what I needed to do. In some weird way it felt like I was doing her justice by pursuing you. I decided I wasn’t going to wait and risk losing you too. So I bought tickets to the Korean film festival in Georgetown you talked about for weeks, even though I know zero Korean. I walked up to you and flashed two tickets. The look on your face is one I’ll never forget. Your eyes lit up and you smiled bigger than I had seen in months. You (thankfully) agreed to go with me. 

“I didn’t know you knew Korean,” You said as I drove us there. (I sneakily put on Stacy’s Mom then too, but I don’t think you realized)”

He chuckled. He most definitely did notice that, but what you didn’t notice was how he looked at you as you mumbled the lyrics to yourself. It was dusk and the street lights illuminated your face just so. It occurred to him then that he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than you in that moment, and probably never would again. 

Spencer put the ticket and letter down on the table and got up to pace again. He knows exactly how this story ends; he wrote it with you. And in this story he’s the villain. 

His stomach twisted up in knots. He rushed back to the table to grab the letter, but his eyes were too bleary with tears to read any of the words. Truthfully, he didn’t want to read them. He wasn’t ready to relive it yet. He wasn’t ready to feel it, because up until now he still got to see you and talk to you. He was able to protect you, just like he had all those nights when you cried in his arms. 

He blinked forcefully a few times, forcing his vision to clear enough to keep going.  

“I told you I didn’t know Korean. All I know is enough Spanish to get myself through cases. You smiled at that. 

“Then why did you want to come?” You asked me. 

“Because you wanted to come.” My answer was honest. I love so many things I never thought I would because of you, Spence. You didn’t answer me; the smile on your face was answer enough. Naturally, I got even more nervous. 

“So since there are no subtitles will you translate for me as it happens?” I asked; you nodded. 

We were strolling around the park the festival was at. It was warm out but you still had on pants and a dress shirt. I don’t know how you did that. I had on a dress and was still sweating. We got there early and were waiting for the first movie to start. 

“You know, (Y/N), 1.2 million Americans speak Korean. Korean culture is becoming a vibrant subculture in America. The success of things like anime, Korean Dramas and Korean pop music are just going to add to that number.”

That’s when I looked at you. Your hair had gotten a little longer, but it was cute. Looking back, every hair you’ve ever had was cute. I miss running my hands through it to mess it up. Your eyes were trained on the people milling around us, and mine were on you. I love when you spew out stats. Contrary to popular belief, smart IS sexy. But anyways, your eyes looked so brown and reflected the lights so beautifully. I’ll miss staring into them and getting lost. I once told you I never liked the color brown until I saw your eyes. That’s still true. 

“But like 50 million speak Spanish. So I think my tenth grade skills are more applicable,” I joked. 

“It’s actually 41 million and I agree. Spanish is a very important language to know. But only a tenth grade level? Say something in Spanish.”

“Tú y yo va a ver una película,” I said in the worst Spanish accent ever. You laughed and said some beautiful Korean like it was nothing. I grabbed your hand. You flinched and looked at me confused. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and ran my thumb across the parts of your hand I could reach. That’s when you realized this was a “date” date and not a friend date. I could almost immediately see the red creep up your cheeks. 

We found a place to sit and the movie started. It was called The Housemaid. And true to your word you translated the whole thing for me, much to the dismay of everyone around us. I found myself nestled into your side with your arm around me. You were whispering everything in my ear. Your breath tickled my neck and sent a chill down my spine. Truthfully, I missed half of what you said because I was too focused on not losing my shit. Here you were, the guy I was in love with, arm around me whispering sweet foreign words in my ear. Anyone would melt instantly. 

We got through two and a half movies that night. I don’t remember the other two—“

“Sisters on the Road and A Frozen Flower!” Spencer spoke out loud then, as if you could hear him. When he realized you definitely couldn’t hear him because you were in Seattle, and definitely not in his apartment, he groaned and kept reading. 

“We had already watched like four hours of movies and I was getting hungry. So, we stopped and got ice cream. I scolded you for getting a large when we both know you can’t have dairy, to which you just shrugged and said, “Dairy allergies are the most common in the world. 65% of the population has issues with lactose. You can’t expect 4,485,000,000 people to not eat ice cream, especially when it’s delicious.” 

I rolled my eyes, “Well don’t come crying to me when your tummy hurts later.”

“Oh I most definitely will be coming and crying to you.”

We walked like that for a while, hand in hand, until the chill of the night got to us. We made our way back to my car and you opened the door for me like a gentleman. I wanted to invite you back to my place, but I thought that might give the wrong impression for a first date. So instead I drove you home and you didn’t invite me in. I was a little hurt, honestly. I have been in your apartment more times than I can count, so what was one more? It’s okay though. You made up for it. Remember? 

We were sitting on the side of the street and you didn’t get out of the car yet. The windows were down and the radio was off. We listened to the sound of crickets and passing cars as we enjoyed each other’s company in a different way than we ever had before. 

“It’s almost midnight, get some sleep. Your brain needs rest after all that translating.” 

“Your brain doesn’t rest when you sleep, your body does,” You said and turned to me. Our faces were probably only six inches apart. Your breath was hot on my cheeks and you kept doing that damn tongue thing. 

“But you need some sleep (Y/N). You don’t sleep well.”

“I sleep well on your couch,” I said and you smiled. The space between us had gotten much much smaller. 

I put my hand on your cheek and felt the slight stubble there. You made the first move Spence. All I did was hold your face, you’re the one who closed the gap. 

That was one of the best kisses of my life. It lasted maybe ten seconds, but it was ten seconds that took years to get to. It was all that longing and pining and pent up feelings released at once. Nothing in the world is as special as kissing you, Spencer Reid. 

That next Monday we got shit from the team. Garcia is such a blabbermouth. Derek and Rossi made fun of us like middle schoolers. Hotch gave us that big bad ‘one of you will have to leave speech’. Deep down they were all happy for us. We all needed something to be happy about. And we were happy Spence, so so happy. Until we weren’t. 

So take this bent up ticket and admire it again before placing the memory of our first date on a shelf in the corner of your mind that will get dusty. I hope someday you’ll brush it off and relive it. 

There’s a Korean proverb I learned from you, that means: ‘At the end of hardship comes happiness.’ 

I hope that’s true.

xo,

YN”

Spencer put the letter down and picked up the ticket. He walked across the living room to a corkboard on the wall. There he took a pushpin and fastened the ticket to the board. It was surrounded by pictures of everyone he loves. Group pictures, his mom, Henry, pictures of the two of you. But in the center of it all was that ticket that had been so bent up because of how nervous you were for your date. He never told you how nervous he was then too. He had to make sure he wasn’t stuttering through the translations. Your close proximity to him, the smell of your perfume, and warmth of your body pressed against him made it hard to think. He held your hand so tightly that night because he thought that maybe you wouldn’t notice how badly they were shaking. He only got up the nerve to kiss you because when you weren’t looking he texted Derek, and he told him he had to. He remembered how his heart felt like it was leaping out of his chest when he closed the gap, how you sighed into him, how you sucked on his lower lip ever so slightly. You were right, nothing is quite like kissing the love of your life. It’s like every kiss you ever had before that kiss, the kiss, didn’t count. It’s the only kiss that matters. 

He admired the ticket one last time, before reaching in to grab envelope #3. 

Part 4!

tags: @l0ve-0f-my-life​

- if you would like to be added to the tag list just let me know! 

wildflowers for you

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: y/n has feelings for lee jeno, the kind hufflepuff who captures everyone’ hearts with his eyes and his smile. little does she know, her feelings aren’t one-sided.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Hufflepuff!Lee Jeno x Reader

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, hogwarts au

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.5k

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: none

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: the world of harry potter holds a special place in my heart so hearing what morals JK Rowling supports is beyond disappointing. she goes against her heroes’ own values and with such a narrow-minded view on gender and trans/trans women rights, I can see how she wrote the character of Voldemort so well. I don’t want hogwarts au fics to have a direct link with not supporting trans women rights but stay what they initially were, an escape from reality. Nonetheless, if this fic stirs anger within you, kindly let me know and I’ll take it down. Trans women are women.

p.s.: this is my first fic, feedback is welcomed!

Hufflepuff!Jeno is the sweetheart who sits across from you in Herbology. By what seems like a mighty amount of luck, you’ve always sat across from him ever since your first year. You aren't complaining, though. Jeno greeting you before every class is the best gift someone could ask for.

It might have been those soft locks of his that shimmer like honey under the sun’s rays. Or that famous smile that many Hogwarts students gush about in the hallways outside of the class. The one that reaches his cheeks, turning his eyes into "moon crescents", like had said a Ravenclaw last week. It might as well have been the time the twinkle in Jeno's eyes caught your eye. When he was admiring the flowers in front him, the pink and white hues of the wildflowers popping against the tone of his skin. You couldn't help but linger your gaze on him. At least until he looked past the flowers and locked his gaze with yours. It came as a surprise when, instead of mocking you or ignoring you, he softened up and greeted you for the first time. It might have been that. Or, it might have been the innumerable times he’s left you speechless with his talents and kindness. Whatever it was, you’ve found yourself fallen in love with Jeno.

With the sun reaching its peak and the small gusts of wind cooling the warm air, today was one of the softest summer days. It would be a lie if you said your smile wasn’t due to the certainty that you’d be seeing Jeno today. Of course, with spring turning into summer and the bright flowers blossoming at last, filling the air with what seemed like the definition of love, your smile couldn't help but stay.

Once sat at what became your regular spot over the years, you set your books down and greeted the few classmates that were already in class. You look up to notice the foggy windowpanes letting the sunrays through, turning the greens of the plants into vibrant tones. A shuffle and snicker snap you out of your observation, forcing you to take in the presence next to you.

"What are you daydreaming about now y/n?" your dorm roommate asks you, her tone implying something you'd rather not admit.

"Daydreaming about how noisy that nose of yours is," you roll your eyes at her arms sneaking around your own. "Your allergies acting up again?"

With a sniffle she answers, "Yeaah, are you gonna make me that potion you promised? I don't want what happened last year to happen again..."

You easily remember last year how her allergies had gotten the best of her during this class. Her loud sneezes becoming a constant background noise and eventually annoying the entirety of the classroom. By high demand, you had to escort her to the nursery. Why they still haven't made a potion for allergies remains a mystery to the both of you. Considering the neighbouring hills and land are filled with a variety of wildflowers, the making of a potion should be easy.

"Of course I'm making you your potion, silly. I want to save myself from the embarrassment of last year. I just have to pick up the insane number of flowers you’re allergic to after class, but I think I should be done by tonight.” You pat her head that’s nuzzling onto your shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll try to survive until then.” Your friend trails off while closing her eyes. You smile at her adorableness and tuck the few strands of hair falling onto her face behind her ear.

As much joy your friend’s presence brings you, you can’t help your thoughts being brought to Jeno. Class is starting soon yet he still isn’t here. And it’s not like him to skip a class, he always shows up. As if on cue, Professor Sprouts walks through the door and claps her hands. The sound is muffled due to her mud stained mittens but it’s enough to snap you out of your thoughts.

“To your seats!”

Packing up your things after class is a slow process when your mind is elsewhere, wondering endlessly about where Jeno could have possibly been. Mind too busy running with thoughts, you don’t notice the Hufflepuff shuffling on his two feet next to you.

“Hey Y/n?”

Your head snaps up and you see one of the Beaters of the Hufflepuff team looking at you nervously, his eyes occasionally darting to the entrance of the class.

“Yes, can I help you?” You straighten yourself out and put down your assignment papers on the wooden table in front of you.

He smiles brightly and pulls out some familiar papers, extending his arm to give it to you. “Would you mind giving this to Jeno? I’ve got practice in a few minutes and can’t afford being late again” You barely have time to take the papers from him before he’s grabbing his quidditch bag and chucking it over his shoulder. “Thanks a lot y/n, I owe you one!” he says as he jogs to exit the door.

“Um. Yeah. You’re welcome...” you say to the now empty classroom.

With a handful of papers, you make your way to the school’s gardens and carefully inspect which plants your and Jeno’s assignments are going to be needing. Sadly, each assignment was different meaning none of your needed ingredients are going to be the same as Jeno’s. Nonetheless, you grab some scissors and begin the meticulous process of cutting each plants’ stems. With minutes passing by with ease, your doubled-number of jars fill up quickly. After your last jar is labelled with the correct plant, you leave the garden to go to the wildflowers field. Your friend’s allergy is pretty general, any kind of pollen can set her off. So, with the same scissors as earlier, you pick pairs of as many kinds as you can, eventually creating a bouquet of all sorts of colors. Standing up, thick bouquet in one arm, your eyes pick up a familiar hue of pink and white. Those were the flowers Jeno was admiring on that day. You squat down once more, picking up five of the flowers and adding them to your bouquet.

Back in the school’s hallways, you figured you’d check out the Hufflepuff common room to see if Jeno might be there. Readjusting your bouquet, which weighted a lot more than you expected and cramped up your arms with each step you took, you walked to the Grand Staircase and damn did that bouquet really become a problem now. You were able to make it up halfway up until the petals tickled your nose and your arms begged for a rest. So, you stop and readjust yourself as you hear someone’s steps echoing, indicating they were coming down. You shuffle to the side of the stairs, allowing whoever seemed in a rush to pass by without a worry but the steps stopped in front of you.

“Do you need any help with those?”

Jeno. Although you’re frozen in place, you don’t feel cold. Quite the opposite your cheeks heat up and your heart beats against your chest. You spare a glance at the flowers closer to you, hoping they aren’t moving in rhythm with your heartbeat.

You know there’s no chance it isn’t him, but your head thinks it’s still playing trick with itself. “...Jeno?” You ask, trying to peek over the bundle of flowers.

You can’t see it but Jeno jumps a little at the sound of your voice. His eyes widen and a smile quickly creeps up onto his lips. He reaches over the top of the bouquet and delicately pushes the higher flowers to the side. Your gazes lock again. Butterflies burst in your chest while his cheeks redden. Jeno doesn’t really remember how to breathe, as silly as it sounds. That doesn’t stop him from smiling.

“I wasn’t expecting to bump into you today.” he breaks the long silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I’m sorry?” you ask, lowering your flowers. Daze broken by not quite understanding what he meant by that.

“I mean I didn’t go to class because I didn’t want to bump into you.” Shit. Jeno realizes how badly that came out the second it leaves his mouth and he sees your eyebrows furrow together. He panics, the look on your face, sadness and disappointment written all over it, makes him scramble to form a coherent explanation.

“I mean! Um... I didn’t go to class because I didn’t want you- I mean the class, to get sick!” his hands come up and you see the embarrassment in his eyes. “I caught a small cold because I was out last night...”

“Oh...” That’s a much nicer reason than what’d you’d begun to think of. Thankfully he didn’t start hating you all of a sudden. “Oh!” you exclaim as you remember his papers that were in your bag. “I have your assignment with me! Here, follow me.” you say as you walk to the nearby hallway, searching through your bag as best as possible with your cramping arms and the bouquet being balancing with one arm.

Jeno’s laugh from behind stops you in your tracks and as you turn around, you’re faced with your bag being lifted off your shoulders and dropped onto his own. His kindness is too much, your chest tightening and fingertips twitching by the urge to reach up to his red cheeks and stroking them and telling him how much you-

“Y/n? Are you coming?”

Shit, shit. You really need to stop falling into a daze whenever you stare at Jeno. It’s hard not to though, especially if his eyes are looking at you so intensely that it lights up sparks in the pit of your stomach. The tiny explosions his gaze sets off in you have become addictive and you can only hope that he looks at you more often.

“Ye-Yes, I’m coming...”

You follow him to the stony hallway and place your bouquet of flowers on the ground at your feet. As troublesome it’ll be to pick up the dozens of them, you need to grab those papers from your bag.

“Um,” you inch a step closer to Jeno and reach for the papers inside your bag. “Your assignment is in my bag.”

You decide not to look up at him, knowing how easily you’ll get lost in his eyes if you do. Feeling his own eyes on you while you search through your bag isn’t any better, however. It burns through you and you’re forced to gulp down the emotions you feel and fear are about to spill at any moment by the little distance between you and Jeno.

With the papers signed Lee Jeno in hand, you mindfully take a step back, avoiding the flowers sprawled on the floor point. You breathe in deeply, never realizing how little air you were taking in for the past few minutes, and squat down to pick up your flowers.

“Was that all?”

You don’t miss the hint of playfulness in his voice, easily imagining the prettiest of grins on his lips. You know that the papers aren’t the only thing that you want to give to him. A confession having been bottled inside you for so long is what you really want to give him but the fear of rejection and looking like a complete fool in front of him, someone you’ve admired for years, is way too big. You think today is going to be like any other time you’ve had to push down your feelings but that thought soon dies out when you see the pink and white laying on the cobbled floor. You put down the flowers you’d previously picked up and take the five you specifically picked for Jeno earlier today.

Standing up with a very unstable courage, your only hope being those flowers that you’re now gripping onto. Blinking up at Jeno, your mind hurriedly goes through all the moments you’ve shared with him, moments that drove you mad because of how much your chest and head would warm up and buzz. Moments you’ve told yourself it was impossible that they meant anything more. The snickers from his friends whenever you were nearby didn’t meant anything nor did his nervous laughter when they’d shove him towards you.

“No, I-I picked these for you.” Jeno’s eyes gleam once they land on the flowers that you’re holding out to him. His mind takes him back to the same day you’ve kept rethinking about. The day he saw what he thought were the prettiest flowers, colors popping next to each other. Twiddling the stems of the flowers around, that’s when he noticed you. The colors of the flowers seemed like nothing compared to the color of your hair and your eyes. That same sun that made his hair shimmer like honey made yours gleam.  

Your voice rings in his ears, “I thought of you when I saw these in the garden, and I couldn’t help myself. I figured I could give them to you, if you’d like to of course.”

The same as now, your flowers aren’t what Jeno is focusing on. He looks in your eyes for signs that would mean anything opposite of what he’s leading himself to believe but he sees none, only anticipation of his answer and your red dusted cheeks. You were beautiful, there was no lie in that. But Jeno’s heart leapt at the consideration and care behind your every action. Always looking out for others and putting their comfort over you own, he wanted to be the one to give you back the same kind of love you’ve been giving.

“And they remind me of you.” Jeno says as he takes the flowers from you, his other hand replacing the flowers you were previously holding. “Y/n, tell me I’m not getting ahead of myself…”

The two of you are as close as you’ve ever been now. Hands still intertwined; you gently grip his robe. To stabilize you or to bring him closer, you don’t know. But you don’t feel like letting go.

“You’re not.”

“Then can I... can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The two of you lean in at the same time, meeting each other halfway. The smell of Jeno — faint soap and cotton — mixes with the smell of the wildflowers, with the tingle at the tip of your lips and with the burn of your interlaced hand, overwhelming you amazingly. The sparks inside of you explode like never before and you smile into the kiss. Jeno feels your lips perch up and he can’t resist smiling with you, his hand squeezing yours as to let you know this is real. He pulls away slowly, his chest rising and falling a bit quicker than before, but he softly places his forehead against yours. You calm him down and make him nervous at the same time, he can’t help but let out a hearted laugh, one that you feel rumbling in your own chest.

“You most definitely have my germs now.”

“For you, I don’t mind.”

A Spicy Surprise

A/N: This is my first ever fic (for Ethan) and boy, am I nervous. It doesn't really have a category, so let's just call it an introductory, smutty, fluffy piece. I was inspired by a Tiktok video and I really hope you like this one. I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this, just letting all my creative juices flow. Go easy on me.

My MC is a female, named Alexandria Lee. More on her soon.

Word count: 1,921

—

“Ooh, Aly look!” Sienna grabs my wrist and pulls me over to the Bath and Glory stand. A big 50% off sign graces the top shelf.

Sienna and my shift just ended, but neither of us felt too tired, so we decided that we would go out for dinner at the mall nearby. After a sumptuous meal of the heartiest pasta on the face of the earth, we decided to take a stroll around the mall to burn some of it off. Sephora was having a Christmas sale, and we both thought we could go with some new war paint for work. Upon entering, we’re greeted by name brand after name brand etched on stands that are completely wiped out.

We glance at the half-empty Bath and Glory stand, shower gels, bath bombs, skin rejuvenator, whatever that is. Sienna picked up a thin tube of what looks like clear lip gloss.

“Minty Lip Maximiser, perfect for tingly make-out sessions…” Sienna teased, and I can feel my face flush red.

Ethan and I were getting a little… steamy in the supply closet, and Sienna happened to barge in right in the middle of our lip-lock, and let’s just say it’s a miracle his tongue is still in one piece. It’s a hilarious story, but it’s one I’ll share another day.

“Sie, stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself,” I giggle as she starts making kissy faces and sloppy lip-smacking sounds.

“You should totally get this, trust me.”

She zips her lips and gives me a playful wink, a mischievous glint in her other, open eye. There’s something more to this. Something… sinful, perhaps? I just have to know more.

“Is there something more to the equation?”

Sienna pulls me in close, her lips merely an inch away from my ear. Her soft, lilting voice juxtaposes against the content of her whispers. I would have never pegged as someone who would do something like that, but I have been known to be wrong about these things. The corners of my mouth twist into a wicked grin as I formulate a plan in my mind to surprise Ethan, courtesy of Sienna’s mildly disturbing tale.

—

I head to Ethan’s apartment. I spend one or two nights here a week, even though he’s constantly begging for more, but I pay good money for the five-roomer every month, so I have to make sure I get my worth. I slipped the key into the keyhole, just tingling with anticipation to find out his response to my little prank. I scan my eyes around his apartment and find him sitting on the couch, reading (yes, you guessed it) a medical journal. He looks up and beams at me, a smile I absolutely adore.

“Hi, rookie.” He pats the seat next to him, inviting me to join him. I set my bag down on the counter and make my way to his uber comfortable couch. He pulls me in by the waist for a tight hug and I can smell the faint combination of cologne, detergent, and aftershave all over him. The scent is truly intoxicating, and I find myself breathing in deep, revelling in his warmth. He places a soft, tender kiss on my forehead, his light stubble tickling me as I lean into him.

“Hey, Dr Ramsey, how was your day off?”

I turn myself slightly and lean my legs on the rest of the available couch space. I’ve been on them for 10 days straight, being on call and having multiple shifts lined up. I could use about a week’s worth of bed rest. That is, only if he’s right next to me.

“It was fine. Not as good as it could have been…” he closes the journal and places it on the coffee table, giving me his undivided attention.

“Aww, why is that?” I feign ignorance as I run a hand through his soft, dark locks, tousling it in the process.

“I know you just want me to say it’s because you’ve been gone all day.”

“Alright, then say it.”

He sighs lightly, a smirk appearing on his lips.

“Fine. It’s because you, Dr Alexandria Lee, have been away from me for more than 12 hours, and I had to wake up all alone this morning, holding and kissing, mind you, what I thought was my beautiful girlfriend, but turned out to be a pillow that smelled exactly like your hair.”

Ethan Ramsey, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. The sky is falling.

“Well, let’s see what I can do to make up for it then.”

I shift slightly so that my legs were in his lap and lean in close to plant a kiss on his lips, but with one strong move, he pinned my wrists down onto the seat cushions and hovered over me, his breath warm against my neck. He starts attacking my neck with kisses, and they burn into my skin with great passion and desire. He catches me by surprise when he gently nibbles and sucks on the sensitive spot right below my earlobe. My shallow breaths hitch and a soft moan escape me before I could suppress it. All thoughts disperse from my head, like a cloud of smoke. I just need him to do this to me all night long. He pulls away all of a sudden.

“E, what…”

“Let’s save this for later.  After all, we’ve got all night. And I have plans for every single minute of it.”

As much as I hate being teased, delicious tingles run up and down my body. We’ve both got a day off tomorrow and I can’t wait to see what shenanigans we’d be up to. Something wholesome, or something a little… dirtier.

“You’re right. I’ll go take a shower.”

I grab my purse, careful to not let him see the sheer, flimsy garment I have hidden in it. I make my way to the en-suite bathroom as I feel his eyes on me.

“Dr Ramsey, don’t you know it’s impolite to stare?” I say without turning back.

“Well, I can’t help it because…” He trails off.

“Because what?” I turn back, and our eyes lock.

“I like you, rookie.”

And with that, he opens up the journal and begins reading again. I sigh contentedly.

“I like you too, doctor.”

I close the bedroom door and scavenge for my towel, which is neatly folded next to his in the bathroom. I find a cute little basket of bottles adorned with jasmines and candy canes. A note sits on top of it.

Some olfactory stimulation to match how gorgeous you are, both inside and out

- E

This man truly knows his way around my heart. I’ve only mentioned I love jasmine-scented things once in passing. I can’t believe he remembered. And there’s this note. I can’t believe he went to visit my favorite retailer to get this, especially since there aren’t many outlets in Boston.

The sky is truly falling, and so am I.

I untie the ribbon and take a deep sniff of the lovely scent. Mmm… jas-mint. I love it.

—

I step out of the shower, reaching for my fluffy lilac towel. It even smells like him. I wrap it around my shoulders, the thick material providing some warmth on this cold winter day. I hunt around for the blow-dryer and let the heat take away those wet hair shudders. I rummage through my bag and find the little black negligee that I ordered last week. It got here yesterday, just in time for our weekly rendezvous. I slip it on and toss my hair back before checking how everything looks in the mirror.

Perfect.

As if on cue, the little Sephora bag tumbles out of my purse. I almost feel guilty about my little plan, but curiosity has always got the best of me. I unwrap the tube and apply some of the plumper on my lips. It’s got a menthol-cool burn, but nothing I can’t handle. I just hope Ethan has the same tolerance level as I do.

I drop my purse on the bedroom floor and twist the doorknob open, poking my head out to the living room. Ethan’s in the same position, still engrossed in the journal. He doesn’t notice my stroll from the bedroom to the couch, nor did he sense my hovering presence.

I clear my throat. “Ahem, Dr Ramsey.”

He looked up at me, mouth gaping as he took it all in.

“Aly…”

He pulled me down onto his lap, his dilated pupils becoming a tell-tale sign about his positive reaction to my little get-up. Well, one of the signs anyway.

“Mmm?” I try to stimulate a response from him.

“You look amazing.”

“Kiss me,” I whisper in his ear while slipping his glasses off, trying to stifle all signs of my mean-spirited prank. As I say that, a part of me is kicking myself for ruining this moment, and another part of me is bursting with laughter, just awaiting his response. Either way, it’s too late to back out as he’s leaning in steadily, eyes fluttering shut. I reciprocate and we lock lips tenderly. A faint taste of scotch, mixed with the mint from my gloss. Mmm.

Before any one of us could deepen the kiss, he pulls away all of a sudden, eyes wide as saucers.

“Aly, what is that?” He says urgently, breathing in and out from his mouth. “Oh gosh, it burns!”

He yelps and starts fanning his lips. The sight of it makes me burst out in laughter. The usually stoic Dr Ethan J. Ramsey is flapping his hands about and making an involuntary duck face.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME, LEE?” He groans loudly.

I barely managed to catch my breath, and he starts yelping in pain, triggering a second wave of belly laughs. Oh gosh, no one will believe me when I tell this story.

“Lip plumper…” I whimper through my laughs.

“They feel so numb. Are they bigger?” He points to his swollen, red lips. Well, it did say extreme plumping on the packaging.

I nod cautiously because he seems angrier right now than I’ve ever seen him. His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes his eyes tight. I love this.

I walk over to the kitchen to get him a glass of water and he downs it quick. After about a minute, he calms down and regains his composure. I give him a little sideways smirk as I pout my lips slightly and lean in to kiss him again.

“Woah, woah, Lee,” he holds a hand up to cup my mouth. “There’s no way you’re getting near these lips for a week!”

“Aww come on. After so many naughty texts today and that hickie you left on me just now?” I push my hair to the side to reveal the bruise forming beneath my earlobe.

“Fuck…” He groans. I’ve got him hooked.

“How can I be sure that you don’t stab me in my sleep tonight?” He cautiously backs away from me.

“Oh come on, I think you’d be able to see if I have a knife hidden on me right now, right?” I stand up and do a slow twirl for him, making sure to slow down and display the back of my lace thong to him.

He stands up and grabs my wrist, pulling me into the bedroom.

“Fine, we’ll have to work out a punishment for your escapade, but you’re not getting that pretty little mouth anywhere near…”

“We’ll see…”

A Late Night Promise

Summary: Much to your dismay, you share an elevator ride with Shouto after staying late at the office one night.   

Author’s Note: Saw a prompt with just the word “elevator” and my mind came up with this. It’s been a while since I wrote a long-ish fic for Shouto. One last thing, everyone is of age. 

Enjoy!  

“So what do you say?”

“Oh…I don’t know…”

“C’mon.” Saito leans against the doorframe. “I promise we’ll have a great time on Saturday night. I know this fantastic hibachi restaurant in the city. The chef is also a close friend of mine. What do you say?”

“That does sound like fun.” What’s not to love about watching an experienced chef perform their tricks on the grill? The excited yells, the sleek spatulas slicing on the metal ice, the delicious food sizzling to perfection. Your mouth waters at the mere thought of it. And yet, “Can I let you know tomorrow? I just gotta make sure I’m free.”

“No problem,” he smiles at you. “Text me when you’re ready.”

Waving goodbye, you walk away. Few employees are working late tonight at Endeavor’s agency, especially if they are network engineers such as yourself. You don’t mind staying behind to help. It means spending more time in the server rooms. Each one is like a fun maze where you purposefully try to get lost in. They came in handy after enduring a painful heartbreak.

The hallway runs for miles. Lights flicker above you and the low buzz tickles your ears. You can’t shake the growing feeling of someone watching you. Pausing mid-step, you peek over your shoulders with weary eyes. A janitor pushes his cart around the corner. His whistles echo down the hall until they fade away.

You relax.

It’s a false alarm. Shaking your head, you stride towards the elevator. Cool air bursts from the vents which is a blessing. Outside is a nightmare with all the humidity. From the corner of your eye, you see a storm approaching. The wind howls in between the trembling leaves. Dark clouds gradually engulf the entire block like the Blob Monster. And soft thunder rumbles in the distance.

Perhaps it will rain tonight. Lord knows you desperately need it to rain. After suffering under humidity’s tyrant rule, you are ready to be saved.

The button turns yellow. You wait for the elevator by scrolling through your phone. Instagram is a bore. Snapchat’s hourglass reminds you to keep your fiery streak alive. And, unsurprisingly, Chargebolt is trending on Twitter. Just as your thumb hangs above the screen, the strange feeling returns.

You glance to your left and nearly drop the phone. Shouto is marching down the hallway. Panic hits as you pound the button multiple times. Seconds are ticking by. Precious time is fleeing. Where is the damn elevator?!

Ding!

You immediately dive inside. Lurching forward, you attack the button until the doors start closing. A hand slices midway and everything stops. Shouto saunters inside; the elevator groans under the newly added weight. You scuff back to the center. He dusts off the invisible lint on his black dress shirt. He gives you a once over before standing besides you.

The elevator moves.

No music plays from the speakers. The box is so quiet, but your mind is on overdrive. It’s as if someone accidentally disconnected a cable and now the network system is malfunctioning. Only you couldn’t fix this mess. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea answering those emails; they kept you behind an extra ten minutes. Too late to change that now.  

You glimpse at the black screen above you. The dwindling numbers keep you sane even if you’re hanging on by a thread. Once the ride reaches the lobby, you will block it from your memory. Until then, all you need to do is ignore him. It should be easy enough.

“You’re leaving late again.”

Shoulders back.

“It’s not good for your health.”

Eyes front.

“Will you please say something to me?”

Lips shut.

Shouto takes the hint and backs off. He rethinks his strategy in silence while your eyes are fixated on the elevator’s doors. His body is partially blurred. Although you couldn’t see his face, you know he is frustrated; the clenched fist gives it away. Your phone vibrates in your grasp. A soft smile tugs on your lips as you read the sweet message.

Shouto scoffs. You frown.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shoves one hand in his pocket. You suspiciously eye him before turning your attention to the phone again.

The blue light flickers with each floor change. A finger taps against the side of his leg. Time is running out for him. He must act quick. Who knows when he will be this close to you, and alone, ever again. Shouto thinks back to your answer and nearly cries; he craves to hear the sound of your voice—it’s sweet and addictive.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Go out with him?”

“How did you—did you spy on me?!”

Shouto bites back a grin. That’s six more words than the last response.

“I wanted to know if you were okay.” He shrugs as if he did nothing wrong. A migraine knocks on your forehead. “Your team has been working diligently on installing the new security firewalls. After all, my father wants to make sure everything is secured.”

“Forget about your father’s insane demands!” You thrust a finger his way. “How long have you been spying on me, huh? Tell me right now!”

His mouth is glued shut.

“Shouto!”

“Since you started talking to Saito!” Embers flicker off his hair. He towers over you, but you do not flinch away. One hand rushes through his locks. “He kept getting close to you. I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt you.”

“Like you didn’t hurt me?!” You dryly laugh. Your icy glare almost gives him frostbite. “You’re the one who broke up with me!”

“I did it to protect you!” Oh here we go again, that same old excuse. You pace around the elevator to avoid his nonsense. Shouto does not back down. “There are villains who want to kill me! If they ever found out about you—”

“You don’t think I know that?!” A foot harshly stomps on the floor and rattles the box. “For crying out loud, Shouto, I work for your dad! This whole freaking office is a prime target!”

The numbers continue climbing down.

“I knew the risks that came with dating you. I’m not stupid, but you—” a finger jabs his shirt “—made the choice to leave me. You decided to end things without even considering how it would have hurt me.”

His eyes flicker between your finger and fiery daggers.

“It was hard getting over you.” A cold, haughty chuckle rings into the air. “But now that I’m ready to start dating again, you decide to spy on me? You have some nerve!”

Another stab to his chest.

“It’s over, Shouto.” You boldly stand your ground. “I suggest you move on and forget about us.”

A thin line appears on his mouth.

Shouto marches towards the front and smashes the emergency button. The elevator abruptly stops. For a few seconds, it shakes like an aftershock from a larger earthquake. You yelp and stumble, but catch yourself. Shouto’s hand slips down. The unbearable humidity returns, only it feels worse, like standing in the middle of the Amazon rainforest with no escape.

A pair of eyes focuses on you. He’s like a jaguar who briskly stalks closer to his prey. Out of instinct, your legs stagger away from him until you hit a wall. Two large hands slam against the metal plate. The shockwaves roll down your back as his arms cage you in place.

When Shouto leans forward, you swallow a hard gulp. Apparently there are two storms happening tonight—one outside and the other thrashing inside his eyes. You’ve only seen this look a few times; it never fails to make you shudder with anticipation. Soon a small flame ignites deep in your soul.

It grows at an alarming rate. A cool sensation trails across your jawline and down your neck. You restrain yourself from biting your bottom lip. The air swirling around becomes unstable. Your breathing quickens its pace. Your throat dries instantly. Your heart beats uncontrollably. Shouto amusingly peeks at the bag and the pitiful distance it puts in between you two.

“You said to move on and forget, but there’s one small problem…” His gravelly voice makes your legs quiver. He tilts his head so your noses brush. You could almost taste the peppermint breath flowing out from his parted mouth. It fails to cool down your flushed face. After the brief pause, he rasps, “I can’t and I’ll show you why.”

Lightning finally strikes.

Without warning, strong lips crash against yours. They are desperate for you. Starving even. His actions reawakens a long forgotten feeling in your core. The small flame transforms into a powerful wildfire ravaging everything in its path. You wither under the heat. At this point, nothing holds you back and fully give in.

You kiss him. Hard.  

A cool touch makes you gasp. Shouto wastes no time devouring the inside of your mouth with his tongue. The movements are precise, yet reckless. A wave of pleasure spreads throughout your body as your eyes roll back. The bag drops to the floor and Shouto effortlessly kicks it behind. With the only obstacle gone, he collapses his entire weight on you.  

You yank away to catch your breath.

Large hands seamlessly wander down your body. They are painfully slow for your liking. Shouto smirks when your fists fervently tug the collar of his shirt. He stops torturing you by swooping his hands underneath your thighs and lifting you up. Eager legs wrap around Shouto’s torso to hold yourself steady.

After weeks being apart, you miss his touch. You miss exploring his lean muscles bulging through the fabric. You miss inhaling his unique cologne scent. You miss digging your fingers through his sleek hair and disrupting its neat form. You simply miss everything about him.

Shouto hears you beg and fulfills your wish by deepening the kiss. It is more animalistic, more ferocious than the first one. Shouto shoves you further up against the wall for better control. Ironically, he is fighting to keep his composure together. Your tantalizing lips, however, pushes him over the edge. Lustful thoughts consume his mind as he praises every inch of your body. His mouth attacks your neck while you sing against his ear.

He almost loses it when you breathe out his name.

Meanwhile, his searing touches threaten to unravel the last string of your sanity. You guide his mouth back to yours as you are hungry for more. The storm charges through with no end in sight. Shouto’s satisfying groans blurs with the thunderous applause exploding among the thick clouds. Time is nonexistent. Your focus is on Shouto who pours his entire heart and soul into each blazing kiss. They are chaotic, but divine. You surrender yourself to the madness and transcend into a state of euphoria.

Oh how you wish you could stay there forever.

As the kisses weaken, you sink back down to reality. Through your heavy eyelids, you see Shouto pull away from your plump lips. Both chests heave like two runners who finished a grueling marathon. There are no crowds of people cheering for you two, just your heart. A soft sirocco wind passes by as Shouto tiredly presses his forehead on yours.

He croaks, “Now you understand why I can’t move on and forget about us?”

You do.

Shouto searches through your overwhelmed eyes for an answer. He gently caresses your face like the precious treasure it is. The hero savors your lips one last time and etches them into his memory. Fighting against his wish, he carefully puts you down. Your legs wobble and you don’t trust yourself to move. Shouto walks to the front and press some buttons.

The elevator roars to life again.  

You tuck in your blouse and pathetically fix your disheveled hair. A bag appears in your sight. Grabbing it, you choke out a quick “thanks” to Shouto. Both of you return to your original positions as if the passionate episode never happened.

No music plays from the speaker, but it is far from quiet. You hear your heart racing and the electric sparks buzzing in the tensed air.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispers. You stiffen at the sound. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I was inconsiderate about everything…especially your feelings.”

You lower your gaze.

“I won’t stop you from going on that date.”

Your ears perk at his statement. Ignoring all warnings, you stare at him. Something indescribable swirls in his eyes. You realize they only appear when he’s preparing himself for battle.

“It is still your choice to make, but,” Shouto holds your hand in his warm grasp. The sheer determination flaring through his gaze takes your breath away. “Please know that I will not rest until I win your heart again.”

Ding!

The doors open, but you don’t exit. You’re still trying to process his words—his declaration of war for whomever decides to challenge him. Closing your gaped mouth, you glance between Shouto, your hand and the empty lobby. You numbly step off the elevator and lumber away.

Rain droplets cover the glass doors. Everything is quiet outside. The storm is gone and off to torment another city. You can finally breathe since the air is lighter. As you take a whiff of the earthy-musty scent, you feel the back of your hairs rise. Your eyes peer over your shoulders to see Shouto watching you.

He proudly stands tall.

A giddy sensation rushes down your spine. You grip the handle to keep yourself steady. Overwhelmed, you release a shaky sigh before exiting the building. In the lobby, Shouto curls his fist without looking away.

“I promise to win you back.” His lips curve into a small, but confident smile. “No matter how long it takes.”

Shouto will make sure of it.

As always, thank you for reading!  

Oh! Oh! Oh! 1, 10, 13, 32 and 34 for the fic asks thingy? Sorry it's a lot, I'm just curious...

Oooh no, we’re so excited to answer these!! <3 Thank you so much for asking!

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!) Kim: I used to be very conscious about my writing, but while I know it’s not perfect, or as good as I’d love it to be; I’d definitely give my writing 4/5 stars now! Lien: Honestly??? Same. I definitely have periods where I do worse than I think I can, but honestly, the best way to judge your own writing is to leave it for a while and when you reread it and think “DAYUM WHO WROTE THIS” then I think you can say you’re a solid writer. So yeah 4/5 for me too.

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for? Kim: I gotta admit that I’m never sure if with genre they mean ‘tropes’ or ‘source material genre’ whoops! As for tropes, I love basically everything. Smut is definitely my number one in a more general sense, but yeah! I’ve also really loved any type of problematic type of character and/or ship. It’s just so much more fun to explore their reasoning/the things they’d do etc! In a ‘source material’ sense, definitely anything fantasy, sci-fi, young adult ^^ As long as there’s some form of drama I’m good. Lien: Mmm genres are difficult since, especially with fanfic, you kinda go by everything? I’ve written a few screenplays when I was still in film; a mystery detective- which is hard lol- and a drama piece about a trans girl wanting to become a prima ballerina. But yeah, personally I do actually prefer non-realistic fiction. Fantasy, etc.

13. First fandom you ever wrote for? Kim: Officially speaking: Justin Bieber (and a Dutch singer called Ralf Mackenbach). I must’ve been around 13 by that time? But I wrote fanfiction about a school play my teachers did when I was 9. Didn’t know it was fanfiction, I was just too intrigued by the story to simply let it be! Lien: Either… Twilight or Lord of the Rings, I’m unsure rn. Either way, that was when I was like, twelve. Nice and cringe <3

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less. Kim: Let’s do one that just makes it sound like a very very bad porn summary (which okay let’s be honest, it’s exactly that): “Rich man asks young boy to measure his cock” Lien: Oo yay! In film making it’s called a logline. If you cant explain a plot within one line it’s usually not… Great. Lol. Aight, here I go, with the counterpart of Kim’s fic: “Billionaire frequents club to buy time with a college student.”

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of. Kim: (Side note: THEY’RE DANCING, IT’S NOT SMUT (yet) XD) A rush of endorphins explodes in his mind, and with a surprised laugh, Peter drops his head backwards. He surrenders to the moment. Following the music. Following Tony’s hands that somehow have found their way around Peter’s waist- squeezing his lower back lightly. Peter’s eyes open themselves. Tony stares at him with such pride that Peter accidentally squeezes the boy’s hands a little too tight. “Look at you! You’re rockin’, Peter!” Peter’s heart skips a beat, and he moans quietly as desire builds deep inside of him. It almost hurts. How close he is. How he will forever cherish this memory.  Tony’s movements become more elaborate too. His hands wander lower, bordering inappropriate really. Peter can’t help but lean into the touch. Tony’s chest is now mere inches away from him. His hips rolling to the beat ever so sensually while his rough, low voice sings along to the lyrics freely.

Lien: He carefully places the crystal glass at the little tabletop behind it and kneels next to the chaise longue, sending Peter a goofy smile. “You’re so beautiful, my liege,” he takes hold of Peter’s hand, kissing the top of his knuckles gently. He scrapes his throat before he speaks again. “Your skin is sweeter than any wine I've let my tongue taste." Another kiss. "Your eyes are deeper than the darkest caves. Your voice, like a siren's song, urging me to touch your frail body with these rough hands." “Tony, sweetness…” Peter’s fingers trail over Tony’s chest, lingering just above the arc reactor. Tony takes a deep breath before he continues. "Such a benevolent God granting me this breathtaking sight to behold. Granting me permission to love you." “Always,” Peter whispers out of breath, his eyes shimmering. “I’ll always let you love me, Tony.”  "You are the sun in my life, waking me up every morning with your warm glow." Tony continues kissing up Peter’s arm. Gently licking the skin, tasting the sweet mango from the bath they just took. "You are the air I breathe, the ground my feet stand upon." The man reaches Peter’s collar bone, leaving a feathery kiss on top of it. "Your touch makes my skin burn with desire." He smothers Peter’s neck. "Your sweet words tickle my ears." Peter’s fighting the tears in his eyes. Tony is so sweet. Too sweet. This doesn’t sound forced or rehearsed. It’s not fake, for the sake of whatever they’re doing right now. What Tony says is real and true and Peter can feel it squeeze his heart. Peter’s hands move to hold Tony’s head, lifting him and forcing the man to look him in the eye. "I love you, Peter, I love you, I love you. Let it be known."

Where Blue is a psychic in denial

I kind of... Wrote a namelessshipping fic? I had that idea in my head and wanted to summarize it, but I ended up half-writting it. It was a nice experience. Keep in mind that english is not my first language! @shortylived​ you still have to write your take on the idea or I’ll sell your soul to some random lame demon. The second time Red goes into the Lavender Town Pokemon Tower, he finds Blue here. He’s a wreck: his eyes are red and puffy, and he looks part depressed and exhausted, and part like a cornered prey, his eyes seemingly looking around for an invisible monster lurking in the shadows. When Red goes up to him, worried, sensing something is off, asking if he’s okay, Blue just tells him to fuck off and obviously he’s fine nerd, let’s battle I’ll destroy you because I’m gonna be a pokemon master. Except he can’t even do that. His fingers are shaking too much, he’s dizzy, and all his senses tell him to RUN AWAY you’re gonna be caught and mawed and eaten, and he struggles to breathe and keep his thoughts coherent. But suddenly he feels Red’s hand grabbing his arm with surprising force, dragging him upstairs, and he can’t resist or even think about what the fuck is going on, just stumbling behind, chased by fear. And then the pressure stops suddenly, the fear gone, and he finds himself staring at a concerned-looking Red, realizing he pulled him into one of those strange circles the channelers draw on the floor here and there. They stare at each other for a while, and Red breaks the silence. “So it was the ghosts. -Wha- what? -You. Being all frightened and sick. It was the ghosts.” Which is obviously met with a wall of denial. What do you mean ghosts. Ghosts don’t exist that’s fairy tales bullshit. And I wasn’t frightened I’m never afraid of anything dumbass. Maybe I just ate something bad and I’m a bit sick that’s nothing. You’re lucky I would have beaten your team to a pulp otherwise. “So why aren’t you sick now?” … Ok so yeah, inside the circle, he feels fine. Tired and sad yes, so fucking sad, will this day ever end for Arceus’s sake- but fine. Without the debilitating fear and anguish that clouded his mind, he’s now way too aware that he’s just standing here like an hyperventilating idiot with another idiot silently staring at him. “I think you’re a psychic. -Red what the fuck. -Seriously. Miss Annie told me that when she was young she had a hard time because she was not trained and spirits would mess with her a lot. -Who the hell is that? -My neighbor’s daughter. She’s a psychic. I talked to her sometimes when she visited her parents. She told me a lot about ghost and psychic pokemon, but also about other stuff. Like spirits and ghosts. -That’s absolute bullshit! -Tell that to Sabrina when you try to beat her and get her badge. -That’s not the same. It’s pokemon. -Sabrina herself is a psychic. -Ghosts are NOT REAL and I’m NOT a fucking psychic! -… -You’re full of shit and I’m out of here.” Easier said than done. All his reasoning and common sense can’t erase the feeling of dread, remembering the terror he felt before. He stands at the edge of the circle, hesitating, feeling more and more ridiculous by the second. “I can come with you if you wan- -FUCK YOU!” And he just dashes out and run for the exit, for the outside, the sun, away from this guy he especially doesn’t want to be around in this state, away from all the dead pokemon who can’t be pet and cuddled anymore. But he’s caught up by the enraged presence again, stronger than before, and the fear makes him stumble and fall on his knees, legs shaking, gripping a nearby tombstone to try and steady himself. What the hell was happening to him? Unfortunately when his fingers touch the cold marble, he feels yet another powerful wave adding to the first one - grief this time, deep, overwhelming, crushing his heart like an empty soda can - and that’s the end of him pretending to be absolutely fine and all right and strong and in control thank you sir. At that point he’s barely noticing Red besides him, too busy clutching at his shirt trying desperately to get air into his lungs, and cold claws out of his ribcage. The whole thing somewhat recedes a bit when his arm is grabbed firmly again, and he is pulled back on his feet, blindly following the movement of the solid warm body guiding him. They get out and Red only let go of Blue when there’s a few buildings between them and the tower, stopping in a little park with a fountain and flower beds, and nice little grass patches. Blue is so lost and tired that he doesn’t even protest when Red insist he take off his shoes and sits barefoot in the grass, then shove a cereal bar into his hands “Eat that slowly”, fumble with his pokeballs, calls out his eevee and place him into Blue’s lap. Blue comes back to his senses gradually, noticing the tickling of the grass on his feet, the warmth of Eevee’s tongue anxiously licking the tears off his face -goddammit he’s been crying the whole time- the crunch of cereals and the taste of the strawberries (Raticate loved strawberries, he remembers painfully), the sound of the fountain behind him, the sun on his cheeks. He feels so tired he could just lay here and sleep for a whole week. But Red is staring at him worriedly, stroking his trembling Pikachu. The little pest didn’t like the tower either apparently. That makes him very, very uncomfortable. The thought that he was so stupidly helpless and ridiculous slaps him all of a sudden. “Just stop looking at me like that I’m not gonna die. I was fine. Red sighs heavily, closing his eyes, both relieved and irritated. -You were NOT fine. Avoid creepy places. If you ever feel like that again, go away, then touch and smell and notice things, especially in nature. Miss Annie told me it’s to ground yourself into reality so you can’t be swayed that easily. -Stop with this psychic nonsense! It was probably just a very strong ghost pokemon. I’ll catch it later! -You’re NOT doing that you moron! Do you want to get killed? Even I sensed it and I’m usually indifferent to these kinds of things! -Stop bossing me around like I’m a baby! I’m not a weakling! Stop acting like you’re better than me!” At this point Red bolts up, and tears appear at the corners of his eyes, (Blue feels surprisingly guilty at the sight) and starts straight up yelling at him. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU AND YOUR FUCKING WEAKNESS BULLSHIT!” This is absolutely unheard of. Red always speaks somewhat softly and can be silent for days. He never yells. And it’s not over. “I’ve NEVER mocked you, not even once! I’ve NEVER ever said you were weak! I’ve never even THOUGHT it! YOU are the one who does that, you JERK! You know what? Go! Go and prove how strong and stupid you are! Go get fucked by a poltergeist! Go and lick tombstones for what I care! FUCK YOU!” And Red turns around and runs away, leaving behind him a stunned, overwhelmed, tired Blue, a half-eaten cereal bar in one hand and his jaw hanging. After all that Blue rarely gets to sleep a full night without nightmares. Cuddling Eevee helps though. He shakes them off in the early hours and starts his training routine, battle whoever he meets this day, push on his pokemon trainer journey. He think a lot about what to say to Red next time he sees him - not that he’s feeling stupid and sad and guilty, certainly not- but because he has to find a way to thank his rival without looking uncool, because a cool rival does thank you when you help him against a powerful pokemon. And YES it was a powerful pokemon and definitely NOT a ghost, because they don’t exist, and Blue is NOT a psychic and he does NOT hear echoes of laughters in empty places, does NOT feel emotions that are not his when touching random things, does NOT sometimes see shadows cast in the opposite direction of all the other ones. That’s illogical and stupid. He’s definitely not frightened. And if he often touches tree bark, or flowers, or stones, it’s just because it feels nice and not because of Red’s unhinged neighbor’s advice. He eventually catches an abra, quickly evolve it into a kadabra. He’s a nice, cool-headed, caring pokemon. Sometimes he insists on taking certain paths, and Blue lets him choose, but it’s only because he likes indulging him, obviously not because Kadabra probably sensed something that he doesn’t want his trainer to encounter. And also he’s absolutely not avoiding Sabrina’s gym.

Not Enough ch.1

Summary: When Jin cheats on his girlfriend while on tour, it's the last straw for their already strained relationship.

Pairings: Jin x OC

Warnings: infidelity | angst | non-explicit sexual acts | breakup fic

A/N: wrote this a little while ago and had it on my ao3. There’s another chapter to this that is queued to go up next week, and I might write a little more for this if there’s a demand for it.

Chapter 2

Sangmi was back in her old apartment. She hadn’t even set foot in the place for months, had thought about terminating the lease since she’d all but moved in to Jin’s place by this point, but now she was glad she’d kept it. The familiarity of it was soothing, somehow. Being surrounded by all her old things, sitting on the couch and snuggled in the same blanket she’d had since college, was more comforting than she’d expected.

Dressed in the oversized varsity sweatshirt that was so worn by now the neckline stretched over her shoulder, she sipped the jasmine tea her mother had sent her. It was warm, slightly bitter, and very fragrant, and she closed her eyes as the steam tickled her nose slightly. She put the mug down and picked up the book that she’d been in the middle of the last time she’d been in her apartment. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t brought it to his place then, and then she’d just forgotten about it.

She’d forgotten about a lot in the time that they’d been together. He had so rapidly become the center of her world, so consuming that everything else in her life had been pushed out. Meeting him in secret whenever he had a spare moment, coming into the studio at odd hours to make sure he’d eaten, worrying about whether he was taking good care of himself whenever he was away on tour… it had become her top priority.

Well, she thought, opening the book and finding the bookmark that her niece had made for her, no more of that. It was time for her to rediscover herself, as cheesy as it sounded. She was done being stupid for men. Now she would only make shitty decisions for herself.

Her phone vibrated on the coffee table, and after a quick glance at the caller ID, she ignored it. It stopped for a second, and she sighed in relief and disappointment, before starting again. Glaring at it, she silently willed it to shut up. Of course, if she’d had those powers in the first place she might not have ended up in this position, so the phone continued vibrating until it almost fell off the coffee table altogether. Growling, she swiped it up and set it to Do Not Disturb, turning it face down when she returned it to the table, then went back to her book. She was reading a particularly illuminating passage in Michelle Obama’s book about the importance of not getting too caught up in her own life plan, and felt a flash of irritation that she was being interrupted. Just like him to disregard whatever she was doing for his own selfish needs.

Jin sighed. He’d been trying to call her for hours now, and she wasn’t picking up.

“Hyung, give it up. You should leave her alone for a bit, give her some time to cool off,” Namjoon, ever the coolheaded one, advised.

Jin just shook his head. He knew that if he didn’t get through to her before she cooled off, he would never be able to fix it. No one was more scary than his girlfriend after she was angry, when all the rage and tears cooled into contempt, and she wouldn’t even listen to whatever apologies the poor person who upset her offered. It was like all emotion vanished and all there was left was calculated nonchalance.

Hell, it might already be too late.

Jungkook looked over at Jin, but didn’t say anything. He was still furious over what had happened. At the afterparty following their last performance of the tour, Jin had gotten way too drunk over a silly spat that he’d had with his girlfriend, and in his anger, had hooked up with a girl at the party. Somehow pictures of them grinding at the club, then making out at the alley behind the club, had leaked out, and that was how she’d found out about it. From the fucking tabloids.

Sangmi was a literal angel, and she didn’t deserve this. She’d been with Jin since his university days. A year younger than him, they’d been an unlikely couple from the start, with him majoring in film and acting and herself pursuing a double degree in political science and economics, yet they’d been practically inseparable since they’d met at the campus coffee joint, where he was hanging out with her senior from the touch football team and she’d gone to say hi while grabbing a coffee to fuel her last desperate attempts to get a good grade on her paper. (She’d ended up getting an A.)

She was almost like a mother to the other members, especially Jungkook, the youngest, who’d only been a child when she met him. She’d taken him under her wing, brought him food whenever she came to visit, and always let him cry on her shoulder when he missed home. And now, after tolerating Kim Seokjin’s stupid ass for six years, this was what she got in return. He wondered if he would ever see her again, but decided that he’d understand if he didn’t. She deserved to move on with her life, after all.

Three days later

SM: Cut it out.

J: Please, baby, don’t.

SM: Seriously, stop. The roses are cluttering up my desk, and my colleagues are asking questions.

J: Will you accept my apology then?

SM: There’s nothing to apologize for.

Jin winced at the simple reply. If there was nothing to apologize for, that meant that they were no longer in a relationship. She’d never been the kind of person to hold on to anger. Instead, she simply wrote the person off, dismissed them altogether from her life. He’d always thought her anger was the worst thing he could encounter, when she screamed and cried herself to pieces, but at least then she’d cared enough to have an emotional reaction. This casual, nonchalant reaction was worse, like he was just someone who’d bumped into her by accident on the street.

J: Baby, please let me explain.

There was no response.

Two weeks later

Sangmi made her way up the stairs of her walkup apartment unsteadily, tipsy at the end of the night. Her colleagues had invited her for their usual Friday night festivities, which had included karaoke on this particular night. She’d never joined them before, because Friday was usually one of the only nights of the week that Jin had free so she’d saved the night for him, but she was glad that she’d agreed to join them. It had been a hell of a time; she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone for karaoke.

The past two weeks had been spent reconnecting with friends, rekindling old relationships that had somehow fallen by the wayside while she’d been with Jin. It wasn’t like she’d disappeared from her friends’ lives, but Jin had been her priority for so long, and her schedule had revolved around his. There had been so many birthdays and celebrations that she’d missed because they’d fallen on one of the rare free days he’d had, plans she’d cancelled because he’d suddenly become available and she didn’t know when she’d next be able to spend time with him.

Even living in his apartment, there had been days when all she saw of him were the dent in his pillow, the missing food in the fridge, and his clothes in the laundry hamper. It was like being in a relationship with a ghost sometimes.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she stopped short in surprise. Jin was sitting in front of her door, leaning against the wall, his tall frame looking cramped in the narrow hallway. He was on his phone, and when he heard her approach, he looked up at her and scrambled to stand up, tucking his phone in his pocket.

“Hey,” he breathed. He’d had speeches prepared, entire monologues where he poured his heart out to her and begged her to stay, but standing in front of her now he forgot them all.

She nodded at the door behind him. “I have to unlock the door,” she said quietly.

“Right, right,” he said, jumping out of the way nervously.

Sangmi unlocked the door and walked in, not turning to usher him in but not locking the door in his face either. She started taking off her shoes, her back still facing him.

“Well?” she asked when he just stared at her. “In or out?”

Jin hastily stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Sangmi went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, then turned to face him, leaning her hip against the counter.

“You’re here because…?” she prompted when it didn’t look like he was going to say anything.

Jin hesitated. Now that he was looking at her, he didn’t really know what to say. She looked amazing, better than he’d seen her in a long time. She’d faded so slowly that he hadn’t seen it at the time, the vibrant and cheerful freshman he’d first fallen in love with gradually becoming dull and colourless. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and even though she was solemn and quiet now, her eyes sparkled mischievously in a way that he barely remembered.

“Mi, baby, I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of him.

Sangmi refilled her glass and then walked over to the couch. Ever the consummate hostess, it wasn’t lost on him that she didn’t bother offering him anything to drink. “What are you sorry for, exactly?” she asked, reclining on the couch as she regarded him steadily. “For being imprudent and getting caught? For not warning me before the pictures were leaked?”

He was taken aback by how calmly she was discussing his infidelity. “No, I meant -” he tried to explain, but she cut him off.

“Are you sorry that you cheated on me?”

Hearing her express his transgression in such blunt terms made him cringe, but he nodded, suddenly unable to look her in the eye.

“This one time, or are you apologizing for all the times before that the media didn’t catch too?”

His jaw dropped as his eyes jerked up towards her, her brow raised but otherwise calm. “You… you knew?” he sputtered.

Sangmi smiled at him sadly. “Come sit,” she invited, patting the couch next to her, and he drifted over obediently, still in shock. When he sat down, she rested her arm on the backrest, her chin resting on her hand, and looked at him.

“Of course I knew,” she said with a quiet smile. “Who do you think washed all the perfume and lipstick from your clothes?”

His mouth worked, but no words came out.

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic,” she said. “Of course I knew. You’re away for months at a time; it would have been too much to expect you to remain faithful. I know you, remember?” She reached out and stroked his face with her thumb.

“Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t like it. It would have been nice to be the only one, you know? But we’re apart for the majority of the time these days, and we both have our own ways of coping,” she said, with the ghost of a smile. “That’s why you left a string of broken hearts in every city you were in, and I have a collection of sex toys that’s way too large for a woman who’s been in a six-year relationship,” she cracked.

Jin didn’t laugh. “Then why did you -”

“Stay with you?” She shrugged. “Because I love you. Because I thought this would be temporary, that we could still eventually have the kind of relationship, the kind of life together that I want.”

“Then what changed?”

Sangmi hummed thoughtfully. “I think this incident was more of a tipping point rather than a dealbreaker event. When we were in college, it was fine keeping our relationship as is, you know? Like, marriage and settling down and all that stuff - it was all future stuff, to be sorted out at a later date. But now that I’m working, and - oh, by the way, I was assigned to that big project, did I mention to you? - people around me are settling down, it feels like something we need to think about, and I don’t think it’s working anymore.

“Jin-oppa, I love you.” She leaned in and held his face, the precious face she’d loved for so long, that girls all across the world had fallen for, for perhaps the last time. “But love isn’t enough for a long-term relationship. I want to be with someone I can be with , you know? Who I can come home to at night, tell about my day, have regular sex with, and not have to think about who else he slept with while I wasn’t there. I want to get married and have a boring relationship, walk out on the street holding hands with like I’m not a dirty, career-ending secret, and have Netflix binges with while in my glasses and sweatpants. And that’s something you’ll never be able to offer me.”

He looked like he was about to object, so she pressed her thumb lightly against his lips so he couldn’t speak. “Don’t offer things you know you’ll never be able to follow through on. You won’t, and shouldn’t, quit BTS for me. I know how much you love it, and I would never ask you to make such a huge sacrifice for me. You should live your life on your terms, but I should be allowed to live the same way too, and more and more these days, it looks like we can’t do that and be together.”

She smiled, forcing back a sob, and then she was suddenly in his lap, hugging him tight, and out of habit his arms wrapped themselves around her too. “I love you,” he whispered, the words suddenly feeling woefully inadequate. He’d never felt more selfish, hadn’t realised the toll that their relationship had taken on her. She’d always been the rock in the relationship, the one who had been there for him no matter what, who’d held him as he cried after messing up on stage and let him fuck her silly in the bathrooms at award shows when they’d won. He realised that he couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out at night without him and returned a giggling, pink-cheeked ball of fluff like she’d been before they’d become official, like she’d been tonight before she saw him.

And he knew, more than anything, that he had to let her go, that his love alone wasn’t enough to sustain her.

Sangmi stroked his hair as he buried his face in the crook where her shoulder met her neck and breathed in, the perfume he’d bought her at an airport once that had become her signature scent blending with the smell of the liquor she’d consumed and the scent of her . “I met you when the world was full of possibilities, and we didn’t know who we were. Remember?” she asked with a smile in her voice. “How we thought we could be anything, take on any challenge the world threw at us?”

But then they had become something incompatible. Him, the jetsetting idol who captured fans’ hearts with his worldwide handsome face, and her, the management consultant in a big 4 firm who could strike fear into the hearts of colleagues, subordinates and clients with a raised brow. She needed more than he could give her now, and possibly ever.

He turned and kissed her, desperately, knowing that this might well be the last time he ever did. To his surprise, she kissed him back just as ardently, her arms tightening around him as she pulled him closer.

Pulling back slightly to take a breath, she leaned her forehead against his. “One more for the road?” she asked, giggling as she ground down against him slightly.

That was all he needed to hear. He immediately picked her up and made his way to the bed, with her clinging on to him as she marked his neck the way she knew he liked. It wasn’t what he wanted from her, but maybe it would be enough. It had to be, he thought as he set her down on the bed and she immediately attacked the buttons on his shirt. He would be satisfied with this, he swore to himself. If it was what made her happy.

Inner Heat

I sent Cage a couple paragraphs of smut to feel better a few days ago, as you do for your friends, and she asked me to expand on it so here it is :) 

This is also MY 300 FOLLOWER MILESTONE FIC! :D Thank you guys so much for the love and attention and good vibes 🥰

Warnings: NFF, choking, mild cum-play, D/s

.

"Are you sure?" Peter says from atop Tony's lap like sitting on a man's cock is the best time to check in. Tony pets his thighs soothingly. Peter is one of the best partners he’s ever had but he’ll get the kid, hopefully, to a point where he’s more confident in himself.  

"Yes. Trust me, I'm into it." Tony's into a lot of things the kid would feel the need to check in about. They're easing their way to those other kinks. For now they’ve gone over technique and theory and Tony has given his full consent; it’s time to get to the fun part and experiment. 

Peter nods and then leans forward enough to flutter his hands around Tony's collarbones. He takes long enough that Tony picks up his hand and gives his knuckles a kiss; then he puts Peter's hands on his neck and lets go.

"Okay. Okay." Peter tightens his hands and unconsciously his pelvis tightens in conjunction. He gasps softly when he feels Tony's cock buck deep within him. Fuck, he really is into this. He can see it in Tony’s blown pupils and parted lips, in the way his tongue darts out and his body relaxes while his cock stiffens. Peter feels a rush of power knowing that he’s the one putting that look on Tony’s face.

“How-how was that?” Peter starts and repeats, easing up on the pressure and removing his hands entirely. His eyes drop to where his hands had been; looking for any red marks or signs of bruising. 

“A tease.” Tony says bluntly, taking any possible edge off his words with a grin and a quick swivel of his hips into Peter. He tugs him down to swallow his gasp in a kiss, fingers weaving into brown curls and holding him there. Tony gave a small pull and a gentle kiss, just enough pressure to tickle the nerve endings. Then, he tugged; igniting the same spots and biting into Peter’s lower lip when the younger man’s cock leaked and twitched visibly from the treatment. Tony smirked and let him go with a parting kiss. “See the difference?”

“Y-yeah. I do.” Peter had to resist the urge to squirm and ride Tony into the mattress. This was for Tony. He couldn’t get distracted by his own horniness. 

“You can move while you’re doing it.” Tony adds, nonchalant, like Peter isn’t clamping down eagerly with each word. He tips his head so his throat is bared and suddenly it seems so vulnerable and erotic to Peter. He licks his lips and cups his palm around Tony’s neck, slotting his fingers into place, lashes falling down as his eyes flutter half lidded in arousal. His hand looks so soft compared to Tony’s skin.

Peter experiments by lifting his hips without letting go and- oh. Oh, yes. Tony’s cock glides against his inner walls, rubbing him in all the right spots; and when Peter rises up he leans his weight a little forward, each time pressing downwards onto Tony -careful not to lean too much weight, though- and he’s watching the man’s face go red and his eyes hazy. Peter’s dick is a forgotten brand of pleasure against his stomach. It’s ignored in favor of keeping both hands on Tony’s throat. 

Peter has no idea why he likes this as much as he does. There’s no denying the way he’s leaking pre all over Tony’s belly or the way Tony’s pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He lets up on the pressure at the same time he slams himself down and grinds his hips in a slow, sinful circle; using a swivel Tony taught him. 

The sound Tony lets out isn’t a word but conveys an entire dialogue of pleasure all the same. 

Peter feels like his entire life’s focus is narrowing to that one sweet cry falling from Tony’s lips. It reaches somewhere deep inside of him and pulls out something dark and warm and Peter knows one absolute fact; he’s going to get Tony to make that noise again. And again. And again.

“Look at you.” Peter’s talking before he’s thought about what he’s going to say. Usually that’s a bad thing but right now it’s so easy. He doesn’t need to think about anything but how to keep Tony’s cock hard and his eyes blown until the brown is almost gone. “You’re so beautiful like this. You’re so hard inside me. You like it when I ride you with my hands on your neck?”

Tony nods his head; doesn’t even try to speak. His brain is swimmy and his body is thrumming. Peter’s been squeezing his inner walls in time with his fingers and his inadvertent double stimulation has pushed Tony right out of his own head and into a place of heat and bliss. He’s so close already. 

He reaches for Peter’s thighs, misses, lands on his knees instead. He traces upwards, undeterred, and skims the nail of his thumbs over Peter’s inner thighs to get his attention. 

“What is it, baby?” Peter’s never called Tony that- not like this. It makes his dick throb so good. Is this how Tony feels when he calls Peter those pet names all the time? Peter lets go of Tony’s neck to give him air to breathe and room to talk. 

“Close.” Tony’s single word reply is wrecked. The spot where Peter’s been gripping is red and angry. There’s going to be a collar of bruises for days when they’re done with this scene. Peter imagines sinking his teeth into the bruises and drops a hand down to grip himself and start stroking. 

“You don’t cum until I say.” Peter orders -orders!- and Tony nods his head up and down in answer. Peter sits up straighter from the rush of power that gesture gives him. He’s right on the edge himself from riding Tony’s cock while ringing his neck with Peter’s slender fingers. Tony giving in when he asked? Tony obeying someone, willingly, eagerly even? 

These thoughts were a kind of power rush all their own. He finds himself rolling his hips, lifting and lowering himself in short rabbit bursts. Fuck, he’s so close.

The short term memory of what he’s just been doing flashes behind his fluttering lashes and he speeds up his strokes. He’s going to remember this night for the rest of his life but he can’t keep his eyes open and tracking for long. He rocks himself so Tony’s cockhead rubs his prostate and he cum’s into his fist, thick rivulets oozing from the tip to slip all across his fingers and dribble downwards towards Tony’s belly. It doesn’t shoot but there’s still enough to leave a visible puddle in Tony’s abs that Peter wants to lick clean. 

After Peter’s come down from the initial high he locks eyes with Tony; he smirks and holds up the hand that’s covered in his own cum, cocking an eyebrow in question. Giving Tony an out. Tony reaches; squeezes Peter’s hips in encouragement. 

“Your turn.” Peter pauses for a moment, wondering -should he have used a pet name again? Too formal? Is he doing this right?- but then Tony rubs his hips and pulls his attention back again. He leaned forward as he’d originally planned and wraps his hands around Tony’s throat for a third time that night. His cum rubs into Tony’s neck as he starts to squeeze, fingers slotted where Tony had taught him to place them. “Cum for me. Cum inside of me. You’ve earned it.”

He knows exactly what those words have done to Tony; because they do the same to him when Tony uses them.

Tony keens and claws into Peter’s hips as he cums. His cock bucks and throbs for a long eternity, emptying what feels like his entire nights load deep inside of Peter’s thoroughly used hole. His body is one long nerve ending connected by the two points of Peter’s hands and ass. The sticky, wet press of Peter’s fingers below his jaw has his chest heating and groin throbbing. 

Peter slowly lets go of Tony’s neck and then sits still for a moment. He looks at Tony and wishes he had his cell phone close at hand. The man is a wreck; eyes hazy and gone, neck red and glistening with white, chest heaving. 

“Was that…” Peter’s unsure of the next part. They’ve both cum. Normally they’d be talking and joking by now but Tony’s...not really tracking. Or, he is, but very slowly. Especially for Tony. Which is why it takes Peter sliding off of his softening cock to jolt Tony out of his daze and pay closer attention. 

“You were perfect. Let’s get cleaned up, okay?” Tony’s still riding high but he’s fluid enough to regain control here, at the end. He sits up and gives Peter a kiss, cupping his hand around his cheek and ear to feel his heat. He can’t resist teasing Peter one last time before the aftercare really starts. 

“You’re going to be applying the concealer tomorrow when the bruises come in.”

.

Thank you for 300 followers! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZEBALS OMG. In honor of this momentous occasion, here is the first fic long enough to actually GO IN the Long Fic section of my Master List 😂 Go easy on Peter I wrote him intentionally as fumbling at the end because he didn’t think he’d like Doming Tony that much and once he didn’t have a clear goal anymore he lost direction and focus. He’s a baby Dom and needs time to get comfortable with every step, even after care. 

January 2020 Pond LiveChat Recap - Writing RPF

We had a great time chatting with Taylor,  @impalaimagining​! Thank you so much for joining us and sharing your thoughts and experience!

Our topic this month was Writing RPF, and we talked about the legal, moral, and emotional aspects of writing about real people.  A rundown of the chat, as well as general Pond news, is below the cut!

We started off the chat with the legal side of things, most of which was covered back when we talked about Monetizing Fan Works back in May. Here are the related links that were brought up:

Wikipedia: Legal issues with fan fiction (The section dealing with RPF is near the bottom under Right of Publicity.) Boiled down, RPF has to deal with a celebrity's Right of Publicity. Famous people have the right to control the commercial use of their name, image, and likeness, sometimes even their broader identity or persona. Most states’ laws on this only apply to uses for commercial gain. So, don't try to get paid directly for RPF, and you're safe.

From NPR: We Stan: Real Person Fan Fiction Comes To Life. This is a fascinating discussion about RPF, the legalities, and how it’s been changing in recent years. This argues that basically since “fiction” is right there in the name, RPF is inherently more legal than regular fan fiction based off of characters. No one is trying to say that the real people involved are actually doing these things, it’s just fiction.

Goodreads Genre: Fan Fiction - Real Person Fiction. When I was researching, this link came up, and I clicked it, not knowing what to expect. Finding that Fan fiction, much less RPF is on Goodreads was surprising to me. (I thought Goodreads was only about books that could be purchased and didn’t touch “unpublished” works, but I guess not?) What I found most interesting was exactly how many of the titles listed on that page are J2-related. There are more J2-related titles than all of the others COMBINED. As a fandom, we rock!

The discussion started with most folks saying they hadn’t considered the legalities of fan fiction, or RPF in particular, when they began writing. Their first concern was just getting the story out of their head and onto the paper. Also, since no one was getting paid for it and it’s so popular, no one questioned the legalities. Also, since it’s fiction, there’s no defamation of character.

@mrswhozeewhatsis​ (Michelle): Most people know that I generally don’t read RPF, unless it’s an AU. Way way way back, when I first started reading fan fiction, I used to read the occasional RPF. Honestly, before SPN, I never really liked an actor enough to want to know more about them. (I've been burned by some jerk actors in the past.) One of the first RPFs I ever read was from Jared's POV, and it contained a scene where he was on stage at a con, and detailed his thoughts. I forget what the inciting incident was, but suddenly he was thinking, "Great, now they're all thinking about how big my dick is," and it made him spiral. Something about that stuck with me, to the point that I cringe every time I see Jared on stage and anything remotely sexual comes up. That's pretty much what stopped me from reading RPF. I have no problem thinking about how big Sam's dick is, but I can't ponder too much about Jared's dick, or I can't look him in the eye when I see him at cons!!!

Taylor: I definitely think there is a very fine line to be walked when you write RPF, and I generally don't cross into the area of writing from an actor's POV.

Q: Is that how you keep it separate so you don’t stare into their faces at a con during a photo op and think about the smut you wrote about them?

Taylor: It can be hard to keep it separate sometimes but it's actually very easy in the moment of a split second photo op. They move so quickly, I don't genuinely think I have ever had the time to consider the things I've written about them while I was talking to and hugging them!

Q: Anyone else who doesn’t read/write RPF, do you think that the whole not being able to look them in the eye is an internal thing for anyone in your life, or just celebs? 

@manawhaat​ (Mana): For example, I have A. FUCKING. LOT. of sex dreams. With tons of people, celebs and people I know in my real life... and I don't want to say that it's jaded me as far as thinking sexual thoughts about people, but in a way it kind of has. I don't have that moral dilemma of not being able to look Jared in the eye after thinking about his dick.  Taylor: I completely agree. I think writing it has made me kind of impervious to it bleeding into my daily life. I see Jared and my heart goes ohmygodwelovehim first and in person, then later when he's not around is when the wowowowbutwhatabouthisdick comes in. Michelle: I don’t think I could write about anyone in a smutty way. Just characters.

Q: I wanted to talk about 'characterization' of rpf. Do other rpf writers out there think of the people as characters and treat them that way, or do you humanize them? Idk if that question makes sense but it's along the same lines of keeping them separate. 

@fogsrollingin​ (Alex): I cast them in other stories when it's rpf. I always write rpf AUs with only a couple exceptions. We know their onscreen mannerisms, so making them astronauts terraforming a new planet with evil aliens on it is like "oh easy". Taylor: Characterization is huge for me. If someone writes an actor outside of the way they portray themselves, it's impossible for me to read. While we don't know these people personally, we know how they act outwardly and in the public eye, and that's enough to get a good idea of the kind of person they would be.  Michelle: I have no trouble reading AUs, because it's just another character who happens to look like and have the name of one of my favorite actors. In AUs, they're characters. If they are actors on a show called Supernatural, then it's too humanizing for me. Taylor: See, Michelle, my mind can't separate it to that degree. If I'm reading about someone named Jared who looks like our Jared? It's Jared. AUs give me a lot of trouble, to be honest.  Both writing and reading. Alex: I feel like it's no different than if Jared did a scifi movie during his summer break from spn & it's so low budget they just kept his real name for his character name.

Q: Do you feel differently reading ship RPF than reader insert RPF?

Michelle: Most of the RPF stories I read are ships, but I do read some reader inserts, too. It’s not an intentional choice either way. Alex: I don't feel differently about it, rly. I know I prefer reading ships over reader insert but that's just my personal jam. Mana: I have a hard time reading ship rpf mainly because I like the versions of my ships that I've built in my head, so when someone deviates from that it is a little turn off for me. Like, your version of Cockles is not the same as my version, which is totally fine, you do you, but it isn't gonna tickle me the same way ya know. so when I get into like non-mainstream ships it's extra difficult to find writers who represent them in the 'right' ways. Taylor: I feel that way about pretty much everything I read, and I think that has a lot to do with the whole characterization piece of it. I know that my idea of and the way I portray Jared or Jensen is probably a million times different than the way other people, including my readers, think of them. I try really hard to make sure the way the actors come across is "right". Mana: I think the one big piece of characterization is kind of using the way they have presented themselves as a moral compass. Obviously they don't present their whole selves so there's always wiggle room and areas where you are free to project your ideas of them into the fic, but that's also the trickiest area and where so many people drop the ball.  Taylor: YES. So, so many people take that wiggle room and take it leaps and bounds beyond what is public (fandom) knowledge. 

Q: How do you feel about RPFs that support certain theories about the wives being beards and such?

Mana: I try to not write anything that would feel as if I'm slandering anyone, etc. I wouldn't want to write a Jensen x reader fic where Danneel cheats on him and that's how they get together. If I mention it at all I just say that they've peacefully and amicably parted ways. If I don't mention it then they simply don't exist in the timeline. But never anything negative about anyone, especially the wives.  @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ (Kaisha): I don't write smut (only read) so I have a very different interpretation on a lot of the things being discussed. I tend to stick with non-AU, sister/daughter!reader insert RPF fics because I don't feel creative enough branch out beyond that. I feel the same as Mana, and I actually won't read fics that are based on the premise that someone cheated for the storyline to work. Alex: I'm okay if ppl deviate far into fantasy realms tho. As long as it's not too support a real life conspiracy theory about the actors, if ppl wanna write it & others like it, all the more power to them. I mean as long as you're like "I killed the wives during the zombie apocalypse in my fic but I love them in real life please don't kill me" I'm like "cool". Taylor: I avoid bashing fics or beard fics. Admittedly I have one where Jensen and Danneel never got married, but they still had a daughter together and Danneel hid the kid from him until her 5th birthday. That doesn't feel like a bash/slander fic to me because I'm not painting anyone as a bad person - things just played out differently. 

Q: The person who suggested this topic mentioned “how to write your first RPF.” Any suggestions?

Michelle: Have Mana finish it for you! (The only one I’ve ever written, she had to finish for me!) Alex: My first rpf was a ballerina!Jared & yogi!Misha romcom. It was so goofy! Taylor: I don't know if I can even answer that question. It literally just poured out of me when I started. I took the tiny little idea I had in my head (my daydream, as it was previously and so aptly named), and put it into words and it ended up being a 10 part series. Mana: How to write your first rpf: READ RPF FROM A LOT OF DIFFERENT WRITERS. find what works for you and for the people you're writing about. do a couple of trial runs with shorter fics. you have room to play, but try not to stray too far from what they've presented themselves as in real life. Kaisha: For me, when I wrote my first RPF (which was also my first fic), I was in a mental place where I was watching a lot of con videos and reading a lot of sister/daughter fics. It was more "I need an outlet for how I am feeling right now and I don't have anyone to talk to"...so I talked to the image of the boys I had made in my head from what I saw of them online.

Q: Does character shipping affect the RPFs you read? Like, if your OTP is Destiel, do you mainly only read Cockles?

Kaisha: I will read almost anything that's related to one of the Js, either RPF or SPN. But I don't have strong ship feels one way or another that changes what I read/write for RPF. Taylor: I don't know if character ships have any kind of effect on RPF ships. Because there are a lot more people involved in cons than we see on the show, and cons are my primary source of RPF inspiration. Like, we see Henry, what, twice in the show? But Gil McKinney is a whole other story. He's all over the convention circuit (or at least he used to be) and also all over fandom twitter. It just feels easier for me to write RPF because I see these actors in my real life, interacting with other real people. I have interacted with them, which makes things feel a lot more real than writing about two hot fictional dudes from my TV screen. Alex: I'm definitely up for Sam/Dean as much as I'm up for J2. Oddly tho it's Mishalecki at real life con panels that's gotten me totally happy to write/read Mishalecki.

Q: (From Taylor) The piece of RPF I struggle with the most is bringing events from the actors' real lives into my stories. Writing about Jensen and the brewery, about their kids and stories they tell about them at cons, that's where my already grey area turns even more grey. 

Kaisha: I am right there with you Taylor! My fic started as mostly the reader and JJ interacting and then I remember the twins existed, too. And with my new fic I am trying to figure out if the San Jac and FBBC will work in or not. Mana: I'm interested in this, because I don't seem to have that issue or gray area. It just doesn't exist for me and I'd like to hear more about it from you guys. Taylor: It's so hard haha. I have something coming up that deals with Jared being arrested and of course I didn't post it before that whole event went down so now it looks like I'm taking that part of his life and twisting it for my personal fiction needs. Which feels kinda (adult word for "not good").  Kaisha: For me the gray area thing is because I want to write a believable story. A believable story has realistic details and if I am ignoring or overlooking things that my audience knows to be true, I feel it takes them out of the story. Mana: So it's a case of omit it entirely or commit to it entirely? I ask in regards to like FBBC and the kids. Do you feel differently about incorporating those aspects into your fics? would you be more comfortable writing about fbbc than you would the kids? Or does that gray area cover the same on both? Kaisha: The same thing goes for when I beta read something. A detail that I don't remember or agree with will take me out of the story and send me on a research rabbit trail to know if the author is correct with what they said. I want to stay in the story as much as possible and I want that for my readers too. That's probably a good way to differentiate it. If I state in the A/N that J1 only has 1 kid, then I don't have to consider what year the story is occurring in. But if I tell you it's non-AU, well then everything that is happening in our universe should be happening in my story (otherwise, it would be AU, even to the slightest degree). The kids vs. FBBC thing I think could be very personal on which someone feels more comfortable with. I say that because I know ABSOLUTLEY NOTHING about alcohol. Kids on the other hand I get. Taylor: For me it's the same. Just, actual concrete aspects of Jensen's life are harder for me to write about. Because then - again, just for me - that feels like writing from their point of view, which is something I try to avoid.

Q: Do any of you read/write RPF outside of SPN?

Taylor: SPN is my only fandom. Michelle: I tried to read fics from other fandoms, and just couldn’t get into it. I might be getting sucked into The Witcher fandom, though. Haven’t found any Geralt fics that really align with my image of him, though. Alex: There are CW network RPF AUs I read. Taylor: I feel like, as SPN fans, we have a wonderful privilege and incredible pool of writers to choose from when we want to read. I don't know, because like I said SPN is my only fandom, if any other fandom has this level of talent or dedication.

Q: Have you ever read an RPF fic that changed the way you viewed an actor? Or given you a sense of gained insight into their lives?

Michelle: That's actually why I don't read “canon-compliant” RPF, actually. Because then I might think that idea is real, and won't see that it's not, even when proven wrong. Like, maybe Jared actually loves it when we think about how big his dick is? But I can't stop thinking that it embarrasses him and makes him uncomfortable because I read it in that one fic. Kaisha: @crashdevlin​  has a Jensen x reader series that also heavily features Tom Hiddleston. My view of Tom has forever been changed because of her story!  Michelle: My brain is very malleable. Sometimes, I'm so open-minded, my brain falls right out. I have to be careful what I let influence me. Kaisha: It wasn't something that I intended to happen. Crash just wrote a very compelling character and I think my opinion would have been altered no matter who it was that she used as the face. Taylor: I've never read anything that has changed the way I view the actors. I've certainly read things that have given me new ideas about the things they enjoy (bitey and/or rough smut), but nothing that's changed the way they appear in my mind. I think the biggest part of all of this is just remembering that all of this is 100% FICTION and should never be taken as reality in any way, shape, or form.

To close out the chat, Mana requested fic recs! Here are the recs that were mentioned:

Michelle: If you're into serial killer AUs, There's a J2 AU in my AO3 bookmarks that's genius. Adoration. The other RPF bookmark I have is called Beholder. Jared runs an animal shelter, and Jensen is a homeless man with a TBI who gets dumped at the shelter one night.

Alex: My favorite rpf fic is Tails by keep_waking_up. Werefox!Jared & kitsune!Jensen law enforcement murder mystery AU.

Taylor: One of my favorites to read is by @thecleverdame​: Modern Technology. (Jared x reader) This is unfinished but it's quickly becoming one of my favorite Jensen-things I've ever written, AND IT'S AN AU!!! Rockabye. Also, there’s You Saved Me (Jared x Reader). And have a J2 x Reader for funsies! Something is Happening

Kaisha: This is my favorite RPF. Underneath verse (series) - J2 -  Jensen is the undercover FBI agent sent to take out Jared, the boss of Chicago. #Self-promo, but I am pretty proud of this one, too: Nanny, Sister, Daughter...Family (Jenneel with sorta daughter!reader)

Mana: Here’s the Cockles x Reader fic that Michelle and I wrote: Rumor Has It And, of course, (Jenneel x Reader) Fools In Love.

Feel free to reblog with your favorite RPF fics!!

Also, the February LiveChat info is still TBD. Feel free to send in your topic ideas and suggest guest speakers!!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

What we’ve got cooking up next: Not much, at the moment, since everyone is busy, so we’re just trying to keep up with the day-to-day at the moment! Our to do list is still long, though, and will not be neglected forever! Next up is organizing the tagging system on the blog to make it easier for readers to find the stories they’re interesting in and for writers to find the help they’re looking for!

Reminders:

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work!  IF YOU HAVE SENT IN A NOMINATION, BUT HAVE NOT RECEIVED A PRIVATE MESSAGE CONFIRMING WE RECEIVED IT, WE DIDN’T GET IT. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

Say hi to December’s New Members and January’s New Members! (If we missed someone, let us know!)

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the Skype chat room/discord general channel and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details!  The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

We’re getting lots of requests for more Big Fish, lately, but so far, only one applicant! If you know someone you think would be a good Big Fish, tell them to apply!!

92, “Scoot over a little bit, please.”

Wound up combining this white "Quit touching me, your feet are cold" because the opportunity presented itself lol Plus I love an excuse for sick!fic and @lywinis and I had toyed with this idea for a little.

[PROMPT ME!] | [AO3]

--------------------------------

Aziraphale is tired.

This in itself is worrisome enough; as an immortal, celestial being he typically has very little need for sleep. Nor does he care for it all that much. But on top of this, he finds he's developed, well... a tickle in the back of his throat. He only notices after several attempts to clear his throat had turned into a cough. A loud one at that.

But he doesn't get sick. Angels don't get sick, that's one of the perks of being immortal. Of course, they can be inebriated and the like, but they have the choice of immediately sobering up, unlike humans. Essentially, the moment they chose not to be something, it was so.

Yet it seems he's growing ill and unable to rid himself of it.

He tried miracling it away but something just wasn't working. For a moment he wondered if perhaps his ability to perform miracles had been cut off by Heaven, but a quick snap of his fingers doused all the lights in the shop and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Not that, then. So what was different? What had changed since he'd first been sent to Earth that could account for this kind of development?

"...oh dear," Aziraphale murmurs to his empty shop. "Could it be...?"

He'd been discorporated. And while he'd gotten a new body, it had come from Adam, not from Heaven. Is it possible that the boy could have made him more human than he was intended to be? If this weren't a standard-issue vessel, so to speak, did that leave him vulnerable to something like a cold?

"What a headache," he sighs.

Speaking of which, he's developing one very rapidly, he finds. He needs to come up with a solution to this problem—likely needs to get in contact with his, ahem, godson—but perhaps... perhaps he'll just lie down first. Just for a moment.

***

Typically when they hadn't seen each other for days or weeks or years, Crowley didn't think much of it. They both had their own business to attend to and it wasn't unusual that they wouldn't cross paths for some time. But now that he and the angel were on Hell and Heaven's respective naughty lists, days of radio silence from Aziraphale had him worried.

After failing to catch him on the phone after several attempts, Crowley had decided something wasn't right. Aziraphale always answered his calls, if he were able to do so. Especially these days.

The CLOSED sign does little to stop him, as a quick snap of his fingers grants him access to the shop, the door swinging shut behind him. The shop is dark, the blinds drawn and the lamps doused. It's... odd. The shop is nearly always alight, whether open or not, as Aziraphale can usually be found perched at his desk in study or otherwise straightening his collection according to whatever mad system he had.

"Aziraphale?"

The demon's cautious call had emerged in a far quieter voice than he had intended and he can’t help but be annoyed by that fact. It’s not as though he’s afraid or anything. And if he’s trying to find the angel, it makes no sense to keep his voice down. 

“Angel, are you in here?” he calls, louder this time.

Again he receives no answer. He decides to snoop around, just to be sure, striking off in the direction of the Principality’s desk where it sat on the east end of the shop. He finds the desk neat and tidy, but unfortunately empty. He finds the same of several shelves of books and the back room. Which really only left the angel’s flat to be explored.

Crowley has never been in Aziraphale’s flat. Not because he thought the angel wouldn’t offer to let him inside if he wished, but rather that most of their time together was easily spent in the shop’s backroom, with nothing pushing them to go any further. It feels just the slightest bit of an invasion of privacy to enter without Aziraphale’s express consent, but he supposes he can be forgiven if it’s for the sake of checking the resident’s well-being.

The flat is tidily kept, if on the smaller side (compared to Crowley’s in any case). Despite the angel’s often indulgent nature, he still remained humble in some regards, his living space apparently being one of them. It’s small but comfortable, the worn-looking sofa and softly ticking grandfather clock just some of the touches that made the space truly feel like Aziraphale’s. The color scheme seems to match that of Aziraphale’s dress; all soft shades of tans and blues and tartan patterned. There’s a faint scent of apples and cinnamon in the air and the notion tickles him somewhat. But he’s not here to look around.

“Aziraphale?” he calls once more.

This time he does get an answer, just not one he’d been expecting. A cough. A rather loud, long, rattling sort of cough from a nearby room. Now that is definitely not right. Curious and feeling a different sort of concern replace the kind he’d arrived with, Crowley pushes onward, down the hall and to the one occupied bedroom. He can see at once that the bed is occupied, the covers pulled up over whoever is lying in it. Aziraphale, he hopes.

“Didn’t you hear me calling for you?” Crowley asks, striding forward.

The second he’s reached the foot of the bed, it’s plain to see that the angel hadn’t. He’s curled up beneath the duvet, shivering despite it and breathing in a soft wheeze occasionally punctuated by a rough cough that seems to rock his entire vessel. He looks... sick. But that can’t be right. They don’t get sick.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley tries again, crouching down.

He feels compelled to reach out, to assure himself that he’s seeing what he’s seeing. His fingers are met by a radiating heat when they touch the angel’s forehead and he’s sweating as though he’s been sat in a sauna for the past hour. But the moment Crowley’s hand is on his head, a great, shuddering sigh leaves him, as though even the slight difference in temperature the demon’s skin provides is a welcome relief.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, pushing his hand back through sweat-damp curls. “Can you hear me?”

The Principality certainly makes an effort at answering him. He does manage to open his eyes on the third or fourth attempt, his typically vibrant blue-hazel looking too bright with fever. He blinks sluggishly, staring at Crowley as though he isn’t quite sure he’s seeing him.

“Crowley?”

Even his voice is rough, sounding as though it had been dragged over sandpaper before reaching Crowley’s ears.

“Yeah,” Crowley says. “You haven’t been answering my calls. What’s going on here angel?”

“Sick,” Aziraphale says, clearing his throat. This rapidly dissolves into another bout of coughing and Crowley finds himself tempted to try and hold him down before he dislodges himself from his bed. The angel wheezes heavily for several seconds before tacking on, “...I think.”

“I think we can do away with 'I think'," Crowley agrees. "Hold on, have you fixed up in a moment."

Crowley snaps his fingers... and is perplexed when nothing changes. He frowns and tries again, only to be met with the same results. He snaps and snaps and snaps, as though trying to bring a flame to a stubborn lighter, but nothing comes of it. A sudden feeling of anxiety begins to gnaw at him and he snaps his fingers at the angel's nightstand, relieved when the basin and flannel he'd been expecting appeared.

"Thought the same thing," Aziraphale snuffles.

"What in the Hell is going on with you?" Crowley asks, dipping the flannel into the basin and ringing it out once it was sufficiently wet.

"I think... perhaps when Adam separated myself and... and Madame Tracy," Aziraphale begins to explain, his words punctuated by barking coughs. "He may have fashioned my new vessel... to be a bit too... too human."

Oh. Well, that would do it then. Adam certainly wouldn't have known that a standard-issue body from Heaven or Hell came with all of these immunities built-in. It would definitely explain the angel's current state. 

"Doesn't explain why we can't miracle it away," Crowley points out, folding the flannel neatly in his hands.

"Antichrist at Armageddon," Aziraphale says by way of an explanation.

"...meaning that something done at the peak of his power trumps our abilities, is what you're saying," Crowley infers.

Aziraphale merely nods in response, the brief exchange seeming to cost him energy he didn't have. Crowley places the damp cloth over his forehead, feeling a flutter in his stomach at the soft sigh he receives in return. The angel's eyes have drifted shut once more, though Crowley's certain he's still partially cognizant for the time being.

"Have you taken anything?" Crowley wonders.

"Mm," Aziraphale hums, the noise sounding odd as it battles against his congestion to emerge.

"How long ago?" Crowley asks.

"...wrote it down..."

Crowley finds a slip of paper on the nightstand beside a bottle of paracetamol and some kind of over the counter cold medicine. It read "Tuesday - 2:45 pm." Crowley clucks his tongue and shakes out an appropriate dose from each bottle, miracling a glass of water into hand.

"Right, well that was yesterday so I think it's safe to say you're due," the demon declares. "Up."

He watches the angel unsteadily prop himself up on his elbows, shaking like a newborn foal as Crowley hands him the medication and the glass of water. Aziraphale makes a face—either from the taste or pain of swallowing, but likely both—as he takes them, but does so all the same. 

"Why didn't you bloody call me?" Crowley wants to know.

"I don't need to bother you with... with this," Aziraphale sniffles, settling back down. "I'm not dying."

"How would you know?" Crowley points out. "Not like you've ever been sick before."

Aziraphale's eyes widen in alarm. "...you don't actually think..."

"Well, no," Crowley admits. "But I'm trying to make a point here. What's the sense in handling it alone? And doing an awful job, actually, since you can't even keep yourself properly medicated."

"...I suppose you're right," Aziraphale admits.

"Right," Crowley says, as though that's decided something. "Scoot over a bit."

Undoubtedly Aziraphale means to ask him what he's doing, but as it stands, all that emerges from him is a confused sounding "Bwuh?" Crowley snaps his fingers, his clothing replaced by a pair of black silk pajamas.

"I said budge up," Crowley tells him. "Consider me your Nanny for the foreseeable future."

"...always liked your Nanny..." Aziraphale mumbles as he makes room for the demon.

Crowley can't help but smirk. "I'll bet you did."

It says something that the angel doesn't seem to have the energy to get flustered by that comment the way he usually would. He simply makes room for Crowley before curling up on his side and trying to drift off again. Crowley lies on his side facing him, requiring very little effort to get Aziraphale tucked close to his side, his head pressed to the demon's chest. He breathes out another of those soft, comforted sighs as Crowley pets his head, fingers passing through white-gold curls with a fondness reserved only for him.

...until the moment is broken by a startled yelp from Aziraphale.

"Quit touching me, your feet are cold," the Principality sniffles miserably.

"Well it's cold out in case you hadn't noticed," Crowley informs him. "Calm down, it's not going to kill you."

Aziraphale mumbles something to the contrary but doesn't offer much push back other than this. In short order, Crowley finds himself with his arms full of a slumbering angel. It's an unusual position to be in, being that Aziraphale rarely sleeps and that they hadn't exactly progressed this far yet... but not a bad one. Admittedly Crowley was hoping to get into the angel's bed when he was of sound enough mind to invite him, but this isn't a situation either of them could have accounted for. He's in no rush to hurry their relationship along, perfectly content to move at whatever pace suits them both—so hopefully, the angel won't be too upset to find a demon in his bed once his head clears.

Although he'd made light of it earlier, Crowley is rather worried. It may be something as simple as a cold, but the fact that Aziraphale has it at all is troubling. As soon as he's well, Crowley plans to meet with their godson to see about straightening this all out. For now, he lies and waits and watches the angel sleep hours away.

It isn't as though neither of them has suffered worse than a cold, but that doesn't mean Crowley has to enjoy watching Aziraphale cough and wheeze and burn hotter than coal, pressed against his side and fidgeting through fever dreams. He passes his fingers over the angel's temples, willing away whatever unpleasant images that have pulled his sleeping countenance into such a troubled frown. He hears a quiet whimper; a barely-there noise that almost sounds like his name as Aziraphale winds his fist in the demon's pajama top.

Another brush of his fingers softens Aziraphale's expression into something more at ease, chasing away whatever it is that seemed to have troubled him so. Crowley can't help but wonder what it is. What kind of nightmares does an angel have? More importantly: what kind of nightmares does this one have? He's not sure that Aziraphale would tell him if he asked.

"...Crowley?"

The scratchy sound of the angel's voice catches him off guard; he hadn't realized he'd woken.

"Hm?"

"You're here?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Staying...?"

"Only if you want me to, angel."

"Please..."

"Alright."

So he does.

***

The next time Aziraphale wakes (that he can recall, in any case) he's feeling markedly better than he had previously. His cough still lingers, but it doesn't seem to rock him from head to toe as it had before. Breathing has grown significantly easier and he no longer feels as though his head's been stuffed with cotton.

As he slowly comes to, he realizes that he's not alone. There's a brief spike of anxiety that shoots through him before the memories trickle back to him, keeping him from bolting upright. That's right. Crowley had come. Glancing up, he finds the demon to be snoring softly, apparently the combination of a bed and body warmth too enticing for him not to take a nap. 

Crowley had taken care of him. From what little he recalls, he knows that much. He hadn't needed to, Aziraphale certainly would've lived, but he'd opted to anyway. Aziraphale has seen Crowley sleeping before, as the demon is rather fond of it, but he can't say he's ever seen Crowley look quite this relaxed before. Despite sharing a bed with a counterpart who must have been insufferable to listen to sneeze and cough and hack for hours on end, Crowley seems entirely at peace.

Aziraphale can't help but take a moment to admire him in this state, this sort of soft glow you wouldn't find anywhere other than a bed. They hadn't shared one yet but it feels... good. Right. It feels comfortable in a way Aziraphale frankly hadn't expected. And for a moment, any aches and pains he's feeling, any self-consciousness or worry all faded into the background. Aziraphale is not the best of angels, nor is he treated as such, but looking up into the slumbering face of his partner he wouldn't hesitate to say he is blessed. He is rich in ways other angels could not understand, nor could he explain to them.

And at the end of the day, having a cold is not quite so terrible after all. If it comes with perks like this, it's something he could certainly learn to live with.

fic: love hard, love fierce

With the comforting presence of his husband and son at his side, Aaron finally reads the letter that Lisa left for him.

TW discussions of death, grief.

read on AO3 

Seb spotted Aaron before Robert did; his little face breaking into an animated smile over the top of the bench where he stood, bouncing with his arms outstretched, and let out a joyful squeal that carried on the slight breeze as Aaron approached them. The sight of his gorgeous stepson, the bright head of hair and dimpled cheeks, was a warming tonic to the stone that felt like it had settled in his chest since the funeral that morning. Turning round to see what Seb was so excited by, Robert broke into a matching smile of his own when he saw Aaron coming, one hand steadying the little boy while he reached over the back of the bench to take Aaron’s hand wordlessly in the other, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles in a gentle, soothing touch. 

Aaron let out a deep breath he wasn’t even conscious he was holding inside him, feeling the line of his shoulders drop and relax as soon as he had Robert’s palm, warm and soft, in his own. The park was empty save for a few seagulls pecking at the grass and ducks floating on the water of the small pond, and Aaron bent to press a kiss first to the top of Robert’s head, then Seb’s, who gurgled a little giggle at the feeling of his dad’s rough stubble against the tender skin of his forehead. 

“Hey,” Robert said softly. “If i’’m honest, I didn’t think I’d see you till later.”

“Neither did I,” Aaron admitted, coming to sit next to him on the bench and scooping up Seb into his lap, who immediately buried himself in Aaron’s jumper, little fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket. He scooted closer, needing to physically feel Robert close to him, to inhale his scent and allow it to alleviate the heaviness he felt in his stomach and chest, the grief curling up in his throat. He stroked the soft hair over Seb’s forehead gently, rocking him as he added, “It got a bit much. The wake, I mean. Just needed to see ya. And this little guy,” he blew a wet raspberry on Seb’s cheek, making him laugh again. The sound was like bells, sweet and infectious. 

Robert made a sympathetic noise, wrapping his arm around Aaron and pulling him in closer, resting his cheek against his husband’s temple and gently rubbing soothing circles into the top of his arm. “I wish I could’ve been there for ya today,” he said. “It’s just, well, funerals and fussy babies don’t really mix, especially since Bex reckons Seb’s started teething, so I didn’t want to spoil it by being the bloke with the screaming infant ruining the eulogy.”

“It was a nice ceremony,” Aaron said. “Charity shared some old stories about Lisa, and Belle read a out poem she wrote, bless ‘er. It must have been so hard for her to do that in front of everyone. They even brought her into the church in the old Dingle van, if ya can believe that.”

“What, that decrepit old thing you showed me ages ago?” Robert asked disbelievingly, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “The one that’s got about an inch of dust on it and covered in scratches?”

“Yep,” Aaron replied. “The very same. It seemed to fit, Lisa being who she was an’ all that. You better not put me in it, though, when my time comes, or I might just come back to life and kill ya.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Robert laughed a little, scraping his nails through the soft hair at the back of Aaron’s neck, making him wriggle and stretch contentedly with a sigh, adjusting Seb a bit so that he was tucked into the crook of his shoulder. “Only the best for my beautiful husband, who’ll get the best send-off the village has ever seen, you mark my words.”

“There better be a pig race, though,” Aaron said nonchalantly. 

“Okay, now I can’t tell whether you’re windin’ me up or not,” Robert scoffed. He tickled Seb under the chin, making him twist and try to squirm away, and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “What do you say, little man? Is your daddy Aaron havin’ me on?”

“I am not!” Aaron protested. “There were three of ‘em, and our Spamela won, didn’t she? Won by miles. And you wanted to make her into a bacon sandwich,” he tutted, reminding him of the time when Belle’s sow had crashed at their home for the night, then gone walkabout in the village making them both fear Belle’s wrath. He looked down at the little boy. “That’s not very nice of daddy Robert, is it Seb, hmm?”

“Da!” Seb squealed, which quite frankly could have meant anything as he’d only barely begun babbling yet, but Aaron took it as an agreement and smirked at Robert triumphantly. 

“Sounds like a great way to celebrate her life,” Robert said sincerely. “I think I like that idea. Focusing on the fun, good things rather than her loss, even though you’re all going to really miss her.”

“Lydia gave me this,” Aaron said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope bordered with green and purple flowers, Aaron written on the front in Lisa’s neat writing. “Lisa left one for each of us, my mum, Debbie, Cain, Sam, Charity....but I just couldn’t face readin’ mine without ya.”

“Can I?” Robert asked, reaching for it, and Aaron handed it over without hesitation. With a nod from Aaron, he opened it, taking out the sheets of paper that were carefully folded inside. “Do you want me to - shall I read it out to you?”

A hard lump in his throat, his palms tingling, Aaron nodded. “Please.” He held Seb a little closer, feeling his soft baby breath on his neck, as Robert unfolded the first page and started to read.

Dear Aaron,

My love, there’s no-one who epitomises what it means to be a Dingle more than you. You’ve endured so much, and had so much heartache in such a young life, that to see you come out of it fighting and ready for anything makes me so, so proud. My only regret is that I won’t get to see you enjoy this next chapter with your wonderful husband, gorgeous little Sebastian, and the children Chas tells me you two are hoping to have sometime in the near future. 

To have suffered the way that you have, is more than anyone could possibly bear in their lifetime. But you’ve put us all to shame with the way you’ve handled some of the worst experiences imaginable, and still be such a kind, gentle, loving young man who would do anything for his family and who is capable of so much love. Whatever happened to that little scrap of a lad always getting into trouble, eh? I’ll tell you what happened. He grew up into an amazing man who found his place in the world, and went after what he wanted most without fear or shame.

I was never able to make it to your wedding, but your mum sent me some photos in the post afterwards, and the happiness radiating out from you with your Robert at your side took my breath away. What a lovely couple you two really are, so happy and content with each other, so at peace now that you’ve found each other. In a way, you reminded me of how I and your Uncle Zak have felt all these years, despite and including the time we spent apart. I know you haven’t had the most conventional or easy relationship, but true love always finds its way, and the two of you have something so few of us get to experience - a soulmate.

So cherish him, Aaron. Cherish each other. Love your son and all your children to come. Remind him every day just what he means to you, and hope and trust that he will do the same when it matters most. Love hard and love fierce like I know you can, like the Dingle I know you are. 

All my love,

Lisa

By the time Robert reached the end of the letter, Aaron was gripping his hand so tightly his wedding ring was in danger of creating a permanent welt in Robert’s palm; tears splashed down his face as he squeezed Seb to his chest, inhaling his warm baby smell as he fought to control the aching sobs trying to push their way out of him. He hadn’t cried at the funeral, not even really when he’d been told Lisa had died, but hearing her words now, the words she’d written just for him, had brought it all spilling forward in an avalanche he didn’t know how to stop. 

But Robert was there, solid and unyielding, and that made everything just that little bit more bearable, hugging Aaron close and blinking through his own tears as he murmured in his ear, “Aaron, Aaron, I love you so much. It’s okay. I love you.”

What would he ever do without this man? 

“I love ya, too,” Aaron said hoarsely. “And I mean, Lisa said it all for me in that letter, it’s scary how much she knows, but - you’re it for me, ya know?”

“I know,” Robert affirmed, nodding slowly and pressing a firm kiss to Aaron’s temple. One hand came up to stroke through Seb’s hair again, the little boy snuggling further into Aaron, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his jumper. “I know, Aaron. I always know. And I’m sorry I haven’t made it as clear as I should have, these last few weeks. All this Vic stuff, it’s messed with my head...I took you for granted. That wasn’t right. I love ya too much.”

“Not as much as I love you,” Aaron murmured quietly. “Soft idiot.”

“Sentimental muppet,” Robert quipped back. Carefully, he folded Lisa’s letter back into its envelope, and tucked it into the pocket of his coat for safekeeping. He reached behind himself, pulling out a small bag of what looked like bird seed. “Want to help me and Seb finish feeding the ducks before it’s time for me to take him back?”

“Absolutely,” Aaron agreed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, would I?”

Robert stood, holding out his hand for Aaron’to take; he did so, holding on tight, Seb perched on one hip with his arms round Aaron’s neck. He walked them down to the edge of the pond, the three of them in unison; they made quite the little family unit, Robert and Aaron holding hands, Aaron with his arm securely round Seb, who was giggling and shrieking “Uck! Uck!” as they took turns to throw handfuls of seed into the water. Watching with delight as the ducks rushed towards the food and tackled each other, each wanting the biggest share for themselves.