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macabr3-barbi3 · 2 months

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CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed.

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh.

Right over his head.

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring.

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you.

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of.

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him.

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed Val coming into a room.

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants.

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with.

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach.

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

#vox x reader #vox smut #hazbin vox #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel #x reader #my stuff <3

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all-the-fun-of-the-cirkus · 3 months

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listened to white light/white heat by the velvet underground for the first time. been a while since i listened to a record that actively wants to kill me

i can't decide if this album's aged brilliantly or terribly. obviously it's legendarily unlistenable and abrasive, and when it was released there was pretty much nothing that sounded anything like it. but the velvets are mega famous now, and whole genres have been invented based off their vibe. so, this album isn't anywhere near as shocking and difficult as it was back in the day, because so many artists since have copied it or deliberately exceeded it, and i can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing

because, being realistic, there's very little in the way of actual songs here. the title track is a blatant rewrite of i'm waiting for the man (although i think i actually like the rewrite more purely because it's a little more complex, i.e. it has more than two chords), here she comes now is a pleasant (if horny) breather. the rest is... otherwise, and i can't help but wonder if divorcing it of all that shock factor mutes some of its power

it certainly doesn't mute all of it, though. side 2 is where it gets real interesting, with i heard her call my name basically just being a vehicle for some wild, feedbacky guitar soloing, and i don't mind that one bit (it's a mystery to me why lou reed plays so little guitar on his records, he's really rather good at it), and sister ray...

i mean, if you're reading this i'm going to assume you're at least vaguely familiar with the band (if not, i'm amazed you got this far but hi!), but depending on your tastes a seventeen minute one chord jam with no production to speak of, featuring someone yelling semi-improvised (at least it feels like it to me, there's no way he wrote that fuckin ding-dong line so many times) poetry about an orgy and two guys just wailing madly at their instruments, for (cannot stress this enough) seventeen minutes might well be your nightmare, or your idea of heaven. as usual, i'm in between, but i did very much like it; i was flagging around nine minutes on but it gets real ferocious from that point on, and i kind of really dig the vibe. it feels like the musical equivalent of a drugged up, chaotic party careening out of control, particularly when reed begins shaking up his delivery, stuttering, slowing down, speeding up, and his and cale's soloing, as well as the ever-increasing tempo, paints the same picture

there's two other pieces, one of which is blackly hilarious and one terrifying. i couldn't tell you a thing about the music of the gift, given it's slammed right into one channel and behind the spoken monologue, but the monologue makes up for it. honestly i think most of that comes down to cale's dry delivery (with a very lovely welsh brogue, i might add), with one bit in particular not, uh, ageing too well, but there's a nice subtle wit to the prose as well, with a few choice double entendres (reed 100% knew what he was doing with "rough hands gripped his package," c'mon). not sure how much relisten factor there is to it though

lady godiva's operation, on the other hand, uh, fucking hell. if you've not heard it before, a) again, i'm a little confused why you're reading this far but cool and b) go listen to it now before i spoil it. anyway, i was expecting it to be a relative oasis of pleasantness, and the first half is alright, i guess. nice melody, nice singing from cale, but it's very repetitive. then reed comes in, like he's forcing cale out the way. then it just starts building, the instruments desyncing, the heart monitor sound effect, the vocals sliding up and down in the mix, and the song disintegrates around you, and it's legitimately frightening. again, it's the aural equivalent of a surgery going wrong and dissolving into chaos, only experienced through a fog of drugs and anaesthethic, and it's supremely unpleasant in a fashion that's impressive, but which i haven't decided if it's actually enjoyable or not. thank fuck for here she comes now, which is nothing special but you need to hear just to recover

this is certainly an experience, and i think it's an experience anyone interested in rock music should have. i'd put it comfortably third in their canon (behind the two self-titled-ish albums and ahead of loaded, ftr), and i'm glad i've filled in that gap in my collection

#the velvet underground #60s psychedelia #i need to finish my on the beach writeup at some point but it is proving troublesome for reasons i do not understand

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fortuositywritings · 3 years

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I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 9

Summary: You get your ass handed to you. You have fun times with Wanda only for a rude awakening.

Warnings: a lot of cursing, alcohol

If anyone asks her, Laura loves her cousin. She loves you. She really, really does. But sometimes you were a bit of a pain or rather a handful and everyone knows pregnant women should not be carrying too much. So, she can’t help but be glad that there are other people here to help lighten the load.

Is it wrong that lightening the load includes allowing her husband’s ex-assassin of a best friend to basically manhandle you, said cousin she claims to love so much, at 6am in the morning? It may be a little worrisome, yes. But what is really wrong here is how she is sitting front and center, watching it all happen in front of her a little too amusedly.

Could you really blame her though? She’s pregnant. She knows she wouldn’t be able to stand watching you get thrown around, especially on her swollen feet.

It seems everyone woke up early to watch Nat “teach you self-defense”. You’ve been outside for an hour now and no one has moved from their seats. Oh, no that’s a lie. Clint did go inside once, only for him to come right back offering everyone some lemonade. Even the critters are there sitting criss cross next to Pietro on the grass sipping on their lemonades.

“So when does the self-defense part start?” you ask, out of breath. You weren’t doing anything, but falling on your ass repeatedly sure makes one sweat.

“When you start defending yourself,” Nat quips. You respond with a baffled, “What?!”

“Arms up, Y/N!” you hear your cousin shout as you prepare yourself to get thrown again.

“Look, if you are still mad about the Yelena Incident, I’m sure there could have been another less violent way to get your frustrations out.” Nat rolls her eyes and in what feels like a second, there are legs wrapped around your head in not a sexy way and you are flipped onto the ground.

“OH!!!” Everyone yells, as you feel the wind knock out of you. You hear the kids shouting, “Do it again!”

“No, don’t do it again,” you wheeze out. You feel someone rush to your side.

“Are you okay?” Wanda helps you sit up. An angel, that woman. She turns to glare at Nat. “Did you really have to do that?”

“Relax, she’s fine.” Nat answers, not bothered in any way. Either she’s blind or she’s delusional thinking you took her go-to take-down-the-bad-guy move like a simple scratch on the knee. Wanda gets visibly upset by Nat’s careless demeanor, little wisps of red magic trickling from her hand. She moves to confront Natasha and you think it might be you that is delusional when you stop Wanda, red wisps tickling your hand, and say, “It’s okay. I’m good.”

“See!” Nat throws her hands up.

“You should have put your arms up,” your cousin says off to the side. You narrow your eyes at her after Wanda helps you up. “Yes, Laura. Thank you so much. That would have really saved me from her spinny-upsidedown-flippity-whateverthefuck that was.”

Sam and Clint snicker beside your cousin at your description of Nat’s signature move. She gives you the watch-your-language look that you completely ignore. “Why don’t you come and show me how that was meant to help?”

“Can’t. Pregnant. Sorry,” your cousin motions to her belly. You shake your head, “Excuses, excuses.”

“I do know some self-defense though and I think it is really important to learn so I’m rooting for you on the side lines,” Laura adds. Not believing a word she said, you ask, “And who taught you self-defense? ‘Cause I know for a fact it wasn’t Nat. You wouldn’t be cruel enough to put me through the same torture.”

“I taught her. She’s a pretty decent shot too,” Clint admits proudly.

“No way. You can shoot?” Sam looks at Laura as skeptical as you do. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hun, bring out your gear,” your cousin says, getting everyone excited. Pietro and Sam help her stand and move over to get a clear shot of where Clint put up a target. Everyone stands aside and watches in anticipation when Clint hands his wife a bow and an arrow. She nocks the arrow back, aims, shoots, and nearly hits the bullseye, leaving everyone’s mouth agape.

“Okay, impressive,” Sam says.

“No way. You made that look way too easy. Let me try,” you say, wanting to give it a go, and a go you give alright, the arrow ricocheting off a tree (not even the tree that had the target on it) and heading towards Peter’s face. Luckily his reflexes or what he’s described as some kind of tingle kicks in and he catches the arrow on time.

You let out a sigh of relief seeing that you have not accidentally killed someone. You didn’t want to be a murderer let alone be known as the asshole that killed Spiderman by accident. You flood Peter’s ears with apologies and though he says it’s all good, you still feel really bad and ask Wanda if she could help you bake him some cookies or something later.

Everyone heads inside after that near death experience. Everyone but you and Nat who says, “Playtime’s over. Let’s do this for real now.”

“Wait, that wasn’t it?!”

Another two hours go by. Wanda wonders why you haven’t barged in the room yet to “bother” her. You should have been done undergoing Nat’s painful lesson by now. Finding it odd that you have yet to make an appearance, Wanda sets out to find you. She sees Natasha sitting at the kitchen table. When she asks her about your whereabouts and gets a “Who knows” as a response, she knows something is up. Nat always knows, so Wanda presses, “What did she say and where did you leave her?”

Natasha eventually tells her where you are. Wanda finds you outside, hosing yourself off. You are covered in mud, which Wanda can only assume was Nat’s doing. “Why did you have to antagonize her?”

You look up to see Wanda staring at you unimpressed, arms crossed and all. You defend, “You have to admit, had you the opportunity, you would have done the same.”

“You mean tell her you’ve now had two Romanov’s thighs around your head and then ask where her mom was because you wanted to ‘complete the set’,” Wanda says, uncrossing her arms to do air quotes.

“Come on, let me have this, Wanda. You should have seen it! It was glorious. The set up, the delivery, the punch,” you throw your arms in the air dramatically, hose in hand splashing water everywhere. Your body aches and you yelp, “Ow.”

Wanda only shakes her head at you. You pout and turn the hose off. “I’ve never met her mom, but she probably would’ve at least chuckled appreciating a good line. I know Yelena for sure would’ve tried not to giggle before kicking my ass as well.”

Wanda doesn’t mean to let out the grunt of annoyance at the mention of this Yelena, but it happens. Luckily, you either don’t hear it or ignore it as you pass by her, stopping to take off your shoes by the door. Before heading inside, you turn to her and coyly ask, “Do you think you could help me wash some of the mud away upstairs? I don’t think I can reach some parts on my own.”

It doesn’t take a psychic to know Wanda helping you scrub your back is not what you actually have in mind. She tries her best not to stutter as she says, “Of course, what are friends for?”

You head up to the shower first. Wanda waits downstairs two minutes before following up, thinking it was enough time for it not to seem suspicious. Clint, who is in the laundry room, though back turned the whole time, still notices and pipes up right as Wanda takes the first step up.

“Just keep in mind the acoustics of the bathroom,” he warns Wanda. Though he doesn’t see her, based on the clumsy rushed steps after, he knows she was blushing the whole way upstairs.

Having Wanda in the shower, double entendre intended, proves to be a good thing because it turns out you do in fact need help scrubbing some of the mud that somehow made it down your back. Wanda gets on your case again about agitating Nat but it’s hard to really focus on what she’s saying when her hands are all over you, even if she is just scrubbing you down.

An hour later, Laura and Nat sit at the kitchen table and try not to laugh at you struggling with the measuring cups. Sam holds no reservations in laughing in your face. “How does a grown ass woman not know how to measure some flour?”

Wanda makes a face and he corrects himself, “I hear how that sounded. Let me rephrase. How does a grown ass adult who has had to pass middle school to get into college not know how to measure some flour?”

“Unnecessary jibe at my education aside, Sam, I appreciate you rephrasing that. Back to the matter at hand, I’d like to see you try, bitch,” you challenge him, handing over all the measuring kitchen equipment.

“Gladly.” He takes your place, leaving you to go stand beside Wanda. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

You all watch him as he looks over the recipe. You think he is just bluffing about his skills, making a grand show of it all. That is until he turns back to Wanda to ask, “Two batches, right?” Then at her nod, he goes into British Bake Off mode or whatever you would call x game mode for baking.

Seeing him confidently measuring ingredient after ingredient, you lean over to Wanda and ask under your breath, “Is he doing it right?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Damn it,” you huff out. Sam overhears and chuckles, his ego inflating by the minute. You pout at Sam having taken over what was meant to be a fun activity for you and Wanda to do, but he seems like he is really enjoying showing off so you can’t be too mad. Wanda finds your pout too cute and can’t help but press a quick kiss to your lips, surprising you both. You are both blushing and she tries to play it off cool. “You did say whenever I wanted.”

“I did say that, yes,” you recall. She smiles and then gives you another chaste kiss, more confidently this time, before heading over to Sam. “Alright, leave Y/N to do something, show off.”

Meanwhile, you are trying to calm your racing heart at her kissing you so openly, which is when you realize you have an audience. You’re afraid to see if Laura and Nat saw. You turn around slowly. They clearly did, your cousin’s raised eyebrow indicating so. It makes you blush harder, so you turn back around and go to see what you can do.

Wanda and Sam give you the job of rolling the cookie dough into little balls after moving you away from setting the oven heat because you tried to turn up the heat by double in order to “bake the cookies faster”. They explain why you couldn’t do that.

“Yeah, I knew that,” you say, as you lower the temperature back down. “I was just testing you guys.”

No one believes you but they don’t say anything. Nat and your cousin watch with interest as Wanda and Sam pull your hand full of raw dough away from your mouth when you try to taste it. You lie and say you were testing them again.

Peter and Pietro trail into the kitchen at the smell of the cookies baking. Sam takes them out once they are ready. Pietro tries to grab a cookie first, but you are faster, smacking his hand away. “Peter gets the first cookie. They were meant to be for him.”

Peter, who has been lingering shyly behind Pietro, perks up. He asks you, “Why?”

“For nearly killing you. Sorry about that. Sam technically did nearly everything, which might have been for the best given my lack of skills in the kitchen. But it’s the thought, right?” you ramble.

“You didn’t have to, but thank you. I won’t say no to cookies. They all look good. Let’s just all dig in,” Peter says, seeing Pietro’s grumbly face. Pietro cheers up at that and mutters, “Finally.”

Laura sees you and the guys reaching for a cookie and warns, “Careful, they’re hot,” but the cookies are already in your mouths.

“Fuck!” “Shit!” “H-h-hot!” All three of you yell but none of you spit the cookies out. Instead, you all choose to look ridiculous cooling the cookies with your mouths open. Sam looks at you three like the dumbasses you are. Your cousin and Nat look unfazed and Wanda is practically doubled over laughing so hard that you can’t even hear it because she’s having trouble breathing.

“Get out of my kitchen. Come back when you have proof y’all graduated elementary school.” Sam kicks you out of the kitchen, Pietro grabbing some cookies before being shooed away. You head outside and decide to play some basketball. Cooper and Lila come and join you and a few minutes later so does Wanda.

You pause, holding the ball in your hands as Wanda walks up to you.

“What? Did you finish your two pages of reading for the day that quickly or did you just miss me?” you tease her. She gives you a sarcastic smile before snatching the ball away. “Two chapters actually.” She then goes to line up her shot. She shoots and scores, turning back to you with a smug smile at which you shake your head.

“Hey, you can’t walk with the ball. That doesn’t count!” Pietro whines. You fight for her point, telling him to just let her have it, which he does not let go without pointing out, “Oh, so when I do it, it’s not a point, but when Lila and Wanda do it, it counts? How is that fair?”

“Because she’s six and she’s cute, Pietro. That’s why it counts,” you reply.

“Okay, but what about my sister?”

“I just explained. Lila is six and Wanda is cute. Come on, man. Keep up.” Wanda overhears and blushes hard. Pietro laughs at his sister, embarrassing her further. You take the ball away from his hands while he is distracted and then pass it to Lila.

You do way better this game than the last time you played. You still lost but progress.

The next morning feels like a rinse and repeat. Nat wakes you up, you go for the morning hike, you complain the whole time. Breakfast is a different story. Laura’s lower back has been aching and she’s been having contractions, one of which comes while you’re eating, scaring most of you. You get straight to your feet asking where the baby bag is and Pietro rushes to find the keys saying, “I’ll start the car!”

Peter pipes, “I think someone else should drive.”

“Everyone calm down. I don’t need to go anywhere. The baby’s not coming yet,” your cousin reassures everyone, specifically her husband and Nat who are at her side. Everyone lets out a breath of relief. You ask where the baby bag is anyway to know when the time does come. She says there isn’t one and then Nat is on Clint and your heads about not being prepared.

“I got here after you did,” you defend yourself. She then looks over to Clint who says, “I’ve been saving the world.”

“Always an excuse with you two,” Nat chides.

And so the afternoon finds Clint, Sam, and Nat going to buy the essentials, while the rest of you help clean up around the house. Wanda is left to supervise Lila and Cooper clean their rooms, Peter is in charge of vacuuming upstairs, Pietro is given dish washing duty, and you are given the broom and mop.

Your cousin relaxes on the couch in the meantime. You yell up the stairs that you will be mopping now, warning everyone to watch their step. You repeat the same to your cousin who sarcastically says, “I think the whole town heard you, Y/N.”

“Well, excuse me for caring for everyone’s well being,” you retort, continuing your chores. You’re nearly finished. You just need Pietro to be done in the kitchen so you can mop there. You sit and wait in Clint and Laura’s little home office.

You swivel around in the chair, looking around curiously until something calls your attention, that something being the laminator. You try to think of something fun to laminate but think of nothing interesting. Then you remember something and rush upstairs to get it.

You pass Peter who asks if he can go downstairs now having finished vacuuming. You say yes but tell him not to go into the kitchen yet. You grab what you are looking for in your bag and head back downstairs to laminate it. Before you do, you write a message on the back.

Dear Scarlet Wizard, please stop hurting the books. Thank you. Y/N :)

Then you laminate the strip. You look over your finished product proudly before tucking it into your back pocket. You’re about to head out of the office when Pietro’s voice crescendos, heeding you of his presence before he appears. “Just ask her, Wanda. She’s seen you in them. I don’t know why you are embarrassed.”

That piques your interest. Pietro finally appears, with Wanda lingering behind him, looking like she’d much rather be anywhere else. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Pietro looks back at Wanda expectantly, but when she doesn’t say anything, he explains for her. “She needs help washing her underpants.”

“Pietro!” Wanda shouts, her face giving a new meaning to her superhero name with how red it turns. She moves forward, spluttering, “I asked Laura if I could wash some of my clothes. She said yes, but I don’t know how to work this machine and I didn’t want to make her get up to show me, and Pietro told me to ask you, so…”

She trails off shyly, wanting to bury herself in the nearest ditch right after she murders her brother for putting her in this position. Wanda hadn’t prepared to stay so long and hadn’t brought extra clothes. Now she regrets not being like Peter who overprepares. She wonders how her brother hasn’t run out of clean underwear but she thinks it’s better not to ask, predicting she won’t like whatever the answer is; Pietro is not someone who is over prepared either.

“That’s it?” you ask, not seeing what the big deal was, but you can see that Wanda is still looking rather awkward about it, so you don’t question it too much. Rather you comment, “I was actually wondering if you all just overpack for breaks. I mean I know Nat has extra clothes here in the house but I was wondering about the rest of you.”

“Peter is the only one who does the most,” Pietro says.

“Hey, I heard that!” Peter yells coming in to join the three of you. You turn to Pietro and ask, “Then what do you do?”

“He used the same underwear after he showered,” Peter explains. You and Wanda make a face of disgust and Pietro makes one of irritation. Peter runs off upstairs when Pietro starts chasing him, “Don’t tell her that!”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” you tell Wanda, who agrees with you. Then you motion for her to follow you into the little laundry room. You show her how to work the machine. She throws her clothes in and follows your instructions. Once the machine gets going, you decide to tease her now that you are alone. “It’s just underwear, Wanda. Pietro was right. No need to be shy about it when I’ve seen it both on and off you.”

She starts blushing again. She hides behind her hands and groans, “Ugh, I should have asked Laura.”

You continue on anyway, “In fact, I remember one instance where you were enjoying when I tugged them o-” You were cut off short by Wanda’s hands covering your mouth. “Stop talking.”

Your laughter is muffled but it’s there nonetheless, finding Wanda’s coyness endearing. She defends herself, recalling a story about you, “You are one to talk, Miss Purple Boxer-Briefs.”

You grab hold of her wrists, removing her hands from your mouth in order to speak. “Hey, that’s different.” You walk forwards, making Wanda take steps back until her back is against the wall. “I was not planning for anyone to see me in those. I was just taking one for the team, thinking the house was getting robbed.”

“Mhmm, sure.” Wanda giggles.This time it’s you saying, “Oh, be quiet, Maximoff.”

“Make me, L/N.”

You sputter in surprise, eyes widening at her words. Hers stare right into yours, challenging you to make a move. And she has the audacity to have a smirk on her face as if she wasn’t madly blushing about dirty underwear a few minutes ago. Where the hell did that girl go?

“Are you just going to stand there and look at me a-”

You surge forward and kiss her hard. Wanda can’t help but smile at getting her way, making it a little hard to kiss her. So you take the moment to break it and ask, “Hey, who told you my last name?”

“The same asshole that gave you this.” One of her hands between you moves up to caress your bruised cheek. “Does it still hurt?”

She prods at it, making you flinch back. “Ow, only when you poke at it.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes, pulling her hand away from your cheek. Her bashful face makes you chuckle. You pull yourself together to ask her a question. “Okay, serious question,” you start, and it’s too cute how Wanda pays close attention to what you say next. You’d think she’d know better by now. “Does it make me look badass?”

“Y/N,” she more or less groans your name in annoyance as she gently shoves you. You’re a little off balance but you quickly grasp her elbows to pull back into her space. “I’m serious. ‘Cause if I look stupid, I’m pretty sure I could will my cells to work overtime to heal it faster or something.”

She laughs at you, muttering, “You are an idiot,” and pecking your lips between each word. You hear giggling, only this laughter isn’t coming from the beautiful woman in front of you. No, this giggling you know too well comes from a certain little critter who you now see has potential to go into her father’s line of work with how quiet she can creep up on someone.

Wanda actually shoves you off this time, going to stand behind you to put a physical barrier between her and the intruding child. You clear your throat, smiling at Lila. “Hey, Lila. Did you need something?”

“Why were you kissing Wanda? Is she your girlfriend? Are you going to have a baby now?” She shoots one question after question rapidly as if she didn’t ask them all at once she would forget them. The first two are valid questions but the last throws you off so far you don’t know where you are. It throws Wanda too, so much so she’s basically choking behind you.

“Woah, okay. Umm, I was kissing Wanda because I think she is very pretty and nice and that’s just a way you can show someone that you think that about them, with their permission of course,” you rush in to add about consent. Your niece and nephews will grow up learning to be a decent human being. You continue on to her other questions. “But no, Wanda is not my girlfriend and we are not having a baby?”

Your last answer comes out more as a question, mostly due to your confusion as to where she got that idea. Wanda comes out from her hiding space to stand by you. From your peripheral vision, she looks amused at seeing you struggle to answer the six year old’s questions. Looking at your niece, she seems to be as confused as you, but you learn it’s due to something else. “Why isn’t she your girlfriend? Did you ask her?”

You hesitate to answer, really not knowing where to start. Wanda is less amused and more interested now, crossing her arms over her chest, creating a barrier between her heart and your next words that she thinks will inevitably hurt to hear. Lila doesn’t give you the chance, however, continuing to her next question that makes you scoff. “Does she think you’re ugly?”

“I’d hope not.” You turn to look at Wanda, who holds a hand over her mouth trying to cover her giggles.

“Oh, maybe she doesn’t think you’re funny, like Aunt Nat says. Maybe she doesn’t get your jokes.” Lila tries to help, but little to her knowledge, it just makes you want to dig your own grave, especially when you can see Wanda is nearly losing it trying to hold in her laughter.

“Yep, you know you might be right. That must be it,” you agree to appease her. She grins at you, proud of herself for finding an answer to her question, which reminds you, “Why did you think we were having a baby?”

“Because that’s how babies are made,” she says, without a doubt in her mind, which reasonably has you questioning, “Who told you that, critter? Because they definitely lied.”

“Mommy said so,” she says almost defiantly as if what her mom says must be the truth and who were you to make her start questioning her mother now at six years old. You are also not ready to have that conversation, the conversation between you and your cousin where she yells at you for taking over the birds and bees speech that she probably had meticulously planned for a specific time in her children’s lives.

“Aaaand, your mom’s right. Yep. Wanda is basically pregnant now,” you say without thinking. Lila’s eyes go full moon round in excitement as squeals in glee. She practically runs out of the laundry room probably to tell god knows who about the news. Wanda gasps in disbelief beside you, smacking your arm. “Why did you say that?”

“Well, what did you want me to do? Be honest with the child?” you say as if honesty would be the worst thing to bring into that conversation.

“Yes, exactly that,” Wanda says plainly.

“Okay, well unless you want to deal with Nat on your ass about us unnecessarily stressing my pregnant cousin out with talks about baby making with her six year old, for the next however long Lila remembers, you are pregnant with my child.”

Wanda hangs her head in defeat after you put that image of an angry Nat in her head. There are worse things than being fake pregnant with your crush’s baby. She sighs, “You’re paying child support for this kid.”

You smile at her quip, retaliating with, “Not without a paternity test!” She shoves you as you both exit the laundry room and you chant, “Maury! Maury!”

“We are not naming the baby Maury,” she says and runs into you when you stop abruptly to turn around and question her, “Wanda, do you not know who Maury is?”

When she shakes her head no in confusion, you grab her hand in excitement, “Oh, my god, let me teach you a little bit about American culture,” and drag her with you to watch some episodes of the show.

You only get to watch one with her, leaving her with your cousin to watch more as you go back into the kitchen to finish moping as your cousin so kindly (not so kindly) reminded you to do. Those baby hormones really were kicking in.

You return to see Pietro and Wanda eating up the show. “I knew it! I knew he would be the father,” Pietro yells excitedly from where he is on the floor looking back at his sister. “Did I not guess right?” She nods and he turns back to the television to watch the guy run off the stage as the cameraman chases after him.

Laura can’t stop yawning so you suggest she go take a nap. You help her up to her room and tell her to rest up, that you had everything under control. She teases as you shut the door, “Just don’t go around impregnating more women while I’m asleep.”

When you go back downstairs, Sam, Nat, and Clint are making their way through the front door with everything they bought. Sam and Clint set the box with the crib assembly in the middle of the living room. Nat carries some bags and says there are more bags in the car. You head outside throwing an “amateur” towards Nat who rolls her eyes knowing you are referring to your silly one trip from the car to the house rule.

The rest of the evening goes to arranging the hospital bag and getting all the baby things in order. Nat and Wanda assemble the crib, Nat insisting she do it after Pietro rushes to assemble it with a “tada!” only for it to fall apart when Nat throws a pillow onto it. Wanda is just excited to do it and Nat trusts her to follow instructions unlike her brother.

Everyone just watches, but Lila who tries to help handing the women whatever they need. As most excited six year olds do, she talks everyone’s ears off about the things she is going to do when her baby brother comes. “Oh! And he can have playdates with Y/N and Wanda’s baby. We can have tea parties every summer. Maybe not tea, cause tea isn’t very tasty and it’s too hot for that. Maybe we can have ice tea instead. What do you think, Wanda?”

Everyone in the room looks confused; most of the confused gazes are looking to you for an explanation and before anyone could say anything, you mouth “Don’t ask” while shaking your head. Wanda indulges Lila, though she blushes through it trying to look unfazed, “Yes, ice tea is nice. Or maybe lemonade. Can you pass me that small piece over there?”

It comes out perfectly, much to Pietro’s chagrin. Now the problem no one thought about- how to get it upstairs into the room. Sam and Clint carry it up the stairs trying to follow Nat’s instructions, attempting to turn it at the right angle to get it up the second flight of stairs. They clearly do not understand what Nat’s aim is here, Nat’s frustration growing by the second. Wanda gets a sense of deja vu but she can’t recall where she has seen this, until you laugh and as if reading her mind fill in the blank yelling, “Pivot!”

Satisfied with figuring out where the scene is from and not wanting to see Nat explode, Wanda uses her magic to take hold of the crib and brings Nat’s vision to life as she rotates the crib at the correct angle. The red mist lifts it the rest of the way upstairs.

“Thank you, Wanda. It seems you’re the only competent person here,” Nat huffs. She turns to the two men on the stairs, “Well, don’t just stand there, expecting Maximoff to do everything. The crib goes in the room with Laura.”

She storms up the steps shepherding Clint and Sam the rest of the way. You hear the laundry machine beeping, so you go give that your attention with Wanda on your tail. After her clothes begin to spin in the dryer, you stop her from getting any further than the kitchen remembering to give her your beautiful creation.

“Wait, Wanda, before I forget. I have something for you.” You pull the photo strip turned bookmark out of your pocket and hand it to her. She takes her time looking over the pictures on the strip from the time at the arcade, especially the third in which you are kissing her cheek. You gesture for her to look at the back and she rolls her eyes upon reading your message. Wanda appreciates the gesture anyways.

“You made me this?” Wanda asks, surprised.

You nod, “Made or more so laminated it for you. Or rather for future me who will be happy to know she saved another book from you dog earring the ends of its pages.”

You chuckle when she pushes you in jest. “Hey! That is a lot of judgement coming from someone who does not read.”

“I don’t have to be an avid book reader to know book etiquette,” you declared.

“Book etiquette?” She raises an eyebrow up in question.

“Yes, there are rules to how you treat books, same as there are rules to everything,” you answered. “Like returning a borrowed book in the same condition.”

“And one of the rules happens to be not to bend the corner of the pages?” she asks, disbelieving.

“Hey, I’m just trying to do you a favor here. Wouldn’t want you to get bullied in book club or whatever. But if you are just going to disregard the rule and not use the bookmark,” you reply, reaching for the bookmark, “I can just take it back.”

“No,” she objects immediately, pressing the photostrip against her chest. She pouts, “You already gave it to me. You can’t take it back.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you assured her, laughing at her childish antics. Wanda looks at it once more, smiling, and then gives you a kiss on the cheek. With rosy cheeks adorning her face, she thanks you. “I love it, really.”

Red really is the color for her, you think. That is until you find green giving red a run for its money the next evening.

Sam drove you, Wanda, and Pietro to one of the two bars in town in Nat’s car. It took about half an hour of begging from Sam’s part for Nat to give up her keys, but not without threatening his life if he were to even scratch her car. You couldn’t blame her, it’s a pretty nice car.

You and the three Avengers walk into the bar. It sounds like the start to a joke and it almost feels like it could be with the way the night starts. It’s a Friday night so there is a crowd but it’s not too bad. You’re still standing around the front entrance and you wonder why no one has made the move to go further into the establishment. Turning to the other three, you notice their eyes sweeping the place. You quickly realize what they are doing.

“Would you all relax? We are here to have fun. No need to act like you’re on a mission,” you remind them. Sam scoffs, “Uh, speak for yourself. This man is on the hunt for some sugar.” The rest of you three roll your eyes at him as he keeps scouting the area. His eyes befall on the pretty bartender. “And spotted. First round is on me.”

Sam walks up to the bar with swagger to his step. The three of you look for a place to sit. Pietro notices a booth open up and using a little enhanced speed, swoops into the booth, calling you and Wanda over. You talk amongst yourselves while Sam chats up the bartender. He comes over with the drinks smiling to himself. Wanda teases him, “Look at you all smiley. Did you get her phone number?”

“I’m still working on it, but I know it’s working,” he says confidently. “So hurry up and finish your drinks so I can go up and talk some more.”

He rushes you and chugs his drink in one go. You hate to be his buzzkill but someone has to remind him, “I hope you enjoyed that drink, Sam ‘cause that was your one and only for tonight. Or did you forget you drove us here?”

His face scrunches up and groans, “Noooo. Can’t Pietro drive? His metabolism works fast. It’s nearly impossible to get him drunk.”

“Did you forget what car we brought? The moves Nat pulled on me hurt like a bitch, and that was just her teaching me self defense. I can’t imagine what she would do if she finds out we let Speed Racer drive back.” You quickly turn to said twin, “No offense, Pietro.”

“You are all just a bunch of babies,” he responds, sipping from his drink.

“Ugh, fine,” Sam concedes. “Maybe, I can work with this. I’ll be back. Same thing for everyone?”

After getting an affirmative, Sam is back at it. The three of you watch him flirt with the woman behind the bar. Sam points your group out to her and she smiles at you three while your group acknowledges her with awkward waves.

A car alarm pulls everyone’s attention away; it’s Nat’s car. The three of you see Sam make a show of looking for the keys in his pockets when it’s clear to the group that he’s been holding them the entire time. That smooth bastard. The woman looks impressed.

Soon she serves up your drinks, Sam bringing them to the table, with a cocky smirk on his face. You, Pietro, and Wanda shake your heads at him his whole way back. “We see what you did there,” Wanda says. “That was very sneaky.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam denies. He takes a sip of his water as the rest of you grab your second drink. Pietro asks, “Very sad, using someone else’s things to boast. Tsk tsk tsk.”

“Keep it down. She doesn’t have to know that. Anyway, that car is a guarantee she’ll be looking this way,” Sam assures and he isn’t wrong. Wanda finds the bartender looking back at your group but much to her discontentment, she is zeroing in not on Sam but you. You don’t notice this happening.

You are too focused telling some funny story Wanda isn’t really listening to, as she finishes her drink in one go. Pietro catches this from the corner of his eye, frowning at what has his sister looking upset. Ever so observant, he watches Wanda look at the bartender who seems to be staring at you and then shuffle closer to your side.

His frown disappears, no longer worried but more so amused. He has always found it funny when his sister gets jealous. He’s seen it several times to know the signs- the furrow of her brow, the biting of her lip, and had it been a few years ago, there would be a dramatic exit. A dramatic exit would be overkill here so he guesses she’s substituted it for possessiveness.

You welcome Wanda’s warmth as she sits closer to you. Sam and Pietro make their comments and jokes about the story you just finished telling. You sip on your drink, nearly choking when Wanda’s hand makes a surprise appearance on your thigh a little too high to be innocent. You try to ignore it and listen to Sam as he starts a story, but it gets a little difficult when she begins to move it.

Sam asks you a question and as focused as you are when trying to answer, Wanda’s wandering hand makes you stutter a few times in your response. You chug the rest of your drink and Wanda takes that as a sign to get the next round of drinks.

“I’ve got the drinks this time,” she declares, pressing a kiss on your cheek before getting up and heading over to the bar. The little break you have away from her feels a bit of a relief. You were getting worked up under her touch and in public no less. You don’t know what’s got Wanda in this kind of mood suddenly, not that you would usually mind it unless it’s the alcohol.

That’s the only real outlier here. If it is the alcohol, you’ll have to slow her roll down if only two drinks have her so handsy. You have to come up with a plan soon if that’s the case, because Wanda comes back, bartender behind her carrying a tray with shots.

Wanda takes her seat next to you as Sam’s point of interest for the night sets the shots in the middle of the table. Your eyes widen, counting the number of shots that end up on the table.

“Damn, how much do they pay you?” you ask incredulously, knowing how pricey a single shot can be.

“And are they hiring?” the bartender jokes. Everyone but Wanda laughs. “Are we celebrating something tonight or just having a night out?” She asks the table but ends the question looking at you for the answer.

“A little bit of both. They’re going home soon, so,” you explain. You have all her attention now, her body turning to face you. “Oh, so you’re from here. I haven’t seen you around?”

Wanda slowly grows irritated, feeling the woman talking is overstaying her welcome at your table. She reaches for a shot, throwing it back, trying not to make a face as the liquid burns her throat.

You frown at Wanda’s actions. Pietro snorts and Wanda throws him a glare. The bartender is still waiting for your response so you answer, “I don’t actually live here. I stay with my cousin during my breaks from school.”

“What school do you go to?”

Wanda clears her throat, annoyed, “Don’t you have to go back to the bar? We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Sam speaks up, “There are two other people back there. I’m sure they’ve got Bethany covered.” So that’s the name of the woman unknowingly grinding Wanda’s gears. Wanda is disappointed to see Sam is correct.

She drinks another shot and the moment Pietro has been waiting for arrives when she gets up suddenly claiming she has to go to the restroom. Bethany tries to help and point them out to her, but Wanda quickly cuts in with, “Thank you, Bethany, but I think I can find my way to the restroom just fine.” And then she stomps off.

Finding her behavior odd, you decide it best to go follow her and make sure she’s okay. After answering Bethany’s last question, you excuse yourself from the table and head in the direction Wanda left. The restrooms are easy to find, a glaringly obvious sign pointing to them.

Wanda splashes water on her face at the sink, trying to cool herself down. She can’t help the thoughts running through her head, thinking that Bethany was probably sitting in Wanda’s place by your side, grabbing your arm as she laughs at something you say. She knows these thoughts stem from jealousy and there is no need to tell her that she doesn’t have the right to be jealous when you agreed to be friends.

If Wanda wasn’t irked enough, there are no paper towels to dry her face with. Now she’ll return to the table with a wet shirt. “Stupid bar can’t refill the dispenser,” she mutters, pushing the door open with the side of her body, her hands preoccupied lifting the bottom of her shirt enough to pat her face dry with it.

She bumps into somebody outside the restroom doors. She lifts her face from her hands to apologize only to be met by the person who has got her acting this moody and you aren’t looking at her face. Your eyes are busy appreciating Wanda’s exposed tummy. Wanda flushes as she drops her shirt, making you redirect your eyes. Embarrassed at being caught, you clear your throat. “Sorry,” you apologize. “I actually came to check on you.”

“Why? I was only gone for 2 minutes,” she asked, though she was happy to note that you were here waiting for her outside the restroom instead of entertaining the bartender sitting at your group’s table.

“You left kind of abruptly. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and not like throwing up,” you reason. You pull Wanda away from standing in front of the door to the restroom when someone tries to get through.

Wanda chuckles, continuing on with your conversation. “Do you think I am a lightweight or what?”

“Well I hope not. You did just buy a bunch of shots and it would be a damn shame to let them go to waste,” you remind her. She smirks at you. “You have some catching up to do.”

“Lead the way.” You step aside motioning for her to do just so. Wanda shakes her head, but smiles nevertheless, taking your hand and tugging you behind her. Wanda is happy not to see Bethany at your table but back behind the bar when you both take your previous seats.

“There they are!” Pietro shouts excitedly, waving his hand in the air before smacking it back down on the table rather clumsily with an “Ah”. Tipsy Pietro was rather adorable. How did he get like this anyway? Looking back at the table, you find your answer.

“Holy shit, dude! Did you drink all of these yourself?” You’re worried he’d have to get his stomach pumped. He reads the expression on your face and reassures you. “It’s the only way I can get, umm, Wanda?” He turns to ask his sister something you don’t understand, asking in Sokovian. She answers, “Tipsy.”

“Yes! Tipsy. But I left you uh,” he counts the remaining shot cups that still have liquor in them, “four. Perfect. Two for each of you. Now hurry, I want to play billbards, bill-billboards. Pool,” he finally decides. He pushes two shots towards you and the other two towards Wanda.

“Oh, no. Y/N has to catch up.” Wanda pushes one of her drinks to yours, lining them all up neatly. You shake your head at a smirking Wanda. You sigh, “You’re really going to do this to me, huh?”

“Yup,” she affirmed. Then Sam got the three of them to chant your name, making others in the bar look your group’s way. Not wanting people staring, you hush them, “Okay, okay. Geez. I can see why Clint hates that.” Then you drink all three, one right after another. You do make a face. “Oof.”

Wanda drinks hers and then the four of you wait by the pool tables for one to open up. You spend the next hour laughing with Sam and Wanda at a clumsy Pietro. You are just as bad as a tipsy Pietro when playing pool but tipsy Wanda doesn’t care, insisting you teach her how to properly line up her shot. Tipsy you isn’t remotely embarrassed when Wanda completely misses hitting the ball with your guidance because your body is busy feeling something other than shame having Wanda pressed against you as she is.

Sober Sam is getting bored. Bethany is busy behind the bar doing her job, more patrons filling up the joint. A few minutes later, Pietro is practically sober; his coordination comes back and he doesn’t find playing pool as fun anymore. Also, he’s growing tired of watching his sister basically grind her ass on you every time it’s her turn.

Pietro ends the game five minutes later. “I’m tired. Let’s let some other people play.” He doesn’t give you a chance to reject the idea, handing his pool stick over to someone else saying his group can have the table. He and Sam head to the restroom but not before telling you two to be ready to go.

There is a pout on Wanda’s face that you find just too cute and you let her know so. “You are so adorable,” you tease, pinching her cheeks. Wanda sends you a glare that looks in no way threatening with her cheeks aflame, making you laugh. “I’ll get us some water. Wait here for Pietro and Sam.”

You head over to the bar counter. You grab Bethany’s attention and ask for some water. “So why was your girlfriend upset earlier?” She asks as she goes to fill up two cups for you.

“Huh?” you ask confused. She repeats herself leaning over the bar in order for you to hear her more clearly. “Your girlfriend,” she nods in Wanda’s direction. You turn to see Wanda watching you two closely. “She looked pissed off earlier.”

Bethany hands over the two cups of water. You didn’t need to but you clarify anyway, albeit a little awkwardly. “Oh, um, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Does she know that?” The bartender smirks at you. You’re confused and tell her so. She rolls her eyes at you. There is no way you could be so oblivious. She does find it cute that you were so focused on your “not girlfriend” that you didn’t see the way she was interested in you. She takes pity on you and clarifies, “She was totally acting like a jealous girlfriend earlier.”

“No, she wasn’t,” you deny, the idea sounding totally absurd to you. But with the way Bethany sounded so sure, you can’t help but begin to question the possibility. “How do you know?”

“I see these things all the time. Reading body language becomes a skill when you work at a bar. Trust me.”

Bethany sees you still doubting her so she proposes something. “Here. I’ll prove it. Do you mind if I touch you?”

You look at her confused but give her permission anyway. She reaches over and runs her finger up and down your forearm. You watch her move and feel more so lost when she throws her head back in laughter. “Okay, what are you doing?”

“If she is jealous, like I say she is, she will do one of two things. She will either come up here and act all possessive or she’ll storm off like she did earlier to the restroom.”

“I don’t know,” you say, unsurely, already pulling your arm away. You are not one to want to play emotional games. Before you have a chance to tell Bethany that, she says, “I should have put some money on it.”

You feel an arm slide around your waist. Wanda comes up beside you and pulls you into her. You are a little startled to be honest, especially when she kisses your underjaw making sure to give Bethany a good view. Wanda catches Bethany giving you a cocky smirk and it irks her.

“Piet and Sam are waiting for us,” she reminds you. You don’t say anything, your mind still trying to process that Bethany is right and Wanda might just be jealous. Bethany sees the realization glaze over your eyes and rolls with it, pushing Wanda’s buttons. “Oh, you’re leaving already? Well if you ever want more conversations like these,” she writes on a piece of paper behind the bar and hands it over to you folded, “here.”

Wanda is nearly grinding her teeth at this point. The audacity of that woman to give you her number while Wanda is with you is amazing. Though Wanda knows she’s not with you- with you, clearly the woman would think Wanda was something to you given the way she is wrapped around you. And if that wasn’t enough to piss her off, the way you say “Um, okay?” before pocketing the piece of paper is.

“You know what, we’ll just wait for you in the car,” Wanda huffs, pulling away from you and storming off to Pietro and Sam. You watch her go, ready to follow but Bethany calls your attention once more. “And there is number two. What are you standing here for? Go. She’ll only be more upset the longer you take.”

“Thanks?” You leave it at that, not knowing what else to say and make your way to the exit. Bethany watches you leave with a shake of her head, mumbling to herself, “She’s gonna eat her alive.”

You reach in your pocket to read the note the bartender gave you, opening the door with your back. Wanda, who is leaning against the hood of the car, watches in jealousy as you laugh at the contents of the note.

Sam asks, “What are you smiling about?”

Wanda answers for you, tone dripping in discontent, “Getting the number you couldn’t get.”

“What?! Let me see!” Sam rips the paper from your hand. Wanda rolls her eyes in annoyance and gets in the backseat, slamming the door closed. Her brother shakes his head in amusement, but follows sitting in the passenger seat instead.

“Come on, let’s go,” you hurry Sam along. You go around the car to open the door opposite the one Wanda slammed and take a seat. Wanda is already not looking at you, instead looking out the window, which you find pointless because there is nothing to look at seeing as there is another car parked right next to her. She’s just getting the view of their window.

“Wanda,” you say, trying to get her to look at you. “Wanda.” She still ignores you, so you press, “Are you really not going to talk to me?”

“I’m not in the mood. Why don’t you talk to Bethany? Seemed like you liked talking to her. Now you can call her,” Wanda responds, voicing Bethany’s name in an obnoxious way. You try not to snicker but Pietro doesn’t. Wanda kicks the back of his seat, getting in trouble with Sam as he enters the car to see just that.

“Hey, knock it off! I don’t need Nat busting my ass for something I didn’t do,” he warns and points at Wanda, who huffs but leans back, crossing her arms in irritation. He continues, “Also, if you want me to laugh at your jokes, make them make sense.”

He throws the paper to your lap. You read it once more and laugh to yourself. Sam is about to start the car but you stop him. “Wait! Before we go, Sam, can you do me a favor real quick,” you say as you pull out a five dollar bill. “Can you go give this to Bethany?”

“So is this like an inside joke or something?” Sam takes the money anyway and heads back to the bar. Pietro asks, “Can I see the paper?”

“Why? You want to have a shot with her too? Clearly she was interested in Y/N, Pietro,” Wanda mumbles. You hand over the paper to her brother while rolling your eyes at her behavior, trying not to smile.

Pietro reads it and laughs louder than before. Wanda takes off her seatbelt and leans forward to snatch the paper from Pietro’s hands. “Okay, what is so funny? ‘Five bucks she says my name in a mean voice’.” Wanda’s voice trails off in the end out of embarrassment realizing that the note was about her.

“Hell yeah! I told you I would and I did. I still have the moves.” Sam barges into the car excitedly. “Look what I got!” He waves around a piece of paper in front of Pietro’s face.

“Her number? Nice,” Pietro says, pretty impressed.

“Yep. She said ‘Here, for if you’re ever back in town,’” Sam tries mimicking Bethany’s voice. Turning to you, he adds, “Oh and she also said to tell you she told you so, whatever that means.”

“Wanda knows what it means,” Pietro jokes, making you chuckle and Wanda punch him in the arm.

“Alright, alright. Chill out and put your seatbelt on,” Sam tells Wanda. He turns on the car and begins the drive home. “It’s a good thing we’re leaving when we are. Another drink in you and we’d have to pull you out of a bar fight.”

Wanda does as she’s told without another word. In fact she stays silent for the whole ride back, not because she was annoyed like earlier. To say she’s embarrassed is an understatement. It’s one thing for her brother to tease her, throwing remarks he finds oh so humorous her way. She’s used to that from her twin. It’s another thing for you to match his energy, laughing at his jokes and having the same knowing smirk on your face.

Of course Pietro would know when she’s jealous; they’re twins. Pietro acts the same exact way when he’s jealous. Wanda just wasn’t ready for someone else to pick up on it, especially not the person for why she felt the way she did.

It is humiliating and that’s why she vows to deny, deny, deny if anyone brings it up, which of course you do because life hates Wanda and won’t let her have this one thing.

You bring it up after you get home. Wanda tries to rush out the car but you hold her arm, signaling for her to stay in the car. You tell Sam and Pietro to go ahead inside without you, that you need to talk to Wanda in private.

Sam jokingly “oohs” and rolls down the windows a bit before turning off the car. “This seems like a long talk. I wouldn’t want you ladies to suffocate under all the tension,” he quips.

Wanda looks at her brother for help and he almost stays seeing the dread on her face, but then he thinks about how this could be new ammunition for teasing her later and makes his decision to go. “Sorry, Wands, but she said ‘in private’.”

“Since when do you respect privacy?” she challenged, ticked that her own blood would leave her to die of mortification for his own amusement.

“It’s never too late to try new things,” he reasons. He follows Sam to the house, laughing because Wanda shouts out of the car window, “Try not being a traitor next time!”

Wanda’s attention finally turns to you when she hears you giggling. Wanda sits as far away from you as she can, her back practically against the car door. Your laughter dies down, but you still sport a wide smile on your face, irritating her to no end. She crosses her arms and tries to keep her composure.

“What did you want to say?” She feigns innocence, hoping the conversation will take a different route than the one she feels it’s going. However, much like life you won’t let her have this.

“You know, I guessed you could be the jealous type given you telling your brother to stop flirting with me and the other way around, but damn, that was something else,” you tease, finding satisfaction when Wanda’s cheeks burn red.

You let her splutter for a minute, but then take pity on her when you see she can’t find the words to defend herself. You scoot close enough to her that your knees are pressing against hers. “It’s okay, really. Usually, I would find jealousy unattractive but there is something about green on you that I like. It really brings out your eyes.”

Your hands move forward to push some of her hair away from her face as if to see her eyes clearer. Wanda finally finds her voice, scoffing, “I was not jealous,” but she allows you to keep your hands on her face.

“No, of course not,” you reply sarcastically, smirk taking permanent residence on your face. You pinch her cheek to annoy her.

“Only insecure people get jealous,” Wanda huffs and pushes your hands away.

“Everyone has their insecurities, Maximoff.”

“What do you have to be insecure about?” she asks like you would be the last person to have any insecurities.

You lean your side onto the seat. “Plenty of things. Like, no one ever taking me seriously. I hide a lot behind jokes. Sometimes, I don’t even know if I’m being serious or not and that makes it really hard to communicate with people.”

You look away from Wanda who begins to uncross her arms, the earlier tension on her body from self preservation dissipating with your confession. Instead, you focus on your hands, fingers tracing the stitched lines on the leather seats.

You continue with a sigh, “Not to keep reliving the past, but it seems like it’s all I ever really do, I think maybe had I worked a little more on that, maybe Skye and I wouldn’t have ended like we did. Maybe had I shown I could be, I don’t know, more serious, someone you could not only have laugh with but someone you could confide in, have honest talks with, be a shoulder to cry on, then maybe she wouldn’t have seen me as a distraction and maybe we, I don’t know. I’m just rambling now.”

It gets quiet in the car. Wanda watches your hands continue to trace the lines on the seats. You look up at her when she clears her throat, ready to speak. “Vision broke up with me with the excuse that heroes are meant to be alone and I try but ever since he said that I can’t help but think he has a point.”

“Why do you think so?” you ask. Much like you finding something else to focus on, Wanda begins fidgeting with the rings on her fingers before replying, “It’s just that after we broke up, everyone left me alone. They were trying to give me my space, I guess but all it did was make me feel lonely.”

You reach out to stop her fidgeting with her rings which only half works. When you hold her hand, her other one comes to start playing with your fingers. “As embarrassing as it was to have you see me crying, I’m glad you stayed with me that first day,” Wanda whispers, almost like it’s a secret.

You smile and joke, “You were crying? I would have never known if you didn’t just tell me.” You succeed in making her laugh, as she tells you to shut up, but you continue teasing her. “Now the puffy eyes and runny nose make total sense.”

“Oh, god! Don’t remind me,” she pulls her hands away from yours to cover her face. She mumbles behind her palms, “I probably looked so gross.”

You chuckle at how wrong she is, remembering that day. You pull her hands away from her face and respond, “Quite the opposite. I was wondering how someone could look so pretty crying.”

Wanda narrows her eyes at you and accuses, “Liar.”

“Honest. Then I thought how inappor- inaporpiet,” you struggle to say inappropriate so you rephrase, “how it was wrong to think that while you were crying. Sorry, the alcohol is still in my system.”

You continue through Wanda’s giggling. “And it’s your fault I’m not more sober right now!”

“What? How is this my fault?” she questions, still smiling.

“We didn’t get to drink the waters Bethany so nicely served us because you got jealous and stormed out,” you recount, watching the smile drop from Wanda’s face and a frown replace it.

“I was not jealous!” Wanda still denies, much to your amusement. She tries to pull away her hands but you keep a heavy grip on them.

“Incredible. We just had a whole ass conversation about insecurities and you still can’t admit you were jealous,” you laugh when she denies it again with a pout on her face that you attempt to kiss away, pulling her into you.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you mumble with a smile against her lips. She lets out an irritated sigh and leans back into you to finally do something about wiping that knowing smile off of your face.

Wanda’s lips on yours, you both forget what either of you were trying to prove as you lose yourself to the feeling of having her pressed against you. You are both a mess, still slightly inebriated, but not so much that you don’t know what you are doing. You are well aware that you are in Nat’s car and she would kill you if she were to find out what you were doing in the backseat.

You take the chance anyway thinking it would be worth it. Remnants of alcohol in your system and watching Wanda take her shirt off will do that. Hands are everywhere, stripping off clothes, so you don’t know who does it but the car horn sounds and makes you both stop in panic.

“Shit,” you both whisper, out of breath. You turn to look at what could have caused the noise and see your shoe on the driver seat. One of you had thrown the shoe at the wheel. You both look towards the house. The lights were still off. You don’t think you woke anyone. At least, you hope you didn’t.

“Maybe no one heard?” You tell Wanda who looks at you with a ‘you can’t be serious’ look. There are five members of the most renowned team of heroes on the planet in that house. One, if not all, heard the horn.

Your phone chimes. Wanda gives you an ‘I told you so’ look as she pulls out your phone from your pants that are halfway down your thighs. Her heart stops in her chest as she sees the text is from Natasha. She shows you and you cover your face, not wanting to read whatever death threat is on there.

“Read it for me. Maybe coming from you, I might not have a panic attack,” you beg. She opens the text and reads aloud, “ ‘I expect the car to smell of nothing but lemon scented disinfectant wipes tomorrow’ followed by two exclamation points and the red angry face emoji.”

You let out a sigh and remove your hands. “That doesn’t sound too bad. I don’t think she’s that mad.”

“Wait,” Wanda holds up a finger, reading off of your phone, “she’s typing.”

Your phone chimes incessantly. Wanda begins reading off, “Okay, girl with hand up emoji, ladder emoji, window emoji, person in bed emoji, oh, um.” Wanda’s eyes widen at what she now realizes is Nat threatening you through emoticons. “I am going to stop reading now so you can sleep tonight.”

You groan but take the phone to read through the little story Nat created. “Although I am fearing for my life, I have to give it to her. This is very creative and it sends shivers down my spine.”

You toss your phone onto the passenger seat. “If this is my last night, let’s end it right,” you say before dramatically sweeping Wanda in your arms and moving her to lie down as best as one can in the back seats of Nat’s car. She giggles as you nearly stumble to the floor due to your pants.

“Stupid jeans,” you mutter, swiftly taking them off and moving on top of Wanda who is still giggling. You quickly shut her up.

You wake up in the back seat of Nat’s car with Wanda in your arms. You feel three things at once: Wanda’s breath tickling your neck, the warmth of sunlight seeping through the car windows, and the beginnings of a headache. There is a loud screech that does nothing to help soothe the mild hangover. It wakes Wanda up as well. She voices her annoyance out loud, her morning voice husky.

“Ugh, what is that? Y/N, make it stop,” she demands, burrowing further into you as if that will somehow make it stop. Coincidentally enough it does stop, but before you can relax, you hear voices arise.

Wanda’s brows furrow and she tries to move away from you to see who could be coming to visit, but with the arm you have around her, you yank her back down into you.

“What are you doing?” you whisper yell.

She looks at you in confusion. “I’m seeing who it is.”

“Maybe that can wait once we’re fully clothed,” you suggest, pointing out the fact that all either of you have on are underwear and your shirts from last night.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, just stay still and hope they don’t peek in the car,” you command. The two of you stay quiet as the voices pass by. From the sounds of it, they come from two women.

“Oh, calm down! That landing was not that bad. It was way better than last time!” one of the women exclaims. Her voice sounds way too familiar, but you are too busy holding your breath in order to not get caught to actually try to place it.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Daisy. Wait, who let you fly it before?” the second woman asks, the end of her sentence sounding far away hinting at them approaching the front door away from the car you and Wanda currently hide in.

You hear knocking and then the front door opening. You think you hear Nat’s voice say something that sounds like “oh, fuck” but you aren’t too sure. You and Wanda only get up when you hear the front door close.

You both hastily redress into yesterday’s clothes. Peeking out the window, Wanda notices a jet outside that definitely was not there last night and seeing as there are no other cars around, she can only assume it belongs to the two women which makes sense after hearing that one of them flew it.

She sadly puts two and two together. These are the agents that would pick them up to take them back to the compound. You also pieced it together, “They’re here early.”

Wanda notices you sound a little peeved at that but you collect yourself. “Come on. Let’s go see what that’s about.” You give her a quick kiss before you exit the vehicle, holding the door open for her to step out.

Wanda has half a mind to pull you back into the car, wrap back up in you, and never let you go, although she knows in the end it’s not you that’s going but her that has to leave. She’s just sad that her ride is here so soon and that she had to wake up to it after a night like last night.

Last night was what felt like a wake up call for her. Lying in your arms, she began to wonder what she was even doing with you anymore. You make her feel like no one else has. She might have denied it all night, but she can be honest with herself. She knows she was jealous. She has never been jealous about anyone before and maybe because she knows she has no claim to you, in other words any reason to be jealous, she realized she wants to have a reason. She wants the right to be jealous.

You stand there patiently waiting for her to step out of the car. Once she’s out, you fix her hair for her. “There. Maybe not Sister Wanda but I didn’t leave any marks for you to be DJ Wanda either,” you joke, trying to pull a smile from Wanda.

You do, but you find it odd that she doesn’t whack you or anything for teasing. “Wow, no violence after making a joke like that. Are you feeling okay? Did the alcohol not hit you until right now? Are you somehow drunk?”

“No,” she rolls her eyes at you. “I thought we had a rule about not hitting you.”

“Oh, so now you remember the rules. It only took you til your last day here to remember them,” you chuckle, closing the door behind her. You begin walking toward the house but when you reach the porch you feel Wanda pull you back. You look at her with questioning eyes.

Wanda decides to finally voice all her thoughts and feelings that she has been keeping to herself once and for all. “About those rules-“

“Robin Hood?”

Wanda is cut off by that familiar voice you couldn’t place before but you couldn’t mistake it now especially given that nickname. There was only one person to ever call you that. You didn’t have to look to know who it was but you and Wanda both turn to see the last person you thought you would ever catch in Westview County standing on your cousin’s porch.

“Skye?”

______________________________________________________

Dun, dun, duUuUn

@madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemissis @myperfectlovestory @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cantcontroltheirfear @trikruismybitch @your-my-mission @imagine-reblog @fayhar @idek-5 @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @bemyvitamin @musicinourlips @paumxmff @wandamaximoffsrings @yeetus-thyself @lostandsearching @when-wolves-howl @euphoriaszn2 @gingerbreadcookieforlife @myfavoriteficss @cyberbonesworld

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you

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btsficsforthehumble · 3 years

Text

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

Part Two

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 2.2k

After a moment of gathering your thoughts, you open your eyes to see other students begin to filter into the large auditorium. The little wooden desks that flip out from below the seats force people to squeeze past each other and give awkward sorries. Coming from calc, you thankfully don’t have to do the awkward shuffle as you came straight from a nearby building. While watching the students trickle in, you notice that many hold coffee in their hands and you suddenly are incredibly jealous… that guy from your last class wasn’t wrong in his assumption of your night owl status.

You sigh, and pull out your laptop to pull up the syllabus for the class. You were slightly nervous for this class, as it was completely out of your comfort zone. You hadn’t yet settled on a major, so you were knocking out some general classes while you were a freshman. And now, you were sitting in an Intro to Composition class to fulfill your creative work requirement. You really didn’t have experience with music in any formal sense, but you always loved to listen to music as you did basically anything. You found that music helped make the more unpleasurable bits of life more bearable. And the good bits, well, they always seem to have a good beat behind them too.

While you begin to look at some of the upcoming projects and their due dates, you feel the seat below you shift as someone occupies the seat next to you. When you glance up, you first see that since you pulled your laptop out, the lecture hall had quickly filled up. Your eyes dart over to your new seat buddy, and you can’t help but feel your eyes widen a bit. It was a boy with a slight build, but definitely a powerful aura. From your view, the sharpness of his jawline coupled with his soft looking cheeks was enough to inspire Michelangelo himself, you thought. While he was bent over slightly pulling out his desk, you shifted your eyes to look at his. He had soft eyes, and you could just barely tell he added a bit of a peach shadow and mascara to his look. Framing his face was inky black hair that was gelled to perfectly hang just to the edges of his dark brows.

Not wanting to get caught staring, you drag your eyes away from him and back to your laptop. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and willed it to recede --- you’ve had enough of embarrassing yourself today, you thought. Why oh why God, did you send freaking male models to your university, and not only that, but make them attend the same classes as you!

You quickly snap out of your thoughts as you hear a voice come from close to your right side. Eyes going from your laptop to the speaker, you realize it’s the boy next to you that spoke.

“Hey, just so you know I think your bag is caught on the chair, and looks like it’ll spill…”

His voice is more light and melodic than you anticipated from his angular features, but you don’t really fully process the thought before you realize that yes, your bag is precariously hanging from the edge of the chair between you, and it looks like your notebook and pens are about to end up scattered across the lecture hall. You gasp and grab your bag before it dumps, and lift the strap to untangle it.

“Oh my God, thank you so much, I’m sorry!” Your words rush out of your mouth as you zip the bag to prevent further disaster. How embarrassing, you groan to yourself internally.

He lets out a tinkling giggle, “No worries, happens to the best of us.” Said with a smile, he makes you feel better about the awkward situation almost immediately.

You smile back at him, “I suppose that’s true”. His grin widens a bit at your reply, and you notice his eyes squinch up to the point where they seem to disappear a bit, which you have to admit is incredibly endearing.

“My name’s Jimin!”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you!” Your smile gets larger at his introduction, it’s nice to be making a friend in a class that you already feel out of your depth in, and not to mention one that is as kind and not at all bad to look at.

“You too! So, what year are you? I’m a second year.” His smile never left his face.

“Oh, I’m only a first year actually!” You hated having to tell people you were a new student, honestly, but you kept your smile hoping he wouldn’t tease you too hard for it.

“Aw, you’re just a baby! Don’t worry, sunbae will take care of you!” His smile definitely had a cheshire quality to it now.

“Is that a promise sunbaenim?” You smirked back at him. While your words were formal, you were quick to pick up his flirty nature and turn it around on him. You saw his eyebrow lift in amusement at the subtle double entendre, and just as he was about to respond, a much louder voice cut him off from the front of the hall.

“Good morning everyone. Welcome to Intro to Composition. I am your professor, Doctor Choi. To my side here is this class’s learning assistant, Yoongi.” At this he swings his arm around to gesture to a boy giving a flat smile and nodding his head in greeting, his hands in his front pockets in a kind of forced relaxed stance.

“He is a fourth year student and is here to answer any questions you may have about the class material, as this is a rather large class.” The professor continues on, but you only give it partial attention, half because of already reading the syllabus, and half because you were getting a good look at the LA he introduced.

Yoongi was standing towards the wall of the auditorium, seemingly not wanting to be the center of attention. He wouldn’t have pulled your attention so much if it wasn’t for his gorgeous feline-like features that gave him an elegance, despite his slightly awkward demeanor. The glasses perched on his nose and the dark bangs swooped gently over his forehead gave beautiful contrast to his pale skin and pink lips. The silver hoops in his ears that reflected the overhead fluorescents gave him more of an edgy vibe, and it seemed to suit him well.

As it seems, Jimin thought so too. You turned to glance at your new friend to see him eyeing the LA you yourself was just examining. You watched him pull in one of his plush lips to pull it lightly with his top teeth. The quick action made you lift your brow in amusement. The introverted LA appeared to have a fan club in you and Jimin. After a quick glance around the room, you saw most of everyone beginning to type notes or watch your professor with way more attention than you or Jimin were giving him.

At this, you quickly refocused on the lecturer. Lord knows you need to pay attention to do well in this class with the zero experience you had with the material.

----

75 minutes later, the distinct sound of students shuffling as they put away their things and exit the room rings out. You and Jimin follow suit.

“What do you think of the first project that he introduced today? I’m a little nervous to be honest.” You look up from your bent over position to see Jimin’s eyebrows slightly furrowed as he expresses his concern.

“Yeah, me too. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with this stuff so it’ll definitely be a learning process.” Slipping into a conversation about the class was completely natural to you two. It seemed you two clicked as friends right off the bat.

“Tell me about it. I’m a freaking dance major, not a music major!” He let out a grown and tipped his head back as you both walked together out of the lecture hall.

“My advisor recommended this course to me because she said that some dance majors find it useful to learn about music construction, because it can help them be better at moving to the music. And because I tend to focus on contemporary, it makes sense. I’m just worried about not doing well in the class itself.” As he spoke, his face slipped into a cute pout.

His pout made you giggle, which you tried holding back behind your hand but he heard you before you were able to.

“What is so funny? Is my life struggle really that comedic to you hoobae?” He couldn’t hide the smile on his face, knowing how dramatic he was being. The slight giggle in his tone gave him away too.

“Of course not, I would never belittle your struggles, sunbae. You must have it so hard. Dancing requires an immense amount of brainpower, I don’t know how you are able to walk around with how big your brain is!” You widen your eyes for dramatic flair as you fight your lips from quirking up.

He stops dead in his tracts, and turns to you with his eyes nearly bulging out of his head at your sarcastic reply.

“Ya! Kids these days show no respect for their elders!” He bumps his hip into yours after catching up to you, “I’ll have you know I was class president for nine years in school! And valedictorian! And this is how I get treated!”

You make a noise of surprise in the back of your throat and turn to him. “Were you really, sunbae? That’s amazing!” His easy-going attitude definitely didn’t leave you with the impression that he was that dedicated to his studies.

Now slightly sheepish, he shrugs. “Yeah, it’s true. I was a model student back then.”

Looking forward, he gives a bit of a bitter smile to himself. “You are wondering why I became a dance major, I imagine.”

Sensing the slight sensitivity to the topic, you shake your head as you answer, “Well, who am I to judge who does what major when I can’t even decide on one for myself?” You give him a shy smile.

By this point, you were both strolling down the brick path connecting the buildings of campus together, the bite of winter still remaining in the wind that blows your hair off your face on the otherwise sunny day.

He turns to look at you, with a slightly more evaluative gaze. You only hold eye contact for a second before moving your eyes forward again, trying to avoid blushing under his attention.

“You have time. Don’t force yourself into a path that others make for you.” His face was contemplative, and it seemed like he might have been speaking from personal experience.

“That’s good advice sunbae. Maybe your brain really is super big.” Your attempt to make him smile again works, and he lightly pushes your shoulder.

“Brat!” You can’t help but to let out a loud giggle, to which he lets out his own.

Seeing the street you needed to turn on for your next task of the day, you go to say goodbye to Jimin. “Well, this brat has to go buy groceries, so she’ll see you later.” You go to turn away, but before you can, he grabs your hand.

“You’re just going to leave your new friend without giving him a way to contact you? What if he has some pressing composition questions, huh? What is he to do then?” The teasing tone makes you smile.

“Well, if I remember correctly the LA you were checking out earlier is at your disposal sunbae.” He sputters for a couple seconds, pink coming to his cheeks making your smile widen, taking pleasure in catching him off guard.

“Okay, but you can’t tell me he isn’t yummy y/n!”

At this, you let out a cackle and bend over from the force of your laugh. You didn’t expect his answer, but you did have to agree with him. That LA, Yoongi his name is you think, definitely is yummy. He is gorgeous in an understated way.

After you finish laughing, you relent. “Okay, I’ll give you that. I’ll spare you the embarrassment of asking the yummy LA your dumb questions. Hand me your phone”.

He pulls his phone out of his canvas tote, holding his laptop and what looks like a textbook. You quickly type in your contact information, and hand it back to him.

“I appreciate your pity on my poor soul, y/n.”

“It’s more pity on Yoongi’s soul, actually.” You have to raise your voice as you are already walking away as you reply, your head turned over your shoulder. Your smile is met with a shake of his head and a tongue sticking out in your direction.

You laugh as you continue on towards the grocery store, happy that you were able to make such a good friend on just the first day of classes. Who knows what the rest of the semester has in store for you, if this is just day one, you think to yourself. Only time will tell.

#BTS #ot7 #ot7 x reader #poly ot7 #fanfic

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kingburu · 4 years

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can we... know more about maria's parents? 👁️👄👁️

Laura, daughter of Victoria and Rafael, son of Letus (Thanatos)!

@ariihen and I have always joked/pushed around that idea that Nico is a Roman legacy in canonverse and dd-verse--but especially so in dd-verse. Since “Conquer or die” is a phrase that’s used by the Romans, we based Maria’s parents off that motto and basically said Victory or Death. Or in this case, victory and death!

Since Victory/Nike is kind of high strung, so is her daughter. Laura’s a sharp-tongued who has no patience for BS, and will throw hands if she needs to.

On the other hand, Rafael is a softer, gentler man since Letus/Thanatos’s realm is kind death. Since death is in his blood, we talked about how Rafael would have a low sperm count to begin with and Laurel probably miscarried a few time before they were finally able to have Maria, so they’re very protective of her.

Thus, Maria di Angelo, Legacy of Victoria and Letus was born with a kind father and a mom who told her never to take anything less than gold who’s a little kookie and zany, and it’s the Victoria in her that basically said, “Anyone can sleep with Jupiter/Zeus, who wants to do that? Has anyone tried to romance his wife?” (by proxy this is her attitude with literally any god in any AU that tries to romance her, she enjoys a challenge) and it’s the Death in her that makes her a little weird and say a bunch of double entendres Like, Zeus tried to romance her by taking her to the normal makeout spots and she wasn’t interested. He had to beg Hades and Poseidon to be Bros and let him take her to their realms and bc she wanted to see how cool the Underworld was and she was curious if anyone has tried to dissect a merman before (literally just think of Eclipsa from Star vs. the Forces of Evil and that’s how sweet/kookie she is)

When she fell in love with Hera, Laura congratulated Maria on winning her challenge but was not impressed with Hera bc the Queen of the Gods was not willing to marry her daughter. She also thinks that Hera’s cooking is subpar at best and “if you’re the goddess of family then why aren’t your kids running through the door?” and made Hera wear one of her aprons and use her hands to make pasta in the di Angelo household

Hera had to learn bc Maria can’t cook worth shit

Ironically, Hera’s need to impress Laura just puts Laura’s competitiveness into overdrive so that’s just a neverending battle for her

Rafael is just a chill dad; apparently Letus was known as kind and wanting to just sleep a lot; so he and his Type A wife really just balance each other out a lot. Laura made pasta, but Rafael made bone cookies for the Italian Day of the Dead and taught both Nico and Bianca how to make them. He really doesn’t care if Maria gets married or not, but he definitely cried both times his grandchildren were born bc he was worried that the di Angelo name would die with his genes

(he also doesn’t think Hera knows how to cook very well but he will eat what he was given)

This all started because ren and I joked that Percy would dress Nico up as his Italian grandmother to get the early bird senior citizen discount at the restaurants in New Rome, so he’d wear a gray wig, small spectacles, and a shawl made of Peacock feathers and Percy would parade Nonna Nicola around (i’m really hoping to bring this into the story at some point)

But another joke was that since Nico is a roman legacy, Laura would try to become a lar and protect the Fifth Cohort, so Thalia and Percy have just been listening to this crazy lady babbling on about her adorable grandchildren for a long time before Nico finally showed up. Laura has a soft spot for Nico bc he can carry on the family name

On the other hand, Rafael would be following Bianca around and supporting her shopping habits, and he has a soft spot for her bc she looks so much like Maria

Lastly, their names were chosen since laurels are a symbol of Victoria and Rafael means “Healing God,” or in the way it’s being depicted, the di Angelo patriarch is the “Healing Angel.”

#nico di angelo #maria di angelo #dearly departed #fic #the more you know!#Anonymous #tw: miscarriage #tw: miscarriages

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fatesdeepdive · 3 years

Text

Entry 54: Demigod Shit Magnet

Got a lot of stuff to talk about, no time for intro.

Class Profile - Ninja

The Nohrian thief class and base class of Saizo, Kaze, Kagero, and Asugi. Has good speed and skill and that's about it. Wields shurikens, which make them work best for inflicting debuffs. Also oddly good at mage killing. Oddly enough, the game considers them to be the Hoshido version of a Cavalier. Their first skill, Locktouch, is a utility skill that allows them to open chests and doors without a key. Their second skill, Poison Strike, deals 20% damage to enemies after battle but cannot kill, helping establish their niche of injuring enemies from a distance so stronger units can come in and finish them off. Ninjas can promote to Master Ninjas or Mechanists. I like the Ninja design a lot; the light armor fits well and the scarves, headbands, and arm knife thingies look cool.

Class Profile - Oni Savage

This game’s version of the Barbarian class and Hoshidan rival to the Fighter class. Wields axes, can promote into Oni Chieftain or Blacksmith. Weirdly, Rinkah is the only Oni Savage in the game, making the fact that it has two exclusive promotion classes weird. Oni Savages have great strength, hp, and defense, countered by atrocious luck, skill, and resistance. They can do good damage, assuming they can hit anything, or act as a wall, assuming they don’t die instantly to magic or a crit. Their first skill, Seal Resistance, lowers an enemy’s resistance after combat. I do not know why this was given to this class. Their other skill, Shove, is a utility skill that can be used to move a neighboring unit one space away. I actually like the Oni Savage design, despite it being ripe for fanservice, because the male and female designs are similar. My problem isn’t barbarians being shirtless, it’s when the game does stupid shit like have the female version of a class wear a thong while the male wears pants. The mask and beads worn by generic Oni Savages are also a nice touch.

Class Profile - Monk/Shrine Maiden

This game’s version of the Priest and Cleric classes, Hoshidan versions of the Troubadour class. Sakura and Mitama are Shine Maidens, while Azama is a Monk. Oddly enough, despite this game mostly getting rid of gender-locked classes, these two remain separate. They’re basically the same class, though. Both wield staves, have the same skills, and have good speed, luck and resistance, hampered by awful defense and HP. Oddly, Shrine Maiden has 5% better magic, while Monk instead has 10% better skill. Regardless, the job of these classes is to avoid combat and heal allies using staves. These classes can promote into Onmyojis and either Great Masters or Priestesses. Their first skill, Miracle, gives them a luck-based chance to survive a fatal blow with 1 HP. Their second skill, Rally Luck, boosts the Luck of nearby allies for a few turns. They also secretly have a 10% extra crit evade. I enjoy the simple, modest designs, which fit with the class’s aesthetic.

Conquest Chapter 8: Cold Reception

As Felicia leads the group to her village, Moron and Silas are separated by a blizzard. Moron faints from the cold and is rescued by Kilma, the Ice Tribe’s leader. Moron begins to introduce himself, but Silas reminds him that they’re here to crush a rebellion. Corrin bemoans the fact that everything is so morally grey. Honestly, I wouldn’t call this route morally grey, so much as it’s the same black and white shit as Birthright with Moron being to stupid to understand he’s on the evil side.

Kilma says he only let Moron into the village because he carries Yato, the sword prophecized to save the world. Kilma introduces Moron to his daughter, Flora. The fact that Flora and Felicia are the daughters of the head of a small country colonized by Nohr is kinda weird. Garon conquered the Ice Tribe, took the daughters captive, and forced them to work as servants for his other kidnapped prince.

Felicia and Elise show up and Elise blurts out that they’re there to suppress Kilma’s rebellion. Elis is an idiot. Flora sounds the alarm and the Ice Tribe rushes in to fight the Nohrians. Flora calls Felicia ignorant and says war is the only language Nohr understands.

This chapter uses the same map as Chapter 17 of Birthright. The gimmick of this chapter is centered on five villages spread around the map. A pair of enemy soldiers will try to go to the villages to summon reinforcements, while the player can visit them to get gold. At the start of turn two, Odin and Niles show up to save us, acting on orders from Leo. Moron has to convince them to not kill everyone brutally, because Odin’s a chunibiyo and Niles is genuinely morally grey.

Odin

Owain from Awakening, now a Dark Mage instead of Myrmidon and pretending to be an evil wizard instead of a legendary hero. He also switches his costume to this tight, garish yellow outfit with a v-neck that stretches to his crotch. I’d complain if it was any character other than Odin; for Odin, it fits. I did like Owain in Awakening, but I will admit his schtick can get old. His personal skill gives him a boosted crit rate when using a named weapon with a name more than 12 letters long, something ridiculous that fits perfectly for a guy obsessed with legendary weapons and powerful spells. Also, he can reclass into a Samurai, a Hoshidan class, which makes sense given his class in Awakening.

Niles

Leo’s other retainer, a sadistic Outlaw. His personal skill, Kidnap, works the same as Orochi’s capture. Conquest is a bit harder than Birthright, though, so I’m afraid I won’t be grabbing another Kenshi. Fun fact, Niles is the only non-promoted bow user in all of Nohr. Niles’s design isn’t half bad; I like the eyepatch, white hair, and hood, although I’d like to note that it’s a bit odd that the sadistic criminal has a noticeably darker skin tone.

Flora apologizes to Moron for standing by her actions, calls Felicia a moron, and tells Jakob she wishes she was meeting him under better circumstances. Felicia’s battle quote with Jakob is especially interesting, confirming she was a hostage and hinting that she has feelings for him. Kilma prays for forgiveness for fighting Felicia and says Moron deceived him.

Moron spares Kilma. In fact, he wins the battle without killing anyone. Somehow. Moron has Elise treat the enemy wounded. Kilma is shocked by Moron’s kindness. Moron negotiates a deal where the Ice Tribe stops rebelling in return for more autonomy, something he has the authority to do that totally won’t be ignored by the child kidnapping mass murderer Garon. Kilma says that Moron might be the legendary hero after all. Flora apologizes for defending her people from an invading army who kidnapped her and her sister as a child and swears fealty to Moron.

So, here’s my problem with Conquest. Nohr is evil. Garon is evil. But Moron is good. So every chapter has him win battles without violence or negotiate people into working with him. Rather than having Moron struggle with his morality, it has him keep his hands clean, even as he conquers neighboring nations for the glory of a brutal dictatorship. It’s idiotic. And it will only get more idiotic as this game goes on. But first, we have some Supports to read.

Support: Corrin/Odin

C: Corrin finds Odin posing. Odin says his stance needs a unique name. Corrin gets annoyed by Odin and walks away.

B: Odin asks Corrin to name his pose. Corrin says they need tome to think of a name.

A: Corrin tries to hide from Odin. Odin tracks them down and annoys Corrin for a while. Eventually, Odin comes up with a dumb name for his pose: Shadow Glitter. Corrin is relieved that they don't have to talk to Odin anymore.

S: Odin asks Corrin to marry him. Corrin gets tired of his long-winded proposal and demands he get to the point. Odin gives a heartfelt proposal and immediately gets back on his bullshit.

Review: Not bad. Odin toes the line between funny and annoying and seeing Corrin get sick of his bullshit is a good dose of realism. This is also one of the only times Corrin isn’t ridiculously friendly. Also, by marrying Odin, Corrin joins yet another royal family.

Support: Elise/Effie

C: Elise asks Effie to go on a walk with her, but Effie is full from eating and asks Elise to roll her like a barrel.

B: Effie uses Elise as a dumbell. The two of them reminisce about how they met: Elise snuck down to the underground and befriended Effie and, when the guards tried to take Elise back, Effie tried to fight em off.

A: Effie talks about how she trained for years to become a castle guard so she could protect Elise.

Review: This is what Corrin and Silas’s relationship should have been. That is, free from dumb bullshit about Corrin having the memory of a goldfish. Lore is always good in Supports and this does a great job establishing Elise and Effie’s friendship, while also having some great comedy bits.

Support: Felicia/Niles

C: Felicia spills some soup on Niles. Niles begins stripping seductively. Felicia offers to take his clothes to the laundry.

B: Felicia offers to give Felicia a special, heavenly dessert. Niles assumes she's coming on to him. Felicia gives Niles a cookie.

A: Niles mocks Felicia for not understanding his double entendres. After finding out about Felicia's childhood as a hostage, he apologizes.

S: Niles proposes.

Review: A fun, kinda dumb comedic Support.

Support: Arthur/Mozu

C: Arthur finds Mozu analyzing the soil around camp. Mozu rambles about how farming is awesome.

B: Arthur helps Mozu plow a field. Mozu corrects his form. A: While Arthur is plowing, a heard of dragons fly over and shit all over him. Mozu is overjoyed because dragon droppings are great fertilizer. Also, I'd like to note a script error in this Support: dragons and wyverns are not the same thing. Wyverns are the mounts with animal-level intelligence, dragons are ancient magic beings that can transform into humans. Unless a flock of demigods flew by to shit on Arthur, the game means wyverns.

S: Arthur proposes by giving Mozu a special flower that is supposed to be planted by a husband and wife. Mozu accepts because Arthur's bad luck is a good source of fertilizer.

Review: The start of this Support is a bit bland, but Arthur getting covered in shit is great.

#fire emblem fates #flora fire emblem #owain fire emblem #odin fire emblem #niles fire emblem #corrin fire emblem #fire emblem conquest #nohr

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lucidpantone · 4 years

Text

I promised I would comment on Vrijdag 14:38, my thoughts: I can tell the writers wanted to get this convo right because there is a lot of exposition in Sander’s dialogue. I also think they consulted with a therapist to construct some of the language because its has a certain type of tone to it. I don’t speak dutch so phrasing and conjugation isn't 100% clear but I do notice themes. Sander is iterating on the past based on his personal feelings of those memories. He is paraphrasing himself but his perspective is now flipped he is no longer using I but replacing it with ours or you(in an affirmative tone to communicate he is dead serious).He is also riffing on his own past feelings for example: “I’ave told you 100 times etc....let our lives get dictated by some losers”

- This is a personal confession because we know that Sander did allow his life to get dictated by these losers when he allowed his mind to get poisoned by their actions and went back to Britt.

“I love you”

-Juxtaposition this I love you to the one in Zaterdag(12:18).He is so firm here(not pushy). He is affirmative, not overly sentimental, his tone is a statement because I think he wants Robbe to know I am not going anywhere this time am beyond serious.

“We’ll go there together, and if it doesn’t feel right for you, then we’ll leave...”

-This sentence am almost sure is a double entendre. Its meant literally but I think its also riffing on the concept of PDA and Robbe’s nerves around it.

“We’ll try again, and again...we’ll do it together, the two of us. Like Always.”

This is what I call a 3 way blind in referential writing.Sander is riffing on his original “thoughts go on and on” language but merging it with minute by minute but only using plural or possessive pronouns to deliver the dialogue and he ends it via a full circle saying to Robbe what Robbe once said to him when he was nervous which is always.

The speech was a good piece of writing I can tell the writers examined every single line and every word is intentional (it also subtlety explores Sander’s own trauma via the attack) and Sander’s delivery is a statement on how he views his past behavior, its effects and how it stills bugs him how he treated Robbe after the attack. They basically gave us the attack convo with undertones of “why he went back to brit” and how he feels about it now. Overall solid writing a tiny bit exposition(y) in its delivery but thoughtfully constructed for full effect. Nice work writers!

#wtfock #wtfam #I applaud good writing and i think it deserved a thoughtful deep dive

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parischangedher · 4 years

Text

fall into me, my love.

Summary: I rewrote the end of Housekeeping! In my world, Ray never calls, Ziva answers his question, they go to the bar and decide to stop wasting so much time. Closing one chapter and preparing to start anew.

AO3

Word Count: ~2.8K

Prompt: This is based on a post by the lovely @saraluvstiva! It’s a tad different from what you suggested (a little heavier than a casual convo), but it mostly aligns I think. Hope you enjoy!

@saraluvstiva imagined a scenario in which Ray never called, they went to the bar, reminisced about their growth and their relationship--“a sweet little time...both closing their previous chapters (or considering it) and looking to [possibly] the future chapter with each other.”

Hope was a dangerous thing.

There was a reason he never let himself think about her like that. Not seriously, anyway. And not in a very, very, very long time.

“I’m not talking about movies, Tony. I’m talking about you. She cares.”

He had reverted back to the standard old lines, then, and scoffed about how they were partners and teammates who had each other’s backs. Those lines were good. They protected him and their relationship. He told himself for years that anything else between them would be unthinkable. Inappropriate. Comical, even.

Yeah, right.

Her words, simple yet bold, took hold in his mind and wouldn’t let up.

They hit him when he was woefully unequipped to fend them off as he usually did. There was a crack in his armor, in the wall he built around himself to protect the both of them. It had been breaking slowly, really, ever since they brought her back from the dead in Somalia. It almost shattered completely after he was shot a few months ago and faced the prospect of dying without ever telling her. He was more fragile than ever these days, too, since falling out with EJ and painfully watching his partner hurt over another, undeserving man.

And so, when he heard EJ talk about her like that, the possibility of more seeped through the cracks and into his heart. It coaxed his feelings to the surface, fully awakening what he had known yet staunchly denied for years.

He loved her.

Admitting it to himself was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Give him a burning building, a terrorist, a raging gunman, or a bomb on a timer—fine—he could handle that. That was easy—relatively. But love? The old Anthony DiNozzo didn’t do love.

There was just something about her—the complex dichotomies of softness and strength, of love and hurt, of anger and loyalty—that fascinated him, pulling him to her like gravity. She was an enigma that only he seemed to truly understand; and damnit, he wanted to spend the rest of his life unlocking the key to her soul. She made him better, too—pushing him to open up and grow up, never taking his crap, molding him slowly into half the man she actually deserved.

Despite how hard she tried to hide it, he knew she had strong feelings for him too. He could see it in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention—adoringly and longingly, as if imagining a world in which they could actually be something. He felt it in the way she stole soft and lingering touches, standing closer than necessary on an almost daily basis; and he heard it when she talked to him—sometimes concernedly, sometimes flirtatiously, sometimes even annoyedly, but always with love.

Denying how he felt about her was making less and less sense to him by the minute these days. He was filled with regret for wasted time and, still, fear of damaging their bond. But most of all, he was filled with a deep-seated ache for her. For all of her. And for the first time, the latter was starting to win.

Hearing EJ’s words was the final nail in the coffin, if he was honest with himself. They were validation that it wasn’t all in his head. They gave him hope—and with it, a touch of recklessness, encouraging him to ignore the fear for once and play with the fire that is Ziva David. It had been about seven years, after all. If not now, then when?

“Agent David. Do you really consider me to be…in your life?”

His eyes glistened with a mix of hope, boldness, and vulnerability. He watched her carefully as she processed his verbal challenge, seeing how she’d react—if she’d push them closer to the edge or rein him in.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, taken aback by his question. Instinctually, she opened her mouth to disarm the situation, as they usually did whenever the other got too close to the truth.

The look of adoration in his eyes made her pause, though. Ray’s communication and commitment issues served as a strong contrast to the man in front of her, who listened to and supported her whether or not she asked.

She was tired of waiting seven weeks for a man who claimed to love her, when the one she could not live without was standing right in front of her. She was tired of being treated like an afterthought. She was tired of it all. She was so tired, in fact, that she decided to cut the double entendres and answer him honestly. He deserved that, at the very least.

“I do.”

His smile grew brighter, then, and she couldn’t help but return it. He reached out and softly grazed her arm. It was fleeting, another test. A small thrill ran through her as she wondered what had gotten into him, and she raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“Let’s go get that drink.”

---

“Admit it. You never liked her,” Tony teased as he downed the last of his beer and gestured for another. They sat in a corner booth in a dimly lit bar that neither frequented. On some level, she hoped he chose it exactly for that reason—to make sure they weren’t interrupted by someone they knew, or to mark the beginning of…something. Of them. Maybe.

“Who?” she asked playfully.

“EJ,” he replied, calling her bluff by the look on his face.

“Oh. Her.”

“Yeah, her. You didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Let’s just say that I am glad she is gone.”

“Why?”

She hesitated briefly, contemplating, before she responded.

“She is not good enough for you.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Maybe she was right after all.”

“Right about what?”

Tony smiled a bit nervously and took another sip of his drink as Ziva waited, watching him closely with that look. He could just tell her about the movie aspect of the conversation. It wouldn’t be a lie, really, and it would keep them safely within their bounds. But he was sick of the games, of the walls. Plus, he was a little bit tipsy.

He decided to go for it. Throw it out into the open. Play with the fire.

“When we were at the safe house, she said that you care. About me.”

"Wow, such an astute observation by a brilliant, brilliant woman,” she said, rolling her eyes. Tony chuckled at her brashness, reminiscent of how she was when they first met. But he said nothing, wanting to hear her real response.

“Of course I do, Tony,” she said eventually with a soft smile on her face. “You are my partner.”

“Right,” he said, deflated.

“And sometimes,” she continued breathily, finally feeling the effects of her third drink. “You are even my friend.”

“Wow,” he said, cracking a smile and accepting her amended answer—for now. “I’m honored.”

“You should be.”

He laughed, and she did too.

And, he was.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed. It is a miracle, really, given how intimidated you were when we first met.”

“I was not!” he exclaimed, knowing full well that she was right. Not that he’d ever admit it. “If anyone was intimidated, it was you.”

“Tony,” she said amusedly. “I know you.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “I suppose you do.”

She shot him a genuine smile; a happy and peaceful look graced her features.

“Seriously though, Tony. I think we’ve both grown quite a bit.”

“We most certainly have,” he laughed. “Remember when you secretly tried Air Guitar?”

Her mouth dropped. “How did you know about that?!”

“When you uploaded it later that night, my computer saved a copy.”

“Oh, sure it did. Just like it autonomously saved those bikini photos, yes?”

“Exactly,” he replied, winking at her.

“You also posted your ass on that stupid website.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, cringing at the memory. “But, you rated it.”

“A 2.”

“A 5, if I remember correctly.”

“Only if you shaved.”

They laughed, enjoying their banter. She took another swing of her drink, reflecting on how far they’d come over the years—how close they’d gotten. When she had first arrived at NCIS, she thought he was a womanizing goofball, a hormonal teenager in an adult’s body—albeit, an attractive body. As the years went on, though, he snuck by her well-built defenses and managed to take up residence inside her heart. She still wasn’t quite sure how he did so, as no other man had been able to break into her life like that.

And now? After everything they had been through together, she was tired of pretending. She knew she loved him, and that he knew too. They basically admitted as much back in Africa—him to her face, and her to the journals she kept in her office. They’d been dancing around each other for years, backing away whenever someone got too close. Part of it was, of course, not wanting to jeopardize their partnership.

But truthfully, she knew that was bullshit.

She was scared. She was scared of losing him. Everyone she had ever loved up to this point died, sometimes even in her arms. He was the most important person in the world to her, and the thought of something happening to him because of her was almost too much to bear.

But then, something did happen to him. He almost died. And it had nothing to do with her.

She wasn’t even there to protect him.

That night had shaken her to the core; it forced her to question all the reasons she had been keeping him at arm’s length, never letting him in for more than a few blissful moments. She still tried to distance herself and make it work with Ray; but, she was reminded of her losing battle whenever she saw him looking at her like she was the only thing on Earth that mattered.

The fear of him dying without ever telling him the truth had finally eclipsed her fear of losing him.

She wanted to stop pretending, finally. She suspected he did too, based on their interactions today.

They just couldn't waste any more time.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot,” he answered. “Figuratively, of course.”

She giggled. Actually giggled. God, how he loved that sound.

“Of all the ones we have worked on together, what has been your favorite case?”

“Oh, tough one David,” he grinned.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “We, uh…we make a good team. There have been a lot of good ones.”

“True,” she said, smiling softly.

“If you force my hand, though, I’d have to say Paris. It is a magical place,” he said with a flirtatious lilt in his voice and a knowing smirk.

“I should have guessed,” she replied. “I loved…Paris, too.”

He raised his eyebrows at her comment; she returned the gesture.

“And you?”

She bit her lip, debating whether she should tell him the truth. This was her chance. She was still scared, but she was also a little drunk by now, and hell, she honestly wanted him to know.

She wanted him to know everything.

“Well,” she began with a small smile on her face. “I liked them all. Or, most of them, like you. We make even the toughest cases enjoyable, when we work together.”

He smiled, opening his mouth to respond before she cut him off.

“But, to be perfectly honest with you,” she continued, boldly meeting his eyes. “My favorite was when we were under covers.”

"I think you mean undercover.”

She clucked her tongue playfully and softly touched his hand, drawing small circles and shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Tony’s eyes widened at her openly flirting with him as she smiled suggestively. He hadn’t seen this side of her, directed at him, in years. His mind was going a mile a minute trying to process it and what it meant for them. If it meant anything at all.

Taking one look at her eyes, though, he knew it meant something. It meant something big. Her eyes always spoke the truth—when it came to him, anyway.

She was pleased with herself. She managed to tell him while still giving him an out, if he wanted. She spoke their coded tongue.

Doing cartwheels in his head, he grinned back at her and boldly turned his hand over to take hold of hers, interlacing their fingers. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he wanted to do that.

He saw a flash of fear and surprise cross her eyes before being quickly replaced with something that could only be described as contentment.

“I wonder what it would be like if we did that again sometime. Went undercover, I mean,” he said, testing the waters with insinuations and metaphors just as she did. That was their language. If they were to even begin talking about the possibility of them, they both knew this was the easiest way to do it. At first, anyway.

She opened her mouth but said nothing at first, thinking of the best response. She felt the room’s temperature rise as he reciprocated her subtle advances and pushed her further.

She would not be outdone.

“I’d like that. We would be…good at it, too.”

He raised his eyebrows with a sly smile on his face.

“I don’t think your boyfriend would like that very much.”

“Ray? Oh, he is done. As soon as I talk to him, I am ending it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She looked at him more seriously now, with a hint of curiosity.

"He isn’t good enough for you.”

She smiled, touched by his admission.

This was it.

The dance was ending.

---

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Tony. I am fine.”

“I know you are,” he replied. “But, I’m a DiNozzo. We are gentlemen.”

She laughed, sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue. She held it, though, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He pulled her a little closer, then. Her arm was tucked into his as they walked down the cold sidewalk, street glistening with the light of the stars and the snow flurries that started to fall.

“I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he said honestly.

As they approached her apartment, his heart raced faster. With EJ gone, Ray practically a done deal, their earlier conversations and the buzz in their systems, it seemed the perfect time to ask, if he was ever going to do so.

Would it ruin everything?

Or…would it be everything?

What the hell. He loved her.

He wiped his clammy hands on his coat and took the shot.

“I would, uh, like to do it again sometime. If you want. For…for real.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, a silent question in her eyes.

His own tried desperately to answer.

Yes.

“After you break up with him.”

Understanding flashed across her face, to be quickly replaced with a dash of fear. He could see her wheels turning.

He could feel his own fear rising as he watched her. She saw it, though, and immediately softened her gaze, comforting him.

Placing a hand on his chest, she felt his heart race.

She smiled softly, making her choice. It was time to stop the game.

“I’d like that too.”

“Well then,” he said, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s a date.”

She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, her other hand moving to his neck. His heart beat even faster as her touch lingered on his skin, leaving its mark. Claiming him.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She held his gaze for a moment, delicately caressing his face before starting the ascent to her door.

“Ziva,” he said loudly.

She turned around to face him, at the top of the stairs now.

“Yes?”

“I’m happy you’re in my life, too.”

She nodded, smiling as she recalled their earlier conversation. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Good night, Tony. Text me when you get home.”

“I will. Good night.”

She lingered a few moments more, staring into him before stepping inside.

In all of the years they spent working together, that was the first time she asked that of him. It wasn’t at all necessary—they both knew it—but it was loving. Another metaphor.

He could get used to this.

#tiva #tiva fanfiction #ncis #ziva david #anthony dinozzo #fanfiction #my fanfiction #saraluvstiva #i don't really know lol #not used to writing them non-canon #lol imagine that!#anyways #hope y'all like it #kristen says things

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theelvenhippie · 3 years

Text

Curio's Curious Cabaret was established in the 2nd Era, and unfortunately Crassius Curio and Lifts-Her-Tail are no longer around, but their nightclub IS! This is where our characters will regroup and rest their heads in between adventures.

(Also can be found in Elder Scrolls Online as a joinable GUILD! 😸)

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

Backstory:

Written in the middle of the Third Era, Crassius Curio's famous novel, "The Lusty Argonian Maid" had no business being found in the magic halls of Gandranen, 741 years in the past...

"Tales say that Gandranen was built by an Ayleid sorcerer, a worshiper of Hermaeus Mora who so loved books that she created a series of magical halls that would attract books from across Tamriel, no matter where—or when—they were published." -Gandranen Ruins Loading Screen (Elder Scrolls Online)

-------

Chapter #1:

Month, 431 3E

On a rainy evening within the stony walls of House Hlaau, Crassius Curio, the author of "The Lusty Argonian Maid", waited outside his room, pacing and muttering to himself.

"What is taking that elf so long? Does she not understand how important this is?" Finally he flopped against the wall, and began to slowly sink down onto the floor. He was exhausted. He had spent three days straight looking for the original copy of his novel. He was starting to panic inside.

Just as he began to obsess over his loss again, a boy clad in servant's attire approached Crassius. "S-sir, there's an elf in a cloak at the front door. She says she's l-l-looking for you." Said the boy with a stutter.

Hurriedly, Crassius jumped up and pushed past the boy, knocking him over. He didn't have time to apologize. At the front door, two more servants waited with the woman.

"There he is! Good. This bag is getting heavy on me and again NO, I do NOT need you two to carry anything for me!" She turned back to Crassius. "How in Oblivion can you live with servants?" With that, she began making her way to the hallway. "Are you coming my lord?"

Within his room, the elf began setting up some kind of altar. Crassius watched her impatiently.

"So... how does this work, again? You finish your spell and I'll just know where it is?"

"Not... exactly." She got quiet, and it worried him. "Well what then?" He snapped, irritation rising in his voice.

"Knowledge IS magic in itself you know. It may be a locator spell, but there'll be more to it than just suddenly knowing." She paused, pouring some kind of liquid onto a slab of wood, before finally lighting the candle in the middle of the altar. "When I begin the chant, you should be transported, in a way, to the location of your novel. You won't be able to interact with anything, but you should be able to figure out where to go from here once you see it. Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Just get it done!" He said, gesturing her to hurry. She sighed with annoyance and began the chant. Crassius waited. Nothing was happening. "Look if you think-" suddenly, before he could finish, the elf was in his face with a needle, and with the quickest and most graceful of movement, the elf pricked the Imperial Councilor's finger, and let the drop of blood fall onto the slab of wood. And instantly, as the liquid contacted the wood fiber beneath, he was transported to another world.

He took a good look around him. He didn't recognize anything. It looked like some kind of... library. An endless, endless library. "Well of course", he thought. "My luck WOULD lead me to an endless library when I'm trying to look for, hmm, I don't know, a BOOK?!" He tried shaking off the apprehension he had and began looking. The elf had been right. None of the books or chairs or anything reacted to his touch. He was like a ghost. No one was around which somehow didn't make him feel better. He hadn't even really looked that long before he started to give up. "How long did she say this spell lasted? I don't remember how I'm supposed to wake up even." Suddenly, he noticed something he recognized on a table near the wall. A dusty leather journal with the initials "C.C." embossed into the spine. "My manuscript? I found it?" He started to perk up, and as he moved his hand closer to the journal to see if it was really his, suddenly,

He touched it.

Not phased through,

TOUCHED it.

The room began to twist and deform. A deafening ringing began in his ears and he screamed in agony. He was becoming heavy, extremely heavy, and dizzy enough to send him flying to the ground. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears. Had that been there before? Everything was spinning, and he felt like the world just might shatter around him. He closed his eyes, and began to imagine he was in his suite, sipping wine and working on his new novel, "The Three-Legged Guar". He tried picturing the painting above his desk, orange and lavender clouds gliding along a salmon-colored sky, all reflected over a roaring river. It had been a welcome gift for him when House Hlaalu made him Councilor. He loved just staring at it whenever he got writer's block.

Before he knew it, the dust had settled, and he was still in the library. "I dont understand..." he whispered as he knocked into a separate pile of books, causing them to fall over.

Meanwhile, back in the Councilor's suite, the mage waited anxiously. "Okay, that should be enough time. I think I'll pull him out now." She thought to herself. She began another chant, and as she finished, she blew out the candle.

Nothing.

"Wait. What?" She asked herself, puzzled. She tried again, relighting the candle and this time, she doused the flame in the liquid from before. Still, nothing. "I don't understand. Why isn't it working? I've done this a million times." She began to go over the steps in her head. "... then the void salts, mix, pour, light the dragon candle, and then..." at that moment, she had an epiphany. "...the blood..." She realized if the book had somehow shared a physical connection, say, blood, it may have created a physical bridge between her location, and now, his. She smirked at her new discovery, slightly impressed at her mistake. "He should be okay... given the book wasn't surrounded by trolls..." She said to herself, trying to mask the doubt in her mind.

Back at the library, Crassius took his manuscript and spent the rest of the day figuring his way out. When he finally rediscovered the light, it was moonlight, and he was left with nowhere to go. He slept near the entrance to the ruin and waited until dawn.

When dawn approached, he pulled out an old compass from his pouch and began attempting to head towards the manor of House Hlaau. He figured he was somewhere in Shadowfen based on his surrounding.

Suddenly, he ran into a young Argonian woman, clad in a spidersilk jumper with intricate spiral designs. "Ah! My apologies sir! Me and my clumsy tail..." spoke the Argonian lass. "No worries Miss-" he was cut off by his own surprise. She was the most stunning Argonian he had ever seen.

"... Lifts-Her-Tail." She finished his sentence with a smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister..." She said, trailing off the same way he had, expecting him to do the same. But he just stared... awkwardly. Did I offend you? Some customs are very... distasteful to my kind."

"No, no..." Crassius said, shaking off his awe of her beauty. "I was just... distracted. What did you say your name was?" "Lifts-Her-Tail, sir." She said, but was taken back by his response. He burst out laughing.

"Oh wow!" He said, growing cocky. "The most beautiful woman I've ever met AND a fan? What can I say? Would you like me to sign something darling?"

She looked at him like he had proclaimed himself a goat.

"...You... aren't a fan?" He said, his excitement dimming. "Then... how did you get your name?"

"Sir, based on this interaction I don't wish to divulge that information. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my master." She pushed past him, but he did not stay where she left him. Instead, he began to follow her. "Look, I'm sorry. I... I'm an author. My main character happens to have the same name so I... I assumed... I'm sorry. Please don't think ill of me." She stopped walking and looked at him with frustration in her eyes.

"A book?" She asked. "Yes." He said, hopeful she may be willing to talk with him. "May I read it?" Suddenly, his heart sank into his stomach. He hadn't mentioned the TYPE of novel it was. So, out of fear of upsetting her, he said, "I... lost my manuscript. That's why I'm here." "In the middle of Shadowfen where there is all matters of danger? To find a book?" She said, slightly less irritated. "Can you not re-write it?" "No, it wouldn't be the same story." He said, brushing off the question. "Well, summarize it for me then, if you would." She said, warming back up to his character. He took a deep breath. "Basically, it's about a maid named Lifts-Her-Tail and her master, Crantius Colto... it's... kind of a romance..." he explained. "Hmm. You must have a thing for us lizards, yes?" She chuckled. "Well, I'm sure I don't live up to your expecta-" "You are truly the most beautiful woman I've ever met." He interrupted.

She stood there, baffled. "Uh... thank you... no one has ever addressed Lifts-Her-Tail that way before... thank you... oh I said that already..." She began to stumble over her words. "...I... If you still want to know, I got my name from the orphanage I grew up in. They hated Argonians. And I WAS a maid indeed, like your story, only I was basically a hatchling. I'd have to hold my tail every time I swept so... 'Lifts-Her-Tail' became my name." She chuckled again. "It was better than 'Hey, Lizard'." He suddenly felt horrible. His intentions with the name had been focused on making it a double entendre, but she wasn't like that at all.

"You shouldn't be about without a weapon, you know. We're in a time of war." She said, beginning to walk in the direction she had originally been going. "Where are you headed? I'm lost and there seems to be nothing I recognize around me."

"Well, I'm headed into the city. My master is dying and he wishes for me to find my own way. So, I plan on offering my services to anyone who will pay. I'm good at cleaning and cooking..." "Is that what you want?" He asked, seeing disappointment in her eyes. "Well I... no. I wish to open my own tavern, if I'm being honest. Yet, I have no money." "Lifts-Her-Tail, trust me, you stick with me, and I WILL get you that tavern."

-End of Chapter #1-

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youcouldmakealife · 4 years

Text

First of probably many Kickstarter posts

I’ll be tagging them all ‘btt publication’ and ‘kickstarter’ if you’d rather not see them.

I’ve shamelessly stolen some of this from my Kickstarter launch page, with an FAQ to be up tomorrow or Monday: if you’ve got any questions about the Kickstarter you’d like answered don’t hesitate to reply, send me a message on anon, etc etc!

coming in first place -- and then, between the teeth

No, I am not ashamed that I turned this trilogy into an elaborate double entendre.

And Then and Between the Teeth are the second and third novels in the Between the Teeth trilogy, and take place in the same slightly askew universe as You Could Make a Life and Thrown Off the Ice)

So what are you kickstarting, exactly?

I'm kickstarting books two and three of the Between the Teeth trilogy, which follow book one, Coming in First Place.

Why are you doing a Kickstarter for two books rather than two separate Kickstarters?

There’s a reason that I’m bundling the latter two novels together as a single Kickstarter project: book three involves considerably less work on a structural change standpoint than Coming in First Place and any of my previous projects. Book two (And Then) requires more, because the multi-POV story it’s named for is going to be replaced by multiple chapters (currently 5 as an initial estimate, but definitely between 4-7) that are exclusively from David’s point of view. Book three (Between the Teeth), however, will mostly be a case of refining, polishing, and some expansion, not the wholesale new material that all previous Kickstarters involved.

What are the rewards going to be?

The rewards are going to be very similar to previous Kickstarters, but with a little twist at the end. As always the basic tier will include the final e-copy and the stories of the week, the next tier will include the extras (and as with last time, the ability to send prompts for the stories of the week), the tier above will include your name in the acknowledgments and a physical item — which is changing this time, because instead of postcards, I’ll be sending writing scraps. There are also writing rewards, but I’ve capped them at 500 word level this time around.

What are the stories of the week, extras, and writing scraps?

For those who’ve never participated in my Kickstarter or pre-ordered any of my previous novels, the stories of the week are what they sound like -- you'll be on a mailing list for a weekly update on the publication and a short story -- all pledges above 35CAD are eligible and encouraged to send prompts, and each week I will write a story (500 words plus) based on one of those prompts. They’ll be sent out on Sundays, because that’s become my routine. I’ll be adding an option to ‘opt out’ of both those stories and the extras, especially for those who don’t want to be spoiled in advance of publication — you’ll still receive them, but you’ll receive them in one file at publication time(s!) rather than on a weekly basis.

The extras will again be outsider POVs of the events of Between the Teeth, so there’ll be plenty of Oleg and Kiro and the Caps, with some fun bonus Dave, Mike, and the like. And Jake. Jake is probably going to try to hog the extras again. It’s like he thinks he’s the other protagonist of the trilogy or something. They’re also emailed on a weekly basis and will also be subject to opt out of until publication if you’d prefer.

The writing scraps are handwritten, well, scraps. I have handwritten notes plotting out Follow the North Star, and the original beginning of You Could Make a Life, written almost ten years ago, was entirely handwritten — my computer was in the shop — and anyone in the reward tiers who are eligible to receive writing scraps will be mailed one of those pages. Warning: I have terrible handwriting.

See? (also apparently I couldn’t spell February right the first time.)

Will we be able to order the extras from previous Kickstarters again?

You will! Once again I’ll have the extras from YCMAL, TOTI, and CIFP available to order for a limited time -- during the Kickstarter, and, for a short time afterwards through Patreon for those who are unable to pledge via Kickstarter.

When’s the launch date and when will it end?

Barring anything unforeseen, the Kickstarter is going to launch on June 30 and wrap up on July 30.

Link to the Kickstarter pre-launch page here, and again, if there are any other questions you have, don’t hesitate to reply or send me a message so I can answer them in the upcoming FAQ!

#kickstarter #btt publication

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misterspectacular · 4 years

Text

So in Season 1, Episode 7 (Sorbet), Hannibal has Alana over. This is the first time we've seen her over, though we're given the impression that it's a common thing.

Have a look at the script. I'm going to dissect it and add in my analysis as it goes along, sort of like a commentary.

INT. HANNIBAL’S HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Hannibal places the ROSE/TOMATO in the sizzling pan with eleven others, a simmering fragrant blossom that loses its petals in one smooth whisk of the wooden spoon.

CAMERA FINDS Alana dicing onions, not quite as handy as Hannibal with her knife skills, but skilled nonetheless. There’s almost a sibling warmth to their dynamic, but something more softly vibrates just beneath the surface.

***

So, by this alone, we know already that what they have is bordering on romantic. At least, it will be perceived that way, though it is not genuine. Hannibal is hiding beneath the veil; he is wearing a mask. Alana is not being given the option to touch the True Hannibal (or, you could say, she is not clever enough to climb over the walls). So, while Alana's feelings may be sincere, Hannibal's are not (he may enjoy or appreciate certain things about Alana, but I don't think his feelings go very deep).

But the fact that he's wearing a mask around her is the main reason that I asked myself, how does this moment benefit Hannibal? If she knew him in his entirety, I would say, oh. He's benefiting from this moment because he's romantically interested in her. But considering that Hannibal has not allowed her to truly see him, I have to dismiss that. He can only feel as much as he is willing to show, which in this case, is not much.

Hannibal has a reason (often times, multiple reasons simultaneously) for doing anything that he does. That reason is not always obvious; other times it is.

My first thought, of course, was that he had befriended her because she works with the FBI and is known to have control over Jack. Having control over Jack means having control over the FBI (this was before Hannibal and Jack had met, so this could be the closest he was able to get to the head of the FBI, at least during that time. I don't doubt that he most likely had planned on working his way up). This would obviously benefit a serial killer in hiding.

***

HANNIBAL I’ve been unspeakably rude. I haven’t offered you a drink.

He moves to the refrigerator to retrieve a beverage.

ALANA BLOOM I appreciate beer more than wine.

HANNIBAL It’s not what you appreciate. It’s that you appreciate. A compromise. Beer brewed in a wine barrel. Two years. I bottled it myself.

ALANA BLOOM I'm impressed.

A swig, then she swishes the beer briefly before swallowing.

ALANA BLOOM A Cabernet Sauvignon wine barrel.

HANNIBAL I love your palate.

***

This is one thing I do think Hannibal truly appreciates about Alana. A refined palate. I don't think he dislikes Alana, I just don't think his feelings for her run as deep as he pretends they do.

***

ALANA BLOOM I love your beer. I taste oak. (another swig) What else do I taste in there?

HANNIBAL I will only answer yes or no.

ALANA BLOOM Serving this at your dinner party?

HANNIBAL No. This is your reserve.

ALANA BLOOM My own private reserve? Why, Thank you.

***

During this moment, I realized he was buttering her up, and was wondering why. Could it really be that he's just interested in her? I asked myself.

***

HANNIBAL (Considers, then:)

I’m curious about something. Are you purposefully avoiding the subject of Will Graham?

ALANA BLOOM Absolutely.

HANNIBAL Not on my account, I hope. I’m happy to get your perspective.

***

But then this happened and I came to realize, THIS is where he benefits; he wants to get information about Will.

The private reserve, the being generous, was so that she'd be generous in return. "I'll give her THIS to coax her into giving me THAT."

***

ALANA BLOOM It’s on Jack Crawford’s account. I don’t want any information about Will I shouldn’t have as his friend.

***

Alana, without realizing it, is giving Hannibal exactly what he wants; information about Will. Her connection to Jack and the FBI, and more importantly, her connection to Will, makes her very useful.

***

HANNIBAL Did Jack ask you to profile the Ripper?

***

"How much do you KNOW?"

***

ALANA BLOOM Not since I consulted on the case with Miriam before she disappeared.

HANNIBAL Crawford’s trainee.

ALANA BLOOM Yeah.

HANNIBAL Very sad.

ALANA BLOOM You had me examining Ph.D. candidates that week.

***

I feel the writers had her say this to show us that Hannibal deliberately had her examining the Ph.D. candidates to distract her from the Ripper. There would be no reason to state this otherwise. I feel they were saying, yes, Hannibal was trying to distract her, because HE'S the Ripper, and he didn't want her involved. He didn't WANT her to figure him out (it's different with Will).

If Alana wanted to, she could have convinced Jack into allowing her to continue profiling the Ripper, but because she was distracted with the Ph.D. students, and most likely distracted by Hannibal's apparent romantic interest in her, she didn't.

***

HANNIBAL I’m grateful you were examining Ph.D. students and not the Ripper.

***

Hannibal loves those double entendres. What she thinks he meant is "because that would have put you in danger and I care about you" but what he MEANS is "because you might have figured me out and I'd have had to kill you." Whether that would disappoint him because he does enjoy her company or because she is useful to him could be left up to the viewer but I personally believe that, while she may provide some bit of entertainment, that for the most part, his feelings are only surface level.

***

HANNIBAL (hesitates)

You realize those candidates thought we were having an affair. (then) Why didn’t we?

***

Hannibal taking this long to bring up the idea of having a romantic relationship with Alana raises questions. He could have had Alana long before. So why now?

And I feel it partly has to do with Will and partly has to do with distracting her/keeping her on his side (as a defender, like we see in future episodes). There are reasons as to why I feel it may have to do with Will: for one, it is NOW that Hannibal decided to bring up the idea of a romantic relationship (or at least an affair). He could have brought this up long before; particularly, when it was happening. Hannibal clearly has nothing against polygamy (he was having an affair during the time students assumed he and Alana were, meaning he is not monogamous - which is not surprising). And if he'd already asked this question, or already tried getting with Alana, he wouldn't have felt the need to ask now. He would already know the answer. So the fact that he's asking now, is saying that he's making a move now; he's putting the idea into her head with a goal in mind (get with Alana), and his reason for it has more to do with than just Alana. Because if it was just because of/for Alana, again, he would have acted, or at least said something, much sooner.

The only difference between then and now is that Will is in the picture. So these are the reasons it would have to do with Will:

Alana stated that she is Will's friend. This entire episode is based on friendship and she used that specific word to describe her relationship with Will. It's likely that Hannibal already picked up on the fact that Alana has feelings for Will (he's Hannibal Lecter, of course he did). And I feel that he asked Alana "Why didn't we have an affair back then?" because he was trying to determine whether or not Alana had already been interested in Will. "Did we not have an affair, back then, because you'd already had feelings for Will?"

At this point, we know Hannibal is considering whether or not Will can be a true friend. Hannibal is possessive of Will and doesn't want anyone getting in the way of what he has planned for him.

So I feel that asking her why they didn't have an affair (basically telling her in so many ways "We should have an affair") was his attempt at getting confirmation on his belief that she had feelings for Will (I'm sure he realizes she won't come out and say it, because she's clearly trying to hide it, but he may have been banking on even the slightest mention of Will -- which she does do after he asks this question, so you could consider that confirmation), while also trying to focus her attention on HIM instead of Will.

"I need to keep her away from Will. I need to direct her attention towards me. If she has feelings for him, and it's acted on, she will get in the way of the plans I have for Will."

And, aside from Will, the reasons behind him saying this would be to distract her, keep her blinded, and keep her on his side. That way, if he is suspected, Alana would side with him. This actually happens in future episodes so I would say that was exactly his plan.

I just think it had to do with Will, as well, because, like I said, Hannibal could have acted sooner. He decided to act NOW, once Will's in the picture, once he has most likely figured out that Alana has feelings for him and might get in the way (she is very protective which wouldn't work for Hannibal at all, considering what he's trying to do with Will).

***

ALANA BLOOM You were already having an affair. Will does that, too, you know.

***

This would be the confirmation that she has feelings for Will. I'd say he already knew but that he just wanted to be sure. Hannibal brings up having an affair with HIM, and she mentions WILL. I think this is what he was looking for. This would erase any doubt.

(If you notice, too, Alana still doesn't get with Hannibal after this. It's not until Will is lost to her that she gets with Hannibal. So Hannibal asking "did we not have an affair because you were interested in Will?" actually makes a lot of sense. If you put that question in the present tense, it would be "Are we not having an affair because you are interested in Will?" and the answer would be "Yes". Because they DID have an affair once Will was sent to the psychiatric hospital, basically once Will was out of the picture. This is just more proof, to me, that Hannibal picked up on her feelings for Will before she realized he did and that it was indeed the reason he asked that question specifically.)

***

HANNIBAL What? Have affairs?

***

Hannibal's obvious interest in learning about Will. "Will has affairs?" You don't really see Hannibal this excited about anything else. Any bit of information he can gather on Will is thrilling for him (think of him looking through Will's drawers, think of him asking Alana for her perspective. He says to Bedelia that Will intrigues him and it really does show; you can just sense the sincerity behind it).

***

ALANA BLOOM Flirtatiously change the subject. You have that pathology in common.

***

While I feel Hannibal asked that specific question because he was seeking a specific answer (related to Will), I also feel that he was indeed creating a diversion. This is Hannibal hitting two birds with one stone (which you'll find he does very often in the series - sometimes even more than two birds at a time). So while this did indeed help to change the subject, that doesn't mean that was the only reason he asked that question in particular; it also provided him with an answer to his questions and put the idea of having an affair in Alana's head. So the reason that he changed the subject would be because they were talking about the Ripper. That makes plenty of sense; he's the Ripper and he realizes Alana is not involved, and he prefers it that way. He has her exactly where he wants her. He doesn't want her to know. "Let's move on and keep her off this path." The fact that he used flirtation to do it says something - he's picking at her weaknesses. He knows this would be most effective in distracting her.

What's also interesting is that she says Will does the same thing. We aren't shown a moment where this actually happens, yet (in the original script it had happened but they left it out, so I have to dismiss it), but he does kiss Alana in a future episode once he realizes that she might have caught onto his "madness". I find it interesting that the both of them, Will and Hannibal, use the distraction of romance with Alana to hide from her. Perhaps because they realize that this is what blinds her, more than anything else.

***

HANNIBAL Or we just have you in common.

***

This is also an interesting statement. SHE thinks he's saying "no, we're just flirting with you because you're YOU" but he's actually saying "Will and I have you in common. I can use that to my advantage."

***

HANNIBAL I recall even before I met Will Graham, you never spoke about him.

***

This was the writers telling us that,

1.) Alana knew Will back when she and Hannibal were thought to be having an affair.

2.) She is protective of Will (though we already gathered this from her previous reaction and so I feel the former reason was the main reason it was stated. In which case, it coincides with my belief that Hannibal asked why he and Alana hadn't had an affair, back then, in the first place, because he wanted to test her to see her reaction and see whether or not she would say anything that would clarify whether or not she did indeed have feelings for Will. Which, she did).

***

ALANA BLOOM Probably because I just want everybody to leave him alone.

***

After this statement there's a long silence, she lowers her eyes, and I feel we were given that silence to tell us that HANNIBAL KNOWS. So now, Hannibal knows, and WE know he knows. He knows she has feelings for Will. And now he also knows Will has been flirtatious with Alana, meaning Hannibal knows Will has feelings for Alana. So at this point, Hannibal knows very well that Alana might become a problem for him, by disrupting the plans he has for Will. Keeping Alana on HIS side, as opposed to Will’s, and keeping them separated in general, would work in Hannibal’s favor.

***

ALANA BLOOM It’s not even about Will. Jack’s obsessed with the Chesapeake Ripper and he’s grooming Will to catch him.

HANNIBAL And I sincerely hope he does.

***

The funny part is that Hannibal completely means this. Hannibal WANTS Will to figure him out. He WANTS Will to see him and is hoping he has the intelligence to do it. Because if he does, that makes Will worthy of Hannibal's friendship.

***

So that's my take. What do you guys think of the whole scene? What are your thoughts?

#hannibal lecter #alana bloom #will graham #hannigram #sorbet #friendship #affair #analysis #analyze #thoughts #thinking #script

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aliciameade · 5 years

Text

Head-First - Ch. 4

Title: Head-First Author: aliciameade Rating: M Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: They’re lifeguards.

Also on AO3 & FFN

(The end!)

When Beca drags herself to the kitchen in the morning for much-needed coffee, she groans. “Why are you awake?”

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” Stacie smiles at her from the kitchen table, mug in one hand and phone in the other. “Forecast says it’s gonna be a hot one today.”

Beca grabs a travel mug from the cabinet and fills it with coffee and a couple tablespoons of sugar. “If that was an attempt at a joke, it was weak.”

“What? No; the high today is 97º. So glad I have the day off. Make sure you take a couple Powerades out with you.”

Beca lets down her guard. “Oh, thanks. I’m not on the beach today, though. Chloe and I are teaching at the pool.”

“How’s that going?” Stacie sets down her phone; Morning Stacie is always so much more innocent than Late Night Stacie. “You’re kind of adorable together.”

Beca hums over a sip of too-hot coffee while she joins Stacie at the table. “We’re, uh, taking it slow.”

Stacie chuckles. “Really? I’m not trying to be invasive—”

Beca throws her a look as she joins Stacie at the table.

“I’m not! But it’s only been a few days, right? Things seem to be moving kind of quickly for taking it slow, based on the state you’ve been coming home in every night.”

Beca draws a breath through her teeth. “Yeah. Well. We...well, we have, like, amazing chemistry? And it’s really hard to not—”

“Rail each other?”

She winces. “Too early for that.”

“Sorry.”

“I mean, I want to. And I know she wants to. But we talked about it and I really like her, Stace. Like, really.” She ignores the sappy puppy eyes that fall on her at the admission and steals the uneaten slice of toast from Stacie’s plate. “And she likes me, too, and we don’t want sex to get in the way of getting to know each other better.”

“That’s cute. And I mean that.”

Beca rolls her eyes but it’s accompanied by a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway. It’s kind of nuts that I feel this way about someone I just met. Right?”

Stacie just shrugs and pushes her chair back from the table to stand. “When you know, you know. You’re not an idiot, so trust your gut.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t doubt yourself.” Stacie’s hand ruffles Beca’s hair as she departs. “And don’t screw in the pool; I have to get recertified in a couple of weeks and don’t want to be swimming in your lady juices.”

“Can we have one conversation where you don’t bring attention to my bodily fluids?” Beca tosses over her shoulder.

“Only if you agree to never use the words ‘bodily fluids’ again.”

~ ~ ~

“Good morning, Miss Mitchell.” The words are warm on Beca’s ear and she’s shivering before the arm slipping around her waist even finishes tugging her backward into a close embrace. It sends a thrill through her and she leans against the warm body behind her. It’s amazing what Chloe’s mere proximity can do to her.

“Why am I Miss Mitchell today?” she asks with a smile as she twists her neck to try to see her but she’s little more than a blur at such close range.

“Because you’re a sexy teacher today, duh,” Chloe responds, more loudly than Beca would have preferred, before placing a smacking kiss against her cheek and releasing her.

“Does the stench of chlorine and a YMCA locker room turn you on or something?” She winks at Chloe as she says it and pulls on a pair of red county-issued board shorts over her one-piece. Most days, she favored the tankini, but something about wearing it, despite being a sanctioned uniform, to teach a new crop of recruits, many of whom will be barely legal young people, seemed inappropriate.

She’s unsurprised that Chloe’s in her usual two-piece, though she’s opted for shorts, too. “Can’t say they do,” Chloe says as she takes a seat on the bench. “So, how are you?”

“Good. Kinda nervous? Is that dumb?”

“Why would that be dumb?”

Beca’s hands slow down as she loops her whistle around her neck. “I guess when you put it that way…”

“Exactly: not dumb. And any time I see you in the field, you’re a natural. I’m sure you’ll be aqua-awesome out there today, too.”

“Aqua-what?”

“Aqua-awesome! It means extra awesome.”

Beca has half a mind to tell Chloe to dial down the enthusiasm—it’s just basic instruction—but something tells her doing so would feel like clipping a butterfly’s wings. “Nerd,” she says instead and drapes a towel around her shoulders to take with her poolside. “Ready?”

“No.” Chloe’s answer surprises her but then she finds herself tugged at to sit on the bench next to her and right into a kiss.

It’s sweet and gentle and Chloe smells like grapefruit. It’s the first time, Beca realizes, she’s been this close to Chloe before spending a day on the sand. That this is what Chloe must smell like on her days off, not the beach scents of sunblock and saltwater.

“Better?” Chloe asks when they part and for the life of her, Beca can’t figure out what was ailing her to begin with that she should now be better.

“Can I take you out?” she says instead of answering.

There’s amusement playing at Chloe’s lips. “On a date?”

“Yeah. Like, it would be nice to spend time together when we’re not both gross from being outside all day.”

“You think I’m gross?”

“What? No! No, dude, of course, I—” A finger to her lips shuts her up.

“I know you don’t think I’m gross,” Chloe smiles. “I was teasing. I’d love to.”

Beca exhales. “Cool. Um, how’s tomorrow?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay. I’ll text you later with a time? I have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Well, I’m down for anything.” Chloe kisses her after she says it and Beca wonders if the double entendre she interprets is intentional. “Let’s go show the kids how it’s done, yeah?”

“Hell yeah!”

~ ~ ~

Beca’s burst of confidence fizzles once she’s standing in front of a group of trainees even though she’s the one with the whistle and clipboard. She’s grateful for Chloe and her boundless energy as she leads the majority of the lesson, far more than they’d outlined, as they work together to demonstrate the basics of a two-person assist rescue and then guide the trainees through it.

But by the end of the lesson, Beca’s found her stride and it’s she who sends the recruits into the pool for laps with a tweet of her whistle.

“I think that went pretty well,” she says as they walk back to the locker room trailing the class.

Chloe hip-checks her playfully. “Yeah, it went great!”

“Thanks for stepping up more than you had to, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“So totally not a big deal.”

“I’ll do my part next time; promise.”

“I know you will. But even if you don’t, it’s fine.” Chloe smiles at her as she says it and Beca feels it again, the warm, fluttering kind of thing in her chest and stomach that makes her feel cared for, protected. “Come shower with me.”

The words take Beca by surprise and she gapes. “Here?!”

Chloe turns around because Beca’s stopped in her tracks. “Don’t you want to rinse the chlorine out of your hair?” She’s trying not to smile as she says it and Beca’s mind catches up to her, switching lanes from feeling fluttery over Chloe to wrapping up a day spent in a pool.

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

“Do you really think the first time we shower-shower together would be at a public pool? What do you take me for?”

Beca can’t help but roll her eyes and she knows she’s blushing. “Yeah, no, sorry, that’s not what I—”

Her mind catches up with her again, rebuilding Chloe’s sentence and the fact that Chloe stated future communal bathing, not as a theoretical possibility but inevitable fact and she forgets how she was supposed to finish her sentence.

Thankfully, Chloe takes her hand and gets them moving again toward the showers. “Come on; you can picture me naked while we rinse off; I don’t mind.”

“I’m not going to picture you naked,” Beca blurts but all she gets is a backward glance over Chloe’s shoulder that tells her Chloe knows better than that.

“That makes one of us.”

The harsh, ice-cold spray of the pool shower is more than welcome.

~ ~ ~

Beca’s staring at the ceiling from the couch she was able to claim in Stacie’s absence when the front door opens and closes.

“Don’t worry; the pool is still safe,” she says preemptively.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” She hears Stacie taking off her shoes and hanging up her keys.

“Dare I ask why?”

“Because I walked in and saw you sulking on the couch.” Her voice is much closer and Beca slides her gaze down toward her feet where Stacie’s standing at the end of the couch. “What happened?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You kind of look like you’re sulking.”

Beca sighs. “I asked Chloe on a date.”

“And...she said no?”

“She said yes.”

“So why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking; I’m thinking.”

“Stop the presses,” Stacie laughs and Beca flips her off in response.

“I was trying to figure out where to take her tomorrow and I realized that I know almost nothing about her.”

Stacie drops herself into the recliner and kicks it back. “You mean to tell me all the time you’ve spent together this week, you’ve been too busy feeling each other up to actually talk?”

“We talk!” Beca says on reflex. “But it’s not my fault we’re like, super attracted to each other and end up not talking very much.”

“I’m glad you’re getting some, believe me. You’re so much easier to live with when you’re getting your rocks off regularly—” Beca grimaces “—and it’s been way too long. I don’t want you to do something dumb to mess up your chances with this girl, so let’s figure out how to sweep her off her feet.”

Stacie’s contribution to the conversation is an unexpectedly welcome one. “Okay, yeah.”

“What do you know about her so far?”

“She grew up on the beach.”

“And she works on the beach; don’t take her to the beach.”

“She loves the beach.”

“Maybe take her to the beach.”

Beca laughs. “So helpful.”

“No, I’m serious.” Stacie flips the leg rest on her chair down to sit forward. “She loves the beach and you know your way around our stretch of the coast, where all the quiet, private spots are.”

“I think we both kind of wanted to get away from work.”

“See how well you get along outside of your comfort zone; I get it. Why don’t you just go the traditional route? Take her to dinner.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m boring.”

“Movie?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“The opera.”

“Dude.”

“A concert?”

That suggestion makes Beca think for a few seconds. “Not for a first date; I want us to be able to talk to each other. But that’s a good idea for next time. Shit, I hope there’s a next time.”

“Just show her a good time. She already likes you. Don’t try too hard or say something offensive and you’ll be golden.”

“A good time…” Beca thinks and then grabs her phone to Google something.

“You figure it out?”

“I think so.” She texts Chloe next.

“7:30 pm? Dress casual. I’ll pick you up.”

Chloe’s reply is instantaneous. “Can’t wait!”

~ ~ ~

As Beca waits at Chloe’s apartment door, she realizes she should have brought flowers or maybe a bottle of wine as a gift, but if Chloe’s disappointed that Beca came empty-handed, she doesn’t show it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. She’s beaming when she opens the door and Beca almost loses her balance when she’s pulled right into a kiss.

“Hi,” Chloe says after a few breathtaking seconds.

“Hey.” Beca releases the grip she has on Chloe’s shirt. “You know, normally the kiss happens at the end of the date.”

“Oh, would you rather wait?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Nope, we’re waiting to ‘til the end. So, am I the right kind of casual?” Chloe gestures at herself and the white denim shorts and blue and white striped button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the hem tied into a knot at her waist to reveal a very teasing slice of skin and what could be brand-new white Keds. Her hair is in loose, smooth waves, a far cry from how Beca’s used to seeing it: frizzy from humidity and tied back in some way. She thinks both styles are stunning.

“Um, yeah, you look...cute.” Beca winces as soon as she says it; “cute” isn’t a very romantic thing to call someone. But instead of being offended, Chloe kind of bounces in place. “You should bring some taller socks, though.”

That earns her a curious look. “Socks?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

“Okay,” Chloe laughs. “One sec.” She turns and disappears into her apartment and Beca waits. She’s nervous and hates herself for it. She doesn’t have time to slip into a world of second-guessing herself because Chloe’s only gone a matter of a few seconds, returning with a rolled-up pair of socks in her hand to show Beca before stuffing them into her purse. “Ready.”

“Cool.” Beca steps aside to let Chloe walk ahead but instead, Chloe takes Beca’s hand and pulls her along to walk down the stairs and to Beca’s car side by side.

“You look cute, too, you know,” Chloe says as she waits for Beca to unlock her door. The activity gives Beca the precious couple seconds to not respond like a fumbling idiot once they’re both sitting in Beca’s dark silver Mini Cooper Convertible (the top is up tonight; she didn’t want to look all windblown upon her arrival). She’d bought it at an impound auction last year for a crazy low price, but no one needed to know that.

“Uh, thanks,” she replies as she starts the car and eases into traffic toward their destination. She’d agonized over what to wear and had left the house feeling like she’d made terrible choices in her navy blue tank top and denim cut-offs but Stacie had insisted both articles of clothing showed off all her curves in all the right ways and that she was not at all underdressed for what she had planned.

“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing?”

“No.”

She hears Chloe make a pouty noise and glances at her to see she’s very much watching Beca. “Not even a hint?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” Chloe says with a dramatic huff and a few seconds of silence tick by before Beca hears her singing along quietly to the radio. She’s not sure why she’s surprised Chloe has a nice voice; to-date, she seems to be good at everything she does.

“You know this song?” Beca asks as she clicks up the volume a few times, not because she doesn’t want to hear Chloe sing but because Chloe likes the song.

“Why would I not know this song?”

“I meant that you know the words.”

“Oh, totes! Baby, you're a perfect ten, I wanna get in, can I get down so I can win.”

Chloe’s voice singing one of Beca’s favorite songs, a song that may or may not be on several of her playlists including a few compiled with bedroom activities in mind, makes Beca squirm in her seat.

“I like the way you work it,” she sings, joining Chloe, and she glances at her knowingly when she hears her gasp. Beca’s a humble person and would never brag about anything beyond her ability to put together the perfect playlist for any situation, but she knows she has a decent voice and isn’t embarrassed when she chooses to sing in front of other people.

“No diggity,” they sing together. In fact, they sing the rest of the song together, finding natural splits in who’s taking which line or sharing verses and splitting melodies into harmonies through not just the one song but the four it takes them to get to their destination.

~ ~ ~

“Wait, are you serious?” Chloe asks as she stares at the building a few rows of cars away across the parking lot.

Her awe is hard to read. Is she happy? Disappointed? “Yeah. Is that...is this okay?”

Chloe’s answer is to squeal and she leans across the console to kiss Beca’s cheek before scrambling to get out of the car.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Beca says proudly to herself as she grabs her purse to catch up with Chloe who seems barely able to refrain from sprinting across the lot. As soon as she does, Chloe’s hand is in hers again and Beca has to hustle to keep up with her.

“An eight, please,” Chloe says, still almost vibrating with excitement as they wait at the counter, a wall of cubbies filled with roller skates staring back at them.

A disinterested teenager looks at Beca to wait for her request before fulfilling Chloe’s. “Uh, seven, please.”

His moody attitude goes unnoticed by Chloe as he drops the rented skates on the counter and punches buttons on the screen of the cash register, which Beca pays for before Chloe can try to suggest they split it.

They find an empty bench to sit on and Chloe makes such quick work of trading her low-tops for her packed socks and roller skates that Beca’s still fighting with her second skate’s laces by the time she’s finished.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asks, her feet rolling back and forth while she sits as if testing their rolly-ness.

“The laces are all messed up,” she grumps, starting to get more frustrated by the second now that Chloe’s waiting and watching her. “How does this even happen?”

“Oh! I gotchu,” Chloe says as she stands—now several inches taller—turns with what Beca feels is an unfair amount of grace for someone on roller skates, and kneels at Beca’s feet to unlace the uneven weaving with deft fingers and redo it correctly. “There,” she says proudly as she uses Beca’s knees for leverage to get back to her feet. “It’s not too tight?”

Beca rocks her foot side to side. “No, it’s good.”

“Awes.” She holds out her hands for Beca to take and help Beca to her feet. The wheels let Chloe pull Beca right into her and for a moment, Beca’s sure Chloe is going to kiss her until Chloe’s rolling backward. “Should we get a locker for our stuff?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, let me just…” Beca fishes out a pair of quarters from her wallet before stuffing her bag and Converse into the metal cubby Chloe’s holding open for her, Chloe’s purse and shoes already tucked into the back of it. Beca drops the coins into the slot and Chloe takes the key to wear it around her wrist as a bracelet.

“So, on a scale of one to ten,” Chloe asks as they pick their way through the obstacle course of benches, shoes, and people toward the rink, “how much roller skating experience do you have?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I need to know how fast or slow I should go.”

“Is that your way of telling me you’re an experienced roller skater?”

Chloe shrugs. “I don’t like to brag, but…”

“Uh-huh,” Beca smiles. “I’ll give myself a six because I can go backward, too. What about you?”

“I’ll let you rank me later,” Chloe says with a wink as they roll to a stop at the entrance to the rink. It’s busy, but it’s an adults-only skate so for the most part, it’s orderly. “Ready?”

“After you,” Beca gestures and watches Chloe step onto the rink and immediately turn to skate backward with an expectant smile.

Beca rolls her eyes at her display and follows. She hasn’t been on roller skates in a few years, but she’s only unsure for a few strides until she’s caught up with Chloe who turns to face forward and skate next to Beca.

The music is loud and, so far, Beca’s approved of the DJ’s throwback choices. It’s a little too intrusive to carry on a lengthy conversation as they roll at a leisurely pace around the oval rink and allow speed skaters to pass them. But Beca doesn’t mind; it’s nice to be with Chloe in a new environment, one that doesn’t feel like conversation must continue lest awkward silence ensue. It’s low-pressure and there’s so much happening around them that if it does start to feel too quiet between them, it’s easy to quip, “Dude, that guy just ate it so hard!” or, “This remix is amazing!”

She decides it must be 80s night based on the music; it’s all of the top songs of the decade and Chloe starts singing along to Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl.”

“I always wanted to meet a girl who was dating a Jessie so I could listen to this song while I pined for her,” Chloe says with a laugh as they skate.

Beca looks at her as long as she dares to not trip over her own feet. “I don’t make it a habit to talk about exes on dates, but...my last boyfriend’s name was Jesse.”

Chloe squeals and spins (impressively) in place to skate backward next to Beca. “I am going to cling to that. Thank you.”

“Any time,” Beca laughs. “Curve is coming,” she says with a nod ahead and Chloe twirls back to face forward again.

“All right, all you sexy people,” the DJ’s voice crackles over the PA system. “Find your lover, your partner, your main squeeze, your sweetheart and hit the brakes because it’s time for sloooooooow skate.”

His voice fades into the opening bars of Breathe’s “Hands to Heaven” and Beca has a solid five seconds of panic as she watches several skaters leave the rink and those remaining link up into hand-holding pairs. She always hated slow skate as a teenager; she never had anyone to skate with, and she remembers that shame vividly.

Chloe’s hand slipping into hers, however, brushes those feelings aside to be replaced with feelings of a very different kind as the lights dim and the disco ball floods the room with stars.

“I haven’t heard this song in forever,” Chloe says and Beca hears her singing along to herself to the slow chorus.

“Me, neither.” Beca chooses to enjoy the quiet moment rather than engage a conversation, despite the change of pace providing a better environment for one. She feels like they’re communicating despite not speaking now that they’re holding hands.

The thought makes her feel cheesy, but given the fact that she’s slow skating in the dark under a disco ball to an 80s love song holding the hand of a girl who, she dares allow herself to think after such a short time together, could be important in Beca’s life.

The song mixes into “Drive” by The Cars and Beca makes a mental note to do something with both of the songs; maybe a playlist for Chloe.

“Oh no, this song always makes me cry.” Chloe’s voice is already tight and Beca second-guesses her plan.

She squeezes Chloe’s hand. “Why?”

“He just loves the girl in the song so much and wants to make sure she’s happy but feels helpless.”

“You don’t think he decides to do something about it by the end of the song?”

Chloe just shrugs and Beca watches her push away an escaped tear.

“Well,” Beca continues, “if I felt that way about someone, I wouldn’t sit back and let them slip away.”

“No?”

Beca shakes her head and realizes how honest she just was—how she maybe showed her hand a little too early.

But Chloe just swings that hand between them as though reminding her that Chloe isn’t going anywhere and, fueled by an unexpected rush of emotions, takes a quick stride to get just far enough ahead of Chloe to turn and skate backward so they can face each other. She trusts Chloe to not let her run into anyone. She trusts Chloe to not let her run into the curved wall at the end of the rink, too, but the artistic designs painted along the wall tells Beca they should be turning and she’s about to when Chloe’s hands move to her hips and she drives them straight into the wall.

There’s a sting in Beca’s lower back where it connects with the ledge from their momentum but it’s erased by Chloe’s lips on hers. She’s grateful Chloe has her pinned; the wheels on her feet lend themselves nicely to sending her to the floor if her knees were to give out.

It also allows Beca to slip her arms over Chloe’s shoulders as she returns the kiss, a relatively PG-rated trading of kisses until need gets the better of Beca’s sense of public decency and she slips her tongue past Chloe’s lips and feels more than hears the satisfied sound Chloe makes in response.

She can’t quite believe she’s making out on a roller rink under a disco ball while “Rush Rush” starts to play; her adolescent self would never believe it.

There’s something different about kissing Chloe this time. It’s missing the urgency of their previous deep kisses, but not in a way Beca finds disappointing. They aren’t pawing at each other, stumbling through a room in desperation to reach the line they have yet to cross. It’s reassuring. It tells her that they do want each other, crave each other, but both are content to wait, to have more, do more than That One Thing.

She has to stop thinking about it because the more she thinks about how amazing it is to kiss Chloe without the pressure of having to make a decision or convincing herself to stop, the more she wants to get herself into the position of having to make that decision and it’s making it difficult to keep her feet under herself, especially on roller skates.

“The two lovebirds on the south rail need to wrap it up or take it off the rink.” The DJ’s voice floats through the song. “Your affection is a road hazard.”

“I think he means us,” Chloe says against Beca’s lips and she can feel Chloe’s smile.

“What happened to waiting until the end of our date?”

“Are you really complaining?” Chloe starts to lean in again but then pulls back before their lips touch.

Beca lets herself whine because she is genuinely upset the moment’s over.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe says before pecking her lips again and using her hold on Beca’s hips to roll herself back, “there’s plenty more where that came from.” She winks after she says it and turns to skate away.

She wants Beca to follow her. Chase her. It’s not an outlandish concept, and the 90s jam that mixes in to signal the end of slow skate and the beginning of a jam skate has the perfect beat for her to push off the wall and catch up to Chloe who’s already halfway around the rink.

Chloe doesn’t see her coming and yelps when Beca grabs her waist.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Beca says, directing both of them toward one of the floor’s exits.

It’s a semi-awkward shuffle of a skate once they’re off the rink and back on the main floor. They have to weave around skaters and non-skaters, tables, and shoes whose owners didn’t care to tuck into lockers, bags, or even under a bench. Beca spots an empty booth and leads them to it.

“Save our table? I’ll go order for us if you tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know what they have,” Chloe says with a smile.

“Oh! Uh, pizza and burgers and stuff. Do you want to go look? I can wait here so we don’t lose the table.”

“Surprise me,” Chloe says as she scoots into the booth. “Just nothing with onions.”

“Don’t like them?”

“Don’t want to smell like them when we’re making out later.” She says it so simply she could have been talking about going to the grocery store.

It makes Beca swallow thickly and she can feel her cheeks burning. “Um, cool, yeah. Oh, beverage preference?”

“Root beer.”

Beca jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “They have a full bar.”

Chloe just smiles. “I know.”

“Root beer it is,” Beca says with a nod before she turns to skate through the seating area toward the food counter.

Chloe’s put the fate of her next meal in Beca’s hands and while Chloe seemed unbothered by the lack of certainty, Beca’s all the more nervous to make a good choice as she stares at the brightly lit menu above the counter, its list built out of uneven rows of red and blue letters and upside down W’s used where M’s should be.

She decides and orders and waits the few short minutes until two red plastic baskets slide across the counter toward her. It takes her two trips, once with the food and again for the drinks.

“I could have helped you,” Chloe says as she accepts the unbranded cup of fountain root beer.

Beca dismisses the need with a wave of her hand and eases into the booth, somewhat tricky with wheels strapped to her feet. They take turns passing packets of condiments back and forth (sparking a brief debate over the fact that Chloe likes mayonnaise on her fries?!) until they’re settled into their fried delicacies.

“Did you always want to be a vet?” Beca asks. For as much time they’ve spent together over the past week, they’ve reserved very little of it for actually getting to know each other beyond 1) lifeguarding and 2) kissing. Beca did manage to figure out in that time that Chloe’s time as a receptionist at the clinic was to help her upcoming applications for veterinary school.

Chloe nods as she finishes her bite of hamburger. “Yeah. Well, mostly,” she amends. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pop star.”

Beca smiles. “You have a good voice. You never tried?”

Chloe kind of shrugs and Beca wonders if there are sad memories tied up in that career goal. “Aubrey and I both did. We were in an a cappella group together in college. The SoCal VoCals?”

Beca’s never heard of them. “Like, competitive?”

“Yeah.” She starts smiling. “We were really good. We were actually on the first season of ‘The Sing-Off’ on TV.”

“You were on a reality show?!” Beca gapes; she’s a reality show junky (not that she’d readily admit that).

Chloe laughs. “Yeah. It was just for a cappella groups.”

“Did you win?”

“No, but we did make it to the quarter-finals.”

“That’s awesome, dude,” Beca says with a grin. “You didn’t shoot to superstardom after that?”

“Can you believe we didn’t?” Chloe says with another laugh. “It was fun, though. But it did open my eyes to what working in that industry could be like. There were so many pretentious, fake people to deal with, just with our little show. I need authenticity. I like real people, you know?” She points at Beca with a French fry and winks and it makes Beca all fluttery inside. “But I’ve always loved animals. My mom used to call me Doctor Doolittle when I was a kid because animals weren’t afraid of me and I wasn’t afraid of them. I’ll have to show you this picture I have of me holding a scorpion when I was eight. It crawled onto my knee when I was sitting on the front steps of my house. He chilled with me for a good hour listening to me talk about ‘The Powerpuff Girls’ until my mom came outside. She panicked and made me put him back on the ground but not before she took a picture.”

The very thought makes Beca shudder. “And you never got stung?”

“Nope,” Chloe says happily. “I’m pretty sure my mom killed him when she sent me into the house, though.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Chloe giggles, eyes brighter than Beca ever remembers seeing them. “It’s not the best to have scorpions creeping around your house, especially when you have kids. I don’t blame her.”

“Scorpions love you; I see why veterinary medicine is a good fit.”

“That, and animals don’t lie. They’re the most authentic of all. If they’re mad, they tell you. Or hungry, or happy. They don’t always say ‘thank you’ when you help them, but I like to help for the sake of helping, not because I need the acknowledgment. But a little girl hugging your leg and crying thanking you for saving her cat is a pretty great anyway.”

“You’ve saved a cat?”

“Oh, no,” Chloe waves her hand. “But she didn’t know the difference. I don’t know why that would be impressive anyway; you saved a person. At least two, actually, that I know of. You still owe me that story, by the way.”

It all flashes through Beca’s memory, an unexpected, jarring recollection and she almost knocks over her drink when she reaches for it. “Uh, he survived.”

“That’s it? No gory details?”

Beca frowns and stares at her food.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t okay to say. I’m sorry,” Chloe rushes. “You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t realize—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Beca clears her throat and tries to find the easiest path through the story. “He was seventeen. Dove off the jetty, the one between our towers. He was unconscious.”

“His neck?” Chloe asks quietly.

“Sprained, I found out later. We gave him CPR for...five minutes? Seemed like forever until the paramedics came. I broke his sternum.” Her hands clench as the memory of what that felt and sound like nauseates her for a moment.

“But you saved his life,” Chloe says quietly. When Beca looks up she can see Chloe’s processing what she’s shared. She reaches across the table to rest her hand over Beca’s forearm and her thumb brushes back and forth. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Beca exhales shakily and tries to cover it by shoving a trio of fries in her mouth. “Change the subject,” she says, mouth full, and Chloe smiles.

“Did you always want to be a lifeguard?”

Beca throws a fry across the table but her terrible aim and Chloe ducking results in it smacking the booth near her shoulder and falling to the seat to get brushed to the floor. “Oh, yeah. Dream job.”

“Then tell me what it really is.”

~ ~ ~

“So…” Beca edges as they wait to be able to cross the busy through-lane of the parking lot, “who’s going to drive you home tonight?” She knows that song and its words are about a lot more than driving someone to their house, but...she kind of wants Chloe to know she knows that.

“Did you just quote that song’s lyrics to me?” She hears the amusement in Chloe’s voice.

Beca glances at her and reaches to take her hand before they both step onto the parking lot toward Beca’s car. “Yes.”

“Well, I sure hope you’re going to drive me home tonight. I don’t really feel like walking.”

“I suppose I can give you a lift.”

“Good, because I’m not ready for this date to be over yet.” Chloe’s tone is more than suggestive and her shoulder brushes Beca’s just before they split to get into Beca’s car. Beca has to take a second to compose herself before popping open her door.

The drive back to Chloe’s place is somewhat quiet; Chloe apologizes for being rude and spends a good bit of it checking things on her phone with the explanation that she’d rather not be distracted for the rest of the night. It adds to the already-layered tension that’s been swirling around them since Beca picked up Chloe earlier in the evening. Beca makes it a point to surreptitiously wipe her sweating palms on the legs of her shorts before they get too close to Chloe’s home.

She parks on the street outside Chloe’s building. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” she says when it’s quiet for a second too long with a quick glance at Chloe. It’s the most generic end-of-date line she could have said and regrets the choice immediately.

“Me, too.” She can feel Chloe’s eyes on her. “Beca.”

A shiver runs up the back of Beca’s neck at her tone. “Hmm?”

Chloe’s hand enters her periphery and Beca watches it turn back the key in her ignition to kill the engine. “Come inside?”

The heat that starts flowing Beca is only fanned by Chloe’s proximity; she’s leaning across the console into Beca’s personal space and she can feel how close she is. “Please?” Beca feels lips graze her cheek. “If you want to,” she adds.

Beca thinks she answers, that she says something, but everything feels foggy. Her car keys are in one hand and Chloe’s hand is in her other and her feet are climbing stairs behind Chloe’s so she must have given some kind of response. Or not. Maybe she said nothing and just got out of the car.

Regardless, Chloe’s unlocking her front door and locking it behind Beca.

Beca fully expects to be pressed up against the door, to be pinned there and kissed with the needy kind of passion she’s feeling for Chloe right now but instead, Chloe drops her hand and offers her a soft smile before turning to walk toward the kitchen.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks once she’s there and Beca watches her retrieve a pair of glass tumblers from a cabinet.

“Uh…” Beca realizes she’s still standing at the front door and takes a few steps forward but stops, unsure where she should go. One thing she is sure of is that she feels out-of-sorts; being with Chloe has, thus far, been easy—low stress, no expectations, and gut instinct driven by how attractive Beca finds Chloe. In more ways than one.

Tonight, there’s an expectation. Or maybe an implication. ‘An invitation’ is what Beca settles on. There’s an unspoken invitation on the table and Beca knows it’s hers to accept or take a raincheck.

“Yes or no?” Chloe asks and Beca blinks out of her thoughts. Chloe’s still in the kitchen, glasses on the counter, and she’s holding a bottle of bourbon.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Water? Rocks? Neat?” Chloe smiles at her in a way that tells Beca she’s a source of amusement for Chloe and that makes her equal parts self-conscious and warm.

“On the rocks, please.” She watches Chloe dig ice cubes from the freezer for both of them and pour a couple fingers’ worth of bourbon into the glasses. All of it feels exceedingly sensual: the ice against the glass, the splash of the liquor, the solid sound of the bottle returning to its place at the back of the counter, the way Chloe looks at Beca as she crosses to her, the glasses in hand, to offer one to her.

“Cheers,” Chloe says as she lifts her glass.

“Yeah, cheers,” Beca replies as she taps her glass to Chloe’s.

“You know nothing needs to happen tonight, right?” Chloe asks after they sip. She gestures toward the couch as an offer to sit and she’s turning to move to it when Beca’s hand catches her wrist.

She doesn’t recall deciding to do that, to reach out and stop Chloe. But her hand encircles Chloe’s wrist and Chloe’s eyes meet hers in question.

“I—“ Beca stops to wet her lips and swallow. “I’ve never seen your bedroom.” She feels like she’s on some kind of autopilot, aware of what she’s doing without any conscious thought.

Chloe’s eyes seem to darken. “Oh. Would you like to?”

“Yeah, I—” She stops herself before she says she ‘thinks so.’ “Yes.”

“Then I’ll show you,” Chloe says as she changes direction and rearranges their hands so their fingers are intertwined. “It’s just down the hall.” She leads and Beca follows, but Beca has the distinct feeling she’s the one in the driver’s seat, not Chloe.

She follows and takes a longer, less polite drink while Chloe’s back is to her. One drink won’t cloud her judgment, but it will help ease her nerves.

Not that clouded judgment matters, she muses. Her subconscious is taking care of her. She’s known what she wants. And wanting to wait was one thing she wanted, but there’s one thing she wants more.

Chloe leads her through the doorway and, Beca notices, doesn’t turn on the light. She leads Beca to the far side of the queen-sized bed, Chloe’s usual side, she presumes, based on the items on the adjacent nightstand. One of the items is a small table lamp and Chloe reaches under the shade to turn it on, then clicks it twice to a dimmer brightness.

The bedspread, Beca notices, is not black as she initially thought but rather the color of chocolate, or coffee. The pillows resting on it are dressed in lavender. It reminds Beca of nature and it seems fitting; Chloe seems like someone who would feel connected to Mother Earth.

The sound of Chloe’s glass setting down on the bedside table draws her out of her thoughts and Beca notices it’s empty. She doesn’t know when Chloe finished it but she decides to do the same and lets Chloe take her empty glass to set it with hers.

Beca doesn’t realize they’re still standing until Chloe sits on the edge of the bed and gives Beca’s hand a tug. Beca sits, too, and her eyes drift to their joined hands and the way Chloe’s fingers are playing with her own.

“Nervous?” Chloe asks, voice almost a whisper.

Beca half-shrugs. “Maybe? I don’t want to mess this up.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Chloe’s eyes are roaming like she’s doing a quick study of every feature on Beca’s face until her hand comes up to move Beca’s hair off her left shoulder in what feels like a precursory action. “But, for what it’s worth, I’m nervous, too.” Chloe offers a gentle smile with the sentiment. “We don’t have to do anything. I’d be just as happy to spend the night with you watching movies.”

Chloe’s reassurance that she would harbor no ill will should Beca want to do just that seems to strike a chord in Beca, one that was only being toyed with a bit thus far. “I don’t want to watch movies.”

Chloe’s gentle smile curves a little more on one side. “Then what would you like to do?” She glances at Beca’s lips and that’s all the more prompting Beca needs.

She leans in and captures Chloe’s lips with her own. She can feel Chloe smile and she offers a quick one in return before bringing her hand up to frame Chloe’s face as she kisses her again. They’ve only done this a handful of times and somehow it feels like they’ve been doing it forever, yet still feels brand-new. Chloe’s lips are soft and warm and press insistently at Beca’s until they part so Chloe’s tongue can slip over Beca’s.

It also feels different this time; they’re not on Chloe’s couch distracting themselves from working. They’re on Chloe’s bed in near darkness after a date that Beca is confident in ranking as her Best Date Ever. There’s nothing else they’re supposed to be doing. They don’t even have to be up early to go to work. She’ll have to answer to Stacie whenever she does get home, but that’s the least of her concerns tonight.

Right now, her only concern is the ache in the middle of her back from twisting for their kiss.

“Can we lie down?” she asks after one more firm kiss.

“We can do anything you want,” Chloe says hotly and Beca’s sure Chloe’s about to kiss her again but instead she moves backward until she’s lying on the far side of the bed, head on a pillow, and watching Beca.

Beca turns and follows, making it a point to toe-off her shoes that she failed to leave at the front door.

She knows Chloe’s expecting Beca to lie down next to her; it’s why she moved all the way to the other side. It kind of makes Beca melt inside to know that Chloe is continually showing Beca that she’s okay with whatever it is Beca wants or needs, even if that need is to wait.

It only reassures Beca of her decision.

She stops in the middle of the bed on her knees and sits back. “I’ll fall off the bed we’re that close to the edge.”

Chloe looks at her with such amusement Beca’s sure she’s about to burst into a fit of giggles, but all she does is work her way over to the middle of the bed. Beca moves when she’s close enough, turning on her knees, then moving to straddle Chloe’s thighs. She hears Chloe gasp when she does it and the confidence it ignites in Beca is palpable.

“It’s not like we’ve never done this before,” she says with a smile as she leans down.

“But we’ve never been on my bed when you did that,” Chloe replies as her hands find Beca’s elbows to climb the backs of her arms until her fingers are in Beca’s hair to pull Beca down the last few inches into another kiss.

It’s more heated this time. The angle is so much better. It’s so easy to kiss, and kiss, and kiss and slip her tongue into Chloe’s mouth, only to be chased out so the same can be done to her own.

She notices she has one minor regret about her choice of position when she feels Chloe’s hands on her waist, fingertips sneaking under the edge of Beca’s shirt: her hands aren’t as free to roam as she’d like them to be as she supports herself.

At least she has her mouth, though, and she uses it to move to kiss along Chloe’s jaw until she’s tilting her head back and Beca’s lips move to it. She covers it in gentle kisses, marveling at the sounds Chloe’s making. Her heavy breaths. The occasional whimper. The almost-but-not-quite moans that Beca can hear getting caught in Chloe’s throat. She’s distracted and somehow missed the progression of Chloe’s wandering hands until fingernails are drawing circles on her bare stomach, tickling along her ribs.

It makes her own breath catch and she can feel the unspoken question as those hands smooth around her ribs to her back where they stroke up, warm palms offering a calming connection, only for fingernails to drag their way back down. It’s not sharp enough to sting but it does make Beca hiss before she’s finding Chloe’s pulse point to suck a mark onto it.

That’s what finally helps the moan escape and it rattles Beca to her core. It makes her hips shift and she feels Chloe’s move beneath her and she’s reminded of the other night when their positions were reversed and Chloe’s kisses and Chloe’s hips drove Beca higher and higher until they’d pressed pause.

The longer they do this, the fewer second-thoughts Beca has about pressing pause again.

She lifts her head, intent on kissing Chloe again and Chloe meets her halfway, turning her head to catch her. It’s even hotter now, more passionate, and Beca feels the temperature of the room—and her own—steadily rise. She also feels her shirt steadily rise until her arms stop its ascent.

Chloe doesn’t do anything to try to finish removing it and Beca’s too caught up in what Chloe’s doing to her tongue to think about caring about anything beyond that. And the new development that is fingers creeping along the band of Beca’s bra toward the center of her chest.

She knows what Chloe’s intention is and she nods when Chloe hesitates.

Beca’s arms threaten to give out when she feels Chloe’s fingers travel up to explore the curves of her breasts, over the satin of her bra, tracing the edges of the cups until they’re grazing the bare skin above them. Her skin burns in their wake and she breaks their kiss to pull off her shirt and toss it aside.

“Oh, wow.”

A hand on Beca’s sternum stops her from leaning down again and forces her to sit back, upright.

“You are...so hot,” Chloe says and Beca watches Chloe’s eyes move over her upper body.

“You see me in less than this every day.”

“But you’re not on top of me or in my bed when I do.” Chloe’s eyes meet hers. “But speaking of less than this…” Her index finger catches the band of Beca’s bra in the center of her chest to give it a light tug.

“Did you want me to take it off?” Beca asks. She knows she’s teasing Chloe and she can’t quite believe she’s capable of doing so, but knowing Chloe likes it—likes her—gives her uncharacteristic levels of confidence.

Chloe shrugs. “I mean if you want to.”

Beca spends half a second feeling shy and then remembers how much heat is between them right now and reaches behind herself to unhook her bra. She does it gently so it remains in place. She very much wants Chloe to be the one to take it off of her.

It hangs loose on her shoulders and rides up a bit, but she’s still covered. She had assumed Chloe would keep her finger where it was to pull it down right away, but she didn’t. Instead, her fingers are trailing Beca’s ribs again, along the warm skin where her bra was until her fingertips are grazing the lower curves of Beca’s breasts.

It makes her gasp and her hips shift and she tries to ground herself; she doesn’t want to come across as impatient (because she isn’t), but no matter how hard she tries, her hips want to rock. It really doesn’t help that Chloe’s tilt beneath hers with each motion.

“Fuck,” Beca has to whisper when Chloe’s hands move higher, hidden beneath the loose bra, to first brush over her nipples, then palm her breasts confidently.

“God, Beca,” Chloe says with a rasp to her voice and her hips tilt into Beca more sharply.

For being on the giving end of what’s happening, Chloe seems to be enjoying it immensely and it only serves to make Beca want to know how much she’d enjoy receiving instead. Besides, her hands are idle, anyway.

She starts with her own bra, finally pulling it down her arms to toss it to the floor. Chloe can take it off her next time.

She reaches for the hem of Chloe’s shirt next and pulls the front of it from where it’s tucked into her shorts and starts unbuttoning it. She glances up to double-check that everything is fine but Chloe’s eyes are closed and she’s restless, shifting and squirming and, apparently, really enjoying having her hands on Beca’s breasts which is more than okay with Beca because she really enjoys that, too.

A moan escapes her when Chloe pinches and she has to focus extra hard to finish unbuttoning Chloe’s blouse. She does, though, and tosses the sides apart.

“Thank God,” she breathes when she sees the front clasp of Chloe’s lacy champagne-colored bra which leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Not that it’s needed; Beca’s seen Chloe topless countless times, but Chloe was right. It was never like this. It was never with Chloe toying with Beca’s breasts in such a maddening way.

“Wanted to make it easy for you,” Chloe says, back arching slightly in request.

The fact that Chloe had expected this, or at least hoped for this...Beca reaches for the clasp, not bothering with touching her first through the lace, and unhooks it.

She must stare too long because Chloe whines, “Touch me.”

Beca lets her fingers climb graze along Chloe’s ribs, following the same path Chloe had on Beca, to trace the curves before her hands cover Chloe’s breasts to squeeze lightly.

“God,” Chloe groans and the hands at Beca’s chest move to her back to pull Beca back down and into a kiss.

She has to use one of her hands to support herself and the feeling of her chest pressing to Chloe’s is too good so she gives up her brief manual exploration of Chloe’s breasts in favor of full contact.

Chloe whimpers through their kiss which is growing dirtier and hotter by the second until Chloe’s pushing Beca off her, all the way until she’s sitting on her hip watching Chloe strip away her blouse and bra that Beca had undone for her. She misses their physical connection immediately and reaches to rest her hand on Chloe’s knee. Instinct begs her to run her hand north and press between Chloe’s legs and while she believes all signs are pointing to that being okay, she’s also loving taking their time.

So, she leaves her hand on Chloe’s knee and lets her thumb move back and forth over the warm, smooth skin there and watches Chloe move back in to kiss her, only to change course and start pressing kisses along Beca’s collar bone.

She knows what happens next and her hand slips higher as Chloe’s lips travel lower by the second; they’re trailing along the curve of Beca’s left breast until Chloe covers the peak with her lips to pull gently while her tongue slips over it.

“Jesus,” Beca breathes, the hand holding herself up slipping inch by inch until she’s on her back and Chloe’s lying next to her, mouth on Beca’s breast, hand teasing the other until its fingers are drawing patterns on Beca’s stomach.

They bump the edge of her shorts more than once in a teasing, torturous game of ‘Maybe This Time?’

Now she understands why Chloe was so restless beneath her; to be on her back, to have Chloe leaning over her this way, she’s a ball of anxious need with little control.

Mostly she can’t lie still with the way Chloe’s tongue teases her achingly hard nipples like she has nowhere better to be, and the sounds Chloe makes while she does it.

Chloe’s fingers catch in her waistband again but again, they do nothing. However, this time they keep moving lower and Beca feels them travel over her pocket, down the length of the material, until warm fingers squeeze at her thigh.

It makes her whole body tense with anticipation. Then Chloe’s sneaking north, her fingertips slipping beneath the hem of Beca’s shorts. Beca knows they’re probably too long and the angle’s not favorable for Chloe to really reach her this way but it’s sexy and thrilling all the same. She knows Chloe can feel how hot she is and spreads her legs a bit to try to encourage her.

“Chloe,” she finally says when desperation begins to win out. “Please.”

“Please what?” Chloe says before nipping at the soft flesh of Beca’s breast.

Beca really only has one functional hand, her left being trapped against her body by Chloe, but her right is free and she uses it to reach for the hand threatening to drive her insane, draw it out of the leg of her shorts, and place it over the fly. She almost placed it between her legs herself, but this is still their first time and she wants to make sure their pace is good with Chloe, too.

Chloe lifts her head and Beca meets her eyes. “You’re sure?”

“I said please, didn’t I?” she says, beginning to feel a bit delirious with arousal.

“And it sounded so good,” Chloe says with a smile that’s probably illegal in fourteen states. “Since you asked nicely…”

Beca holds her breath and she feels Chloe’s hand move down, down until her fingertips are pressing and following the thick seam of her shorts between her legs.

It makes her entire body roll. “Fuck,” she exhales.

“Oh, my God, I can feel how turned on you are,” Chloe says with a moan before pushing herself higher to claim Beca’s lips.

Beca just nods and whines pitifully.

“Can I finish undressing you?” Chloe asks between kisses.

“If you don’t, I will,” Beca breathes before kissing Chloe hard, desperately.

Chloe moans in response and then she’s in motion, sitting up and reaching to unbutton Beca’s shorts. Beca lifts her hips and Chloe doesn’t hesitate to slip them down and off Beca’s legs.

She does hesitate at the last garment, Beca’s new black underwear she’s oh-so-grateful she decided to wear tonight just in case, so Beca just lifts her hips again and says, “Please.”

Beca feels them move down her legs followed by...nothing.

She lifts her head to see Chloe sitting by Beca’s feet, just looking at her body. “What?”

Chloe shakes her head. “I can’t get over how hot you are.”

Beca has to laugh. “Have you ever looked in a mirror?”

Chloe rolls her eyes but her smile tells Beca she appreciates the sentiment.

“Can you…” Beca gestures vaguely in Chloe’s direction “too?”

It takes Chloe a second to figure it out, but then with a quiet, “Oh,” she’s unbuttoning her shorts and working them down her legs, quickly followed by panties Beca knows match the bra she’d been wearing.

“Okay, you win the hotness contest,” she says as she watches Chloe crawl up her body until she’s lying, skin to skin, against Beca, as they kiss.

“It’s a tie,” Chloe says and Beca can’t help but wrap her arms around her. It’s not a hug, not exactly, as her arms don’t linger.

If Chloe’s going to lie on top of her fully nude, Beca is going to use it to her advantage. She runs her hands down Chloe’s back until they’re on her ass, grasping it shamelessly as Beca tries to rock up into her.

“God, you’re so ready, aren’t you,” Chloe says with an appreciative moan before moving to suck at Beca’s neck.

“And you’re not?”

Chloe’s hips roll against Beca. “I’ve been ready since I saw you change in the locker room the first time.”

“Pervert.”

“I have appreciative eyes. I can’t help it if I like what I see.”

Beca drags her nails up Chloe’s back to tangle in her hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are talking way too much right now.” She pulls her down into a kiss and tries to make her needs clear with the way she plays with Chloe’s tongue.

It must work because Chloe shifts off her until they’re side by side, Beca still on her back as Chloe presses close. Her hand frames Beca’s face for a particularly breathtaking kiss and then it’s drifting down, down the valley between her breasts, over the soft plane of her stomach, until it’s paused so, so close to where Beca needs it the most.

“Can I touch you?” Chloe whispers against Beca’s lips.

Beca would be embarrassed by the desperate plea of a response she gives if she wasn’t so far gone. She feels Chloe’s touch move lower until it’s grazing between her legs.

“Oh, my God,” Chloe says with an appreciative groan as her touch grows more assured. “Oh, wow. You’re so wet, baby.”

Beca’s heart can’t possibly pound any harder than it already is but if it could, it would at the sound of Chloe calling her “baby.” Instead, she nods and spreads her legs wider.

Chloe’s touch is torturous, exploratory, but Beca feels it getting more purposeful by the minute. She’s vaguely aware of the sounds falling from her lips. Her eyes flutter open wanting to look down and see what it looks like to have Chloe’s hand between her legs but when she does, she’s struck by Chloe’s eyes on her face, watching her intently.

Her touch becomes focused, firm pressure and slow circles over swollen flesh. “Like this?”

It makes Beca’s breath stutter and she manages to nod. Her left arm is pinned between them again but her right is free and her hand fists in the bedding as her hips start rocking in time with Chloe’s rhythm.

“God, you feel so good,” Chloe breathes; it’s hot against Beca’s neck and she’s ready for it when Chloe’s lips meet her skin again.

She wants to tell Chloe that no, it’s Chloe who feels so good right now but all she can muster is a moan and a breathy, “Faster.”

Chloe’s teeth tease her neck and she does as requested, moving in tighter, quicker circles against Beca that has her bucking desperately. It’s going to be over sooner than Beca would have liked, but something tells her this won’t be the last time they do this. Perhaps not even tonight.

The thoughts that fly through her mind are dirty. Filthy. She imagines the sound of the headboard banging steadily against the wall. Pictures herself astride Chloe’s face. Envisions burying her tongue inside Chloe whom she’s not yet even had the pleasure of touching.

It rocks her into orgasm and she hears Chloe in her ear, chanting her name, curse words, sounds.

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” is the first complete sentence she understands and it feels like she’s had no release at all, other than her temporary inability to move. “I don’t want to stop.” Chloe’s fingers don’t stop, but they are slow now, and gentler. “Do you want me to stop?”

Beca nods but she manages to smile and open her eyes. “Gimme a sec.”

Chloe looks as bewildered and hot as Beca feels so Beca purses her lips to ask to be kissed and when she does, it’s so hot and wet and desperate her thighs clench against Chloe’s hand and she nearly comes again just like that. But she catches herself and reaches for Chloe’s wrist to ease it from between her thighs. She has half a mind to drag it up and lick Chloe’s fingers but that feels the tiniest bit too bold.

She regrets it immediately because that’s exactly what Chloe does: unapologetically cleans Beca off her fingers with her mouth in an unfairly erotic display.

“God, Beca, you taste—“

Beca interrupts her by kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her as she works her way onto her side so she can urge Chloe onto her back. She’s become painfully aware that she has barely begun to explore Chloe and has every intention of doing so—thoroughly.

It’s as though Chloe senses this because she seems to surrender. Her hands lie still above her head and though she’s kissing Beca and she’s still restless, she’s not demanding or directing anything.

Her limbs are still unsteady so Beca stays on her side. She lets her hand roam now that it’s free, grazing Chloe’s neck, tickling along her collar bones, down her sternum until her fingertips drift to find the curve of Chloe’s breast.

Beca can take her time now, and she does, trading kisses that are sometimes sweet, sometimes dirty as she teases an already-firm nipple to further hardness. It feels amazing beneath her palm and the way Chloe’s sighs border on moans are as reassuring as they are a dare to pull proper moans from her.

The first time Beca moves back, only a few inches to kiss her way down Chloe’s chest, Chloe swears under her breath. Her lips move over slight swell of Chloe’s right breast and she lets her hand drift to the other, mirroring the path her lips take until her tongue grazes the peak.

A sound escapes Chloe at the contact, a kind of broken, high whine that makes Beca do it again.

Chloe’s back arches this time, the first real movement that feels like she’s asking Beca for something, but Beca doesn’t need to be asked. Her tongue plays over the firm, pebbled flesh as her fingers tease the other before she palms it greedily as her lips take the other to suckle.

“Bec—“ Her voice is strained and Beca glances up to see her head thrown back, pressing into the pillow, and if she wasn’t so content to be where she is, she’d move back up to run her tongue over the tense lines of her throat.

Instead, she lets Chloe’s nipple slip from between her lips and when she starts to move to reach the other, decides to straddle Chloe again, but only so she can lie on the other side.

“I’m a lefty,” she says when Chloe looks at her in question at her relocation. But when Beca’s now-free dominant hand skates across her abdomen, Chloe moans in understanding.

Beca spends time there tracing the faint lines of Chloe’s defined muscles, the curves of her hips, the soft, warm skin along her side that makes Chloe huff a laugh and squirm when Beca touches it. She doesn’t tell her to stop it, though, so she files that away for the future as she leans down to take Chloe’s less-tended breast into her mouth, not so much teasing as claiming.

Chloe’s back arches again. “You’re going to kill me,” she says through a moan and her arms finally move, one coming down to press against Beca’s back and the other hand twisting in the blanket just as Beca had done.

“Maybe,” Beca says after letting the tip of Chloe’s breast slip from her lips. “Can you hold on a little longer, though?” Her hand travels down the top of Chloe’s thigh, then back up the inside halfway until she gives it a slight tug to ask Chloe to part her legs.

Which she does.

“No promises.” Chloe’s hips roll once even though the only place Beca’s touching her is her thigh and she seems to laugh at her own impatience.

Beca’s impatience has grown, too, so she can’t blame her. “This is okay?”

“Thank you for asking, but,” her hips twitch again, “you can do anything you want to me.”

Beca swallows and feels a shiver run through her body as she watches her hand drift higher, fingertips grazing the soft skin of Chloe’s inner thigh. Higher and higher, warmer and warmer as Chloe breathes heavily, until her fingers find heat and wetness.

Surprised to hear nothing in response, Beca looks up to find Chloe’s eyes closed tightly and her mouth open but silent. She doesn’t even seem to be breathing. Or moving. Every muscle in her both seems to be tense and Beca almost starts to worry until a shift of her fingers draws a gasp and her hips jerk unevenly.

“Oh, my God,” Beca says when she realizes what just happened. “Seriously?”

“Shut up,” Chloe says through a broken moan. “I warned you.”

“Wow.” It’s a struggle to not be smug when she managed to make this gorgeous woman fall apart with little more than foreplay. “Should I stop?”

Chloe’s answer is immediate. “No.” Her eyes finally open and Beca leans down to kiss her. She keeps her touch light to give Chloe time to recover. Chloe sighs into their kiss and something about it makes Beca’s toes curl and her hips shift, the way she can feel and hear and taste how much Chloe wants her right now.

She’s so caught up in it that she doesn’t notice Chloe’s hand moving until it’s over Beca’s to press her fingers flush with her body. She moans against Beca’s lips and starts trying to guide her.

Beca leaves Chloe’s lips in favor of her cheek, her jaw, her ear, her neck. “Are you saying I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Please, Beca. Just touch me.” It’s so desperate it almost sounds like a sob, so Beca kisses her soundly once more and then moves.

It’s one swift motion, skipping the teasing and the building of anticipation, as she moves down until she’s settling on her stomach between Chloe’s legs.

“Fuck,” she hears, a little strangled, above her and she looks up to find herself being watched as she blows a stream of cool are over the wet, swollen flesh begging for her attention. She slips her arms under Chloe’s thighs to rest her hands low on her stomach and uses her thumbs to pull back, to expose more of her and she watches Chloe’s head fall back to the pillow and her hands do the same, twisting into the pillow on either side.

Beca can actually see Chloe throbbing, even in the low light, and she doesn’t wait any longer. She leans down and touches her tongue to Chloe.

She half-expects her to come again but when she doesn’t, she’s not sure if she’s relieved that she gets to spend more time on her or if she’s disappointed.

She settles on ‘relieved’ because even if she had, there’s nothing disappointing about what’s happening right now, which is Chloe moaning and parting her legs further.

Beca takes her time learning how Chloe feels against her tongue, how she tastes, what spots make her hips jump and what spots make her hips grind. She focuses on the latter and laps at her, at the wetness, and lets Chloe move and grind and roll however she needs. It’s so sexy and Beca feels like she’s simply along for the ride, giving Chloe exactly what she wants.

The way Chloe had moaned with Beca when making her come, Beca learns, is nothing like what she sounds like when Beca’s tongue is between her legs.

She’s loud. And she swears. A lot. She’s the embodiment of wild abandon and while it’s not a big surprise to Beca, it’s a revelation nonetheless.

“You can touch me,” she says while taking a breath, catching one of Chloe’s flailing hands to pull it down until it tangles in Beca’s hair to pull. “Oh, shit,” she adds, moaning from the unexpected pleasure that comes with the sting.

Chloe moans, too, then moans louder when Beca pulls the sensitive, swollen bundle of nerves between her lips to suck on it, tongue still stroking it in her mouth.

Beca’s so turned on she can barely focus. She channels every ounce of what she has into what she’s doing and not into the slick throbbing between her own legs. She moans with Chloe, moves with her until strong thighs close against her ears and she hears, muffled, Chloe groan her name as she climaxes.

Everything is hot and wet and Beca whines in empathy as Chloe’s body rolls and twitches until it stills and her legs fall open.

Cool air rushes in and Beca takes a deep, much-needed breath (not that she would have any complaints about suffocating just then) and rests her head on Chloe’s thigh. There’s still a hand in her hair but now it’s smoothing, not pulling.

“Shit, Beca.”

Beca just hums and lets the tip of her tongue sneak out to tease and Chloe’s entire body jumps.

“Oh, wow. Okay.” Chloe laughs to herself and while Beca’s not sure what’s amusing, she doesn’t really care. She’s so painfully aroused she can barely think.

She waits until Chloe’s aftershocks subside and not a second longer before she pushes onto her hands and knees to move up until she’s astride Chloe’s waist. She bends down to kiss her.

“Touch me,” she asks. Begs, really. Before she brings their lips together.

Chloe moans and is greedy with her kiss and Beca’s about to ask again when she feels Chloe’s hand between her legs.

“God,” Chloe groans as her hand moves over Beca, her whole hand, not just a few fingers, gliding over her.

“Chlo…please…” she whines against her lips. “I’m so close.”

“Really?” Chloe sounds giddy at the information and Beca probably should have prepared herself more, but she didn’t, so she’s not exactly ready for what it will feel like to have Chloe slip inside her.

“Oh—fuck…” she groans and her hips move of their own accord and Chloe moans, too, and her entire body seems to move with Beca’s.

Chloe’s palm fits against her perfectly and Beca dares to open her eyes.

She considers it a mistake only in that seeing the way Chloe’s looking at her and meeting her eyes makes Beca come. It’s intense. And, Beca vaguely realizes with her ears and the way Chloe moves, she’s not alone in her ecstasy.

It only adds to the intensity and she feels like she could pass out from ecstasy.

But she doesn’t.

It passes and what little strength she had left to hold herself up was expended and she collapses on top of Chloe, face buried in her neck and the pillow. She would apologize for squishing her if she could but all Chloe does is wrap her arms around Beca and pull her in even closer.

There’s a lot floating around in Beca’s brain but she can’t make much sense of any of it. Happy. Content. Warm. Tired. Somehow still horny. Safe.

“God, Beca,” Chloe breathes against her ear and she feels lips against it, whether purposeful or not, but it doesn’t matter, “I’ve never—“ she swallows “—I’ve never come that hard before. With anyone. Or alone.”

Beca feels her ears burning, maybe from Chloe’s lips but mostly the words and she tries to burrow further into hiding. “Same,” she finally admits before biting at the curve of Chloe’s neck. Not hard. Playfully.

Chloe hums and Beca feels her hands start drawing peaceful, relaxing patterns on her back and she soaks it in for a few minutes before shuffling until she’s lying on the bed more than on Chloe, but she keeps her leg over Chloe’s and her arm tucked against her chest so her fingers can play with the ends of Chloe’s hair, or follow the sharp line of her jaw, or creep up to trace her lips.

“I’m glad we didn’t wait,” Beca finally says to break the cozy silence.

The hand still on her back shifts to tickle along her spine. “Me, too.” Chloe sighs. “Imagine not knowing what this would feel like for another month. Or two? How long were you going to have us wait?”

Beca laughs and draws invisible lines between the freckles on Chloe’s chest until she finds herself wetting her finger in her mouth and starting to tease a nipple back to attention. “Only until I felt like I could trust myself to not do something to scare you off.”

Chloe shivers and Beca watches her flesh harden beneath her touch. It looks like magic.

“I’ve never been a flight risk.” Beca can hear Chloe’s heartbeat from where her ear rests against the soft spot between her chest and shoulder and its pace is steadily increasing.

“I don’t usually dive right in when I meet someone I like.” Beca knows she's oversimplifying her chronic relationship strife, but that's for another time.

“So you like me?”

Beca can hear the tease in Chloe’s voice and she tweaks the nipple she’s toying with, earning her a pleasant-sounding gasp. “You’re okay.”

“Just okay?” This time, her voice drips with suggestiveness and it makes Beca tilt her head up until she’s kissing the underside of her chin.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind keeping you around.” She says it without really thinking and on playback, she panics. “I mean—I didn’t mean to assume—we don’t have to define anything—”

“Beca,” Chloe says, her free hand moving to cover the one Beca’s been using to tease her. “I’d love it if you kept me around.”

She relaxes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chloe’s hand squeezes over Beca’s and Beca can hear the low sound that rumbles in Chloe’s chest. “You’re getting me all worked up again.”

“Damn,” Beca says with a smile as she lifts her head to look down at a flushed Chloe.

“Yeah,” Chloe smiles back as Beca leans down to kiss her. “Damn.”

~ ~ ~

The end

#bechloe #bechloe au #lifeguard au #fanfic #bechloe fic

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