peppino studies...hes got such a cute face and i feel like im straying away from it

Hiiii, I don’t know if you’re up for any marauders requests- so no pressure!!

If you are though, I recently sprained my wrist pretty (really) bad at work and have been not great about taking care of it, resting, ect.

If it’s not too much trouble- could I get a lil thing about the marauders absolutely doting on reader over an injury? Like so soft and sweet it could give you diabetes.

Thank you!!!

hope this is okay sweetness! fem!reader, 2k

"She's trying to stand up again," James says, finger hooked in your belt loop. 

You glare at him down on the sofa. "Tattle tale," you scold. It's hard to maintain; he looks very sweet today, everyday, and more than handsome. 

Remus stands in the doorway to the living room, the smell of the honey tea he's making on his heels. "Why, dove?" he asks, sounding amusedly horrified. "Can't you stay still for ten minutes?" 

"I just thought I'd help with the tea," you say, taking a painful step toward him. James gasps and actually stands himself. 

Your eyes widen. James is more of a threat-giver than an enforcer. He loves telling on you or better yet enabling your bad behaviour, but if he's getting up it means he won't be allowing you any further self-detriment. 

"Be gentle," Remus says. 

James raises his eyebrows at you and crowds you, hands on your hips. He gives you a little push. "Sit back down." 

You sit, and your ankle feels better for it immediately, but you cross your arms over your chest and huff so they know you don't appreciate being bossed around. James laughs, more than aware. 

"It's for your own good," he says. 

Remus returns with your tea and you say thanks even though you're pretending to be annoyed with them both. "I would like to be allowed to get my own tea," you say, pleased when James sits back at your side with his own cup of tea, his arm heavy against you. "It's not as bad as you think it is, I promise." 

"You have a bruise bigger than Jersey on your ankle and…" James lowers his voice slightly, "I know it's hurting even when you aren't standing. You get a notch between your brows, right here," he says, tapping the space above your nose. 

"The less you use it the quicker it will get better," Remus says. 

"That logic only applies to injury," says a new voice. The front door closes, and after a second Sirius appears in his coat and jacket. "The more you use me, the better I get." He winks at you. 

You wink back. Delighted, Sirius peels out of his coat and shoes and swiftly takes the empty seat on your left. He kisses your cheek hello, his slender fingers tucked deftly behind your ear so he can turn your face to his. 

"Have you been resting?" he asks. 

"No," Remus and James say at the same time. 

"She's done the opposite," James adds.

"Yes, well, she's not perfect." He shakes his head at you hurriedly, mouthing, "You are perfect." 

You know he's joking but you get all melted, tight shoulders lax, head dipping back against the sofa cushions. Sirius hums his approval and strokes your cheek with his thumb. He's not usually the most affectionate of the boys, but when you're injured he acts like you're on your deathbed and deserving of the world's collective sweetness. 

"How was work?" you ask him. 

"Agony," he says quietly, and he's putting it on, trying to make you squirm. It's working. "I was worried about you." 

"I take offence to that," James says. 

"I know you're taking care of her," Sirius says, "don't be daft, I just know she won't behave. Especially if I'm not here." 

Half of a biscuit soars toward Sirius and hits him in the chest. Entertained, you follow its trajectory back to the source and find Remus in the big armchair, cup of tea cradled atop his knee. "What?" he asks, seemingly chewing the first half of the biscuit. 

"Sirius–" James warns. 

"Prick," Sirius says. 

Remus swallows his biscuit and takes a sip of tea. "Oh, sorry. Slipped." 

"Why have you chucked a biscuit at me?" Sirius asks. 

James takes the biscuit and eats it. You laugh from behind your hand. 

"No reason. Y/N, dovey, do you want a biscuit?" Remus asks you. 

You nod and start to stand to retrieve one, but two arms grab your waist. James' arm, tan, steely without any effort, stops you from getting any further. Sirius', less strong but twice as eager, pulls you into his side with a groan. 

"Please sit down," he says. 

You sigh and let your head drop onto James' shoulder. "I'm sitting. I just want a biscuit." 

Remus sits on the coffee table in front of you with a funny look on his face, a mixture of love and disbelief. "I was bringing them to you." He squeezes the tin closed in his lap, his eyes resolutely on yours so you're forced to meet his gaze. He's handsome, too, they all are, but Remus doesn't know it, unaware of the effect his eyes have on you, the colour like browned honey and the little specks of amber that surround his pupil. "I'll give you a biscuit if you promise to stop making it worse." 

"Really," James seconds, "we want you to get better, that's all." 

You slouch further into his shoulder, away from their doting concern. "It's not as bad as you think it is."

That's a bad lie. You and Sirius had been walking back up the garden steps after a red squirrel stakeout —the squirrels keep eating from Remus' bird feeders and therefore scaring away the birds— and you slipped in a strange way. You ended up sprawled out on your back and you'd burst into laughter, while Sirius looked down on you absolutely horrified. It was only later, an hour or so afterwards, when you'd been helped up and placed affectionately in bed, that your ankle started to ache, and you found you couldn't put any weight on it after all. Your panicked tears had terrified the three of them. They've been ridiculously lovely since then. 

"Maybe I could have another look?" Remus asks. 

It's a well-organised dance when you're together, and this part's no different. Remus hands the biscuit tin to James as he stands, and Sirius pushes the table back with his foot so Remus has room to kneel down in front of you. James opens the biscuit tin and knows your favourite without having to ask, offering it to you as Remus straightens out your leg. 

"Is this compression thing a good idea all of the time?" Sirius asks. 

Remus pulls it down, humming as you hiss in pain. "Oh, I know, dove. I'll be really quick," he promises. 

"It's not so horribly bruised," James says. 

"I hate that we're all looking at my foot right now." 

Remus squeezes your toes. If you weren't wearing a sock under the compression support you'd have to break up with him. 

"I think it looks less swollen," he says eventually, rolling up your sock and putting the compression back into the proper place. You gasp at the sudden movement and his brows crease in sympathy. "Sorry, dove." 

"Let's elevate it, right?" James asks. 

"Yes, I think so. I'll get you a pillow," Remus says.

He stands up, turns to leave, and then turns back to press a kiss to your temple. 

"Me too," Sirius says, kissing your cheek. 

Having refused to move from James' shoulder in your embarrassment, you're out of the way for James to kiss you too, and it's a good thing. Anymore sweetness and you'd probably melt into the threads of the sofa. 

"I'll owe you one," James says. 

Remus gets a pillow to prop up your foot. James becomes your dedicated human blanket. Sirius looks for a film to watch on the telly while discussing takeaway options, even when Remus claims that he's going to cook tonight. 

"Takeaway is too expensive," Remus says. 

"Cooking makes a mess that you'll insist on cleaning," Sirius argues. 

"Takeaway also makes a mess," James says. 

"We can't cook because I can't help," you declare. "And that's not fair. You guys will all be laughing and flirting in the kitchen and I'll be sat here by my lonesome watching Footloose."   

"Footloose isn't on until ten," Sirius says, looking at the TV info bar with a smile, "you'd be watching Night Rider." 

Remus holds his hand out from the armchair. It's miles from reaching you, but you know he's suggesting an alliance. "How about," he begins softly, "we have a takeaway and those two can do whatever they want." 

"Remus," James says. 

You stand up on your uninjured foot. The boys groan at your moving but don't argue, letting you limp to the armchair where Remus is sitting with little more than a chorus of defeated sighs. He puts his arms out for you, his hands and grip strong as he helps you down into the seat next to him. There's not really enough room for two, but he makes it, his arm crossing over your chest and under your arm to lock you in against him. 

"This is ridiculous," James says. 

Sirius shuffles across the sofa into the gap you've left behind. "We could always hide the menus," he says to James. "Neither of them know the numbers. Plus, she can't walk and he can't be bothered." 

Remus pulls you in impossibly closer. "That's true." 

The two boys opposite spring up from their seats, laughing as they begin plotting a cruel plan. You rub your fingertips up and down the length of the arm holding you, letting your head flop back into Remus' chest as you say, "They'll realise they like us too much to starve us soon enough." 

"I know." His hold on you relaxes. "I really do wish you'd stop putting weight on your foot. Please. It needs time to get better." 

"Okay," you say, a sucker for him when he talks so softly. "Sorry. No more walking around while it heals." 

"Don't be sorry, just get better quickly. I need reinforcements against their nonsense." 

"You love their nonsense." 

James and Sirius return looking pleased with themselves not long after, and an hour passes quietly. When the doorbell rings, you're unsurprised to find they've ordered your favourite takeaway. 

"You're predictable," Remus says.

"Well," Sirius says, lifting his chin, arms laden with cartons, "how else is she supposed to get better? She needs food." 

In an example of extreme overkill, Remus and James act as crutches, helping you walk the short distance from the living room to the kitchen table. You're surprised James doesn't just attempt to pick you up in a fireman's lift, as is his usual style. 

Sirius sets the table. Remus makes drinks. James doles out the portions of food, knowing what everyone wants without having to ask, and you miss being able to help. You're usually moving with them, an integral thread, ebbing and flowing in tandem. It's nice to watch them together, but you miss doing your part. James' hand warm on your hip as he eases you out of the way, or Sirius' childish attempts at tripping you up on the way to the silverware drawer. 

"Sorry for being so useless lately," you say, twisting the fork in your hand over and over. 

Three glares pierce you at once. "Who says you're useless?" James asks. 

"You're out of commission for the moment," Remus says agreeably, "that's far from useless." 

"I feel bad, having you wait on me. I know I'm making it worse all the time by refusing to just rest but I don't like you having to do everything for me, it's not fair." 

Sirius sits down in the chair beside yours, tucking himself in quickly. "You realise that we'd look after you forever, right? Like, if you needed this much help and looking after every day, that wouldn't be a problem." 

You shake your head. "Don't be silly." 

James clears his throat. "No, listen to him. He's right." 

"We don't mind helping you to the table, or carrying your washing downstairs for you, or any of the things we've offered to do for you since you hurt your ankle." 

Remus sits in the seat across from you with a pointed look. James joins him, a packet of painkillers in hand. He pops two out for you, saying, "You're not useless just because we've had to give you some help. And if you were useless it wouldn't matter. So don't say sorry." 

Remus nods. "Exactly. Don't feel guilty about an accident, dove." 

You look at Sirius unsurely. "You really don't mind looking after me?" 

He reaches over to handle your thigh. "No," he says, gaze soft, fingers squeezing into the fat of your leg lovingly, "we really don't mind." 

hihi can i request ticci toby, ben drowned, and mask w a chubby reader? not just curvy, but has belly fat, bigger thighs, and a soft face? thank you :) scenarios please!! (i think i did this right, if you aren’t comfortable w this pls ignore!! also can the reader be afab? thank you)

can i be 🪷 anon? i don’t think anyone has claimed it)

We love body positivity in this house <33 And yes, that anon name is open! Thank you so much for requesting!!

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Ticci Toby

Toby wakes up with his head on your chest, your fingers lazily tangled in his hair while you scroll on your phone. It's his favorite way to wake up these days, he loves the warmth of your body and the softness it provides. He stays still for a moment longer, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. You don't notice he is awake until you hear his breathing start to pick up as he sighs happily and buries his face further into your chest, his hand moving to lightly squeeze at your thighs while doing so.

You turn your phone off and move to kiss the top of his head, wrapping both arms around him as you do so. Once you get settled, he looks up at you and slightly pouts. "You stopped rubbing my head" he points out. You peck his nose and chuckle. "Do you want me to continue?" He nods and you comply, using your nails to scratch at his scalp ever so lightly. He shivers from the feeling and puts his head back in the little space between your bodies. He can feel himself almost falling asleep again until you begin to pull away, deciding to lay on your back to stretch. He waits for you to finish before getting up on his hands and knees and crawling over to you again. He hovers over you for a moment before settling back down on top of you. He strokes your face and just looks at your face, taking in every little detail.

After he feels satisfied, he pecks your nose and moves off of you, allowing you to finally move. It is now his turn to stretch, he gets up off the bed and stretches out his whole body, his bones cracking as he does so. You turn to lay on your side and prop yourself up with your hand. "Wanna go see about some breakfast? I heard whoever got groceries last got your favorite rolls again" He bends over the bed to face you and kisses your nose once more. "You're my favorite roll" You cock an eyebrow up and he smiles cheekily. "Fine then, I'll just go eat them with someone else instead" You say, getting up and going over to the door to do just that. Toby races after you, whing a small "noooo"

Ben Drowned

"C'mere" He says, using his finger to beckon you over. You smile and walk over to him, handing him his drink and taking a sip of your own. The manor doesn't have parties often, but when there is a party happening there, it is usually a big, fancy occasion. This time, everyone was celebrating 100 years of Slender's business. This being said, all the finest overlords were invited, all of the creeps were there, and a lot of returning customers also showed up. The party took place in the manor's huge ballroom, with the dress code being "masquerade". And boy, did you look gorgeous. With your pretty dark dress perfectly accentuating all your perfect curves and dips, and your sparkly mask only making your eyes pop more than they usually did, Ben's undead heart caught in his throat every time he looked at you.

He kisses you, making your nose scrunch up. "You taste like alcohol" You say with a grin, before bending down to kiss him again. When you pull away, Ben takes your drink and sets them on a nearby table. "What if they get spiked?" You ask with an eyebrow raised. "At this fancy ass joint? Please. Besides, we can always get new ones" He says, waving his hand dismissively. He then takes your hand and kisses at your knuckles. You were surprised to see him acting like such a gentleman. "Come dance with me" He says, taking your hand and leading you over to an empty space where you won't be disturbed. You smile at this charming request and happily follow. "Do you even know how to ballroom dance?" You ask once you get to your space. He puts his hand on your waist and uses his other hand to grab one of yours. "No, but that doesn't matter, does it?" He asks sheepishly. You tilt your head and place your open hand on his shoulder. "No, I suppose not"

You spend the rest of the night, holding each other, slowly swaying to the soft music being played by the orchestra. Occasionally Ben will mischievously reach to pinch your butt or caress your hips, at which you squeal and swat his arm. In turn, you get to also pinch his butt, which he always jumps at and jokingly tells you to keep it in your pants.

Masky

Somehow, you both managed to score an off day together. You decide to spend the day in relaxing, and just taking time to love each other. You convince Tim to try a mud mask, using one of your extra spa headbands to push back his hair. You run a bath, adding some salts and bubble bath mixes, and light a few candles. When you finally bring Tim in, he suggests getting some snacks and drinks, to which you happily oblige. You end up ordering a pizza that you set on top of the toilet seat, as well as getting some wine from the downstairs cabinets. While Tim is setting this all up, you go grab your laptop and a little bath desk. Once you both hop in, you watch your favorite show while enjoying your food and drink.

Tim usually doesn't like baths, as he thinks of it as a "person soup", but this time he did have to say, it was relaxing. While watching the show he absent mindedly rubs little circles on your belly and thighs, sometimes leaning over to kiss the side of your head. He nearly falls asleep, but is snapped out of it when you turn to kiss his nose and tell him its time to take off the masks. You both get out, putting everything away and wrapping up in some towels. You help him peel off his mask and toss the remnants in the sink to be cleaned up later. Once you finish peeling yours off, he insists on checking how soft your skin now is by kissing you all over your face, making you laugh. After this is done, you share a sweet kiss before Tim picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. You squeal and smack his butt, to which he pinches your leg with a grin. He sets you down on your bed and kisses you, working his way down from your lips all the way to your chest. He then stops to go get some clothes for the two of you, and you turn on your TV to continue your show.

Once you are both dressed and settled in bed, he rests his hands on your thighs, occasionally kissing you and telling you how gorgeous you are with a gentle squeeze at your soft face and sometimes your belly.

She’s My Collar

Nick x Cis Fem!Reader

Rquest: so the scenario i was thinking was of our pretty boy Nick <33 and he is a bit insecure/jealous because we’ve been hanging out too much w Ryan sauurrr he’s bratty and super clingy so we just kinda ride him to calm him down😭 i feel like he gets real whiny in sub space too… but idk could just be me💔 i hope this was easy to understand and ty in advance lovely!!! 💗💗💓

Warnings: collar use, cowgirl, brat!Nick, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) MINORS DNI!!

AN: I hope the use of a collar is okay. It wasn’t in the request but I’ve been DYING to write Nick with a collar. But I hope it’s to your liking!

He wouldn’t even make eye contact with you, but kept very very close. His hand constantly on your thigh as you watch a movie with Ryan. His words were short and to the point. Not at all like your usual Nick. He was always chipper and making jokes with Ryan. But today was different. His eyes are glinting with a challenge. Whenever you would walk off to go do something, Nick was always there. Attached to your hip all day as you try to hang out with your mutual friend. His pout only getting bigger the more you suggest he be with Ryan instead of with you. If looks could kill, you’re sure you and Ryan would’ve dropped dead. Nick was staring daggers into you as you talk to Ryan about the movie you suggested.

Nick is antsy on the couch with you and Ryan. His knee bouncing anxiously as he tried to keep his eyes on the movie. He lets out a high pitched whine.

“What’s wrong, baby,” you whisper over to him. He didn’t respond once again. You were getting frustrated with his silent tantrum. “Okay, you wanna be a brat. I’ll take care of you when we get home.” You decide to give him his space, shirking to yourself as you finish up the movie.

You grin his face in between your fingers, forcing him to look up at you, “Don’t you ever embarrass me like that again, ya hear me? If you’re needy, use your words. Don’t just sit and pout around like that.” Nicks’s pout hadn’t disappeared after his scolding. If anything, it was more like a scowl than a pout. You take a deep breath, shaking off your irritation, “fine. You wanna be a brat, that’s fine by me.” You turn your back to him and walk towards your shared closet. Crouching down to grab a locked box, Nick new better not to pry or ask questions. “I was gonna wait until your birthday to give you this, but I guess I’ll have to use it beforehand.” With a simple flick of your wrist, you open the box. Inside was a black leather collar with a silver dangling O-ring for the lead. The leather wasn’t cheap my any means. You know how sensitive his skin can get. Nick takes a moment to rub the material between his fingers. Eyes becoming glossy and relaxing. There he is. The docile little puppy you love.

You prop your foot onto the bed in between his legs. He leans his head down to allow you access to the back of his neck. He places kisses against your inner calf, slowly making his way up your inner thigh. Once the collar is clasped and the leash is attached, he looks up at you with those same relaxed, brown eyes.

You wrap the leash around your hand once, pulling the boy back into your soft mound. “I didn’t say you could stop, baby.” He nudges his nose against your clothed pussy. Never breaking eye contact with you. He kisses a bit more, now using his tongue with his open-mouthed kisses. His fingers gently caress up your thighs, hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties, “m-may I?”

“Of course baby. Good job using your manners,” the praise goes straight down to his already aching tent. He leans his head on the thigh that is still perched up on the end he of the bed. He lets out a noise that could only be described as pure excitement. Upon pulling down your panties, your slick juices created a string between the garnet and your wet folds. He had begun salivating, but he has to be good if he wants to get back on your good side.

“Lie down, pretty boy,” you give him time to remove his clothing before he shuffles back against the headboard. You follow him as you discard your dress along with him. You trail kisses along his thighs. Leaving nips and bites around his hips and lower stomach. Giving him attention everywhere except where he needed it the most. He’s certainly riled up, the cute thing, fidgeting and squirming under your touch, but not daring to do anything without your permission. You leave one gentle kiss along the shell of his ear, with a quiet “good puppy.”

Nick swallows thickly at the sight of your slick folds. He could already taste how sweet they were. You hover over his face, pulling on the leash to get his attention. “P-please. Can I?” You smirk down at him, pretending to think, “hmmm I dunno. You think you deserve it with how you were being towards me today?” A heat flashes across his neck, ears, and chest. He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed. Nonetheless, he should be. He wasn’t being very nice today. “N-no,” he averts your heated gaze this time. Looking anywhere but at you. “I’m sorry, I sho-“ you quickly pull his face into your pussy as you sit down. Placing your hands on the headboard to steady yourself. His large hands shoot up to your hips, gripping and clawing as her laps and sucks at your cunt. He moans at how you taste. Always such a treat for him. He reaches up with one long arm and massages one of your breasts. Kneading and pulling at your nipple as he devours you. He causes your hips to buck at a certain suck on your clit. You let out a string of curses as you rock your hips back and forth, pulling and tugging on his hair as he eagerly sucks. Covering his face in your juices. Before your orgasm could take over, you sat back up.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take yourself. Of course you needed to give him what he needed. You move your way down to sit on his lower stomach. The veins in his neglected length were prominent, so red and angry. You almost took pity on him. The tip was leaking sticky precum on his belly. Coating his trail on hair from his belly button to his pelvis in clear liquid. You sit down against his cock. “Watch me,” you slide your wet pussy against his cock. Giving him a bit of the well needed friction he needed the whole time. You rubbed your clit against his throbbing cock, denying your own orgasm to prolong the torment. Your thick thighs trapped him in place. They were so soft and aided in rubbing against his cock. You braced yourself with one hand on his chest. Both of his hands returning to your hips. Nick moans at the lewd sounds your body’s made rubbing against each other.

His long hair is sticking to the sweat on his forehead. His breaths become labored, letting you know that he was cumming soon. “Awweee baby. You gonna cum, already? Tsk tsk. What a shame, and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he nods frantically. More of his precum pooling just above your clit. His hands grip your hips tighter. His nails cutting crescents into your soft flesh. “Hold it, baby. You better not cum until I say you can.” With one swift slam, you finally sheath his cock. Nick throws his head back in ecstasy, letting out a erotic howl. You sit back on the palms of your hands as you keep a steady pace. His breath hitching every now and then as he tries to hold back his orgasm. You smirk down at him, your pace relentless. The echoing of whimpers and moans and skin was all that was heard throughout the room.

“That’s my good boy. you’re such a good boy for me. So pretty in your collar. Is this what you needed baby?” Nick hides his flushed cheeks into the pillow next to him, soft gasps and grunts hot on his lips as your warm walls squeeze him impossibly tight. “Use your words baby.” He can’t muster anything at the moment between his moans and pants. You tug on his leash again, “words baby. Or I’ll stop and leave you here.”

“c-can’t hold it. Please let me cum.”

“You may cum, baby,” you lean forward and place your hand on the headboard once again. Riding and milking him for everything he’s worth. “Cum for me. Cum inside,” the encouragement was all that was needed for Nick’s release. All of his brattiness melting off of him as his cum painted your velvet walls. You rubbed you clit as he came. Following soon after. Your fluttering cunt made his give an overstimulated hiss as you fluttered around his cock. You straddle his lap for a moment, not yet pulling off of his cock. You lean down to give him kisses along his cheek. Making sure to stop at his pretty beauty mark below his lips.

You leave for just a moment to grab a towel for him. He sits on the end he of the bed waiting patiently for you to return. Nick whines in protest at the thought of you leaving him alone in the bed, but you kiss his cheek. Reassuring him that you would return. You return with a warm towel and a cup of cold water for him to drink. He hisses as you take the collar off of him. Your pulling on it left a visible bruise on his neck. After pulling the ointment from your bedside drawer, you apply some to his skin. His eyes are low as you tend to his bruising. His thumb runs tiny circles into your hips. Massaging your bruises that he left, now. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles under his breath as he circles his arms around your waist. He nuzzled his face into your stomach, causing you to giggle a bit. “About the bruises, or for being a brat?” He groans at the question, “both.” You smile lovingly and kiss to the crown of his head, “it’s okay baby.“

I'm not sure if you're still doing writing requests, but I really loved your oneshot about Leo coming out to Splinter - it brought a few tears to my eyes thinking about my own coming out experience :') if you want, could you maybe do something about Mikey giving Usagi "The Shovel Talk"? It doesn't have to be serious, I just thought it'd be funny if Mikey went all Dr. Delicate Touch while Leo tries not to die in the background. Hope you have a good day/night! :D

I'm so sorry this took FOREVER to get out, I went through several drafts before I finally had to say it was fine XD Hope you enjoy :3

---

First Impressions (Part 2)

Miyamoto Usagi has become a regular guest in the Hamato household.

After introductions went about as smoothly as one could expect—Splinter warring between outrage and panic and glee that his Baby Blue was dating, and the rest of the family stunned that Leo actually has game (or maybe Usagi is just as dumb as he is)—the clan don't go long without seeing him wandering the lair, usually side by side with Leo.

In hindsight, that makes the death glares Donnie drills into the back of the rabbit's head make much more sense, but that's another issue.

Apparently, they'd been together three weeks before the introductions, and Mikey believes it. Just yesterday, he'd caught them through the crack of Leo's open bedroom door sitting together on the bed, sharing a pair of earbuds as Leo shuffled through his Spotify playlist, letting Usagi in on his atrocious taste in music.

“Hey, glam-rock is the shit,” Leo nudged Usagi's shoulder. “And you can't talk when all you listen to is J and K Pop, classical, country and Lofi.”

“Shut up, baka kappa,” Usagi nudged him back, grinning wide and showing off the buck front teeth that Leo found adorable. “Classical is thought-provoking, good for meditation. And I'll have you know Lofi is calming, something you never are about anything ever.” 

“Okay, I will allow that just this once but you cannot defend country or K Pop—”

“Contrary to popular belief, not all of your western music is about human Christian values, tractors or drinking—in fact, give me your phone, I'll show you my jazz playlist—”

“No!” Leo pulled his arm up, holding his phone out of Usagi's reaching paws even as the rabbit clambered over him. “Knowing you it'll be some awful jazz-lofi remix or somehow have Catholicism involved, people are getting creative in converting the masses—ow! No, get away from me—!”

“Your music sucks! You must be properly educated! Jazz is soothing for the soul!”

“But Queen! David Bowie! Prince!”

“All of the Hidden City knows you're gay, Leonardo, you don't have to blast it on speaker, too!”

“You attack me?! I let you into my house! I trusted you!”

 “Gankona baka! Kōfuku shite horobiro!”

  “Conejito idiota! ¡Fuera de mi trasero!”

They'd tousled for a bit before falling over on the bed and giving into giggles, barely any space between them. Leo's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and his grin a wide, dopey thing. Usagi called him a fool and nuzzled his nose against Leo's, earning a delighted chirp from the slider, and it was the happiest Mikey had seen him in months.

He's so in love it's gross. Mikey means that in the best way.

And Usagi seems like a nice guy. A really nice guy.

But they've been fooled by a pretty face and flowery words before. Last time, Leo had to bail them out. This time, Leo is too high up on cloud nine; he won't notice the danger until it's too late, and the fallout will be devastating.

Leo is strong, the strongest of them all as far as Mikey's concerned, in little ways they've never noticed until he'd showed them all by locking himself in hell with a demon. He's faced bigger, scarier things than any teenager—any person—ever should. But relationships? Dating? Being vulnerable with another person, opening your heart and trusting that person to take care of it, and in turn care for theirs? That's a beast of a different calibre.

Heartbreak happens to everyone; it's just how life is, and ignoring the ugly truth of it serves no one. Leo had barely survived his physical body breaking under metal fists driven by hatred and mindless bloodlust. Mikey doubts even he, with all that strength he possesses in spades that have carried him through some of the worst moments of their lives, would last long with a wound that deep.

Mikey loves him too much to let that happen.

(That, and he really doesn't want to kill Usagi, bail costs a lot, and not even Donnie has that much in his many wired accounts.)

So the trio meet up in Donnie's lab late one night and make a plan.

Miyamoto Usagi is gonna learn what'll happen if he messes with the Hamato clan.

~0o0~

A week later, Mikey corners Usagi at the front door.

The samurai in training doesn't startle when he drops from the ceiling or flinch at the smile that would have his brothers running for the hills. He smiles back, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder.

“Hello, Michelangelo. Nice of you to drop in,” he says, completely straight, and Mikey kind of wants to die. Leo did say they've been dating for a while. More than enough time for him to be a horrible influence on the otherwise straight (ha) laced samurai.

“Hey, Usagi! Here to see Leo?” Mikey asks like it's not obvious.

Still, Usagi nods. “That I am. We'd talked about some traditional Japanese snacks he hasn't tried before, so I bought some from the marketplace near my home.” He unzips his bag to let Mikey peek inside. “I'd be happy to share some with you and your brothers. I may have over-purchased.”

Mikey is dazzled by the array of absolutely delicious-looking snacks—including mango-flavoured mochi, oh be still his heart—but he shakes his head. Focus. Leo's heart and Usagi's continued existence depend on it. “That's great, Usagi, but I'm good for now. Actually, we gotta talk with you real quick before you see your boy. May I take your bag?”

Usagi blinks at him. “Oh. Um. Certainly?” He zips the bag up and shrugs it off, handing it to Mikey, and damn, he wasn't kidding. Did he buy out the whole store?

Mikey shoulders the bag and smiles. “Perfect! Now, stay still so Donnie doesn't accidentally knock you out.”

“Okay—wait, what—?”

Donnie drops from the ceiling and shoves a pillowcase over Usagi's head. 

And as Mikey expects, Usagi doesn't immediately struggle or fight: he freezes, an innate rabbit instinct kinda like how Mikey retreats into his shell. He almost feels bad for exploiting that weakness. Almost, because it gives Raph enough time to grab him in his massive arms, pick him up and carry him off to the atrium. Mikey and Donnie follow behind, the latter wearing an unsettling grin that tells Mikey he's enjoying this far more than he should. 

Blindfolded and trapped in Raph's solid grip. Usagi doesn't panic. Though his voice carries a twinge of worry when he says, “Is this a game? Am I being kidnapped? Did Leonardo put you up to this?”

“All will be revealed in good time,” Donnie says with a chuckle meant to sound ominous but it comes off as dorky. “Just relax, don't ask any questions and everything shall run smoothly and without the removal of a thing attached to another thing, like your head from your neck.”

“Alright?” Usagi says. Mikey bumps his hip against Donnie's and scowls. Donnie rolls his eyes.

They reach the living room, Dad's chair thankfully unoccupied, and Raph drops Usagi into it. Mikey sets the duffle bag down and quickly zips to his room to grab the sweater, glasses and pants, shrugging into them. When he returns, Donnie has just finished duct-taping Usagi's arms to the chair—

“Donald!”

“What?” Donnie has the gall to look offended. “This was your idea!”

“Not to tie him up!”

“Who's to say he won't run, hm? He's a rabbit and they're fast as frick, we'd never catch him before Leo gets back, and then our whole plan is ruined. Also, no teenager is comfortable talking about 'feelings', so I'm just taking extra precautions—”

“I can still hear you, you know,” Usagi says, the pillowcase still over his head. He doesn't seem bothered about this whole situation, which both amuses and concerns Mikey a little.

“You shush, or I'll bring out the chainsaw,” Donnie says.

Mikey looks at Raph. “You didn't think to stop him?”

Raph folds his arms and shrugs. “I'm just the muscle here, big man. This is your show.”

Dr Feelings appreciates the level of trust and respect Raph has for Mikey that's been a slow-growing thing these last few years. Dr Delicate Touch wants to strangle his oldest brother for being a wise ass.

He rolls his eyes instead and gets in position while Donnie sets up the projector. He nods to Raph, and the snapper pulls off the pillowcase.

Usagi blinks, adjusting to the brightness and looking around. “You blindfolded me to take me to the living room? Where I've been multiple times?”

“Shush,” Donnie hisses, “second warning. We'll be doing the talking here, bunny boy.”

“Don, chill,” Raph says, looking seconds from bursting out laughing. “We're just here to have a nice, friendly chat.”

Usagi arches a brow, pointedly dipping his chin down at his taped arms.

Raph's smile twitches, a drop of sweat trickling down his brow. “... I'm just the muscle?”

Mikey clears his throat loudly, snapping their attention back to him. He smiles and rolls his shoulders back, relaxing into the role that's become a blessing these last few months than the curse it was two years ago (at least to his brothers).

“Good evening! I'm Dr Feelings, and welcome to my newest seminar—!”

He clicks the button for the next slide on the PowerPoint, a photo of the three turtles glaring down at the camera from a high angle, a shovel in Mikey's hands. Underneath, the title reads in comically bright, bubblegum pink letters--

“—Shovel Talks!”

Usagi stares at the slide and then at each of the present turtles. Mikey keeps his smile bright while his brothers (mostly Donnie) no longer hide the touch of sadistic glee in theirs.

“... ah,” he says carefully. “I see the position I'm in now.”

“See, I don't think you do,” Donnie drawls on Usagi's right, Raph looming over on the left. “So we are going to educate you, and do not interrupt or talk until you are spoken to as we have much to go through and very little time before our dearly devoted dum-dum returns from April and Splinter's distraction outing. Dr Feelings,” Donnie turns to Mikey and gestures grandly, “Proceed with your first slide.”

“Thank you! Let's start off by asking our patient some simple questions. Question one!” Mikey flips to the next slide titled 'Spill The Tea' with a doodle of a teacup underneath it. Under that is a photo of Leo flashing a peace sign at the camera with a goofy grin. “What are your intentions towards one Hamato Leonardo?”

Usagi blinks. “... I would think my intentions were obvious? We're dating, are we not?”

“Sigh, yes, we can see as much given how you two are all but attached at the hip whenever you're so much as in the same vicinity,” Donnie mutters before getting right up in Usagi's face with a glare, fisting the front of his blue hoodie and shaking him once. “What we don't know is why you are dating Leonardo! Were you dared to by compatriots or colleagues of similar age or older for a cruel joke? Or are you a spy sent from a yet unknown enemy seeking to destroy us from the inside, integrating yourself into our inner circle by seducing our resident feeble-minded little gay only to turn on us at the last second, surrendering us to your evil leader and shattering the heart of the boy who fell in love with a person that never truly existed?! Speak, heathen!!”

Usagi stares at Donnie with wide, mildly disturbed eyes. Donnie glares at Usagi, right eye twitching.

“Jeezy heckin' creezy, Don,” Raph squeaks after a beat. “How long've you been holding that in?”

Donnie whirls on Raph with a half-crazed grin without releasing Usagi's hoodie. “The whole dub, baby!” he says.

Raph facepalms.

Mikey gathers himself quickly and clears his throat again. “Donald, if you would please let go of our patient—”

“Prisoner, guilty until proven innocent—”

“—patient, so we can hear his clear and honest answer? Don't you test the waters of my patience, boy, I will bring out Dr Delicate Touch on your ass.”

“Language,” Raph sighs, working Donnie's grip from Usagi's hoodie and bodily lifting him up and away from the rabbit. Donnie goes without a fight, but not without a spitting glare aimed at Usagi. Ignoring him, Raph offers Usagi a smile, cementing his role as the Good Cop. “Sorry about him. Just answer the question so we can get this over with.”

“And we'll know if you're lying!” Donnie adds. “I have lie detectors under the seat that'll fry your cotton ass six ways to Sunday—!”

“There are no lie detectors.”

“Raaaaph, you're ruining it, I'm trying to instil fear—!”

“Yer doin' enough of that to me right now! We were worried about Dad goin' all 'Daddy with a shotgun' on him when we really should've been watchin' the 'Overprotective Twin with his Middle Child Nonsense'—!”

“May I speak, now?”

Usagi's tone cuts through the idiocy as neat as the katana he wields, and the boys fall silent. Raph sets Donnie down, and Donnie steps back, his glare fading to make way for open confusion and surprise.

Mikey, who'd been on the cusp of dropping the act and wringing his brothers' necks, takes in Usagi's expression—purposefully neutral, the way he shuts his eyes as he takes a breath, his fingers drumming the armrests he's tied to while the heel of one foot bounces on the floor—and wonders if they've crossed a line here.

Then Usagi sighs, slow and measured, and opens his eyes. “I understand why you're concerned,” he says. “Leonardo has been through... a lot, to put it mildly. You all have, which is why you're so protective of one another. I admire and respect that; you hold true to the ancient belief that founded your clan centuries ago. Anata wa hitori janai, I believe. Leonardo told me about it. About the Shredder, the invasion... and the prison dimension.”

A shudder runs through the brothers. Mikey sees Donnie's jaw lock, Raph's fingers curling into fists. Mikey pulls at his fingers and bites his lip. “... he told you?” he asks in a smaller voice than he intends.

Usagi's gaze softens minutely, and he nods. “Not everything, but yes. I never prompted, but... he saw me fit enough to know.” His brows furrow, his frown deep and angry as he glares at his lap. “It sickens me to hear what that creature put you through—what he did to Leonardo. And it frightens me to think of how you'd come so close to losing him... how I'd come so close to never meeting him at all.”

Oh, Mikey thinks, almost floored. Oh wow.

Usagi takes another breath and raises his head, meeting each of their gazes. “... So yes, I understand your fears regarding our relationship and your hesitance to trust me. Leonardo's well-being will always be your top priority. He's precious to you.” Then Usagi smiles. It's small but bright, warm and quietly delighted, proud and certain. “He's precious to me, too.”

This time Mikey is floored. Oh. Wow.

“To answer your question, Dr Feelings,” Usagi continues, heedless of the turtle's altering perception of reality, “my intentions towards Hamato Leonardo are simple: I want to protect him. I know he's more than capable, and knowing him, he'll never ask me for help outright. But when he does, I want to be there—no, I will be there, because I care about him. Very much. We haven't known each other long, but my life is brighter and better with him in it, and I'll do whatever I must to keep it that way.

“I want to make him as happy as he's made me because he deserves that much. He deserves every good thing in this world.” He shrugs, flashing a bashful, buck-toothed smile. “For now, I hope he can settle for just me.”

Mikey stares. Donnie stares. Raph stares.

Oh. Wow. 

Either he's the greatest liar ever, or they've had him pegged so wrong. But then, not even Big Mama, the Queen Bee Bitch of lies, could fake that kind of devotion.

No, Usagi really is just a good guy. A great guy.

“Dammit!” Donnie cries, throwing his hands up. “I can't even fully hate you ironically anymore, what the hell!” He hangs his head with a sigh. “I suppose I shall have to settle for 'jealous older twin suffering from attention withdrawal from the younger twin' until further notice. Also, you get to live another day. Congrats.”

Usagi smirks. “Thank you, I think?”

Raph rolls his eyes, but he's grinning from ear to ear, slicing away the tape binding Usagi to the chair and helping him to his feet without prompting. He drops a heavy hand on Usagi's shoulder, his grin widening when the rabbit doesn't buckle under his strength. “What I think Donnie means to say is... well. We're glad you have Leo's back. And we're sorry for thinkin' the worst of you when we're all still gettin' to know each other. I mean, we've seen how happy you two are together, and we just—well, we wanted to—”

Usagi huffs a laugh, patting Raph's massive bicep. “As I said, I understand. My sensei often warns me against jumping to conclusions, but it's different for family. Especially younger siblings. I should know, I have a little sister.”

“Right?! You get it! My little brothers are literal demons even the devil's too scared to look at, but you get it—!”

Mikey shoves his way between them and barrels into Usagi for a hug, squeezing him tight. The rabbit squeaks in surprise and possibly pain, but his arms carefully come around Mikey's shell a heartbeat later, a chuckle running through him. “I suppose this means I have the youngest's seal of approval?”

Mikey nods against his chest, raising his head to beam up at the rabbit. “You do. Welcome to the family!”

“Thank you. I'm honoured to—”

“But we didn't finish the slide show, so I'll run a tee-ell-dee-arr for you. Hurt Leo and you die.”

“... ah.”

“They'll never find your body,” Donnie adds, “because I will reduce it to atoms. I have a ray in the works, I can show you the blueprints.”

“And if that fails, Raph will break every bone in your body and dump you in the Hudson!” Raph says brightly. “Ever swim there? Pretty deep. You find all kinds'a weird stuff. A rabbit yokai won't stand out much.”

“... I understand. I'll definitely deserve one of those fates.”

“Oh, you will,” Mikey chimes. “Thank you for understanding, and thanks for coming to our TED talk!”

“Pretty sure I did most of the talking.”

“I will yeet your ass across this house—”

“Are you chuckleheads done harassing my boyfriend, or can I have him back now?” drawls a familiar voice that has them leaping a foot out of their shells. They turn to find Leo leaning against the back of the couch with one arm, the other hand propped on his popped hip. He arches a brow at their stares.

Mikey jumps back from Usagi to wildly point at his immediate older brother. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“About a minute,” Leo says. “I've been behind the couch the whole time, though.”

“What?! When'd you get back from hanging with Dad and April?!” Raph cries.

“Never left,” Leo pushes off the couch and swings his arm around Usagi's shoulders upon approach like its second nature. Usagi leans into him likewise, one arm curling around his waist. “I kinda figured this whole 'shovel talk' thing was gonna happen sooner or later, so the minute April and Splinter tried to drag me out for a 'father-son-daughter thing' the same day Usagi said he'd come over, I knew you assholes were scheming and told 'em I wasn't leaving.” His eyes narrow a little, and Mikey almost shrinks back. “Didn't think you'd tie him up, though, or that Raph would just let it happen.”

“I'm just the muscle!”

“And I am hurt and offended that you all thought so little of my absolutely innocent Bunny Boo! You look at this face—” He unwraps his arm to squish Usagi's cheeks between both hands—“and tell me there's a single bad thought behind those beautiful pink eyes!”

“Weonawdo,” Usagi mutters, fur tinted pink with embarrassment.

Quick as a whip, Donnie says, “There's not a thought whatsoever if he's dating you.”

“You're a thot.”

“Different words and spelling. And it takes one to know one.”

“Die.”

“You first.”

“Both of you knock it off,” Raph sighs, pinching his brow the way he's done since he first knew the pains of being the eldest. It's a miracle there's not a permanent mark between his eyes. He turns to the rabbit. “Sorry, could we borrow Leo for a sec? Then I swear you two can finally go hang out and... do whatever two teenage boys do when they're head over heels for each other but still in their parent's house so they gotta keep it PG, 'kay?” 

“Um, wow?” Leo scowls, dropping Usagi's face to plant his hands on his hips. “Who do you take me for, a horny teen with no self-control around my significant other?”

“That is exactly what we take you for,” Donnie says.

“I don't!” Mikey says, raising his hand. “You're just a dumb gay hoppin' mad for your bunny boo!”

Leo's eye twitches. “Gee. Thanks.”

Usagi snickers, taking Leo's hands, and Leo instantly melts like putty. “It's fine, Leonardo. I'll wait in your room and get the snacks sorted,” he says, then he leans in to kiss the corner of Leo's mouth. Right in front of everyone. 

It's not something he's done before—being openly affectionate with Leo when his siblings or fathers were around—but then Mikey isn't surprised.

Maybe this whole 'hesitance' and 'mistrust' thing hasn't been as one-sided as he'd thought.

Mikey never knew a slider could turn pink, but Leo manages it, steam funnelling out of his ears as the rabbit walks away, grabbing his duffle bag as he goes. There's a pep in his step, and Mikey wonders if the kiss or their acceptance put it there.

Once he's gone, Donnie breaks the silence, staring in the direction Usagi had left in—“Should I get the tranquillizer?”

“You've done enough today.” Raph puts a massive hand over Donnie's face and shoves him onto the couch, ignoring his indignant squawking as he faces Leo. The slider collects himself quickly and crosses his arms, flashing that devil-may-care grin that irritates and amuses Mikey.

“So? You gonna tie me to the chair and subject me to the horrors of dating life via Dr Feelings?” Leo drawls, “Or are you finally gonna admit that you were wrong about my totally amazing and hot boyfriend?” 

Raph sighs. “Yes, we may have taken it too far—and in Donnie's case, we were overly paranoid, even by my standards, but we learned our lesson about jumping the gun. Again. And you were right.” He smiles, broad and warm. “Your boy is cool with me, little brother. You got yourself a keeper.”

Leo blinks, his smirk falling. “... wait, wait—for real?”

“Did you not hear his heartfelt speech not even two pages ago? It was rather dramatic and moving,” Donnie says absently from the couch, eyes now on his phone to avoid looking anyone in the eye, but Mikey knows what's up. They all do, but they're nice enough not to say anything. “And if I'm being honest—which isn't saying much because I can't lie for shit and you can clock one with an accuracy that borders on mystical—I don't actually think your new beau is inherently evil. I cannot say that I like him... but I approve. For now. My earlier threats still stand, though, so please try to keep him in line, or I will turn him into a hat.”

Leo falters again in the face of sincerity, however masked, from his twin. “...oh. Um. Wow. That's—uh, cool. That's cool, Dee, I, um... thanks...”

And finally, Mikey steps forward, shrugging off the sweater, glasses and pants. “What? You really think it's that odd that we're lookin' out for you? It's like Usagi said, you're precious to us, bro! And he was damn right sayin' you deserve every good thing. You deserve to be happy with someone who cares about you as much as we do.” 

He darts forward again even before Leo's eyes take on a misty sheen, bundling his brother in his arms as much as he can and squeezing. “And if Usagi makes you happy, we're happy too.”

“... you guys,” Leo whines, his voice thick as he holds Mikey impossibly close. Donnie tosses his phone aside to hop up and join the hug, cheek resting on Leo's shoulder. Raph lumbers over and plucks them off the floor, nuzzling the top of Leo's head with a low grumble from deep in his chest.

Later, with mostly dry eyes and a megawatt smile, Leo jogs off to find Usagi. Mikey stands with his eldest brothers and folds his arms. “Our work here is done, gentlemen.”

“But we didn't really do anything,” Donnie says.

Mikey swishes his cape and departs.

“Where the hell did you get that cape?!”

~0o0~

The following week, Mikey corners Usagi at the front door and tackles him with a hug. Usagi laughs and returns it freely.

In the living room, Donnie's eyes are glued to his laptop, fingers typing away. He lifts one fist, Usagi wordlessly bumping it as he sits on the couch with Raph. Setting his comic book aside, Raph reaches out to ruffle his white bangs and chuckles when Usagi's paw bats him away.

Leo enters from the kitchen and immediately brightens when he spots Usagi, leaping over the top of the couch to bounce in the open space beside the bunny. “Hey!"

“Hey, yourself,” Usagi snickers. "You couldn't possibly have missed me that much to come running as soon as I walk in."

Leo swings an arm over the top of the couch, the other pressing a hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. "Parting is such sweet sorrow," he bemoans, batting his eyelids at Usagi, "that I shall say good night till it be morrow!"

Mikey laughs so hard he gives himself hiccups. Raph chokes on his soda. Donnie whirls on Leo, looking downright mutinous. "You did not just quote Shakespear so you could flirt with your boyfriend!"

Leo gestures to a madly grinning Usagi trying to hide behind his hands. "It worked, though! You guys hate it when I use the cheap pickup lines off Google, so I consulted the world's finest wordsmith instead."

"You are abusing and defiling William's good name! Thou crusty batch of nature!"

Leo rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You're just jelly 'cause I've officially got more game than you."

"Or Usagi has terrible taste in men."

Leo opens his mouth to say something he'll probably regret, but Usagi swiftly intercepts with a kiss on the cheek that stops him cold. "I thought it was creative," he says, "Much better than your awful pickup lines."

At that, Leo forgets Donnie completely, leaning in with a dumb grin to peck Usagi on the lips. Raph shakes his head with a secret smile, and Mikey giggles as he lays across Raph's thighs, Switch in hand.

Donnie gags. “Get a room.”

“But keep the door open!” Splinter calls from—somewhere. 

Usagi tugs an ear over his face, flushed and embarrassed. Leo throws his head back and laughs.

Mikey grins, basking in the glow as he plugs into his game. He can get used to this.

---

Reblogs are appreciated :3

Feel free to send more requests <3

The Damage You Do: ch 19, pt 8

Previously

~

wwx smiled sharply when lwj tried to take the items from him. “Nuh-uh~” he teased, setting the bottles aside. “My turn first.”

lwj seemed to smile slightly as he let his hands fall back to his sides, allowing wwx to climb back into his lap, straddling it this time, lwj’s still hard cock trapped between their stomachs. wwx leaned forward slightly, just enough that it <i>could</i> have been an accident, relishing in the way the other man’s expression shuddered slightly at the contact.

He leaned back, trying to ignore the growing arousal swirling in his own stomach. He’d already come… way too many times, and he needed a bit of a break, okay? That didn’t mean he couldn’t tease his dom… just a little bit. There was no harm in being a little mean to the man until he was so worked up that wwx could really have some fun.

He settled onto the man’s thighs, looking around the small space for the first time, having kept his eyes firmly closed as he’d lazed in lwj’s lap before. It was actually bigger than he’d expected, seemingly long enough for a full-grown adult to lie down in and wide enough for two, if not three, people to lay side by side. Water fell down all three walls, and from the looks of it, there was an option to turn on a waterfall over the edge that led back to the shower, although it wasn’t currently on, something wwx was grateful for—the last thing he needed was some sort of claustrophobic response. He wasn’t particularly bothered by tight spaces, but every so often… well, it wouldn’t be good and would definitely ruin the chill, fun mood they had going on.

Near the edge of one wall, there was also a shower head, which wwx reached for, trusting in lwj to keep him steady. He smiled when the other man’s hands immediately came to rest on his back and ass, a constant safety net that he thought he could much too easily come to rely on. He popped back with the shower head, and lwj silently showed him how to use it—the top twisted to control the flow—before wwx diligently began wetting his hair. His dom’s hair was so soft and wwx didn’t think he had touched it nearly enough and was suddenly adding yet another thing to his “List of Things to Do to My Dom”: pull on Mr. Lan’s hair during sex.

“You never answered my question,” lwj said when wwx twisted the spray off and reached for the shampoo.

“What question?”

“You asked me if it was ‘usually like this.’ I asked what you meant.”

“Oh…” wwx breathed out as he rose up onto his knees to begin washing his dom’s hair. lwj’s nose brushed against his chest, the move purposeful and teasing in a way that had wwx smiling again. “Easy.”

“A-Ying is very easy,” lwj agreed, his hands sliding up wwx’s thighs and ass, his fingers slipping towards his hole, as though they wanted nothing more than to be buried back inside. wwx tried not to shift, tried not to press into those wonderful, skilled fingers, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own and one moment he was focusing on washing hair and the next he was gasping as a finger circled the outside of his hole, much too tight and dry now for lwj to do anything more than tease it with the promise of more.

dedicated to the lovely @himboksj​ happy (very late almost criminally late) bday present! so whew... there’s a lot happening in this one! return of jock!jk and his wonderful girl oc now featuring!!: squirting, creampie, oral (fem receiving), mild choking, biting, boobs in face!!, anime tiddy mentions, praise kink galore, multiple orgasms, the use of a vibrator, jaykay is sick actually, over-stimulation, mild spit kink, dommish!jk, (redacted) pet name, mentions (and watching) of porn, everybody is in love and horny, crying cause the dick too good, fingering but not really. 5k of words that should have never left my brain. listen to continuum & nothing without you by tanerelle (kindly check masterlist for the pretty boy drabble mini masterlist if you want to read the rest of this au!)

Jeongguk didn’t mean to go snooping through your things. It was 100% accidental. He just remembered that you kept some athletic tape in your drawers because Jeongguk usually needed to wrap his knee or ankle after practice and you ensured that he always had some near (in case he came crashing at yours instead of going back to his dorm after Coach brutalised him during drills). And, anyway, you were at a point in your relationship where Jeongguk didn’t necessarily feel the need to outright ask you if he could poke around your drawers. Of course, he respected your space, but it’s not like he wasn’t nosy when you were best friends. You were in the shower too, he didn’t want to bang on the door and ask where you kept the tape.

Imagine his surprise when he reached the final drawer in your dresser, idly rummaging around for the blue athletic tape he knows is buried somewhere, and his fingers latch around a silky cloth instead. He knew what it was immediately, the shape a dead give-away. A discreet bullet vibrator, stuffed under your unnecessarily large collection of fluffy winter socks. Perhaps he stopped breathing, the twitch in his loose workout shorts undeniable. He’s not surprised that you own one and yet, his brain can’t fathom you using it. Even now, Jeongguk’s still growing used to seeing you come undone around his length, the feeling of your walls tight on his cock as your mumble his name. It drives him mad. He’s seen you in every kind of state; sobbing hysterically, laughing until tears slip from your pretty eyes, stumbling drunk in the streets, eyebrows furrowed with anger at him, that soft tiny grin you grant him on good days, the pout your lips settle into when you don’t get your way. He never fathomed he’d ever see you in that way, skin flushed with heat, eyes cloudy with ecstasy, your heat pressed against his own. He finds new ways to fall in love with you every day but it reaches new heights when he’s deep inside of you. Maybe he’s mildly obsessed with seeing you unravel, but that’s a secret he keeps to himself.

He does take a peek at your toy though, a soft velvet-like purple vibrator. It’s cute actually, something you would definitely purchase. But then the sound of water hitting the shower tiles slows down and Jeongguk swiftly tucks the toy back into your drawers.

“Oh?” You say when you open the door to him standing stiff in your room. The steam from the shower wraps around your figure in gentle wisps, sunlight filtering in from the window behind you, the image of an innocent angel appearing right before his eyes. “You’re here.”

“Practise ended early,” Jeongguk returns, his gaze trailing the droplets of water that slip down your skin. You smell good, just like that vanilla and peach shower gel that you dearly love. And the towel hiding your body is loose. It’s not his fault that he’s hard in his pants. When he moves to hug you, your face contorts, a downward tug at your lips that Jeongguk longs to change with a kiss.

“I’m wet,” you whine, brushing past him. “Go shower, you always stink after practise.”

He huffs, strong arms catching your fleeing figure and quickly wrapping you into his chest. “No. Don’t want to. I missed you and you can’t even hug me? You’re so mean to me.”

“Guk-” Jeongguk cuts that complaint with his face in your neck, lips colouring your skin rouge with a kiss that intends to leave a mark. “You can’t,” you mumble, but your fingers settle on the nape of his neck, tangling in the growing strands of his hair. “I have to get to work soon.”

“It won’t take long,” Jeongguk returns, feathering kisses across your skin as he nudges you to the bed. “I promise. Let me do this, I’ve missed you, bunny.”

Your towel is discarded somewhere in the amble to your sheets, your thighs wrapped around Jeongguk’s face a second later. He watches your body carefully, teasing your clit with purpose before he allows himself to slip his tongue deep. He notes the twitches in your thighs, the way your buck your hips against his face. He ignores his desire, for the time being, nose buried at the apex of your cunt, tongue covered in your slick, his lips latched on your clit. You like it fast, purposeful sharp flicks that make you squirm until Jeongguk has to pin your hips down, the lave on your heat brutal. His brain can’t help but wonder how you’d behave with your toy grazing your clit and his cock burrowed deep. You’re so sensitive, response to even the softest kiss he lays on your cunt. Would you be wetter than this? You’re already dripping down his face, his mouth glistening with your desire. But he wants to see if you can do more than this, squirm more than this, make a bigger mess than this. The thought surfaces as he feels your body lock, the tension in your limbs drawn high as your hands reach for his. You cum on his face with your fingers intertwined, his name falling from your lips as the afternoon sunlight hits your skin. It’s then and there that Jeongguk decides, with his mouth wet from your release, he’s going to see you squirt one day. For him and him alone.

He waits for the moment to naturally strike, silently scheming wicked thoughts every time you crawl into his sheets. It happens one evening, an empty bottle of wine at the foot of your bed and hentai porn playing brazenly on his laptop screen. Somewhere between downing the bottle and cuddling in his sheets Jeongguk had mentioned an uncanny resemblance between your gigantic chest and the anime boobies he’d grown fond of since his introduction to hentai. You’d immediately dismissed him, whacking him hard on the head and then Jeongguk had to prove it to you, opening his favourite website and pulling up a video that had your jaw-dropping.

“Your boobs do that, you know,” he says. Which grants him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Jeongguk, what is wrong with you?” He can tell you’re not annoyed, but there’s a lilt in your voice that makes him pause, doe eyes flicking to your face. You may be kicking him under the blankets but your eyes are stuck to the video, a distance glaze colouring your gaze. He can tell by the way your thighs draw together that you’re not as averse to this as you pretend to be.

“Turn it off,” you mumble.

“Why? I can tell that you like it.”

“Jeon, I’m not joking.” There’s a glare paired with that sentence, but he reads right through it.

“Fine,” Jeongguk offers, fingers already typing what’s been on his mind since the day he discovered your vibrator.

“What are you—oh.”

There’s a quiet lull. He clicks on a video that’s more familiar to him than he’ll ever willingly admit out loud. It starts the way Jeongguk prefers it to, with a man on his knees, his head buried between the thighs of a girl.

“What are you doing, Guk?” A warning. A question. Jeongguk is not sure what you mean by that and he’s too hesitant to take a look at your face to decipher the tone in your voice just yet. He takes the jump instead, hoping you don’t mind the fantasies of his mind.

“Have you ever squirted?” Somewhere between the exchange of words in Jeongguk's room, the man on his laptop screen slipped two fingers into the girl. It doesn’t help that your boobs are falling right out of your loose camisole, resting right on his bare arm.

“Jeongguk,” you return. “Answer my question.”

“Answer mine first,” he looks at you then, trying hard to read your eyes. There’s no heat in your face, just an innocence that colours your features. Wide eyes, your legs draw together, a hard swallow that he sees in the low lights that illuminate the room.

“No,” you say, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “So why are you showing me squirting porn?”

It’s then that Jeongguk realises he wants to ruin you. As horribly cliché as it sounds, he longs for that. And the urge for it doubles when your gaze falters, flicking quickly for the screen before drifting back to his. The couple is still fucking on his screen, hard quick loud thrusts that travel to the pit in his stomach fast. He’s hard in his briefs, a painful throb ebbing through his length when your hand drops to his chest.

“Guk?”

He shuts the laptop, the moans cut off, a heated silence taking its place. The bed feels too big when he gets up, ignoring the confused look you give him.

The vibrator is exactly where he left it, oddly comforting because it means you don’t use it. You have him after all. But he needs the toy for tonight.

“What? Guk? What’s go—when did you find that?” You’re embarrassed, he knows it from the way you squirm under the blanket. He glances down at it, finger pressing the switch that turns it on. A quick run through shows ten decent vibrators at different levels, it’s rather intense even in his hands, the low buzz that it emits filling the room forbidding before he shuts it off.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he says. You groan, your head dropping into your hands.

“Put it away, Guk! And don’t go through my stuff ever again.”

“Why? I think it’s cute.”

“Cu—what is the point of this, Jeongguk? I don’t get what you’re trying to do?” And there you go, staring at him with those wide ingenuous eyes. So trusting, so clueless. He draws closer then, considers taking his underwear off so you can see just what you do to him. But when your gaze drops he halts. It’s not about him tonight. It’s about you.

The bed dips under the weight of his as he says it, the toy still in his hands. “I want to see if you can squirt.” He sees the way your back stiffens, the raise in your brow.

“I’ve never done that,” you splutter, falling back as Jeongguk crawls over you.

“I know. But you can.”

“I can’t, Guk. I don’t think I can.” Your pretty lips are drawn into a reluctant pout, but there’s a bright curiosity sparking through your gaze that Jeongguk knows all too well.

“See, you don’t think you can. You said that before. And then I made you cum five times in a row.”

“No that was different—”

“We’re just seeing if you can. We don’t have to if you don’t want to but I think it’d be fun to try.”

You pause, trying to ignore the heat blooming between your legs as you weigh the decision before you. There were times when you thought you were about to, an edge in your orgasms that felt dangerous. But your body never let you go there fully, drawing back from your slipped from heights you couldn’t handle. You can tell Jeongguk won’t grant you the same precautions. His eyes a dark, toeing a line that feels forbidding. The covers are gently pulled from you, Jeongguk staying silent as you ponder. But the moment the cool night air hits your skin you know what he’s asking for. It’s a strange level of vulnerability, a bareness that makes your skin prickle. He wants something that you’ve never given anyway else — not even yourself. It’s a lot to ask for and his directness makes you pause. The hesitation crumbles when his hand settles on your thigh, wide warm palm gently nudging your clasped legs apart.

“We really don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Jeongguk says, honey eyes locked on you. You know he’s being honest; he wouldn’t push it if you said no. And yet, something twists in your stomach. You want this. The realisation is sudden and you don’t know if it’s because of how perfect Jeongguk looks tonight. Chestnut curls a messy halo on his head and his shirt hanging loose from his broad shoulders. Or maybe it’s how he looks at you as if this is the only he’s ever really wanted in the world. As if you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I want to—I mean I want to try.” You let yourself fall open then, something clicking as Jeongguk slots right against you perfectly, your sleeping shorts bunching up when his hips roll with intent. His lips land on your neck a moment later, a kiss so soft that you don’t feel it at first, lost in the way he hits your clit when he bucks into you. Jeongguk draws you back with a bite, one sharp enough to leave you gasping, your back arching from the sheets. He lets his hands slip under then, the vibrator momentarily forgotten as he maps your skin, lips feather-light once more, kisses gentle enough to leave you delirious.

“So good to me,” Jeongguk mumbles, eyes drifting to your lips. He draws close then, mouth fitting yours in a dreamlike perfectness. It’s flavoured with wine and want, a clear hunger in how he parts your lips. The hands that grip you are hard but his lips are gentle, savouring the taste of you against his mouth as if he wants to commit it to memory. The softness of the act has your skin tingling, bright and wild yet slow like the turning of the Sun. When you part, the air is different — charged, the current that swims through the atmosphere finding a home in your body as it settles in the depth of your gut. Jeongguk doesn’t give you time to ponder, mouth trailing from the corner of your lips to the hollow of your neck where he bites. It hurts enough to shock your senses, sweeping you back from the heavenly haze to the alarming reality of what he’s about to do to you. Your whimper hits the air as his tongue presses into the mark, painting your skin dark. A pointed reminder. You’d thought Jeongguk would be possessive, but sometimes he surprises you with it. The purposeful touches, the harsh bruises he likes to leave high on your neck. Or anywhere on your body, really. There are times he’d press his fingertips into them when you’re willing enough to let him choke you, the flash in your eyes spurring his hips forward.

For now, he busies himself with breathing a new one to life, one you know he’ll play with tomorrow — or later tonight if you give him the chance. Your brain can’t think that fair, zoning out as his mouth works a claim on your skin. Eager fingertips are drifting down your thighs, brushing past the band of your sleeping shorts. It’s expected that you’re already wet, but Jeongguk delights in his find with a muted moan in your neck. His fingers don’t go further though, grazing light against the damp fabric of your underwear. The swivel of your hips is automatic but Jeongguk quickly stills it with a hard press of his palm into your skin. You’re forced into the mattress, freezing when he finally wanders from your neck to your chest. So slow, wet lips idly trailing until his face lands between your chest.

“Gukkie,” you hadn’t realised how gone you already sounded until you spoke, voice wavering. He hums in response, non-committal, his hands shifting from your hips as he focuses on freeing you from your top so he can get your boobs in his mouth.

“Don’t tease me today.” You’re trying to sound firm, pliantly raising your arms so he can get you bare. But that firmness shrinks when your eyes land on his. So dark in the dwindling moonlight bleeding through your half-open blinds.

“Why?” There’s that smile of his, one corner hung higher than the either. You’ve sunk yourself in a sea brimming with sharks. “You sound cute when you whine, bunny.”

“Jeong — fuck.” There’s no point in protesting when he’s buried himself between your chest, tongue already toying with your nipple. Too many guys before him had misunderstood how to touch you there, but Jeongguk knew — he had learned. Studied your body so that he knows when to nip or kiss, shifting from pain to pleasure until the line blurred and so did your vision, until the only sound filling the room are harsh breaths and the quiet murmur of his name. Your hands eventually stray to his head, the heat in your core demanding attention as you guide him down. Jeongguk complies, not because he doesn’t want to tease you any further, but because he loves tasting you too much to ever say no.

The sight he finds sends an ache down his length, already hard but now leaking into the fabric of his grey sweats. You spread yourself so easily for him, light pink panties coloured dark with your wetness.

“Cute,” Jeongguk whispers, falling naturally into his place between your legs. It wasn’t meant to grace the air, but he’s glad it did when he notes the bashful smile tugging at your lips and how you twist to shift your head into the pillows the closer he gets. Which, honestly, makes him pause. He wants you to watch, needs you to. Something in the base of his brain needing constant affirmation that he’s making you feel good driving his next set of movements.

The hand on your chin is unexpected and adamant. You can’t help but give in, wide-eyed when Jeongguk forces your gaze onto him. “Need you to look bunny, can you do that for me?” The nod you give him is instinctual, heat blossoming in your bones when Jeongguk smiles, satiated and proud. Perhaps you should have put up more of a fight, but how could have known what he would do with only the tender touches he’d lift as your guide. Even the quick kiss he plants on your clothed cunt revealed nothing of what’s to come. So gentle as he pulls he fabric down your hips, discarding it somewhere in the sheets, his eyes never leaving the wetness on your lips.

“My pretty girl,” he says, nipping the inside of your thigh. You squirm at that, futile because Jeongguk just held you closer. “All mine, right bunny?”

“All yours,” you return, voice far and your mind slipping from your hands. Jeongguk apparently takes that to heart because he devours you, nose burrowed in the apex of your cunt, breathing you in as his tongue mapped the velvet of your walls. It doesn’t take long for your legs to wrap around his head, back raising from the bed and the drip of your slick coating your inner thighs. Yet, Jeongguk relishes it, forgoing breathing as he eats you open, toying with your clit as if that was his sole life purpose. You forget the world with a speed that should concern you, thighs trembling with each determined swirl of his tongue over that bud. Again and again, until you spill into his mouth, wet and creamy, creating a mark of your own on his lips. He keeps you there, unrelenting even when your whines hit high and your chest heaves. There’s a ringing in your ears as the high wanes away, which is swiftly placed by a quiet mumbling that sinks into your skin.

“Tastes so good,” Jeongguk murmurs, licking between your folds. “So fucking good.”

“Jeon,” Something twists in your gut when he drops a final kiss onto you as if he was thanking you for letting him do that when you should be the one on your knees thanking him. When he softly drops your leg to the soiled sheets you decide it quickly, already shifting onto your elbows.

“Yes?” Such innocent eyes staring back at you like he didn’t just fuck you open with his tongue.

“I want you too,” you’re already shifting but Jeongguk is quick, fingertips hard on your jaw when he halts you. He knows what that means, reads it in how your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, wet just like you were. But that’s not what he wants, besides, he’d rather save that for other places.

“No.” When he says that you almost deflate, but then Jeongguk drops his hand from your jaw, swiftly dragging his shirt over his back and off his body. There’s nothing that can suffocate the desire that blooms in your chest. He’s so beautiful, hard lines and warm skin, kissed by the Sun herself. There’s an itch in your palm instantly, and you hastily register that if you don’t touch him you might die. Yet, your eager hands are pinned over your head, wrists wrapped tightly in the grip of one of his wide calloused palms. There’s a brief moment where his attention is caught by the bounce of your chest before you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that you’ve never asked Jeongguk to fuck your tits before. But as you stow that away for later concern, Jeongguk’s other hand drifts to the discarded vibrator, sinister now in his command.

“Don’t want to fuck your mouth, bunny. It’s not about me tonight, it’s about you.”

“But—” Jeongguk swallows that protest with a quick kiss, the taste of you on his tongue igniting a fire that crackles and consumes until you feel nothing but heat and want, all fuelled by your erratic lovesick heart. You kiss until the only thing filling your lungs is him, like a heavy smoke that envelopes you, travelling through your body until you pull away, warm chest flushed against his. There’s a stupid twinkle in his eyes and it makes you feel sick, swaying dangerously when he shifts away. You don’t want him to go, but you don’t move when he gives you that look. The devastating ache dissipates when his pants drop from his hips, hard cock meeting the cool air. The twitch that travels down his length echoes between your walls, eagerly clenching around nothing. Jeongguk just smiles, stripping bare leaving himself vulnerable to your eager eyes. You wait, behaving good because you want to for him and Jeongguk notes this, delivering a pleased slap to your cunt when he pulls you close, one hard enough to jolt through your spine when his palm hits your clit.

“I’m kind of sensitive,” you whisper, shy again. Which is funny because weren’t you begging for his cock down your throat a second ago?

“I know,” Jeongguk returns, uncaring. The vibrator comes to life a moment later, buzzing low through the room. He knocks it up to the second-highest level.

“Jeongguk! Start low then work it up. I can’t take it like that directly, it'll chafe me.” Which is right, your clit is already feeling dry, slick staying solely between your walls. Jeongguk notes that, pausing before sinking two of his fingers deep. You squeak, hips lifting when they brush against that spot in your walls. He works you open deftly, pleased when you grind your hips into his hands, spurred on by the feeling of something finally inside of you. But it’s fleeting, Jeongguk dragging his fingers out and over your clit before raising his fingers to his lips and licking them clean.

“Now it won’t,” he states, and before you can open your mouth and deliver a retort the vibrator is pressing against that bundle of nerves, tremors echoing in your bones as your legs squeeze shut in an attempt to get away. Jeongguk pins them open, cock leaking against your thigh and he rolls the edge of the toy over your clit, before you jolt so hard the sheets shift and he knows exactly where to place it. He works it out of you, praise naturally falling from his petal lips when you give in, eyes shut tight and your heart stuck in your throat. The vibration feeds the heat in your gut, drawing it to the surface of your skin, sweat beading along your forehead and a dampness forming down your spine. It feels both quick and slow, coaxed out of you with steadfastness. Jeongguk’s gaze never strays from your pussy, locked there as he etches this moment into his memory. You look gorgeous, whining and twisting underneath him. He can tell that this is a lot for you, judging from how you bury your face away from him. He would have forced your eyes on him, if he wasn’t already so enthralled by how perfect you look like this, moans low colouring the air bright with their sound. His own want multiples when your body freezes, strung tight, the edge beckoning you over.

He pulls the vibrator off then, depriving you of your release because his brain demands that he feels this one around his length.

“Jeongguk!” You’re on your elbows, eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. “Why-w-why would you do that?” There’s a waver in your tone, a lilt so pretty he can’t help but smile.

“When you squirt you’re doing it on my cock.” He states it like it's final. And it is from how he draws you close, vibrator momentarily lost in the sheets, the head of his length brushing against your wetness.

But what catches your attention is when. A loaded promise. A determined one.

You spread your legs open, shifting until he slips past walls stretching to accommodate his welcoming presence. “Okay then, make me.” You say it with your gaze on his, watching as his eyes glaze over hips already bucking deeper, before your words register in his brain and Jeongguk’s gaze shifts into a dangerous glint.

He tugs you hard, pulling close enough so that he sinks in deep, cunt already moulding to the curves of his cock. “With pleasure.” Those words are warning, painted right into the heat of your skin as he sheathes himself inside of you. The groans in the air belong to both of you melting into one distinctive sound. It’s cut by the lewd squelch of your wetness coating his length, one that settles in Jeongguk’s gut, release already creeping into the corner of his vision. But he holds it back by knocking your legs further apart, mouth returning to the bruise he left earlier, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin. You arch into him, shifting as pain bleeds through your nerves. The motion allows the last inch of him to slip past your walls, spearing you open, before Jeongguk draws himself out and returns with a hard slow thrust. He fucks you deep, right into the bed, the frame creaking with each loud meeting between the two of you. You can’t do anything but cling onto him, eyes fluttering as his cock drives into you, determined with every piston of his hips to see you unravel. And you do, with a sickening quickness, already weak with the remembrance of your past edge. You feel soft underneath him, pressed against his skin like you hope you find a home for yourself there. And Jeongguk provides — lips mapping your skin gently and a pride in his tone that makes you want to do anything for him.

“That’s it, good girl.” You can’t say anything but his name, whining with every drag of his length along your walls. “So good to me,” he whispers, sweet, unlike his unforgiving hips. “Pretty girl and she’s all mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, wanting this more than ever. “All yours—a-all—hnghhhh—y-yours! Jeongguk, please! P-please, please, please.”

He slows, smiling into your neck. “What bunny? What do you want?”

“Wanna cum, Jeongguk p-please let me cum.” When he moves away you feel your gut drop. The vibrator is flicked back one, humming dangerously. “Guk—” you start; he shushes you with a purposeful thrust.

“You said you wanted to cum. Remember what you promised me, bunny?” You nod, slow, nervous but your need overriding your fear. Jeongguk just smiles, shifts himself a little deeper, and then places the vibrator where you need it most. It’s not instant, but it’s quick and violent, travelling through your bones and Jeongguk rocks himself deep, curls damp on his forehead and his shoulders tense but his body still giving. You match his movements with your own, shuddering the closer you feel it creep, ripping itself right out of your limbs, drawn to the surface with no remorse, your eyes falling shut and hips seizing. The vibration paired with the feeling of Jeongguk fucking you full is intoxicating, and unlike you he doesn’t hesitate, playing with your clit unforgivingly.

You don’t even hear yourself, mouth agape and your back high from the sheets, all you know is heat, burning from the inside out. No air in your lungs as it spills from you, right onto his length, walls drawn tight. It hits his abdomen, leaving his muscles wet and glimmering as the moonlight greets his skin. Jeongguk shuts down, hips moving automatically, the vibrator thrown aside, still buzzing forlornly. He couldn’t give a damn about it, bending your legs back and fucking into you hard as you coat his cock in your wetness. If it was loud before, it’s obscene now. The nails in his back spur him further, a need he’s never felt before consuming him whole. It’s already there, the white of his desire clouding his vision, but his brain suddenly stills.

Jeongguk’s hand on your chin draws you back to Earth, mind nothing but mush as he continues to fuck you open. They’re erratic thrusts, and with them, you slowly release that your cheeks are wet. Jeongguk realises it the same time you do, thumb gingerly brushing the tears falling from your eyes away. There’s a strange new awareness buzzing through your body, like your bones feel new, limbs reformed. But nothing could prepare you for that thumb on your cheek travelling down, grazing your lips until they fall open. He slips it past, lets you flick your tongue against it, before demanding. “Open.”

And you do, because what wouldn’t you do for him.

“Can I?” He questions, and somehow you know what he is asking. Another claim. Something else you’ve given nobody but him.

“Yes.”

There’s a fall in his shoulders as if he was afraid you would deny him. But how could you ever? His thumb leaves your lips, hand drifting until it settles on your neck, pressing firmly but not tight. And then his own lips part, hips unwavering, for what he sends down your throat. You swallow, oddly thrilled by it while Jeongguk watches silently, almost in marvel. It does something to you, the way he stares, like he cannot believe you’re his. And you feel that sentiment in how he kisses you next, desperate, pleading, thankful. You return it, tongue soft against his as you feel his back draw taut, a low groan spilling down your throat when Jeongguk finally snaps, euphoria bleeding through his brain. You feel it hit your walls, warm and wet, painting you white, a strange satisfaction settling through your body.

When he eventually rolls over, quiet like he’s still recovering, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, an attempt to keep his love locked in. His hand cups your own, guiding you back into reality with a gentle squeeze.

The still buzzing vibrator is what you hear first, followed by the joint panting of your lungs. You move to grab it, hoping to hide the revelation in your eyes by glaring at him. Jeongguk is still too lost to care, face flushed a vibrant rouge.

“Turn this stupid thing off,” you mutter, legs still stuck, fused to the bed from the shock of your orgasm. Jeongguk snatches it up, waving it through the air as he turns it off, before giving it a fond kiss.

“Gross,” you comment, smacking his hard chest.

“No,” Jeongguk returns, dropping it. He plants a ginger kiss on your forehead. “I quite like it actually, we should order another one. Do you think they do vibrating panties?”

You hit him again, rolling over until your leg swings over his. He keeps looking at you like that, and it keeps clawing right through your heart. “You’re so sick and evil,” you say instead of the annoying comments that flutter in your delirious brain. You want to call him pretty, beautiful, perfect, maybe the best thing you’ve ever had. But you can’t let Jeongguk know he has all that power over you — not when already made you squirt and spat down your throat in one sitting. “Can you clean me up? I’m getting sticky.”

Jeongguk stills like he’s suddenly remembering what he just did, where he just came. And then you feel the rise of his chest, gaze flicking up to meet his. Bright and full of something akin to adoration, before he blinks it away.

“Give me a moment, I think I just saw God.”

Wedding Days

Inspired by this prompt from @mingcheng-prompts

Jiang Cheng groans when he hears Wei Wuxian’s excited laughter and then he mentally curses himself for it, because it’s Wei Wuxian’s wedding day. He’s allowed to be excited and happy. Required even.

It doesn’t change the fact that Jiang Cheng got dumped a day before the wedding happened and he had to show up alone to this, but it is what it is. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t even change it in hindsight and he’s kind of glad that relationship ended, but still.

He deserves to get another drink, right?

Jiang Cheng is just about to knock back another shot when a hand settles on his arm.

“What the hell?” he snaps out, ready to tear a new one into whoever dares to interrupt his drinking, but the words die on his tongue when he locks eyes with the most gorgeous man he has ever seen.

“Drinking alone is no fun,” the guy says and lifts his own shot to Jiang Cheng. “Want some company?”

“Depends on why you are drinking?” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he could never simply take anything that was offered and the guy huffs out a laugh.

“I was dumped. Like, ten minutes ago. It feels like a good reason to drink,” he says with a shrug. “You?”

“Dumped yesterday,” Jiang Cheng mutters and clinks his shot against the other. “It’s a perfect reason to drink,” he says and then downs the shot, watching the man do the same.

Jiang Cheng is absolutely not itching to get his teeth into his throat.

“Nie Mingjue,” the guy introduces himself once he swallowed and it takes Jiang Cheng an embarrassing long moment to tears his eyes away from his throat.

“Jiang Wanyin,” he replies and he wonders if he can pretend that his voice sounds rough like this because of the alcohol.

“Wei Wuxian’s brother, right?”

“And you’re Huaisang’s brother,” Jiang Cheng gives back, distantly wondering how they went all these years without meeting even once, but he shrugs it off. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Nie Mingjue says and then waves the barkeeper down for another round of shots.

~*~**~

Jiang Cheng feels pleasantly warm, a tingling spreading out from his stomach to all his limbs and he likes to pretend that it’s the alcohol finally putting in some work. It has nothing at all to do with the way Nie Mingjue kisses a scorching hot trail down his throat.

“No, stop,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because this is monumentally unfair. He wanted to kiss Nie Mingjue’s throat, not the other way around.

“What?” Nie Mingjue asks, pulling away immediately and Jiang Cheng takes that opportunity to get his own lips on Nie Mingjue’s skin.

“Wanted to do that since the first shot,” he says between kisses and Nie Mingjue makes a noise in his throat that Jiang Cheng can almost taste.

“Gods, you’re so unbelievable hot,” Nie Mingjue says and reaches around Jiang Cheng to grab his ass in his huge hands.

“You’re one to talk,” Jiang Cheng groans out when Nie Mingjue simply lifts him up the ground and Jiang Cheng is quick to sling his legs around his waist. “Fuck, you’re one to talk,” he repeats as he grinds into Nie Mingjue.

He doesn’t get to say much more when Nie Mingjue claims his lips into a searing hot kiss and Jiang Cheng doesn’t quite remember how they end up in his bed, but he surely won’t complain about that.

Not that Nie Mingjue gives him a chance to even form a coherent sentence now that a mattress is below them.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng wakes up alone. There’s no note to find anywhere and Nie Mingjue doesn’t contact him, even though it would be easy for him to get Jiang Cheng’s number from Nie Huaisang.

Jiang Cheng tries to not let that get to him and he goes on with his life as usual.

~*~*~

It keeps happening. They keep meeting at weddings of their families or friends, always alone, sometimes recently dumped and sometimes not, but they somehow always drift to the open bar, where the other is usually waiting.

Drinks lead to kisses, which lead to making out, which lead to them leaving the reception early to put their booked rooms to good use.

Jiang Cheng normally wakes up alone. Nie Mingjue still hasn’t contacted him.

~*~*~

It’s the ninth wedding in the last year and a half and Jiang Cheng finds himself in the same arms that he always finds himself in during these things.

“Why didn’t you drink tonight?” Nie Mingjue asks between kisses, because of course he had picked up on that and Jiang Cheng tries his best to shrug, while also not to dislodge Nie Mingjue’s lips from his skin.

“No reason,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and hopes that Nie Mingjue will just drop the issue.

It’s the ninth wedding in one and a half years and Jiang Cheng is scared that it will be the last for a while yet. Their families and assorted friend circles are big, but not that big and the next wedding will be a while off yet.

So Jiang Cheng decided to do something stupid and he can’t afford to be drunk for that. Well, drunk on alcohol. He’s perfectly drunk on the hot feeling in his gut, on the kisses Nie Mingjue presses into his skin, on the feeling of his arms around him.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t think there will ever be a way to not get drunk on this, but then his head hits the pillow on his bed and like always Nie Mingjue makes thinking impossible for him.

Jiang Cheng leans fully into it. No matter how his plan works out, it will be the last time for a while, after all.

~*~*~

When Jiang Cheng wakes up, he is not alone. He takes a moment to let out a relieved breath and then he spends long, long minutes simply staring at Nie Mingjue.

It’s the sole reason he didn’t drink even a drop of alcohol yesterday; he tends to oversleep when he is intoxicated and for once he wanted to wake up before Nie Mingjue.

He has a plan, and no matter how stupid that plan might be, he has to try. Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to wait an undetermined amount of time before he sees Nie Mingjue again, and simply reaching out for him seems strange, especially with all the time that has already passed.

But for now, Jiang Cheng enjoys waking up to Nie Mingjue still in his bed. He’s breathing softly and evenly, his face turned towards Jiang Cheng and he has to fight the urge to reach out and trail his fingers over the slope of his nose or his cheekbones.

He doesn’t want to wake Nie Mingjue yet.

Jiang Cheng is pretty sure that he will never get to watch his fill of Nie Mingjue, but he tries his best now anyway. If this goes wrong, it might be the last time he gets to do this, after all.

He is aware that he could be labelled a freak for staring at Nie Mingjue like this, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t care much about that right now. He settles back into bed, head propped up on one hand, so he gets a clearer look of Nie Mingjue and then he stays that way until Nie Mingjue shows the first signs of waking up.

Jiang Cheng is never going to admit to it out loud, but the way Nie Mingjue scrunches his face right before he wakes up is the cutest thing he has ever seen.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” Jiang Cheng whispers as Nie Mingjue blinks his eyes open, and then he decides to fuck it all and he leans in and brushes a kiss over Nie Mingjue’s cheek.

“Wanyin, you’re—awake,” Nie Mingjue says, his voice still sleep rough and while that sends a shiver of heat down Jiang Cheng’s spine, his words make a pit open up in Jiang Cheng’s gut.

“I feel well rested,” he lightly says, untangling himself from the blanket to get up. “Maybe you didn’t put enough work in yesterday,” he tries to joke, but he knows it falls flat, especially when Nie Mingjue sits up and immediately covers himself with the blanket.

Jiang Cheng already knows that he made a monumentally big mistake here, but he’s in too deep now to simply call it quits.

He would rather Nie Mingjue tells him to his face to not be stupid than to live with this uncertainty for longer.

“Stay for breakfast,” Jiang Cheng says, his back turned to Nie Mingjue as he puts on his pants. “There’s no rush to leave, right?”

Jiang Cheng tries his best not to think about the last eight times when Nie Mingjue clearly couldn’t get away from him fast enough, but he soldiers through it.

“Your stomach grumbled in your sleep, you surely must be hungry.”

He turns around, once he buttoned his pants and Nie Mingjue’s face is answer enough for him. Bitterness sweeps through Jiang Cheng, and he can do nothing to stop it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nie Mingjue says, much like Jiang Cheng expected, and turns away from Jiang Cheng to get dressed.

It looks like he’s in a real rush to get away from Jiang Cheng and he didn’t expect that to hurt so much.

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng bitterly says. “I’m good enough for a drunk fuck but not for breakfast. Got it.”

He feels bad for his words afterwards—it was always clear that this was no-strings attached sex and nothing more—but he can’t take them back and he’s not going to apologize either. Nie Mingjue can deal with that, while Jiang Cheng deals with his stupidly broken heart.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue starts, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to hear his excuses or his explanations.

“No, that’s—” he can’t bring himself to say ‘alright’ because it’s not and he doesn’t want to lie to Nie Mingjue but he can’t find any other words, so he simply trails off.

He’s glad he booked a bigger room for this wedding than he normally does, because it lets him step away from Nie Mingjue and the bed, even though the distance is barely anything.

Jiang Cheng busies himself with his phone, but in all honesty he is listening for Nie Mingjue gathering his things, wondering if he’ll even say goodbye to him or if this is just going to be it.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Nie Mingjue simply walks out on him after Jiang Cheng’s stupid and clearly unwanted attempt.

What he didn’t expect was for Nie Mingjue to step up behind him and pull him into his chest, his arms tightly around his middle.

“It won’t just be breakfast, if I stay,” Nie Mingjue whispers into the space at Jiang Cheng’s throat. “If I stay for breakfast, I will want to stay for lunch and dinner and movies and dates and sleeping together and every second of every day that comes after. If you ask me to stay for breakfast, I’ll never leave you alone again.”

It sounds like a confession and Jiang Cheng’s eyes immediately feel hot with tears.

He turns around in Nie Mingjue’s embrace to sling his arms around Nie Mingjue’s neck and he hides his face much like Nie Mingjue just did.

“Stay for breakfast,” Jiang Cheng croaks out, hating how his voice breaks with hope and happiness and a shiver runs down his spine when Nie Mingjue presses kiss after kiss into his skin.

“I’ll stay forever,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng nods his head.

“Please,” he says, beyond caring that he’s basically begging Nie Mingjue and even that thought leaves his head when Nie Mingjue pulls away just far enough to be able to kiss Jiang Cheng.

“You never said,” Jiang Cheng breathes out when they part and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“Well, you didn’t either, and I thought—you could have reached out. And then every other time I met you you just came out of a relationship so I didn’t know what to think to be honest.”

“You didn’t reach out, either,” Jiang Cheng gives back, just a tiny bit angry over that. “And I didn’t—I haven’t been in a relationship since that very first time. I made them all up, because I thought I needed that excuse for you,” he admits, hiding his face in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder when he can feel himself blush. “But you always recently broke up before a wedding, too.”

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and then he laughs. “Same lie here, to be honest,” he explains before Jiang Cheng can get really angry at him and Nie Mingjue takes his face into his hands.

“Let’s exchange numbers now, so that this misunderstanding can never happen again,” he says and Jiang Cheng leans up for a soft kiss before he nods.

Breakfast is much more comfortable than Jiang Cheng dared to hope for, but that’s probably because Nie Mingjue keeps him tucked into his side and Jiang Cheng can hold his hand all morning.

He’s not inclined to ever let go of Nie Mingjue again, so the fact that he wants to stay, too, fits perfectly well.

(Jiang Cheng was right; there were no more weddings for a terrible long two years. He would have died if he hadn’t gotten to see Nie Mingjue at all during that time, but when they are told that they can kiss now, Jiang Cheng figures it’s better to attend a wedding with his husband now, anyway. Especially his own.)

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

Bonnie playing with Damon's hair and he all sleepy 😊

this really took a while because… i was going to stop at the first half but i wanted to consider Bonnie’s perspective (: and then it got a lil spicy and i was like *sigh* why must you always take it there? but i mean- 👁- i always take it there because we were robbed!!! Damon is practically a self proclaimed sex god and i hate how they separated Bonnie from her sexuality, or really any form of intimacy for sooo long. and the scraps we got were NEVER enough. okay anyways yeah i’m finally done, like let’s get into it.

Damon notices that Bonnie touches him sparingly and really not because she wants to but because it happens accidentally every now and then, one of the perks about frequently invading her space.

Being stuck on the other side, there is less room for her and more for him, she’s in his world now which means it’s his duty to make her feel as uncomfortably comfortable as possible.

He notices everything; how her cheeks turn red when their knuckles brush against one another’s, how she takes in an exasperated little breath when their shoulders touch, how she rolls her eyes when he stands entirely too close. Damon hangs on to these moments because this may be his only form of female contact he’ll receive for a very, very, long time.

That is the only reason he hangs on.

Anytime she touches him intentionally, he feels a pride swell deep in his chest that he’s liked by Bonnie after a rocky road of ups and downs, fussing and fighting, he is finally deemed worthy enough for her to care about him even if it’s brief, even if it’s the smallest skin to skin contact imaginable.

And yes, he cares because if he has to spend the rest of eternity with one person, they might as well get along.

Movie night comes around so he rests his head in her lap, testing the waters, to see how she will respond to him. He senses her tense up a bit as predicted, but then she relaxes into it breath by breath like she’s doing a tricky yoga pose.

Bonnie’s body lotion makes her skin smell edible- cocoa and honey- she’ll never know but that’s why he nicknames her Bon Bon, she always smells good enough to eat. At this point, Damon can’t recall the VHS movie on the block of a television, his focus has been robbed by Bonnie and this new form of contact she allows him to try. Half of his smile sinks into the cotton of her leggings.

Her eyes never leave the screen when she laces her fingers through his hair, nails surfing through tufts of raven-black and the gesture is so shocking and embarrassingly arousing that a strangled groan gets trapped in his throat.

She panics, and he can tell by the change in her heart rate before saying. “Did I hurt you?” He has to clear his throat to speak.

“Hmmm mm, feels good,” he mumbles feigning casual so she can’t realize how he needs this so so bad that he’s fearful of it being taken away. In his mind he thinks about what if.

What if she wakes up and decides she doesn’t want to tap dance on the line between what is and isn’t acceptable for two best friends. What if she remembers that he’s actually a terrible person who has done horrendous things to her and everyone she’s ever loved.

She shouldn’t like him or try not to laugh at his jokes. Not at all. Bonnie should’ve killed him a long, long time ago because if anyone could do it, it’d be her. He can see her now, all badass and angry with a wooden stake in her hand, vengeance in her eyes, the very last thing he’d see before his lights went out forever.

Bonnie, the giver and the taker.

Bonnie, the only god he knew.

Damon finds himself thinking so intensely lately that he checks the mirror more often than not to make sure he has no brooding lines like his little brother. Stefan’s expansive forehead has the room for it, his perfectly shaped forehead does not.

She laces her fingers back through his hair again and his eyes flutter, that’s how good it feels. It’s sensational. And while he’s had his hair pulled in and out of the bedroom, the innocence of her touch makes him want to melt. He finds his lids growing heavier, like how they used to do a century-and-a-half ago when he was human.

Running through dandelion fields in the overbearing Virginia heat, the sun up above sending heavy gusts of sunshine beams, a moment he considers to be oppressive now, used to be magical then- miraculous -and despite sweating through his britches and overcoat he never cared enough to stop running through the fields. The sun was the greatest thing all those years ago, back when white was his favorite color.

And after drawing a long, hot bath, he’d sink deep into the water while the bubbles floated to the top. Damon would close his eyes, hold his breath, see if he could break his prior record. Then he’d get out and the sleep would welcome him like any drowsy being, with open arms. And there he’d fall.

Bonnie has that affect on him. She makes him think of home, his past, when times were simpler and he was human.

He feels that exhausted sometimes, a boy who’s never stopped running through dandelion fields, whether it snows or rains or burns him alive. Her fingernails rake through his scalp- orange leaves on browning grass. Ruining Stefan’s piles for the fun of it. His lids droop. Tired of being consumed by himself, by Bonnie, he admits defeat this time. When he finally drifts off, he remembers that the Virginia heat gave him this same warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

“You really don’t know how good this feels,” his final words are hoarse before he drifts off but the last thing he sees is Bonnie.

The giver and the taker, the only god he knows.

.

Bonnie refuses to relish in the magic of the moment, the fact that it’s so rare Damon ever completely lets his guard down around her. She can always feel his eyes on her, constantly watching because Damon has a presence that’s inescapable.

Being so close to him when he’s extremely vulnerable makes her realize that in all facets, he’s stunning. A stunning that’s almost suffocating but with the dynamic they possess, he only needs to know that he’s not that much of an eye sore.

Now, she stares with wide eyes while she can, memorizes the smooth expanse of skin, every strand of dark hair. Relishes in the feel of his arms around her waist, the weight of his head in her lap. It’s been a long time since she’s felt a body besides her own and as much as she likes to ignore the fact, she has needs, needs that have swelled from being in the presence of Damon for too long.

He’s sexy without any effort, she examines. His dark t-shirt has risen and his pants are low enough that she observes the waistline of (silk?) boxers, taut muscle, navel, happy trail, yeah. Bonnie drinks him in like a cool glass of milk before bedtime- never has this much pretty been in her lap before. Her hands find their way in his head again, tousles through and he nuzzles up against her in his sleep. It’s difficult to pull her eyes away from him, but when she does, the credits are rolling on the screen.

This is Damon she’s thinking about like this, her best friend and also her first best friend’s boyfriend. She repeats it again, not satisfied that the guilt isn’t drowning her like it sometimes does when she catches herself lingering on his attractiveness for too long but Mystic Falls, the real Mystic Falls seems so far away. Elena, Caroline, Matt, Alaric, her old life just seems unattainable, no bigger than a memory she occasionally mistakes for a bad dream.

There’s no denying that being away from it all, here with Damon as the only other person in the world, she feels…safe. Maybe even protected, it’s a stark contrast from the real Mystic Falls where her life is always on the line.

Bonnie starts to get up when she feels his hold on her tighten to prevent her from moving away. They play tug of war for a bit but she eventually stops fighting because Damon is a vampire after all, physical strength is going to get her nowhere. “Fine,” she grumbles, then plops down which causes the end of her top to ride up enough that she can feel the press of Damon’s nose on the curve of her waist. Despite trying to inch her shirt back down, she has no luck. Naturally Damon doesn’t mind.

He inhales her skin deeply, makes a sound of approval before groggily muttering, “Going topless now, are we Judgey?”

She grabs his hair again, yanks his head back as a rebuttal, and Damon bites his tongue so hard that it bleeds. He has to ensure that all of the blood in his body isn’t rushing south too fast but unfortunately, he would have to sever both his arms completely off to stop the blood flow.

Bonnie realizes the dazed look in his eyes isn’t one of pain nor is it from sleep, “Not the reaction you expected, huh?” He asks, gesturing for her to look down but she doesn’t, she can’t. She’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse, a teensy bit turned on.

“You scared, Bon Bon? I thought you were big and bad,” Damon mocks, pulling between his legs to make more room in his jeans, “it’s okay. I know Jeremy left much to be desired.” He sits up with swirls of longing still in his eyes, then grabs a pillow to place in his lap.

“Scared?” She guffaws. “Of what exactly?”

“Me…You.”

“And that means?”

“You’re a smart girl, Bon, figure it out.” Damon taunts, holding her eyes with his. “It’s awfully lonely here.”

She says nothing for a while, refusing to break eye contact first. “So.”

“Soooo, I won’t tell if you won’t.” It’s almost a joke, almost because she has a feeling if she says yes to whatever sort of ambiguous proposal he’s thrown up in the air, there won’t be any laughter. If she says no, it’s no different from his usual innuendos but boy, will she wonder.

“Wanna take a walk on the wild side?” He asks in a singsong tone, eyes dropping to her lips then back up to her eyes.

There are no alarms, no cell phones, no one here that can interrupt this moment. She has to answer, though she has no idea what will come out of her mouth. Bonnie shuts her eyes to make the moment less real, as if it will change the fact that she whispers, “Just one kiss,”

They’re nose to nose when Damon whispers back, “a peck.”

She swallows his breath. “Mhmm,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Nothing.”

“As light as air,” he presses his lips to hers for a brief moment then pulls back again. “See.” He peppers more kisses on her lips, down her jaw, the side of her neck, but they’re heavier. They have a density now. His tongue is on the flesh of her shoulder, teasing up her neck. She feels the light imprint of sharp canines, arousal surges through her like a power circuit, so intense that she moans. When he makes his way back up, their mouths both open in a feral kiss that robs them of air.

Bonnie holds his face in place though he makes no attempt to move away. The pillow falls out from between them when he grabs Bonnie’s leg to straddle him.

It’s nothing.

Nothing separating them from attacking each other’s mouths, nothing stopping Damon from gripping his best friend’s hips, nothing saving Bonnie from discarding his shirt.

His skin is cool enough that she can stream together some thought in between relentless kisses. “Damon,” she tries her best to sound admonishing.

“Please, not right now.” Damon cuffs both her wrists behind her with one hand and plants a hickey just above her cleavage. She sees stars. He already knows what the inflection in her voice means- the timing couldn’t be worse.“Let’s save the guilt for tomorrow morning.” His tone is octaves lower, almost as low as his lids. He drags his eyes up to hers, and they’re so shiny she can see her reflection. “I need this, Bonnie. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just continues on with his ministrations, hypnotized by the pheromones seeping off of her in waves, wanting to memorize the scent with his tongue. She whines his name, like actually whines his name, and the feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach scares him. Bonnie is so oblivious to the appeal she carries but if she sat in his skin for a day, hell, for a moment, she would realize just how long she’s been driving him insane.

“We can’t,” she groans weakly. “We can’t.”

Damon tries to breathe easier, but that feeling is lurking in his gut. She’s right. The things he’d do to her, he’d break her in half. He removes Bonnie from his lap, separates from her warmth, her scent. Backs away until the tv threatens to fall off the stand. Everything in him tells him to go back, to reenter the magnetic pull, to poke at her forcefield.

He backs away even further if possible. Her breath catches at the distance.

Bonnie’s cheeks are flushed, warm and red like fruit. If she was an apple, she would have already been eaten down to the core. If she was a peach, it would be easier to explain why he ate her. He thinks to himself that he’s officially off the rails, comparing Bonnie to fruit like he is, but he’s trying to rationalize his irrationality. Because if Bonnie never stopped him, he’d definitely be eating something by now.

“Nothing happened.” She says, ignoring his expression and the silent plea in his eyes.

“Nothing.” He deadpans, throwing his shirt back over his head.

Damon thinks of how different things would be if he had his way. Bonnie, spent, drunk, high off of him. Bleeding and wild, pretty and dangerous, yelling for God. He would plunge Jeremy right out of her, help her find her magic again. Give her everything she could dream of. He gulps.

She doesn’t sleep with him tonight, not in the same bed. She’s on the opposite end of the boarding house when he hears her slide under the covers.

The next morning, he thinks to himself, if she even utters a word about last night, he’ll pick up from where he left off. But she doesn’t, her eyes are far away again, and the only proof he has of their adventures is the wonderful, purple hickey.

When movie night comes back around, his head is in her lap and her hand is back in his hair, running to and fro like him in his lavender fields.

That’s all he gets.

Every now and then, it’s enough.

Bonnie gives and takes, then takes away some more.

She’s the closest thing to God he’ll probably ever know.

your lips, my lips... apocalypse (harry styles imagine)

warnings: smut... fingering pregnant reader (thats your summary i guess lmao) word count: 4k+ this is for @majorharry‘s ‘20k fic celebration’ and the prompts i’ve chosen are ‘your hands are soft’ and ‘stop looking at me like that’. i hope you like it. 

It’s magnificent, he thinks.

It’s the way the raised skin is peeking out from the bubbles, all shiny and inviting for his hands. He wants to reach out and touch the dampened bump, follow the barely-there trail of hair with his fingers down her belly only to find the rare, soft part of the bump, and rub the skin there while she laughs and tries to push his hands off of her. It looks breathtaking; in fact, she looks breathtaking. Her head resting on a bath pillow, eyes closed, twitching like a butterfly shivering its wings. Her skin glimmering, almost sparkling like the waves in the ocean when sunlight hits them. When his eyes fall to the bump once again, he realises the little baby growing inside and the hot air of the bathroom are to blame.

He comes closer, his gaze shifting from her face to the two large candles placed on the corner of the bathtub, eyes catching how the flames keep dancing as if they too are in awe of the glowing creature before them. Just like Harry, it’s as if they can’t believe she’s given them the opportunity to witness something so special, so exquisite. When his bare feet reach the mat in front of the bathtub, she‘s already stroking her belly, delicate fingers rubbing every inch of the bump, especially the sides where there’s a prominent bulging.

“Sneaking up on me?” she murmurs, eyes still closed.

Kneeling on the floor, he puts his arms on either side of the bathtub, and scrunches his nose at the sweet smell of peaches and vanilla. He turns his face towards the large window which is now letting the cool summer air enter the room. “The June moon. Burning pure champagne,” he murmurs back at her, and she opens her eyes. When she doesn’t reply, his smile grows. “If I were her I’d be envious of you too.”

“Come close, wanna smell your breath.”

He dips his index finger into the soapy water and splashes her. “Am not high.”

It’s dead silent for a minute, only little ‘plinks’ of dripping water and faint noises of cars coming and going outside can be heard. As she tries finding a better position for her head, rubbing it on the wet bath pillow, he keeps his gaze focused on her face, mostly the tiny droplets of water on her forehead as they make their way down to her flushed cheeks.

Over the last few weeks, her face had started gaining a bit more weight, her cheeks becoming fuller than usual and despite her loathing her ‘chubby’ cheeks, she looked ethereal. Whenever they complimented her ‘pregnancy glow’ though, she would pout and immediately show her swollen fingers and feet, and say ‘look at my face, do my chubby cheeks scream glowy to you?’. And to Harry, they did. They screamed everything beautiful to Harry. He, as selfish as it sounds, wanted her all to himself during her pregnancy.

Of course she’s always been beautiful. He’s never been a shallow man but whenever he looked at her, just doing the most mundane things, like doing the laundry, making tea or shaving the peach fuzz on her face, he felt his chest tighten. He felt proud, so proud that she allowed him into her bubble everyday. He felt like she was so out of his league. Fuck what the tabloids say, fuck what Twitter says; she was way out of his league. His feelings only ended up intensifying during her pregnancy. He wanted to be the only one who saw her, who heard her voice, who got to hug and give her kisses. As absurd as it sounded, he felt like a jealous, territorial dog protecting its owner.

Now, looking at her naked form surrounded by bubbles in the tub, he feels the familiar pain in his chest, as if his rib cage has been squeezing his heart so tight that any moment now, blood would come out of his mouth. His heart feels like a quivering branch a bird has just left behind, shaking, but never empty. So full of love, adrenaline, and as warm as the first mould wine of the year.

When she tries to sit up in the tub, he stands up and reaches for her. “Let me help,” he whispers, hands going under her armpits to secure her in the slippery tub. “There. You comfortable? I’m surprised the water’s still warm.”

“Come in?” she asks with sleepy eyes and a tiny smile.

“I’m huge, I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable.”

“Please? I miss baths with you, just come in.”

He starts from his trousers, then his t-shirt, and then peels off his briefs. They both can’t help but notice his semi as it gets freed from the fabric, growing more and more at the sight in front of him. He can’t help but get excited at the sight of his girlfriend’s growing belly, the stretch marks appearing on both sides of it from carrying something, someone so special. As he dips his right foot first, then left in the water, his eyes fall to her full breasts, wanting to reach out and rub the darker nubs softly knowing they might feel tender to touch. Her beautiful nipples are facing downwards, slightly touching the sides of her stomach since her bump is getting bigger and bigger everyday.

“Budge up. Here, I’ll help you,” he mumbles as he tries to help her slide forward in the tub just to make space for him behind her. It takes some effort but they finally find the right position, all thanks to the spacious bathtub.

When he’s fully seated behind her and is sure that she’s also comfortable, especially with the added weight of her bump, he sighs and presses a kiss to the side of her forehead. “You smell nice.”

She lets out a breath through her nose, “Mm, thank you. You do too.”

“I’m sweaty, I doubt I smell nice.”

“I like your musk. So hot,” she lets out a sweet giggle and Harry groans, squeezing her shoulders.

When she tilts her head back, their eyes meet. Harry’s pupils get dilated, his hold on her shoulders tighter. He watches her close her eyes, inhale the sweet, floral scent as his hands follow the length of her arms until they reach her hands, intertwining their hands. Her hands are wet and warm, almost as warm as a concrete that’s been swallowing all the early afternoon sunshine. But then again, he thinks, maybe it’s just the excitement seeping through his pores, spreading onto his hands, then mixing in with hers. When he shifts his gaze from their hands to the side of her face, his dimples become larger. She’s humming a song ever so quietly, presumably one he’s never heard of, as she rubs the soft web of skin between his thumb and index finger.

When she tries to reposition one of her legs, Harry becomes alarmed. “You okay? Do you need me to move?”

“No, I’m good,” thumb still rubbing his skin delicately. “My knee was getting cold,” her hand must feel warmer now that it’s completely underwater as she hums quietly, presumably at the warm feeling.

He hums and presses a kiss to her head, the wet hair dampening his lips slightly. Licking his lips, his eyes catch the sight of her boobs again and he feels his cock twitch at the sight. They had sex while she was pregnant. Lots of times. He’s always been careful with her but it only intensified during her pregnancy, especially during sex, and anything that involved her body. He loved making her feel good, whether it be sexual; fingering her, eating her sweet cunt out... or non sexual like giving her massages, massaging her swollen feet, helping her shave the areas she can’t reach… he’s always been happy to make her happy. But at the sixth month mark, things had started to shift in the bedroom. Now, Harry doesn’t care if he gets some as long as his heart and soul, his girl and their baby are happy and healthy. He doesn’t mind not waking up to her between his legs, sucking him off like her life depended on it. He’s okay with not having mind blowing sex 24/7 or being able to lift her up, part her legs and fuck her without giving her any warning.

But right now, at this moment, her soft and wet skin resting against his front, and her lower back slightly touching his pubic bone, these are all making it hard to keep his thoughts pure. He knows she can feel it, the growing bulge, by the way she keeps pressing her back further into his front and when he looks down, he sees her mouth curl upwards. Without much thought, he unlinks their fingers and brings them to her neck, gently pushing back a few wet strands of hair. “You’re warm,” he rests his hands on her collarbones. Her skin feels like the warm spot on the bed that she leaves behind on Thursday mornings, leaving Harry no choice but to cuddle into it more and more until he gets sweaty.

She tilts her head back and a fond look appears on her face, features all soft, eyes all sleepy. “You smell like strawberries,” she says, voice all soft, dripping with honey and lullabies and all things soft and good. “I wanna…” she puts her hand on his which are still caressing her collarbones, “…wanna eat youuuu.”

“Did you want strawberries, hm? Why didn’t you tell me earlier, I could pop to the shops and get you some, baby.”

She shakes her head and presses a kiss on his hand, “Ssh, it’s fine, just keep lovin’ on me.”

And he does. Of course he does. He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips, careful not to bend her arm too much, and peppers little kisses on her warm and damp skin. When she lets out a satisfied hum, his other hand travels down to her breasts and caresses one of them, just the upper side of it, careful not to do anything that would make her uncomfortable.

“You like that, baby?” his hand makes its way to her nipple, all hard and swollen, asking for Harry’s attention. “You want more?”

A low moan leaves her parted mouth as Harry keeps rubbing the nipple with his thumb, giving it a gentle squeeze as if he’s just testing the waters, wanting to make sure he’s not hurting her already swollen boobs. As he keeps squeezing and tweaking the hardened nub, he takes a look at her face, sees her eyes all closed and he knows she’s already wet. He knows because he remembers her ob-gyn mentioning the ever-rising oestrogen and progesterone hormone levels during pregnancy and how these can make her feel… well, horny and aroused, at least more than usual. He slowly retracts his other hand from her neck and makes his way down to her slightly parted legs that are barely visible surrounded by the bubbles.

She nods and lifts up her head. When her nose touches his chin, the touch makes her smile. 

“What do you want, baby? Tell me,” he utters, grip tightening on her left thigh. His breath hits her neck and she lets out another hum, her own hand finding itself on his that is placed on her thigh, fingers interlocking immediately.

“Touch me.” 

“Touch you? Mm,” he squeezes the warm, hot flesh, her own fingers curling around his with the movement. “I’m already touching you, sweetheart.”

She takes her hand off of his and brings it up to his chin, fingers curling around it and making contact with his stubble first, then the scar under his chin. From the way she’s touching his face, Harry knows she’s getting frustrated with the game he’s playing. “Harry,”

“Tell me where you want my touch and I’ll give it to you.”

She lets out a soft groan, “Touch my pussy, please. I want it so bad I’m aching for it.”

“Oh baby, look at you,” his ring-free hand travels down her thigh, following the trail of slight fuzz of hair she’s forgotten to shave. “I bet you’re soaked… is your cunt soaked baby?” he asks, her hand gripping his wrist as his hand goes underwater, where her sweet pussy is buried between her legs, and he parts them. “Open wider so I can touch your little clit, baby.”

And she does. She parts her legs as wide as she can considering their position in the tub, and the lazy movement makes gentle waves on the surface, vanilla aroma as thick as ever, swirling in the air. He looks down and a smile appears on his face when he realises he won’t be able to see her pussy since her bump is on the way. Before she started showing, Harry’s hand would easily travel down her body, part her legs and start rubbing her clit while watching his middle finger work the soft, spongy spot. He would see every imperfection and curve of her lower body, thank whoever’s up there for sending her to him, and her, for letting Harry see her at her most vulnerable moments.

Even underwater, he feels her wetness as he drags her juices up to her clit and rubs harder. It’s slippery and warm, making his cock become more and more aware of what’s going on and as he keeps circling her clit, her hold on his wrist tightens. “Harry… God, that feels good.”

He hums and presses a soft kiss to her earlobe, “Yeah? That what you wanted? Me to play with your needy little cunt?” he presses his middle finger harder, applying pressure and she lets out a moan as he brings his finger towards her hole. “Fucked you too many times but y’still so tight, darling. Put a baby in you but you’re still so fuckin’ tight… fuck.”

“More please, give me more.”

“Look at me, let me see your pretty face while I fuck your cunt with m’fingers,” his palm makes contact with her pussy, pressing harder against it as his middle finger works her hole.

She raises her head, looking up at him with tired eyes and parted mouth. It’s all love, he thinks. She loves me. She lets me touch her even when she’s carrying a tiny human inside this belly. She wants this. She wants everything with me. And it actually hits him, for the hundredth time, that yes, she loves him. Her eyes, despite being half closed, touch something inside him. Not just his cock. It goes deeper than that. So deep. The loving and suggestive eyes make him feel all warm and fuzzy, like that one summer afternoon makes him feel, where you don’t have anything to do but lounge on the sofa, legs intertwined with hers and a stupid film playing on the telly. It feels warm. Hot. Familiar. And as he presses the second finger inside her, her arm reaches behind her and touches his hard cock underwater. She touches just the tip. It’s hot, and slippery. She knows he’s oozing precum as she touches the tiny slit.

“Baby…”

“I like your cock. It’s so big and warm in my hands. Always so hard for me,” she whispers as her fingers work his slit, thumb circling around the slippery area.

As she rubs her cock as efficiently as she can, he gets his fingers out of her and begins rubbing her clit, moaning at the spongy feeling as if he’s found a pearl deep inside the ocean. “Does it feel good baby? How’s it feel?”

She moans instead of responding, hand gripping his cock harder and making him hiss at the feeling. She doesn’t continue her movements, probably because of the way her arm is bent, but still holds his cock in her palm, squeezing it from time to time especially when his fingers rub that special spot inside her. His other hand finds her boobs and tweaks one of her nipples, making goosebumps appear on her skin. “God, your tits. So fucking hot. Look how big they’ve gotten baby…” he keeps squeezing her nipple between his thumb and index finger, tugging the nipple and twisting it just so before letting it fall, watching it jiggle. “Fucking gorgeous,” he keeps playing with her nipples while his fingers work her clit, rubbing circles as she keeps letting out little whimpers of joy.

When he sees her struggle with her arm, trying to find a better position for it just so she can give his cock more attention, his hand fall from her boob and grabs her by the wrist, bringing it up to her boob where his hand had been previously. She goes voluntarily, getting the message, and begins kneading her left boob, the nipple getting hard and pointy like clockwork. It’s so hot, the way she keeps playing with the swollen nipple, tweaking and squeezing the nub… it makes him harder than he already is. If she weren’t pregnant, he’d grab her by the waist and pull her closer to his front, press her against his cock just to get more friction. But it’s fine, he thinks. As long as she’s enjoying this, he’ll be more than fine.

“Fuck baby, I wish I could put those tits in my mouth right now. Lick them a little, bite them…” he adds the third finger, and as much as his arm starts hurting, he still keeps fucking into her with his long fingers. “Would you like that sweetheart? Would you want me to bite your little nipples while I played with this wet, juicy cunt, hm?”

She nods and a moan leaves her parted mouth when Harry brings her hot mouth closer to the side of her neck, and licks a long stripe from the salty skin of her neck to her ear, leaving a wet trail behind which he goes back to press open-mouthed kisses to the area. “This makes you wet? Me talking about what I would do to you?”

“Yes yes yes. Oh God- please!”

“You wanna move your hips so bad don’t ya, darling? Wanna ride my fingers, rub your little clit on my palm, hm?” while his fingers are still inside her pussy, now only his index and middle finger, he begins rubbing his palm against her clit. Despite being underwater, he feels the slippery nub inside her pussy make contact with his palm and he groans at the feeling, his palm increasing its movements as he keeps moving it left and right, then up and down. “Such a little slut, baby. Fucked you so good you ended up with a baby inside you but you still want it so bad, don’t you? Yes, look at you… want it so bad. You’re such a whore for me, always want something from Daddy. Always want this little clit to be played with don’t you, baby?”

“I do, God, I do! I love being a slut for you. I love when you fuck my little clit, please- please keep fucking me,” she moans and tries to ride Harry’s palm but fails due to the slightly uncomfortable position. A tear rolls down her left eye, pooling around her nose, and it makes her feel all pathetic and dirty.

Harry’s cock is now standing up against his belly, peaking through the soapy water, and it’s so hard, so fucking hard. The tip is swollen and a beautiful, mouthwatering shade of pink. He wants to reach down and thumb at the tip, maybe rub it a little bit just to get the edge off. But instead, he keeps fucking into her pussy while his mouth is pressed to her ear, alternating between licking and nibbling the soft skin. While sucking her earlobe, his free hand finds her bump and rests there. “My beautiful girl. Always so nice to me. Always so wet, so sweet…”

“I wanna cum,” she breathes, voice all groggy. “Let me cum, please baby, let me cum.”

“Does it hurt? Tell me, does your little clit hurt baby? Am I rubbing it too fast,” his tone is anything but sweet, it’s mocking and intimidating. And yes, it does hurt. The way his wide palm keeps rubbing against her sensitive clit makes her whine as she feels a little uncomfortable down there.

It’s so hard, keeping it up, and holding herself back from coming. She feels the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach but she tries to focus on the tips of her fingers playing with her nipple. She tugs harder, pulling it and then letting it go once again, but it’s too much and never enough at the same time. She needs it. She needs to cum so bad. 

Harry brings his own hand and places it on top of hers on her boob and closes his fingers, making her squeeze harder. “Beautiful tits, baby. So, so fucking beautiful.”

“Harry…”

“Yeah, you like when I admire you? When I compliment your tits?” he smacks his hand on her, making her moan at the stinging sensation. “You know what’s comin’ right, sweetheart? You just know it, you dirty fucking slut… take your hand off. Come on,” he grabs her hand and places it on her thigh. He then travels his hand up to her boob, caressing the bump on the way, all gentle and loving, and then slaps her boob making her a whining mess against him. “Did it hurt?” he whispers, his breath tickling her ear, and he gives her nipple a hard squeeze.

“Mhm, yeah.”

“Good girl… want me to hurt you a bit more?” he kisses her ear and brings his hand to her other boob without waiting for her response because he knows what she would say. He just knows how bad she wants to be slapped even when pregnant. 

When another smack is met with her other boob, her left leg twitches in the water, his inner thigh rubbing against Harry’s wrist that is still between her parted legs. “Want me to rub your cunt some more? To make you cum?”

She lets out a sigh and turns her head to the side, Harry catching her lips as if he’s been waiting for this moment. It’s messy, hot, and wet. It’s dirty. The way he captures her bottom lip with his teeth and pulls it, then sucks it into his mouth… it’s so dirty. He knows she’s tired, could cum any minute, but he appreciates how she presses open mouth kisses to his equally parted lips, the inside of her top lip catching a portion of the stubble on his upper lip which she decides to lick and press her open mouth harder. Wet sounds fill the room as Harry bites her bottom lip first, and then travels his lips down to her chin, sucking her sweaty flesh into his mouth.

She whimpers, hand falling to her bump, and Harry’s immediately follows. “Can I cum? I wanna cum so bad,” her legs start shaking visibly and Harry uses their intertwined hands to rub her belly, appreciating the hard bump under their hands. “Please, I want to cum so bad, so so bad. I can’t take it, it hurts.”

“Does it? How bad does it hurt, baby?”

“So fucking bad, Harry, please let me cum,” she practically wails and squeeze their fingers.

The candle that’s been sitting in the corner seems to be on borrowed time as it radiates the tiniest amount of light and Harry presses his lips to her warm neck, sucking the flesh while his hand works her clit, eyes never leaving the smoke that is dancing above the flame. And finally, she lets go, her other hand coming up to his neck and trying to hold on to it. It’s hypnotising, seeing her come undone despite not being able to see what his hand had been doing. It feels good, being the one who makes her feel like this; unguarded and dirty.

After that, a comfortable silence falls upon them as she tries to catch her breath, bump rising and falling with every breath she takes.

She looks up, eyes all red and watery, and a lazy smile appears on her mouth. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Mm, I like your face. Let me look at you,” he grins, resting his forehead on top of her head. “Smell nice.”

“I use shampoo on Fridays.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of here, darling,” he clears his throat to get rid of the hoarseness. “You feeling okay? How’s your back?”

“I’m good, don’t worry about me. I needed that. I can’t enjoy my own fingers anymore, I wish she was here already.”

He laughs but his eyes widen after a few seconds, hands falling from her shoulders to his sides, into the water. “She? It’s a girl? She’s a she? You- I thought it was gonna be a surprise, what the fuck babe?”

“I’m sorry! It’s not my fault, she told me by accident on my last visit!”

“You- I,” he waves his hands around and a few droplets land on her nose making her flinch. “I’m telling your mum.”

She gasps, “You wouldn’t! If I see another pink onesie I’m eating the baby. I’ll actually eat it.”

“I’ll eat you! Can’t believe you couldn’t hold it in.”

She sighs, hands going to her belly. “Help me get out and I might let you eat me some more.”

Kiss Me

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Kiss Me

Words: 1593

Summary: Charlie’s back from Hawaii and providing social media with all the content.

Requested: No. I had to write this after that video of Charlie singing in the bath tub…

TW: Implications of sexual intercourse, mostly the reader getting frustrated by Charlie being Charlie.

Author’s notes: I just wanted to write a bit of domesticity between Charlie and the reader, and thanks to all the content we got from him the other day, this kinda just fell into place. I hope you like it. - also, a little shout out to @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ because she’s been giving us some AMAZING fic content, and she isn’t feeling to great today. I hope this helps a little, Nele.

Three weeks without being able to see Charlie in the flesh had been hard. Yeah, he’d posted photos and videos while he’d been away in Hawaii with his castmates and Kenny, but it wasn’t the same. Neither were the intimate FaceTime calls the two of you shared pretty much daily. Nothing beat being able to wrap your arms around him, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, to smell the scent that was intrinsically him. Yeah, you’d missed him like crazy.

Checking your watch, again, before checking the arrivals board you leaned up against the wall behind you waiting for his flight to disembark the plane and make their way through to the arrivals lounge. You scrolled through your Instagram feed, checking out what people had been tagging your boyfriend in, amazed by the talent of his fans. More than anything, you wanted to share them, but as no one knew about you, you couldn’t. It was a good thing you ran a semi-popular fan account that you could do it all from, and your story was full of amazing artwork and song covers. As far as your followers knew, you were just another fangirl.

You were so engrossed in the pictures on the screen in front of you, you didn’t hear Charlie approaching you, didn’t know he was right in front of you until grabbed you by the waist, making you squeal in shock and almost drop your phone.

“Oh my God, Charlie. You scared me.” You laughed, flinging your arms around his neck, breathing him in. 

“I would say I’m sorry, but my mom taught me that lying makes my nose grow and my tongue fall out. And I don’t think you’d want that.” He teased after placing a quick kiss on your lips.

“Well, no. But it would be quieter around the apartment.” Your response made him pull away and pout. “What? Am I lying?”

“I thought you loved me.” If he hadn’t been grinning like the loveable idiot he was, you would have believed his offended tone of voice was real.

“Oh, you know I adore you. Shall we go home?” as you slide your phone into your pocket, you take hold of his hand and lead him out to the parking lot where his car is parked. “Do you want to drive, or shall I?”

“You, please.” You know he’s not the most confident of flyers, so you understand his need to chill for a while before he’s at full Gillespie – a term you coined not long after the two of you met and he was his usual ‘constant overdrive’ self. He was always moving, doing something with his hands, or exploring. Charlie Gillespie didn’t do bored or sitting still very well.

Once you’re back at the apartment you share Charlie sets about unpacking his case, dumping his clothes in the washer straight away. It always strikes you how domestic he is. You’re not the best at remembering to do stuff, but he always manages to catch what you miss.

“Have you got to go to work?” he asks you as he leans up against the counter while you prepare some food for the two of you. You work at a TV studio, but the show you work on is on a break so your hours are more flexible than they would be normally.

“No, I’m all yours for a couple of days.” Your words make him grin before he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Your kiss had led to more of an intimate reunion which led you both to your bedroom for most of the day. By the time you emerged, it was almost dark outside and the food you’d been preparing needed to be tossed in the trash. You couldn’t complain though because you’d been able to show Charlie just how much you’d missed him.

___________________________

After the insanity that was Charlie’s delivery from and subsequent live with Madison’s dad, you now had a billboard poster partially unfolded in your bedroom. Naturally, because he was often a child in an adult’s body, Charlie had been like a kid at Christmas when he’d been allowed to open the box. Off camera, he’d been able to slide the parcel that had been included with your name on – Mr. Reyes had so kindly included a hoodie for you which you were now wearing while you stared at the space around you in horror.

“Charlie, babe. Did you have to open it in here? You heard what he said, it took up their entire back yard. Our bedroom is like a shoebox.”

“Yeah, I kinda got carried away. Sorry.” Leaning over, so he wouldn’t rip the poster, he planted a kiss on your lips.

“Well, don’t expect me to help you fold it back up.” With a grin, you turned on your heel and flounced out of the room to post screenshots from the live to your fan account. Only Charlie knew about it and had followed you early on. Eventually, after hearing him swearing and falling over, you went in and helped him fold the damn thing up. It took a ridiculous amount of time, but it was soon back in the box ready to be transported to Canada in Charlie’s car when the both of you went back for Christmas.

Exhausted, you flopped onto the couch and decided to order in some food rather than cook. But first, you took a sweaty selfie and sent it to Madison.

I love your dad, but please don’t let him send us anymore billboard posters. It took two hours to get it back in the damn box.

Her reply was instant.

Dad never expected him to unfold the thing. Love to you both. She wasn’t wrong. Only the man you adored would have ever done that, and live on the internet too. Shaking your head, you ordered pizza.

“Babe, I need a favor.” Charlie spoke as he tidied up the pizza boxes and soda cans from your dinner, making you groan. You were still exhausted, and now a little bloated. All you wanted to do was to slouch and watch a movie, curled up in Charlie’s arms.

“What?”

“Help me set up my phone in the bathroom.” That got your attention.

“Er… why?”

He scratched at the back of his head, a sheepish look on his beautiful face that was covered in the stubble you adored.

“I want to do a couple of videos.”

“And you have to do it now? Haven’t you done enough today?” you close your eyes as you lean your head on the back of the couch. You sense Charlie standing behind you, and when you open your eyes again, he’s looking down at you, the puppy dog eyes in force. Even upside down, he knows what they do to you. “I hate you, did you know that?” you tell him affectionately. With a grin, he bends over and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

“I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” With a chuckle, he runs his jaw along yours, knowing the roughness of his stubble is a huge turn on for you.

“Yes, yes you will.” You pull away and stand up. The sooner you get this done, the sooner the two of you can snuggle, and the sooner you can claim your owed favor.

Grabbing the car keys from the sideboard, you head down to the car to get the phone holder. You figure the suction cup works on the car’s windscreen, so should work on the glass screen. When you get back into the apartment, Charlie’s changed clothes and has his guitar in his hand.

“Remind me why you can’t do this from the couch?” you ask, walking into the bathroom. It’s tiny and you know Charlie’s going to regret his decision, but when he mumbles about acoustics you keep your mouth shut. Trying to change his mind when it’s made up is nigh on impossible.

You manage to secure the phone holder to the shower screen you’d cleaned that morning, pull it across the tub, and leave the small space.

“All ready for you, maestro.” You call out as you enter the lounge. Charlie stands up, kisses you and disappears into the bathroom. You fully plan on putting the TV on, choosing a random Hallmark Christmas movie to watch, and wait for him to finish, but when you hear his clear voice singing what he knows is one of your favorite Ed Sheeran songs, you can help but go and stand at the end of the tub and watch him morph from Charlie your doofus boyfriend to Charlie the star.

You watch him, with a smile on your face, as he records a video for his Instagram reel, messing it up a couple of times and having to restart a few times, making you laugh.

“If you can’t be quiet, you’re gonna have to leave.” He scolds you without any anger in his voice.

“I’ll behave. For now.” You wink at him as he starts to record again. Once he’s done, he says he wants to do one more, slightly longer for his Tiktok account.

“Last try, because my leg’s falling asleep.” He speaks into the camera once it’s recording.

I’m in love now

Kiss me like you wanna be loved

Wanna be loved, wanna be loved,

Wanna be loved, yeah

As he sings, he looks up, catching your eye and smiling. In that moment, you fall in love with him all over again.

.

.

.

.

.

Taglist: - if you want to be added, please send me an ask, just in case I happen to miss any comments

@dream-a-little-bigger-x​​ @calamitykaty​​ @crybabyddl​​ @xplrreylo​​ @morganayennefertyrell​​ @lovesanimals​​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​​ @echocharm17618​​ @kinda-really-lost​ @n0wornever​ @all-in-fangirl​ @5sosmukefan​

Show Me the Foothold From Which I Can Climb [Part One]

Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Request: i saw that your requests were open and i wanted to ask if you could do something for billie x reader, i LOVED your other one. -requested by anon

Warnings: Nothing yet, except minor character death, but it will get VERY heavy later on. (Future TW include: addiction, alcoholism, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts.)

A/N: I’ve spent too long working on this, so I decided to break it up into parts and post it instead of going back over the same scenes again and again. I’m not sure how many parts it will be. Probably three or four. A big thank you to @lucyintheskywithxanax​ as usual for being my plastic duck. You are The Best (no, really, you are). ❤

Song: Mountain at My Gates by FOALS. Also mentioned is I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.

“Let’s take five minutes, okay? Sorry, everyone, they’re being stubborn today.” Billie smiles apologetically at the camera crew and the sight of it alone is enough to ease the mounting frustration in the room. Shoulders relax and tension melts away as if the atmosphere hadn’t been stifling just moments before. You call it ‘The Billie Effect.’

“Five minutes and we’ll try again,” the director agrees, giving the crew the go-ahead to take a break. There’s a spattering of pleased murmurs before everyone uses the opportunity to disperse around the house or go outside for some fresh air.

You adjust the camera on your shoulder and watch as the director walks up to Billie, his hands moving in animated gestures as he speaks. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can imagine. The long day has not made him any more pleasant to be around. The smile on Billie’s lips is charming as she attempts to sooth his ruffled feathers. It only takes a moment, one hand resting on his shoulder to make the interaction seem more intimate than it is, before he turns away from her with a satisfied expression that makes something inside you tug unpleasantly. Once he turns away from her, Billie’s bright expression falls and her brows pinch together. 

You wait for him to walk away before easing up to her side, eyeing his back as the distance between you grows. “Was he giving you trouble?”

“He’s the director of the show, Y/N,” she points out and when you turn to her, you see that her smile has returned, beautiful and real and just for you. Your heart seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

You shrug the shoulder not currently occupied by a camera. “Yeah, well, without you there wouldn’t be a show,” you remind her, annoyance clear in your tone.

Billie laughs, low and husky. “Easy, tiger.” She wraps a hand around your bicep and runs her thumb along the edge of your shirt sleeve, barely dancing across your bare skin and shooting tingles up your spine.  “Everyone has their part to play, even him.”

You roll your eyes. “It’d be easier if he played his part somewhere else,” you mutter.

She grins, her big brown eyes dancing with amusement. You watch that familiar teasing glint bleed into them like wine stains into a beige carpet.  “Careful there, sweetheart. I’m starting to get the impression that you care about me.”

“And I’m starting to get the impression that you want me to care about you,” you retort playfully, watching the pleased smile morph her beautiful face into something soft and sweet. No one gets to see her like this. No one but you. That smile only lasts a second before her shoulders tense, just barely, just enough for you to notice. Her gaze flicks to the side. You’ve been around long enough to know that she’s feeling or seeing something you can’t. Your voice softens into a soothing tone. “Everything okay, pretty woman?” 

Billie startles, her grip tightening on your arm as she steadies herself before she flashes you a comforting smile. “Just fine, sweetheart.” She raises a slender hand and with one long acrylic nail extended, points to a spot in front of you both. “I can feel them right here, but they won’t come out.”

You both look at the space like your combined staring power will overwhelm the spirits and force them to reveal themselves. You don’t realize how close you’ve drifted to one another until you go to nudge her shoulder with your own. “They will,” you say. 

The darkness in her eyes eases at the conviction in your tone. She raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?” she asks. “We’ve been here for eight hours and have nothing to show for it.”

You resist the urge to move a wayward curl back behind her ear.  “You’re Billie Dean Howard. No one can resist you.”

Her smile turns sly. “Not even you?”

You turn to face her and feel your heart stutter. She’s already looking at you, her eyes warm and tender. “Not even me,” you finally say, your tone leaving no doubt that you are dead serious. The space between you is so small your noses would brush if you tipped forward. There’s a split second where you think you might kiss her. If you weren’t in the middle of a haunted house surrounded by your coworkers, if you were alone, and if she was looking at you like she is right now, maybe you would lean in and wipe that sly smile from her face with your lips. 

“You ready, Billie?” A masculine voice startles you both out of the moment causing you to jerk away and take a step back from each other. Billie is elegant and composed as usual, but your heart thunders in your chest like you are a storm splitting open the sky. You glance at her lips. Had she been leaning in too? 

Billie gives the director a nod before turning back to you. The intensity hasn’t left her eyes. You search them for a moment, find the sincerity there and anchor to it with your heart. A slow grin spreads across your face and you nod to the starting marker on the floor. “Come on, pretty woman. I promise to get your good angle.”

She scoffs, an amused expression lighting up her face. “You always get my good angle.”

“It’s not the only thing I plan on getting,” you flirt. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll prove it to you later.”

Billie laughs and tosses her wavy curls back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweet thing,” she purrs, trailing her fingertips along your shoulders as she passes behind you.

You watch her go and know your expression must be lovestruck. Her presence always makes you feel weightless, a bird’s wayward feather in free fall. You think you might be able to float to the ceiling if you tried.

“You don’t really believe in this bullshit, do you?” a voice asks over your shoulder. You glance behind you to see your new assistant standing there looking perplexed and bored.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting the camera on your shoulder. “Why are you working here if you don’t believe it?”

He shrugs, following you to the mark and standing behind you. “Needed the experience,” he says simply.

You look into the viewfinder, adjusting the angle and shuffling until the sunlight streaming in from the living room window carves highlights into Billie’s cheekbones. She looks like a marble sculpture, like she belongs in the Louvre and not this haunted house in southern California, like she will be cemented in time, beautiful and endless. “Stick around,” you tell him. You pull back, look over the top of the camera, and lock eyes with Billie from across the room. “She’ll get them to show. She always does.” 

--

“Holy shit.” Your assistant's voice comes out in a breathy whisper, barely audible over the rattling sound of wheels rolling along the pavement.

You grin but resist the urge to snicker, because you’ve been there before. Skeptical and unsure, drawn to Billie of course, in awe of her smile, but not a believer in anything you couldn’t physically see. Then she had brought a derelict house to life with light that was not natural and shadows that liked to play pretend and you had watched her speak to someone whose presence you couldn’t even feel. That moment had changed you. 

Once upon a time, you had been so very small and fearful of the things you did not understand. Locked in your castle and warned away from the room at the end of the hall, you were protected, but sheltered, and your world had been so very small along with you. Until one day, you met a princess with golden hair and big brown eyes, who was kind and good and could see things you could not. 

The princess had taken you by the hand and led you to the end of the hall where she cracked the door open so that you could take a peek into the room you were not allowed in. Inside that room was a darkness and in that darkness was a glimmer of something bigger than you. You’d tugged at her hand to ward her away from the things you feared, but she stood tall and faced the darkness head on.

“Don’t be scared,” she’d said. The princess turned on a light - you think it came from within her - and the darkness shrank back, twisting into shadows that held out their spindly arms but could not reach you no matter how hard they tried. She looked at you and she smiled. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised and you believed her. You were a mountain and you were not afraid of anything. 

“You’ll get used to it,” you say, reaching the studio van and gesturing for him to help you load the equipment cases inside. 

He doesn’t look like he believes you. In fact, he looks like he might lose his lunch right there on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t be the first who couldn’t handle a glimpse of the other side. Ignoring it won’t make it go away, but you don’t say that. Instead, you latch the doors behind you, bid him goodnight, and meander down the sidewalk in the direction of your car. 

You watch the van’s tail lights disappear around the bend for only a moment before Billie’s soul inevitably calls to yours and you turn to look for her. She’s still standing on the front porch speaking with the homeowners. Not surprising. Billie hates to leave a job half finished. She nods her head empathetically, places a hand on the man’s arm, and says something charming no doubt. The couple laughs in response, just as you knew they would. No one can resist Billie Dean Howard. You lean back against the hood of your car, tuck your hands into your pockets, and wait.

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes later, she struts toward you like she’s on the red carpet and not a cracked, chalk-covered sidewalk in the middle of the suburbs. Your heart flounders in your chest like a fish on the deck of a boat and you wonder if you will always be this helpless when faced with her presence. “Hey, pretty woman.” You nod to the road behind you. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“And where would you be taking me on a Friday night?” Even across the distance, you can see the mischievousness in her expression. Billie loves to play games, and you are more than happy to indulge her.  

You reach in your pocket for your keys, absentmindedly playing with them as you grin. “Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Try again.”

Billie slows to a stop in front of you and tilts her head, eyeing you with a barely concealed smile. She tries to look stern but the glitter in her eyes betrays her. “What are you up to, Y/N?”  

You shrug. “I’m just keeping my promises,” you say simply. You reach over and open the passenger door for her with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”

--

“We’re here,” you announce, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind you. 

Billie follows you at a leisurely pace, her head turning this way and that as she takes in your surroundings. She looks out of place up here, like a beautiful porcelain doll left in the middle of the woods. She is your diamond in the rough, your supernova in an empty sky. She burns. You wonder if it’s for you.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” you respond, already knowing the question that will leave her lips.

“Why have you brought me to a cliff?”

You laugh and hold out your hand. “Do you trust me?” you ask, serious despite the light tone to your voice.

Billie does not hesitate. She sets her well manicured hand in yours, looks you in the eyes, and says, “Always.”

You have to swallow the lump in your throat to respond. “Good, because I was going to drive us both off the cliff, but there’s a concrete barrier in the way. We’ll have to go on foot and just jump off instead.”

She chuckles, low and throaty in just the way that makes your spine shiver. “Oh, darling. I’m going to need some incentives if you’re going to make me do all that in these shoes.”

You smirk and, mindful of her expensive heels, begin leading her down the smoothest path to the cliffside. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“I’m sure you can,” she purrs. Her hand in yours is soft and warm. You have held hands before. Large hands, small hands, the hands of those you love and hands from a distant past that you haven’t held for a very long time but still remember. There had been fingers wrapped around a thumb bigger than yours, hands clasped palm to palm as your brother helped you cross the street, pinkies interlocked to cement promises that would surpass time and age, fingertips pressed together beneath the table in the library with the girl who always laughed at your jokes. They were not like this. Holding this hand felt like coming home. Like you were meant to hold it. Like you have held it before.

As you near the aforementioned barrier, you turn to her with an impish smile. “Close your eyes,” you say.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t usually do that on the first date.”

Your heart jumps, excited, happy, hopeful. “You let me bring you to a cliff on our first date?” you ask, playfully appalled.

Her smile grows fond. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

You bite your lip to quell the grin forming and tug at her hand. “Come on, the incentive lies in what will happen after you close them.”

“Well, how can I resist when you put it like that?” she teases, shutting her eyes and trusting you to guide her the rest of the way. You do, one careful step at a time, until you are near the edge. You look out over the view and feel your soul untangle itself from your heart, but it does not leave, not yet. It wants to be free, but it doesn’t want to go alone. 

You glance back at her, just a moment, maybe just to check that she’s real and not a vision that lives in your head. “You can open them now.”

She does. 

From a bluff overlooking the city, you watch as the sun sets, a jeweled crown that settles itself on the head of a skyscraper, radiant and eternal. Just for her. For the princess in your fairy tale. Almost as if you had willed it into existence all by yourself, lights start appearing in the city. Streetlamps, headlights, lights from offices and businesses and apartments; all of them blink on, one tiny speck at a time, until the whole of Los Angeles is alight with stars of their own making.

You don’t say anything and neither does she. You don’t need to. Billie’s fingers slide between your own, more intimate than any night you’ve spent in bed with another woman, and she squeezes. Just once. Your soul follows the invisible thread between your hearts and entangles itself with hers. They float away together like flower petals on a summer breeze.

You turn to her as she looks off into the horizon. Your eyes follow the shape of her face, from her forehead to the gentle slope of her nose, the curves of her mouth to the jut of her chin, and you wish you were tracing it with your fingertip instead. The setting sun casts a glow to her hair turning it different shades of molten gold and pink and you think you have never seen a more beautiful sight.

When she turns to face you, your eyes meet and your noses touch, much like they almost had earlier that day. Only this time there is nothing stopping you from closing the distance. Your breath hitches, your heart thunders, you are a feather in free fall, but you will not be afraid. Billie would never hurt you. Not your protector, your safety, your light.

You tangle your free hand into her hair and pull her close enough to brush your mouth against hers. It’s soft and tender, flowers grazing in a moonlit meadow, the gentle fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, the ocean lapping against the sand on a lazy, summer night. 

Her other hand reaches for your cheek, pulling you closer. You melt against her, breathe her in, think maybe this is what happiness is, maybe this is what eternity would feel like as long as you are with her. She sighs into your mouth like she has been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Your soul ignites as her nails graze your cheek, gentle and revering, like you are precious, like you are important, like you are the flower petal that may float away.  Maybe you fell in love with her then. Maybe you have been in love with her all this time.

--

“Hello?”

“Hi there, sweet thing. Where are you?” Your tired ears perk up at the sound of Billie’s voice, a smile lighting up your face as if it had been waiting just for her. 

“Hi, baby. I’m at the studio going over the footage from yesterday. Are you still at the interview?” You glance out of the nearby window. Night has already fallen and rain pelts against the glass like a swarm of angry bees. “It’s late.”

“It ran over by two hours,” she explains, her voice tight and clipped. 

You furrow your brows. “You don’t sound happy about that. Did it not go well?”

You hear the flick of a lighter. “If you call four hours of talking in circles ‘well’ then one would say it went perfectly fine.” She sighs. “Maybe I was just impatient.” 

“For what?”

“For you.” Your breath catches in your throat. You almost trip going down the stairs but manage to catch yourself in time. “Y/N?” 

“I’m here,” you manage to say. 

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I’d like to see you tonight. What do you think?”

Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you finally reach the main lobby and come to a stop in front of the studio doors. Thunder rumbles through the building, shaking the glass and seeming to bounce off empty corners to echo back at you. You can barely see the street behind the sheets of rain. Maybe Hell has finally frozen over and Los Angeles is in the midst of a hurricane. “I’m thinking it’s the perfect night for a movie and takeout,” you say once you’ve gained control of your vocal chords.

Billie exhales. The sound of it wavers; she’s smiling. “My place is closer; is that alright with you?”

“Yes, of course,” you respond and hope you don’t sound too eager. Even though you are. Even though all you want is to see her look at you with that exasperated fondness that makes your heart melt. You want her to push you away, to laugh, to pull you right back in before she kisses you senseless. You just want to be home.

“Good,” she pauses and you can picture that fond expression in your head as clearly as if it were right in front of you. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, trying and failing to soothe your expression into something calm and collected. “See you soon, pretty woman.” You don’t even bother putting on your jacket before dashing outside into the torrential downpour.

--

Traffic in Los Angeles is always congested at best no matter where you go. Cars, taxis, and buses stay bumper to bumper until you get further away from the city and closer to Billie’s suburbs. The rain makes it hard to see the road, let alone other cars, so you keep your hands tightly gripped around the wheel and maintain a steady pace as you follow the bright yellow shape of the taxi in front of you.

Even with the storm raging around you, you feel invincible, like nothing can touch you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, lightning cracks the air, and rain pelts the roof of your car like lead bullets, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is a paradise and it is so quiet. Your thumbs tap rhythmically against the steering wheel as you sing along to the song on the radio.

“But I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more-”

You let the music sweep its way into your very being, washing over you and bringing with it a sense of peace. It makes you think of Billie and you realize you’re never not thinking of Billie, not anymore, not since she planted herself in your earth and lit up your night sky with a blazing sun. It feels like she has intertwined herself so closely to you, to your heart, to your soul, to your spirit, that you are no longer sure where she ends and you begin.

Captivated by her smile, enraptured by her kind heart, drawn to the passion that runs through her veins in lieu of blood, lovesick, lovestruck, love, love, love. Every little memory you make with her anew blinks on like a star in a sunset painted cityscape and you want to point your finger in its direction and tell her the tale of how a princess - with light embedded in her soul - saved you from your castle.

You’re thinking about her still when you notice the taxi peel off into the next lane. You don’t see him until it’s too late. 

A boy on a bike.

He darts in front of you out of nowhere or maybe he had been there the whole time and you just couldn’t see him in the rain. You see him now. Time slows down to a crawl - or maybe it never slowed at all; maybe you have been on the other side all along. 

He’s wearing a blue jacket. You notice it as your foot slams on the breaks, as you twist the steering wheel to the side in an attempt to swerve around him, as your car’s tires screech and slip against the rain-soaked street. It’s navy blue. You hear the sickening thump it makes when you hit him, feel the car jerk as you crash into a utility pole and the airbag knocks you in the face hard enough to make you black out for a second. Maybe two. You’re not sure. All you know is that when you finally summon the strength to open your eyes again, you’re assaulted by the smell of chemicals from the deployed airbag that burn your nostrils when you breathe. Your body aches from where you slammed against the seat belt on impact, your face, your chest - your heart, you think - but you can barely feel it. You are numb.

You blink rapidly to clear the dark spots from your vision, but all it does is serve to make you dizzy. Your head spins, feeling much like the inside of a snow globe after it’s been shaken up by an overeager child. With panic churning  inside you like a hurricane, you claw at your seat belt. Your fingers are shaking and clumsy and they don’t seem to work anymore and sobs well in your throat because this can’t be happening. It must be a dream, a nightmare, anything but what you know deep in your heart that it is: reality, the darkness whispers. A tendril of it slithers through the keyhole. It watches you. It is grinning.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter, or at least you think you do, before throwing open your door with one hand and scrabbling for the seat belt latch with the other. You manage to hit the release and go careening out of the car, landing on your hands and knees with a smack against the wet pavement. 

A man runs up to you, clutching your arm and pulling you up with large, gentle hands. Rain falls into your already blurry eyes, clinging to your eyelashes like tears as you look up at him and notice he has a full, greying beard. His mouth is moving but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

You look away from him, searching, wild, crazed. Maybe you are crazy. Maybe you are a lunatic. A crowd has half formed on the side of the road, sporting parkas and umbrellas. Like anxious birds, they flutter around a slumped figure laying unnaturally still on the ground. It wears a navy blue jacket.

You push the man away, stumbling on shaking legs like a newborn foal as you attempt to cross the distance between you and the flock of people. Dread fills your bones, cements itself as a lump in your throat, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Someone on their cell phone tries to reach out to you, but you shove their hands aside. Rain soaks the thin cloth of your t-shirt causing the material to cling to you like a second skin. But you can’t feel it. You can’t feel anything. 

You fall to your knees before him, landing with a splash in the puddle beneath you. Your mouth moves rapidly as you speak words you can’t hear: a chant, a plea, a prayer. Wake up! Come on, kid, just wake up. I’m so sorry. Please, wake up. All my fault, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You beg - to gods, to monsters, to spirits and ghosts and the nature of things - but it falls on deaf ears as if you had never spoken at all. You feel for his pulse, for a sign, for anything. There is none. The darkness laughs. It is muffled behind the door but you can feel the vibrations of it running through your veins.

You hunch over yourself, fingers clutching at the wet pavement as you dig your nails into the asphalt, wanting to crawl inside your own body like a cocoon, wanting to feel something, anything. The ringing in your ears is so loud, so intense it fills your head and drowns out every other sound. The woman who has knelt down at your side and put her hand on your shoulder as she tries to speak to you. The thunder you can feel rumbling through the earth beneath your palms. The sirens from emergency vehicles you only know are there because the red and blue flashing lights cast a glow on his motionless form. You have never known another sound. It rings and rings and rings. It is endless.

You want to close your eyes. You want to block it all out, pretend that you’re still in your car, that you’re almost to Billie’s suburbs, and any minute now, she will greet you at the door. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. Her eyes would glimmer and she would smile, beautiful, radiant, the light inside of her too bright for her to do anything but shine.

Billie- Your mind latches onto her like she is your buoy in the middle of the sea, and just the thought of her will keep you afloat even as the darkness uses its spindly arms to pull you under the surface. You reach for the invisible thread that binds your hearts together and, insistently, desperately, you tug. I’m so sorry, Billie. You force your eyes open. You force yourself to look at him. At the boy you did not see.

His bike lays in the middle of the road, bent and misshapen. The back wheel is still spinning.

From your open car door comes the notes of a familiar song. It echoes through the night, beneath the steady beat of the rain and the high, rumbling noise of thunder, and it is not beautiful anymore. It is haunting.

“Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles-”

You can’t feel anything.

“-to fall down at your door.”

--

“Will sh- b- okay?”

“Mil- conc-ssi-n, sh- in shock-”

“Try -alking t- he-”

Voices echo around you, so muffled and distorted that you can’t understand what they’re saying. They sound like they’re coming from very far away and the effort it would take to listen far outweighs the energy you have. You feel drained, like you’re sitting in the bottom of a fish bowl and the words bounce off the water to somewhere else. Not to you.

Not until you hear her.

“Look at me, Y/N.” Hands cup your face in a gentle hold, fingers tenderly stroking the skin of your cheekbones. The voice is so familiar. It cuts through the haze fogging your mind and you reach out as if to embrace it, to let it crawl inside your heart and warm you from the inside out. “Come on, sweetheart. Look at me.” 

You blink. Billie? Your eyelashes flutter as the world gradually comes into focus, no longer a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. With it, comes an angel. An angel with sunset hair and glimmering eyes and a kind smile. “Pretty woman?” you ask, and you wonder what happened to make your voice sound so raw and broken.

“There’s my girl,” she murmurs, ducking her head to meet your eyes. “Focus on me, baby.” You try to, holding her gaze like you would rather drown in it than face the demon you can feel hovering over your shoulder. She has a furrow between her brows, the one she has only when she’s truly upset. Why is she so sad? Why are you?

“Billie, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, but you can’t remember why you’re sorry. Only that you should be. Only that your heart aches, you smell like chemicals, and it feels like you just went a round with a boxer and lost. But it’s all a blur and you can’t remember why.

Billie reaches up and brushes your hair back away from your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.” Her smile is forced and the implication behind it only stirs the panic forming inside you until it spins so fast that it feels like you’re standing in the eye of a hurricane. 

“Ma’am, we need to speak with her,” a voice speaks suddenly from the doorway and you snap out of your trance, out of the safety of Billie’s gaze, and find yourself in a hospital room, in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm. The walls are a stark white that hurts your eyes to look at. It’s bare and sterile and impersonal; it feels like you just woke up in a padded cell where you are gradually losing your mind.

Billie looks over her shoulder; you follow her gaze and feel your stomach drop unpleasantly. A police officer stands just inside the door. You become suddenly aware of a bone deep chill pervading your entire body. There’s a blanket pulled up around your shoulders but you can’t seem to stop shaking. Why can’t you stop shaking? 

“No,  you don’t,” Billie says, the words tense as they leave her lips. The edges are sharp and you know if you were to reach out, they would cut you just as easily as a blade. You have never heard her sound like that before. “She’s still in shock. She won’t be able to tell you anything you haven’t already figured out from the cameras.” Your mind falters. The hurricane intensifies, becoming a swirling mass of wind and rain. It threatens to swallow you whole.

The officer steps into the room and raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just procedure, Ms. Howard.”

Billie frowns, standing up and sliding in front of you as if to shield you from him. “I don’t give a damn. You could drag the Dalai Lama down here for all I care. I’m not letting you speak to her until she knows what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m not the Dalai Lama, I’m an officer of the law and if she’s responsive, I need to take her statement,” he insists, not unkindly. He looks over Billie’s shoulder at you, his expression apprehensive and sorrowful. Something is very, very wrong. You can feel it in your bones. The hurricane lashes out at you, angry and scared. You wonder if the hurricane is you.

Their argument drifts to the background as flashing lights from the window capture your attention. Blue and red. Familiar. The colors start to blur as rain hits the glass pane and you can only watch, mesmerized, as one droplet becomes two and three and then thunder - it rumbles so loudly it startles you and your heart leaps, pounds, races in your chest - and, suddenly, as if it had been this way all along, the hurricane is not inside of you anymore. It is all around you, surrounding you, and you are stuck within, caged like a bird, trapped like a ghost in a haunted house, you are a lunatic in a padded white cell. 

And then you remember.

Rain. So much rain. Sheets of it that slick the pavement and thunder that shakes the earth. But you are going to Billie’s, where you are warm, where you are safe, and a little rain is worth it to see the look on her face when she opens the door and sees you standing on the other side. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. And she would smile and she would shine and you would walk among the clouds like a god. 

Something inside you stirs, something troubled, something bigger than you. An exiled giant chained to the mountain pass, a forgotten creature locked in the depths of Hell, the darkness behind the door. For the first time since meeting Billie, you feel afraid.

A taxi, bright yellow, the color of sunflowers and sunshine and that knitted sweater Billie likes to wear in the summer. It veers off; you watch it float away, along the yellow brick road, maybe into the sky to Neverland, down the rabbit hole, it goes and goes and goes. And then a boy and a navy blue jacket and a bike with a misshapen wheel that never stopped turning.

The darkness pushes at the locked door, snaking it’s spindly arms along the edge, seeking for a way out, searching for a weakness. You can feel its eyes on you, watching you through the keyhole. 

A mistake, you didn’t see him, you tried to stop, to swerve, you tried to do anything else but what you did, it’s your fault and you know it, you did this. The road was so wet, you could feel it beneath your hands, flashing lights illuminate his body, blue and red, someone touches your shoulder but you can’t feel it, wake up, wake up, unnaturally still, a song, your ears ring, it’s endless, still, so still, blue and red, it casts a glow to his face, but I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk- You dig your nails into the pavement. You can’t feel anything. 

You did this. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

You can feel it the moment the lock shatters and the door swings open. It feels inevitable, like you have been staring into the abyss this whole time, and it has finally decided to swallow you whole. The darkness slithers out and you watch it with bated breath. You have never known a fear this great, the moment you stared into the darkness and didn’t have your light. 

Your soul calls for Billie, screams out her name, begs and pleads for her to protect you like she always said she would. You reach out for the invisible thread tethered between you and you tug and tug and tug but your hands are slippery and you can’t hold on. Your fingers brush her sleeve. 

The darkness seems to smile. You can feel its amusement, its maliciousness, its cruelty. You are frozen in place as it moves towards you, ensnared like a rabbit in a trap, you are a lunatic in a padded cell. It’s spindly arms reach out. I’m so sorry, Billie. It embraces you like an old friend.  

You let it.

touch me if you dare || jason todd

Summary: Jason and fem!reader starts a friends-with-benefits relationship after a dirty joke.

Content: Smut with a little fluff and innocence kink.

Word count: 1646

Half-hour had passed since Jason came back from Bruce's office and he was still rage trembling. He didn't want to say what they discussed, he just deep breathed while driving, his knuckles white.

You knew him since you started working in the Gotham Public Library two years ago, but the talking that led to this friendship was still pretty recent. Today you were going to an aquarium inauguration but when his father called and said that there were urgent matters to discuss, you insisted that he should go and you would wait in the car, so Jason changed the route to the Wayne's Building.

Clearly he regret that decision now, because he stormed from there without a word and drove you to your apartment in silence, only breaking the silence to apologize to you once. When you arrived tho, he didnt unlock the car doors.

There you were, wanting to help him calm down but not knowing how since he didnt want to open up, not knowing if its better just say good night as clue to remember him to let you go, or you should invite him in.

You looked at him at your side, one hand at the steering wheel, the other clenched in a fist on his tight. Jason's eyes were closed and you allowed yourself to admire him aside your worries about his emotional state.

Jason was beautiful in hard angles and undertones. In the first couple months in the library, you were still fresh with the thinking that readers were a solid type, and every day you were surprised to see a boy like him enter and spend the late afternoon with his nose in a book. Now, being his friend, you knew Jason were a bookworm, but looking at him still took your breath. In this moment specially, with his muscles compressed, the semblance hard and that big hand against a bigger tight, something right down your belly woke.

He let out a light chuckle and you looked up to his face, panicked.

"Liking the view?" He said with amusement. The right side of his mouth doing that thing and leaving a dimple to show.

You ignored the ask and focused on the desert street in front of you, for sure blushing a deep red. You still could feel his gaze on your body.

As the seconds passed, the atmosphere in the car began to change again, and you knew his playfull smile hadnt hit deep in his demeanor.

"There's something I can do?" You said on a low tone.

"May you give me a blowjob?" He blurted, releasing a deep laugh. "Never heard of a man with bad humor while having his dick sucked." He was trying to change the air between you two, too.

"Yeah, i wouldnt mind." You said at once without thinking, and Jason couldn't hold back another laugh, this time a real one.

You should feel glad that he found you funny, but in that moment you discovered you were serious. "What? To be honest, I wouldnt not only mind it, but would really delight myself with it." You said with the most sensual voice you could make, adjusting yourself in the seat to see him better.

Now he was serious too, his blue eyes with dilated pupils holding yours. You couldn't maintain the glase as his adam apple went down as he swallowed dry, putting a lock of hair behind your ear.

"So touch me if you dare, darling."

It was all it took. Without another moment pass he opened his belt and lowered his jeans enough for you too see he was already half hard. As you took his cook in your hand, you wondered if you looked too desesperate, but when he sighed immediately and leanead comfortably on the car seat allowing you to touch with him better, you forgot to care if he could feel it was the first time you ever did it.

You started slowly, pulping him up and down, learning the texture, touching some veins that pulsed lightly, seeing as his tip disappeared and appeared again a little more wet every time, slobbering your hand and then the rest of his cock. The view of it was driving you insane to taste it, so as you began to bend down Jason let out a quiet moan, feeling your hot breath so close to his tip but not on him yet. You looked up as gave it a tentative lick, and the way his eyelids fluttler before opening to look at you, god, you felt it.

You were right, Jason tasted more amazing than you have imagined, and soon you were not only licking the tip but were with all his dick inside your mouth, touching it as you could with your tongue as one of your hands rubbed the rest of him and the other massaged his balls. You couldn't get enough of feeling the taste of him and his moans, now less contained, only gave you more confidence to keep going.

The lack of pratical knowledge didn't troubled you anymore cause the way Jason where breathing hard only proved you were doing the thing right, even if it was in a slow pace.

"Fuck.." He said in surprise when you started playing with only his tip, circling it with your tongue.

His hips sometimes buckled up and you kissed his dick, putting it all in your mouth and letting it out with a pop, before giving special attention to the tip again.

"Enough with the tease darlin-" You went all way down again and tried to move your tongue, but it was too much and you gagged.

"Easy, easy.." He touched your cheek while you recovered your breath with your head leaning in his covered tight, your right hand never stoping the light caresses in his cock.

He was looking at you in a strange way and you desesperate needed to change the focus of his attention so you closed your fist firmly.

Jason moaned with eyes finally closing again, and you started once more your ministrations. The taste of him and the sensation of his hips bucking involuntary where too good for you and you moaned too, the vibration making him take part of your hair in his hand. You looked up to see a question in his half open blue eyes, the answer were another moan of you.

You started rubbing him vigorously while you sucked his tip, the hand on your hair not forcing you down but not letting you go either, and Jason's moans were becoming more frequent. He was close.

He loosed the grip on you reluctantly "I'm.. I'm going to.. You should.."

But you do not moved away, you put his dick all down your mouth until it touched your throat, and even if his cock didnt fit entirely, you tried. Your gag reflexes send him over the edge.

He come hard on you, throwing cum directly down your throat as his hips trembled. He could feel you trying to breathe and swallow his seed and control your gagling at same time and it made him want to fuck your mouth for real.

When you pulled off, you didn't think twice before licking his dick again, making sure that there wasn't any trace of his cum behind. Only then you got up and straightened yourself in the seat.

You didn't looked at him nor give him the chance to speak first, the realization of what happened coming hard.

"Look, I don't usually treat my male friends like this so don't judge me. Im not a slut, really, to be honest i have never done this before so.. And no, i retire what i said, there's not such thing as a slutty woman okay? We should do what we want without feeling guilty by society and-" Jason took your hand on his.

"Wait a moment." He said caressing your hand with his tumb. "You said you never did it before? Give head?"

You looked at him, there were not judgment, only curiosity and respect in Jason's face.

"I'm.. I shouldnt have said it but, yeah. If it wasnt obvious and you already knew, now you know." There was shame on your shoulders even if he wasnt being judgmental and seemed to have appreciated the moments before.

His eyes never left yours as he thought in silence, the atmosphere between you changing again.

"I never kissed either so it's not a big deal i gave you head because you joke about it, we should forget it.. Can you please unlock the door now?"

He put his hand on your waist to stop you from reach the panel, you had to look on his face, now just centimeters from yours. His breath were a mix of something and spearmint.

"You don't think I should claim your first kiss too? I mean.." His voice were low, controlled.

"I just.. your.. you know.."

"Yeah, i know darling. I want to taste it on you."

You closed your eyes and it was his clue. He closed the space between you two, using the hand on your waist to put your body closer. His lips were soft and his posture controlled, but you could feel how he was trying not to push your limits, how his tongue wanted enter your mouth and call it his. You were breathless, you didn't though it would be like this. So much with so little. Your heart pounded and when you opened your eyes and you saw you had leanead on his chest, both hands on his strong shoulders.

He had a half smile in his lips, the dimple a moment to show in its glory.

"It's starting to rain Jason." You managed to say.

"Yeah, and I'm only starting to kiss you for tonight.." He bended in your direction again, never taking his eyes from your lips.

TAG Mini Bang 2021

Hey fam, This is mine and the amazing @katblu42′s contribution to the @tagminibang. Katblu42 wrote the story, of which I love so much, and i made a couple of doodles to go with it.

We both worked really hard on it, hope you enjoy.

***

Deep Water

The summer is drawing to an end when an almost-twelve-year-old Virgil is lumped with looking after little bro Gordon for the day. When a simple walk in the woods becomes more than they bargained for, the pair must work together to overcome their fears.

Written by @katblu42

***

“Hey, Virgil. Whatcha doin’?” Gordon bounced down the stairs and watched his brother carefully pack his brand-new artist’s set of watercolour pencils, mini easel, and sketchbook into his backpack, using one of his hoodies for padding. “I’m gonna go out on the top track and try out my new pencils. It’s gonna be a really nice day for practicing landscapes. I want to try and capture the way the light filters through the trees and . . .” As Virgil excitedly rambled on about all the things he wanted to draw, Lucy emerged from the kitchen with a lunchbox packed with sandwiches and snacks and two water bottles for Virgil to add to his bag. She ignored the eye-rolling from the younger boy, who obviously didn’t share the enthusiasm for artistic inspiration. Placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as she handed him the last of the supplies, Lucy smiled. “Sounds like the two of you are going to see all kinds of wonders today,” she said. Virgil opened his mouth to question, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re going to take your brother with you.” “But . . .” was all Virgil managed to squeak out, while Gordon sported a look of surprised incredulity. “It will do you both the world of good to spend some time together, just the two of you.”

Lucy knew these two didn’t always get along, mostly due to Gordon’s talent for finding exactly the right buttons to push to try Virgil’s patience. In fact, Gordon did that with everyone, but it somehow affected Virgil the most potently. Lucy, Jeff, and the other boys had little tolerance for Gordon’s annoying antics, but the fact that Virgil usually had an abundance of patience was exactly why Gordon got under his skin so much. With Virgil, Gordon would keep on pushing, keep needling, insistently nagging until that patience wore thin and caused Virgil to react in frustration. As a result, Lucy had noticed Virgil tending to avoid spending too much time with Gordon. But today she needed to pair them up together. Grandma would be by any minute to pick up Scott, as she was helping him log extra flying hours towards his pilot license while Jeff was away for work. John had already left for the library where they had been running a special summer program in the AV centre focussing on early space exploration because today was the last day he’d be able to see it. “Aw, Mom!” Virgil whined. “If he comes, I won’t get any drawing done.” “Yeah, Mom,” Gordon joined in, wrinkling his nose, “can’t I stay with you?” “Nope!” Lucy ruffled Gordon’s unruly blond locks. “I have errands to run today.” Gordon groaned. He hated being dragged all over town when his mom was running errands, mostly because the entire day was usually spent listening to her tell him he couldn’t run off too far or do anything fun – getting up to mischief, she called it. Lucy knew her day would be difficult enough with a toddler in tow without adding a hyperactive six-and-a-half-year-old to the mix. For a moment, she felt for Virgil. In a way, he had a point. He’d have to keep Gordon occupied, which would take his focus away from his artistic endeavours, but she had faith that the two of them would find a way to make it work. She stood between the two boys and, with a hand on a shoulder of each, pulled them into a hug. “You two go out and have fun.” She placed a kiss on first Virgil’s and then Gordon’s forehead. “Be good, look after each other, and don’t get into any trouble!” She ushered them through the door and watched them head out, turning back to wave goodbye to her from the front gate before continuing westward towards the top track. She would always worry about her boys out there on their own, but they all knew the rules and had repeatedly been warned of the various dangers contained within their little patch of wilderness. Virgil was not inclined to be reckless or break the rules, but the lure of an interesting view could distract him at times. Looking after a younger brother would help keep his attention more focused. It was one of Lucy’s secret weapons. Pairing a big brother with a little one always seemed to make the big brother more inclined to obey the rules and watch for dangers.

The two boys made quick progress across the open paddock towards the trees, Virgil striding out confidently, Gordon occasionally having to run for a few steps to catch up. Once they reached the track that wound its way through the trees, the pace began to slow. Virgil’s gaze wandered as he walked, noticing in great detail the colours of the foliage and tree bark, the stark contrasts formed by shafts of sunlight filtering between the trees and highlighting this branch or those leaves. He would hear the cry of a bird and look up, searching the treetops to see if he could catch sight of the culprit. Despite the distractions, however, Virgil didn’t stop walking. He had a destination in mind, and he was keen to get there so he could start drawing. Gordon found distractions of his own along the track. He’d hear skittering noises in the dirt and leaf litter beside the track and stop to see if he could spot the creature that had scuttled away. He found spiderwebs woven between the trees and bushes, and noted with interest whether or not the spider was home and if they’d caught anything. He, too, would search the trees and sky for birds that called out their various songs. Unlike Virgil, Gordon stopped often and would have to run to catch up to his bigger brother, usually after Virgil called out to him to hurry up. After falling behind for the fourth time, Gordon decided to run ahead along the track a bit. That way Virgil would have to catch up to him! He stopped short when he came to the fork in the track. An idea struck him, and he jogged back to his brother. “Hey, Virgil?” He had a glint in his eye that the older boy knew well enough to be worried about. “We should go down to the lake!” “No.” “Oh, come on! Why not?” His voice was verging on whiny and his expression close to a pout. “We’re not supposed to go to the lake on our own, it’s –” “We’re not on our own, we have each other!” Gordon didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to argue or talk about possible dangers. “We’re not gonna do anything dangerous or anything. It’s nice by the lake. Besides, you said your pencils were watercolours. Shouldn’t you draw something with water?” “That’s not . . . Uugghh!” Virgil sighed, rolled his eyes, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew steering this particular brother away from water was going to be a hard sell, and if he was honest with himself, his little brother was right about the lake being a good place to draw. It would give him an opportunity to practice drawing reflections, which was something he’d been wanting to experiment with. And the view across the lake was pretty spectacular. But swimming in the lake could be dangerous. If they went to the lake, Virgil knew his entire day would be spent watching Gordon in the water. Gordon studied the expression on his brother’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. He had that look of intense concentration he used when he was figuring out how to fix something. Virgil slowed to a stop and looked down at Gordon. “If we go to the lake –” As Virgil spoke, Gordon’s face broke out in a wide gap-toothed grin as he sensed he had won. “I said if! If we go to the lake, you have to promise me you won’t go for a swim. I came here to draw, not play lifeguard.” “Aww! Virge, it’s summer! It’s a great day for a swim.” His smile was gone, and he now had to trot alongside his brother as Virgil began walking again, setting a brisk pace. He was going to have to fight hard to get his way. “Pleeeeease!” No reaction. “What if I promise not to go in any deeper than up to here?” He indicated his waist. Virgil’s eyebrows drew down into somewhat of a scowl, but he slowed his walking pace again. “You have to stay dry above the knees,” he said. “Yes! Okay, I can do that.” Gordon’s big, infectious grin was back, and he literally bounced with happiness and excitement at his victory. “I promise I won’t go in past my knees, and I’ll be good so you can just do your drawings.” Virgil tried to keep his expression serious, but his little brother’s glee was so irresistible he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pretty soon he was grinning too, and they headed down the left fork in the track towards the lake. As they descended the narrow trail, weaving between trees and larger rocks, the hard-packed dirt underfoot gradually giving way to sandy soil, Gordon’s excitement was barely containable. He ran ahead down the track, calling to Virgil to hurry, ran back to his brother urging him to walk quicker, tugging at his hand, gave up, and ran ahead again before he could even see Virgil roll his eyes. The whole process was then repeated. Twice. Soon enough the trees lining the track thinned out, allowing glimpses of dark blue water. The track curved, and suddenly they emerged from the trees onto an expanse of silty sand with the lake spread out before them, rippling and glistening in the sunlight. The dark greens of the trees on the far side of the lake separated dark blue water from pale blue sky on the horizon. Gordon ran straight to the water’s edge, while Virgil took a moment to take in the entire scene. The lake itself didn’t cover a particularly large area, but it was very deep in places. Virgil estimated that it was more than half a mile from side to side, north to south, and possibly as far as three hundred metres to the trees on the other side from where Gordon now stood. The hills to the north funnelled water down into the lake via a network of creeks and streams. The surface of the lake looked relatively calm, but it hid unpredictable undercurrents as the water worked its way to the small stream that trickled away from the natural dam at the lake’s southern tip. There were a few tiny islands dotted throughout the lake, most of them closer to the far side, some large enough to have trees growing on them, others no more than large rocks with their tops protruding from the water. A short walk along the water’s edge northward took Virgil past a small wooden pier with a little dinghy tied to it, gently rocking and bumping with the lazy motion of the water. Beyond that, the flat sand gave way to a series of rocky, sloped banks. Picking his way up over some of the lower rocks, Virgil climbed up onto a large, relatively flat boulder that afforded him a good view and room to set out all his materials. He could see the beach (as Gordon called it) and his brother discarding his shoes and socks so he could explore the shallows and the little boat attached to the pier, with the water stretching away before him. Once he had carefully unpacked his easel and sketchbook and placed his pencils beside him within easy reach, Virgil began to sketch out some rough outlines. It wasn’t long before Gordon popped his head up over the edge of Virgil’s rock platform.

“Is that all you’ve done so far?” he asked with curious disbelief. “You should use more colours.” “Gordon.” Virgil’s tone was a warning. “Okay, okay,” Gordon said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I just wondered if it’s lunchtime yet. I’m hungry.” Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at his younger brother, searching for any signs of mischief and finding none. He realised Gordon was probably right, it was time for lunch. Virgil had been too caught up in what he was doing to notice how long it had been since they’d eaten breakfast. “All right, let’s see what Mom packed for us to eat.” He dug the lunchbox and water bottles out of his backpack while Gordon climbed up onto the rock and sat cross-legged beside him. Neither boy was surprised to find their mom had provided each of them with their favourite sandwich toppings, and they ate hungrily. Gordon would have polished off all the snacks too, but Virgil prudently suggested they should save those for later. They washed the sandwiches down with a hearty helping of water, making sure to save some of that too. When their little picnic was done, Gordon started to scamper back down over the rocks. “You can go back to drawing now,” he delivered a parting shot with that cheeky grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can find any fish.” “Stay out of the water,” Virgil warned. “You just ate.” “Ugh! I’m not stupid, Virgil! And besides, I’m only going in up to my knees, remember!” “I remember. I’ve just gotta make sure you do!” Virgil watched as Gordon started to clamber down the rocks. “Stay where I can see you!” he called after him. “And be careful! The rocks can get slippery.” “I’ll be fine!” Gordon yelled back, and added under his breath, “Spoilsport.” “I heard that!” Virgil didn’t see Gordon poke his tongue out before he ran off along the sand to go and get his feet wet again. He stood in the shallow water, running his hands over the slimy reeds looking for little fish. He spent some time digging his toes into the sand to see what little creatures came darting out into the water as it clouded around his feet. Virgil’s focus was split between the landscape that was rapidly developing on the paper and keeping tabs on Gordon. Every little, excited exclamation had Virgil looking along the beach, wondering what his brother had found. But his attention was inevitably pulled back to his watercolour sketch. Coming out of the water for a while, Gordon picked his way along the sand, gathering a pocketful of stones before finding a spot to stand and skip them across the surface of the lake. He was pretty proud of the one he managed to get to skip eight times before it sank. The clicky slap of the first skipped stone had Virgil’s head turning to watch, making sure his brother was still keeping out of trouble. He wondered who had taught Gordon to skip stones and fondly remembered Scott showing him how it was done. Gordon was actually pretty good at it, and he kept at it for quite a while. After that, Gordon wandered closer to the trees looking for beetles and interesting insects. He even took one or two of them over to show Virgil. He did the same with some of the smooth pebbles he’d found, especially the ones that had pretty colours or unusual patterns. Virgil liked those ones, he could tell. And every time he returned to Virgil up on his rock, while he munched on a snack or took a drink of water, he took a peek at what his brother was drawing. There was one main drawing of the view across the lake that was more and more detailed every time Gordon saw it, but there were some other smaller sketches too. Gordon wasn’t sure if they were like little practice drawings for things that Virgil wanted to add to the main one or if they were something else. It looked like some of those extra sketches included him, some were of the treasures he’d brought to show his brother, and some he couldn’t quite decipher yet. The afternoon sun beat down on them, too high in the sky for any shadows long enough to provide decent shade. Virgil barely noticed, but Gordon felt the heat. He had climbed back down from Virgil’s perch and was now sitting on the end of the little boat dock dangling his feet in the water. He kicked his feet, splashing and watching new ripples form. The water was pleasantly cool against his legs, but his head and shoulders yearned for that same refreshing feeling. He looked out across the lake, longing to jump in and immerse himself in liquid heaven. He was regretting his promise. “Gordon,” Virgil called down to him, “stop splashing around so much. I don’t want you falling in.” In response, Gordon just sighed. A gull squawked nearby, and he watched it wing its way to a large rock protruding from the water, joining other gulls and ibises sunning themselves. It was the closest island to where he sat, and it didn’t look too far to swim to. It was so hot. It would just be a quick swim. “Hey, Virgil,” Gordon called out, twisting his body around to look up at his brother, “how far do you think it is to that big rock out there?” Virgil took a moment to stand up and stretch muscles that he hadn’t really moved in nearly two hours. He looked where Gordon pointed and couldn’t help doing a rough calculation in his head to estimate the distance, but he knew where this question was leading. “Too far,” he answered. “You’re not going to swim to it. No deeper than your knees, remember?” “But, Virge . . .” “No, Gordon! It’s dangerous. We don’t swim out that far when Mom and Dad bring us down here, I’m not letting you go out there alone.” “But I’m a good swimmer, and the water’s really flat and calm, and it’s so hot . . .” “I said no!” Virgil was almost shouting now. Why wasn’t Gordon listening to him? Couldn’t he see how bad an idea this was? “It’s gotta be at least eighty metres out to that rock, and you can’t see the currents at work under the surface or the reeds or the cold spots or how deep it is. It’s not like swimming in the pool in town.” “Eighty metres is easy! I already have my two-hundred-meter freestyle achievement certificate. I’ll be out there and back in no time.” As he spoke, Gordon started removing his T-shirt. “Gordon, don’t!” Virgil’s heart was hammering at his rib cage like it was trying to break free, and he started making his way down the rocks towards the boat dock, knowing he wasn’t going to be quick enough. “Bet I’ll do it in the fastest time ever. Time me, Virgil.” And with a flash of a wicked grin, he turned and dived into the water. Virgil ran across the sand and onto the wooden dock, heart still pounding fit to burst as Gordon swam away. All he could do was stand there and watch. As scared as he was, he couldn’t help being a little bit in awe of his little brother. Even though he was little, he was a good swimmer. From his very first swimming lesson two years ago, he had been very much at home in the water. He learned fast and seemed to have the knack of skimming the surface of the water when he swam – unlike Virgil, who always felt like he was fighting the water, trying to stop it from pulling him down. He didn’t mind admitting that Gordon was a better swimmer than he was, but the little fish had no experience with open water – or getting out of trouble on his own. It wasn’t long before Gordon was halfway to the rock island, and everything seemed to be going fine. Virgil even managed to start to relax a bit. It seemed like he was going to make it out there just fine. His pace had slowed a little, but that was to be expected. Then suddenly something wasn’t right. Gordon had slowed right down, almost to a complete stop, his legs no longer breaking the surface with his kicks. He rolled onto his back and made a couple of awkward backstrokes, then he went under. Just for a millisecond. But it was enough to have Virgil scrambling to get into the dinghy. Gordon tried to shout, but the effort seemed to cause his head to bob under again. Virgil rowed as fast as he could, his head twisted to look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off his little brother, praying each time he went under that he’d see blond hair break the surface again. Swear words repeated over and over like a mantra with every stroke of the oars. Strong, long strokes propelled the little wooden boat through the water. He fought back panic. He would get there in time. He had to get there in time. He had to save his brother. Gordon seemed to be losing the battle to stay afloat, arms flailing, panicking, bobbing and spluttering. He knew Virgil was trying to get to him, and he was desperate to keep his head above water until he got there, but kicking was difficult and painful. His left leg was not obeying. He’d never experienced a cramp like this before. Virgil finally reached the spot where Gordon had just gone under again. Leaning over the side of the boat, mindful of leaning too far and capsizing, he grabbed a flailing arm with one hand and reached the other into the water to grab a handful of blond hair. He ignored the shock of the cold mere inches below the surface and hauled his brother up far enough for him to gasp for air. He adjusted his grip and dragged Gordon into the boat, where he lay coughing and spluttering, shivering and absolutely terrified. Virgil sat, boat rocking beneath them, breathing hard and equally terrified, watching his brother, grateful for the coughing because at least he knew he was still breathing. “You okay?” Virgil panted out once the coughing had died down a little. “Cramp!” Gordon gasped out in reply, indicating his left leg. “Calf muscle? Here?” Virgil was kneeling with Gordon’s left foot resting on his thigh, fingers gently kneading into his calf. Gordon responded with a nod and a little groan of pain. Virgil spent a few minutes massaging the cramped muscle. He wasn’t sure if Gordon’s tears were from the pain in his leg or fear or relief, but he suddenly felt like he’d do anything to stop them. All he could offer were words of reassurance. Words that comforted both of them. “It’s okay, Gords. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Virgil’s fingers worked methodically, gently, gradually relaxing the muscle, relieving Gordon’s agony, and calming both of them down in the process. Gordon was soon wriggling his leg free of Virgil’s grasp to sit up on the floor of the little rowboat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, still shivering. “Hold on, Gordon.” Virgil shifted himself back onto the seat and took up the oars. “Let’s get you back to shore and then we can warm you up.” Rowing back to the wooden dock seemed to take so much longer than it had to row out into the lake. Virgil wasn’t sure if this was because there were currents working against him or if he was just a great deal more tired now. Or maybe it was the lack of terrifying urgency driving his actions on the return trip. Either way, he was grateful to make it safely to the dock and get the boat secured. Gordon was adamant he could get out of the boat on his own, but Virgil’s assistance was accepted readily when he found himself unsteady on his feet. Virgil retrieved the T-shirt Gordon had so hastily tossed aside earlier and draped it over his little brother’s back. It didn’t take much convincing for Gordon to remain sitting on the dock in the same knees-huddled-to-chest position he’d adopted in the boat while Virgil raced up to his rock platform to retrieve all his gear. He also made a quick dash across the sand to find Gordon’s discarded shoes before returning. He didn’t like how quiet and still the normally boisterous boy was. The paleness of his skin and the fact he was still shivering – or perhaps trembling – worried him even more. The now damp T-shirt had been pulled on over his head but offered little in the way of warmth. “Hey, Gordon. Arms up,” Virgil instructed, holding his own hoodie ready to slip over the blond head. Gordon did as he was told without comment or complaint, seeming to Virgil a little like some sort of robotic puppet. The hoodie was way too big, but it was soft and thick and most importantly dry. With head and arms now inserted into their correct holes, Virgil knelt in front of Gordon and pulled the hoodie down over his entire tucked-up body. Not even his feet protruded from beneath the hem. He then wrapped his arms around the whole bundle of little brother and rubbed vigorously to generate some heat. “Virgil?” Glossy brown eyes peeked out from beneath the sweater’s hood. The voice was quiet and had a quality to it that felt somehow small and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” The look in his brother’s eyes, more than the words, stung Virgil somewhere deep inside. “What?” Virgil answered. “What for?” “I didn’t listen. You told me not to and I . . .” “That doesn’t matter now.” Virgil’s arms tightened ever so slightly around him, and Gordon rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. “All I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.” For a moment, the two boys stayed locked in the embrace, Gordon letting the feeling of safety envelop him, Virgil feeling the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest with every breath. He was relieved to find his brother relaxing into an even, steady pattern of deep breaths. There was no sign of any wheezing, and the coughs and splutters seemed long gone. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” Virgil said softly, giving Gordon’s back one final rub before releasing the hug. He slipped his backpack straps over his shoulders, held his hands out for Gordon to take so he could help him onto his feet, then lifted him up into a reverse piggyback hold. Gordon’s arms looped around his neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation or protest, and Virgil set off for home at a slow but steady pace. The gentle but constant incline of the path back to the top track gave Virgil quite a workout with the additional weight he carried, but he took it in his stride. Gordon remained so still and quiet, hooded head resting against his left shoulder, Virgil thought he might have fallen asleep. He tried not to jostle his bundle of brother too much as he picked his way up the hill. When he reached the relative flat ground where the lake path rejoined the top track, Virgil took a moment to catch his breath, and Gordon stirred. “Hey, Virgil?” he said quietly. “When we get home . . . we don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” “Gordon, we have to tell Mom. You nearly drowned!” Gordon caught his brother’s gaze and for the first time saw there was fear in those deep brown eyes. It made something in his insides feel fluttery. “But I’m okay,” he pleaded. “You saved me.” “I pulled you out of the water, but . . .” Virgil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and sighed. “If you got any water in your lungs, that would be bad. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes it can make a person have trouble breathing hours after they’ve been rescued from drowning.” “Oh.” The initial response was almost whispered, then Gordon’s features and tone brightened. “But –” “Did you swallow any water?” Virgil cut him off. “Because the water in the lake could make you sick if you did.” Gordon’s brow creased. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe?” Virgil sighed once more, then began walking again. “I don’t want to scare you, Gords, but what happened out there was a big deal.” “I know,” Gordon whimpered, and held on to Virgil a little tighter. “But I’m not scared now. I’m safe. I was afraid. In the water, when I thought . . . when I couldn’t . . . It was scary, but now I’m not scared because you’re here and you saved me.” Virgil remained silent. “Would it be less scary for you if you stay with me until you know I’m not going to get sick or stop breathing?” Gordon whispered. The rhythm of Virgil’s footfalls faltered for a step or two. “I promise I won’t leave your sight until you’re sure I’m okay. Then we don’t have to tell Mom unless I get sick. Okay?” For a moment, Virgil couldn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was too much of an obstacle. He blinked a few times to clear his swimming vision, huffed out a ragged sigh, and hitched his brother a little higher on his hips. “Okay, Little Fish. You got a deal. I won’t tell Mom, and you and I stick together like glue for tonight.” Not long after their deal was struck Virgil’s steady paces brought them out of the trees and into the paddock, with home in sight. It seemed they had beaten Lucy home, as her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, but John’s bike was neatly leaned on its stand next to the others, and Virgil suspected Scott was already home too.

He was relieved to finally climb the stairs and deposit Gordon gently on his feet on the front porch. Slipping off his backpack and rolling his shoulders to ease tired muscles, Virgil followed his younger brother through the front door and into the kitchen. He might have known Gordon would gravitate towards food. At least this was a good sign – if Gordon was hungry, then he probably wasn’t feeling any ill effects from swallowing lake water. “Oh, look. It finally happened,” Scott said with a smirk and an elbow to John’s ribs. “One of Virgil’s hoodies grew legs and walked away.” “Ha-ha,” Gordon replied as he grabbed the jug of juice from the fridge. “Seriously, Gordon,” John spoke up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he and Scott had been finishing their afternoon snacks, “what’s with the hoodie? It’s gotta be ninety-six degrees outside.” “He just wanted to prove me wrong,” Virgil chimed in, walking straight to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “I told him he would disappear completely inside one of my hoodies.” He noted the suspicious looks but ignored them as he poured juice for himself and Gordon. “How was the space thing at the library?” As John began eagerly explaining in great detail the highlights of the interactive exhibition, Virgil met Scott’s expression of curiosity with his best nothing-to-see-here shrug. He knew the innocent look he tried to project wouldn’t be enough to prevent Scott from seeing straight through the change of subject. Scott’s sapphire-blue eyes had the ability to cut like diamonds, and right at that moment Virgil felt the full weight of their scrutiny. He tried to give a reassuring smile and turn his attention to John’s increasingly fast-paced account of the space exhibit. “Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” Gordon said with an air of surprise and a warm smile at the conclusion of John’s animated description. He drained the dregs of his glass of juice and turned to Virgil. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change clothes.” “I’ll be up in a minute,” Virgil replied. Gordon left the room at a trot and bounded up the stairs. Scott and John were both back to studying Virgil intently. “What?” “Why’s Gordon so attached to you all of a sudden?” Scott asked. “He’s practically asking you for permission to leave the room.” Virgil’s gaze flicked between the blue and the turquoise, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t know. I guess we just had kind of a good day.” It was the only thing Virgil could think of to say. “You two spent the whole day together and you’re not sick of the sight of each other?” It was John’s turn to question the lack of frustrated bickering that would normally have surfaced between them. Virgil just shrugged, finished his own glass of juice, and picked up his backpack. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.” He left the room, deliberately not hurrying but desperate to escape from the interrogation he felt was coming. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gordon’s bedroom door opened. He was wearing his clownfish pyjamas, and Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Virgil?” Gordon packed so much uncertainty into just his name Virgil was a little concerned at what might be coming. “Do you think maybe . . . I mean could we, maybe . . . Do you wanna build a blanket fort with me?” “Actually, I think that’s a pretty great idea.” When Lucy arrived home, wrangling a grizzly Alan who had missed his afternoon nap, and exhausted from a rather frustrating day full of unnecessary delays at every stop, she found Scott and John in the kitchen getting dinner started. Neither had seen the other two boys in a while, so she settled Alan in the living room with his favourite cartoon and headed upstairs to investigate. She found them in Gordon’s and Alan’s room. At least, she found evidence that this was where they had been for some time. Half of the room was obscured by a complex construction created out of pillows, blankets, and assorted bed linen supported by various pieces of furniture and some rather ingeniously rigged clothesline string. “Well, look at you two in here together, thick as thieves!” Lucy said as her head emerged from between two blankets that served as the entrance. “Hi, Mom! We’re building a blanket fort!” Gordon explained excitedly. Virgil rolled his eyes. “She can see that, doofus.” “And it is quite an impressive feat of engineering.” She winked and smiled. “What did you boys get up to on your walk today? Lots of exciting adventures, no doubt.” A look passed between the two. “Nothing,” Gordon blurted out, just as Virgil spoke. “Not much.” Virgil added a shrug and a somewhat apologetic expression. “Just . . . boy stuff.” “Yeah, Mom. Boy stuff,” Gordon repeated emphatically. “We can’t tell you because you’re a girl.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised, and the corners of her mouth and eyes began a slow upward quirk into a smile. She wondered what they were up to, but she was happy the two of them were getting along well. “Hmm. Does this boy stuff include any drawings I’m allowed to see?” If they wouldn’t tell her where they’d been, perhaps she could discern something from Virgil’s sketches. “Can I show you later? Tomorrow maybe?” Virgil squirmed a little under the inquisitive gaze of those soft, honey-coloured eyes. Usually he loved sharing his artworks with Mom. She always praised the bits she thought he’d done well and knew exactly how to suggest little improvements without making it seem like he’d made mistakes. Sometimes it felt like she saw more in his drawings than what he’d put in them. “Okay,” she said, changing tack. “Are you two coming out of there to join the rest of us for dinner?” Another look between the brothers. The plot thickening before her eyes. “Can we come back in here after dinner?” Gordon asked. “Could we, maybe, both sleep in here for tonight?” Virgil followed up quickly. Lucy studied the faces of her two brown-eyed boys. These two were not regular partners in shenanigans. There was something going on here that she was not quite sure she understood just yet, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in what they were asking. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. “Go wash up and you can set the table while I help your brothers finish up in the kitchen.” Dinner for the most part was about as chaotic as usual. Alan was still irritable and played with more of his food than he ate, making a mess of himself and the table in front of him in the process. Scott and John both gave lengthy answers to their mom’s enquiries about how they had spent the day. There were all the usual arguments over who would get the last helpings of this or that as plates and dishes were rapidly emptied, their contents hungrily devoured. Virgil and Gordon managed to talk about the more innocent parts of their day, clinging to descriptions of what plants were flowering, the types of birds they saw, the spiders and beetles and butterflies, rather than any specific mention of the lake. As the scrape of knives and forks on plates finally died down, Lucy began clearing serving dishes off the table. “How about tomorrow we all have a day at the pool?” Standing behind her water-baby as she spoke, she gave his hair a ruffle. John and Scott were both quick to answer with excited affirmatives, Alan enthusiastically exclaimed “Swim!”, but she didn’t see the panicked look that flashed across Gordon’s face as he looked across the table at Virgil. “That sounds great, Mom,” was Virgil’s reply as he kept his eyes firmly on Gordon, trying to relay a sense of calm reassurance that he didn’t really feel. If anyone noticed Gordon’s lack of enthusiasm at the suggestion, no one made mention of it. Perhaps his reaction was lost in the flurry of activity as the table was cleared and Alan was escorted upstairs for his bath. Virgil did notice an odd expression cross Scott’s face as he watched Gordon begin loading dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, but he said nothing before leaving the kitchen. John and Scott had helped cook dinner, so Virgil and Gordon were left to load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen. “Gordon?” Virgil caught his little brother’s attention with a gentle flick of a tea towel, and a sullen expression was his reply. “Don’t you want to go to the pool tomorrow?” Gordon shrugged. Virgil kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation. “You always get excited about going to the pool. You’ve been begging Mom to take us every day for the entire summer. People will ask questions if you suddenly don’t want to go.” The look in Gordon’s eyes was a complicated mixture of fear, sadness, and uncertainty that had Virgil once again wanting to do anything he could to take away the pain. He was about to say something more when he heard John’s voice carry through from the living room and thought better of it. The discussion wasn’t over, but it would have to wait. The rest of their kitchen duty was completed in awkward silence. Chores done, they headed upstairs, back to their blanket fort. They had barely begun to settle into the pile of pillows and cushions when a small hand, followed by a headful of slightly damp blond hair, poked through from beneath a blanket wall. Bright blue eyes sparkled as a giggle escaped through a cheeky grin. “Peek-a-boo!” Alan exclaimed and wriggled his way into the enclosure. “Alan!?” Lucy parted the fort’s entrance with her arms so the blankets draped like a stage curtain. As her eyes came to rest on her littlest, a wave of relief was reflected in her fond smile.  “Say good night to your brothers and I’ll read you a story.” Liberal good-night cuddles were dished out to both big brothers before Lucy ushered Alan out so she could bundle him into bed. “You two – shower or bath, teeth brushing – go!” she instructed. By the time Virgil and Gordon had washed and brushed and were attired for bed (again in Gordon’s case), Alan was asleep, the bedroom was illuminated only by Alan’s star projecting night light, and their mom was holding her finger up to her lips. “Shh. Try not to wake your little brother,” she whispered. She gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up all night!” Virgil and Gordon were soon alone and comfortably secure in their plush fortress. Their flashlights had been propped between pillows and furniture so they provided a soft glow amid the cosy gloom. “Talk to me, Fish,” Virgil said softly. “You’ve been so quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Gordon’s slumped posture added to Virgil’s impression that his brother looked pretty miserable. “It’s just . . .” A huge sigh escaped his tiny frame. “You’re worried about tomorrow?” Virgil finished for him. “Do you think I could tell Mom I have to do some reading for school or something?” Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. His little brother might not be physically sick or injured, but he was not okay. “You know that’s not gonna work, Gordon. You’ve been pestering her all summer to take you to the pool. If you suddenly don’t want to go, she’s going to be super suspicious. And nobody will believe that you would ditch the pool in favour of schoolwork. Especially in summer!” “I know.” Another sigh. A long silence. “It’s just, when Mom said we’d all go to the pool tomorrow I . . . Normally I’d be really excited, but this time I kind of got scared.” “What are you scared of?” Gordon thought Virgil’s question was a pretty stupid one considering what had happened at the lake, and his scowling glare communicated as much. “I mean, what exactly scares you about going to the pool? Are you afraid you might get into trouble like you did in the lake?” Gordon’s expression turned more quizzical as he considered what Virgil was trying to say. “Because the pool is going to be very different from the lake. The water is clear. You can always see the bottom. The temperature is controlled and kept fairly warm. There’s a lifeguard on duty all the time keeping everyone safe, and we’ll all be there with you. You won’t be on your own, far from shore.” “I guess.” “Gordon, you love the water. You always have, even when you were tiny. You’re always happiest when you’re in the water – even if it’s just the bath or splashing in puddles.” “Not anymore.” “You have to get back on the horse,” Virgil said absently, almost to himself. “What? What horse? What does that have to do with the pool?” “It’s a figure of speech. Something Grandpa says. If you fall off the horse, you’ve gotta get right back on. You can’t let one bad experience make you scared forever, and the sooner you get back up on the horse after falling, the easier it is to ride again.” Gordon looked uncertain. “So, you’re saying that I have to go to the pool tomorrow and get back in the water or else I might be scared of swimming forever?” “I’m saying you have to go to the pool tomorrow because swimming makes you happy. You’re good at it, and you can’t let today stop you from doing something that makes you light up like Fourth of July fireworks and grin like the Cheshire Cat.” There was another long silence. Gordon scooted a little closer to his big brother and rested his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me tomorrow? At the pool?” Virgil wriggled his arm under his brother and tugged him closer. “For as long as you need me to,” he affirmed. “We’ll start off in the shallow end. Mess around for a while, just getting wet, splashing about. Pretty soon you’ll be swimming like a fish and I won’t be able to keep up. But I promise I’ll stay close and watch out for you, okay?” “Okay.” Despite how tired he sounded, there was a brightness to Gordon’s voice that caused a wave of relief to sweep over Virgil. The day’s exploits had exhausted the two boys. Their little nest was cosy and warm, and the close contact between them helped relax them both as they quickly drifted off to sleep. But Virgil’s usually sound sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams. Twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding and breathing hard, certain that something terrible had happened and with an unshakable need to check on Gordon, only to find him safely asleep beside him. He lay awake after each nightmare, watching the even rise and fall of his brother’s chest, noticing every little twitch and murmur made as he slept. He had a feeling it would be a while before he could completely shake these nightmares, but it was comforting to think that Gordon had been spared the same kind of disruption through the night.

*** Morning dawned bright and warm, and despite the duvet cover preventing much sunlight penetrating the sanctuary of the fort, Gordon was awake with the dawn chorus. He tried to let his brother sleep, happy to listen to the soft snores and try not to giggle, but he quickly became impatient. Virgil woke to gentle but insistent poking to the ribs and the repeated whispering of his name. When he peeled his eyes open, he was greeted with brown eyes mere inches in front of his own and a beaming smile. “We’re going to the pool today, Virgil,” Gordon whispered with a hint of excitement. “You have to get up.” “Okay, okay,” Virgil managed to somewhat grunt as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he registered the expression on his little brother’s face, the gleam in the eyes and the fact that the smile still hadn’t faltered, and a smile of his own spread from the depths of his heart and across his face. The mixture of nerves and eagerness thrumming through Gordon all morning was enough to give the rest of the family the impression he was full of barely contained excitement fitting for the day of a visit to the pool. He repeatedly asked when they would be leaving and was repeatedly told they would head out after lunch. He offered to pack everyone’s towels and Alan’s floaties into a bag ready for later, and he fidgeted and bounced his way through to lunchtime. After lunch, as promised, Lucy piled all the boys into the family car and drove them to the public pool. She paid their admission, and they all tumbled through the turnstile. As usual, Scott, who had never grown out of wanting to go everywhere at top speed, and Gordon raced away to find them a spot on the grass where bags and towels could be unceremoniously dumped before they hit the water. By the time Virgil and John joined them, T-shirts had already been discarded and comments about the fate of the last person into the water were being bandied about. When Lucy was finally able to set down her load of Alan and the bagful of necessities required for their day out, her four oldest boys were already racing towards the Olympic-sized pool. Scott first, John not far behind, and Gordon practically dragging Virgil by the hand.

Lucy kept an eye on her boys happily splashing about with each other in the shallow end of the pool while she got herself and Alan stripped down to their bathing suits and slid Alan’s floaties on over his head and arms. They had started a game of Chicken Fight by the time she slid herself into the water and lifted Alan down into her arms. John, sitting on Scott’s shoulders and Gordon atop Virgil’s, were locked in grappling combat. Scott and John had the advantage of both height and reach, and it was not long before Gordon toppled into the water. A rematch produced the same result in short order, and Gordon exacted revenge by distracting Scott with an underwater pantsing, causing him to break his hold on John, who overbalanced and slid from Scott’s shoulders into the pool. Lucy and Alan laughed along with the others as Scott protested foul play. Handstand competitions and a game of Freeze Tag followed. Lucy took Alan to the toddler pool where he could splash about more freely, instructing the older boys to behave and try not to bother other pool users too much while she was gone. Virgil was pleased to see that, just as he’d predicted, Gordon was happily swimming rings around them all as they played. He’d stuck close to Virgil at first, but after the Chicken Fights, he was swimming farther and faster in his efforts to escape being tagged and spending longer underwater with every passing minute. It seemed he had slipped right back into his home environment without any lasting dramas. As the afternoon shadows grew long, one by one Lucy’s boys returned to their spot on the grass. She and Alan had grown tired of the water first, and Alan had even had a short sleep amongst the pile of towels as they waited for the others to tire themselves out. Scott was first of the older boys to tire of swimming and return to towel off and dress in dry clothes, with John quick to follow. Lucy was a little surprised at how long Virgil lasted in the water until she spotted him sitting on the edge of the pool with just his feet and lower legs in the water watching Gordon as he shot back and forth across the free-play area, dodging strangers. She gave a shrill two-finger whistle. Virgil, recognising the signal, turned his head to look back at her, and she beckoned with her hand to indicate it was time to go. It seemed to take a while to convince Gordon to get out of the pool, but Lucy was not surprised. The car ride home was a fairly quiet one, the boys having spent a great deal of energy over the course of the afternoon. They brightened at the suggestion of ordering pizza for dinner when they got home, and there was a brief buzz of conversation when she mentioned their father would be home by the weekend. He had only been away for two weeks, but the older boys had never really grown out of getting excited by his return. This latest trip wasn’t as far away as Mars or even the moon, but the prospect of having Dad home again still triggered that same feeling of welcoming someone who had been long absent. He may not visit space for work any longer, and his absences could be measured in days instead of months or years, but it was always great to have him home again. “He already has big plans for this year’s Last Day of Summer,” Lucy mentioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s only ten days away now!” While Scott and John speculated on what their dad might have in store for the annual family day at the lake on the last weekend before they went back to school, Virgil felt a small hand slip inside his and squeeze. He looked to his left at Gordon staring silently out the car window and gave a slight hand squeeze of his own in reply. While today had helped, it was obvious his little brother was still harbouring some fear of returning to the lake. There was no chance for Virgil to talk one-on-one with Gordon when they got home from the pool. As was fairly normal in the Tracy household, there always seemed to be someone else around or something that needed doing, and before he knew it, Gordon was already tucked in bed and reading a bedtime story with Mom. Virgil took a little longer than normal in the shower, needing the time alone with his thoughts. If Gordon acted anything less than excited about going to the lake for Last Day of Summer, it wouldn’t be long before their little secret would come to light. He had to find a way to get Gordon’s confidence back, but he was starting to wonder if he could manage on his own. With something like this, he would normally talk things out with Scott. It felt wrong to be hiding something from him and even more wrong to be hiding things from Mom. He was beginning to wonder whether he should just let the cat out of the bag and tell the truth, but he really didn’t want to let his little brother down either. Unable to face revealing how close he’d come to letting his brother drown, Virgil ended up avoiding any chance of conversation for the evening and shut himself away in his room until it was time for bed. John was in and out of the shared bedroom as he began preparing to turn in for the night, but it was not unusual for the two of them to quietly do their own thing without really exchanging words. When Lucy popped her head inside the door to check on her two quietest boys and say good night, Virgil tried his best to act like everything was normal. Her gaze fell heavily on him for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to tell her everything about the day at the lake and ask her advice. “Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she playfully warned them. “Lights out by 9:30 please, Virgil, and John, no more stargazing after lights out!” “Okay, Mom,” they both answered automatically and in chorus. “Good night.” It took a while for Virgil to fall asleep that night, mind whirling with the thought of his little brother being afraid of something that had always been a source of such joy. There had to be a way to fix it – every problem had a solution, you just had to find it, that’s what Dad would say. As tired as he was, his mind kept trying to focus on finding that solution before drifting away into a sleepy fog. Gordon didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it was very late. The house was quiet. The room wasn’t dark – Alan’s night-light saw to that – but he couldn’t hear any voices, any indication of anyone moving around downstairs or in the bathrooms and bedrooms. Everyone must be asleep. He had startled awake, sitting bolt upright, breathless, heart pounding, eyes prickling with oncoming tears and really wishing he wasn’t so alone. He’d been dreaming about the lake, and now he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Slipping silently from his bed, he tiptoed across the floor, careful not to disturb Alan, and crept out into the hall. He hesitated for a moment. Normally he would head for his parents’ room, but Mom would ask what the dream was about, and he didn’t want to tell her about swimming in the lake. He didn’t want to get in trouble – or get Virgil into trouble. Gordon changed direction and headed for Virgil’s and John’s room. Being very careful to open the door without a sound and close it just as silently behind him, Gordon stood in the pitch-dark bedroom for a moment and let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t understand why his bigger brothers liked it so dark, he found it a bit creepy, but he couldn’t turn on the light and risk waking John. It wasn’t long before he could make out the shape of Virgil’s bed amongst the gloom, and he stealthily padded across the carpet to stand beside his sleeping brother. Now that he was here, he wasn’t really sure how to wake him or whether he should. He stood twisting the fingers of both hands around each other, close to tears again. “Virgil?” he whispered, barely above a breath. No response. “Virge?” This time a little louder, a little more desperate, a little more whiney and accompanied by a sniff. He tried tapping Virgil’s shoulder a few times, but his brother didn’t budge from where he lay curled on his side, facing the wall. In the end, not knowing what else to do, Gordon climbed across the bottom of the bed and squeezed his way past Virgil’s knees, wriggled himself under the covers and Virgil’s arm, and curled himself into the space between his brother and the wall. It was around three a.m. when Virgil woke to find he wasn’t alone in the bed. He didn’t know how or when Gordon had come to be there, but he could hear him softly whimpering and feel him shaking with the occasional sob. “Gordon,” he whispered softly, “are you okay?” He tugged his brother a little tighter to him, feeling him struggle to get the sobbing under control and even out his breathing. “Had a bad dream,” came the ever-so-quiet response. Virgil eased his grip and shuffled over on the bed, allowing Gordon to roll over and face him, but he kept his hand resting against his brother’s back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the quiet darkness seemed both comforting and ominous at the same time. Gordon heaved a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh before breaking the silence. He kept his voice low, but once he started, the words tumbled out in a torrent. “I can’t go back to the lake for Last Day of Summer, Virgil. I don’t want to go back in the water and everyone will know that’s not normal and want to know why and I don’t want them to know what I did and –” “Shh,” Virgil soothed, rubbing Gordon’s back as he spoke. “We’ll work something out together. I promise.” “You mean so we don’t have to go?” “No, I mean so you won’t be afraid anymore. We have to go. It’s tradition. And I think we both have to go back to the lake and confront our fears.” “You’re scared too? Wait, what are you scared of?” It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. “Gordon, as annoying as you sometimes are, you are my little brother, and if anything happened to you – anything really bad, I mean – I’d be . . .” Another sigh. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I guess I’m scared of what might have happened. I keep having bad dreams where I couldn’t save you.” Gordon was suddenly wrapped around him like an octopus, his skinny little arms squeezing tight around Virgil like he was never going to let go and legs twining their way between bedding and body to latch on too. Despite feeling a little bit trapped within the many-limbed embrace, Virgil felt oddly comforted by it. “You don’t have to hold so tight, little octopus. I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil whispered into blond hair. “I’m not an octopus,” came the muffled reply, buried somewhere in Virgil’s neck, “I’m a squid.” “Okay then, Squid. How about we try and get some sleep and work this out tomorrow?” Gordon’s hold on his brother relaxed enough for them both to get a little more comfortable in the bed, but it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Virgil managed to get one arm disentangled enough to trace his hand back and forth across Gordon’s back, helping to lull him to sleep. Slumber quickly claimed the older brother soon after.

*** Morning crept up on them, dawning overcast and gloomy, despite being summer warm. As a result, Gordon slept later than he normally would and was woken by John’s quiet movements as he rolled out of the bed on the other side of the room and shuffled towards the bathroom. If John noticed the interloper in Virgil’s bed, he didn’t say anything, so Gordon took the opportunity to unceremoniously climb over his brother and hightail it back to his own room. Virgil woke with a start after yet another nightmare. Sitting up and trying to reacquaint himself with reality, he realised Gordon was no longer with him, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches in brief panic. Catching sight of the clock and taking a few slow, deep breaths, Virgil managed to convince himself that everything was fine, Gordon had obviously just woken up earlier and was more than likely perfectly okay. But he needed to check. He tumbled out of bed and, after a brief detour to the bathroom, stumbled his way down the corridor in search of Gordon. Finding the tiny two’s bedroom deserted, he headed downstairs and found his target in the living room. Virgil stood in the doorway watching Gordon playing with Alan for a few minutes. Seeing his goofball brother being his normal, animated self and hearing the shrieks and giggles his antics prompted from Alan were enough to reassure him that yes, Gordon was just fine. Sometime after Virgil had found himself some breakfast and begun to consider himself properly awake, John found him sitting at the piano, absently staring out the window. John didn’t recall hearing Virgil play any practice exercises, and Virgil’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, so John concluded that he was there more for the familiarity than the urge to play music. He did this sometimes – sat there just thinking, wheels turning, gears shifting, working something out in his head – and John always found it interesting to watch the thought process play out through Virgil’s expressions. But the expression wasn’t changing. “Virgil?” John prompted with some concern. “You okay?” With a jolt, Virgil tore his eyes away from the view he wasn’t really seeing out the window and focussed them on John. “Yeah.” Virgil sighed. “I just have something I need to do, something that needs fixing, and I don’t know how to do it.” “Look it up,” John answered with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do. There’s probably a book about it somewhere or a repair manual or instructional video. If I want to know how something works or how to do something, I start with research.” With that, John walked away, leaving Virgil to ponder how to research fixing a fear of swimming in a lake. And then it hit him. Research was the answer, he just had to look up the right thing – not how to fix the fear, but all the things there were to be afraid of. The more information you know about the thing you’re afraid of, the less scary it becomes. So, all he had to do was look up everything that could cause someone to get into trouble swimming in a lake – and maybe rivers, streams, and oceans too – and learn everything about them. If he knew how to spot the dangers or how to prevent them and how to get out of trouble, then maybe Gordon wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Virgil set off at a run to go and find Gordon. At first, Gordon wasn’t sure about this idea of Virgil’s. Sitting in front of a holoscreen looking up information sounded a lot like homework. But Virgil was insistent that they at least give it a try. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know more about different waterways. “Okay, so where do we start?” Gordon asked as they settled themselves at the big desk in the corner of the living room. “Well, what scares you most when you think about going swimming in the lake?” “Getting another cramp.” Gordon’s reply was quiet, and suddenly Virgil hated himself for making his little brother revisit that moment when everything had gone wrong. He put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s start there. We can find out what causes cramps when you swim and learn how to prevent them or how to manage them.” Virgil found a great deal of information on muscle cramps related to swimmers, which he quickly became quite absorbed in. He had to remind himself to stick to the sites with simple wording and steer clear of the ones that crossed too far into medical jargon territory. The boys learned the importance of warming up before swimming, being careful not to overexert the muscles, and staying hydrated. They also found that cold water could increase the chance of cramping. Virgil physically shivered at the memory of plunging his arm into deceptively cold water to grab at one of the only parts of his little brother he could still see. They researched swimming in cold water, what caused cold spots in lakes and rivers and whether you could spot them, and ways you could avoid them or deal with them. They learned about different types of currents – ones you could see, and ones you wouldn’t know about until you felt them. Submerged objects, reeds and seaweed, rocks and tree roots . . . “What are you guys doing?” Scott startled them so badly Virgil jumped and Gordon squeaked. “Researching water safety.” Virgil decided honesty was the best way to go . . . to a point. “It’s for Rescue Scouts.” “But we don’t go back to Rescue Scouts until a week after school goes back.” Scott eyed both brothers suspiciously. “We know, but there’s no harm in getting in early, and Gordon really wants his Water Safety badge.” Virgil had to resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his big brother’s gaze as Scott remained silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Scott finally said before turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen. Gordon grinned up at Virgil, who huffed out a long exhale in relief. He didn’t think Scott completely believed the Rescue Scout story, but it seemed as though they would be able to continue their research unquestioned. In fact, no one questioned the time these two spent together in snatches of an hour or two here and there over a couple of days, continuing to search out information on the best ways to stay safe in just about any body of water. Gordon had even made a scrapbook of notes and pictures so he could keep track of all the things they’d learned. Excuses aside, when Rescue Scouts resumed after the summer break, Gordon would already be well on his way to earning his Water Safety badge in earnest. As promised, Jeff was back home by the time the boys awoke on Saturday morning, and he began dropping hints about his plans for the best Last Day of Summer yet. It was to be bigger and better than ever before because, for the first time since they began making the end-of-summer vacation a celebration, it coincided with Virgil’s birthday. The first hints encouraged the boys to check their tents and sleeping bags. It wouldn’t just be a day out with a picnic lunch this year, it would be an overnight campout. There was a promise of campfire tales and s’mores and a special surprise that required the night sky as a backdrop. There were hints about guests that prompted a whole day of guessing who might be joining them at the lake. Grandma and Grandpa were the first confirmed additions to the guest list, along with “Uncle” Lee and a mysterious extra guest from England and his daughter, who was apparently around Virgil’s and John’s age. Amidst all the building excitement about the big event at the end of the week, signs of Gordon’s nervousness about returning to the lake were easily missed by the rest of the family. Only Virgil saw the signs – the slight frown at Scott’s mention that they’d all need to remember to bring their swimmers and towels, the look of horror at John wondering if he’d see more stars if he rowed out into the lake after dark. Virgil decided he’d have to take Gordon back to the lake before the weekend. They needed to return to the scene of the crime. Gordon, having come to much the same conclusion in his own way, approached Virgil after breakfast on the Wednesday. The day was clear and bright, much like it had been on the morning of that fateful day little more than a week before. It seemed like a good day to go back and face the monster that the lake had become. “Virgil,” Gordon said quietly, despite there being no one else in the living room at the time, “can we go back to the lake today? Can you take me?” “Today seems like a good day to me,” Virgil answered with a gentle smile. “We’ll have to tell Dad we’re going out for most of the day.” Now that Jeff was back from his trip and working from the home office, Lucy was spending more time at work. The boys were expected to look after each other and only interrupt their father if it was important, but Jeff would check up on them all throughout the day. “Do we have to say where we’re going?” Gordon twined his fingertips around each other, raising his eyes to meet Virgil’s from a head trying to look down at the floor. “We’ll tell him we’re going back to the place we visited last week to finish the drawing,” Virgil suggested. “It’s not exactly a lie. We are going back to the same place.” The knock on Jeff’s office door was tentative but loud enough that he heard it over the voice of the colleague on the other end of the video call. He muted his audio to tell his visitor to wait a moment before unmuting and bringing the phone conversation to a conclusion. “Come in,” he finally called towards the closed door. He was a little surprised by the request for this particular pair to spend a day out together on their own, but he remembered Lucy mentioning something about these two having been out on the top track the week before. He gave them permission to go provided they tell Scott and John where they were going and promise to be back by five. “Take something to eat and plenty of water, Virgil,” he reminded the older boy, “and look after your brother.” “I will, Dad.” Virgil gave a solemn nod, and the two boys slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind them. Bag packed with sandwiches and water bottles, art supplies for the sake of appearances, and towels, the boys were soon striding out across the paddock towards the top track. This time there were no lingering looks at the scenery as they walked – the birds, spiders, and bugs were largely ignored. Unlike the last time they had set out together, Virgil had no desire to hurry, and he let his younger brother set the pace. He noted with a small amount of pride the purposeful strides, the determination in the set of squared shoulders, and the fire in amber eyes as Gordon focused his energy on reaching their destination so he could do what needed to be done. Gordon’s determined march stuttered to a somewhat abrupt halt when they rounded the last curve and stepped onto the silty sand of the lake’s beach. With his eyes fixed on the water, shoulders drooping, it seemed Gordon’s fire had died. Without a word, Virgil placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the simple gesture having the desired effect – lending the younger boy enough resolve to steel himself once again, lengthen his spine, and straighten his shoulders. Virgil steered them over to a patch of sand where he could spread out a towel for them to sit on. Shoes were shed in preparation for the inevitable trip to the water’s edge, but the boys remained seated. “What do you see out there?” Virgil asked. “It’s the same. Calm. Flat. But it’s different from last time too.” Virgil waited for a moment before trying again, wanting Gordon to see past the feeling of fear. “Remember what we learned about studying the ripples?” he prompted. “Is it really flat and calm?” There was silence as Gordon’s gaze focused intently on the expanse of blue stretching before them. The embers of the fire that had previously lit his eyes seemed to ignite anew as he studied the surface, looking for telltale signs. “There are reeds just under the surface over there,” he said, pointing a little to their left, “and the ripples over here are different to that bit farther out where it looks really smooth.” Virgil could see Gordon’s confidence growing as he gestured to various parts of the lake, telling his big brother what the differences in the rippled and smooth areas were likely to mean in terms of what was going on beneath the surface. Pretty soon they were on their feet and striding into the shallows to test the waters. Gordon entered the water at a slow walk, which Virgil thought was through caution or trepidation at first, but then Gordon gently trailed fingertips through the reeds and beckoned his big brother over. “Virgil, come look,” he called, looking up at him with a grin. “There are fish that feed in the reeds.” The next half hour was spent following Gordon through the shallows exploring the aquatic life found therein. As the younger boy got more caught up in watching the fish, finding different types of reeds, discovering eels, and excitedly pondering all manner of life in the depths of the lake, they wandered deeper into the water. Virgil followed and listened, answering questions as best he could when asked, smiling fondly all the while. The Squid was in his element. “Hey Gordon,” Virgil said as he playfully splashed a well-aimed hand scoop of water into the side of his little brother’s head. “You realise you’re getting your shirt wet, right?” Gordon looked down at the water that was now up to the middle of his chest and back up at his brother with a grin. “Oops.” They briefly returned to the little beach, shed their shirts, and laid them down in the sun to dry. “You know, when we come back this weekend, we’ll mostly be swimming out here where we just were.” Virgil nodded his head back towards the little patch of lake they’d just explored. “We could go a little deeper, actually lift our feet off the bottom and swim for a while. This is the only part of the lake any of us have ever really swum in before.” Gordon’s eyes sparkled with light reflecting off the water as he pondered Virgil’s words for a moment. Mom and Dad had always suggested the boys shouldn’t swim out past where they could touch the bottom and definitely never past the end of the wooden pier. Looking at the pier and the dinghy tied securely to its mooring drew his eye to the rock island beyond, tantalisingly close, yet so terrifyingly far. Virgil watched his squid brother scanning the water, casting his gaze over the safe and familiar. He saw the moment the line was crossed and thoughts turned to the challenge just that little farther afield. Once again, he placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, hoping to redirect his thoughts. “Why don’t we just go back in, swim around for a while, have some fun where we know it’s safe?” “Yeah, okay,” Gordon agreed, a little half-heartedly. Virgil took his brother by the hand, and by the time they’d taken two steps, they were running towards the water. He only let go once they were in deep enough that a tug of the hand lifted Gordon’s feet off the bottom and propelled him a short distance through the water. He received a splash to the face for his efforts, but his little brother was smiling and treading water. In no time at all, Gordon was literally swimming rings around his big brother, splashing at him and darting away, taunting him, daring him to swim after him. It was hunger that drove them out of the water and back onto the dry sand sometime later. PB&J sandwiches were retrieved from the backpack and devoured. The late summer sun warmed their shoulders as they sat in content silence, listening to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds. Virgil would have been happy to remain there soaking it all in, but Gordon soon became restless, his gaze drifting back to where water birds were drying their outstretched wings. “Virgil, I wanna swim to the rock.” The fire was back in Gordon’s eyes. Virgil studied him for a moment, seeing that same determination that had driven the march to the lake. He wasn’t asking for permission, he was making a statement. It was what he’d come here to do – the demon he needed to conquer. Virgil wasn’t feeling anywhere near as courageous as his little brother looked at that moment. “Gordon . . .” “I need to do it, Virgil.” He turned his head, those glowing embers burning straight into his big brother’s wide brown eyes. “But I need you.” “I can’t . . .” “Use the boat. I’ll swim, you row. If I get into trouble, you’ll be right there.” Virgil had to look away. The intensity in those eyes, the body language, the strength of will in his little brother were too much. But it was the faith Gordon was placing in him that was twisting his gut. He caught sight of the rock island, out there beyond the boat docked at the pier. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thumping just a little too hard and a little too fast. Gordon needed this – needed him to do this with him. He couldn’t let the Squid down. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. He had expected a look of triumph, a smile, a victory dance . . . something. Anything but the simple nod and determined knitting of Gordon’s brow that he received in reply. The younger boy then grabbed his water bottle and took a long draught. “Staying hydrated helps stop you getting cramps, right?” Gordon asked. Virgil nodded. “And I should do some warmup stretches before I swim out there.” “Right again.” Virgil was gladdened by the amount of thought and preparation Gordon was putting into the task ahead of him this time. “And you’ll stay close in the boat?” There it was, the uncertainty just below that confident façade. “Right beside you all the way, little brother.” Virgil tried to school his expression into one of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. They made their way across the sand and onto the wooden planks of the pier, then stood studying the expanse of water for a moment, watching the ripples and trying to read currents. Looking for dangers. At last Virgil could put it off no longer. Gordon was warmed up and ready to go, they had assessed the risks and had plans in mind for just about any eventuality. It was time to untie the boat and take up the oars. Sitting in the gently rocking dinghy, Virgil had to take a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on a few deep breaths to quell the hammering in his ribcage before looking back up at Gordon and giving a nod. He was as ready as he’d ever be. This time when Gordon dived in, he began his swim with a measured pace rather than a burst of speed that he wouldn’t be able to maintain. Virgil didn’t have to work too hard on the oar strokes to keep up with him. Not far out there was a brief moment of panic when Gordon suddenly stopped his forward momentum and started treading water. An odd expression furrowed his brow, then he ducked his head under the water. Dropping the oars and preparing to make a grab for his brother, Virgil was sure his heart stopped beating altogether for a second before the blond head re-emerged above the surface. Seeing the panic in his big brother’s eyes, Gordon grinned and held up the weed he’d just untangled from his leg. “It’s okay, Virge, no cramps, just waterweed.” And with that, he resumed his swim with a flurry of swift kicks and smooth strokes. By the time Virgil could regather the oars – and his wits – his little brother was ten meters ahead of him. It took only a few strong pulls on the oars to catch up again, but Virgil knew his pulse rate was not going to climb down out of the stratosphere until they were both on dry land. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few minutes before Gordon was able to lay his hands on the slippery surface of the rock. Finding a decent hold, he clambered up far enough to sit on a crag, feet still in the water, triumphant grin lighting up his features, water droplets catching the sunlight, causing his hair and skin to glisten as he caught his breath. “I knew I could do it!” he panted as Virgil drew the dinghy close beside him. “I never doubted you, Squiddo,” Virgil agreed, practically beaming with pride at his brother’s achievement. “Now, are you gonna swim back? Or do you want a lift?” Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the return trip. Virgil chuckled. “Um, I think maybe I’ll just come back with you in the boat.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it back from where it was dripping into his eyes. “No problem, Fish. You’ve proved enough for one day.” With a bit of manoeuvring, jostling, and boat rocking, Gordon was able to climb into the dinghy and settle himself into the seat at the prow. To him, the journey back to the dock seemed to take no time at all. Virgil’s strong, steady strokes with the oars propelled them quickly and smoothly through the water as though it took no effort at all. He jumped out of the boat and onto the pier before Virgil had even finished drawing the oars into the boat, then waited for Virgil to climb out and secure the mooring. “Virgil?” It was all the warning the older boy got as he turned to face his little brother, who closed the space between them at a run and launched himself into what became a squid hug, arms and legs tightly wrapped around Virgil’s torso. It took Virgil a couple of backward steps before he could steady himself under the sudden additional weight. “Thank you. You are the best big brother.” Virgil returned the embrace, allowing a chuckle to escape as he rested his head against damp hair. “You are a pretty amazing little brother, Squid.”

*** The Last Day of Summer celebration, and Virgil’s twelfth birthday turned out to be a fantastic, fun-filled event for all involved. Nothing could hold Gordon back from spending as much time as possible in the water, and so no one knew there had ever been a problem. The nightmares had run their course too. Summer vacation came to an end, and with the start of the school term, life returned to normal. A few weeks later a chance meeting at school pickup resulted in a few puzzle pieces slotting into place for Lucy. Gordon’s class teacher spotted Lucy waiting in the Kiss & Drop zone and made a passing comment about his wonderful piece of creative writing for the obligatory “What I Did Over Summer” assignment. When they got home, with the boys all occupied with snacks or homework and various afterschool activities, Lucy dug out Gordon’s writing workbook and found the story in question titled “My Summer Vacation,” with a large A+ written in red at the top of the page. My Summer Vacation I did lots of things in summer with my big brothers and we had lots of fun but there was one scary day. I went swimming in the lake when I wasn’t supposed to and I nearly drowned but my brother was there and he saved me. After that I was scared to go swimming, but he told me it would make him sad if I didn’t swim anymore because he says swimming makes me happy. We looked up all the ways you can get into trouble swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans. We found out all the ways you can look for dangers and get out of trouble in the water and how to be safe. Now I’m not scared to go swimming anymore. Well, that explained a great deal. Lucy smiled to herself and shook her head a little. She would have words with Virgil about the kind of secrets that needed to be shared with an adult, but she was struck once again by how amazing her boys could be and just how far they would go for one another.

***

Gruvia Week - Discovery

This is my first time positing on here lol - go easy on me please

Warning: minor smutty themes

_ _ _

"Juvia, you feeling alright?" 

Juvia, sat on a bench in the guildhall next to Levy and Gajeel, continued to rock back and forth in her seat with her arms clenched around her stomach. In Levy's lap was placed one of the twins in her hold, giddy and babbling while the one Gajeel was cradled into his shoulder and fast asleep. Therefore their conversation had to remain quiet or the six month old baby would awake screaming. 

"Juvia's okay," She mumbles, "I think I just ate something weird." 

Levy and Gajeel glance at each other, "Do you feel sick?" Levy asks. 

She nods, "A little." 

"Weren't you feeling crappy yesterday?" Gajeel adds. 

"A bit." Juvia would bend her truths to save her friends from worrying too much. 

For the past four days, Juvia had been experiencing mild nausea. Every day it appeared to be more frequent, this day being the worse. 

"Come on," Levy stands up and carefully hands over the twin she had to Gajeel, "I'll take you home."

Levy walks Juvia down the sunsetting street to the apartment Juvia shared with her boyfriend, who was currently out on a long lasting job, leaving Juvia with a feeling of absence in her apartment, and peacefully waiting for him to return in a months time. 

Juvia frantically gets out her keys to unlock the door, a sensation of rush bursting through her veins. As soon as she enters, her direction is in a locked path directly towards the sink as it was the closest thing for her to unleash half digested food from her stomach. 

Levy quickly grabs a chunk of Juvia's wavy blue locks to save them from being stuck together by portions of puke while her hand eases her by rubbing circular patterns on Juvia's back. After Juvia retracts her position from over the sink, she sinks to the ground, exhausted and somewhat hungry again. 

"Juvia, how long have you been feeling like this?" Levy questions, dropping next to her. 

"A few days." 

"Are you sure it's something you ate?" 

Juvia's eyes widen a little, peering up towards Levy's face. She hadn't exactly thought what it could be. Truthfully, she was denying what it most definitely was. Juvia's an intelligent woman, and can tell the difference between an illness and... the other topic. 

Juvia begins to twiddle her thumbs in nervousness as her nose buries into the skirt of her dress on top of her knees, "Juvia's not exactly sure..." She confesses. 

Levy's next query would for sure strike something, "Is your period late?"

That one didn't actually enter Juvia's mind. She mutters a sequence of dates and numbers to herself, counting on her fingers in concentration. "Shit!" Juvia cursed on rare occasions. 

"Is that a yes?" 

Eyes wider than ever, she nods. "Two weeks late!" 

Levy knew all these symptoms. Juvia had been oversleeping and coming to the guild at later times in the day, the nausea, the missed periods... It wasn't hard to calculate. She pushes herself from the floor and taking Juvia's hand with her, taking her towards the bedroom and implying her to sit on the bed, as this will be pretty heart stopping. 

She takes her hands into hold, and kneeling in front of the puzzled blunette, her voice gentle and calm, in attempt to keep things light hearted, "Juvia, I think you're pregnant." 

Her eyes slant to the side, taking in the life changing information that may be a high possibility. "No..." She says under her breath, "Gray-sama and Juvia aren't even married yet... not even engaged." Juvia likes to keep traditions in mind.

"Doesn't mean it's not a possibility. All the evidence is right in front of you, you can't possibly deny it. Plus you've always dreamed of having kids with Gray. This can be a good thing if you want it to be. If not, that's totally fine too." 

Juvia and Gray hadn't discussed kids more than once. At least alone together and not in a teasing situation surrounded by their guild-mates. 

"Have you got any pregnancy tests here?" 

Juvia shakes her head in reply. 

"I'll go out and get you one." She breaks the contact, exchanging a smile with her as she heads out the door. 

Juvia falls into her bed, glaring at the ceiling as she processes the situation. The chances of it being true were actually quite high. The two of them were very sexually active, yet also taking precautions. Most of the time. Once or twice, Gray may have relied on the withdrawal method. A few weeks before Gray left for his job along with Natsu, Lucy and Erza, the two of them went out to stargaze. Mere touches were grazed on each others skin. Those touches becoming more lewd, lewd gestures forming into kisses, and eventually, the kisses leading to sex under the midnight sky. 

Juvia's hands slap to her face in utter embarrassment, and stupidity flowing through her mind. No contraception which was one hundred percent effective existed, and they increased the chances of conceiving by using the worst method possible. 

Juvia unconditionally loves her Gray-sama, and even though it took some time, the feeling was completely mutual. However, Juvia had planned out her life with Gray. First moving in together, which had already been achieved. Second, waiting for the day he proposes (she doesn't have the guts to do it herself). Third, the day the two lovebirds finally get married. Last but not least, babies. 

Juvia had strong mother instincts, she was born to be a mother. What made her dream bigger about it was the fact Gray would one day be a father to them. 

Ten to fifteen minutes later, Levy returns with a plastic bag. Containing some comfort food and of course a pregnancy test. 

Juvia hesitantly takes the test, and heads inside the bathroom. 

She follows the instructions while her heart beats worryingly fast. In fear of the answer, she slaps the test into Levy's hand while they wait a few minutes for the result, not wanting to see for herself. 

"Juv..." Levy calls after a few minutes. 

Juvia peaks up from her slouch as she sat on the end of the bed, her teeth grinding with anticipation. 

"It's positive." 

Juvia had trouble believing it. She was actually pregnant? Even though she was going to beat herself up for not being more careful, a hint of joy sprung out of nowhere. Hormones, perhaps?

A brief smile emerges on Juvia's round, porcelain face, while her eyes are screaming. She's actually, after all these years, going to have a baby with the man she's wanted to the most. Just a little bit earlier than she had originally planned.

Gray doesn't return for another month. After this, she wouldn't be able to bare another moment with him not knowing. 

"When does Gray get back?" 

"Just over a month... I don't know what I want to do..." 

_ _ _

On the couch, dressed in her boyfriend's shirt and a pair of shorts, Juvia sat in peace and comfort while skimming the pages of one of her favourite books to pass time. Gray's arrival was due that day. Juvia had a burst of anticipation to see her boyfriend after so long, but coated with fear in addition. 

Juvia slams her book as she catches the sound of keys turning the locks. After discovering she's pregnant with her Gray-sama's baby, she'd spent the previous month reading pregnancy books, making space for the baby in the spare bedroom, which was previously used as a storage room which would grow like mould. For the majority, she'd be sleeping and having naps three times a day, and throwing up anything that'd enter her body. Her cravings were wild, her tongue rejected almost all of her favourite foods, including her most adored Gray buns. 

Juvia'a smile lightens Gray's life up as he opens the door. His jacket is immediately stripped without a thought and his arms around her body, first pulling her closer to him and their lips briefly locking for a sweet moment. Juvia's hands crawl up to his neck, she retracts her lips for a second and tugs him back for an even deeper, more tender one. 

"Fuck," Gray curses in a breath, "I've missed these lips," He kisses her once more, "I've missed you." 

He makes her squeak as he grabs her thighs. Juvia loops her legs around his waist as an immediate reaction, giggling and melting into the strong, hungry kisses. Gray's tongue surprises her as he licks her bottom lip, needing to meet with hers. By how he was moving towards the bedroom, tugging his teeth at her lip and occasionally licking, his crotch pressed right against hers, she knew what he wanted and was aware he wanted it now. 

"Gray..." She pants, breaking the kiss. 

Gray ignores her, assuming her words are more of a moan and slips his tongue inside her mouth. She allows his tongue to take control of her mouth, being distracted by his taste and moving into a moment of bliss. Then reality slaps her in the face as her back hits a door. 

"Gray, I need to talk to you." Worried and out of breath, her usual third person switches to first. 

Gray's lips halt their work, his eyes opening and hands becoming looser, dropping her to the ground delicately. 

"Are you okay?" His fingers brush through her bangs, tracing to the side of her porcelain face. 

She nods, retaining a smile and she takes his hand, turning around and opening the door to their bedroom. She takes them to a bed, this time for conversational purposes, not making hot, sweet love. 

Holding his hand, her eyes flutter close, mouth intaking a deep breath, releasing a sigh a second after. "Remember that time, you and Juvia were out in the fields outside of town, stargazing?" 

Gray's smirk startles her, "Oh yeah, I remember that night." He recalls the sex immediately. 

"You also remember making love then?" She urges the memory, and a possible yearning sensation in Gray's boxers. 

"Yes?" He took note something was wrong rather quickly. 

"And how you had to pull out since Juvia wasn't on the pill that week, and we didn't have a condom?" 

He nods, eyes narrowing. 

"Well," She chokes on her words, unable to confess immediately, "you may have pulled out a moment too late..."

She pressures herself inside her own head "Spit it out, Juvia!". She'd had the perfect pep talk from Levy, and was convinced she'd have no trouble revealing her pregnancy. 

Luckily, words didn't have to be used. A more convenient way was also possible for her. 

Juvia lifts up her sweater, having a tighter t-shirt underneath. She holds the top of Gray's hand, and guides it to her stomach, having him feel her bump, confessing her pregnancy in a nonverbal way. 

Gray's eyes break from hers, darting to her stomach and widening, his reaction unreadable from Juvia's perspective. 

Juvia's concern over his reaction rises, as he wasn't uttering a sound. About to panic, scream of how she had the worst feeling in the world she knew he'd be against it, Gray's free hand holds the other side of her small bump. The anxiety in his eyes had faded, and gazing with awe in replacement. 

"Gray-sama?" Juvia says, after many silent moments of listening to each others breaths. 

"There's actually... a baby us in there?"

Having him say "a baby us" melted Juvia's heart. Out of all the possible ways Gray could've responded it, that she was not expecting. "Yes. What do you think?" 

He doesn't respond straight away, continuing to gaze at her bump, his hands trailing over it and lightly caressing. He catches Juvia off guard when his lips swiftly kiss hers. He places excited, soft, joyful kisses from her lips, to the corner of her mouth, cheeks and forehead. Juvia's unable to contain a smile, giggling into the final heartfelt, impassioned kiss. Her arm loops around his neck, deepening their kiss, while his hand is at the back of her neck and one staying on her bump. 

"Gray-sama is happy?" Her eyes widen with joy.

"Yes!" He exclaims while kissing her once more. 

She pulls away, out of breath with a hyper voice, "Gray-sama wants to have a baby with Juvia?" 

He pushes himself further back, regaining some control, taking her hands into his, "Well... Yeah. We've been together for two years. I know we both thought marriage would come first - I'll be honest, having a baby right now will be scary as we weren't trying for one and it's just happened. I know I don't bring up the thought of us having a child together often, as it's more of a you thing..." He pauses, nervously taking a bite at his lip, "But I knew we'd end up having one eventually. If you're happy with one now, so am I." 

Juvia's face had blushed immensely red throughout his words. There's no way in hell Gray would confess that in front of the entire guild. Having him say it to her face, while holding her hands, was just enough for her. 

_ _ _

Two days had passed. Gray and Juvia spent the weekend together, discussing their excitement over the baby, and mainly catching up on the past two months apart. 

First night back, Gray's sleep was muddled and would wake up at least three times during the night. His emotions were complicated to explain, but he could sum them up and admit his happiness. The news may have not fully kicked in, and he was shocked of how Juvia seemed to be able to relax, sit peacefully on a couch and read books. Yet again, she had just spent a month by herself well aware of what was growing inside her. 

The two agreed they'd wait a few weeks before fully announcing it to the guild, plus Gray's shyness. However, an infamous dragon slayer had other plans. 

Juvia was clothed in baggier clothes than normal, concealing her bump as her tighter dresses were incapable of that. Gray, Natsu and Lucy were sat at a table in the centre of the guild. Natsu throwing unintentional flirtatious comments at Lucy, and would receive relatively harsh slaps in the bicep in return. 

"Hi everyone." Juvia sweetly announces herself as she slides beside Gray, discretely grasping his fingers as she's sat down. 

"Hey, Juvia." Natsu grins, which soon disappears as his nose begins to twitch. 

"Something wrong?" Gray questions. 

He nods, his sniffing becoming more obvious, "Can you smell that?" 

"I can't." Gray shrugged, raising an eyebrow at Juvia. 

"We don't have the nose of a beast like you," Lucy giggles, "What is it?" 

Natsu leans forward, following his scent with his sight in attempt to locate it, which his glare ends on Juvia. "It's you!" 

She jumps at his forwardness, gripping Gray's hand firmer. "Huh?" 

"There's something different about you... new perfume?" She shakes her head in response, "It may be the dress, never seen you in something so loose." 

"Watch your mouth, pervert." Gray growls as he takes Natsu's innocent comment more crudely. 

"You're calling me a pervert!?" Natsu immediately bites back. 

Lucy slaps her hand to Natsu's shoulder, pushing him back into the seat, "It doesn't take much for you to get riled up, does it?" 

"Seriously though," He flounces out his hands towards Juvia, "Something is different! I can smell it!" Lucy sighs and hushes him as his bellowing was grabbing the rest of the guilds attention. 

Juvia and Gray eye each other in fear. Natsu may not have the IQ of a genius, however his nose is powerful enough to sense any form of change. Lucy quickly takes note of the glance they exchange, figuring out by the scent and the stares, something is certainly up. 

"Wait..." Her eyes narrow in query, "Is something actually different, Juvia?" Her choice of tone more calm than Natsu's, easing the two of them. 

Juvia's eyes slant as her leg bounces in anxiety. Announcing her pregnancy five days earlier than planned would certainly drive Gray crazy. He hasn't mentally prepared himself for the attention and congrats as he's soon to be a father. 

"Well..." 

"Juvia!" Gray objects. 

Juvia releases a frustrated breath, "Gray-sama, there's no harm-" 

"I'm not ready to tell yet!" 

"You're pregnant." 

Juvia and Gray's heated stare breaks as Natsu points a finger at them, shockingly figuring out their secret much quicker than expected. 

Lost for words, the two gape like blank minded sheep. 

"I'm right, right?" 

Gray's opinion on Natsu is still pretty low, even though over the past years it had risen. How on earth did he figure it out in the snap of his fingers!? 

In Juvia's head, it made sense. He wouldn't ask if they were engaged as her scent would remained the same. With the evidence of looser clothes, the scent, secrecy, there's no hiding her pregnancy from him! 

"Yes... Juvia is pregnant." Getting it off her chest to her closest friends, minus Gajeel who already knew, was a relief. Her confession initiated a smile to tug at her delicate lips, watching the two with stars in their eyes as they take in the information, while Gray slams his face into the palms of his hands. 

"You sneaky little fucker!" Natsu's method of congratulations are somewhat unique, "Nice!"

"Oh my god!" Lucy squeals in delight as her hands hyperly applaud, "I'm so happy for you!" 

"Thank you," Juvia caresses her bump under the table, "We weren't planning on one of course. But Juvia thinks she's ready for a baby, and so does Gray-sama." 

Gray pulls himself up from the grave of his hands, admitting a smile to Juvia, taking her hand and placing his lips on her knuckles. He may not express his love for her much in public, but that tiny gesture said it all. 

"Yeah... I am."

_ _ _

Silence (Needs Filling)

Hey it’s @spacey-png​ birth and I wrote a lil emic confession as a gift!!! I hope you enjoy it and have a great birthday!! 🎉🎉

---

Hizashi has been planning this over and over in his head. Repeated every word, every pause, every cadence and quirk, every hand gesture and overdramatic explanation of his affections to make it absolutely, positively, impossibly clear just how much he loves Aizawa Shōta and how very, very sincerely he would like to be the one for him.

He has for a year known that on his birthday, his gift to himself will be looking Shōta right in the face (but not the eyes, that makes Shōta uncomfortable, that’s one of those things he’s learned and practised) and telling him in the biggest, best words he can that he is head over heels in love.

Kayama is in on it, of course. She’s been gathering vital intelligence, cheering him on- and it’s her counsel he seeks first this morning after staring at himself in the mirror long enough to be sure he isn’t dreaming, that the day has finally come and this is what it’s greeted him with.

[Midnight] he texts, Hero name and all because it’s saving he needs right now.

She replies quickly, [Are you all set?]

Hizashi stares at his reflection again, gurgles his misery in time with the tapping of his thumbs.

[I lost my voice.]

[You lost your voice???] [Is it a sore throat?? I can bring you something!!]

[No] He is dying inside. [I think it's the Villain from yesterday. It's not a sore throat, I can feel the sounds resonating up just fine, but if I try and say anything- Bam! It's like they just disappear.]

[Does that mean today's plans are cancelled?]

Hizashi gazes at himself, lips pursed, brows low. Every overwrought script he’s come up with, flawless as they might’ve been, is swept aside under one big, undeniable truth.

He wants Shōta to know how he feels.

It has to be today. He can feel it.

[I'll figure something out!!! I'm going to make sure he knows how I feel!!!]

[I'll be cheering for you!] She’s always got his back, he knows that, but it’s always nice to remember she’s standing at his side encouraging him too. [I expect to hear all about it later!]

[When I can talk to do it, I promise you're getting the exclusive reveal!]

As Hizashi requests, Shōta is already briefed on his unfortunate situation by the time Hizashi appears at his door. Kayama spared the specifics of why it matters so much, but she got across the main thing: Mic no talk, enjoy the relief on your ears.

Shōta inclines his head as Hizashi takes his shoes off, considering him in the rare silence.

“I told you to consider learning signs before your hearing gets worse. It would have been useful in the present situation too.”

Hizashi makes the biggest show he can of rolling his eyes, squeezing past Shōta’s folded arms to jog out into the lounge and drape himself all over Shōta’s couch. He puts his legs up on one of the arms even, grinning while Shōta sighs and trudges over to sweep them right back off to the ground.

Drinks are provided, Shōta finds something to put on the TV, the normal day together Hizashi had asked for so he could make his move that’s now turning into an agonising attempt to figure out a new, even better move, with one hundred percent less speech.

They sit together, quiet. Obviously.

“Um.” Shōta shifts in place, rubbing his palm up and down the side of his mug. “This is… strange.”

Of course it’s strange! Hizashi can’t breathe a word despite the backlog of frankly incredible lines he’s building up in response to the decor, the TV, Shōta’s awkward little wriggles. He has some killer jokes about Shōta’s cat-paw socks just begging to get out!

He puffs up his cheeks, waving his hands in an approximation of duh! When's the last time you weren't being serenaded by my beautiful words every moment we spent together?

Shōta watches his interpretive dance and glances away. “…I have no idea what that means. You could type on your phone.”

You didn’t read it when I did, his hands wiggle emphatically.

“…Are you complaining I didn’t look, before.”

YES???

“You had the font set to the smallest size. And the note background was magenta.”

Hizashi’s hands freeze, and then he’s sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He has tastes! And a lot to say, more than his screen could handle any bigger than that. Shōta didn’t go for the emojis, either! Probably because decoding them would’ve taken a codebreaker a good chunk of the day…

“Sorry. I… am not that good with screens to begin with. And I’m worse with charades.” Shōta clears his throat, lips curving down in a frown. “I should try to be more allowing. Especially today.”

Hizashi gives him a flapped it’s fine, it’s fine, sinking back heavier into the couch. So no text on a screen, no charades. Damn. Maybe he can piece together songs? Make a quick playlist, as if making a playlist is ever quick?

“Ah, it’s frustrating.”

That tone of voice has Hizashi looking back to him, unused to Shōta speaking so softly. Shōta’s hands have slipped up to steeple against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back arched down and thumb fidgeting back and forth near the tip of his nose, gaze focused unseeing beyond it.

Hizashi wants to ask what’s wrong, is this bad, should I have thought of something else?

He just lifts a hand, loosely touching Shōta’s shoulder to try and remind him that he’s here for whatever Shōta wants to say.

Shōta’s eyes flick sidelong towards him, hastily back away, and it’s surely a trick of the light but his cheeks look a little pink.

“Usually you talk so much I can’t get a word in. But I never wish you were quiet.” His hands slide slow down his nose, fingers parting to the shape of it and joining again over his lips as he laces them across his mouth instead. “I don’t know what to do in a silence like this. It makes me want to- fill it, but I doubt I have anything worth saying, even less than you do. At least you make nonsense sound appealing.”

Best Radio Show four years and counting, he wants to remind him, to lighten the mood. His fingers just gather in his lap, gaze still on the hint of red that’s taken root in Shōta’s ears now too.

Shōta’s gaze sweeps to the ceiling, like he’s looking for answers in the paint.

“I like your voice.”

Hizashi feels his spine straighten, eyes wide and alert as the jolt slips his glasses down his nose. Oh. Oho. What? What?

“It’s not the best voice, even. You blast out my eardrums every other day, you squawk when you’re excited, speak a mile a minute even when you’re not…” Shōta laughs, all soft and fond and Hizashi is ascending. “But it’s calming. I feel- at ease, when you’re talking. Maybe that’s why I feel so wound up right now.”

He drops his hands, tipping his head down and sighing low. “You said you had something to tell me, today. I… want to hear it, in your words, in your voice. I’m bad at dealing with a lot of things, but they’re- a little easier, if it’s you saying them.”

Hizashi is staring and Shōta keeps his face pointedly away, bringing a hand up to scratch awkward through his hair as the seconds tick by.

“…I think I know what you want to say to me,” he announces, finally. “You’re worse at hiding things than you think.”

Hizashi isn’t sure if he wants to squawk offendedly or babble apologies, but neither make it out. He just stares, his own face starting to feel hot, his glasses continuing their trajectory right off of his nose.

“I think I already know what I’m going to say to you, about it. And I know why you don’t want to wait, and I know it’s your birthday. But-“ Shōta peeks up, pausing to stretch a hand out, to press a single finger to the bridge of Hizashi’s glasses so he can carefully ease them back up into place. It’s achingly intimate. “I’m going to be selfish and ask you to hold back until you can tell me properly. And when you do, I’ll give you a proper answer.”

Even if he were able to speak, Hizashi thinks he might be dazzled speechless.

“When you can’t talk you can’t talk me out of bad decisions, or say something so embarrassing I regret them, so.” Shōta lifts his head a fraction higher. “I’m going to talk myself into something ridiculous so you have the power to be patient, and so I get whatever is possessing me out of my system. No, you are not allowed to do an interpretive dance about it. No, I will not be reading whatever you type. This is just- a thing that I am doing, that will happen because I want it too, and then it will be over and we will order takeout.”

Hizashi is aware of the space between them inching smaller, of the hand that was on his glasses touching his cheek instead and klaxons in his head so loud they might come out of the shocked ring his lips are forming if that ring wasn’t being stoppered up by another mouth covering his with a kiss that lives up to its giver’s name and erases every thought straight out of his head.

Shōta pulls away, whole face dark red, eyes darting over Hizashi’s dreamy expression before he’s on his feet, back turned, shoulders up around his ears.

“Takeout,” he repeats.

Hizashi doesn’t try to answer. He gives a thumbs up to everything, all of this, and listens to Shōta’s flustered ramble all the way out of the room.