#youre meant to watch over. being a teacher means literally the entire world to me and it doesnt matter how bad a kid is i cant ever imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#magicshopnet #btswritingcafe #taehyung smut #taehyung oneshot #taehyung x reader #bts #bts smut #v smut #v oneshot #v x reader #taehyung #taehyung fluff #bts oneshot #kim taehyung #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenario #bts fic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 1: Adopted

AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Adopted. Adopted. Adopted. Adopted. The word runs on a loop through Marinette’s head as her world crumbles around her. She was adopted.

“What? Maman, I don’t, I don’t understand.” Marinette says, her voice cracking as she tries to act like this isn’t bothering her. Like she doesn’t feel as though her entire world is changing.

“Marinette, sweetheart, just take a breath. That’s it, breathe in...and out. Very good.” Her maman says, holding her hands as she breathes with her slowly. Marinette swallows thickly, trying hard to ignore the way her hands shake in her maman’s.

“Maman, why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, confusion and self doubt swirling in her mind. Why was she adopted? Did her birth parents not want her? Could they not take care of her? Was she a mistake? Did they hate her? Did her maman hate her now? Is that why she’s telling her? Is she going to be kicked out? Is she going to have to leave Paris? What if-

“Marinette?” Her maman’s soft voice pulls her out of her thoughts. Marinette frowns when she realizes that she has tears running down her face.

“I-I’m sorry.” She says, pulling her hands away to furiously wipe at her tears, trying hard to ignore the sympathetic look her papa keeps giving her.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Marinette. Are you feeling up to an explanation? Or would you rather not talk about this?” She asks, her face covered in worry.

“I wanna talk about it.” Marinette says quickly, before slapping her hands over her mouth. She didn’t mean to say that. What if that’s not right? What if what her maman has to say is just going to hurt more? What if-

“Okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry we waited so long to tell you.” Her maman apologizes, scooting closer to wrap an arm around Marinette’s shoulders. Her papa wraps an arm around both of them, his presence calming Marinette enough so that she can think a little more clearly.

“Why did you wait? Why now?” She asks, still confused why she decided to break the news today of all days.

“We were going to wait until you were sixteen. Let you be at an age where you would understand it a little more, understand that being adopted isn’t wrong. And that you didn’t do anything wrong.” She explains, rubbing her shoulder gently.

“But then, why now?” Marinette asks, frustration starting to build. Why say they were going to wait and then not actually wait? Why would they-

“Mme. Mendeleiev called. You’re starting a unit on genetics and biology, and she knew that you were adopted. She just-” She sighs, frowning. “She didn’t want you to be blind sided or caught off guard in class if things didn’t add up.”

“But why does she know?” Marinette asks with a frown.

“Because we were both friends with your birth mother.”

--- Walking into class, Marinette tries hard to avoid the worried glance from Mme. Mendeleiev. All of the information from yesterday swirling through her head; her maman was friends with Mme. Mendeleiev. They were both friends with her birth mother, Bridgette Le. Her birth mother didn’t just give her up, she did want her, her maman had reassured her repeatedly. But she had died. And Marinette had almost died as well. And her parents? Didn’t hate her now. They didn’t love her any less, they reassured her of that several times before Marinette asked to be excused to go to bed. Tikki had had to watch for akumas most of the night. Breathing shakily, Marinette sits and immediately starts doodling on her notebook, hoping that no one else will put two and two together once their genetics unit starts. Hoping that no one will know or ask her. About adoption. --- It was two weeks after Marinette found out that she was adopted that she decided to talk to her maman about it again. After ranting to Tikki for several nights and spending time thinking about it, she had slowly started to accept it. It didn’t mean her parents loved her any less. It didn’t mean that she was any different or anything. It just meant that she had two more parents. A birth mother who had apparently wanted what was best for her, naming Sabine Cheng as her godmother even before Marinette was born. And a birth father. A man that Marinette was determined to talk to her maman about. Surely the woman would know something about him, given her close friendship with her birth mother.

“Hey Maman.” Marinette says, walking into the kitchen and sitting at the counter. Her maman smiles brightly at her as she continues to fill the dumplings.

“Hello sweetheart. How’s your commission for Jagged going?” She asks, her face filled with pride. Marinette grins and nods.

“It’s amazing. The shape of the suit is much different than anything else I’ve made before, but I think it’s going to look really cool!” Marinette says, a wide smile on her face before she remembers the whole reason she came into the kitchen. She clears her throat. “Maman, could I ask you something?”

“Of course Marinette.” She says, closing and filling dumplings before placing them in the steamer.

“When we talked about my...adoption. You didn’t say anything about my birth father. Did you know him too?” Marinette asks, staring down the counter to avoid looking at her maman.

“I didn’t know him very well, I’ll be honest. Bridgette met him when she went to the US for a year. I’m not sure what happened, but she did write a letter for him. I have it in the lock box though, she didn’t put an address on it and I wasn’t sure where to send it.” She explains and Marinette frowns at the lack of information.

“Does he- did he even know about me?” She asks.

“I’m not sure. Bridgette didn’t talk about him much. All she really said was that the town wasn’t fond of her and she didn’t want you to grow up in that environment, said it was terribly dreary. And that he was obsessed with his work. He worked for some big company, but I’m not sure if he still does. ” Her maman adds and Marinette nods.

“Is that all?” She asks, trying not to show her disappointment.

“Let me grab the letter. I can’t remember his name, but it should be in there.” She says, turning and washing her hands before walking away to get the letter. Marinette lets out a long breath, hoping that she isn’t making a mistake by looking for this information. --- Bruce Wayne. That was apparently the name of her birth father who lived somewhere in the US. Her maman was right about that. The letter didn’t have an address and Bridgette hadn’t put anything specific about the location. Besides her birth father’s name, the letter was a dead end. How generic could a name be? Bruce Wayne. It was like finding out her father’s name was Thomas Williams or John Smith or something. There must be thousands of Bruce Waynes in the US. Walking into Mme. Bustier’s class, Marinette trudges to her desk in the very back and drops down into her seat. Dropping her head onto her desk, she barely notices Adrien walk in.

“You okay, Mari?” He asks, frowning as he takes the seat next to her.

“I got a name.” She mumbles into the desk, knowing the boy would understand. She turns her head so that she can glance at him, frowning at the wide smile that takes over his face.

“Really? That’s great!” He says and she huffs.

“Not really. It was the most generic name ever, and the letter that Bridgette wrote didn’t have a location or anything.”

“Why do you want to talk to him so badly?” Adrien asks and Marinette sits up, frowning.

“I don’t know, I just-” She sighs. “I guess I just want the chance to meet him. Maman’s told me so many stories of Bridgette since I found out, and I’ve loved getting to know little things that we have in common. I just want to know if I have anything in common with him.”

“If you really want to meet him, I’ll do everything I can to help you find him.” Adrien says. Marinette looks at him, relief and gratitude coating her face.

“Really? You’d do that for me?” She asks, hope and faith that this could actually work rushing over her. Adrien nods, gifting her a small smile.

“Of course, Mari.” He says. Marinette opens her mouth to thank him again, when Mme. Bustier barges into the classroom.

“Students! Listen up, I have an amazing announcement!” She cheers, clapping her hands together. Marinette looks at the woman wearily, unsure of what the woman could be so excited about. She’d had a meeting with the woman earlier to talk about the end of year trip. They hadn’t talked about much, just the budget and trips that they could feasibly do. Marinette had also shot down some of the woman’s….less than ideal options. Seriously, who thought a trip to Gotham was a good idea? Even Marinette, with her lack of knowledge about the world’s big names and celebrities, knew that Gotham wasn’t a great place. It was quite literally crawling with villains, and unlike Paris, there was no Miraculous Cure to fix everything. Marinette blinked as the class suddenly erupted with cheers.

“What happened?” She asks Adrien, zoning back into the situation around her.

“We’re apparently going to Gotham for our end of year trip.” Adrien mutters, clearly not thrilled with the turn of events. Marinette nods, then freezes as the words register. Well shit. --- Marinette huffs as she rushes into the empty hotel lobby. Key word: empty. Well, okay it wasn’t completely empty, but it definitely didn’t have the entire class (and teacher!) that it was supposed to have. Instead it just had a tired looking concierge and a bowl of bruised apples. Fantastic. Grumbling under her breath, Marinette pulls out the itinerary that she had been forced to create for this trip she was forced to be on. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but between Hawkmoth and all of her responsibilities as Ladybug, going to a city like Gotham was the last thing that she wanted to do. Its villains, or Rogues as they preferred to be called, seemed to have no fear. At least Hawkmoth was smart enough to hide behind his goons. Gotham’s rogues had no such qualm, and instead ran around to personally cause mayhem. Glancing down at the itinerary, Marinette suppresses a groan. The entire class left early. Of course they did. Whatever, she still had plenty of time to get to their scheduled tour time at the Gotham City Museum of Modern Art. It had been Alix’ suggestion, as the girl’s father was friends with someone who had helped in its most recent street art exhibit.

“Marinette!” A small voice yells. Marinette glances down at her purse and raises an eyebrow at the concerned look on her kwami’s face.

“What?” She whispers back.

“You’re not really going to walk by yourself in Gotham, are you?” Tikki asks, her eyes wide with concern.

“I’ll be fine, Tikki. And I plan on getting a cab.” Marinette says, giving her purse a reassuring pat before walking out into the dreary mist outside. Hailing a cab with surprising ease, Marinette tells the driver her destination and sits back, watching the gargoyles and architecture stream past. She’d have to sketch something later, because a million ideas for a Gotham inspired line was floating through her head. When the cab stops, Marinette smiles and thanks the man, handing him the fare and a tip.

“No problem, Miss Wayne.” The driver says, tipping his cap before zipping away from the museum. Miss Wayne? As in her father? Marinette shakes that thought away almost as quickly as it appears. What are the odds that she’d be in the same city as her birth father? Must’ve mistaken me with someone else, Marinette thought to herself, almost as if she was reassuring herself that there was no chance of seeing her birth father. No chance of someone seeing her and saying, “oh, are you Bruce’s girl? You sure do have his nose”. No chance of the man himself running into her and seeing a perfect blend of himself and Bridgette and- No. No need to panic about this right now. Pushing the thoughts away, Marinette rushes into the museum and nearly runs over Adrien.

“Mari! Are you okay? Where were you? I didn’t see you in the lobby so I got on the bus to look for you and you weren’t there and then I tried to get off to find you and-” Marinette cuts Adrien’s rambling off with a tight hug to reassure him that she’s there. She’s there and she’s safe.

“I’m okay, I promise. I got a cab surprisingly easily.” Marinette reassures him, mumbling into his chest. He freezes momentarily before returning the tight hug.

“Marinette! Now that you’re here we can start the tour. The tour guide suggested we start in the Comedians Hall of Fame and then loop around and end at the new graffiti display.” Mme. Bustier announces, clapping her hands excitedly. Marinette pulls away from Adrien, blushing slightly as he squeezes her once more before fully letting her go. Wandering through the Comedians Hall of Fame, Marinette’s eyes dance over the exhibits. She wasn’t necessarily passionate or inspired by this section of the museum, but it was still interesting. A big bang made Marinette spin around and frantically look for the exits. The uncontrollable laughter started seconds later. Shit.

“Welcome, welcome to MY hall! Except someone apparently forgot my picture. No worries though, I’m sure we can add one with all of your smiling faces in it as well.” A voice echoes in the hall. Marinette’s blood instantly freezes. The Joker. In a room. With her class. Oh my God, someone is going to die.

“What’re you doing?” Adrien hisses out. Marinette blinks and realizes she had unconciously taken a fighting pose. She was so used to protecting the class as Ladybug against Akumas, she just immediately fell back into the role. She straightens immediately, but it’s too late.

“Ah, a brave little girl. Who do we have here?” Joker asks, and the sickening realization that he’s holding a gun washes over her. There would be no Miraculous Cure. No Lucky Charm. Marinette grits her teeth and stares at the man’s yellow teeth stretched into an unnatural smile.

“Marinette.” She says, leaving out her last name. No need for her parents to panic because her name is trending at the site of a villain attack. Assuming nothing goes wrong and the heroes show up and she doesn’t die by the hands of the Joker. Not that that would be traumatic, or anything.

“What, no last name? Or did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?” Joker asks, pushing her hair out of her face with his gun. Marinette sees Adrien’s fists clench out of the corner of her eye, a wave of determination running through her. She needed to keep Joker distracted so that he wouldn’t notice Adrien and try to hurt Adrien. Since obviously, as an Agreste, he was a much better hostage than the daughter of bakers. Well, and the biological daughter of some random American man who doesn’t even know she exists.

“It’s Cheng.” She retorts, dropping her father’s last name off in a desperate attempt for her full name to stay off the internet.

“Is it? Are you sure? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re a new Wayne. Much smaller than the others, and a girl is different, but maybe Brucie’s just changing his type.” Joker taunts and Marinette’s head spins. Wayne? It can’t possibly be her birth father...Wayne must be a much more common name in the US than she originally thought and maybe even though she hadn’t even thought about contacting him yet or trying to find him, maybe it would be much harder than she could’ve ever thought because it’s such a common name and he probably has no idea that she wants to even try and find him and there’s probably no chance that he even wants to meet her and-

“Are you even listening to me?” Joker’s annoyed voice cuts off her internal spiral. Marinette quirks up an eyebrow and shakes her head.

“No, not really.” She says, eyes widening and face instantly turning red as she realizes that this was not the kind of villain she could smartmouth like she did Akumas as Ladybug. She’s not even Ladybug right now.

“You’re odd. Maybe you’ll be even more useful than I thought.” Joker says after a moment of tense silence. Marinette glances around the room, noticing how the goons that came in with Joker were more focused on Joker’s weird reaction to Marinette than the other hostages. Making eye contact with Adrien, Marinette has a silent conversation, hoping that he’s suddenly become a mind reader and will start getting people out of the room while the bad guys are distracted.

“I doubt that. I’m failing science.” Marinette says matter-of-factly. It was true, though she wasn’t usually this bad at science. But it was really hard for her to focus on genetics and biology with everything else going on. So her parents didn’t really blame her either, though it did dissapoint Mme. Mendeleiev.

“You’re kind of a smart ass, aren’t you?” Joker taunts, haphazardly waving the gun around.

“It’s um, one of my better qualities.” Marinette stumbles over her words as the gun stops waving to once again point at her face. Joker smirks, his face suddenly darkening as a crash echoes throughout the room. Marinette pales as she watches Joker turn and shoot through the wall next to the door that Lila was currently walking through. Lila yelps and drops to the ground, and for the first time ever, Marinette is certain her tears are real.

“I see what you were trying to do, Frenchie. You were trying to get my hostages out of here. But why? Why would you play hero like that? What would YOU get out of that?” Joker taunts, moving the gun so that it’s pointed right at Marinette’s face again. This time, Marinette could feel the heat radiating from the end of the gun. From the gun being shot at the wall. Near a classmate. Granted it was Lila, but it was still someone she knew. Someone she couldn’t save with the Miraculous Cure because this would be it. The smoke filling the room pulls Marinette’s attention from the gun in front of her, and instead to the hulking figures that suddenly entered the room. Four people, three of them tall but one of those three towering over everyone else in the room. Marinette blinks as her eyes attempt to adjust and she sucks in a breath in shock. Batman. Batman and Nightwing and Red Hood and Red Robin. Of course she knew the vigilantes here, she had done extensive research on anything to do with the hero scene in Gotham. Mostly to keep herself and the class safe in case of an attack, which now that she thinks about it is actually impossible to plan for. Marinette’s feet seem frozen to the ground as she glances around at the bodies hitting the floor. She couldn’t see clearly, but she was almost certain that they were the goons that had arrived with Joker.

“Oh come on, I was just trying to greet this lovely young lady. Say Batsy, don’t ya think she looks like she could fit with the other Wayne brats?” Joker taunts as Batman closes in on them. Joker had shifted her so that she was pressed up against his chest, the gun now situatated at her temple. Batman stops several feet in front of them, a clear grimace on his face.

“Let the girl go, Joker.” He demands in a gruff voice. Marinette inhales sharply as Joker tightens his hold on her.

“I don’t think so, Bats. See, I need this one to guarantee that I get outta here without taking a trip back to my cell. So how about instead, I’ll take her on a little trip and leave her somewhere you can find her later.” Joker offers.

“I don’t think you’re in any place to attempt negotiations.” Batman replies, his face an unwavering mask.

“And why is that?” Joker asks, and Marinette can hear the wide smile in his voice, though she can’t currently see his face.

“‘Cause you’re the asshole who didn’t bother to focus on the rest of us.” A gruff voice from behind taunts. Joker sputters in shock, but seconds later his arms loosen and Marinette dashes towards Batman, glancing back in time to see the man collapse to the ground.

“Is he?” Marinette asks, unsure how to feel about watching a potential death. Even if the man was horrible, he hadn’t killed her or any of her friends so she couldn’t wish him dead. No matter how much it would help her sleep tonight.

“No.” Batman says. Marinette nods before turning her attention to the head of the Batfamily. A wide smile spreads across her face and she extends her hand for him to shake.

“Well then, thank you for saving me, Monsieur. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

#maribat #maribat bruce wayne #maribat bio dad bruce #mbdbwm2021 #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat batfam #maribat adrien agreste #day one meeting

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deluluass · 3 years

Text

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

"Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers.

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you.

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be.

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you.

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that.

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.”

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again.

You moved out of that school.

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better.

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally.

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium.

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes?

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you.

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then—

“You,” he whispered.

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it.

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle.

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!”

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early.

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience.

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about.

“They’re so mean to you.”

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room.

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows.

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave.

You disliked those moments with him.

You disliked him especially when he played.

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face.

It looked like....anger.

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again.

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach.

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away.

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully.

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself.

What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

“Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face.

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat.

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!”

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!”

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa.

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice.

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere.

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does.

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed.

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer.

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?”

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this.

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.”

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?”

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards.

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it.

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time.

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru.

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores.

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations.

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head.

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you.

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying?

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason.

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide.

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth.

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else.

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed.

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss.

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.

"Hey, where'd senpai go?"

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say.

You could answer that question. All you had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first.

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard.

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you.

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite.

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this.

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person.

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs.

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms.

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh.

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster.

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours.

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you.

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips.

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps.

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?”

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?”

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left.

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything.

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear.

“I hate you,” you rasped.

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.”

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together.

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

803 notes · View notes

teddy06writes · 3 years

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A Day In The Life

requesred by this genius anon: “Aight imma hit you with a good one: Literally everything as platonic, but a day in the life of reader in high school with the minor gang (too my, tubbo, ranboo) and all the faculty at the school are dreamsmp members”

Platonic! Minors gang (tommy, tubbo, ranboo and purpled) x reader

trigger warnings: none

premise: a day in the life of a student at the DSMP public high school

{with all the shit that goes on the smp there's no way it could be anything but a public school}

{also if I do things slightly off or something its cause my high school is weird, we only have four blocks a day, but I think most have seven, so we’re going with that}

{also the dream/george thing, is based on two of the sciences teachers at my school being suspected of having an affiar}

{Full teacher list:

English: Mr. NotFound

Drama: Mr. Soot

Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)

Gym: Coach Sapnap and Coach Punz

Home ec: Miss Nihachu

Music: Mr. Quackity

Chemistry: Mr. Halo}

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Home room: Mr. Callahan

You sighed, trudging toward the school entrance, god it was way to early for this.

The halls were already crowded with people heading to there home rooms, and Mr. Minecraft, the principal, was standing outside the admin offices, greeting everyone with a smile.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

“Good morning Mr. Minecraft.” You grumbled as you passed.

You hurried through the foyer and up the stairs, toward Mr. Callahan’s room.

“Hey!” Tubbo called, hurrying down the hallway, “(y/n)!”

“Hey Tubbo.” you yawned.

He fell into step with you, “You think Callahan will actually show today?”

The one good thing about your home room teacher is that none of the kids ever seemed to have seen him. It meant that some days, while other home rooms had lectures of bullying or something, your class got to hang out for 30 minutes.

“I don’t think he even exists.” Purpled said, falling in on your other side.

“He definitely doesn’t.” You agreed.

History: Mr. Blade

“Hey (y/n)!” Ranboo called from his seat at the front of the room as you came in.

He was lucky enough to have moved homerooms and ended up getting the same room as his first block.

“Hello Ranboo.” you sighed, sitting down in your seat next to him.

Tommy came in and plopped down behind you, “Well you sound like shit.”

“No swearing in my classroom, Tommy.” Mr. Blade chided, hardly looking up from the book on his desk.

You turned to look at Tommy, “It’s too early for this.”

“You say that everyday!” He laughed.

“Yeah! Cause this class starts at 7:45 in the god damn morning!” You half exclaimed.

“Bloody hell you’d think you’d get used to it-”

“Tommy, what did I say about swearing?” Mr. Blade cut Tommy off.

“But you didn’t yell at (y/n)!” Tommy yelled, “That’s not fair Tech!”

Me. Blade glared at his brother, “Do you want me to send you down to Phil’s office Tommy?”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

After a moment under Mr. Blades glare, Tommy sighed, “Please don’t send me down to Phil.”

The teacher didn’t respond, instead standing up and moving to stand in front of the board, queuing up the intro slides for the day, “All right everyone, settle down. Today in our ‘tour of the ancient world’ or whatever, we’re going to start our mini unit on Greece.”

Statistics/Math: Mr. Was Taken

After a class that ended mostly in a rant about the myth of Heracles, you said goodbye to Ranboo and Tommy and met up with Purpled to head to math.

Mr. Wastaken was already passing out the notes when you two got there, sliding into your seats at the back of the classroom just as the bell rang.

“You’re late.” He chided, dropping the papers onto your desk, then Purpleds.

“Purp needed to refill his water bottle.” You explained.

“Seriously?” Mr. Wastaken questioned, “Dude, it’s second block, why the hell was your water already empty?”

Purpled shrugged, “P.E?”

“Ehh, wrong, Sapnap doesn’t have you till sixth period.”

“Stairs... are murder man.” He fumbled.

You nodded, “First floor to the fourth floor is tough Mr. Wastaken.”

Rolling his eyes, the teacher moved back to the front of the room, “Alright, last nights homework was a bit of a flop so we’ll be more review for the quiz tomorrow.”

You groaned internally, pulling out your pencil.

Purpled nodded, “I fuckin hate review days.”

“I can hear you, you know!” Mr. WasTaken half yelled.

Chemistry: Mr. Halo

After Math you and Purpled headed down to the science hall to meet back up with Tubbo to head to Chem.

“Welcome back everybody!” Mr. Halo greeted cheerily, “Good to see smiling faces for chemistry!”

How he managed to stay so upbeat, no one would ever know.

You sat down at your lab table with Tubbo, “You think we actually make it to doing the lab today before he starts talking about Mr. Skeppy again?”

“Oh no chance.”

You chuckled, pulling out your notebook as Mr. Halo pulled up the opening review before the lab.

Twenty minutes later found you elbow deep in the lab, quite literally.

“It was supposed to just be a small scale elephants toothpaste!” Mr. Halo cried.

Purpled grinned, “You should’ve taken my wildcard factor into account sir.”

You laughed, wiping the foam off your apron (thank god for lab aprons), “That was brilliant!”

A few minutes earlier, Tubbo had helped him do out the math to scale up the experiment by 20%, and you had willingly given up your own materials to help.

Now most of the classroom was covered in the foam, and Purpled and the girl who had been unfortunate enough to be partnered with him were knee deep in it.

“I sent the video to the groupchat.” Tubbo whispered.

“Good.” You chuckled again.

Mr. Halo groaned, “You three start cleaning this up, Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you join a different group.”

“I volunteer to switch with her!” Drista yelled, “they look like fun!”

Mr. Halo sighed, “No- no absolutely not- I can’t deal with you added to the mix.”

Drista pouted, the rest of the class went back to there work, and you, Tubbo and Purpled began to clean up the foam.

Drama: Mr. Soot

As Purpled left for his history class, you and tubbo headed twoard the music/performing arts suit, where you met up with Ranboo.

“Tommy said he wished he could’ve been there to see the foam.” Ranboo reported as Tubbo peeled off into the band room, and you both continued on to the green room.

“Hello, Hello, Hello!” Mr. Soot greeted in an aussie accent (you know the one).

“Oh god please say were not doing accents today.” Ranboo muttered.

Mr. Soot laughed, “Nah, we’re going to do some more rounds of improv.”

“Oh thank god.” You said as you moved to take a seat at one of the side tables.

“That would have been hell.” Ranboo agreed.

More people poured into the room, take seats all around as Mr. Soot began to dig through on of the closets.

As the bell rang he let out a triumphant cheer, turning around and brandishing a very large bowl of paper slips, “I found the prompts!”

“Oh dear lord.” Ranboo muttered.

“Mr. Soot can we please do like, anything else?” You asked, “Like scenes, or hell I’d even take monologues, you know we’re all shit at improv!”

The teacher sighed, “I suppose we could do something else. I guess we can begin our next topic, you’re all going to be assigned scenes and given time to practice them, we’ll present on Friday!”

The entire class breathed a sigh of relief that you had managed to change his mind.

~~ English: Mr. NotFound

After a very chaotic lunch full of Tubbo retelling a bunch of jokes Mr. Quackity had told during music, you trudged off to the one class that didn’t have any of your main group of friends in.

The one good thing about having Mr. NotFound as a teacher was that he had no clue what he was doing.

More often then not you would be left to do essays or read the required books, and then watch the movies that went along with them.

And, just your luck, your English block happened to take place during Mr. Wastaken’s prep period.

“Right, everyone, today’s a work day, finish up anything you need to for this class, or another, and I’ll put on a movie.” Mr. NotFound said as soon as everyone was seated.

Ten minutes into the movie the teacher had left, and you pulled up the group chat.

(y/n): Mr. NotFound has yet again suspiciously left during class.

Purp: sus

Purp: just went by WasTaken’s room

Purp: he’s not there

BooBoy: I saw him down in the science hall ten minutes ago

BeEs: Science hall is oposite to English isn’t it

(y/n): yeah it is

BooBoy: very sus

Purp: I swear their having an affair

BeEs: defintly a lesbian

BeEs: *leassion

BeEs: lesion

BeEs: le-a-zon

BeEs: you know what I mean!

BooBoy: take your time Tubbo

You chuckled quietly, putting your phone down to look back up at the movie on the screen.

Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)

“AYYYY kids!”

You groaned as your Spanish teacher burst into the room.

“What is with this guy?” Tommy muttered.

“ayy man not cool.” Mr. Dream said.

“Mr. Dream your ten minutes late!” Someone pointed out.

“SHut up man. And I told you just call me Mexican Dream!” The teacher said.

You frowned, “That doesn’t make sense, theres no way your first name is ‘mexican’.”

“Well its not,” He explained, “But its cause I’m the Mexican version of that math teacher!”

“Why couldn’t I have taken French like Boo and Purp?” Tommy asked the ceiling quietly.

~~ Home ec: Miss Nihachu

The last block of the day was always the best, but not just because school would be over soon.

There were three main reasons why everyone agreed it was the best.

1. Miss Nihachu was the nicest teacher in school

2. baking was done often, and everyone always got to take some home

3. it was the one class you, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Purpled all had together.

Soon your found yourself crowded into one of the tiny kitchen areas with all your friends, as Miss Nihachu gave instructions.

“Now, if you make a mess you will be cleaning it up! I’m looking at your kitchen a!” She said, half threateningly.

Ranboo pushed away from the group, “I’m not with them I swear!”

Miss Nihachu rolled her eyes playfully, “Sure your not.”

Surprisingly, a mess was not fully made.

Somehow between Tommy wanting to taste the cookie dough at every step from butter to flour, Tubbo trying to add as many chocolate chips as he could, and Purpled all but refusing to move from where he was sitting on the counter, you and Ranboo managed to get the cookies into the oven with no real disasters.

As you wiped down the empty counter space you sighed, “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah.” Tubbo agreed.

Tommy only nodded, still eating the large glob of cookie dough he’d stolen.

Ten minutes before the bell rang and when everyone was supposed to be finishing cleaning up you sniffed the air suspiciously, “Why do I smell burning?”

Tubbo took a deep breath, “I smell it too.”

“Oh yeah, something is definitly burning.” Ranboo agreed.

You whirled to face Purpled, who was absently scrolling through his phone, “Purp you did set a timer right?”

#mcyt x reader #platonic!mcyt x reader #minors gang #teddy06 writes #teddy06

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

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Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture – a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

—

As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

#raymond wadsworth #suburban gothic #suburban gothic fanfic #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #matthew gray gubler fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfiction

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choco-mark · 4 years

Text

One Hundred Times

pairing: soulmate!jeno x soulmate!oc

genre: fluff | smut | like the tiniest bit of angst but barely

warnings: language, oral (fem. + m.), handjob, body worship, mentions of sex, super fucking innocent y/n and jeno, explicit sex, y/n showing jeno where the clit is

summary: in a world where soulmates can read each other’s thoughts, you find yours much sooner than everyone else around you; some even said it was too early, but it seemed as if you had been waiting for yours all your life.

words: 8.8k

note: y/n and jeno’s thoughts are written in italics

part of the You Are Me series!!

23 April

The age of ten was known as the age that was both the beginning of a child’s introduction into adulthood, but also the ending of a childhood that wasn’t long to begin with. It was the age when your soulmate mark was activated, and it was also the year that children would be newly exposed to their eternal lover. And today, today was Jeno’s tenth birthday; the birthday that would change his life forever.

But all tenth birthdays changed all children’s lives, but in most cases, they would not be able to speak to their soulmate if their tenth birthday hadn’t passed. Jeno hadn’t known what he wanted, to hear his soulmate’s name in his head immediately or an empty screech that it was described as for those who had soulmates who weren’t of age yet. It didn’t matter, of course, since it had already been decided by the heavens when he woke up that morning, bolting out of his bed with sweat covering his entire body.

Jeno looked around his room cautiously, as if expecting someone to be sitting there waiting for him to wake up on the day of his tenth birthday. But there was nothing in his head, just a blank sound masking his own thoughts as he jumped off the sheets, scrambling to the calendar. It’s my birthday, right? There was an echo of his thoughts in his mind, making him dizzy for a second. Oh my god, I can literally hear myself.

You can hear me too. He froze at the sound of a sweet giggle taking up his head, his mouth popping open for a brief moment. I was wondering how long it would take for you to turn ten. It felt like I was waiting forever. So, this meant that his soulmate was...older than him? Yeah, I’m older than you, is that a problem?

No. I just thought, um, didn’t hear you when I woke up. His excuse didn’t make much sense, at least it probably didn’t because the voice in his head let out a small laugh again, warming his insides as it echoed through his head. Jeno felt a smile graze over his face, almost involuntarily. What’s your name?

Another giggle. We can’t tell each other our names! It doesn’t work like that, didn’t your parents tell you? He shook his head, and then realized, that you probably couldn’t see him. No? Okay, I’ll tell you! Basically, when you turn ten, you can talk to your soulmate through a little head space! So there’s like, kinda a room where we can talk together, but you can still talk to yourself in your own space. We can feel each others emotions, though! And, um, I think that’s it.

So, I can’t tell you my name? Why not? Jeno stood confusedly, staring at the date on his calendar with his eyebrows scrunched. If he just thought his name, wouldn’t you be able to hear it? There was a hum of disapproval from your side, making him perk up. But why? If I just tell you that my name is—

He tried to form the words in his head, but they never echoed the way everything else did, the thoughts only being bounced back to himself. “Lee Jeno,” he whispered, “My name is Lee Jeno.” You were right, it wasn’t working. But then...How are we supposed to find each other if we don’t know each other’s names?

Hmm, we will. That’s what my mom tells me, at least. The soulmate system doesn’t fail, you know, so...we’ll probably find each other before we turn sixteen.

And what if we don’t?

You let a long pause in your mind, elongating it for a brief moment before taking a breath. Did he just hear you breathe? No, we’ll definitely find each other. We have to, it’s foolproof. It always works.

Okay.

6 May

You took one last step as the music ended, your teacher giving your class a nice smile before telling you that it sadly was the end of your lesson. Holding your arms above your head to catch your breath, you nodded as she went around the class to comment of their strengths and weaknesses, allowing you to calm your heart down when she came to you in the front.

“As expected from our lead dancer, Y/N, perfect formation,” she clapped her hands together, inching backwards to get a good look at everyone else. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the familiar thirteen-year-old boy with soft colored hair looking at you from the end of the line, and it made you heat up in embarrassment. Not him, anyone but him. “You all are dismissed. I’ll see you in two day’s time.”

A breath you didn’t know was inside of you was let out, allowing you to calm down a little as you loosened your ponytail. A few of your fellow dancer friends gave you a small goodbye as they grabbed their bags and walked out of the studio, but you stayed, just like you always did for an extra hour of practice. Just as you went to to grab your phone for the music, you caught the stance of the same boy at the edge of the room, watching you with a his dark bag swung over his shoulder. You gulped. Why is he still here?

Huh? You felt like you got shot, your soulmate’s voice turning loud in your head as you blinked a few times. Who?

Erm, um, nothing. Sorry, didn’t mean for you to hear that. Don’t mind me. You were rambling in your shared mind at this point, feeling bad for the boy on the other side. I’m good. Just, um. Yeah, I’m fine.

Jeno was one of the boys in your dance class that you knew all the girls had their eye on. It was funny, you thought, because it sounded as if they were all so disloyal to their soulmate when they went on and on about Lee Jeno’s smile and Lee Jeno’s muscles. You had to admit that Jeno was indeed a very attractive boy, that was for sure, but you couldn’t get it out of your head, the way that he would look at you when you were praised by your dance teacher. Or from the way he would watch you when you were asked to dance alone. His eyes only ever seemed to train on the way you were moving, and it always made you so self conscious to the point that you would almost mess up, or not give it your all while dancing. Jeno was capable of making someone that nervous.

But Jeno was also quiet, coming and going to class without nearly a word to anyone else. Even the other boys mentioned that he would be the one to change the fastest in the locker room, and the one that would never even spare a glance to anyone else, unless it was a flash of his smile or a polite greeting. He was so quiet that you almost believed you didn’t recognize his voice whenever he responded to the teacher, the low sound that would startle you every time. Though, it sounded awfully familiar in a way, a way that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Y/N?” You whirled around at the sound of your name leaving the boy’s mouth, your eyes trailing on him as he walked closer. “Do you think you can,” he gestured around, “um, maybe help me with some of the choreo? I know you stay here for a while after class and I don’t want to intrude but if it’s not too much...” He trailed off, and his hand went through his hair as he looked down to the ground, and then back up at you.

“Uh, sure!” You could already sense him getting nervous from even saying those words, so you offered him a slight smile. “I don’t mind, it’s okay. What part do you want to go over?”

Your lesson ended up being much longer than usual, and something you had learned about Jeno that day was that he went hard on himself. He was so self destructive, in a way, always scolding himself for making mistakes even if it was a minor slip-up with his footwork. But he was also a hard-working dancer, as you had already noticed from your day-to-day classes, one that would always put his all into dancing in one way or another. He was passionate about it, more than you, that was for sure, and it was something you were sure that you could admire about him.

You went home with a soft smile on your face that evening, feeling accomplished in the fact that you had just helped someone advance on their dancing skills, and with the belief that you had just made a new friend. It was well needed, you thought, laying down on your bed and staring at the ceiling. I needed a new friend after all.

Oh? My girl made a friend today? You weren’t expecting your soulmate’s voice to come coursing through your head, knowing that he usually slept early on a school night. But you nodded to yourself, or rather, to him. Guess what? I made a friend too.

Really?

Yeah. You heard him chuckle in your mind, sending you a wave of warmth. That’s why I’m not asleep right now. I came home later than usual just—hanging out with them. I’m kinda tired now, though. Are you going to sleep yet?

You turned to the side, wrapping the comforter around your body a little tighter before reaching over and switching off the light. Hmm, yeah. It’s almost midnight. You should go to sleep to, you know. I didn’t think you’d still be awake. You heard him laugh again, his breathing slowing down as sleep heaved over him. Oh, you’re already falling asleep. Good night...

And the next day you were back in the same room, a loose shirt adorning your body as you guided Jeno’s steps and slowly advanced him through the choreography. He seemed completely out of it though, his head just shaking over and over again as he messed up repeatedly.

“Like this?” Jeno tilted his head, moving his arms up to try and imitate the same position that you were standing in. Yet, it didn’t quite work, the motion swinging him out of balance as he nearly tripped over his feet at the same time. You sighed, watching him stumble before looking over at the slight grimace on your face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing something wrong, right? Ah, shit.”

You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, silencing his curses before trying again, and failing once more. He looked awfully distressed today, and he was going harder on himself than he usually did. Pursing your lips, you moved to stand in front of him. “Uh, why don’t we take a break? Ten minutes? How does that sound?”

Jeno shook his head, the sweat from his hair falling to the ground as he disregarded your words. “Can we take it from the top just once more? I think I got it this time.” He didn’t look at you, his eyes focusing on himself in the mirror with the personal judgement flowing through his mind over and over again. You could almost feel the way he was feeling, the sadness drowning you down just in the slight.

“Jeno, we’re taking a break, okay?” You said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not teaching you anything until you sit down for at least a few minutes and drink some water. Come on, you can’t just keep forcing yourself to continue.”

“Yes, I can. I’m fine.” You hadn’t heard such a tone fall from his mouth like that before, the usual words being soft and kind. All you knew in that moment was that he most definitely was not fine, and he looked like he was about to pass out at any moment if he didn’t hydrate himself. “Can you just play the music?” His voice cracked near the end of the question, his face twisting into an unreadable expression. “Please?”

If Jeno was to say that he had a bad day, that would’ve been an understatement. Not only did his best friend completely shun him for the entirety of school today, but his parents had fought loudly that morning, just like it almost always happened. He tried to not let it get the best of him, but he couldn’t just ignore the fact that his parents were getting tired of each other, and the fights between them were getting more and more frequent. You watched with widened eyes as you saw his face turn from determination to desperation, his eyes glistening with tears.

“Can you just play the music?!” He repeated with a roar, his fists clenching involuntarily as you jumped from his sudden outburst, backing away from him a little. He was far from fine, in fact, you knew that there was something pricking at him from the way he was acting, but you didn’t say anything. Yet, you didn’t move, not wanting to let him go without at least calming down first.

Jeno knew how he looked right now, probably pathetic in the eyes of you. Fuck, I can’t cry in front of her. No, no, I can’t. Don’t do that, you’re gonna embarrass yourself. The tears came anyway, your jaw dropping from the thoughts you had just got conveyed to your brain. God...I’m such a disappointment.

This seemed like the wrong moment, but you couldn’t help but cover your mouth with your hand, your heart racing at the sight of him. There was no way that...it couldn’t be, right? No, it was definitely not the right moment, especially not when he was now on the ground, his hands planted to the wood floor with hot tears spilling down his cheeks as well. But, I have to try, right?

There was the rumor of the first touch, that the first touch between two soulmates would send a spark into both of their bodies, giving them a sign that they were—destined for one another. You knew that it wasn’t true for everyone, as some people had found their soulmate without ever having experienced such a spark. You had never felt it before, but it was obvious as you hadn’t found your lover yet, but you were about to find out whether it was true or not.

There was a chance that Jeno wasn’t your soulmate, of course, but you still let yourself crouch down to your knees, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder. You were shaking, you realized, the nervousness taking over your body as you hesitated to put it down. Just do it, just do it. Hurry up.

Taking a deep breath, you heard a sob come from his mouth as your hand fell to the fabric of his shirt. Just at the feeling, he choked on his sob, his head snapping up to look at you when you felt the burn go through your body. You froze, your eyes falling on the hand that was touching him. Did you feel that? Did you just feel what I felt?

Silence filled your mind, but Jeno was still staring at you, almost making you uncomfortable as you pulled your hand away. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling, and you absolutely had no clue what was going through his mind. At least, that’s what you thought. Touch me again.

Your hand fell to his neck, the hotness of his skin cooling almost instantly to your touch. The skin to skin contact buzzed you more, a new surge going through you. Jeno let out a sigh, placing his own hand over yours. Did you feel that? Can you feel me? Am I touching you?

Y/N? You gasped at the sound of your name filling your mind for the first time in so long, the voice you had been hearing in your head for so long finally saying your name with such delicacy. Is your name Y/N?

Yes. You let yourself lean forward, wrapping your arms around him to feel him fully. It felt so right, after everything else in your life, this boy holding you against him in the same manner, now dropping tears to soak your shirt. Please don’t cry, Jeno. It hurts. But he couldn’t stop himself, his hands balling the fabric of your clothing in his hands, his grip tightening around you as he cried even harder than before. Jeno...

All the pent up emotions were being let go with the relief that Jeno had found his soulmate, but all the pain was still there. You felt yourself tense up to the same emotions being thrown over you, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the grip around his neck tightened, the hug turning almost suffocating with it.

Please don’t cry, Lee Jeno. It makes me want to cry. Yet, your thoughts contradicted your action, tears soaking into his shirt as he tried apologizing. It didn’t come, however, the cries were almost never ending. You were crying, and it felt real for once, real tears from your true love. What a feeling.

17 December

“I could kiss you one hundred times and it would still feel like the first time,” Jeno whispered in your ear, his arms resting on your waist as you stood in front of the mirror. Today was the day of your night performance in front of the entire dance school, and you were in costume, stage makeup on your face, carefully done by yourself over the years of practice.

You still remember your first kiss, back in that dance studio two years ago, the one where you two met each other in as young teenagers. It was a day after class was over, the two of you sitting against the large mirrors, eating snacks that he had brought specifically for you. You had leaned in spontaneously to brush away a piece of his hair, but your lips met with his instead. They were soft, soft and plump, and that was one thing that never changed about him.

You smiled at his words, admiring how handsome he looked with his hair styled and his costume fitted to his body perfectly. He leaned sideways, sending a quick peck to the corner of your jaw. “Yeah, then why don’t you do it now?”

Jeno looked around the dressing room, seeing everyone scrambling to get ready and he focused back on you, holding your face gently in his hand to turn it his way. His lips met yours with a soft crash, molding his mouth against yours. It felt like bliss, to him, kissing you. You taste so sweet, princess.

You’re sweeter. You pressed a hand to his chest to prevent him from turning the innocent kiss into something much more heated, pulling away for a moment to shake your head. Not now. We have to go on stage in like—fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes. That was all he needed. His hand kept your face in place as he caught his lips in your again, devouring you completely without a warning. You grasped onto his arms, keeping yourself grounded when his tongue played at your lips, silently asking for entrance. Even knowing that everyone could be watching you, you let him in anyway, feeling the comfort of his touch make you crave for more.

There was a loud clearing of a throat, making you pull away from Jeno for a brief moment to see Jaemin giving the two of you the most disgusted look on the planet. Your eyes flitted next to him to see Jeno’s best friend, a girl who looked absolutely mortified at the scene as well. You flushed from the attention, turning your head away from your soulmate as he tried to attack your lips again. Jeno, come on. Your friends are here.

And? If I kiss you any longer, they’ll just leave. Jaemin isn’t Hyuck, you know, he can get embarrassed too. You raised your eyebrow at his thoughts. He wanted to embarrass his friends—with you? God, you couldn’t believe that this boy was yours sometimes. I’m offended, Y/N. You deserve another hundred kisses just for that, you traitor. You giggled, pressing a hand to his lips as he tried leaning in again. You will pay for this, princess.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you said quietly, your eyes pouring into his. Jaemin had sighed, taking the girl alongside him as the two of you were left alone to the corner of the dressing room once again. A smile played at his lips and eyes, making him chuckle softly at your playful tone. “You just want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

Jeno shrugged, shamelessly nodding his head. “I’ll kiss you on stage if you want me to. I think that’d be more than the show that we’re putting on. What do you think?” You smacked his arm, and his chuckling grew in volume.

Lee Jeno!

13 August

“I’ll be inside with the boys, alright?” Jeno left a peck to your forehead, leaving you alone to the ginormous pool that belonged to Chenle. The rest of the boys’ girlfriends were inside, fooling around with each other and having fun, and it made a small smile grow over your face until you realized one of them was missing.

It was Jaemin’s eighteenth birthday today, and the rest of the boys decided to throw a party for him right at Chenle’s massive mansion. All the plannings went well, except for the fact that Mark almost messed it up when he called Jaemin’s girlfriend asking whether or not she was bringing him over already. Thankfully due to his obliviousness and the way he was absolutely in love with his soulmate, the surprise went smoothly.

Renjun’s girlfriend was sitting at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling inside of the water, and she looked—not the most enthusiastic as the rest of the girls. You took the chance to walk to her side, settling down beside her as she glanced over at you with shining eyes. “Hey,” you offered her a smile, and she threw one back, only to look back down at her feet again. “Something up?”

“Y/N?” You nodded. She looked like she was in deep thought, and with a brush of her hair to the side, she faced you again, her eyebrows slightly scrunched. “How do you and Jeno do it?”

“H-Huh?”

“I mean, how do you and Jeno make it seem like—I don’t know, like you guys seem so happy with each other all the time. And I mean—you two have a really, I guess, ideal kind of relationship in a way. Just, how do you guys do it?” She was serious with her question, a genuine wonder about the two of you.

You hadn’t known her for long, only having known that she was Renjun’s soulmate when Jeno introduced you to her. But in a way, something you had always noticed about her was the way she was—self conscious about herself and her relationship with him. Almost as if she didn’t believe she was the one for him, even though it was literally a match made in heaven.

You let your feet submerge in the cool water as well, wincing at the way it contrasted from the hot weather. “Um, well, I don’t really know.” You laughed nervously, looking from her and then up at the sky. “I mean, you know how there’s that myth, the one that says if two soulmates find each other before the age of fourteen, they’re ‘bound to a doomed relationship.’ We found each other when we were thirteen.”

The girl seemed shocked, clearly not having known this before. “Wait, really? You guys met each other before—so, before you even entered freshman year?” You nodded, giving her a sheepish smile. Everyone always gave that same surprised look whenever you told them you found your soulmate before the normal age of discovery, and you were used to it at this point. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t know that.”

“So Jeno and I have been together for the past four years, and I obviously don’t regret anything. I love him—with my whole soul, everything. We don’t really get in fights, um, unless it’s the petty ones about choreography or music or something. But, nothing serious. Oh, and we tell each other almost everything.”

Renjun’s girlfriend pursed her lips, nodding in agreement. “Er—have you guys like, tried anything? You know, I mean I don’t think everyone’s actually done it. Renjun and I haven’t even tried yet...” she trailed off, looking down at her feet again before looking back up at you. “But, uh, apparently it’s supposed to feel good. Have you guys ever tried?”

“Um, what do you mean?” You struggled to catch onto what she was talking about, your mind going blank as you tried to think about the things that soulmates could do with each other. “Tried what?”

“You don’t know?” You looked over to your right, where Mark’s girlfriend was slipping out of the water to plop beside you on the tile. “Wait—don’t tell me that you and Jeno haven’t done it yet! You guys have been dating since forever!”

“Done what?!”

“She really doesn’t know,” Renjun’s girlfriend said from your left, her jaw dropping. “Sex, Y/N! You two haven’t had sex yet?” You felt yourself becoming hot from the accusation, the thought of doing something that intimate with the boy you loved so much, sending you out of the universe. “Oh my god, you haven’t even touched yourself, have you?”

You shook your head, looking from her to the girl on your right, who seemed equally as surprised. “N-No? Not like that...”

Mark’s girlfriend scooted closer to you, taking your hands into her as she stared deep into your eyes. “Listen to me now, you, my friend, are missing out on a lot. Considering you and Jeno both seem to innocent to even have, like I don’t know, opened a book about the subject, I’m gonna tell you right now. Soulmates can feel each other’s emotions, right? And physical things as well, like pain, for example if Jeno was to break his arm, you’d feel it too. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, remembering the time Jeno had sprained his leg during a dance class and you had fell to the ground in pain as well. “Yeah well, just like that, you guys can feel each other’s pleasure. Do you know what I mean? If he was jerking it off, you would feel it too and vice versa. And even better, sex is ten times that feeling.” Your eyes widened. That’s not something I’ve ever thought of.

Mark’s girlfriend sighed, letting go of your hands and leaning back on her own. “I think you guys should have a talk, at least by now. And if he’s not gonna be the one initiating it, then you should! Don’t you want to go to the next level with that relationship of yours?!”

What are you thinking about, princess? You felt like your thoughts were just intruded, the words being conveyed to him because they were about him. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to.

No! It’s okay! I was just thinking about you, that’s all. The two girls seemed to understand why you went completely mute, sharing a glance with each other as you continued talking to him. You don’t have to apologize...

What’s on my girl’s mind? You almost responded with a giggle to his little nickname for you, the one he had used before the two of you had found each other. What? You like that, don’t you? My pretty girl...tell me, what’s on your mind?

You hummed, contemplating for a moment. I’ll tell you later. Now, can you get me some ice cream or something. I’m melting out here.

Of course. Anything for my girl.

15 August

You were literally pacing back and forth in your room, your mind nearly bursting as you tried to keep your thoughts in your sacred little bubble. If Jeno was to hear anything you were thinking of while he was showering, you were sure that he would go into cardiac arrest right then and there. Jeno had come over for the night as he often did, taking his time to shower before the two of you would drift off into a slumber. But today, you were going to try something different.

After secretly driving yourself to the library and actually finding a book explaining soulmates, you were curious to see how you would feel if you and Jeno were to...do anything. Your only concern was that you didn’t think he’d want to, or that he wouldn’t see you in that way. It was driving you mad knowing that he was going to come out at any moment and you were planning on talking to him, though you weren’t sure if he was going to take it very well.

Jeno came in shortly after, ruffling his hair with a towel before handing it to you, silently asking you to dry it. You knew how much he liked it when you did, so you quietly did so, your mouth not forming any words no matter how much you wanted to ask him about it. He noticed your discomfort, pulling on your wrist softly to gain your attention. “What’s wrong, princess?”

You pulled the towel away from his head, sighing deeply as you tried to gain control over your overly racing heart. “Um, so,” you didn’t like the way you sounded, already cringing at the sound of your voice. He was looking up at you from the bed as if you were the most gorgeous creature on earth, but you didn’t quite feel that way. “So, I was wondering if—uh, okay, so I heard that, um...” You trailed off, already feeling yourself turn embarrassed from not even being able to form a sentence properly. “Just,” you looked back into his eyes, that were waiting hugely and you sighed. “N-Never mind.”

Jeno was already confused, knowing that you were the kind of person to share everything and anything with him, and those words almost rarely never came out of your mouth. “It’s only me. What’s on your mind? Tell me.”

You avoided his gaze, preparing yourself mentally before finally speaking again. “So, I read in, um, a book that—soulmates can, you know, feel each other. Like, um, not just emotions and feelings or whatever, but like physical things and I was wondering if you wanted to try that.” The words came out all mushed and they almost wouldn’t have been understandable, but Jeno knew what you were saying, his expression softening as he moved a hand up to cup at your cheek.

“Hey, look at me,” you turned back to him slowly, seeing his familiar smile grazing his face beautifully. His thumb caressed your skin carefully, eyes searching yours as you could no longer look away. “Don’t be so nervous around me, okay? I love you.” You felt your heart swell from his confession, one that didn’t come often from him, and you tried to give a smile in return but couldn’t. “So what, hmm? Does my pretty girl want me to make her feel good?”

Your breath hitched as his hands went to your waist, tugging you closer to him. “Yeah? Tell me what you want me to do.” He pulled you down to attach his lips to your neck, but it was nothing soft, they sucked on the skin until you were sure it was going to bruise and you leaned your head back, your eyes fluttering shut from the feeling. “Do you want me to make you feel good?”

Jeno pulled back to look at you deeply. Are you sure you want this? Are you really, really sure? You bit your lip, nodding slowly. One hundred percent sure? I want you to say it, please.

“I want you, Jeno,” you answered quietly, watching as he closed his eyes for a brief moment, almost as if he was trying to control himself from the way you were already making him feel. It was the bare minimum, not even, but he really thought you were going to make him a mad man before anything even happened. “I’m sure.”

He hummed, pulling you down onto the bed until your back was flat against the mattress, his body hovering over yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” He asked sweetly, waiting for your nod of approval as he kissed you deeply again. A hand tugged at the end of your shirt, and he pulled away once again to ask with his eyes.

Bunching up the fabric, he pushed it higher until it was off past your head, laying forgotten on the floor. His hands smoothed over your skin, admiring it before stopping at your breasts, which were still carefully covered by your bra. With another look, he slid his hands underneath you, unclipping the garment and slipping it off past your arms. You were almost sure that he was drooling over your body from the way he was looking at you, and his lips started at your collarbone, peppering kisses all the way until your breasts, where he planted a kiss between them.

You let out a gasp when he gave a lick to one your nipples, his eyes focusing on you before taking it into his mouth. Just as he sucked on the skin, you already felt an unfamiliar heat growing between your legs as you let out a soft moan to his actions. After he was satisfied, he moved to the next one, wetting the skin with his mouth before lapping at your nipple. You didn’t know what to do with your hands at that moment, and he heard your thoughts, pulling them up to rest on his head.

Jeno mouthed down your torso, leaving wet kisses until he met the waistband on your shorts. Can I? You nodded almost immediately, hearing him chuckle in your mind for a bit. You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I can’t believe you’re mine. His hands tugged your shorts down, and your eyes squeezed shut from his movements. “I want you to look at me,” his hands rubbed your thighs slowly, the heat growing nearly unbearable when he moved them closer. “Look at me, princess.”

You opened your eyes again to see your soulmate’s head between your legs, prying your legs apart. There was only one piece of clothing on you now, the cotton of your panties covering your most intimate portion of your body that no one had touched like that before, not even you. He inched closer, bringing his hand to cup at your core with almost barely a touch, but you let out a strangled sound to it, satisfying him deeply.

He applied the slightest pressure to your clit, just to see your reaction and you involuntarily bucked your hips up, never having felt such a sensation before. Your body squirmed as he rubbed slowly circles over the fabric, your mouth threatening to cry out before he stopped, making you whine softly. Wait, princess, I’m taking it off. Will you let me?

Yes. Hurry, please. He didn’t waste time lowering your panties until they were gone and you were bare to him. You couldn’t even feel self conscious anymore due to his pleasure in just seeing you like this, and he spread out your legs even further, drinking in the sight of your dripping core. A finger pressed at the same bundle of nerves once again, circling around experimentally until you were moaning out so nicely for him, and he licked his lips.

You were already so sensitive to just his touch, but when he put his mouth where his finger once was, you swore you saw stars. He didn’t even move his lips, yet your head was still thrown back, the hands that were resting on his neck now grasping onto his hair. Jeno was already feeling out of it just seeing you completely wrecked all ready, but the heat you were under was a feeling for him as well, and god, did he want to see you more. Without knowing what he was doing even a little bit, he enclosed on the same bundle of nerves, sucking slightly and then harder, so hard that you pushed him away with a cry.

“Too much, it’s too much,” you babbled, looking at his concerned face. He shook his head, lowering himself back down to your core, opting to lick a stripe down your folds instead, watching your face. The earlier sensation was too stimulating, and you were sure that you would black out if he did it again; yet deep down you wanted him to do it, to make you feel so unbearably good to the point that you were sobbing. He used his tongue instead this time, mashing his lips against your skin in a way where he was basically making out with your clit.

The faster he kissed, the faster you felt a pressure growing low in your stomach as he continued. You wanted him to keep going, but you couldn’t seem to find the words, but he didn’t need to be told. Jeno’s hands were grasping onto your thighs to keep them planted on the bed, but you were still writhing. Even now it felt like too much, but you didn’t stop him, only tugging on his hair to let him know that you were so close. So close to what, you couldn’t even dare say in your mind, but Jeno was about to give you the first orgasm in your lifetime, and you weren’t even ready for it.

It came crashing down on you slowly, and then it was fast, your mouth letting out such a loud cry of his name that you were sure you hadn’t ever screamed like that in your life before. He slowed down just to lap up the rest of your juices, moaning at the taste and your orgasm, humming as he moved back up your body, hovering over you once again. How did that feel?

G-Good. You tried calming your breaths but it was harder than it ever had been when you practiced all those dances, the thought making you internally laugh. Really good. Like, I thought I was gonna die, good. I mean, not that I was gonna die but that felt good, yes, I liked it. God...

He smiled down at you and that was when you realized that he was still wearing all of his clothes, completely unexposed to you but when you looked down, there was a nice tent that had formed in his shorts. He read your thoughts. Princess, it’s okay, you don’t have to.

“But I want to,” you ran your fingers through his hair, looking at his with huge eyes that you knew he couldn’t refuse. “Please, I want to make you feel like that.” Your voice was almost a whine, and he sighed, laying down next to you before pulling you over his body. Well this, was not what you were expecting.

You don’t have to. You shook your head, gulping before you tugged his shirt off his body, running your hands over his abs. His breath hitched when you leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lower abdomen before pulling down the fabric of his shorts. He was hard through his boxers, and you felt him groan deeply when you let your hand palm him. Fuck. Even in your mind, his voice was so hot when he cursed, making you want to hear him do it again.

Jeno had always seen you as his pretty princess: the girl of his dreams, of his past, present, and future, but never did he imagine seeing you like this before. You were completely naked, hovering over him with your breasts dangling in perfect view as you let him grind against your hand. The sight was making it so hard to control himself, feeling himself build up already.

His cock sprung out as you lowered his boxers, leaving him bare under you. You gasped at his size, looking up at him without a filter to your thoughts. “You’re so big,” you whispered, his dick looking awfully inviting. You touched the tip with your thumb, teasing the slit just for a moment to see your boyfriend let out a muffled noise. He had already gotten so hard from your past pleasure, but your comment had only increased his arousal to the point where he thought it would be unbearable.

His eyes trained on you, watching how you gave his dick the utmost attention to the point that he thought he would cum. It was so hot, and you were barely doing anything but drawing small circles to his tip, and he threw his head back at the feeling, trying not to look away from the breathtaking view. You watched his chest rise and fall, looking down at him through your eyelashes to see his already fucked out expression.

You grasped him tightly, a little too tightly maybe because he hissed, and you loosened your grip with a mumbled apology. Remembering what you had read in that book not very long ago, you let your hand pump him once, keeping the same pressure until you lowered yourself to his cock. You let your mouth suck on the tip, watching as he threw his head back in the same fashion as you did and let out a moan of your name.

Jeno was already so close to his release, even though he was desperately trying to hold it back just for the need to feel you for a little longer, but he was already far gone when you pumped him at a faster pace. You already felt yourself getting wet once again, being straddled across his thighs, and your mouth let him go as you felt him tense up underneath you. Oh fuck, princess, you feel so good. You’re so good, god. Fuck—

He came in three huge spurts, the milky consistency making a mess all over your hand and even spilling onto his abs. You let out a loud whimper, feeling a wave of pleasure being thrown over you as you grasped onto his thighs, crying out your soulmate’s name softly as it happened. You leaned back on his legs after you calmed down, taking in how hot he looked at that moment all because of you. His hands were still grasping the sheets tightly until he let them go with a breath, his sweat-filled hair splaying out over his eyes as he finally opened them. You hadn’t even missed the way there was a soft chant of your name through your head when he came, and his voice was a deep sound of a groan when he finally focused back on you sitting atop his thighs, looking innocent as if you hadn’t just used your mouth to make him cum.

Looking back at your stained hand, you gave him a look while you let yourself lick at your fingers, cleaning up your skin. His taste was sweet, surprising you as you popped your fingers into your mouth, sucking it clean with your eyes still locked on his. He yanked you down beside him after you finished, the image of you licking up his cum painted into his mind for perhaps the rest of eternity.

“That was bold of you,” he muttered, scanning your eyes with his own as he saw a smile graze across your lips. “Yeah? You liked that? How’d I do?”

You moved closer, pressing a short kiss to his mouth to see his usual smile light up his face again, eyes scrunching cutely. Yeah, I liked it. You did good, like, hmm, really good. I guess a little too good since it, uh, kinda hurt a little before. His eyebrows furrowed in concern, the hand resting on your waist holding you a little tighter. “No! Not like it was bad, it felt good but like—really good. Like too good.”

Now you’re just trying to make me feel better, aren’t you? You know, the way you were looking at me sorta scared me—you looked like you were about to cry... Jeno’s hand moved to your face, brushing out a strand of hair that had fallen over your eyes. I don’t want to hurt you, ever, okay? If it hurts again, just tell me like you did earlier and I’ll stop.

Jeno...I promise, it didn’t hurt. You let out a sigh, feeling slightly frustrated that he wasn’t getting what you were trying to say. Wasn’t this supposed to be a little easier, considering the two of you were soulmates? The whole message conveying thing didn’t seemed to be working right now. Um, okay. I’ll explain. So you literally, uh, sucked on my—well, apparently that place is supposed to be really sensitive but I didn’t really know what it was all about so when I did my...research, I found out that it’s called the clitoris. Or like, the clit, I guess, that’s the shortened word for it.

Jeno seemed interested, but also confused. “Wait, can you show me?”

You stuttered on your thoughts at his words, humming softly before nodding. He sat up, leaning against the headboard watching as you shuffled in front of him. Erm—this is kinda weird. He shook his head, telling you that you didn’t have to feel self conscious and the thought made you calm down, your legs spreading out in front of him. Now, he couldn’t help but already feel a little aroused at the sight of your core but he also seemed pretty interested in what you were getting at.

The two of you had taken sex ed the year earlier at your respective schools, that was for sure, but it was mostly consisted of coincidentally, both of you, not even paying attention during the class that it just ended up with memorizing facts and spitting them out on paper for a grade. It wasn’t helpful, at least not very interesting to you at the time, but now that you were completely exposed in front of your boyfriend right now, you remembered back to what you learned. Needless to say, that soulmate book had taught you loads more.

You tried spreading yourself as best as you could, feeling a little more comfortable when you realized he was literally sitting in front of you completely bare as well. With simple touches, you explained the anatomy of your vagina, with Jeno listening promptly. Deep inside of him, he made a mental promise to himself to research the proper ways to pleasure you with this knowledge.

“—so, sometimes when it comes to oral stimulation,” you continued, resting your position for a moment. “It’s like, uh, really strong. Like the feeling is really high to the point where it makes us both feel good...but basically, I can feel it when you cum and vice versa. It’s pretty cool, actually.” Jeno let out a gasp of realization, pointing a finger at you as he tried to search for a memory.

I remember! Donghyuck told me once that he made his girlfriend cry and everyone else was laughing while I thought it was horrible...don’t tell me he was talking about that? He moved his finger down experimentally, touching you softly, however still making you hiss. Oh my god, I probably looked like an idiot.

You let out a little giggle at his words, seeing him pout while still staring at your pussy almost in a zoned out daze. Pulling his finger away, you gave it a little tug, gaining his attention. “It’s okay, baby. At least you know now...”

Grabbing you by the arm, he tucked the two of you back under the sheets again, leaning over quickly to switch off the lamp before cuddling you against his chest. Thanks for the little lesson there, princess. I kinda needed that. Now I can go to the library too and search for ancient books on how to make my girl cry during sex, because you seemed to be so interested about it. How does that sound? A library date for sex ed?

Shut up.

19 September

Jeno liked driving, it was almost a personality trait of his. He was good at it too, driving you around whenever you liked it, taking you here and there and everywhere. That was a knack of his, driving, since not everyone could do it so well. But he did so effortlessly, almost like it was a hobby or habit, in perfection.

It was late at night, and you were leaning in the passenger seat of your boyfriend’s car once again, taking in the air as you let you hit your face with every gust. You didn’t know where he was taking you at this time, but when he pulled into the parking lot of the once-familiar dance building, you knew it.

You were a bit confused on why he took you to the old one, the one that the two of you used to dance in all that time earlier, and just seeing the outline of the room made you nostalgic now. Jeno’s hand slipped into yours as he opened the old sliding door, dust filling your view as the lights flickered on.

After five years, the room looked exactly the same, except now sitting unused and forgotten in the building that was now using a few rooms for karate. The mirrors were still up, sending you and Jeno the reflection that had always been there for the two of you. In the outline of your body, you could still see the thirteen year old girl who had swiped up her hair into a ponytail every day just to let her passion out for dance. You glanced at where your hands were meeting, clasped for comfort as you focused on Jeno.

There was somewhere deep in your soul that remembered the dusty brown-haired boy that had watched you in awe as you took the lead, the same one that had fallen to his knees in front of you and sobbed his heart out on the very familiar day of finding he was your lover. He heard your thoughts, his lip quirking up as he gestured to the area of the room where you had first touched him, the place where you had taken a leap of faith and put your hand down on his heavy shoulder.

Silence followed throughout the room, but at the same time, it wasn’t silent. It was so loud. Yet it was loud in the most beautiful way, the only sweet sound being the constant conversation between you and your love, never ending and never tiring the either of you. Can you believe it’s been five years?

No. I can’t. He squeezed your hand, looking at you through the mirror he had watched you through for years before. I can’t believe I’ve had you for so long, princess. It’s kind of strange, right? Seeing ourselves in this mirror again?

Yeah. Jeno looked the same now, the same handsome boy with moves that he always underestimated, the same boy that had given you your first everything. It feels weird. Like...we were never gone.

He hummed, rubbing his thumb over the skin of your hand before pulling you alongside him as he walked to the front of the room, planting his feet in the same position he was all that time ago. Looking over at you, you knew what to do when you stood in front of him, seeing his eyes glowing from the bright lighting that hadn’t faded even after so long.

Because it hadn’t, the light could never fade from your vision, because Jeno was always there: now and forever. He was like the light of your soul, the one piece of you that made up who you were with every single breath you took each day. And you could never see it fade, not for as long as the two of you had each other.

You remembered what Jeno said to you, not that long ago on a dark winter night when the two of you were wondering about the future, the thoughts filling your shared mind again.

It’s a soulmate thing. There’s never a ‘till death do us part.’ Because we don’t, we don’t ever part. We’ll be together in this life, and the next, and the next one after that. It’ll go on forever, just like it’s supposed to. Got it?

Jeno smiled.

Got it.

There are only so many of us born at a time and we are thrown into the world to find each other, to find the other ones who don't think you're strange, who understand your jokes, your smile, the way you talk.

There are only so many of us born at a time and we only have so long to find each other before we die.

But we have to try.

#you are me #yam #jeno smut #jeno fics #jeno fluff #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #minas smut work

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wasabito · 3 years

Text

had so much fun writing for my baby boy tendou, so here’s my entry for the hqhq sfw server collab! be sure to check out the rest on the masterlist found here! enjoy ✨

words: 3.0k

prompt: “you woke me up at 3am for this?”

synopsis: your neighbor is ridiculous, kind of annoying and little bit on the weird side, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You had to be the biggest idiot on the planet—an obvious exaggeration, yes, but you were still inclined to believe it was true.

How else could you explain the feeling of being so utterly fed up with one’s actions like this? Were there enough words in the dictionary to describe just how exhausted you were by your own antics, more specifically, your forgetfulness since that’s what had landed you in a world of pain and embarrassment?

The answer was no.

You sat with your back pressed against your front door, head in your hands and chin tucked between your raised knees and chest. At your side was your wallet along with stacks of newspapers, coupons and whatever else had been stuffed in your mailbox, bills probably. Advertisements too. Honestly, it was hard to be happy about a new restaurant opening up down the block when you were currently stuck—locked out of your apartment to be precise.

The landlord of your cheap little complex wasn’t expected to be back for another hour according to the sign posted outside of his office. So until then, you’d remain posted up by your doorstep like some loiterer.

You shifted in place and blew a puff of air from your lips, feeling little pinpricks in your legs. For the fifth time in the last forty-five minutes you felt like kicking yourself, hard.

The sun hung low, nearly touching the distant horizon signifying the end of another day. Even the sky was painted a warm umber, casting dim shadows.

“Locked out, huh?” came a snide, but accented voice.

It took you way longer than necessary to realize that suddenly you weren’t the only person on this floor. God, where was your head at?

A pair of forest green crocs stood before you, complete with a few odd charms and trinkets. A cartoon volleyball, pinned next to a smiley face, a donut and a gaudy “i heart paris” chain dangling from the ankle strap. A person’s shoes could say a lot about who they were...your mother thought so, at least.

Resisting the urge to projectile vomit all over this stranger’s rather questionable taste in footwear, your wary gaze panned upward, glossing over white tube socks and a pair of the longest legs you’ve ever seen on a person—yet another exaggeration. You came face to face with a crooked smile. Curious ruby eyes returned your stare with almost the same amount of scrutiny.

Who the hell was this guy?

Mystery-man easily towered over you, and not only because you were hunched over and sitting. He was tall as hell, all lanky build, gangly arms and legs disguising lithe muscle and a surprisingly sturdy frame. He looked like the i-run-every-morning type; semi-athletic at the very least. His buzzed hair was the color of cinnamon, no that wasn’t right, paprika maybe? Either way, it contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin, so much so that you could see the faint blue of the veins in his arms.

“Yoohooo, anybody hooome?” He tilted his head at you.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah, I’m locked out. I forgot my key inside and Mr. Laurent won’t be back until later.”

“Hmm. That sucks...”

“...Um… do I… do I know you or something? You look a little familiar.”

He pinned you with a funny look, before pulling out a set of keys from the back pocket of his shorts.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t~ I mean we are neighbors, after all.” Laughing as if he’d made some sort of joke, he entered his apartment with a twirl and a dramatic wave of his arms.

You stared at his door for a solid minute, only to finally succumb to your urges and facepalm at your own idiocy. Of course he looked familiar, how could he not when he literally lived four feet away.

With a sigh of resignation, you braced yourself for another hour spent sitting outside your front door. It wasn’t like there was any other place you could go or anyone you could call. The battery icon on your phone blinked red, warning that it was soon to run out of juice. Guess that meant no Among Us or Subway Surfer for you.

Five minutes later, the door next to you opened. It was Mystery-man again, but this time, he sat in front of his door, just like you were. And he did so with a bag of pretzels and a jar of nutella in hand.

“Must be bored out here by yourself.” He crunched on a pretzel before offering you the bag to take some. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya company.”

You weren’t sure why, but there was something about this guy that intrigued you. You half-wondered if it was the funny little curl of his smile, or the wideness of his eyes that made it seem like he was looking at all of you, all at once.

"You must be pretty bored...uh,"

"Satori Tendou, but most people call me Tendou. Miracle boy works just fine too."

"Right... Tendou, as I was saying, you must be incredibly bored to come sit out here with me. You sure you don't have anything important to do?"

Tendou's grinned widened. "Positive! And it costs me nothing to be neighborly, so don't even sweat it."

That was...nice of him?

If sitting outside with you was the way he wanted to spend his late Tuesday afternoon who were you to deny him? And truthfully, you didn't mind the company, at least not really. Provided this guy wasn't some creepy-stalker-weirdo, you were sure there wasn't any harm in getting to know the person who lived one door over.

"So, Tendou, how long have you lived in the area? You don't really look like you're from around here...I could be wrong."

Tendou raised a thin brow at you. "Weeeell, if you're asking about how long I've lived next door, it would be about three maybe four months give or take, but if you're asking how long I've lived in Paris, it would be a year next month. Speaking of, I think Semisemi has a birthday coming up..."

You watched as he pulled out his cell phone and tapped away at the illuminated glass screen. You couldn't help but notice the goofy little anime stickers on his phone case. One in particular caught your attention.

“Is that...Kirara? From Inuyasha??”

“Oho! So, you recognize this?”

Backtracking, you mumble out, “Ah, well…only a little.” Though your face was turned away, the tiny smile on your lips was not hidden from Tendou and he thought you were pretty cute.

Funnily enough, what you had expected to be a rather unnerving and possibly creepy exchange turned out to be anything but. Tendou was incredibly fun to talk to—a bit teasing and a little overwhelming with his superfluous hand movements and gestures. But he was funny and a lot kinder that you would’ve given him credit for.

You learned that he was originally from Japan; it explained his accented French. He had come to Paris right out of high school to study culinary arts in one of the most renowned countries for it. Now he worked as a chocolatier, under the tutelage of a master patisserie in the city, an older man who was both a creative genius and a thorn in Tendou’s side. Tendou spoke of his teacher with equal parts awe and annoyance.

And he got to know you too. How you’d found yourself in Paris, thousands of miles away from home in an effort to rediscover yourself in the city full of rich history and culture.

You didn’t have many friends here, and it truly was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.

Soon, you both heard the telltale sound of jangling keys as your landlord rounded the corner with his clipboard in hand. Once you were able to get your door open, you waved a goodbye to Tendou.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you really didn’t have to.”

“No biggie, it was fun!” He threw a mischievous little grin and a peace-sign over his shoulder and reentered his apartment.

You found yourself wanting to cross paths with him again, and hopefully in better circumstances. But you hadn't known your wishful thinking was soon to manifest as you ambled through grocery store aisles a week later, eyeing down any items with pictures on it.

“Why in the hell is this toilet paper so expensive.” You mumbled.

“So, you complain about the price of toilet paper, but wear sneakers that cost two-thirds our rent.” That voice sounded familiar, and after hearing it for about an hour just days ago, you were a bit surprised you could recognize it so quickly.

Stunned, you looked up to find Satori Tendou, your quirky neighbor with an arm full of pita chips, a milk carton, and baby carrots.

“I never said I made the best choices.” You found yourself smiling despite the previous crease in your brow. “...Dude, get a cart before you drop everything.”

Instead of getting his own, he simply dumped what he had into your cart with a teasing grin. You couldn’t argue with his logic there. Tendou sidled up against you, once again towering over you with a kind of ease that should be criminal. “Need help reading something?”

You wanted to say no. You almost said no. But swallowing your pride, you gave a weak nod. “Yeah, this word right here.” Pointing to the unfamiliar script printed on the label. “What the heck is this?”

“Weeeeell, looks like that brand is scented, ya know, for when ya—”

“Don’t bother finishing that sentence...please.”

You quickly grab what you need and continue on down the aisle with Tendou following closely behind.

Just like when you’d first met him, he made conversation the entire way. By the time you both made it to the cash registers, you’d argued at least three times over french pronunciations and whether cashews were the cousin of peanuts.

And just as last time, he left you with a grin and a peace-sign while you stared after his retreating back, paid groceries in hand.

After an entire day spent baking, you found yourself on Tendou’s doorstep with a tupperware full of baked goodies later the next evening. You had been meaning to thank him for being such a good neighbor to you. It was certainly unexpected, but a welcome gesture nonetheless.

You only had to knock twice before the door was wrenched open and you were greeted with the set of...vanilla? Some pop song played in the background while your neighbor looked at you curiously.

"H-Hey Tendou, I um...I baked you these." You held out the plastic container, hoping he'd simply take it from you without question and you could return to your apartment without somehow embarrassing yourself. "There's a little bit of everything in there, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, macadamia nut—wait you aren't allergic to anything, right?"

"Nooope! Not a thing, thanks neighbor!"

"It was no problem, especially since you've helped me, not once but twice now."

Frowning, you couldn't help but be a little upset with yourself. You'd come to France to prove that you could, in fact, live a normal life outside of your family’s jurisdiction but day by day you were proving to need them more and more.

It was disappointing, to say the least.

"Hmm, what’s with the constipated look on your face. Did the toilet paper not help?” Tendou tilted his head at you with a teasing grin, lips curled at the edges, taunting. You blinked up at him, surprised, and if you were honest, a little annoyed too.

"Hah?!"

"Just thought it was worth a mention, nighty-night~!"

Tendou proceeded to shut the door on you; one hand rested on the frame and the other held on to the cookies. You quickly took a step back lest he chop your entire arm off, ready to trudge off in the direction of your own home but not before sticking your tongue out at him.

Stupid Tendou, always saying stupid shit.

You were on the couch, half asleep when it dawned on you that it had been his own twisted, “Tendou” way of cheering you up.

The rest of the month passed just like that. Occasionally, you would bump into Tendou at the grocery store, or the leasing office, or even the laundromat. And every single time, he’d either make you laugh until your sides hurt or annoyed enough to want to give him a friendly punch. At one point, you two had even exchanged phone numbers, because according to Tendou “it was ridiculous not to have your friends on speedial” which only led to hours spent on Facetime or playing iMessage games.

You knew exchanging numbers would come back to bite you in the ass, it was only a matter of when.

It was clear you weren’t going to any sleep tonight, that was for sure. The incessant buzzing of your cell phone every five minutes was an enemy to your circadian rhythm. You could name on one hand those in your contacts with enough sense to know that you lived in a completely different time zone from them now.

Somehow your neighbor was the very last person you suspected, but it was his contact photo that stared back at you, goofy looking grin and all. You squinted against the brightness of your screen in your otherwise dark bedroom.

you up?

come quick

gotta show ya somethin

come oooon

you're awake, i know you are

It took you less than a minute to shuffle on a pair of slippers, grab your keys (you weren't going to forget them this time) and slip out of your apartment.

You hadn't even knocked twice before the door was pulled open. Tendou looked a mess, more so than usual. Unidentified stains littered the apron looped around his thin waist, streaks of what you hoped were just flour and granulated sugar were all over his hands. You almost wanted to ask if he was baking or dealing dope.

“You woke me up at three in the morning...for this?”

“Yuuup!”

"When I said you could call me at any time, I really didn’t mean any time.” You scratch your side, a contemplative look on your face at the sight of Tendou in what you would assume to be his pajamas. An old volleyball hoodie with the words "Shirazorizawa" printed across the front, and old sweats the were so obviously cut with scissors at the knee.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a curt, “Alright, move aside.”

Tendou ushered you over to his kitchen where several of his cooking supplies laid on the island, along with a tray of some chocolate dessert spread.

“It’s all still in the testing phase, but I think I’m onto something here.”

He was definitely giving off “mad scientist” vibes. You tried not to snort.

Holding a small chocolate cake in his hand, he smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Open wide."

You obeyed, far too tired to argue, and let him pop the treat into your mouth. Tendou watched as you chewed, as if it were the most interesting thing ever. His wide gaze carefully took in every shift in your expression.

"So? Whaddya think?"

"I...," You chewed a bit more. "...It's delicious! Is that—"

"—Pistachio, why yes it is!"

Tendou was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. "It takes the entire thing to a whole new level."

You had to agree with him there. This was probably the best chocolate madeleine you'd ever tasted. "Great work, miracle boy. Will you be introducing this new recipe to Claude?"

Mentioning his teacher seemed to sober him up a bit. "Ehh, maybe? The old man's a bit of traditionalist, so I'll just have to figure out a way to get him to approve."

"Maybe try calling him at three in the morning?"

Tendou stuck his tongue out at you before popping a dessert in his mouth. The pure delight on his face was so contagious, you found yourself smiling just the same. You couldn’t help but admire his passion.

“Hey, Tendou… do you like your job?”

He blinked at you, chewing coming to a slow halt. “Well of course! The pay isn’t the best just yet, but it’s a labor of love. I’m willing to put my all into it at least.”

“Huh… that’s pretty cool.” You wiped your fingers on a nearby rag. “I hope to feel the same one day… if I can figure out what I wanna do.”

“Why not bake? You’re pretty good at it.”

“Oh am I? Last week you said my baking needed some work.”

“Well, duh, but my standards when it comes to confectionaries are impossibly high. Even so, I think you’d be successful as a baker. What’s stopping you from pursuing your labor of love?”

And that was the thing with Tendou. He talked a lot, teased even more, but it was never idle ramblings. Somehow, he always seemed to hit right at the heart of the issue with almost painfully uncomfortable accuracy.

“I don’t really know so…” You looked away, trailing off.

“Either way,” he said and placed a finger under your chin, raising your head until you were looking him in the eye. “I’m rooting for you.”

For a moment, you simply stared, awestruck. It was the first time in a long while someone was actually putting their faith in you, believing in you. He had come blazing into your life unabashed with his easy grins and gaze alight with mischief. His encouraging words, sincerity, sensitivity. Tendou was really incredible.

“Tendou…” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course, what are neighbors for.”

BONUS:

Three months later you sat curled up next to Tendou on his sofa, his entire apartment smelled of chocolate cocoa with hints of cinnamon.

Before you was an application. Culinary school.

“You really think I can do this?”

Tendou placed his head on your shoulder with a tiny smirk. “One hundred and twenty percent!”

You pondered for a moment, then decided that if he thought you were up for the challenge then you’d believe him.

“For the record, you probably aren’t supposed to recommend your girlfriend for an interview. You know, conflict of interest and all.”

Tendou laughed and pulled you closer. “Trust me, we’ll be fine, so don’t worry your pretty little head, ‘kay?”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori #satori tendou #satori tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #sabi.writes

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blindingdutchy · 3 years

Text

lamentation | SIX

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,804

warnings: fluff. lots of fluff. a sprinkle of angst but just a tiny bit.

18+!!! minors stay away!

The following morning at school you relieved to see Peter standing at your locker, appearing unscathed aside from the timid and fearful look in his eye as he watched you approach him. You knew that he was probably expecting you to shut him out again, though you were full of surprises that morning when you breathed a quiet sigh and felt all the remaining anger purge from your system entirely. In reality you had been planning to give him a piece of your mind, telling him just how much of an idiot you thought that he was for his stupid idea, but seeing him sent all those thoughts flying away in an instant.

Instead, all that you could think of was how happy you were to see that he was okay. He was tense as you opened your locker, but seemed to relax slightly when you gave him a fleeting once over and nodded to yourself in approval. Peter was standing and didn't look to be in any pain, and that was all you cared about in that moment.

Apparently Peter was full of surprises too, because the second that you closed your locker he pulled you into a bone crushing hug that quite literally knocked the wind out of you. You gasped quietly, freezing in place at the sudden contact, before you slowly melted into his grip and hugged him back. He somehow managed to squeeze you tighter at the return of the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, "I'm so, so, so sorry."

A part of you wondered if Peter even knew what exactly he was apologizing for, if he really understood just why you were upset. Did he know the sorts of things that had crossed your mind last night? Could he really fathom all the crazy emotions you had been feeling?

You didn't think he did. Really, how could he, when even you were still reeling and trying to pinpoint all the different reasons you had been so upset? There were the obvious reasons--like the horrible flashbacks to that fateful day when your sister had been tragically killed--but there were also more complex, subtle reasons that you weren't ready to admit out loud.

Things like the fact that you'd never been so enraged about anything as you had been at the thought of somebody hurting Peter Parker. Not even the animosity you felt toward the Avengers could compare to the fury you had felt while listening to him fight and be attacked by those men. It puzzled you; how could that affect you so much?

You knew why, despite your unwillingness to face the truth. You knew, deep down, that you had been so upset because the thought of Peter being hurt scared you nearly as much as you had been that day. It pained you to think of it, and that was a problem.

It was a problem because being friends with Peter, when he lived the life that he did, meant constantly living in that fear. He was a superhero, constantly putting his life on the line for all the innocent people of Queens and the world alike, and that was absolutely terrifying for you. And yet, for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to push him away like you felt you should.

He pulled away from you slowly, though he kept his hands firmly on your shoulders, and studied your face closely as he asked, "Are you okay? Are we okay?"

Hearing Peter say the word we in reference to himself and you gave you a funny feeling, but you ignored it. "Are you okay?" you parroted, instead, raising your eyebrows challengingly.

"Yes." he stated without hesitation, "I had some bruising, but it's mostly gone now. It wasn't as bad as it sounded, I swear."

You hummed quietly, leading the way to Calculus as he finally released his iron-like grip on your arms. "And was there a reason you didn't come to my window?" you questioned further, glancing back at the boy who chewed his lower lip anxiously.

Peter didn't answer until the two of you had sat in your seats, leaning close to speak in a hushed tone that no one else could hear, "I didn't want to scare you."

The sharp remark was instantly at the tip of your tongue, wanting to spit at him that he already had, repeatedly, but you held back at the sight of his big, brown, puppy eyes blinking at you shyly. He was fiddling with his fingers apprehensively, clearly waiting for some sort of remark, and it gave you pause. This was Peter, and Peter wouldn't hurt a fly intentionally.

You had to keep reminding yourself of that. Reminding yourself that he didn't mean to scare you like he had, and that he meant well even if his intentions didn't quite land right. So, you just whispered back, "It scared me when you didn't show up, and you didn't say anything."

"I--I didn't know if you wanted me to."

Catching one of his fretting hands in your own, you gave him a serious look as you replied, "I always want you to."

The teacher called the class to attention immediately after you closed your mouth, and you turned away with burning cheeks at the star-struck look on Peter's face. Perhaps that had been too bold of a statement, but it was the truth; you did always want to hear from Peter. You always wanted to know if he was okay, even if all he had to say to you was a bland text to let you know he'd survived another night of patrol.

Now, after all the things you had heard, you hoped he'd take your words seriously and let you in like you had for him. Could you go to sleep every night without knowing for sure he had made it through the night unscathed? Easily, the answer was no. You couldn't, and you really wanted him to put your mind at ease.

After gym class, which was spent with you panting whilst running sprints with Peter pretending to be just as winded, he held your bag for you beside your locker and waited patiently for you to exchange your books. You could tell that something was on his mind from the way he shifted from foot to foot nervously, and growing tired of having to chase your bag around, you asked, "What's your deal, Pete?"

He blinked at the nickname, but after a moment finally found his voice again, "Sit with me at lunch?"

"Okay?"

"No, like, sit with Ned, MJ, and I." he reiterated, and you wrinkled your nose. "Come on, I promise they'll love you! There's really nothing to be scared of, (Y/N)."

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that there were in fact a million reasons for you to be scared, but he pouted his lips like a child and pleaded with you silently until you caved, "Fine, fuck, just stop making that face!"

And so, you found yourself trailing through the cafeteria awkwardly in Peter's shadow. You could feel the stares on your body even though you refused to look, the stares of all your fellow students watching the resident crazy girl make her way through the cafeteria all year. You usually sat at the table right by the doors and the garbage cans, the one place you could slip in and out without making a spectacle of yourself, but Peter's usual table was all the way in the back of the large room.

There sat Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones, both of whom were watching you curiously as you looked back at them in discomfort. You'd never known them to be mean--well, Michelle could mean in her blunt manner--but that didn't ease your nerves at all. The fear you felt wasn't because you were weary of their judgment.

You were scared of letting more people into your life. More attachments meant more for you to lose, and after all that you had lost, you were rather unwilling to put yourself out there. It was a surprise enough to yourself and probably everyone else that you'd made room in your caged heart for Peter. He was perhaps the most dangerous of all to let in, yet you had.

"Hey, (Y/N), right?" Ned greeted cheerfully, doing a weird handshake with Peter as the two of you sat down across from him and MJ. You just nodded, not trusting your voice to come out should you dare to speak. "How was the Stark Internship, dude?"

Your face pinched in puzzlement, and Peter chuckled at the way you glanced at him curiously. "She knows, Ned." he muttered, nudging your knee with his own as he pulled a smashed sandwich from his bag and unwrapped it. "It was... rough. I handled it, though."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the Stark Internship was a cover story for Peter's secret identity. "She knows? You told her, already?" MJ gaped, "No offense, but I had to figure that shit out for myself."

As Ned and MJ stared at Peter incredulously, the two of you shared a look as you begged him not to say anything and he scrambled to think of any sort of a cover story. "She--she helped me one night when I got hurt pretty bad. Had to take my mask off." he finally blurted, stumbling over his words, and you noticed how his eyes squeezed shut for a moment in frustration at his lame answer.

"Why didn't you call one of us?" Ned interrogated, eyes flickering between your own and Peter's as if he were trying to pick up on any dishonesty.

MJ, blunt as always, just asked, "Is that why you started following her around like a dog?"

You had to chuckle when Peter pouted, sticking his tongue out at Michelle's remark and whining, "I did not follow her around like a dog!"

"You kind of did." you mumbled quietly. All three of them stared at you in stunned silence for a few seconds, shocked by your sudden interjection, and you busied yourself with rearranging your carrot sticks.

Peter's knee bumped yours again, and you nudged his back. He shot you a little smile, pleased with you making an effort even if it was thoughtless, and you found yourself relaxing slightly under his gaze as MJ and Ned continued to joke about how much Peter had embarrassed himself following you around. "Remember when he threw all of his shit on the ground in Calculus?" Ned sputtered through laughter.

The brown-haired boy's cheeks blazed red at the story, and you found yourself laughing along with his two friends as you remembered it. At the time it had only embarrassed you, but now as you looked back on it, you couldn't help but to find it endearing. So, you nudged his knee again and bit back the grin fighting its way onto your face as you kept your eyes on your lunch.

Suddenly, he put his hand on your knee and squeezed it softly, and your entire body seemed to burst into flames. Before you could pull away, scared of the intense feeling it gave you, a voice cut above all the rest, "Penis Parker!"

His hand was gone in an instant, but you remained hot for an entirely different reason. Flash Thompson sauntered up to the table with his typical smug smirk, calling again, "Hey, Penis Parker! Finally find a girl miserable enough to settle for you?"

Peter's face turned red and pinched into a frown, but he just muttered quietly, "Go away, Flash."

"Figures you'd go for (Y/N). The whole dead family thing, right? Does she just get you?"

You tensed, turning your head slowly to glare up at Flash with a ferocity that seemed to even make him falter, though he hid it quickly behind his usual mask. "Go the fuck away, Eugene." you hissed, but he just laughed.

Seeing that he wasn't planning on going anywhere, punctuated by the way he propped his foot up on one of the seats and sneered down at you, you quickly grabbed all of your stuff and stood up. Peter, Ned, and MJ were quick to follow, and all four of you made your way out of the cafeteria as Flash shouted, "Aw, did I hurt your feelings, Penis Parker?"

"Peter?" you called after him, trailing behind as he walked at a brisk pace. Ned and MJ disappeared around a corner, heading off in a different direction, and you were trying to catch up with the boy who seemed eager to shake you off. "Pete?"

He slowed, sighing quietly, and turned to face you with still red cheeks and eyes swimming with anger. "What?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Briefly, you felt hurt at his attitude, but you brushed it off. You knew that he was just frustrated at Flash, and you were no stranger to misplaced anger. It would have been pretty hypocritical of you to be upset with him after how long he'd put up with you lashing out at him when he just wanted to be your friend.

You walked toward him hesitantly, almost reaching out to hug him, but you thought better of it in the end. You didn't want to push things too far, too fast, and one hug was more than enough for one day. Instead, you rocked back on your heels and asked, "Walk me to class?"

Peter blinked at the question, clearly expecting you to say something else, and after a moment nodded. "Yeah, yeah, let's go." He didn't relax at all as he walked beside you through the still empty halls, though his hand kept bumping yours every now and then, and for a fleeting second outside of your classroom he squeezed your hand before dropping it and walking away.

The rest of the day, Peter was stiff and aloof. He barely talked to you during Speech class, though that didn't really matter considering Ms. Lovell actually lectured that day, but you could tell he was upset. It felt a little strange to suddenly switch roles; he was now playing the part of the closed off one, and you were left trying to figure out how to get through to him.

Making people feel better wasn't exactly your strong suit anymore. Once upon a time it had been, but since your sister's death you'd seemingly lost the ability to even make yourself better. Yet, you wanted more than anything to get him back to the smiling, happy boy he'd been earlier that day.

As the two of you packed up your things after class to go home, you watched him anxiously to see if he'd finally say something, but he didn't. So, you cleared your throat and quietly asked, "Do you want to hang out?"

He paused for a moment, staring down at his bag in silence with tensed shoulders and creased brows, before finally looking up at you and giving the tiniest smile. "Come on." was all he said, zipping his bag and waiting expectantly for you to follow him out of the classroom.

You followed him out of the building, to the subway, onto the subway, and off of it again, all without a single clue as to where you were going. It wasn't until the he lead you into an apartment building that you realized he was taking you to his house, and suddenly you were extremely nervous. "Do you live here?" you asked, immediately cringing at the stupid question.

He just laughed, "Yeah. My Aunt May is home, she'll probably offer you food, but just say no. Trust me."

For a moment you wanted to ask why, but then you remembered how he'd told you when he'd first started following you around that his Aunt May was a truly atrocious cook. Except for cherry pie, it seemed, because he'd raved to you about that over the phone for what felt like hours the other day. Nodding affirmatively, you replied, "Right, just say no."

Peter's home life was far different from your own, even before the incident. His aunt was a bright, lively young woman who was very excited to meet you, and just as much of an affectionate person as you were finding Peter to be. She'd been overjoyed to meet you, letting slip that Peter had told her lots about you, but he'd cut her off before she could ramble about the things he'd said.

Part of you wondered if he'd told her how the two of you had met, but you knew better than to think Peter would do such a thing. He wasn't the type of person to spill others' secrets. How could he, when he had such a big secret of his own?

His room was everything you had expected it to be, though. A cramped little room with bunk beds adorning Star Wars sheets, LEGOs everywhere, and a plethora of computer parts littering every possible surface. He blushed a little as you took it all in, stammering when you smirked at the sheets in amusement, but overall he seemed relieved when you didn't mention the clutter.

It was very Peter Parker. Messy, slightly chaotic, and very nerdy. You sat on the bottom bunk, which you deciphered to be his by the rumpled sheets, and watched as he awkwardly tried to sort out the mess a little. "So," you started, "why don't you stand up to Flash at school?"

He sighed, giving up on his tidying and sitting beside you. "I knew you would ask that." he joked, though the humor didn't quite meet his eyes. "It's a long story."

"I have time, Pete." you spoke softly, and a little smile twitched at his lips.

He raked a hand through his messy hair, the combed style starting to curl from a long day, and you wondered what his hair looked like with nothing done to it. "Well, I guess it all goes back to when I first got... my abilities. You know, after the bite, I kinda went crazy for a bit. I was determined to prove myself, or something--I don't know. I just showed off a lot and got myself into a lot of trouble because of it."

Peter continued when you looked at him expectantly, "My Uncle Ben was going crazy too, trying to figure out what was going on with me. We got into a lot of fights before he--before he, um, died. We got into one the night he died."

"He tried to stop me from going out because he just knew I was going to do something I shouldn't, and we just got into this huge argument. It ended with me telling him he wasn't my dad and to stop pretending he was, and I ran off." He was getting choked up, stumbling over his words and gripping his knees with his hands as tears welled up in his eyes at the memories.

Hesitantly, you put your hand on top of his, and he was quick to flip his hand over and grip yours tightly as if he were afraid you'd pull away from him. As he spoke, it was starting to sink in just how much Peter truly could understand your anguish over your sister. He could understand why you blamed yourself, because he too had blamed himself, and your heart broke at the thought of Peter ever being in a position like the one you'd been in that night.

Had he ever tried to do what you had planned to do? Your own eyes burned at the thought, and you squeezed his hand back just as tightly. "He came looking for me, and happened to interrupt a robbery. Uncle Ben, he--he was a really good guy. He couldn't just let the guy get away. So, he uh, he tried to stop him... and the guy stabbed him."

"I'd seen the robbery before that, but I'd been so angry I just kept walking. I could have stopped it before Uncle Ben ever showed up, but I didn't, and he got stabbed because of it." Peter coughed to stop himself from really crying, "The last thing he said to me was that with great power comes great responsibility, and I just can't let him down."

You almost wished that you hadn't asked, because it hurt to see him in so much pain, but you felt good knowing that Peter really did understand you. You felt closer to him, and a little part of you felt a little less distaste for superheroes in that moment too. Did they all know such tragedy? Did they all suffer such pain, too?

Peter looked at you, blinking away tears as his voice steadied, "So, that's why I don't use Spiderman unless I have to. I didn't stand up for myself before, so I shouldn't now. I didn't play sports before, so I shouldn't now. It wouldn't be fair, and it wouldn't be right. I have this gift, and it's my responsibility to use it for good. I can deal with Flash's stupid taunting--I was so upset today because of what he said about you."

The fluttering was back, stronger than ever, and you couldn't shove it aside no matter how hard you tried. The moment was too serious--too heartfelt. It was too close.

Doing what you did best, you created a little more distance to keep your heart safe. You weren't ready to admit that maybe you liked Peter in a not-so-friendly sort of way. You weren't ready to let him into that last little bit of your heart.

So, you joked, "Well, he was right about one thing--I do get you." To your relief, he laughed, though he didn't let go of your hand. You didn't want him to, either.

"Seriously, though, you don't have to worry about me. Flash doesn't bother me, not really anyways." Peter continued, and the pair of you smiled at each other like a couple of love-struck fools for a long moment. Peter, unlike you, wasn't so keen on or capable of hiding his feelings. It was written all over his face for you to see that he liked you, and even if it made you feel good it still made you squirm with discomfort.

You were just thankful that he hadn't tried to take things further, though the subtle touches were probably his timid way of doing just that. The touches you could handle. It was what came after--the truly taking things to that next level part--that scared you. If you told him how you thought you were feeling, and he told you the same, then that just made the possibility of losing him that much worse.

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony

41 notes · View notes

nyxocity · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Questions!

Thanks to @redmyeyes for the tag!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

82, although that's not even close to my actual total. There's a bunch on LJ that have never been transferred (all shorter works)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,780,805 (over 2mil on LJ)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Mostly three, plus a couple dips into a few other pools. X-Men Comic Book fandom, Buffy & Angel fandom (they kinda count as one since it's the same universe), and Supernatural & SPN RPF. Dips have included Dragon Age, Firefly, a tiny bit of TVD, a Sons of Anarchy crossover.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is tough if I go by numbering. Homework Verse has the most kudos scattered across all parts, but Stranger Than Fiction has the most as a single story. Anyway...

Homework Verse (J2 RPF, 200k+ words) - My very first RPF fic, Supernatural or otherwise. Two of my online fandom friends basically TOLD me I was going to write Teacher/Student J2, and I kept protesting that I drew the line at RPF. They didn't care. 200k later, here we are. This story was a game changer for me; it made me fandom famous. I still love those boys with my whole heart, and they still talk to me sometimes.

Stranger Than Fiction (Sam/Dean, 50644 words) - This story idea took root immediately following the episode The Monster at the End of This Book. I quit the Big Bang I'd already begun writing for that year (which was Who Watches Over Me, which I finished and posted for BB the following year) to write this story. It just took hold hold of me and took over. I wrote it in 6 weeks and it was easily the most fun I ever had writing anything--I cackled like a madwoman most of the time.

Who Watches Over Me (J2 RPF, 96591 words) - This story was, at the time, the toughest thing I'd ever written. Little did I know that would become the norm and not the exception, as I began to write more complex stories. It was by far the longest story I had ever posted all at once in its entirety (rather than chapter by chapter) and I had no idea if people would like it. Fortunately a lot of people did.

Like Staring Into the Sun (Sam/Dean, 23243 words) - Ah, my very first hardcore Wincest fic. I remember writing the first chapter of the story (meant to be a one shot honestly), and just sitting there, at 5am, being terrified to post it. It was twisted, dark and intense and SO porny I was scared people might think I was weird. There wasn't anything like it out there at the time. As it turns out, people loved it so much I ended up writing eight more parts.

Like a Fish Out of Water (Sam/Dean, 59498 words) - I have a lot of love for this story. It didn't come to me easily, but it was fun to write. I remember smiling a lot and just having a nice, warm cozy feeling the whole time. I had no idea if anyone was interested in reading this many words of what amounted to a dramedy curtain fic

Of course there are other stories that I feel deserve love, but I can't argue with these.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do. And by that, I mean I try. I don't always succeed in answering them all, but I answer as many as I have time and energy for. Life is busy and there is writing to do as well. I read every comment I get (multiple times) and I feel guilty for all the ones I don't answer, because they mean SO MUCH TO ME. Like you took time to leave this beautiful, well thought out comment, or even a keysmash, or a heart, in response to something I wrote. That means the world.

I WISH there was a reaction function for comments on Ao3, so I could heart things, or laugh in response. Replying with emojis without words feels weird. So yeah, a reaction function would be amazing. But in the meantime, I do my best.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm. Probably A Touch of Evil. Interestingly, it's also a HAPPY ending, so there you go lol. It's a serial killer love story with a happy ending that comes at an exorbitant price.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm not sure why the OG post skips from 6 to 8 lol . So, yes, I have written a few minors crossovers. Mostly Faith in the SPN verse with the boys, nothing too crazy, because she fits right in. But for long stories, I have written all of ONE crossover. It's Dean Winchester/Jax Teller (SPN / Sons of Anarchy). My crossovers so far have tended to make sense to crossover, so I don't think any of them are crazy.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I got some hate on a Buffy/Xander fic back in the day. I got really excited and had fun with it. Like yeah, now I'm SOMEBODY! You're no one til someone hates you lol Most of that was people who were haters of the ship, or were like, gross, they're like brother and sister (they weren't, they were FRIENDS). I've gotten nasty comments here and there on some of my SPN fic. My favorite was the person who accused me of having a "Top Dean Agenda". I STILL laugh about that one. I don't respond to that crap.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Have you MET ME? LOL If I ever post a story without smut just put me out to pasture, because I'm done. And all kinds. Het, Gay, PWP, Plotty porn, mostly super kinky but some vanilla (but intense). I used to challenge myself regularly to see if I could up my kink game--like hmm, but could I write THIS? I haven't written really kinky sex in a long time, though. Might be time to do that.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several times. Who Watches Over me was stolen by someone and converted to One Direction Lourry fic. Literally just did a name change. Someone else stole a bunch of my one shots and passed them off as their own. I know there were a couple other instances but I only vaguely remember. I never got too deep into it, most of the time the people who discovered the theft already told everyone else too, and the plagiarist had been hammered by them so hard that I didn't have to step in before they took it down.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. I used to get requests so often that I just posted my usual response in my profile for people to read instead of replying. Definitely into Russian and Chinese for most of the stories listed with most kudos above.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A few times on one shot fics. SO MUCH FUN. I love co-writing with people.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Sam/Dean. Easily. Hands down. I just love their unique relationship, bond and love so much.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Well I finally finished A Touch of Evil after posting 3 chapters in 2009 and never touching it again until 2017. And I never thought I'd finish that. So never say never, I say. That said, there's the third and final part of my X-Men comic book epic that remains unfinished by about five (shorter) chapters, and it HAUNTS ME. But I don't think I'll ever finish it.

16) What are your writing strengths?

NOW we get to the hard questions. I'm really good at dialogue, bouncing banter back and forth between characters, and I have a sense for how long a scene should be. I just KNOW when it's going on too long, even if there's more that needs to be said, and I try to tighten it up in that case.

A friend of mine once told me "Porn is my gift". I don't write as much of it as I used to, but yeah, I shine in that area.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

So I always reach a point after writing so many words in an unpublished fic where I'm like, I have no idea if this is even any good/makes sense/hangs together etc. Beyond that, I've been writing for so long that I've had so much practice that I've strengthened a lot of my weaknesses. I'm sure I still have some, but I don't FEEL them like I used to anymore. That said, there are things I simply will not write. Like historical pieces. Because I would research the fuck out of every detail trying to get it perfect and then I would still doubt myself completely.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I mostly try to avoid it, because there's no way I would ever get the language correct. I usually write it in English and then explain that they're saying it in another language. Like, "What are you doing?" the man asks, speaking in Chinese. Then reiterate in the continuing dialogue in various ways that they're speaking in Chinese.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

X-Men Comic Book fandom. I was reading a lot of Remy/Rogue fic back in 1996-1997, and one day I was like, you know what? This person did a pretty good job on this story. It's not great, but it's pretty good, and if they can have the guts to put it out there, then I can do it, too.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

This is a tough question. I don't love all my children equally, but I love them all a lot in different ways lol

Remembering favorite is different than which one I think is BEST... Homework Verse is probably my favorite. I was learning so much about writing then, I was really growing, and discovering, and pushing my limits. Those characters lived and breathed in me, I swear they spoke through me from some alternate universe. They feel so REAL to me. There's so much of what I've learned in life in that story, like really, big, life changing ideas and understandings that happened to me that I put into that story. There's so much of me in that story, and yet there's so much of THEM, too. It's their story, but it's also mine. It's raw and not entirely perfect and it feels like home to me.

So that's it, that's my piece. I feel like EVERYONE has been tagged since it took me 3 days to have time to do this, but I'm basically tagging any of you writers out there who haven't done this yet!

#my stories #about me #writing #on writing

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the-hidden-writer · 3 years

Text

And Into The Fire

Chapter 13: A Small Confrontation

Summary: Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Taglist: @squidsushi , @astro-aye , @shitmyex, @sharks-are-friendly, @snakeguy99

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Small Confrontation

Aaron held onto his Mom’s hand for dear life as she and Dad used tools from the kit in the car to smash the glass of the entrance to Pal Labs; a hammer in Dad’s hand and a wrench in Mom’s.

Aaron himself just brought his Number 3 Robertson Head Non-Slip Screwdriver. He kept it in his pocket though, so he could hold Monchi’s lead with his other hand.

Monchi didn’t seem bothered with them committing crimes.

As soon as the glass pane had shattered (which had taken a surprising amount of effort from all of them to achieve), they raced through the hole and into the building that Aaron had only seen on TV.

Mom had said that they’d have the element of surprise since nobody knew they were coming- especially so early in the morning. Judging by the number of people pointing guns at them, Mom may have been wrong.

He gripped her hand tighter.

“Where are they?!” Mom cried, making Dad wince.

“Calm down, dear.” He shushed through an obviously-fake smile that failed to hide his panic. “We can’t win a fight here, let’s try and settle this peacefully.”

Mom glared at him but didn’t argue.

“Ah! Mitchells!”

The three of them looked up to see a new figure emerge on the big glass balcony, the sound of her boots clicking against the floor loudly. Some of the gun-people moved aside to allow the tall blonde woman to stand at the very edge to face them.

“Enjoying your road trip?”

Aaron was now sure that they had no element of surprise whatsoever. Mom looked heartbroken and a bit terrified.

“Who are you?” She demanded anyway. “What do you want with the poor robots?”

The woman smirked and avoided the questions entirely. “Which robots would those be, Mrs Mitchell? The robots that tried to take over the world or the robots that legally belong to Pal Labs?”

“Dang it.” Mom hissed under her breath. Sometimes Aaron wondered if she would use curse words more if she wasn’t a teacher. She probably would.

“You don’t look like Mark Bowman.” Dad commented warily. “And since when did Pal Labs authorise firearms for their workers? Doesn’t seem that legal to me.”

The lady frowned then, and Aaron instinctively shrunk in on himself. There was something about her (the way she was reacting to their arrival and the way that all the people holding guns seemed to respect her) that made her seem very menacing.

She felt a lot like a villain from one of Katie’s movies, except without Dog Cop to come and save them and guarantee a happy ending.

“I’m Agent Jennifer Ward with the CIA.” She said, pulling out a badge from her blazer pocket and flashing it in their direction. “And my team and I are trying to prevent another robot apocalypse.”

She put the badge back. “There, I’ve answered your questions, now answer mine: What do you want with the robots?”

Aaron cringed as all three of them faltered, knowing the real reason would be unacceptable. Even Monchi let out a small whine.

But it was still the truth.

“They’re our family!” He blurted out. Mom and Dad both turned to look at him, shocked. Aaron felt a little guilty- he probably shouldn’t have said that.

“Family?” The stern-looking agent scoffed in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

For a moment, Aaron thought that his Mom was glaring at him for revealing their secret. But she slowly turned her head so that she was facing the agent, giving her the Mom-glare instead.

“He’s right.” She said confidently, making Aaron’s heart swell with love for his mother. “They helped us stop Pal and they’re ours now. So give them back.”

He noticed Dad shuffle backwards. Mom was losing her patience very quickly.

The agent seemed to think for a minute. “Well… I’m feeling generous so I suppose you can have one back, since it’s only causing us trouble. You want the whole one, correct?”

The “whole” one? What did that mean?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad voiced his confusion. He and Dad were often on the same page with this sort of thing.

The agent opened her mouth to reply, but before she could there was a loud crashing noise coming from down the hall. Her brows furrowed as she leaned on the balcony to try and look down.

The Mitchells, standing near the entrance, could see much more clearly.

And the sight in front of them was the last thing any of them had expected.

Aaron was the first to react. “Katie!”

Katie raced toward them, looking completely dishevelled and with some sort of desperation shining bright in her eyes. A man was following at a distance behind her- but Aaron couldn't quite see who it was.

“KATIE?!” Mom and Dad shouted at the same time, their gazes locking onto their daughter.

What was Katie doing here?!

Monchi, overjoyed to see her again, started dragging Aaron toward her.

“Don’t trust them!” She cried. She then bent down to pet the over-excited Monchi as they reached her, and as Aaron was closer he could see the sweat on her forehead. She must be really panicked. “They’ve got the bots- they’ve taken Eric apart!”

“They. What.”

Uh oh. Whenever Mom used that tone of voice it usually meant…

Aaron turned to see his Mom’s jaw clenched. Her eyes were wide and unfocused as she glared somewhere in their general direction.

The bad guys had no chance.

The agent must have sensed that too, as she snapped out of her shock and calmly said: “Get them.”

Suddenly the building erupted with the sound dozens of pairs of footsteps that thundered toward them, and Aaron was terrified.

Robots coming after you was one thing, but that didn’t really feel real. Or just not as real as the very real people coming at him with very real guns.

He found himself frozen to the spot as he watched his parents race toward him and Katie.

“We need to get out of here.” Katie whispered desperately, as the attackers grew ever nearer.

“Mitchells! This way!” A voice called back from the corridor that Katie had come from. Aaron was too frightened to recognise it. He felt too scared to do anything and he could barely register what was going on.

Katie took Monchi’s lead from his hand and Dad scooped him up into his arms. Mom held his hand as they ran in the direction the voice had come from.

He clung onto his Dad like a lifeline. Even though he hated being picked up (he was way too old for that) it was just what he needed, and they knew it. He loved his family.

Mom’s hand only slipped from his when they turned a corner as they were running. Aaron twisted his head to properly see where they were going (rather than the people who they were slowly gaining on) and he caught a glimpse of the owner of the voice, Mark Bowman himself, rushing into one of the many white doors to their right.

“In here!” He cried, holding the door open for them.

It took a few more precious seconds for them to reach the door, which the five of them literally tumbled into. Dad tripped over Monchi’s lead, causing Aaron to fall onto the tile floor the second that the door slammed shut behind them.

He looked up with a wince, expecting to see his family...

Not four huge men standing right in front of him with red eyes and crazed smiles.

Aaron screamed.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay!” Mark Bowman said, appearing from behind the line of large men. “They’re not real.” He shoved a hand straight through one of them, and the way it emerged from its chest made Aaron’s stomach churn. They looked so realistic. “See? Just holograms. We’re safe in here.”

“How do you know?” Asked Katie.

“This is the only lab without cameras, so those doors are really tough to get into once locked to make up for the lack of security,” Bowman explained, “and it also connects directly to Lab 3 upstairs. Now my workers know this, but these agents don’t. We can escape through there.”

“Katie!” Dad huffed, still getting his breath back. “What are you doing here?! Are you okay?”

Katie let out a small, tired laugh. That must mean she was sort of okay, right?

“It’s a funny story, actually…”

Comments make my day! :)

#the mitchells vs the machines #tmvtm #tmvstm #fic #fanfic #aaron mitchell #linda mitchell #rick mitchell #katie mitchell #mark bowman #eric and deborahbot5000 #and into the fire

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Riding High

Ch7: Ordinary People

Chapter Summary: Frank faces the aftermath of his dumbass choice whilst Mary heads to Boston for a few days. When the court case starts, emotions are running high and Frank finally confesses his feelings to Fliss.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. Flashback at the start involving domestic violence.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Contains SPOILERS for the film!!!!! If you haven’t seen it please be aware of that before you read on. As a Lawyer I know how long the types of cases depicted in GIFTED can take, however they can also be done pretty fast. With that in mind, and because it fits with how I want the story to go I’m spreading it over approximately 6 weeks or so, so just roll with me!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 6

"I saw you...he had his hands all over you."

"John, I didn't want him too...he was drunk, just being over friendly..."

Fliss cowered as a sneer crossed her husband's face, the features she found so handsome once upon a time were distorted in anger, his dark green eyes clouded with rage as he towered over where she sat on the crouch. In a flash he had reached out and grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her to her feet. Fliss gave a cry of pain, stumbling after him as he dragged her up the stairs. She tripped at one point, her hip colliding painfully with one of the steps but he paid it no attention.

No mercy.

"You're mine, Sugar.” He said, his voice steely. “You know that."

"I know," she sobbed as he threw her into the bedroom where she scrambled for purchase on the bed as he pushed her so hard she fell face down. Before Fliss could raise herself, John had grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her face harshly into the pillows.

"Why do you make me do this, Felicity?" He asked, releasing his hold as his thighs bracketed hers. Fliss heard the tell-tale clinking of his belt and she gave another sob, knowing full well what was coming. He roughly pushed her dress up over her hips, leaving her underwear clad ass exposed.

And then the leather stuck her. Again. And again. And again.

"I'll mark you so hard no one else will ever want you," he snarled as he continued his assault ignoring her screams of pain and pleas for him to leave her alone. “You’re mine..." Fliss sat bolt upright, gasping as she glanced around her bedroom. She was shaking violently, the dream had been so real, so vivid, she could almost physically feel the pain. John had belted her so badly that night she hadn't been able to ride for a week, and she still bore the marks where the buckle had ripped through her skin.

The worst thing was, that after he had finished, he had held her, stroking her hair, soothing her, explaining why he had to punish her so much. It was sick, twisted. Just like him. "He’s gone, he was to blame. I’m strong, not weak, I’m strong, not weak." she repeated her mantra through gritted teeth. Thor, hearing her breathing deeply and her trembling voice, jumped up onto her bed and shoved his head under her arm as she hugged her kneed tightly. Looking down at her faithful dog, she buried her face into his fur, holding him tight as she ran through her calming thoughts in her head. The sound of the ocean, the wind in her hair as she galloped on the beach, the soft and gentle hugs she received from her dad, her mum...and dare she even think it, Frank. And then another image filled her head. The sight of him kissing Bonnie at the bar.

“Wanker.” She muttered, wiping the tears from her face as Thor licked her cheek, his tail wagging as she stroked him. With a few more deep intakes of air, her breathing evened out and she gave Thor a final squeeze before she pushed the duvet down and swung her legs out of the bed and headed to the bathroom.

***** Frank had also woken up to a nightmare. His head was pounding from the shots he’d downed at the bar and being jerked awake by Bonnie’s screams as Mary had turned up in the apartment earlier than she was allowed on a Saturday hadn’t exactly helped the situation. He had fucked Mary’s school teacher for no reason other than the fact he was drunk, stressed and needed a release.

Well played, Adler, you fucking moron.

Thankfully, Bonnie seemed to be in the same place as him about the entire situation, hastily telling him that it should never have happened, something he profoundly agreed with, as he saw her out to a cab, apologising for Mary’s interruption, literally incapable of thinking of anything else to say. It was the most awkward morning after he had ever experienced in his life.

And there was something else compounding his growing bad mood. When he had finally checked his phone as he stood outside for a few moments after Bonnie had gone, hoping the fresh air would sort his head out, he realised he had a number of messages and missed calls from Fliss. Groaning he remembered that he should have called her after the court case but had completely forgotten. Firing her a quick apology, along with a promise to talk to her later when it was time for Mary’s lesson, before he headed back inside.

Mary was sat on the rug with her lego, pieces scattered all over, Ice Age playing on the TV.

“Awkward…” she sing songed

“Mary.” Frank looked at her for a moment and when she didn’t look at him he crouched down “Stop! Stop! Stop with the Legos. Listen.” he took a breath and she looked at him “Do we have a rule about Saturday morning?”

“What?” she asked softly

“Are you allowed in this apartment this early on Saturday morning?” Frank pressed, looking at her.

“No.” Mary sighed, averting her eyes from his.

“No!” Frank nodded, his voice a little louder before he paused again “Are you allowed to... hey!” he reached out to stop Mary as she returned to her Toys. “Stop! Enough with the Lego. Are you allowed to use Roberta's keys?”

“No.” she still wasn’t looking at him.

“No! So, hey! Look at me. Then why are you here? Huh? Can you answer me that?”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears but Frank was too angry at the fact she had disobeyed him to comfort her.

“You broke every rule! You just embarrassed me. We have these rules.” He angrily stood up, turning to head back out of the door into the kitchen “We've gone over them a hundred times!” And then, when he stepped on a piece of Lego in his bare feet, his frustration boiled over as he hopped on one leg, clutching the side of the dresser which was pushed flush against the wall.

“Shit…God, damned it…” He yelled as he slapped the side of the dresser, leaning against it, bending down to rub his foot. “Can I just get five minutes of my own life?”

At that Mary jumped up and bolted into his bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Frank stood up, before he sighed, one hand on his hip, his eyes closed. He’d overreacted, he knew that. He was more pissed at himself for being an idiot than he was at Mary. He ran his hand over his face and glanced at the clock. Mary’s riding lesson was at two and it was now just pushing ten-thirty. Deciding to leave Mary to cool down before he made breakfast, he headed into the kitchen to clear up yesterday’s dishes.

He heard the door to his room click open about twenty minutes later. Giving her another ten he wiped the counter down before he made his way back into the main room and sat on the edge of her bed, where she was snuggled down in her alcove which sported a collection of shells they had stuck to the wood panels and a few photos, one of her mom, one of her and Frank and one of her and Fliss with Monty. She was huddled in the corner, Fred laying on her knee, the laptop resting on his back as she tapped away.

“Nothing that happened today was your fault.” Frank spoke gently and looked at her “I got mad at you...I was really mad at me,” he looked at her and she continued to ignore him, “and the manufacturers of Legos. They should all be in prison. So I'm sorry.” he said gently. She paused tapping but still didn’t look at him. “Do you forgive me?”

“Sure. Whatever.” she mumbled.

“Hey, close the laptop. Come on. Please.” He watched her as she avoided looking at him. “Doesn't count if it's not eye to eye.”

She hesitated so he asked again, gently. “Come on, please.”

With a sigh she did was she was told and looked at him. Her eyes, so like Diane’s, were full of sadness and Frank felt his gut twist in guilt.

“Do you really have no life because of me?” she whispered, her eyes shining with tears and Frank cursed himself for his outburst before.

He shook his head. “That's not what I said.” he looked at her.

“Did you mean it?” she pressed, not buying his statement for one minute, her voice soft.

“Last week you said I was the worst Uncle in the world, and you wished death upon me ‘cause I didn't buy you a piano.” Frank held her gaze. “Did you mean that?”

“No” Mary replied, her fingers tangling in Fred’s fur “Not entirely.”

“Well,” Frank said, not bothering to ask which bit she had actually meant. “There you go. We say things all the time we don't mean. So let's forget it, okay?”

“Okay” Mary agreed

“Okay.” Frank nodded, standing up

“Frank?” she called as he headed towards the door to head down and check the mail. He stopped and turned back, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a piano?”

“No.” he deadpanned, turning for the door.

He strode down across the lawn to the mail boxes, unlocked his and pulled out two letters. One looked like a bill, the other was in a manila coloured envelope, and was stamped with some kind of official seal.

“Was that really Mary's teacher this morning?” Roberta appeared. He glanced at her and returned to his post “And there was me thinking Fliss would stop you doing anything stupid.”

Frank’s head shot up “Fliss?” he frowned “What are you talking about?”

“She came here last night, to see you. Mary roped her into Karaoke before she left and said she was going to come and find you at Fergs”

Frank frowned. “Well she didn’t. I never saw her last night so she-”

Oh,fuck fuck fuck!

He trailed off with a groan as he realised that she had probably seen him with Bonnie and then felt a stinging slap round the back of his head.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, glaring at Roberta “Jesus, that fucking hurt!”

“Good.” she stared at him. “You know I have a book called ‘Fundamentals of Decision Making’. You can borrow it.”

He glared at her, he didn’t need this. Not now. His attention turned back to the letter and he noticed the seal was from the court house. With a frown he opened it. The header- ‘Highsmith, Kistler & Sellers Attorneys at Law’ -greeted him and he started to read. It was an order for him to surrender Mary for two days into Evelyn’s care, at a time and date to be agreed. It wasn’t unexpected but it was pretty fast considering it had only been agreed yesterday. His mother really wasn’t wasting any time.

“What is it?” Roberta asked, noticing the frown on his face

“Its nothing.” he said, leaning on the post box, still reading the letter. “Looks like Mary gets to go to Boston for a couple days.” He noticed Roberta stiffen and he looked at her. “It's just two days. Relax.” he said gently.

Because he was always honest with Mary, he sat down once he was back inside and told her about the letter. She knew there was a court case going on, he had explained it all to her as best as he could so as not to cause her any worry. She soaked up the information and shrugged before saying that going to Boston sounded kinda cool. Frank simply nodded and said that he would sort out the dates on Monday. They ate a late breakfast-slash-early lunch and once Mary was changed and ready, they headed up to the riding school.

As Frank drove there his stomach was doing flips, the nerves at seeing Fliss were overwhelming, more so because he had no idea what he was going to say to her. It was strange, he felt guilty about the fact he’d slept with Bonnie, even though he had no real reason to. It wasn’t like he and Fliss were an item.

Fliss greeted Mary with the usual warmth before she turned her gaze to Frank, and he could see the hurt in her eyes, compounding that guilty feeling even more.

“Sorry I didn’t call you last night.” he offered and she shrugged.

“It’s okay, I know you were busy.” her voice carried no sarcasm, it was measured and cool but Frank knew she was referring to Bonnie, his suspicions confirmed. She turned away, barking an instruction to Joanne who looked at her, nodding.

Frank leaned on the paddock fence as he always did, a little way from the other parents and watched as Fliss taught the three girls, that gorgeous smile on her face. Mary was certainly getting the hang of it now and was able to trot around unaided. After about forty minutes they were done and heading out of the paddock. Fliss made no attempt to come and speak to him, like normal, and made straight for her office. Casting an eye on Mary who was leading Monty back to the stable he followed Fliss.

“I take it you’re mad at me.” he spoke tentatively.

“Why would I be mad at you?” she asked, pulling three cartons of apple juice out of the fridge for the kids.

“Because you saw me last night with Bonnie.” he pressed.

He saw her stiffen slightly before she took a breath and turned round.

“I’m not mad.” she shrugged.

“Could have fooled me.”

“I just, well I think you could have considered Mary a little more, that’s all.” “What does that mean?” he frowned.

“You know damned well what it means.” she looked at him “Mary told me before when we were tacking the ponies up that she saw Bonnie this morning, wrapped in one of your sheets. I mean, Jesus Frank that’s her teacher. Can you imagine how awkward its gonna be if any of the kids find out that you’re fucking her?” “Ok, I’m not fucking her.” Frank held his hand out to stop her.

“So what were you doing last night then?” Fliss hissed, “Playing scrabble?”

“Hang on, are we really arguing about this?” Frank looked at her, frowning. “Why? Why do you even care?”

He paused, looking at her. Her eyes locked onto his and she swallowed, and for a moment he hoped she was going to tell him what he wanted to hear but she shook her head and shrugged.

“You know what, you’re right. What, or who you do in your spare time is your business, not mine.”

With that she pushed past him and headed out into the yard. Frank let out another sigh before he headed out to collect Mary.

******

Fliss made no attempts to speak to Frank over the next few days. He messaged her to tell her about Mary heading to Boston at the end of the week and she replied politely, telling him that she was sure it would all work out, but beyond that she didn’t reach out further. However, she did call to wish Mary a safe trip to on the Thursday morning just before Evelyn arrived to pick her up, and told her she wanted to hear all about it when she came home on Saturday afternoon. By the time Frank got the phone back, Fliss had hung up.

“Frank she likes you. “ Roberta said when she popped over to wish Mary goodbye. Mary wasted no time in informing her that the reason Frank was in a bad mood wasn’t just because she was going to Boston, but also because Fliss was angry at him. Of course she had noticed, because she noticed everything. “She’s hurt and it’s yo’ own dumbass fault.”

Yeah, yeah he got that.

With Mary gone, he decided that night to take a cool box of beer down to the harbour and work late. He was in the middle of pulling a gear box apart when his phone went. It was a message from Bonnie asking if she could meet him to talk. Which was how he found himself sat on the deck of the boat, her opposite him, both wrapped in blankets and clutching bottles of Bud.

“I have had a series of nightmares, where I'm fired because of what happened. You get it?” Bonnie shook her head, rolling her eyes. Frank smiled at her as she laughed “And then I remind myself, that everything that happened, was just all the alcohol and people do far worse right?”

At that Frank laughed. “Yeah we were pretty drunk.”

Truth be told whilst he did think Bonnie was attractive, there was nothing there, and that was compounded by the fact that as he sat, looking at her, he felt no urges at all. She was simply another one of his Friday night hook ups, only this had turned out to be slightly more complicated.

Yeah, he should definitely borrow that book from Roberta

“So I guess, what I came here to say,” Bonnie sighed, “I think you’re a great guy Frank, and I’ve got your back on this damned custody case but, me and you…it just…” “Oh, absolutely, I’m with you.” Frank hastily agreed, thanking the Gods she’d brought it up before he had to. “It was a mistake.” Bonnie arched an eyebrow and he groaned. “Shit, I don’t mean that how it sounds but, well, it was, wasn’t it?”

She smiled and nodded, cocking her head to one side as she surveyed him. “I do think you need to speak to Fliss though.”

“Fliss?” Frank frowned, “What’s she got to do with this?”

You like her." Bonnie said simply.

Frank paused before he shook his head, smiling. “Is it that obvious?" "Well, if it wasn’t evident from the way you talk about her, the fact you called me by her name twice last night is most definitely a giveaway." Oh Jesus. Ground please open... "I called you by her name? When we- " he grimaced and she chuckled, raising her eyebrows "Oh God. Bonnie, I'm so sorry." He groaned and ran his hands over his face.

“Like we said, mistake.” Bonnie smiled, “Especially when you’re clearly hung up on another girl. “ "Yeah well, I think I've kinda blown it. Story of my life." Frank sighed taking a pull from his bottle.

“Blown it?”

“Yeah she's pretty pissed. She saw us in the bar and has hardly spoken a word to me since”

"And you’re giving up that easily?" Bonnie raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t even know if she likes me in that way so…” He shrugged and Bonnie leaned forward slightly.

“If she’s that pissed at you over the fact that you hooked up with someone else then she absolutely feels something for you Frank." Bonnie smiled softly. “And it would be a shame to let something as stupid as a one night stand screw it all up for you.”

Frank looked at her for another moment or two before he finished his beer and offered Bonnie another one which she accepted and then asked him about the court case. Frank filled Bonnie in on the running order for the testimonies which would start on Tuesday before she bid him goodnight and left. He contemplated messaging Fliss once she was gone but decided against it. He would give her a few days to calm down, and give himself some time to figure out what the fuck he was going to say.

***** It was Saturday afternoon when Frank reached out.

Fliss was busy on a lesson when her phone went. Taking a quick minute to look at it, she read the message from Frank asking if it was ok if they swung by as Mary was home. With a deep breath she replied telling him it was fine, before she turned back to her client who was one of the boarders on the yard.

She had just about finished some thirty minutes or so later when she heard Mary calling her name. She turned and gave her a smile and a wave. Once she had finished with her client and taken payment, she turned to Mary and gave the girl a hug.

“Hey!” she beamed as Mary hugged her tight. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too!” Mary beamed “And so has Frank.”

“That so?” Fliss stood up straight and looked at him. He took a deep breath and shrugged, but the little smile on his face told Fliss that Mary had completely and utterly busted him. She rolled her eyes and then gave him a little smile of her own. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, sounds great.” He nodded, gratefully taking the olive branch she had offered.

They made their way into the office and Fliss moved to the small kitchenette area at the back, filling the coffee machine before she turned to Mary, leaning against the counter.

“So, tell me all about Boston.” Mary began to gush about all the things she had done, Fliss listening and asking questions as she made her and Frank a coffee. He took his with a thanks whilst Mary told Fliss how she had looked at some photos, learned more about her mom and then done some complicated Maths for a professor at a University. At that Fliss noticed Frank stiffen slightly and she looked at him, gently shaking her head. He smiled tightly and turned to look out over the yard, taking a few steps outside.

“And she has a piano.” Mary finished, “I mean I didn’t get to play it but…”

“You should come over to my mum’s.” Fliss smiled “She’ll let you play hers. That’s what she used to do, teach people music.”

Mary smiled, before she looked over at Frank who was stood watching a few people riding in the paddock, the lessons for the day having concluded which meant the boarders were free to do what they wanted.

“Are you still mad at Frank?” Mary looked at Fliss.

“Not really.” Fliss shook her head “I got a little bit cross but…” “Yeah, he can make me cross too.” Mary said wisely “He does dumb stuff sometimes.”

Fliss laughed and studied the young girl. “Yeah, you got that right.” “But he’s a good person.” Mary concluded.

“I know.” Fliss agreed, her eyes flicking to him before she looked back at Mary.

“I don’t want to live with Evelyn.” Mary shrugged “I mean she was nice and looks like my mom but…she’s bossy.” Fliss smiled.

“I want to stay with Frank.” Mary continued. “Because I know he loves me. And he did before he found out I was smart.”

Fliss felt a lump in her throat at the girl’s confession. She glanced over at Frank again who ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes underneath his shades.

“Hey, Mary, why don’t you go say hi to Monty.” she said gently. “Tell Joanne I said you could help with the feeds.” “Yesss.” Mary cheered, scooting off her chair and shooting across the yard. Fliss saw Frank follow her with her eyes before he turned to her as she walked over to him.

“How you holding up?” she asked him gently.

“Apart from screwing up my life, I’m good.” Frank snorted, taking off his glasses and tucking them into the collar of his t-shirt. “Just hope I’m not screwing hers up as well.”

“Don’t’ say that.” Fliss shook her head “You know that’s not true. Mary’s fine.”

There was a pause before Frank took a deep breath and looked at Fliss. “I hate that we haven’t been talking. It’s been kinda lonely.”

“I thought you and Bonnie might have, ” she trailed off, shrugging, “gone out or something, I don’t know.”

Frank sighed “I’ve only seen her once since. And that was so we could have a straight up conversation about how what happened was a mistake”

“A mistake?” Fliss raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Frank nodded. “And as far as mistakes go, that one was pretty spectacular.”

“And you actually said that to her?”

He nodded.

“Wow.” Fliss snorted.

“She agreed so we’re both going to try and forget it ever happened.” Frank shrugged and he Fliss’ gaze for a second before he took a deep breath “Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” he pressed “Because you thought me and Bonnie, were, like together?”

Fliss swallowed and looked away, trying to think of something to say that didn’t give her feelings away. He’d hit the nail on the head. She had thought that, and more over she was jealous so had distanced herself on purpose.

“I just,” she looked back at him, “well, I suppose I didn’t want to step on any toes, so to speak, that’s all.”

“There’s none to step on, trust me.” Frank looked at her. “I don’t feel that way. Not towards Bonnie.”

Fliss looked at him, feeling her cheeks growing warm before she turned away and quickly changed the subject. “So err, anyway, she seems to have enjoyed Boston.”

Frank let out a large breath at the fact that Fliss had effectively withdrawn back from what he had felt had been the edge of a breakthrough there for the pair of them but, well, he had no right to be annoyed, especially after everything he’d done. “Yeah.” He nodded with a little smile.

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“Well she has a court interview with the Child Welfare department or whatever they’re called on Monday.”

“Sure it’ll be fine.” Fliss replied “It’s not like she’s treated badly or her welfare is an issue, Frank.”

“And the hearing starts in full on Tuesday.” He explained “They’re opening with a bang.” At his words Fliss frowned as he turned to face her. “Mary’s biological father has apparently signed an affidavit, nominating my mother as Mary’s legal guardian.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Fliss hissed, suddenly seething with anger as Frank shook his head “That’s a real shitty trick.”

“Yep” Frank agreed.

“Does Mary know?”

“No. I’ll have to tell her though, otherwise Evelyn will no doubt.”

“Your mother gets access to her again?”

“Whilst this is going on she gets visitation rights so…” Frank shrugged, and Fliss couldn’t help but notice his despondent nature.

“So when you gonna tell her?”

“Tuesday night, after it’s done. I don’t want her worrying or knowing he’s in town because if she knows and he doesn’t ask to see her, well at least once he’s gone then…” he bit his lip. “She’s gonna be upset either way but, what else can I do?”

“Nothing, just what you think is best.” Fliss said gently “I told you before that’s all you can do Frank.” He looked at her and she sighed, opening her arms and he gladly stepped towards her, wrapping her up in a hug.

******

Tuesday rolled around far too quickly for Frank’s liking. The interviews on Monday went fairly smoothly, he had a little bit of a questioning over his TV choices for Mary but other than that he’d left that session feeling pretty okay about it.

And then he’d walked into court, seen his mother and the snivelling little shit that was now being questioned by his Mother’s Lawyer.

“Mr. Polland, are you the natural father of Mary Adler?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Frank sat still, glaring at the ass hole sat in the dock.

“And how you can be certain of this?

“Well, I always knew, but then you had me take a DNA test.”

Course they did…

I would offer the test results as result of evidence of that Mr. Polland is the father and natural guardian of the minor. As well as an affidavit from Mr. Polland nominating Mrs. Adler the maternal grandmother as the legal guardian of the minor.”

Frank sat up slightly, his jaw clenching. This ass hole had no right to decide what was best for Mary, he’d never fucking met her. Greg touched his arm, shaking his head, telling him to keep quiet.

“No objections.” Greg spoke.

“Mr. Polland has Mrs. Adler offered you any monetary reward or employment for coming forward today?” Evelyn’s attorney continued.

No, sir. I have a job of my own.”

Frank suppressed a snort. Bullshit she hasn’t paid you.

“Thank you. No further questions, your Honour.”

Greg then stood up and waited a second before he opened his cross examination “Mr. Polland when was the last time you saw Mary?”

“I've never seen her.” Polland shifted slightly and Frank watched him intently.

“Why not?”

“By the time I heard about Diane…passing the baby was gone already.”

Her name is Mary, ass hole. Frank took a deep breath.

“Well, did you try and find her?” Greg pressed.

“Best I could. I couldn't just go and search the entire country.” Polland shook his head, trying to make a joke out of it. Frank was pleased to see the judge wasn’t laughing.

Greg nodded and paused again, before suddenly asking “Do you use a computer at work?”

“Sure.” Polland replied

“You know what? Help me out.” Cullen turned and grabbed his laptop “Let's google ‘Mary Adler’ and see what we find.” he placed the laptop on the dock and turned it towards Polland. He hesitated for a while and looked at the Judge who gestured with his hand, instructing him to do as he was told. Polland began to tap when Greg spoke again “You know what? You better add her middle name.”

Frank watched as Polland stopped, because of course he had no idea what her midde name was.

“It'll narrow it down. Eileen” Cullen informed him. Polland looked up and caught Frank’s eye, his face sheepish. Frank kept his face straight, his chin resting on his hand, fingers making an L-shape round his jaw as Polland looked away and began to tap.

“Yeah, Hit enter.” Greg nodded. “Okay, now head to page two…second hit. Would you please tell the court what you see there?”

Polland hesitated “It's a newspaper article called ‘Not so terrible twos’”

“And one of them is Mary Eileen Adler.” Greg nodded “Same name as your daughter. Born on the same day as your daughter. With a photograph”

Polland looked at him.

“In your defence, you'd never recognize it…”

“Your Honour, this is...” Evelyn’s attorney stood up but Cullen was quick to cut him off

“Your Honour, if there's one thing here that's sadly obvious it's that Mr. Polland has never been a genuine guardian of the minor and his nomination of Mrs. Adler is no less disingenuous.” he looked at the Judge.

Frank shifted slightly as Judge Nicholls looked at Polland, then to Evelyn, then to him before he turned glanced at the notes in front of him.

“While the state of Florida gives deference to nomination by natural parent, I'm inclined to side with Mr. Cullen's laptop at this time.” he said, nodding at Cullen, effectively dismissing the affidavit. Frank allowed himself a relieved smile as Cullen nodded.

“Thank you, your Honor”

Once court was adjourned for the day, Frank obligingly walked his mother to her car when she asked him to. And as they walked, she told him about his step father Walter. Frank had found it odd how he wasn’t featuring in any of this, but his silent question was answered as Evelyn told him he moved out and bought a ranch in Montana.

“Bullshit.” Frank exclaimed as they walked in the sun, his suit jacket handing over his arm.

“Exactly. A man whose idea of roughing it is being too far from the ice machine at the Ritz Carlton now owns a thousand acres of grass and dung.”

“Walter Price is a cowboy.” Frank smiled, shaking his head, making a mental not to tell Fliss later. “Walter Price puts on a Brooke's brother suit to take out the garbage!”

“Well, now he has a cowboy hat and cowboy boots and a horse that doesn't know dressage.” Evelyn shook her head.

“Is there some logical reason for this?” Frank asked.

“Midlife crisis, apparently.”

“He's seventy.” Frank scoffed

“I know. Must have been on time delay or something. I guess I should be happy it wasn't a twent-five year old cocktail waitress. But then again an affair you can explain to friends in a minute. For this, you put on a pot of coffee.”

“And he's out there right now?”

“Yessiree!” Evelyn imitated a Western accent. “Riding the range!”

Frank lost himself for a moment as he and his mother joked, mocking exactly what his Step Father would look like. He hated to admit it, but at times like this he was reminded how similar he was to his mother. Same dry sense of humour, no nonsense nature…

“The fastest asset management in the West.” he snorted and Evelyn smiled.

“The man who shot Liberty Mutual. That's what I've been calling him” she said as they stopped at her car.

“That's really, really funny.” Frank chuckled, and then sighed as his mother opened the car door. He leaned down and spoke to the driver. “Take her to the airport.” he said, straightening up. “Go home, Evelyn. Or Montana. Rustle some cattle.” he said gently.

“You know I have no desire to hurt you. I hate it that we're at odds.”

And then, he was also reminded just how different they were too.

“We're always at odds.” he shrugged.

“Yes.” She said, almost sadly before she climbed in the car. “Hotel.” she instructed her driver, closing the door.

**** As anticipated, when he broke the news to Mary about her father, she had a meltdown and locked herself in the bathroom. No amount of coaxing from him or Roberta would draw her out. She was sobbing about how her dad didn’t want her…and then Frank was struck with an idea and he pulled out his phone to call in reinforcement which arrived in the shape of Fliss some twenty minutes later.

“I still can’t believe that wank stain was even given the time of day.” Fliss seethed as Frank greeted her outside. “I mean…”

“It’s done, his claim was thrown out but...”Frank nodded to where Roberta was stood outside locked bathroom door.

“Why you had to tell her that waste of oxygen was testifying I’ve no idea.” the woman shot him a look.

“Because it's the truth. And if I didn't, Evelyn would've.” Frank reasoned.

“If I was the dad of a little girl and I never saw her and I was in the same town. I would visit her.” Fliss heard Mary’s crying and Frank saw her face scrunch up in sympathy. “He didn't even need directions. He could've followed you here.”

“Ok, Roberta, can you…” Fliss asked gently. Roberta stood to the side and Fliss spoked to the door. “Mary, sweetheart, it’s me.”

“Lissy?” Mary sniffled.

“The one and only.” Fliss smiled, before she sighed “You know what, you’re right. He could have come to see you. But he didn’t. And that sucks, but it has nothing to do with you.”

“He doesn't even wanna see what I look like.” The girl sobbed again.

“You know I never met my dad either.” Fliss said gently “He abandoned my mum before I was born, made no attempt to see me at all, and then he was killed when I was 4 months old. He died without ever seeing my face. And you know what?”

“What?” Mary sniffed.

“That was his loss.” Fliss continued. “And then my mom met Bill when I was two, and he’s been my dad ever since. He looked after me and loved me, just like Frank does for you.” Fliss glanced at him and he dropped his hand from where it had been cupping his chin, folding his arms round his chest as he shot her a small smile. “Like we all do Mary, you’re so loved. By Frank, Roberta, me…” Fliss continued, “Now come on, open the door.”

There was a pause and they heard a rustle, before the lock on the door clicked and it opened. Mary stood in the doorway, her eyes red and wet from tears before she gave another sob and threw herself at Fliss. Fliss crouched down on one knee and held her back, gently rocking her and Frank felt his chest tighten at the display of affection.

And then he had an idea.

He crouched next to them, his hand gently reaching out to brush Mary’s hair back as she turned her head which was on Fliss’ shoulder to look at him.

“Put your shoes on. We're going for a ride.” he said to her softly. Then he turned to Fliss “You too, that is if you want to.”

“Sure.” she nodded.

“Roberta?” Frank looked at her, and she shook her head.

“Your truck only got three seats.” “We can take mine.” Fliss offered as Mary gently released her.

“No, I think you two got this.” she said, with a knowing smile.

*******

“What are we doing here?” Mary asked as they sat on the seats in the waiting room and Fliss found herself wondering the same thing. She hadn’t questioned Frank, he obviously had something up his sleeve.

“Waiting.”

“We can see that.” Fliss replied playfully, and he looked at her, rolling his eyes as Mary continued.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” he shrugged, returning to the National Geographic magazine he was flicking through.

“How long do we have to stay here?”

“As long as it takes. And keep your voice down. It's a hospital.”

As long as it takes turned out to be an hour and a half. Through which time Mary had groaned, moaned, used Frank’s legs as a climbing frame, which Fliss noticed he had expertly ignored simply slouching in his seat, legs apart as Mary draped herself over them. Eventually she had curled up next to Fliss and laid her head on her lap, dozing off.

Fliss was busy reading something on her emails when she heard a bit of a commotion and the group at the other side of the waiting room all stood up. Frank’s eyes flew to them and then he gently gave Fliss a smile before he nudged Mary awake.

She blinked and watched as a man walked into the waiting room dressed in scrubs, a huge smile on his face.

“It's a boy.” he announced and the group erupted into cheers. Fliss glanced down at Mary who was watching in awe as everyone started to congratulate the man, all crying, sobbing with happiness, cheering, praising the lord.

“That's exactly how it was when you were born.” Frank spoke softly and Fliss then understood. He was showing Mary that she was loved, that she was wanted.

“This happy?” Mary asked

“This happy.” Frank confirmed.

“Who came out and told everybody?” she asked, and Frank leaned over gently brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I did.”

The emotion of the moment got to Fliss and her eyes watered. Frank raised his head and they shared a look as he smiled and she smiled back before Mary piped up.

“Can we stay for another?”

So they did, and when the next family all celebrated Mary jumped up, heading over to the group. They all smiled at her as she was swept into their celebrations. Fliss reached over and gently took Frank’s hand, giving his fingers a squeeze, a gesture he returned until Mary came back and pulled Fliss over to the group with her. Frank leaned back and watched as Fliss simply smiled and wiped her eyes as she congratulated the family and he let out a sigh, swallowing slightly, lost in his thoughts.

Eventually the family all dispersed to go and see their new arrival and he told Mary that it was too late to stay for another. She fell asleep on the way home against Fliss and when they got home it was a careful manoeuvre to get her out of the car without waking her up. He gently placed her in bed before he walked Fliss down to her car.

“Thank you.” he broke the silence. “You were amazing before. You’re just amazing full stop.” he said, trailing off.

She blushed slightly and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“I mean it Lissy…” he sighed, “You just…”

He hesitated for a second before he reached out and gently placed his hand on her hip, pulling her softly towards him

“Frank.” she protested softly as his face dropped towards hers, her hands gently on his chest keeping him away from her “Look, I, ”

“I’m sorry.” he swallowed, his head dropping as he sighed at her rejection “You don’t have to explain.”

“It’s not even three weeks ago you were in bed with another woman.” she looked at him and he grimaced, pulling away.

“I know and I really wish that hadn’t happened” he sighed, the hand that had been on her hip moved and ran through his hair “My head was fucked and…”

“How do I know it isn’t now?” Fliss looked at him “How do I, or you for that matter, know that this…” she gestured between them with her hand “…isn’t just an emotional response to what’s going on as well?”

“Because it’s not.” he shook his head, his eyes not leaving hers as he drove his message home “I care about you Fliss, more than just as friends, and I’m kicking myself now because what I did means you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you.” she took deep breath, as she looked down at her hands, the fingers of her right hand fiddling with her left. “And it’s not that I don’t feel the same.” She looked up at him, her voice quiet.

At her words a soft smile formed on his face as she continued to talk.

“But right now, you need to concentrate on Mary, and getting through this week.”

He nodded, swallowing “Yeah, I know, you’re right.”

She smiled, and reached up, taking his face in her soft hands. “But I promise you I’m not going anywhere.” her eyes locked onto his “And whatever this is,” she gestured between them once more, “if it’s right, then it’ll still be there when this is all over.”

She stood on her tip toes to place a gentle kiss to side of his mouth and he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he swallowed. They stayed like that for a moment until Fliss backed away gently, squeezing his hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he frowned

“Yeah, the Wicked Witch of The West is testifying is she not?”

Frank gave a huff of a laugh “Yeah she is.” “Like I said, you’re not alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He watched her climb in her car and waited until the tail lights had disappeared before he turned and headed inside. Finally all the cards were on the table, and it hadn’t been a rejection, quite the opposite actually.

For the first time in days, Frank slept soundly that night.

**** Chapter 8

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Playing With Fire Ch. 3

Ignition

@emrysaf

You’ve decided. You’re going to marry Maki.

You’re going to marry her and adopt Sputter and Flare, and you’ll all live happily ever after in the cathedral and-

You’re broken out of your thoughts when Maki smacks you so hard you literally see stars and throws you on the ground.

“... owe.”

If everything else hadn’t cemented the fact that you were really living inside Fire Force, the pain of Maki’s fist and the hard concrete under your cheek sure would have. Holy hell, how was she so strong?

You roll over on your back to look up at her.

“I bet,” you begin, “that you could bench press me if you really wanted to.”

Maki’s cheeks pink and she huffs down at you. “Why aren’t you using your pyrokinesis? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

I have no idea how to do that!

“Nope, Nope! I’m sure you could wipe the floor with me, it’s not that miss!” You said quickly. “I was just in awe of you, sorry,” you salute quickly, and watch pink crawl across Maki’s face.

So cute!!

“H-honestly! At least use your spear!”

You perk up. Spear? The Sun Spear? Is that what you have here? An answer! Finally! An answer!

Maki takes your surprise for something else. “No one told you that they’d sent it over ahead of you? You should really keep better of your gear.”

You dip your head quickly. “Yes, yes. Sorry. Can you show me where it is, please?”

“Sure,” Maki smiles at you, “We’re about done for now, anyhow. Let’s go back inside and wash up. Sister Iris and Shinra should be waiting.”

Maki takes you back into the cathedral, away from the training area on the roof. The cathedral really is pretty run down. The walls could use a good scrubbing, the floor boards either need to be replaced or are missing entirely, and there’s a lot of cracks in the tile and missing corners. The windows are fine, if not dusty, and the stained glass pieces are really beautiful. The whole place smells faintly of burnt wood and gun oil. It’s not bad, but its certainly unfamiliar. Everything is so vivid. The way it smells. The sound of the building settling, and the birds outside, and the voices of your new comrades.

It’s amazing.

Kinda terrifying, but crazy cool too.

After a quick shower for each of you Maki shows you to the weapons room, where a long, thin case is rested against a wall between two racks of guns. Obi’s shield is propped up in one corner, along with a couple of his weird stabbing things that he puts infernals to rest with. You’ve been here two days now, and you’ve seen him use it twice.

You don’t know how, but you know instinctively that that case belongs to you.

You go to it. There’s a strap along the back, like the kind on a violin case. You carefully set it on a table, mindful of the bullets stacked on top of it. With a few clicks you undo the buttons on either end and open up the case. Inside is a long staff, deep red in color and capped at the bottom with copper colored metal that curves into a diamond point. On the opposite end is a thin band of the same metal, that reveals the inside to be hollow.

You pick it up carefully, testing its weight in your hands. It feels natural. Even though you’ve never actually fought with a spear before your body knows where to hold it, and how to spin it around elegantly until you’re facing Maki again. Your body knows how much space you’re taking up, and how not to hit the walls, while your brain geeks out over the fact that you’re actually holding the Sun Lance.

So cool!

Is it conceited to say that you’re super cool? Or that this was hella badass?

You were almost bouncing on your toes you were so excited.

“Wow, I didn’t know you missed your spear this much,” Maki smiled at you. “You look good with it.”

“Aha, you think so? It’s just nice to have it I guess. This has been, I dunno. An adventure already. I’m in a strange place, with strange people, and I’m in an awfully dangerous situation. It’s been an adjustment, ya know?”

You feel like a fool for rambling, but Maki smiles at you kindly.

“I understand. Even though I was raised in a military family, it took me a while to get used to life as a fire soldier too. Don’t worry too much about it, and you know, we’re always here to help. It’s not like you have to go it alone.”

You’re heart warms with her words. “Yeah. Thank you, Maki. You’re really a nice person.”

Once the Sun Lance is safe in its case the two of you leave the armory, and make your way to the dorm rooms.

Since the company is so small, each person gets their own room. In bigger companies you would be in actually dorms, or barracks, but the eighth only has Obi, Hinawa, Maki, Sister Iris, Shinra, and yourself. Arthur will be here soon too, and Tamaki. Your small company will grow soon.

Your own room ended up being at the top of one of the towers on the west side of the cathedral, opposite of the garage. Which meant that last night, when the alarm had gone off, you’d been the last to arrive at the Matchbox. Near the garage are the locker rooms, and the communal showers, although there’s more bathrooms scattered through the base.

In the center of the cathedral is the courtyard where Sister Iris purifies herself, and grows flowers.

It’s really a nice place.

“Thank you,” you say again, and Maki nods to you and leaves you to climb the steps on your own. You shut the door and lock it behind you.

Your room is scant, all things considered. A bunk bed it pushed into each corner, with a desk underneath it. You’ve claimed the one nearest to the window. There’s a wardrobe on the opposite side, and a small, stocky book shelf.

You need to hang up some pictures or get a rug or something. It’s entirely impersonal.

You rest your Sun Lance up against the corner by the window and go to sit at the desk under your bed. You’ve already unpacked your few belongings into the wardrobe and the drawers of the desk, including the diary from ‘Fuyuki’.

Your ‘sister’. The game honestly hadn’t told you a whole lot about her. Just that she disappeared, and what few flashbacks you would have now and again. Like the one you got when you touched your ring and the lighter.

You open it up with careful hands.

Inside the handwriting is familiar, even if the words aren’t. There’s no mistaking your hand writing. It looks like a serial killer in a movie has left a ransom note made out of letters cut out of magazines.

I wonder if there’s cereal in the kitchen.

You always think better when you’re snacking.

To keep your thoughts in order, you scatterbrain.

<3 Fuyuki

The first entry is dated for 193 AC. After the Cataclysm. It’s 198 now, so this was given to MAIN (to you?) five years ago. That would have been right before she graduated the fire academy and joined her company. A year before she disappeared, around 194.

It feels invasive to read the diary of the person whos life you’ve taken over, but you need answers and you don’t have a lot of options here.

I can’t believe Fuyuki gave me a diary! That’s so lame, and super girly. I don’t really want to write in it, but she gave it to me so I guess I should? Even if I am kinda mad at her. She left to go to school years ago and she never comes home! She’s so mean but then she’s nice and its so frustrating! Not fair. Stupid sister.

But i’ll try i guess. There’s not much else to do in the house. None of the other kids really wanna play with me, and the Yagi’s are busy watching the littler kids. And maybe i’ll have kids and their kids will have kids will have kids will have kids and i’ll be their super cool ancestor and they’ll read this for inspiration or something.

Good god, how old were they when they started writing this? Twelve? How old even were you?

Fuck it.

You kept reading. They/you weren’t a regular writer, with long months going between entries. Some of them were sad, some of them were happy, most of them were angry. They had a lot of complicated feelings on the sister who had abandoned them to what was basically a group home outside Asakusa, and then bitterness at themselves for being so angry when she disappeared. But most of it wasn’t that useful. It was about grades and teachers, and grief. They got into a lot of fights, and they were something of a scrapper. They were briefly enrolled in martial arts classes, but they had to quit because they were too rough with the other kids. So they were a scrapper, but that wasn’t anything related to fire.

You rubbed your temples and glared at the diary. How did it answer your questions but leave you with more?

Why is this my life now?

So much here didn’t make sense, nonetheleast the fact that you were here to begin with. Well. At least you finally knew what your pyrokinesis was right? Even if using it was nearly impossible, and you couldn’t make sense of everything.

Of course, there were plenty of things in this world that didn’t make sense. Like how sound could turn fire into ice.

Bringing back the dead made more sense than that!

You cross your arms and glare at the diary. So far the only useful bit is the part where you’ve had some decent training. Everything else is just the most vague information about the investigation into her sister’s disappearance. That much you already knew, although you didn’t have time to read everything in it. There were big gaps that you just knew were holding important information!

At a loss, you flipped to the very last written on page, halfway through, and froze.

Staring back at you was your own face. A small picture. It was your resume for the squad assignments, with your own check boxes and preferences listed. Underneath it was the list you had written before, of Everything You Knew. It was short, with little screen caps here and there. You flipped the page and found it filling itself in with ink that didn’t come from a pen, finishing up what it started on the page before.

A new page started, this one listed your stats.

In game there were a hundred levels. You had gotten maybe halfway through? A third if you rounded down. And it listed your level at 40. Underneath had your attack power, defense, stamina, agility, and your special moves.

You were weirdly well rounded. Three out of five bars for everything, except the SM, which only had one.

But, you hadn’t put that there!

You quickly flipped it back and forth before you went to the very, very last page in the diary. On the back cover the ink finally finished filling out. A progress bar.

You stared at it for a long, long time, trying to work over everything was happening.

So.

Now you knew what you could do. Just not how to do it.

You were out of options at this point. You were just going to have to suck it up.

You were going to have to ask someone for help directly.

Shinra looks up from his work when you plop into the seat across from him, your arms crossed across your chest. It would be a lie to say you’re not nervous. You’re not even totally sure how you’re supposed to ask these questions, but you don’t have any other way to go about this any more.

You tried the diary. You’ve spent two and a half days trying to get your ignition ability to work without help. Admittedly, you hadn’t even know how your ability was meant to manifest at the time, but even now you can’t get it to work.

“Oh, hey there,” Shinra offers you an awkward smile. You grin right back, trying to project as much happy-go-lucky-nothing-wrong-here-!- as you can. It’s made easier by the fact that prior to a few days ago, no one here had known you as anything more than a passing acquaintance.

“Hi Shinra. I’ve got a weird question for you,” you announce bluntly.

Shinra looks a little more wary, and he’s starting to smile.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Ah, it’s pretty simple actually. How do you activate your abilities?”

“Huh?”

“How do you-”

“No, I heard you,” he holds up his hand to cup you off. “It’s just a weird question.”

“Hey man, I told you it was gonna be one.”

You stare at each other for a long minute before Shinra huffs and looks towards the ceiling. He might not be the best person to ask. Maybe you should ask Maki, but Shinra makes you feel secure and you trust him more than anyone else just yet.

“How do I activate my abilities? I dunno. I guess for me it’s more like I have to turn it off.”

You tilt your head, listening intently to Shinra.

“When I was a kid… I had a hard time controlling my flames. They started up suddenly, and burned through my shoes and pants. I ended up wearing these extinguisher boots, and shorts, so I wouldn’t destroy everything around me. It took a long time to figure out what was going on, but someone finally explained it to me. For a lot of third generation pyrokinetics, the thing that triggers out ability is the memory of the first time they happened.”

You falter. “But, wait. Didn’t yours activate when-”

“Yeah,” he cuts in, shooting you a grin that’s anything but happy. Your heart clenches in your chest.

“Oh god, Shinra…” That meant that every time he used his powers, he had to remember his mother’s ‘death’ and his brother's disappearance. He had to think of pain and fear and grief, and he used his flames so often-

“It’s okay,” he cuts in. You can’t imagine what kind of face you’re making. “It was painful at first, and it still is, but it’s a good reminder for what I’m fighting for, and why I’m working so hard towards that goal. I will find a way to stop human combustion. I will make sure no one else ever has to grieve the way I did.”

“Shinra,” you say softly. “You really are something.”

Shinra tries to shrug off your words, but his smile is a little more genuine. “I just wanna be a hero.”

“You will be,” you promise him. It’s all you can do not to tell him the truth then and there. His mother is alive, and suffering. His brother is alive, and suffering.

They need help.

But you hold your tongue. You don’t have any way of proving it to him, and there’s already so many things that are different here than they were in the game, or the show. Your presence being one of them.

You let out a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.”

Shinra shakes his head. “What made you ask?”

“Honestly?” you rubbed the back of your neck, “I’ve been having trouble using my abilities since we left the academy. I thought maybe if I asked you how you do it, I might be able to figure it out.”

Shinra looks startled. “Really? I guess that explains why you haven’t used them in the last few days. You never really held back when we were training.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” you offer lamely. “I just can’t figure it out.”

“Well… Have you thought about when you first activated your powers?”

“That’s just it,” you say sadly. “I don’t remember when it happened at all. So that’s not really an option for me.”

“Oh.”

You frown, and draw in on yourself. You can’t help it. You have no way to activate the powers you now know you have, and you’re in a bad place to be powerless in general. Not to mention these people are going to expect you to help, and you can’t help, and if you can’t help then-

Shinra’s hands land on your shoulders, startling you. It’s a warm touch, one that sinks into you with comfort and kindness. Shinra looks seriously at you, his red eyes bright and intent.

“Whatever happens, I know you’ll figure it out, and I’ll help you as much as I can. Even if I have to protect you in missions for now. So put your trust in me for now, okay?”

Your heart thumps hard in your chest and heat spreads through your body. It grows hotter and hotter, centering somewhere in your chest and your back.

Light blooms behind you and you barely turn your head to see a flicker of white fire over your shoulders, wings stretching over your back. They’re small, going no further down than you’re elbows and no further up than your jaw, pale and white and glowing.

You recognize the feeling in your chest with a start.

It’s care. Friendship. You want to help them. You want to fight for them and earn and keep their trust. The flickering embers of love bloom into a fire across your shoulders and flutter with undistinguished feather’s.

~ ~

A/N So! Phoenix is my favorite power, but everyone else seemed inclined towards the Sun Lance, so I smashed them both together!

If you’re so inclined, let me know what you think :D

#fire force #fire force x reader #shinra kusakabe #shinra kusakabe x reader #reader insert #enen no shouboutai x reader

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years

Text

Sweet Pea//i have called you darlin' and i'll say it again

Request: Can I request a super fluffy Sweet Pea/Reader, the song Make you Mine by Public is kinda song I'd recommend listening to for it, not necessarily a song fic but just like Sweet Pea flirting/crushing on reader sort of thing

hey! so i had an idea for this and i really hope you like it! its a bit different to how i usually write and maybe a little different to what you were expecting. but i dunno, i just really liked the idea. i hope you do too! (if you don’t just tell me and i’ll write something else because this is a little different to the request) also, ‘lips’ is an inside joke between me and my girlfriend, and this is going to look really weird here but if you read on you’ll get what I mean.

From the moment Sweet Pea saw you, he knew you were the one.

He’d finally made it to the end of the first week of college, and with the help of his roommates he’d been invited to the first party of the school year.

If you’d asked him a year ago where he would be in 12 very long months, he definitely would not have said stood in a frat house, playing beer pong a bunch of Chad’s and Jason’s. But here he is, and to his surprise he’s actually enjoying it. A lot more than he thought he would.

He knows he probably should be back in his dorm, studying or sleeping or whatever freshman are supposed to be doing. But after the first week he’s still feeling a little lost. He doesn’t have any of his friends as Toni and Fangs both went to different college’s in different parts of the country. Classes are long, homework’s confusing and teachers are rude.

He’s surrounded by people that are so different from the ones back home, and so he can’t help feeling that he sticks out just a little bit. He’s unsure about the world of college, and so maybe going to a party will help him understand everything a little better.

But then he see’s you and everything falls into place.

You’re stood on the other side of the crowded room, a small red cup in your hand that matches those of the people around him and he looks down at his own drink, realizing that maybe he should have poured the bottle into the plastic cups everybody seems to have, even if they are ridiculously small and make him look like a giant.

You’re laughing, your head tilted back, your nose scrunched up, your eyes closed as the people around you join in. Your little group seemingly in their own world. Complexity unaffected by the loud music and even louder people.

He realizes he probably looks at least a little weird just staring at some stranger, but he can’t take his eyes away from you. He’s being pulled towards you, he has a need to talk to you, like his entire future balances on you.

It takes a while, but he eventually talks to you. And after some awkward moments, the two of you are stood in the kitchen. He’s happy for the first time since he left Riverdale. You laugh at something he said that wasn’t meant to be funny and he feels the entire world fall away around him. It’s just you and him. Him trying desperately to make you laugh, and you doing it probably out of pity.

You suggest a walk after a few minutes of shouting ‘what’ at each other trying to be heard over the music. And when he raises an eyebrow in surprise, you notice and make sure to to tell him it’s nothing funny, it’s just to talk. He agrees and you grab his hand, pulling him through the living room.

You ask him if he knows what a french exit is and he shakes his head. You smile at him, its small but no less breathtaking and full of questions he wants answers to. ‘I’ll show you’ you say and for a second he’s worried that he’s got himself involved in something sketchy, something that Fangs told him he would have to be prepared for, something of which he told him to ‘fuck off’ for.

But then you grab his hand and pull him towards the back door. It slams shut behind you and you’re both left standing in the back garden. It’s cold, an autumn breeze hanging around but it’s a welcome on your warm skin and you hope in the darkness that he can’t see the soft blush that dusts your cheeks.

He watches you look around, a confused expression on your face before you look back at him, a slightly embarrassed smile settling on your lips. ‘I thought we could get out this way’. He laughs, making your smile brighten and even though you still feel embarrassed it’s not so bad anymore.

‘We could climb over the fence.’ He suggests, you follow his gaze until the two of you are staring at a large wooden fence.

“Are you being serious?’ You ask, blinking at him.

“It’s not that high.”

“Maybe not for you, big foot.”

“Wow, like I haven’t heard that one before.” He says eventually.

“You know what they say, college is about new experiences.” You send him a sarcastic smile, to which he just laughs and shakes his head at. “Speaking of, if you want to climb over that, you’re going to have to help.”

“Or we could just go back in and go through the front door.” He says, looking back at the house but you’re already stood by the fence, waiting with your arms crossed.

“Nope.” You shake your head. “Once you’ve french exited, you can’t go back.”

“French exited? Is that a word?” He asks, getting on one knee so he can help you over the fence. You smile at him before throwing your bag over the fence and grab his shoulder, ready for him to push you up.

“Yep.” You reply, pushing yourself up and over the fence.

“In what language?” He asks, following you shortly after. Both of you land with a thud, thankfully on your feet but Sweet Pea still gets a glare after narrowly missing your bag.

“Mine.”

“How did you get into college?” He asks sarcastically.

You start to wander down the street, not waiting for him and it takes him a few seconds before he notices you’ve gone. The moon hides behind the clouds and you sigh, disappointed that there’s no stars out tonight. He watches you look up at the sky and follows your gaze.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You reply, looking back at him with a soft smile.

“I would actually.”

He hears you sigh, deciding that tonight just a glimpse of the moon will have to be good enough, before footsteps start again.

But he continues to look up at the sky, watching a future he so desperately wants paint itself on the cloudy canvas.

A shy friendship that slowly evolves the more you get to know each other. With flirty conversations that always border on something else, both of you terrified to step a toe over the line. It’s filled with innuendos that neither of you pick up on until it’s too late or that make the other blush like mad.

Longing looks when the other isn’t looking that keep you up half the night. And awkward eye contact followed by weird smiles on the rare occasion that you’re caught.

Brushing of fingers when you reach for the same thing...

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. Stop putting the snacks on the top shelf.”

“This is my house?!”

“And?”

And nudging of elbows when one of your other friends says something stupid. Both of you sharing a look because you know for a fact when you’re alone you’re going to laugh about whatever’s been said.

Looking forward to the next day just because you get to see them and constantly checking your phone as you wait for text. Spending hours thinking of different excuses to hang out with another and even more hours afterwards thinking about the time spent together.

Inside jokes that confuse others around you but make you both laugh louder than anybody else.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Sweet Pea?”

“Yeah?”

“Lips.”

“Okay, what the fuck does that even mean? Why are you both laughing so hard? What is so funny about lips!?!!”

Tight chests when you see them laughing loudly with someone else. Wanting to be with each other all the time, just by their side. You don’t even have to do anything, you just want to spend time with each other. Checking to see if they’re laughing at something you’ve just said and feeling an indescribable heartache when they’re not paying any attention.

Watching for the other to walk into a room, and when they finally arrive and smile at you, its like your whole body smiles back at them. It doesn’t matter if its at a party, a class or if they’re just visiting your dorm.

Wanting to be the only thing they see, wanting their heart and soul.

And when your other friends question or tease you about it, you always deny it, even if the redness of your cheeks say otherwise. And always having each others backs despite how much it might hurt.

“Darlin-I mean Y/n.”

“Did you just call her darling?”

“Wha-no. I didn’t!”

“Oh my god! Yes you did. You just called Y/n darling.”

“I didn-”

“Y/n, you heard that right?”

“Nope, I dunno what you guys are talking about.”

“thank you.”

Thinking about what it would be like to kiss them, what their lips would feel like against yours. How they would kiss you. Would it be soft and gentle or rushed? How their hands would feel on your skin or in your hair.

Awkward first dates turn into weekly movie dates as a couple, filled with making out more than watching the actual film and more pizza than you can both handle. Its spent laughing at cheesy rom-coms and Sweet Pea’s aversion to horror films.

You sneaking out the next morning, trying hard not to wake his roommate, despite him knowing you’re there. And Sweet Pea always asks the same question.

“Are you french exiting me?”

To which you always reply, “No, and I thought that wasn’t a word.”

“To you it is so I suppose I’ll let it go.”

You meeting his friends during the holidays, and them loving you. You and Toni talking about how hard college is, and Fangs telling you every single embarrassing Sweet Pea story, his favourite being the almost threesome with Toni and somebody else. Both Sweet Pea and Toni hate it when he tells that story, especially because he tells literally every single person he meets. Thankfully though, you find it funny but promise to not talk about it ever again.

He meets your family and friends the next holiday and it’s your tun to be embarrassed, although none of your stories can beat his though so you don’t feel so bad. You spend the week stealing kisses when no one’s around and making sly remarks about your aunt, uncle and their snotty kid, who’s older than you but acts like a spoilt 8 year old. It’s Sweet Pea that suggests the french exit one night after dinner and thats when you realize you love him.

He looks after you when you’re sick, and you do the same. You watch your favourite movies, cuddled up together under a mountain of blankets and tissues, despite protests of the other one getting sick. And when they inevitably do, the favour is returned. You don’t how you’re both not just constantly sick.

There’s arguments that feel like they won’t end and days that you just don’t want to end.

Shouting and crying and slamming of doors that always ends in long hugs and whispered apologies.

You graduate together, one straight after the other and the two of you are smiling the entire day. Toni, Fangs and your family have flown over to see you both graduate, and they’re equally proud of you both.

You get ready together but Sweet Pea still feels breathless when he see’s you. A small ‘wow’ escaping his lips as he watches you twirl around your room. He grabs your arm and spins you around, earning a surprised squeal from you.

You’re never far apart from each other the whole day, wanting to be next to each other at all times. And it comes in handy when Fangs gets drunk and you have to stop him telling the threesome story to your parents.

You made it! You did college! Well done! Now what though?

It’s time to go out into the real world and Sweet Pea feels like he did all those years ago at that party. Lost. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, where he’s going to live.

But he watches you sleeping peacefully beside him and he knows whatever he chooses it’ll be okay, because you’re there with him.

You figure your lives out together, making sure that the other is always a part of it. And after a while of working in some slightly stressful jobs, that aren’t really what you want to do but something you need to do to live, you save enough money to rent an apartment. It’s small, but it’ll do for now. And the two of you have fun searching for cheap furniture to fill it with. Nothing matches but its perfect and you don’t want it anyway else.

He cooks, you do the dishes and you dance in the kitchen when certain songs come on.

The song that were played at the party when you met and Sweet Pea can never remember the name of it so you always have to remind him.

“Darlin’, whats that song called again? You know which one I’m on about. La, la, la, la.”

“Make You Mine, Sweet Pea. And it’s 3am, go to sleep.”

“Yeah! Thats the one...hey Y/n. Whats it called again?”

“Make You Mine.”

“Already am baby.”

“You’re an idiot.”

The song you sang as you walked down the street together later that night, because he said something that reminded you of it.

“Take me to your best friends, I love you then, I’ll love you now!”

“What?”

“You were talking about your friend Fangs.” You say, now very embarrassed at your sudden outburst.

“His house is a bit far away but we can go if you want.” He replies making you laugh loudly.

When he gets back to his dorm the next morning, he makes a playlist, the first song in it being that one. He calls it ‘for y/n’, and he continues to add to it constantly.

It’s got the one that reminds him of you, and to this day he still tries to fit your name into and fails miserably but it still makes you laugh and thats why he continues does it.

That one song that played in the car on the way to getting groceries that he shout-sang for some reason and you both ended up sat in the parking lot for an extra ten minutes just singing.

It has your go-to karaoke song that you have a little dance routine made up for, that you occasionally still practice in the kitchen, just so your moves are the best they can be for karaoke.

He plays Make You Mine while proposing. What started as doing the dishes after dinner, ending in both of you crying while lying in a heap on the floor after you jumped on him.

And its played again as your first dance at your wedding, but again, what starts as a very sweet and serious dance ends in you doing the routine from your karaoke song.

He grabs your hand when everyone is too drunk to notice you’re both missing, pulling you through the endless corridors of the hotel you’re in.

“What are we doing?” You ask as you clutch your dress with the other hand.

“Do you know what a french exit is?” He replies, making you roll your eyes.

“I do yes. How do you know what one is?”

“Oh, a pretty girl showed me once.”

“And where’s this pretty girl now?”

“She’s married to some loser.” He shrugs making you glare at him.

“Hey, that ‘loser’ is my best friend. And I know for a fact that whoever is marrying him is the luckiest woman in the world.” You scold and he rolls his eyes.

He pulls you through the back door and the two of you stare the fence in front of you.

“I thought we could get out this way.” He sighs.

“We could always climb over it.” You say, squeezing his hand and sending him cheeky smile. “But you will have to help me.”

“Always.”

“Sweet Pea? Are you even paying attention?” Kyle asks, hitting the serpents arm gently. Sweet Pea blinks, staring at the group of boys stood around the ping pong table.

“Are you okay?” Another asks. “You kinda zoned out for a few minutes.”

“I-er. Yeah.” He shakes his head. “I’m gonna go get some air.” He says dazed. He places the cup gently on the table before walking away, he feels dizzy and he has no idea whats just happened.

But then he see’s you and everything falls into place.

Laughing with your friends, your head tilted, your nose scrunched up, your eyes screwed shut, and the whole world stops.

An entire future between the two of you waiting to be lived. A whole life waiting to happen.

He just has to talk to you.

So he takes a deep breath and slowly makes his way across the crowded room to where you’re stood.

It feels like the whole world has stilled as he looks at you, waiting patiently for you to finish your conversation with a dark haired girl, it looks purple in the lighting but he’s can’t be sure, and then he realizes that the hair colour of a stranger isn’t exactly the most important thing right now.

She’s the first to notice him, she glances between him and you before a small smile twitches at her lips, and within seconds she’s gone, taking the rest of the group with. You frown and watch as they leave, confused as to where they’re going.

Sweet Pea coughs awkwardly making you jump and turn around. The room goes quiet, the noise from the music and shouting falls away as he looks at you, a confused expression pulling softly at your features, as your gaze makes its way up to his face. The confusion is quickly replaced with a smile. Its bright and warm and it makes Sweet Pea smile in return.

“Hi.” You lean into him, trying to be heard over the music and Sweet Pea momentarily forgets how to breathe.

“Hi.” He replies, also leaning in. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, and at first it works, that is until he leans in too far and smacks his head off yours. “Shit sorry.” He says quickly, clutching his head while you do the same to your own.

He’s fucked it. He knows he has. He’s definitely fucked it.

“Its fine.” You laugh. “Don’t worry about it. What’s your name?”

“Sweet Pea.”

“Y/n.” You reply. “Do you want to get a drink?”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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